A Burg’s Tale: Chapter 6

Othrongroth. Andraste had said the Nazgûl’s leader would be here. I had to wonder what exactly he thought he could accomplish alone in the Great Barrow. It meant he wouldn’t be alone, though, because I hadn’t heard of anything, or any spirit, living within the barrows that might spell the doom of Bree and its surroundings. As I halted where Tom Bombadil had led me, skipping, through the barrows into the marshes, I rocked back on my heels. Bombadil had gone unmolested during his walk. As he had stated, he was the Master.

I didn’t know if I would return from this venture. What lay in store for me within the giant hill except death? I thought of Leith, safely with his guardians, and knew that not returning wouldn’t impact his life much so long as I could gather my information and convince Bombadil to share it with someone who could take it to the Rangers or Strider. I privately conceded that last part might be far more colossal than getting into and out of the Great Barrow alive to do it myself.

I had been so involved in my thoughts that I had missed whatever the yellow-booted ancient had just said as he halted. I blinked and he pointed toward the dark figures moving toward the hummock, or the hill itself, perhaps both. “Between those stones is what you look for, the Great Barrow of the Downs.”

“And my targets are just now arriving, to boot,” I agreed as I moved up to Bombadil’s side.

Before I could ask him if he wanted to accompany me, Orald turned and started skipping away again. “Careful now, or there your bones will lie, until the wights have you dancing!” he informed me cheerily.

“As long as the music’s good,” I muttered to myself under my breath. There was no sense in waiting any longer. I had to follow the Witch-King and his dwarf companion to know of what they spoke. Silent as shadows, I firmly told myself. That’s how you survive this venture, Leich. I took a deep breath and moved down the hill path toward the torches that Bombadil had pointed out to me.

The two dark figures moved unhurriedly toward the entrance. Dwarves guarded it and bowed deeply as the duo approached them. I managed to lurk behind a large stone as they paused and, a moment later, the Witch-King stated plainly, coldly, “Come, Skorgrím.”

So that’s your name, dwarf? I noted with a little smirk. Aragorn will want to know that, for sure. He didn’t know your identity, before. He will this time. I let them pass through into the blackness of the barrow before slipping away from my hiding place to trail them. I knew by keeping to the shadows, the guarding dwarves would stand less chance of spotting me with my stealth. I was correct in that knowledge, though it took me long enough that I hardly needed a count of one hundred to make sure that the two creatures I hunted would stay just ahead of me without noticing my presence.

I hadn’t gone inside too far when a trio of dwarves ran around the far corner with uncertainty. The one in the lead declared, “I tell you I heard something!”

Wasn’t me, you blithering idiot, I replied, having frozen in place as soon as they appeared. I don’t make enough noise.

Which was, of course, when my boot kicked a loose pebble so it rattled over the ground like a peal of thunder. They immediately swung their attention to me and one of the torch bearers cried, “Who goes there!” My hope that I could simply remain still until they labeled it settling stones and retreated splintered as they came closer to where I lay hidden. They would spot me in moments. I had to move fast.

So, I very literally moved fast. Instead of darting back toward the exit like a sane man, I became a blur of shadow and night made flesh. A throwing knife whirled through the air toward one of the dwarves. It helped distract two of them enough so that, while it found its mark in the shoulder of its target, I leaped in with my knives to pierce the leader in the middle of his back with one blade. Three to one had never been odds I particularly enjoyed but they weren’t unknown to me. It took me a short time to end them. I cleaned my blades on their clothing, dragged them into the shadows – and dwarves are quite a bit heavier than you may expect – before continuing on my way. They wouldn’t be found easily by any further patrols. I needed every moment that I could spare.

The next set of dwarves caught me unaware; they spotted me before I had a chance to hide better. Their captain bellowed, “You heard Lord Skorgrím! No one gets past us! Kill them! For the Dourhands!”

Who names their clan that? I wondered as I entered my next fray. Unfriendly-hands? Surly-hands? No suspicious characters in there, surely. The captain who led them was the last to fall. He was much tougher than his subordinates and I felt some grudging respect for the dwarf as a result. I knew, could remember, the training that soldiers went through to become that tough and even tougher. But fall, he did, and I once again wiped my blades and carried on.

The tunnel widened into a chamber with pillars. I managed to kill one of the Dourhands within before the rest noticed me and came running. They, too, had a captain in their midst – but this one refused to engage until his men were slain. Only then did he growl, “All right! You’ve killed my men, but you won’t kill me!”

“Care to place bets, little Sad-hand?” I retorted.

He snarled and leaped for me. It was no use, though. Just like the others who I had faced thus far, this dwarf proved no match for me. The problem was that he seemed to think he could escape. I was more than willing to let him until I realized he would only alert others – and if three to one odds wasn’t one I appreciated, more than that would most certainly ruin my day. “I… I can’t be defeated!” he claimed desperately as he scurried back from me, unarmed. “Stay back!”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” I replied as I advanced on him. Hobbits and dwarves made me feel taller than I already was, and I was blindingly tall for a human man. Giant-nose, giant-toes, I could hear the other children taunt. Why isn’t your hair white from all the snow, troll?

He kept evading me and running toward a blocked off exit. “Skorgrím promised… he said we couldn’t be defeated….”

“It’s like nobody has ever lied to you before,” I said, shaking my head. “Are you that gullible? Maybe I need to kill you so you don’t pass this on to your future children.”

The captain froze and frowned as he looked around, his back pressed to the wall. I had heard it too: a strange, metallic sound like metal on stone. Unlike the Dourhand, however, I recognized it immediately. It was the same sound that the wight at the Shade’s tomb had produced when his weapon had contacted the boulder I’d had to roll away. “What…what was that noise?”

My gaze went to the wall behind him. “Get away from the-” I began to shout in warning, hand flying out, but it was too late. The whole wall burst inward as if struck by something powerful. Chunks of it rained down upon the captain, who found himself buried with a dismayed final cry.

From the dark interior beyond strode a tall, armored wight with a sword in its hand. The smell of must and old death billowed from the loosed air as it rasped at me, “The dead suffer no intruders…” That was why the Dourhands had been out here, I realized, while the dead remained trapped beyond. I shot a look toward the doorway to my left and knew that the Witch-King and Skorgrím had undoubtedly used it and sealed it behind them as they passed through. My gaze went back to the wight as it charged me.

I had no time to sneak. I had no idea how many more of its kind lay beyond. I deflected a sword strike and rolled away. A sword lay nearby from the Dourhands I had killed. I grabbed it on the way up. I could use it well enough. I had the training. They had wanted me to wield a two-handed sword before I left and I had run through argument after argument as to why I didn’t have the strength despite my height. In some ways, I was actually better with the one-handed arming sword than my knives, given I still needed mastery of the latter. I was faster with the knives, though, and that often made all the difference.

Not so, here. I needed to kill the dead thing quickly and keep moving. I had already fought twice in fairly quick succession and had an unknown number of foes ahead of me, to boot. The further I had come, the more certain I had become that my ability to stealth my way through safely might not work well. If I had to fight my way in and out again, would I even be able to escape once I had made it back outside? Bombadil’s home lay quite some distance away, after all…

I took the opportunity to strike off the wight’s head when it came. It flailed wildly with its sword trying to catch me with it, but I moved from behind to strike it down at last. I decided to keep the sword for the time being and collected a scabbard for it that I settled around my waist as I stepped cautiously into the darkness of the tomb.

I did make it through to the next chamber safely, but the voices up ahead only became distinct as I closed on them. The Witch-king’s raspy voice fell silent for a moment before saying, “Come, Ivar awaits us.” The two figures moved off down the corridors of the barrow and I counted to one hundred this time. Ivar. I wasn’t sure who that was, but it made for a third person involved. If I turned back now, I would have information enough that I didn’t think that Strider and the Rangers, or anyone else, might have.

I could continue, however, and perhaps find out what the three of them had planned.

I finished my count and moved forward once again. I wound up having to fight again before I found stairs leading down. Voices echoed from the bottom chamber and I crept across it as slowly and lightly as possible. I’d taken another couple of minor wounds in the last fight that stung and throbbed terribly. All the same, I listened as I glued myself to the shadows and stole down the old wooden stairs so that they wouldn’t creak or give me away.

The Witch-king’s voice traveled to me and I actually had to stop as I realized what I was hearing. “Ivar, we shall have need of your ward in the east. We must counter the loss of Amdir.” East? I wondered. How far east? Who is this Ivar’s ward? But the Nazgûl lord continued. “Skorgrím, your dwarves should focus their efforts in the north and east. My champion has not yet finished her task.” I managed to peek around to see the three figures: a gaunt looking creature had joined the Nazgûl and the dwarf. “A great reward awaits you, if you both succeed.”

Of course it does, I thought to myself. Isn’t that what Skorgrím promised his underlings, too? Is this part of the evildoer’s standard operating style? A rule they follow?

The raspy voice sounded thoughtful. “The Ring moves east, to Imladris, no doubt.” I felt my jaw clench and my blood start going cold in my veins. If the Witch-king already knew the Ring headed east, did he also know who carried it? Had killing Andraste been for nothing? Or was there something else at play here and we still had at least one advantage in that he didn’t know the hobbit’s identity further than Baggins? “Once your tasks are complete, Mordirith awaits you both in the north.”

Mordirith, I repeated, trying to commit the name to memory. Skorgrím, Mordirith, Ivar, Ivar’s ward, the north and east… Surely, someone will move to the aid of these places? Are there enough people to do so?

But another shock was coming. “Pay no heed to the twice fool, Saruman,” the Nazgûl hissed. I felt myself go pale. Saruman was a name I knew from my travels with trade routes into Rohan. He was said to be the wisest of the wizards – and yet, the Witch-king either dismissed him out of hand or intimated that Saruman had been defanged. “Our plans in the south are reaching fruition.” Rohan, I understood. Perhaps that was why Saruman was being mentioned. Had the Witch-king made sure that the wizard couldn’t help the efforts of the Free People? It was dire news either way.

The final stair creaked underfoot in my brief surprise. All three beings turned to me and a terrifying screech arose from the Black Rider. Between it and the surge of dread and terror that nearly suffocated me, all I could do was drop to my knees with my head covered. I was about to die. I knew it. The creature would flow over to me and stab me with its blade, and I would become like Amdir… “Fool! I shall suffer your presence no longer!” it raged. “You have hounded my steps for too long!”

It knew I was here? I wondered, knowing that if my eyes hadn’t squeezed tightly shut, I might have felt them widen. Sealing the door meant that it had laid a trap for me. The Nazgûl had expected the dead to kill me, and more than likely, Skorgrím had said that his dwarves would do so beforehand. Everything that I hadn’t heard…. How much of that would be critical as well? I had to make it out of here alive, now.

The Witch-king knew that as well. “And now the Dead shall take you,” he proclaimed even as he and the other two turned to walk through a stone doorway that yawned open before them. When it closed, only then did the dead rise from in front of it, clawing their way out, and the abject terror I felt only passed once the Black Rider had been gone for several moments. “As the great king commands….” one of them replied to the Nazgûl. “Only the Dead…shall pass….”

I barely had enough time to lurch to my feet again and draw my sword before the wights were upon me at the urge of their leader, “Kill him….” I could feel myself responding with more energy and strength than before as a thrill passed through me. I felt faster, better, with the heavy dread lifted and the threat of death directly in front of me. One wight fell, then a second, and the third scored a cut across the top of my shoulder before I put it down.

I panted and my sword dropped slightly. I looked back at the stairwell coming down and then at the door where the three monsters had vanished. A perverse sort of defiance entered me in the knowledge that they probably thought I was dead or that I would leave from the front entrance. Sword in hand, I took a deep breath and strode toward the set of stone doors to prove them wrong. I would hound them right out of the Great Barrow and prove the Witch-king weaker than he thought! It was a matter of pride at this point!

Except a wight appeared from directly outside as I walked toward the doors. I cursed soundly as I spotted it. “Arise…arise, my brothers…” it commanded, and other wights appeared from the shadows and ground. Even as they did, though, I had charged toward the main wight with my sword at the ready. By the time it was done, I had a shallow gouge in my side near one hip and found myself clubbing apart one of the wights with the femur from another, snarling, “You… get… back… down… there!” I rose and flung the bone from me so that it shattered against the nearby stone wall of the tomb. Sweat and dust, dirt as well, covered me so that I was a mess. I just wanted a bath and some healing draughts. If the doors were the way out, then I meant to take them.

Heavy yet still serviceable, they pushed open with effort when I attempted it. I stepped into a dimly lit corridor while I still panted from my exertions. I was finished with this barrow and the dead inside. If I didn’t now carry critical information, I would be finished with the whole hero bit as well. I found myself wondering, as I made my way as cautiously as possible down the tunnel, if the Witch-king had a face to slap before I died screaming horribly. I found myself sorely tempted.

The lighting brightened at the end of the hall in such a way that I knew it had to be a larger, more open chamber. Before I could wonder if anyone were inside, I heard a distant voice call out, “Thou may come forward….” Part of me immediately wanted to turn right back around and thwart its designs in spite. It wasn’t the part that won out. Once I approached the corridor’s end, I could see a large throne in the center, on a raised platform, that became clearer by the time I had come into the penumbra of the lights within. A figure sat on the throne, a wight by the looks of it, and I wondered how many more of them I would need to fight before I could leave the blasted Great Barrow. Furthermore, I found no sign of the Witch-king and his cronies, which meant they had departed by some unknown means. A path out of this room had to exist.

I halted on the threshold and the wight spoke again. “Greetings, fool. If thou seekest an audience, thou mayest approach.”

A look around the chamber as it spoke and rose from its seat told me the way out had to be at the back of the room, opposite of where I now stood. Squaring my shoulders, I approached the wight where he waited at the top of the small set of steps leading up to his throne. I didn’t reply for the moment.

It seemed to take my silence as permission to continue. “I am Sambrog, ruler of the Great Barrow and all the Barrow-downs without,” it informed me. “Thou hast come a long way to stand before me.”

I halted and looked up at him through my mask. “Not that long. I just need to pop out of that back door you have behind you and I’ll be out of your hair,” I explained with a nod toward the area in question.

“Thou wouldst not grace me with thy name?” Sambrog inquired almost in amusement. “Hast thou no manners?”

I rolled my eyes. “No. But sure, why not? Morchandir.” I bowed slightly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me?” I pointed toward the back wall expressively.

“Well met! My Master sends thee greetings,” the wight lord continued. I stopped before I’d taken a step and looked back at the creature.

“Master?” I replied. “The Witch-king, I assume?” How much more did this high-ranking wight know about the plans I had overheard just outside?

Sambrog laughed and I wasn’t sure how, given he wasn’t much more than bones. “I grant thee the boon of an audience before I kill thee. Thou seemed desirous of certain knowledge, so I will give it thee.” He paused. “For the Dead speak not!” he finished with a mad cackle.

“Great, I have an undead jester in front of me,” I grunted at him. “Forgetting for the moment that I can probably beat you in a fight, let’s entertain my curiosity, then. Go on.” I crossed my arms at my chest. “I’m listening.”

He obliged me without a moment’s hesitation. “My Master seeks a great power for the Dark Lord, but the Dark Lord hast more designs than this. The Pale Dwarf shall go to the north and gather an army in the name of Angmar and the Witch-king!”

“Heard that part outside,” I pointed out. “You’ll have to do better than that, Sambrog. The dwarf is named Skorgrím, did you know? And I hear the Witch-king’s champion is on a mission.”

The wight continued with a hint of dismay at first that vanished back into confidence within a few words. “The gaunt one, a great power himself and to whom I owe this form, goes to the east. There, in Agamaur, he shall awaken a Power that lies sleeping in the waters. With her under his command, the skies will turn to blood and all shall despair!”

“Ivar,” I agreed. “He did look pretty gaunt, I admit.” I lifted a hand to scratch at my opposing bicep. “Then the two of them are supposed to head to the north and join Mordirith in Angmar. Know anything about that, Sambrog?”

He didn’t reply for several moments. I could feel the abrupt malice that rolled off of him and dropped my arms back to my sides. “Now thy audience comes to an end,” the wight grated with satisfaction. “Thy death awaits thee.” He motioned with a hand and commanded, “Arise, my warriors!”

Lesser wights shifted stone and began to lurch and claw their way up from the ground and out of the surrounding walls at his summons. “Cheating coward!” I spat at him as he moved to engage me. My sword snickered free of its sheath to meet his and I leaped away from his return blow. I managed to boot the skull off of one of the emerging wights so that it flailed blindly to the surface before again turning my attention back to the wight lord. I knew the headless wight would find a way to attack me, but I had given myself a few more seconds. I attacked Sambrog viciously and scored several hard blows to his undead form before the first wight showed up and I had to turn my attention away. Sambrog, however, didn’t take up position to become the pincer. Instead, he stepped away. By the time that the first wight fell, the second wight had seemingly found and replaced its head onto its body once again and came to attack me. I had barely defeated it when a whistling sound warned me too late of my error.

Whipping round, I found Sambrog back to normal once again as if I had never harmed him. I also found his sword thrusting itself into my side. The wound wasn’t mortal immediately but all the same, I knew that it could well become so. “Thou canst not defeat me!” he declared with glee.

I stepped back and turned to slash at the undead creature again, knocking a rib away in the process, and hacked off one of his arms after evading his strike at me. It wasn’t the arm with his weapon, unfortunately, and even as I watched, the wounds I had made on his form began to vanish and the arm I had removed made its way back to him. He casually stepped back to it so that it flew up toward his stump to reattach itself. I watched it happen in horror. The wight was right: I couldn’t defeat him when he could heal himself so quickly and I couldn’t. My limbs already felt heavy and the heat of my own blood as it trickled down my side reminded me that I wouldn’t last much longer if I kept at it.

Gritting my teeth, I threw one of my knives at him. He blocked it with his weapon and left himself open in the process so that one of my knives found itself buried where his kidneys would otherwise have been. Before I could get free, however, he backhanded me so that I felt my world spin as I flew several feet away to land on the stone heavily. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even breathe for a few moments. All I could do was watch the wight approach me, cackling, with his sword raised to kill me.

“Hey do! Merry do!”

The muffled, distant voice gave Sambrog pause. You have to be joking with me, I thought to myself. “What? It cannot be!” the wight raged as it turned around toward the back wall. Three strides later, the stone hiding the exit burst open to allow in the skipping, yellow-booted form of Tom Bombadil.

I tried to roll and rise to my feet while Orald had the wight lord distracted, intent on finishing the battle, but my stomach had yet to unclench so that I could take in a deep breath. My hand flopped helplessly toward my knife just out of reach. He wouldn’t accompany me through this, but he shows up now? I asked in frustration.

Tom sounded as if he were scolding the wight. “What be you a-thinking? Dead men should not be waking!” A motion of his hand brought the whole of the ceiling down upon Sambrog in a moment. The wight lord didn’t even have the chance to react with more than a shriek of dismay before the heavy blocks of stone had crushed him. I wasn’t sure if he was dead, or at least dead again, yet, but I knew I had to take the chance to leave.

As soon as I could breathe again, that is.

“Vanish into sunlight, leave your barrows empty!” commanded Bombadil, and I could almost feel how the spirits within the tomb did just that. The air itself felt lighter, cleaner, and I finally managed to suck air down into my chest with a relieved sound. I lay prone for another few moments, just breathing, before rolling wearily to my side and collecting my weapons once again.

Once I had them, I stumbled to where Tom Bombadil waited for me in the tomb. Pulling off my mask to stuff it in a side pouch, I laid a hand to my bleeding side and nodded at him in soundless thanks. He wasn’t finished scolding, however, as he asked me, “Was it worth the trouble? Did you learn your lesson? Leave the Dead to sleep their dreamless sleep and walk yourself upon the green grass under the sun!”

“Worth it,” I agreed with a quick nod and a grimace. “Definitely worth it. Until I wake up sore tomorrow and start cursing myself for being a fool.”

Something about my reply seemed to lighten Tom’s mood. He clapped a hand on my shoulder, which had me grimacing in pain, and chirped to me, “Come now, my merry friend, warm fire is awaiting…” He then skipped off to the hole in the wall to lead me out.

It took long enough to reach his home that I had begun to feel a little light-headed. Goldberry sat me in a chair and fussed over my wounds to clean them and heal them while Tom helped her straighten up the house and prepare for supper. “Was it really the old spirits?” she asked me as I sat there.

It was Tom who replied, though, and he did so to the both of us. “Old barrow-wights from Angmar came. They disturb the peace and trouble folk who wander through their mounds. Let the Dead sleep and leave their troubles in the earth. Unless of course you wake them, dancing on their rooftops!”

“It’s the truth, Morchandir,” Goldberry agreed lightly. “Nothing originating from that land has ever been good.” She rose and patted my arm gently. “Let’s have you eat a little and then you can rest here overnight.” Drifting over to her husband, she reached up to gently tug on his beard with a fond expression. He chuckled happily, in return and it reminded me of my past and my loneliness now. I felt awkward at having seen them.

I sighed softly as I turned from them. Tom seemed to have heard me as he swapped places with Goldberry, now that she was free, to move toward me. “Hey, come, my friend. Linger here no longer. To Bree you should be a-going. You’ve a friend there who awaits you!”

I knew he wasn’t trying to get rid of me. If he’d had his way, I would’ve stayed overnight to heal a little more. Goldberry clucked her tongue and waved her wooden spoon slightly at him. “He should be resting,” she pointed out.

“No, don’t scold him,” I offered politely. “He’s right. Everything in me wants to rest here and take you up on your offer, but I’m afraid I do have to return to Bree as quickly as possible.” I stood with more grimaces as my body complained. It wanted to stay put for a while, too. Let me deliver this message and I’ll take a room at the Pony to do just that, I promised myself.

“If you’re set on going,” Goldberry said, “then you’ll want to take the shortcut through the Old Forest up the Old Barrows Road. It leads to that camp of men and hobbits that you fetched my water for.” She explained where I would find it when I was going along the old road.

I closed my eyes. “Perfect. I don’t think I could stand going through the barrows again right now,” I admitted to them both.

The beautiful River-daughter turned to me and pulled something from a nearby shelf. She held it out to me, and I saw it was the shade’s ring. “I knew you would return,” she said with a brilliant smile. “Be safe, Morchandir.”

I inclined my head to the both of them and made my farewells after pocketing the ring. I collected the items I had left behind, strapped them to my back, and set off on the Old Barrows Road once again. I made sure to avoid the wild animals that I found as well as the bloody roots and vines that wanted to lash at me when I traveled too near, until I had to veer away from the bend in the road to continue straight. It saved me loads of time, given it was still late afternoon when I found my boots treading the path out of the forest and into Adso’s camp.

I explained where their borrowed horse was in Buckland and apologized for not returning it. I still looked frightful enough that they didn’t ask too many questions. I sold my gear to one of them and took a horse from their public stable to the west gate of Bree. It was a long enough ride that I had time to consider my next move once I had delivered my news to Aragorn. Leave, I reminded myself. You’ve done more than enough in this tale. You have no reason to do anything further. You’ve gone beyond what you were asked to do at this point and have the blood spilled to show for it. It’s time to find some good paying burgling jobs and go back to Lake-town for a while so that you can enjoy your son growing up.

I stood near the west gate after handing over the horse to the stablemaster nearby. Before I moved on to deliver my news to Strider, I wanted to complete the task that the wandering shade had given me. I spent a little coin on a horse to the southern gate’s stablemaster, dismounted, and headed toward some nearby merchants. My query regarding a ghostly spirit resulted in a fearful account of having seen it roaming through the streets in the night. They called the area The Haunted Alley and pointed it out as west of where they were, running to the Hunter’s Lodge. I took it as a good sign and set off.

The paved street between the buildings moved in a slow half-circle around several long-standing and ancient looking structures. It was still daylight and I couldn’t spot the shade at all. At night, I recalled then. His brother said he wanders at night. How does he know, though? He’s all the way in the barrows.

I passed an ornate stone area and halted. Backing up, I moved to the collection of stone and found myself looking at a tomb. “Ah, there you are,” I said aloud from behind my mask. Approaching the tomb, I could read the inscription on the sarcophagus: “A tomb made for a Lord of the kingdom of Arnor.” Placing my hands on the top of the stone lid, I shoved with all my strength to dislodge it in some fashion. I needed to place the ring within. It finally budged a fraction after several minutes and I leaned against it, sweating, to collect myself.

I felt the chill of the shade’s presence before I looked up to see him. Lifting my hands, I said hurriedly, “I disturbed you for a reason. Don’t get upset. Your brother sent me here.” I pulled the ring from one of my pockets and held it out in my palm so that he could see it.

The slight sense of anger faded instantly. “Shining and gleaming,” the ghost offered in his equally ghostly voice, “I hath seen this before / on hand of my kin / as death pulled him forth.”

I nodded quickly. “He sent me to fetch it from a wight that had taken it. The barrows were disturbed by evil spirits from Angmar and the Bone Man… well, he won’t bother you any longer.” I smiled behind the mask as helpfully as I could.

He pointed at the crack in the lid where I had slid it aside. “In the stone alcove, / where life ebbed away, / we had hid treasure / and summoned forth death,” he continued to explain.

I turned and stuffed the ring as gently as I could manage into the slot I’d made. “He mentioned that, too,” I offered. “There were wights there. I handled them for you. He wanted me to bring you this ring after it was all said and done so that you would know everything has been put right.”

He sighed in weary relief. “Now shall I rest, / as my brother the same. / At last at peace, / at last to dream.” He drifted to the tomb and began to sink back within it. “Seek the black rock….” he said before vanishing.

“Black rock?” I asked, baffled. “What black rock?” No answer came. I knocked on the top of the lid. “Shade? King – lord – dead Arnorian?” I tried to peek within the crack I had made between the lid and the coffin. “Don’t sleep yet, you have to explain what that last thing you said meant!” When silence greeted me, I huffed a sigh and moved to the other side of the lid so I could slip it closed once more. “Not even a thank you,” I grunted with effort as I heaved. “Just talking about mysteries on more mysteries.”

I looked up to find several people staring at me in wide-eyed awe. I blinked at them stupidly until one pointed at the sarcophagus and exclaimed, “You got rid of the ghost!? Hero, what’s your name?”

I looked down at the shade’s tomb and replied, haltingly, “Uhhh… Morchandir. I suppose I did? Though I don’t know that getting rid of—”

“He put the wraith to rest!” a woman gasped in joy, clapping. “Wait until the mayor hears!”

“I’m telling everyone who lives here right away!” a man beside her agreed and darted off to do just that.

I motioned with both hands quickly to stop them, but it was too late. “No, please, you don’t have…” My shoulders slumped momentarily, and I rubbed the back of my neck. “Hot bath and a room at the Pony,” I stated firmly. “A healing draught. A good dinner. A long sleep. And some new clothes if I can manage it. That sounds about right.”

I looked toward the setting sun and my steps slowed to a stop. Turning back toward the nobleman’s tomb, I couldn’t help but smile slightly. “Right. No wandering tonight or any other night. Get some rest, you and that brother of yours.”

Setting my sights on the path ahead, I somberly ran through what I would need to tell Strider in fifteen or so minutes, given I had to walk to the inn. I swear, if the man tells me to do something else, though, I’ll have to say no, I promised myself. He’ll just have to find someone else. My part in this is done as soon as I tell him what I need to.