Thoughts were racing in Yrill’s mind. Looking down from her vantage point it was obvious that neither captive was badly injured. Both Danel, and what she could see of Parnard, appeared dirty, tired, frustrated, but neither were bleeding, nor had visible damage. On the other hand, many of the Men looked worn to exhaustion, and moved slowly, with eyes dull and weary. Were it not for the two Southrons, she would have thought to attack the group alone.
There lay the problem. Both of those Men looked very alert, and quite capable of ending their captive’s lives. How many could she bring down before one of the two elves had their throat cut?
And there was the Lady Danel, shaking her head so very slightly. ‘Do not kill him,’ Yrill sensed. But why? Was the Umbari Man who held the knife all that stood between the captive elves and his comrades? She leashed just two arrows at the last stragglers of their entourage, after Danel’s hair was sheared, so that the leaders knew they were seen, and then she swiftly rode away, back to where she expected to find Estarfin and Captain Culufinnel.
It was only a twenty minute ride. Although there were some tracks, there was no sign of either Elf, nor of their horses.Yrill circled the area a few times, trying to pick up the direction they had ridden in, but it took her longer than she hoped as the hoof-prints seemed to simply be in an ever widening circle. Where were they heading? Then she saw a mark on the ground, a charcoal drawn arrow and two names scrawled on a large flat rock. She shook her head. What good fortune there had not yet been rain, despite a darkening sky, or an auroch herd traveling that way. The Tengwar runes were not needed for her to know which two ellyn left the message. She turned her mare, Tallagor, in the direction indicated and in less than half of an hour she espied them in the distance. Estarfin looked back as she drew closer.
“So you have returned,” said Captain Culufinnel. There was something about his look that suggested her reappearance was most welcome.
“Where do you go?” she asked, incredulously. “I rode straight back to our meeting point with important news.”
“We follow the Men’s trail,” replied Estarfin. “We are surely gaining on them.”
“I fear that you are not, Lord Estarfin,” she said as she drew up her horse beside Norlomë and reached inside her leather saddlebag. “They recently passed into Annundir, heading for Nan Amlug. I slew two of them as they passed me, then I found this.” She reverently drew out a lock of thick, red, bloodstained hair, and saw the wounded expression in Estarfin’s widened eyes.
“What is that?” asked Culufinnel, leaning forward for a closer look. “A skinned red squirrel pelt?”
Estarfin leant forward in his saddle and snatched the hair from her, holding it to him.
“It is Lady Danel’s hair,” Yrill said with a sigh, saddened at her mission, yet aware that Estarfin and Culufinnel needed to know.
Estarfin peeled his gaze away from the clump of hair and murmured a few words in Quenya. Yrill did not have to know the language to understand what he asked.
“She and Lord Parnard yet live, and are not seriously hurt. The good news is the blood is not hers, rather one of the captors cut his own hand deliberately. They would draw you in, Lord Estarfin in particular.”
Turning his mare away, Estarfin whispered more to himself, ‘They want me? So be it.’ He tucked the bloodied hair under his armour.
“How do you know this?” said Captain Culufinnel.
“Because I trailed the men and watched them pass into Annúndir, and slew two.” Yrill repeated herself, meaning no disrespect but wanting no misunderstanding. No wrong path would they take.
“How many men have them?”
“Eighteen I counted, and of that number, two Umbari, if I am any judge of men. The rest are Bree-landers save one, a tall blond-headed man who might hail from the grassfields of Rohan. They also have captive two Periain.” She pointed back in the direction she had last seen them.
Estarfin turned to where she indicated. Norlomë began stamping her hooves as she sensed his eagerness to be away.“How far?” he asked.
“A few hours ahead at least, by now. I saw Danel alive and well, affronted at her ill treatment,” Yrill said, trying to soften the news.
“What about Parnard?” said the stern-faced Captain.
“He was on the back of a horse. I saw but his head and shoulders and I heard him shouting curses from under the blanket they had thrown over him to contain him. He did not seem to be suffering great distress. But we should away in pursuit!”
Estarfin nodded. “Without delay,” he agreed.
“Why do they go this way? Where are they heading?” said Culufinnel to Yrill.
“They looked to be heading for the Dwarf-Hold of Othrikar. This area is reputed to hold a large number of Dúnedain; they may know that, and seek paths less patrolled. I suspect they ride for Angmar because it is a place of darkness. More than that is anyone’s guess.”
“They are a race without value or honour. There is nothing else to know.” said Estarfin. He shrugged and pushed back a wild lock of hair that had blown over his eyes.
“They want them alive. There is no doubt,” said Yrill, and sensing the change in the old Noldo’s mood began speaking faster. “At least the Umbari do. As long as they are there the others will keep a distance. You should know that Danel did not want me to slay the one who cut her hair - ”
At Estarfin’s command, Norlomë reared back, and stamping her steel-shod hooves on the ground so that sparks flew over the stones, sped off. As Yrill and Culufinnel galloped after Estarfin he called out, “If they are wise, none shall touch either of our folk. If any do, they shall pay slowly with their lives!”
As they rode across a farmer’s neatly planted field of winter wheat, Estarfin kicked over the scarecrow with his boot. The other elves, following in his wake, could not help but trample some of the crops. They sped downhill, through well-spaced trees until they came to a stretch of water, winding between high banks.
Estarfin slowed slightly, seemingly listening to the water.
Captain Culufinel gazed into the steel skied distance. “There is a wooden bridge, and a farmhouse ahead.” He pointed to the low bridge between the high banks.
“Yes, Captain. We must cross that river. The Men have almost certainly crossed here,” said Yrill. She slowed as they drew nearer the farmstead, then dismounted briefly, picking up a small brown coloured piece of cloth. “A Hobbit shawl?” She showed the others. It was covered in mud and had obviously been ridden over, but still recognizable. “She takes a risk, that Hobbit Lass, if she dropped the shawl on purpose.”
Estarfin sighed, then rode on, Norlomë’s hooves clattering as she crossed the bridge and picked up pace. At the farm, on one side of the dusty path, five Men had gathered and watched the Elves warily.
“Will he kill them?” asked Captain Culufinnel.
Yrill shook her head. “I believe he will stop for naught, unless he has to.”
So they rode past them in silence. Yrill saw three Men lying dead on the ground, brought down by arrows, likely Brigand arrows. She heard a woman’s voice crying out, “Elves! They are good folk! They will kill them for what they have done!”
‘They know not Estarfin,’ she thought, ‘but in this case he certainly shall, given an opportunity.’
There was no time to converse with the mortals (which was well for them, thought Yrill) as they sped onwards past several ruins and a few more meager farms, the inhabitants nowhere in sight. They headed north east, towards a distant mountain range that Yrill knew to be the borders of Angmar. They passed several more fields lying fallow, and several strange-looking contraptions - windmills, which the Captain eyed with the greatest suspicion.
Then they slowed a little, following Estafin’s lead. “The Men here are but simple Farmers,” Yrill reminded them again. “They are no threat at all, though there have ever been reports of Dúnedain in Annundir and Kingsfell, and elsewhere in many places of the Old Kingdoms. They are no threat to us either, unless we harm those they protect.”
Estarfin did not seem to listen, though it was the old Noldor that needed to understand this very important point. Instead, he too watched the turning blades of the windmill. They could hear the squeaking of the gears even from that distance. “A primitive imitation,” he said.
“Is it a signalling device?” asked the Captain, drawing his horse alongside Estarfin’s.
Yrill did not know much about husbandry or tillage, but she knew what the thing was. “Nay,” she said slowly, reluctant to contradict the authority of one appointed by Lord Cirdan. “It is a device for grinding grain, even as we have in some places.”
Estarfin nodded. “The sails catch the wind, and turn…and then you get flour.” He seemed uncertain of the middle part of the process.
“It is a giant grist-mill,” said Culufinnel in slow understanding as he peered at the mill’s ‘sails’ with deep mistrust.
“Ungainly and inelegant. In Thargelion, there were ones with sails of silver and gold,” Estarfin recollected.
“There were beautiful mills in Eregion also, far more efficient than this.” Yrill added. “And I have seen some clumsily-built ones in Rohan. They seem to be enough for that people’s need.”
Estarfin frowned, looking as if he expected it to throw spinning blades of death at them.
“If it is not a weapon of the enemy, then we should move on,” urged Culufinnel.
“A few moments here for the horses.” It was not that Estarfin wanted to stop, rather he knew well that the horses had to be rested if they were ever to catch their prey. So they all dismounted, pouring some of their water into their palms and giving it to their mounts. They let the horses wander and graze.
“The two Umbarrim will not permit anything to happen to Lady Danel, or to Parnard,” Yrill began to explain. “I observed the group for several minutes. Only Danel knew I was there. She spoke aloud to Parnard. Louder than she needed to, so that I would hear. There is unrest among the Men over what they do and where they go.”
Estarfin listened closely as the captain sat on a rock and drank a little from his waterskin.
“Without the Umbari their lives are at risk, so we must seek to kill the Breelanders first. They have the numbers, but the Umbari have the greater skill.”
“Then we find them and ride them all down. We take back Danel and Parnard.” Estarfin took a deep draught from his own water-skin, then replaced the stopper and attached it again to his saddle.
“They are leading us to Angmar! Why?” asked the Captain.
“For vengeance and reward, on behalf of the Breelanders, at least. I had a distinct impression that the Umbarrim were merely obeying orders from their commander.” Yrill recalled all she could, knowing any small detail could make a difference. “I also saw two Periannath, each seated before a Man. They did not look hearty. The female had pretty red hair and was very pale, as if she was in pain. The male had black hair and looked distraught but uninjured.”
“Are they hostages? Or will they become slaves?” Culufinnel wondered.
Estarfin looked up at the rapidly darkening sky. It was near midwinter. Soon it would be nightfall, rain or no rain.
“Perhaps I know of those two Periannath. Hostages that Danel and Parnard are fond of would be quite a prize.” He shook his head. “We must set them free also, if possible. But they are not our first concern.”
“Understood, Lord Estarfin.” Yrill bowed her head.
“Now onward, to the Dwarven hold.” Estarfin remounted and the other two did likewise.
