Holt dreamed of Arlette. They were kids again, chasing each other in the swaying Rohirric grass. The sun sat high in the sky and a soft breeze was blowing from the east, Arlette’s golden hair blowing about her as she danced playfully.
He awoke with a start, his hand instinctively reaching for his dagger. He relaxed as he recognized the familiar figure silhouetted by the moon-light. “Your watch” Treinir whispered. Holt nodded, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Slowly he crawled on his belly to the designated watch post, some fifteen meters away from camp. The ‘watch post’ was little more than a natural dip in the ground between two oak trees, but it allowed a hidden view of all the forest around the campsite. Holt lay with his cloak over him, his eyes moving constantly from side to side, looking for even the slightest movement.
He was especially more cautious this night. Call it superstition, but Holt seemed to notice every time he had a dream about Arlette and that little village, he soon found himself in danger. He recalled the day he left home two years ago: sitting on that hill under the oak tree with her, watching the lazy village below. The simpler memory motivated his mind to stay alert and his eyes keen.
About three hours into his four hour watch, Holt saw movement. The creature was large enough to be a man crouched, yet it moved with inconsistent footfalls. Still, his target was a trained spy and could be mimicking an animal’s walk. As was protocol, Holt crept back to wake Aeowulf and Treinir. Together they followed the creeping creature as it crossed within mere meters of their own sleeping area and continued on, toward the edge of the old forest.
Aeowulf nodded to Treinir, and Treinir nodded back in understanding. If this was a person they were following, it would almost certainly be their target doubling back in hopes of escape. If it was not him however, they would be losing good and vital ground. Treinir would go back to the campsite and continue to track him in the morning, while Aeowulf and Holt continued to follow this trail by ear.
The half-moon offered only a little light as the trees began to thin and the old forest turned into a grassy fields. The creature was in view now, and as it stepped out into the grassy plain it rose up to show the silhouette of a tall man. Both Holt and Aeowulf nocked an arrow into their bows, crouching in the shadows at forests edge.
“Hold!” Aeowulf called out to him “Hold or I shoot!” He stepped out into full view, arrow nocked and ready. Holt noticed how he had said ‘I’, not ‘we’, and took that to mean he ought to stay hidden. The man turned around slowly. “Don’t shoot! I’m just a poor wanderer, please don’t shoot sir!” He pleaded in a convincing Bree-land accent. Aeowulf knew this had to be the Angmar spy they were chasing, ‘the Grocer”, as his people called him. He didn’t want to force him to run, or worse fight. They had orders to take him alive. “Stay here, Holt. Keep your bow ready” He whispered. Holt forced himself to seem calm, tensing and relaxing his bow hand as he watched Aeowulf move off to meet the man.
“No need to be alarmed, wanderer. I just want to talk.” He said calmly as he walked toward him, hand resting innocently at the hilt of his sword.
“O’ course, ‘tis no harm in that” The man says both nervous and amicably. Holt was almost convinced, he mused grimly. He had every confidence in his friend. The ranger was fast, and Holt was sure Aeowulf could subdue the grocer before he even had time to draw whatever weapon he had hiding in his clothes.
But the spy lived up to his elusive reputation. As soon as Aeowulf came close enough to see the man’s face, he leapt at him with incredible speed, seizing both of the man’s wrists. Holt expected something next. He expected the ranger to strike him or throw him, anything. But instead Aeowulf just stood there for a moment, then crumpled to the ground. Seeing his chance the grocer began to run for the road, but an arrow from an invisible bow appeared out of nowhere and buried itself into the grocers thigh.
Holt had aimed for the leg, but judging by the fountain of blood the erupted out of the wound he could already tell he had hit the spy’s femoral artery. He would be dead in seconds. Instead Holt sprinted to where Aeolwulf’s lifeless body lay crumpled on the grass, his eyes dead, his mouth foaming. Holt knelt down and pulled the small dart from his new friend’s neck, smelling it. It was poison: the grocer must have slipped a small blowgun into his mouth as Aeowulf approached him. Holt checked the spy’s corpse to confirm his theory then went to report to Treinir.
He didn’t feel anything yet, but knew he would soon enough. Instead, Holt just kept envisioning the image of him and Arlette on the sunny hillside; as he strolled calmly along in the darkness.
