She had no conception of how long she had hung there, latched onto the keel and the grapnel anchor chain. Every now and then she dozed off. As if by a miracle, none of the tomb-robbers had spotted her head near the hull of the boat. All it would have taken was one person in the boat to hunch over the gunwale to look at the water. But they never did. Cold lake water had temporarily numbed her so she had felt no pain at first. But now, as her skin started to soften and her wounds open up, her body ached ever more than before.
Some of the boats began to row to the shore, while a few were left in place to keep watch. It wasn’t easy to just hang there, helplessly watching Ernil row to the safety of the shore. To her annoyance she had also lost her knife, along with the rest of her clothes. She had been wearing only her boots and trousers wrapped down to her ankles when she had thrown herself out of the boat. She had lost them in the water during her escape, she didn’t even remember when.
From the shadow of the boat she could see how the sun moved towards west. She wondered where Ernil had gone to. The shore or Men Erain was littered with old ruins.
Finally it began to gloom. The shadow of the boat began to turn deep blue. The outlines of the hills started to turn blurry.
An hour later Hellrien was swimming heavily towards the shore. She had chosen a tall, crumbling piece of a wall as her landmark. It looked like something that could provide her with cover and shelter. She swam very carefully, avoiding to splash the water. It was heavy going. Two hundred yards. She tried to count the number of her strokes. She managed to keep counting until she got to eighty. The dark shore seemed to not come any closer. She felt strange convulsion in her back muscles. Were they going to cramp? She got water in her mouth and she had to cough. That cleared up her head. In that instant she realized how shallow the water was – she could almost touch it with her hand. When she let her legs sink in the bottom, she felt cold, hard surface under them. Staggering with exhaustion she began to wade to the shore.
”Psst! Over here!”
Valar – she was at the end of her rope. Did she hear whispering?
No way.
”Psst! Hey! Over here! This way!”
Two dark, hooded figures appeared against the lighter wall: one was about Hellrien’s height and well-built, the other was tall and slender.
Hellrien was crawling on all fours in the shallow water. The men ran to her. The shorter one wrapped a cloak around her, the taller grabbed her in his arms.
”By the Valar, she’s been through hell…”
It turned out the Rangers had set up a small camp behind the the crumbling walls in the shadows of a willow tree garden. In a few minutes they had briefed Hellrien about what had happened. After Arfirion had returned to Tinnudir he had decided to tell Calenglad about Hellrien and her mission after all. About that time they had received a tip from an inside man in Ost Forod that a large and organized band of tomb-robbers were about to move their loot from Rantost to Tham Sarch in Men Erain. The Rangers had mustered up a force to destroy the group once and for all. In turn Hellrien told them about her own ordeals in Rantost and in the boat. There were things she couldn’t say out loud, but words were not needed. When she told about the fate of the unnamed Ranger, their faces grew dark.
”That was Leo Hasset”, said the taller of the Rangers, Nimbellas. ”Not an actual Ranger, but an honorable man from Ost Forod. A good friend, and a great warrior – a Ranger by heart, if not by blood. His death will be avenged.”
Hellrien said hoarsely: ”Give me clothes and a weapon.”
The Rangers exchanged glances. In any other case they would have tried to stop her, but if Ranesora had sent this woman to help them in his stead, she could not be just anyone. She had already shown remarkable fighting and survival skills to prove it. Evidently Ranesora had taught her a wide variety of Ranger tricks few outsiders knew about. And besides, they understood her need to avenge all the unspeakable horrors, abuse and torture she had suffered in the hands of the tomb-robbers. As long as she could stand on her feet and wield a weapon, she could join their raid to Tham Sarch.
”We have some extra weapons here”, said Nimbellas. ”Loot from tomb-robbers we already killed. A thrusting spear and a spiked warhammer. And a fairly good bow. The melee weapons are rubbish, but if you want them, you are welcome to them. We’re not parting from our own weapons, as I’m sure you understand.”
Hellrien took the offered weapons. They were crude and primitive compared to her swords, but she had received training for spears and hammers as well. They would do.
”I have some spare clothes in my bag that might fit you”, said the smaller of the Rangers – Nethrandir. ”I was going to throw them away. Nothing fancy, I’m afraid.”
The Rangers looked politely the other way while Hellrien got dressed into the tattered rags Nethrandir had given her. They rested for a few hours, ate something and tried to gather their strength. They also tended to Hellrien’s wounds and rubbed smelly, smarting salve into them. The arrow that had hit her side in the water had went clean through from the back and come out of front in her left side, piercing the skin but not hitting any organs. It was just a flesh wound. They were waiting for another party of Rangers from Tinnudir that would arrive here before dawn. Three more Rangers were already waiting by the Way of Kings. The plan was to strike simultaneously into Tham Sarch and the few remaining boats still out there in Lake Evendim.
Hellrien stood up and looked towards south. Branches of flowering willow trees hung low, spreading a sweet scent in the air. She saw something that looked like a big mausoleum from between the leaves. That reminded her of something, but in her exhausted state she couldn’t remember what it was. She was startled by a small group of shadowy figures that appeared suddenly, seemingly out of thin air. The rest of the Ranger strike force had arrived – the boat party.
”Happy hunting”, one of them whispered.
Hellrien didn’t respond. She was thinking about the fate of Leo Hassett – his insane laughter and final fidgeting movements when Rycroft disemboweled him. Moonlight lit her face.
It was not a pretty sight.
Three more Rangers were waiting for Hellrien, Nimbellas and Nethrandir by the root of a staircase that lead up to the cliffside east of the Way of Kings. After a brief exchange of words they rushed up the stairs as fast as they could. On top of the staircase there was a path leading into the woods. Trees and bushes flashed past the six travelers as they advanced quietly. They saw nobody else on their way. They found a fork of roads and chose a path leading uphill towards south. Very soon they arrived to a spot where the path rose steeply up a knot and curved to the left.
Nimbellas raised a hand. They stopped. He grasped his bow, nocked it and released an arrow into the bushes in the left. There was a faint croak, and a sound of something toppling down in the bushes.
”An outguard”, he said quietly. ”Tham Sarch is just around the bend. Let’s get out of the path and go in chain through the bushes. There’s only one way in – a staircase downwards. We have to storm in. If we hurry, we can make it before light. When I hoot like an owl, that’s the signal for attack. Let’s go, Rangers!”
The group vanished quietly into the darkness of the woods. Stars were already beginning to pale in the eastern sky. The earliest robins started to wake up and chirp.
Hellrien walked silently, slowly. She could hear faint voices from her both sides. At that moment she felt nothing but growing tension, will to fight and vindictiveness. She began to react like an animal. All her aches and smarting wounds were nothing but another annoyance she had to push aside. She didn’t care much even from the arrow wound to her side, even when it was quite troublesome.
The trees began to thin out. A building came into view in front of them, shining in the dim starlight. Tham Sarch had been built on a ledge in the cliffside, so it was easy to defend and impossible to siege. Nimbellas was right – the only way inside was down the stairs.
She could see several campfire lights looming inside the fort, and lots of people busying about. They seemed to be in quite a hurry.
Hellrien crawled through the grass to the edge of the plateau. Below her ther was a short drop to the road leading into Tham Sarch. She was about thirty yards away from the stairs to her left. She could see at least two guards keeping an eye on the road.
Hellrien felt tense. Her palms were sweating. She wiped them in her trousers.
The sky in the east began to pale. Deep shadows started to fade. Carts – two carts – clattered along the road. They were loaded with barrels and crates.
A tall brown-haired man climbed up the stairs, looked towards east and said something to another man who was right behind him.
Hellrien looked at him closer. It was Bill Tripper. The other man ascended the final step – he was tall, dark and stocky.
Hellrien could hear their voices clearly. They sounded agitated and nervous. The two guards gathered around them. They were gesturing towards the carts and talking over each other. Hellrien could not make out what they were saying.
Then everyone went in front of the first cart and started carefully maneuvering it down the stairs – the guards included. When they reached the bottom of the stairs they turned right and disappeared around the corner. The coast was clear!
Then it came – a hoot of an owl. Hellrien was up on her feet like a lightning. She jumped down the ledge and started running towards the stairs as fast as she could. She heard the Rangers coming right behind her. She reached the top of the stairs and lunged down.
Nethrandir was on Hellrien’s left side when they turned the corner and arrived to a courtyard – and found themselves facing Bill Tripper and his stocky partner less than fifteen feet away.
”Sauron’s balls!” Tripper roared – and his right hand plunged to his hip. Right behind him and a little to the side the other man produced a battle axe with pearl-adorned handle.
Hellrien was at them a tenth of a second before Nethrandir. A wild swing with her warhammer sent Tripper flying backwards and toppling on the other tomb-robber, who reeled with his battle axe ready to strike. Hellrien ducked to avoid a swing that might have detached her head and thrust forward with her spear – simultaneously with Nethrandir, who swung with his sword from the other side. Tripper and his partner slumped down over each other, mangled by hammer, spear and sword.
”No quarter!” Hellrien screamed. All six Rangers were now in the courtyard and air was filled with sounds of steel clashing against steel and screams of dying men. Two bows began to shoot arrows at them from a plane above stairs on the other side of the courtyard. They whizzed by like angry wasps and splintered on the hard ground and stone walls. Hellrien picked an opponent near the edge, where the wall had crumbled away. She thrust her spear at the same time as the man swung his cudgel.
The tomb-robber lurched backwards, pierced by the spear, toppled over the ledge and fell down screaming to crush on the Way of Kings far below.
Clashing of steel, shouts and curses echoed everywhere. Nethrandir suffered a blow to his thigh from a cudgel and fell down. He lied on his back, holding his longsword with both hands. Even so he managed to kill two of three tomb-robbers rushing at him, Hellrien took out the third one. Nimbellas rushed forward – bloody and fierce-looking, a sword in both hands.
”The courtyard is clear!” he grunted. ”We must get to the upper level!”
An arrow flew from upstairs past Hellrien’s head, sinking into a crate.
”Cover me!” Hellrien screamed and started rushing towards the stairs. Nimbellas and Nethrandir took out their bows and began to release arrows with incredible speed and accuracy behind her. Two figures toppled down in the top of the stairs.
Hellrien’s eyes were starting to blur by the time she had reached the top of the stairs – she was at the end of her rope. Blood was trickling from two new wounds – she couldn’t remember how she had gotten those.
It looked like a widespread disorder had occurred when the Rangers had attacked Tham Sarch. Clothes and goods were lying about everywhere, topsy-turvy. There was no movement anywhere. The other Rangers rushed past Hellrien to root out the remaining tomb-robbers hiding in there. Hellrien couldn’t go with them – she just couldn’t. She turned around and stepped over a corpse of a bowman as she descended to the courtyard. She tried not to hear the shouting and clashing that continued on the upper level.
Slowly she walked over to the ledge and looked down at the Way of Kings opening up before her. Suddenly it was all quiet – apart from the Rangers shouting at each other.
Well, it was all over now. Ernil had fallen in somebody else’s sword. She looked down. There was that same mausoleum again, and the beautiful willow gardens.
Suddenly she froze still – and stood staring at the mausoleum, stiff as a statue.
There was something buried in her memory she wanted to get out. Random, meaningless words. Hellrien kept staring, and sweat oozed to her forehead with the effort of thinking. She could almost remember it now! Something about a tomb… a tomb… and a garden.
There it was! Stewart Sturm’s words… Sturm’s meaningless words, uttered before his death:
”From the gardens I can see his tomb!”
And suddenly she was struck with certainty, almost like a premonition, that Ernil was down there, hiding in that tomb. It was not over yet!
