(This story follows Wanderings: Imladris to the Shire )
We mounted up, turning our horse’s heads towards the bridge. Exchanging ‘hails’ again with the guards, I asked if they had any recent reports that might concern us. “Nothing of note,” one of the guards, Alphlanc, had replied. “The usual unrest nearer Amon Sul. Dourhand Dwarves reported not far from the road. Small in numbers though.”
I looked to Estarfin, who nodded understanding to her. “Such threaten us not. But we shall keep watch, nonetheless. My thanks.”
Amon Sul was usually orcs, and it would take a number of them to prevent our passage. The Dwarves could be more problematic, but they may be further from the road than suggested. I would not have thought they loitered in the open?
And so we crossed the bridge into the Lone Lands.
“Let us ride then, while the night lasts,” Estarfin said.
The Mithrithil was flowing steadily, a silver ribbon in the star and moonlight, giving a false sense of security to the unwary. The Great East Road passed through some most unwholesome lands in this particular region.
“I hope we do not encounter any of the local Troll folk. Earthkin, they are called by the Men.”
Estarfin looked confused by the name.
“They are not as Rock or Cave Trolls, rather like tall trees, but strong.”
He looked thoughtful, considering my words, but then he shrugged. I suspected he deemed them no great threat.
And then he started humming the song to himself again. I looked over at him, but he had already caught himself, and fell silent.
So we rode, sometimes at a canter, sometimes at a walk. The horses needed to conserve their energy least we needed to suddenly attack, or flee enemies. We passed through the green but rocky lands of Talath Gaun without incident, though we caught sight of several orcs in the distance, and some craben spies overhead. Neither seemed overly bothered by two Elves.
Many ruins of Arnor were to be seen in the distance, especially in fallen Harloeg, but they were of no interest to us. Mannish cities and fortresses rose and fell at a regular rate. Little that they built endured. I could have felt a sense of superiority then, but having seen Beleriand and Eregion fall to the enemy, I was more inclined to some form of sympathy.
We pulled off the path a little to the south as we approached Ost Guruth in the first light of dawn. Again, some few men in the distance, their harsh voices carrying to us through the still air. Some talk of breakfast, and of a problem with spiders.
Estarfin shook his head. “Trolls, orcs, now spiders. Do the Men of this land do nothing to lessen them?”
“I know not of certainty. There seem to be more than there were last time I rode this way.”
“Perhaps the Men are in league with them?” Estarfin suggested, a darkly cautious look in his eyes.
“If so, then soon there must be a patrol from Imladris to sort matters. This place is too close to the Last Bridge to let treachery stand.”
Personally I believed the Men to be inefficient rather than traitorous, but my words seemed to end Estarfin’s train of thought on Men. I was glad.
In little over half an hour, the gaunt ruins of hill-top Amon Sul was in view. And I recognised a smell on the air.
“Yrch!” I whispered, turning to Estarfin.
He nodded, and pulled Gilastor to a halt. We both spent a moment, looking and listening for further signs. The horses snorted, as if disgusted by what assailed their nostrils.
“I feel eyes upon us,” whispered Estarfin, a hand moving towards his sword hilt.
The path wound through a narrow place, with high sloping bouldered sides. Anything could be hiding atop.
Estarfin urged Gilastor on at a walk to the end of the pass into Annunlos, and I followed on Pelorian.
Halting again, Estafin called out loudly in Quenya “If you seek death, come and find it.”
We waited, both looking and listening. Both with a hand upon our swords. We were ready. Pelorian tossed her head and pawed the ground, as if to say ‘Let me at them, I shall trample them into the dust.’
Then Estarfin relaxed slightly. He called out a second time. “You who skulk in the shadows, know we can hear you. Be gone…or step forward. It matters not.” He looked at me. “Whatever it is, it fears us.”
I thought the same as he. “It will not attack. It knows to do so will mean its death.” I was not always so certain of an enemy, but this one had seen our weapons, and knew what they were. It smelt of fear.
“We ride on?” I asked.
Estarfin patted Gilastor’s neck, and turned him back to the path.
I recalled again that we were both garbed in white. Not a colour to show care for stealth, rather one that said ‘Do your worst, we do not run nor hide. We fear you not.’. Such was truth, in our present situation. Yet neither of us were fools to assume we could not encounter something more deadly.
We rode further on through Annunlos, past the path that veered off to the old realm of Cardolan, and past the secondborn tavern. It was past midday by then, though a dull day it was swiftly becoming, with greying sky, and the scent of a storm not that far distant.
The three men who sat outside the Tavern regarded us as if we were some sort of phantoms. They must have seen occasional Elves travelling by, heading West if for no other reason. Two stood up from their seats and headed indoors, the third stood up and fell flat on his face, spilling his drink over the ground.
“Ignore them,” I said, knowing as I spoke that such advice was unnecessary. Estarfin would naturally ignore them. He was looking up at the sky, also assessing the probability of rain or storm.
And we passed on, drawing ever closer to the Breelands.
“I would avoid Bree,” I said, having no intention of encouraging Estarfin anywhere near a town full of Men. “I intend to head for the Barrow Downs. Very few Men travel there.”
“More unquiet spirits,” Estarfin nodded slowly.
“I was taught that such spirits hail from the Dark Lord, and seek to possess the remains of the Men. Even so, they are no threat to us,” I spoke with confidence. Of certainty there were some fell spirits who could challenge a Noldo, but they were few and far between. And those that sought the remains of men were but lesser beings.
“I know not the truth of it,” Estarfin replied. “But they are base and cursed things.”
And on that matter, as on many I realised, we agreed.
We rode on, past the fetid Midgewater Marshes to our right, the sky now hurling clouds around almost as the sea hurled waves. The weather was building to a storm. Cool blasts of air whipped both our hair back or around our faces. The horses tossed their heads and snorted. There was nowhere near to take shelter.
I looked over at the high cliffs to our left. There was an opening onto the Barrows somewhere near. Into the Chetwood, listening for the movement of Men or any Halflings from their nearby village we rode. The heights that guarded the lands of the un-dead grew ever closer. Then into Andrath. The sound of Men’s voices carried to us from a distance. A patrol of some sort of brigands? But they were seeking cover of a nearby ruin as the first large drops of rain fell.
We were upon the entrance almost without noticing. An old tomb with a shattered stone door, just large enough for us to pass through on horseback. The air became foul, not only with corruption but with something else. Darkness, hatred, despair all vied with each other to plunge a spirit into the depths. But not our spirits. Looking upon him as we spent but five minutes in the dark, he was aglow. Holding out my arm before me, I saw that I was, also. Lights in the darkness, even after all this time. Whatever was in that place drew back.
We were outside again, in a land under ruins of old Cardolan, upon a green sward with several bleached white standing stones, like huge dead men’s fingers, pointing at a blue sky.
A blue sky? Better weather in such a place?
It did not last as a heavy fog settled over us, almost as if it had a mind of its own, and it was hard to see even a foot before us.
“This is most certainly not a wholesome place,” I said.
