Yrill took the momentary opportunity to reclaim some of her arrows. Ceuro halted nearby, sword ready, poised for the unexpected. “All this area bears Lord Estarfin’s hallmark,” he said grimly.
They both looked swiftly around the nearby quays at the bodies and the blood.
“Over twenty down, but there are more,” Yrill spoke dryly. She had noticed the numbers when she had first jumped onto the ledge.
Ceuro turned on his heels, taking in all directions, as the driving force of the rain hit them both threatening to push them off their feet. “We no longer have the element of surprise on our side. Look!” He pointed across the bridge to the far side of the Port, where the helmed officer had ordered his warriors into two rows of eight. Shields and short axes to the front, long axes to the rear. He was barking commands in his peoples tongue.
A short distance away, Captain Culufinnel had finally caught up with Estarfin, as the latter booted a body into the water. He eyed the Noldo warily.
“While we tarried here,” he said, motioning around at the dead bodies as he stared at Estarfin, “the boat sailed north.”
Estarfin sniffed at the air. “Tarried. A strange choice of words.”
But then the two ranks of Dwarves caught the Captain’s attention. He nodded in their direction. “It looks as if you haven’t quite managed to kill them all.”
“ For Elbereth’s sake, leave one or two alive for questioning,” said Ceuro, echoing what the Captain had said earlier.
Estarfin seemed to frown slightly at the reference to the Lady of the Stars, who he ever held in the highest esteem. Taking a deep breath he silently strode in the Dourhands direction.
“Come along, Ceuro. We are not finished yet,” Yrill spoke swiftly.
The Huntress did not like it. Though she would do whatever was necessary to find Danel and Parnard, fighting Dwarves never came easily to her. Growing up in Eregion, she had become used to Dwarves as allies of sorts. She thought of them as stubborn and cantankerous, but honourable. She did not consider them to be enemies. At least she didn’t consider the Longbeards as such. These were Dourhands, about whom she knew little.
Jabbing with his sword in their opponents’ direction, Ceuro said, “Look, they are all armoured to fight other Dwarves, heavy chest plates and metal boots, but most have light helms or none, and wear thin pauldrons. They are prepared for a head-on attack, not one from above. That’s why they were so easy to overcome.”
“They cannot re-gear, but they can change tactics. Ware your feet and ankles.” Yrill was not intending to get close enough to need such care. She swayed with the gusts and judged the effect of the tumult of rain. She knocked two arrows.
Estarfin and Culufinnel increased their speed as they headed into the front row, as two Dourhands fell, each with an arrow protruding from the small gap in their armour by the arm. Ceuro was also charging forward.
“Keep one alive!” Culufinnel shouted, between crashing blows of his sword against the enemy as they surged forward. True to form, those Dourhands aimed low, at knees and feet, and some, positioned behind a shield wielder, jumped, raising their axes to try and strike at necks and heads.
Yrill dodged aside as two throwing axes hurtled past her. She shot two more arrows into another chink in the armour of her attacker, watching him fall to the ground...bleeding, but still alive.
The Captain strove forward, shield held high against the axe-wielding Dourhands, driving them back, while Estarfin was swarmed by a fresh surge of the fortress’ warriors. He kicked out at them a few times, his long legs sending them hurtling against stone walls or into the water. Then the taller, red and black cloaked officer closed in on him.
Estarfin frowned and placed a kick in Dwarf’s chest, and as he fell, followed up with a swift strike from his spear.
“He can’t tell us anything, he’s - ai!” Ceuro gasped and staggered forward, a snapping sound heard as his knee gave way. In an instant the Dourhand who had caused the injury was dead by the Captain’s sword.
“Ceuro!” Yrill rushed to help support the heavy Noldo.
Estarfin turned to view the scene with some frustration. “Do not turn your back on an enemy, unless you are sure they are no longer a threat,” he said.
“I can’t see any bleeding. It looked as if he hit you with a hammer rather than an axe. Has your knee shattered? Is it out of joint?” Yrill asked, her expression drawn in concern.
Ceoro himself seemed embarrassed by the fuss he was causing, but he could hardly place any weight on his leg, and certainly could not travel far. “It will not hold. Perhaps it is broken, but I think the armour would have prevented that?” He tried to walk again, but again the leg gave way.
“We cannot waste any more time,” Culufinnel informed them. “We must give swift pursuit!” He grabbed a Dourhand shot by Yrill, and propping him up against a wall, demanded, “Why all this slaughter to ensure one ship leaves dock? Where are you taking them!”
The grey haired Dourhand glared at him, and although his breath was ragged, he managed to spit in the Captain’s direction.
“Here, let me,” Yrill moved forward and knelt down near the obviously old soldier. She tried the little Khuzdûl she knew.
“We are unfriends, I know. But we had no wish to slay any, rather to see again our friends. I...we..can offer you a warrior's death, if you will but explain what has happened?”
The Dourhand grimaced, and covered his ears with his hands. He spoke in the common tongue.
“The speech of the accursed Longbeards, and even that you murder. Desist!”
Yrill sat back on her heels. “Then we converse in this tongue.”
He glared at her from old watery eyes.
“Were many stationed here of your age?”
“Too many questions. I want to die with an axe in my hand, not bleeding out on the floor from an arrow.”
Yrill nodded.
“Not you! You are an archer. I have no chance at a distance, and you have no chance close up.” he grinned, and wiped a small trickle of blood from his forehead where an arrow had grazed him.
“Him,” he pointed at Estarfin, “Or him,” he pointed at the Captain.
“I have no issue with ending you,” Estarfin stated the obvious.
“Mmmmm,” the Dourhand muttered, “why did we protect that ship? We did it for our sons and brothers in the North. She wanted the prisoners, she can grant our people favours. If we refused to help, she can make things hard for them. As it is – ” he gagged and coughed up a little blood, “they will be given more land to call their own.”
“She..who? They were on that ship, rather than some distance ahead on the road?”
The old Dourhand shrugged, “You will need to find that out yourselves.” Then he lunged for his axe, and Estarfin finished him, as he said he would.
“I am become a liability,” Ceuro spoke up. “I think it best if I return to Numenstaya and explain what has happened.” He inclined his head to Culufinnel. “And I shall send message to your officers in Celondim.”
“Can you ride that distance?” asked Yrill.
He nodded. “If I am given help getting in the saddle.”
Culufinnel was tapping his fingers against his arm. “How do we follow them? I know not these lands, and it is plain to see that there are no more boats here, not even a rowing boat.”
“Travelling by horse may be faster than a boat going upriver?” Estarfin suggested, brushing back dripping wet hair from his face.
“Where does the river lead?” asked Culufinnel.
“It leads to Forochel,” Yrill replied.She looked up at the lighting sky as the heavy rain clouds passed to the West. They were all soaked through.
“The ice-lands?”
“Yes, though it passes not far from Annúminas and the Lake of Evendim. They are wild lands full of brigands, but it can also be taken as a route to Angmar.”
“Annúminas? What is that?”
“The old capital of the Men of Arnor that was,” Yrill explained. “But where would a bunch of Bree-brigands and their Corsair leader take our friends?”
Estarfin shrugged. “Ice-lands and Naugrim are of little interest to me.”
“Indeed. I would suspect they go to Annúminas rather than Forochel,” agreed the huntress.
“Perhaps some wicked remnants remain there?” the old Noldo continued, as he considered possibilities. He turned to the nearby steps into the water and descended them enough to wash his hands and face, and clean his spear.
“It is reported that there are still a few places where servants of the Dark Lord thrive. At the least there are many graverobbers and brigands.” Yrill had decided on the proper course, and hoped the others had, too. She too went briefly to the water to wash away the blood and dirt.
“Help me on my horse, if we are travelling?” Ceuro spoke at last. “From what I know Annúminas can be reached through the halfling village of Oatbarton, and the Barandalf?”
“Yes, that is so.” Yrill and Estarfin moved to aid Ceuro onto his horse's back, careful not to jolt his leg. As it was, he rode with the affected leg held almost straight.
“We go north, on horses,” Culufinnel agreed, hopping over dead bodies to find his mount.
When all were ready to travel, Estarfin turned to Yrill, and said, “You can find the trail?”
She nodded. “I have travelled these lands often in times past, Lord.”
Estarfin urged Norlomë forward. “Then let us away.”
They left the now devastated Dourhand port of Kheledûl behind, and followed Yrill in heading back towards Duillond and Numenstaya.
“This is not northwards,” Estarfin announced in Quenya.
Not being learned in Quenya, Yrill barely understood the simple statement. She replied in Sindarin. “Not directly, Lord. The trail that way is almost impassable. It is faster and more straightforward to travel through Yondershire to Oatbarton, and follow the course of the Brandywine to the Lake. We can see Ceuro to the gates of the homestead, also.”
Pulling up Norlomë, Estarfin looked around for any clues himself. He pointed at the almost washed away hoof-prints from six horses heading to Gondomon. Then, to the Captain’s surprise, he turned his mare’s head, and set off north on his own.
“We must halt at Numenstaya to equip better armour and take provisions. This could be a long trail,” the Huntress called after the retreating figure of the old Noldo. But she knew her words were pointless as she uttered them. He would do as he wished.
The Captain gestured to his saddlebags. He had already thrown provisions in them. “Woe to any who cross his path,” he said. “Is he oft in this wild temper?”
“No,” both Yrill and Ceuro said at the same time.
“He is usually quite willful,” Yrill continued, urging her horse forward, “or at least that is what Lady Danel has said, but now that he knows he has lost her, and Lord Parnard, he is focused on finding them, and will not turn from that course for any other consideration.”
They made reasonable progress up to the bridge at Duillond, keeping a slower pace to help Ceuro stay in his saddle as they traversed the stretch of wooded land towards home, and spoke little.
As they halted at the gate to the Homestead, Culufinnel said, “Hurry, Yrill. I shall wait here.” He inclined his head to Ceuro, who nodded wearily in turn.
“If we have no news by the time I am hale, I shall ride after you,” he said.
“Let us hope we are all back here by then.”
~ ~ ~
Yrill and Ceuro rode in and to the main Hall.
Filignil took immediate charge of Ceuro, while Barahirn saw to his horse. The Housekeeper was beside herself with agitation. “Why has he gone off alone? Oh do not try and explain, we all know what he will be like until he has them safe.” She helped the injured warrior to the bed Barahirn had recently occupied, where she could tend to him with ease. Then she saw to provisions for the others, while the Huntress Yrill changed into her best light armour. This was no scenic ride ahead, nor likely to be a pitched battle. She had to be prepared for anything.
In the Hall Yrill was soon met by Filignil with a box of lembas, and three bags containing dried rations. She also handed over three water skins. “He will rejoin you, you know. Stubborn yes, but he is no fool. He will need your tracking skills.”
Yrill took everything with a small bow of thanks. “Culufinnel is ready enough, it seems, but it is better to have too much than not enough. And we shall need food for our friends when we find them.Take care here, Filignil.”
Filignil made a ‘lemon-sucking’ expression. She was far from happy. But the two huntresses embraced in a sisterly manner, both wishing the situation was otherwise, but both trusting the other.
“I will need a message sent to Celondim,” Ceuro called from his bed. “Will you speak with the patrol next time they pass, Filignil?”
She nodded again, a strand of her mid-brown hair coming loose from her up-do. She immediately set it back in its place. “I doubt the patrol is still necessary. Did the brigands all go north?”
But Yrill was already away, not wishing to waste time, nor leave Captain Culufinnel waiting.
