“You shouldn’t go at this hour,” said Anlaf the Forlorn while giving the other man the supplies that he had prepared.
“If we leave now we will reach Ost Guruth one day earlier,” Bromley replied. “This means I get to see my wife and daughter one day earlier.”
“The Lone-Lands are still infested with orcs and other creatures, you better make sure you return to them,” the tavern keeper insisted.
“Maybe, but things are are quiet now, caravans like us come and go freely.”
“Travelling in daylight.”
The tavern keeper didn’t press. He sealed the barrel. “Here, this’ll last you for a couple of days more after you reach Ost Guruth.”
“Thank you.” Bromley took hold of his pouch and counted the right amount of coins for the supplies that he ordered and put fifteen coppers more. Anlaf counted them.
“You put fifteen more, I can’t accept it. In these parts it’s bad luck to pay more than you have to.”
“Come on, it’s just coins. For your trouble,” said Bromley and smiled. “We need to take these thing to Ost Guruth, it’s fabrics, fruits, cheese, wine. It will be bad luck if we don’t get them in time and Mr Hoydon finds out.”
“Alright, alright.” Anlaf half heartedly put the coins in the box under the counter. “Have a safe trip then and don’t stray, don’t use torches if you don’t have to.At least until you get past Weathertop.”
Bromley nodded and smiled behind his orange beard. “Stay busy and I’ll see you in about a week.”
“What’s that, Bromley?” said a plump man that sat next to the younger one with the orange beard. He was clean shaven with peppered black hair that reached behind his ears, he was five years older than Bromley, now closer to forty.
“What’s what?” asked the man while adjusting his thick cloak on his shoulders.
“Lights on the hill, look.”
Bromley saw three lights, but he couldn’t tell how far they were. They were motionless at a distance and one of them went off. “I don’t know, maybe fireflies.”
“That’s some big fireflies, Bromley,” the plump man said and leaned to his corner. He started getting scared.
“It’s nothing, Warmond, probably some pond where the moon or the stars are reflected.”
The plump man wasn’t convinced, he pulled the hood of his cloak up and huddled in his corner hoping that the dawn would come earlier. Murmur arose from the other two waggons and even the sellswords that Hoydon Trasports had hired to guard the caravan seemed unnerved. With everything dark around them it was hard to tell if those lights were moving with them or they were standing motionless, much like the stars, but the stars were far away in the sky, those lights were on the ground. The caravan went on, no one wanted to stop for any reason. The sellswords who were on horses came closer to the waggons, nine of them, three for each waggon. Three stayed on the back and the other six spread evenly to the left and the right and the caravan went on. The lights stayed on their left, somewhere on the hills past Weathertop.
They kept going for an unknown amount of time when a fourth light appeared next to the three and a little later a fifth, a sixth and more. The air was coming from the North and the horses started getting uneasy, the riders tried to calm them, as did the drivers of the waggons, but to no avail.
“Sergeant!” whispered a sellsword drawing close to their sergeant. “The horses…”
“I know…” Norville whispered and drew a deep breath as he thought trying to make a decision, run or stop and prepare for the attack. His right hand was reaching for his sword and he opened his mouth to give the order when the driver of the first waggon shouted!
“Run! They’re on to us! Run for your lives!” and whipped the horses making them gallop as fast as they could with their load as soon as the road started descending, the others did the same. Warmond whipped the horses and followed, then the third caravan sped on.
“No!” shouted Norville. “No… Follow them, men! Don’t let them get too far. Draw your weapons!”
The sellswords drew their swords and spears and spurred their horses on trying to keep formation. They caught up with the caravans, four on each side with their sergeant in the rear. “Keep it tight, boys! Nothing must go through. The caravan has to reach Ost Guruth!”
The driver of the first caravan didn’t know that there was a barricade at the end of the road and just before it started descending. The horses crashed on it and their neigh was cut short when their heads hit the ground pierced by the long stakes of the barricade. The waggon stopped against the barricade and the two men were thrown off their seat. Warmond had no time to even try to react, his horses crashed on the waggon in front of him getting squeezed by their own load. The third waggon came tumbling down on theirs when its horses managed to separate by going left and right of it, but they were drawn back to it by their harness and crashed against it on its sides. Warmond’s legs were trapped between waggons and within moments he fainted due to the pain from the pressure after that second collision. Bromley was thrown against the first waggon and the two men of the third waggon lost consciousness when they hit his. The man struggled to roll away from the wooden mess he was onto and fell on the ground.
“Warmond,” he whispered. “Warmond, talk to me!” but there was no answer. Around him the sellswords had made a circle in anticipation and Bromley saw many lights snaking fast towards the wreckage.
“Stand fast, men!” the sergeant growled. “Defend the caravan! Get ready!”
The fiery snake approached and became countless bodies that crashed on the defenders who were outnumbered by far. Bromley watched them get slaughtered. Half of them fell dead to the blows of that unknown enemy and the others being shackled and lined up. Soon the man saw who attacked. It was a band made up of orcs and strange men that he had never seen before. They were dressed in leather armour adorned with furs and their faces were painted in the colour of rust. An orc shouted something and Bromley was shackled with the other men, sellswords and traders alike and sacks were put on their heads. The walked endlessly, through the sack he saw the rays of the sun appear and disappear two times before they reached their destination. When the sack was taken from his head he was in a cage with two more men. Similar cages were placed under and above his holding three men each and the area was surrounded by stone and no sunlight could reach the cages.
“Good, good,” someone whispered from below. It was a man dressed in a crimson robe, tall and lean with black gloves and muddy boots, the hood of his cloak covered his face completely and Bromley couldn’t make out any features, even though he felt his eyes burning him.
“We’ll sacrifice two of them on the next full moon,” the man said and cries and pleas came from all the cages. Bromley was too shaken to even realise what was being said.
“They will make excellent sacrifices that might even break those spells…”
