The wagon slithered slowly along the narrow road between Stock and Adso’s Camp. The Brandywine River streamed southwards behind the cart, gently wheeling and wandering across the grassland before it finally turned into a foaming rapid further south.
Hellrien sat mounted atop her horse, absent-mindedly browsing the landscape. The magnificent view made no impression upon her, as it wasn’t the first time she had traveled from Stock to Bree. She sat on her mount lost in thought. The wagon was crossing the area where highwaymen had attempted to rob the cart several times in the past. The young, somewhat nervous cart driver had spoken about these incidents to both Hellrien and the three men from Colewulf’s crew who sat in the cart.
Slowly but surely the cart rolled along the Great East Road, surrounded by woodlands on both sides. The terrain to their left sloped up towards the Brandy Hills in the north. Hellrien shivered just thinking about what could happen if a band of brigands decided to ambush them here. What could she do to stop them?
But the journey back to Bree seemed just as uneventful as the other way around. The woodlands were behind them now and the final stretch to Adso’s Camp began. The sun was setting behind the trees, and golden rays of light shimmered through the green foliage.
Three men conversed vivaciously inside the cart, laughing and joking, confident that the worst was behind them and that this trip would prove as boring and unremarkable as the previous, Hellrien figured. The men had tried to make her acquaintance several times during the journey. The youngest of the three, a lad who could be no more that seventeen, seemed especially amorous and had clumsily attempted to flirt with her in Stock. None of them had met a woman like Hellrien before, one that carried weapons and seemed adept at using them. But Hellrien had firmly staved off all advances. She was determined to take her job seriously and portray an image of a quiet, efficient professional.
And so Hellrien sat alone on her horse in front of the wagon. All the others had long since stopped trying to start a conversation with her, including the young lad who still kept throwing hot and heavy glances in her direction every now and then.
They arrived in Adso’s Camp late in the afternoon. Hellrien dismounted and stretched her stiff joints and aching muscles before ingesting a small bite of food and some mulled wine for supper by the campfire.
Half an hour after dawn next morning they started the last stretch through Southern Bree-Fields to Bree. Here the landscape was different. The right side of the road was flecked with ruins of some long forgotten fortress of ancient Arnor. It was another prime location for a possible ambush, hiding behind those crumbling walls, at the foot of the hills surrounding the Barrow-downs.
In the afternoon they stopped to feed the horses and themselves. Hellrien dismounted and was about to climb into the back of the cart, when something caught her attention. She stared towards the ruins for a few moments. Had she seen something there – some movement? Maybe some kind of animal? No, she must have made a mistake.
The others were already eating their provisions and paid no mind to Hellrien as she joined them. A hammer clopped outside - the driver was making repairs on the squeaky wheel.
”Enjoying the ride, miss Hellrien?” asked the young guard cheerfully.
Hellrien turned to regard him, painfully aware how rude a companion she had been on this trip. At the very moment something blocked the exit of the cart, and two sharp sword blades shimmered in the sunlight.
”Stay where you are!” a harsh voice commanded.
There were two of them. One was keeping an eye on the stunned guards inside the cart while the other stood behind him, focusing on what was happening outside.
The one who had spoken climbed inside the cart, squeezing a great longsword tightly in his hands.
”Alright”, he said almost cheerfully, ”keep your hands where I can see them and start unloading.”
Hellrien’s brain was working in overdrive. They had been taken completely unawares. She was the only one still carrying her weapons – the others had tossed theirs in the back of the cart for convenience. So she had seen movement by the ruins after all! Who in the name of Mordor were these guys? The answer was really simple but no less unpleasant.
Brigands!
She sat completely still and observed both men intently. The one inside the cart was tall, slender and blonde. He was wearing dark blue slop trousers and brown cloak over pieces of plate armor covering his shoulders and hands. He was bearded and his hair was tied to the back. His boots were brown and long with folded-down cuffs. His scabbard belt was simple and heavy and his weapon was a huge greatsword with 5-foot long blade. Too long to wield efficiently in the crammed wagon, Hellrien noted.
The man standing outside was darker and shorter but more robust. He was armored and armed in a similar manner as his companion, holding his greatsword with both hands while his eyes kept shifting between the inside and the outside of the cart.
How many others were there? The driver had not made a sound. He was likely being detained by another brigand, if he wasn’t dead already.
”Hurry it up! We don’t have all day!”
”Come get it…!” the oldest of the guards started, ashamed and angry with himself for letting a bunch of brigands catch him by surprise like some rookie.
Everything happened as fast as a lightning. The brigand struck the older man on the head with the pommel of his sword. The man keeled forward and toppled on his mouth. Hellrien bounced up from her seat like a spring. The sword in her right hand swung, followed by a fierce kick that tossed the brigand out of the cart. Hellrien leaped out head first after him.
A heavy longsword blade swirled through the air towards Hellrien’s neck. She ducked and the blade hit the first bandit who was already on his knees, about to fall face down on the road. Hellrien swung with the sword in her left hand and the blade sunk into the second brigand’s neck. His head nearly detached from his torso and sprayed blood into the air as he collapsed, but a third bandit was already coming hard at her, swinging a dagger in the air. She felt like a sting like a needle on her right cheek as the dagger scratched it, but the wound wasn’t deep and Hellrien felt a rush of wild exultation as she crossed her arms and swung both blades outwards, feeling the impact when they tore through fabric and flesh.
The third brigand dropped his dagger and spun backwards in the air, toppling into the undergrowth. Green grass turned red from gushing blood.
The three guards sat motionless in the cart, stunned at what had just happened.
Were there more brigands about?
Hellrien rushed up the hill until she reached the wall of the ruin. She loaded her crossbow leaning her back against the wall, drew in a deep breath and spun around where the wall had crumbled to see what was on the other side.
There was a small camp with some utensils and necessities lying on the ground and three horses tied to a tree. And nothing else.
”For the sake of the Valar!” somebody yelled by the cart. ”Are there more of them?”
”I don’t think so”, Hellrien responded.
”What in Mordor’s ashes is going on here”, barked the driver, who had been relieving himself (or maybe hiding) in a bush when the brigand attack had occurred.
Finally the rest of Colewulf’s workers got their mouths open.
”It was her! She killed three brigands trying to rob us! Single-handedly!”
”Is that so”, the driver sniffed. His eyes grew wide on his mucky face.
The driver and two wagon-guards started babbling heatedly on top of each other. The young lad stared at Hellrien with his mouth open.
Hellrien stood aside from the group, cleaning her swords.
