It was pitch black. The chirring of crickets was almost deafening. Hellrien sat on the stony shore, sharpening her swords. Carefully and meticulously she passed the blade against the whetstone, over and over again. She had a hollow feeling in the bottom of her stomach. An owl hooted somewhere. It was maybe two hours to midnight.
Hellrien felt dreadfully lonely sitting there on the deserted shore. She recalled the countless times she had sat on the shore of Nen Hilith at night, before she had met Theawynn, Dorvairse, Burwod and the others – bitter and lonely. She vanished those thoughts from her head.
She stood up, put on her scabbard belt and sheathed the swords carefully. She had also twelve arrows in a quiver. She was ready. She took one last glance around her and waded into the water.
It was a short swim to the shore. This side of Rantost was a narrow, elongated sand horn with very little vegetation, essentially not much more than a dune rising from the water. Hellrien kept near the waterline in the southern side of the island as she advanced. There was very little cover apart from the darkness itself, but it couldn’t be helped. The peculiar orchestra of crickets, toads and frogs kept going incessantly. Only a few scrubby popples grew here and there, but the far end of Rantost was more verdant, and shrubs and conifers had taken over the ruins. The western side of Rantost was separated from the eastern side by a narrow channel of water, not bigger than a ditch. Hellrien leaped over the furrow and started running hunched towards the ruins. The ancient estate was only a couple of hundred yards ahead now.
She kept running. She could see the crumbling stone walls and a lot of shrubbery surrounding them. The fragrance of trees was sweet, almost stunning. Hellrien wondered, and not for the first time, why everything looked and smelled and felt so much more powerful and beautiful when you knew you might be dead within an hour. It was an addictive feeling. She understood those who got addicted to war so much they could never find a substitute for it in peace. She reached the wall and stopped. She could see a shimmering light somewhere. She dove into the shrubbery. Using stars to direct her she made a vast circle around the estate. The shrubs were so dense she had to stop and crawl every once and a while. Now she could see the light again. She stopped to listen. It was quiet everywhere. Carefully she pushed the branches aside and kept crawling. Suddenly she stopped. She had unexpectedly come out of the shrubbery. She saw a channel of water flowing into the estate through a large arch gate. There were some rowboats on both sides of the channel. The estate itself didn’t look very different from all the ruins she had seen everywhere around Lake Evendim. A flickering campfire light from inside reflected from the water. Hellrien slipped out of the shrubbery, waded quickly across the channel and pressed herself flat against the wall. She sharpened her ears. She could hear voices – a man and a woman. She moved silently below a huge in the wall. A big piece of the wall had crumbled and fallen off straight over her head, allowing a glimpse inside. She peaked inside and saw a stone floor or platform about six feet above ground level, a couple of tents, burlap sacks and something that might have been a piece of a statue.
”… suspicious”, she heard someone say.
”According to Tripper there’s no doubt about it.” A woman’s voice.
”What time is it?”
”An hour to midnight.”
”Shouldn’t we put out the fire?”
”Come on, nobody is going to come. I don’t want to sit here in the dark. It’s ridiculous.”
Hellrien tried to form an idea of the talkers in her head. Both spoke Westron, in Ost Forod accent.
”I think the boss is overreacting here.”
”He trusts Tripper’s judgment.”
Hellrien felt a grasp in the bottom of her stomach. A sudden fit of rage bulged the veins in her forehead.
Two murderers… hired killers! If only she could make them talk!
She had no idea what the estate looked like from the inside. But she had to get there before they put out the fire. She started sneaking along the side of the wall, reached the arch gate and peaked in cautiously. The channel ran through the ground floor. On both sides of the channels there were platforms and stairs leading to higher levels. The flickering campfire light came from the left. She hunched down and sneaked to the stairs. They were made of stone. She thanked her luck for her soft shoes that made no sound on the stony surface. She stopped and listened. She could still hear voices. How many levels and platforms there were? She peaked and saw the same tents, a burning campfire and a part of a stone wall.
Quietly she ascended another step. Now she could see two shapes sitting around the campfire. Hellrien grasped the hilts of her swords tightly, rose the rest of the steps with three soundless strides and slipped to a corner behind one of the tents. Carefully she peered over it.
The killers were sitting around the campfire. There was a bottle of brandy and two swords on the floor next to them. The other one had a very ornate hilt. The woman was a bulky brunette, quite pretty in a rough and primitive way. Her clothes were garish and colorful and she was wearing big earrings of pure gold. The man was small and wiry.
Slowly Hellrien stepped into the sphere of light and said:
”Don’t move!”
The pair of killers sat tight like paralyzed. The man got over his dismay first and said, barely moving his lips:
”Didn’t I tell you – we should have put out the fire!”
Hellrien stepped in closer. She was aware that she wasn’t fully in control of the situation. The pair was sitting about five feet from each other – and she was ten feet away from them. She couldn’t kill them both at the same time. From their faces she could see they had also realized this fact. She had a slight edge by having her swords ready and being up on her feet, but it was still two against one.
But which one would act first?
Hellrien said: ”Make up your mind already.”
She felt a slight nausea in her throat. She swallowed it down. These two were murderers, sitting here waiting for her. They would have killed her like they would stomp a spider at their feet. Hellrien’s eyes had narrowed into streaks – her expression was cruel. Suddenly she hoped one or the other would make a move.
The woman couldn’t stand the excitement any longer. As soon as she moved the man reacted like a lightning. Two swords were picked up from the floor.
Hellrien’s blade sank into the woman’s throat, almost chopping off her head. Before the man had managed to get his sword into a position to strike he felt something very sharp against his own throat.
”By all means”, Hellrien said.
The man was shaking in fear. A ghastly gurgle came out of the woman’s throat – like air had been pumped out of her lungs through her throat. Hellrien yanked off her sword, and the woman’s bulky body crashed on the floor.
The man was shaking so fiercely Hellrien could see his muscles vibrating. Then he let out a mournful grunt and the sword dropped from his fingers.
”Kick it over here. The other one too.”
The man obeyed. Hellrien sheathed one of her swords, picked the weapons from the floor – one at a time – and threw them over the crumbling floor. She heard how they fell into the bushes. Now she could see that the man was lame – limping heavily his left foot which seemed visibly shorter than the other. If that wasn’t the case, he might have tried to attack Hellrien while she was tossing out the weapons, but as things were he just stood there watching. Hellrien realized the situation as well and didn’t bother to be more cautious.
She moved closer. Suddenly she hit the man on the forehead with the hilt of her sword. He toppled on the floor like a burlap sack.
Hellrien tied up his hands and legs. There were no guarantees other guards wouldn’t show up soon. She grabbed the unconscious man, through him on her shoulder, stomped out the fire, walked to the crack in the wall and jumped down in the garden.
She stopped to listen. She heard nothing but the nightly concert of crickets and frogs. She hunched below her burden and started running through the bushes. When the shrubbery became less dense she headed towards the waterfront. Moon was shining from between tree tops, illuminating the shore. Hellrien dropped his captive down close the waterline so his head touched the water.
He groaned and moved his head. Hellrien slashed him with her palm. He blinked his eyes twice. Drool trickled from his mouth.
”You heartless bi…”
Hellrien leaned forward. She struck his right shoulder with the hilt of her sword. His humerus snapped like a dry branch.
His mouth opened – his eyes bulged in horror.
He began to whimper quietly. His eyes were only narrow slits on his grey face.
”It hurts”, Hellrien said softly, ”but it’s not dangerous. The humerus will heal in a few weeks. But unless you talk – and quickly, I will crush your both arms, then your cheek bones and finally your rib cage. After that you can do nothing but lie there – like a living, breathing, shapeless lump of meat!”
The man bawled with pain and horror. Hellrien watched him with merciless eyes. He began to talk. When he had finished, Hellrien hesitated but a moment. What now? What would Ranesora do?
She thought about the Dúnedain treasures and that hard, hard man who had taught so much to her. The answer to that question was easy. Without a moment’s pause she slit open his throat and watched as life went out in his eyes.
She was beginning to get quite good at it – killing people.
