A few moments earlier Demrîng, standing in the rear of the southernmost part of Buckland where the great hedge turned south by the shore of the Brandywine, felt nervously in his pocket for the vial of ’Green Death’, or ’Sauron’s Breath’, as the substance was also called in Mordor. The vial felt cold in his grasp. He told himself that if he was successful in carrying out this mission, things would get easier for him in the future. Sauron would reward him for his loyalty and competence. Never again would he be sent up here to the cold north, so far from everything familiar to him.
Two hobbits and four watchmen had just emerged from the Bucklebury Gate. They soon disappeared behind the tall grassy hill with ruins of an old watchtower built atop it, but before long they would emerge again down at the riverbank, where the ferry was waiting. There had been no sight of the Rangers of Ithilien, the dark man or Delioron. Demrîng wished he could have called the Crebain so he could talk to them. The dark birds had a much better aerial view of the situation; alas, he did not want to draw any attention onto the location where he was hiding with Elwil, so he had to make do with what he could see with his own eyes. He was feeling strangely undecided. Surely he should have spotted something by now? Perhaps he should kill the woman right here, right now? She would only be a hindrance if he had to act quickly.
Demrîng thought of last night. ”I never sleep”, he had told her. It was the truth. He could not. Demrîng needed only short naps, no more than one hour per night, as a result of the experiments Sauron had conducted on him when Demrîng had been but a boy. The experiments had made him a better servant for Sauron, but sometimes he still missed sleep. He missed the dreams he still remembered from his childhood. His nights were always so long now; sometimes it felt like the night would never end.
Suddenly he thought of Delioron. Why had Delioron lied to Demrîng about the woman? Why had he claimed that he had killed her? Why did he care about the woman in the first place? Demrîng could not understand. It made things so much more complicated. It made it difficult for Demrîng to decide if the woman still held any value to him.
The entourage of hobbits and watchmen emerged from behind the hill down by the ferry. And still there was no sign of anyone or anything else happening; just the serene sky over Buckland, the rising sun and sounds of birds singing. Demrîng could not understand. The Rangers of Ithilien, Delioron and the dark man had gone to Buckland, so why weren’t they here now? What had happened?
He reached for his pocket for the vial of ’Sauron’s Breath’.
If nothing happened at all, then he would have to kill the woman and get away from Buckland. Maybe Delioron had managed to prevent the kidnapping plan from occurring somehow. But if nothing happened and the hobbits went home there was nothing else he could do.
”Stay where you are!” said a voice from behind him. ”No sudden movements!”
Demrîng turned and saw three cloaked and hooded figures dropping down from branches of trees above the hedge. Two of them had bows and arrows pointed at him; the third figure brandished a short sword. Demrîng recognized the third man immediately, and so did Elwil.
”Hello, Delioron”, Demrîng smiled.
Elwil stared at Delioron in horror for a couple of seconds, then turned around and started running down the slope towards the riverbank, towards the ferry. Of course, Demrîng thought. She fears Delioron now; she thinks he wants to kill her.
”Help, help!” Elwil screamed as she neared the group by the raft. ”Help me! They’re going to kill me!”
Suddenly a dark silhouette jumped up on the ruins of the old watchtower and pulled out a sword. He clambered down from the platform and started limping down the hill, disappearing from sight behind the hill. ”Kill him now!” they heard a voice screaming. ”Kill the Constable! Seize the hobbits! We have to leave now!”
Delioron cursed and ran down the slope, after Elwil. ”Don’t kill the limping man!” he shouted to the Dúnedain. ”We need him alive!”
The group of watchmen and hobbits stood stunned for a moment, then started drawing their weapons.
”Parsnip!” Calamint yelled. ”Go…!” his command was cut short by Parsnip's sword as it struck deep into Calamint’s throat. Blood gushed out from the wound, spraying on the hobbits who started screaming in terror. Elwil, who had almost reached the group, stumbled onto her feet and fell face down onto the reeds, splashing muddy water about. Liverleaf and Tuftweed grasped the hobbits and pulled them off the ground like a couple of children.
At that moment arrows began to fly, mowing down the group of watchmen one after another. They dropped the hobbits, who scattered in different directions. Paladin started running north following the river, Ferumbras scrambled towards the gate and ran straight into the arms of The Southerner, who had now reached the ferry. He scooped up Ferumbras and put his sword across the hobbit’s throat, sneering at Delioron who had just arrived at the site of the carnage. Ferumbras squealed like a pig.
”Back away or I will butcher the halfling like the pig that he is”, The Southerner snarled at Delioron. ”Nobody try to stop…”
An arrow pierced The Southerner’s left eye, coming out from the back of his head with much of the contents of his skull with it. The Southerner fell backwards on the grass, dead before his head touched the ground. Delioron looked over his shoulder at the Dúnedain down by the river. The one who had shot lowered his bow and shrugged.
There went my chances of uncovering the mystery of Sharkey, Delioron thought.
The chubby hobbit, Ferumbras, was crawling up the path to Buckland on all fours, sobbing: ”I will never… never leave the Shire again… never… never…” Elwil was lying on the mud in the reeds, wet and dirty. She had sprained her ankle. When Delioron turned to look at her, she started dragging herself away from him, whimpering and kicking like a small animal scared out of it’s mind. The watchmen lied down by the ferry, dead as doornails every one of them. The Dúnedain stood down by the river…
”Demrîng!” Delioron suddenly barked. ”Where’s Demrîng?”
And he ran up the riverbank again, past the Dúnedain and up the hill to the hedge where they had left…
Nothing. There were some muddy footprints here and there and the remains of the camp where Elwil and Demrîng had stayed the night, but the man from Mordor had disappeared without a trace.
”Don’t worry”, said a voice behind Delioron. ”We will track him down in no time. He won’t get far.”
Delioron did not share the Ranger’s confidence.
