Delioron pressed his back against the wall and waited as the footsteps of a running man crunched against the pavement, then stopped as the Ranger stepped into the grass. Two seconds later he could hear quiet scuffling of the grass as his pursuer approached the courtyard.
The Ranger turned the corner in a hurry and rushed right past Delioron before he managed to stop his feet, staring at the dead end wall in front of him with a knife in his hand. It took the man only a second to figure out that Delioron was behind him, but it was too late. Delioron’s left arm wrapped around his neck while the darkened blade of a dagger pressed against his jugular vein.
”Drop the knife”, Delioron began quietly. ”No sudden movements. Keep your hands away from your body.”
The Ranger did as he was told. ”What’s the meaning of this, mate…”
Delioron suddenly grabbed him by the base of his skull and slammed his face against the stone wall. There was a nauseating sound of crushing gristle and bone. The Ranger fell back in the corner and slid down the stone wall until he was sitting on the grass, holding his face with both hands. Blood spurted through his fingers. His nose was flattened and his front teeth broken, but he made no sound of moaning. Delioron grasped his hair in one hand and brought the blade of his dagger close to his eye.
”You are the one called Ruthraon.” It was not a question, but the expression in the Ranger’s eyes as he peered through his fingers confirmed Delioron's guess.
”Why do you want to kidnap Paladin Took?”
”I don’t…”
Delioron slapped his hands away from his face and knocked in the remains of Ruthraon’s front teeth with the pommel of his dagger. Instinctively he tried to protect his face, but Delioron slapped his hands away again and crunched the pommel against his already broken nose. Ruthraon moaned and spat out teeth, tears flowing from his eyes like two waterfalls.
”Why does Captain Túrher want you to kidnap Paladin Took?”
”I don’t…”
Delioron hit him again with the pommel. This time he cracked it sharply against the cheekbone below his right eye. Ruthraon howled in pain.
”On a count of three I will pluck your eye out, Ruthraon”, said Delioron. ”One. Two.”
”Ferumbras”, Ruthraon nasaled.
”Go on.”
Ruthraon’s tears mixed with blood as they ran down his face. ”Ferumbras…”
”Where?”
”Bucklebury Ferry…”
”Why?”
”The… the Ring.” Ruthraon was babbling now. He spat out blood and bits of teeth. ”Isildur’s Bane… it’s in the Shire… the hobbits have it…”
Delioron wasn’t sure whether he had hit Ruthraon too hard or if the man was faking it. As a former historian Delioron knew well the legends of Sauron’s Master Ring, the War of the Last Alliance, Isildur and the Battle of the Gladden Fields, where the Ring was lost in the river Gladden, almost two and a half thousand years ago. The Gladden Fields were, of course, nowhere near the Shire, and those who still remembered the legend were all in agreement that the Ring had been lost from the Middle-Earth forever.
”Do not try to fool me with children’s tales”, Delioron warned.
”No! I’m telling you the truth! Sharkey… he met with Túrher… many years ago, in Henneth Annûn… Sharkey told it to him… Mithrandir, the wizard… he had found the Ring somehow and given it to the hobbits for safekeeping. It’s there! Can you imagine what could be done with that Ring in the right hands in Gondor? Restore the might of Gondor… enslave Sauron… peace and prosperity on Middle-Earth… countless of lives spared…”
”And who is Sharkey?” Delioron interrupted.
”I… I don’t know… I never met him… I never knew anything but… what Túrher told me…”
”Who knows?”
”The Southerner knows… when we have the hobbits… he will lead us to him. And the hobbits will tell us… where they have hidden it.”
”Who is the Southerner?”
”Sharkey’s messenger… a dark man, dark hair, dark skin… looks like… a Dunlending man… he’s the one who… controls the ruffians in Bree…”
”And what do they get out of it?”
”Nothing.” Ruthraon shook his head, his face buried in his hands. ”They think they are going to kidnap the hobbits for ransom… most of the guards escorting Paladin’s wagon are on the Southerner’s payroll… they are to kill the one who is not when they arrive at the Bucklebury Ferry, and anyone who tries to stop them… then take the hobbits hostages and bring them to a hideout near Buckland the Southerner has told them about. But… my brethren… they will be waiting, with the Southerner… they will mow down the guards… take the hobbits and disappear… the Southerner will bring them to see Sharkey. I don’t know where, but I think maybe Dunland. I was asked to stay behind… to watch over the camp, watch over Bree and tie up loose ends if possible… kill you or the woman if possible… there’s a good view over Greengage’s house from here, we suspected you’d come to finish him off…”
”You fell asleep on your watch, Ranger”, Delioron said. ”I did come, and Greengage left last night. You missed both events. What makes you so sure this ’Sharkey’ won’t give you and your brethren the same treatment you’re planning to give the crooked watchmen?”
”No! Sharkey… he’s a friend of Gondor, he wants what we want… the glory of Gondor… Túrher said…”
”And you always believe what Túrher tells you, do you?”
”Yes… he’s my uncle… more like a father to me…”
Delioron thought about it for a moment. He did not believe in fairy-tales about magic rings in the hands of the hobbits, but he believed Ruthraon believed what he was saying. The story was too wild, too far-fetched to be just a cover story, and there was certain inner logic to it. All the pieces of the puzzle fit so far. Paladin Took and Constable Calamint were on their way to Buckland. It would not be too late to warn them, to prevent them from going, to have the corrupt watchmen arrested… but then the kidnapping would not happen, and Túrher’s thugs would get away. And, more importantly, the Southerner would get away, the man who knew Sharkey’s real identity and location, the man who knew the real reason for the kidnapping.
For surely there was something important hidden in the Shire. Important enough for all that had happened. Important enough for all the blood that had already been spilled, and yet to be spilled to uncover it. And weighed against the importance of such information, Calamint’s life weighed very little.
”You’re all bastards”, Delioron said to Ruthraon.
”So…” Ruthraon pulled down his hands and stared at Delioron with his broken face. He managed to flash him a broken-toothed grin, with a mouth full of blood. ”So are you…”
Delioron leaned forward and stabbed Ruthraon in the chest three times. Ruthraon coughed up blood, twitched and died. Delioron watched as life petered out in his eyes, cleaned the blade on the Ranger’s cloak and stretched up. Ruthraon kept staring at Delioron in death as if he was still alive, still in pain.
Spatters of blood dotted the sleeves of his brown tunic. They were wet spots but nobody could see them once they had dried. There were spots of blood on his hands too.
He turned around and walked quickly out of the inner court. He walked up the Ironmonger Street until he came to the crossing. He looked at the dried spots of blood in the backs of his hands and rubbed them.
There was still one piece of the puzzle that did not fit anywhere. Demrîng, the agent of Sauron. What part did he play in all this?
Delioron turned right from the corner and started walking up the street, towards the Prancing Pony tavern and inn. It was time to fetch his horse and his sword and leave Bree behind. But first he had to talk to the tavern-keeper, Barliman.
He was sure the stout tavern-keep knew more than what he led on. He was sure the tavern-keep knew how to get in contact with the Dúnedain quickly, or how to relay a message for them.
Delioron had a message for the Dúnedain. A long message. And not much time to deliver it.
