A Burg’s Tale: Chapter 18

Things swirled around in my head as if I had fallen deep underwater. I could barely hear voices and had no real sense of up and down. Everything seemed as if it had slowed down somehow. I felt burning and pain at my throat but no pressure any longer. My surroundings were deep and dark as a cavern, and much like one, I couldn’t find my way out. For that matter, I had no idea where I was nor what it was that I’d been doing. It must have been something important, though. Was I stealing something important? Was it an assassination?

The impression of a child flitted through my head and left sparks in its wake. My son, I realized. Something about my son! I felt galvanized by the realization; had something happened to him? Had I been on my way to help him? No, I soothed myself. But something about him…

The little sparks, however, had begun igniting the rest of my brain. I wasn’t in a cave. I was unconscious. The fact I could reason this well meant that I wouldn’t be for much longer, either. Why had I fallen into this state? A mental fire erupted from somewhere and sent me memories without warning: orcs, lots of them, and a helmed one raging as his remaining hand tightened itself around my throat…

“Oh, baby, wake up! Gammer is so worried!” I heard a woman plead from somewhere.

Gammer? I wondered, the vision of the orc replaced by utter confusion. Oh, right. I don’t have a grandmother. I don’t even have a mother and father. I had to have heard this woman wrong or it was my own mind playing with me.

“That bad ol’ orc won’t hurt you again, don’t be afraid,” she continued.

She was real. I felt as if I were surfacing. The darkness lightened, browned, and my eyes rolled open woozily. It hurt to breathe. My throat felt as if it had caught fire. I coughed once, then again, and the explosive pain had me grimacing and lifting a hand toward my neck.

“Ah, thank Eru!” said a woman’s voice from close by. “I thought I’d come too late, my little sweetmeat.” I felt a hard opening press against my lips. I grabbed at it and felt the soft exterior of a water pouch. “Drink slowly. Here, let me help you.” Hands lifted my head to help me as I took a mouthful. And then choked, coughed, and tried again. “Tut! Slowly, my love, slowly,” she cooed, and I felt a worn hand clasp mine to help me steady the skin. The next swallow went much smoother.

Once I was done, I cleared my throat with another cough and tried to focus on the world around me once again. “What happened?” I rasped out. “I was… I was…” I stopped. “What was I doing, again?”

She patted my cheek and then I heard the water skin being capped once more. “You were fighting a large orc, my dear. It’s a good thing your Gammer Dandelion got here when she did!” She chuckled. “What were you doing up here all this way from Bree, anyway, silly boy?”

I finally squinted up toward her face. Orc. Fighting. He strangled me. Away from Bree… It hit me without warning, and I grimaced as the weight of responsibility resettled on my chest and shoulders once more. Then I had another good look at Gammer Dandelion. She had on piecemeal armor that had seen better days and looked to be older. Grey hair flitted from beneath her slightly oversized helm but so did a subtly lined face and a warm, generous smile from cherubic cheeks. I stared at her for a long moment, uncomprehending, before asking, “Who are you, again?”

She clucked her tongue and brushed my hair from my forehead. Only then did I realize that my mask had been pulled free. “I see your memory isn’t the best,” she chided me mildly. “Probably because you got strangled near to death! I’m your grandmother, Dandelion Digweed.” She patted my cheek lightly. “You’ll remember. Now, let’s get you up again.”

I blinked at her as she began to push my head and then my shoulders up. I finally set my hands on the ground to help without response and took a moment or two to look around at Bleakrift. It was eerily quiet, now, as if nothing but nature itself had finally decided to settle in its crevices and cracks. I looked around for my mask, took it in hand, and then carefully got to my feet. Only then did I tell her, “Miss Dandelion, my name is Morchandir. I can’t be your grandson. I don’t even have parents.” I dusted the mask off on my thigh before patting the dirt and such off of my bottom and back as best I could.

She helped me with my back and legs and replied in outrage, “You have parents! My daughter is your mother!” She calmed as I turned to face her at last. “Though I don’t think you remember her, either, at this point.”

I opened my mouth as I shifted, only to find nobody behind me. It was still open when I looked down and found myself facing a hobbit woman. So that’s where I remember that name from, I told myself. Gammer. Gaffer. The hobbits used them. I had to carefully close my mouth at that point for fear it would stay hanging open in surprise. Clearing my throat again, I offered, “No offense, Dandelion-“

“Gammer,” she corrected, crossing her arms at her chest and glaring up at me. “You may have grown up tall, but you’re not too tall to switch, young man!”

My brows lifted. This hobbit was well and truly demented. “… Gammer,” I corrected slowly. “No offense, Gammer, but I can’t be your grandson. You’re a hobbit. I’m not.”

She snorted and waved that away. “You’ve taken one too many knocks on the noggin, my boy,” she told me as she moved to collect a shield that had been placed nearby. “You’re as much of a hobbit as me, even if I did manage to birth some tall ones.” She sighed wistfully. “Been such a long time since your Gaffer died, though. I bet you’d know him from anywhere!”

I had no idea how to respond. Tucking my mask into my belt for the moment, I had another look around. “Errr. Sure.” I then checked my pockets and found the orc letters were still safe and sound. Relaxing, I asked her, “Dan… Gammer.” No sense in riling her up until she does try to switch me with a branch, I reasoned. “How did you manage to get up here? There were so many orcs.”

“Were,” she replied proudly. “All those stories about your Gammer were true, my boy!” She settled the shield on her arm. “I might not be as spry as I used to be, but I’m still more than a match for these dark things. But you never did tell me why you were all the way out here.”

I ran my fingers back through my hair to straighten it and get any lingering twigs and dirt out of the back. “I was helping a Ranger,” I said after a moment. She thought I was a tall hobbit; how much would it hurt to actually tell her what I was doing, anyway? “Candaith is his name. He’s looking for where Radagast the Brown traveled through here so that I can find him and speak with him. Gandalf asked me to do so in Bree before he left. I’m supposed to help him, and help Radagast, with some troubles out this way. I just have no idea where Radagast went, so I’ve been sent to Candaith to help me find him.”

She peered up at me with a wrinkled brow and concern in her eyes. “Oh, love. So much on your shoulders,” she said as she reached for one of my hands to clasp it tightly. “So young!  Why didn’t you come talk to your ol’ Gammer before you left Bree, eh? I could have come with you.”

I blinked down at her slowly. “Um. I thought I could handle it on my own,” I replied. It wasn’t a lie. I actually did think I could do it alone. And I didn’t even know you, I added mentally. “Sorry, Gammer.” I had to play along. This hobbit might kill me in my sleep if she got angry and I went from her extra-tall grandson to an extra-small troll.

She sighed heavily and tugged me along down the path. “Well, there’s no fixing it now,” she counseled. “Come on with me and let’s get out of here. I doubt I bashed all of these orcs round here and some will undoubtedly come back. No need to fret, my love, Gammer’s going to help you from here on out.”

That’s what I was afraid of, I told myself as I walked with her. I had to keep my strides short given her much, much smaller height. We made it out of Bleakrift and back to Candaith’s camp by evening, however, and found the Ranger waiting for us.

He halted when he spotted the small being walking alongside me. “Morchandir?” he asked me warily. “Who is this?”

I opened my mouth to reply when Dandelion beat me to it. “Dangerous Dandelion Digweed, at your service!” she announced with a little bow. “You must be the Ranger that my grandson mentioned. Candle-eye, was it?”

“Candaith,” I sighed with a pleading look toward him. His brows lifted in such a way that I knew I would get no help from that quarter. “This is my… grandmother, yes.”

I could tell from how he looked from her tiny form to my overly-tall one and bit the inside of his cheek that he had barely controlled his laughter. He nodded once and told the hobbit, “Indeed. I’m Candaith. This is my encampment here.” He motioned. “Would you like to have a seat? I might just have a little tea to share.”

She made a happy sound and trundled over to one of the logs by the fire. “Oh, quite! Do you have anything for throats?” She motioned at me as I followed her. “My poor grandson got choked near to death by that horrible orc up there! He’s all bruised up and hoarse from it.” She put her shield down beside her and then grumbled, “Terrible things, those orcs. How they’ve come so far into the Lone-Lands is a travesty!”

Candaith’s gaze moved to my neck and grew sharp. “I can see,” he agreed with her. “Morchandir, are you sure you’re well?”

“You should see the other guy,” I growled with a smirk.

Dandelion hmphed softly. “I’ll have to have my shield hammered out in the next place we go. Orc heads are hard.”

I pointed at the hobbit as I looked at Candaith. “She saved me. Fought her way up there and then…. Well, I’m not sure, actually, because by that point I was being killed slowly.”

“I yelled at him and hit him with my shield repeatedly,” she sniffed at me. “Just like with the others. I have skills they weren’t prepared for.”

Candaith moved to some of his gear and rifled through it while we spoke. “A Guardian, then.” He nodded and pulled forth a small jar. “You’re in a little luck, my burglar friend. Your… grandmother… can help protect you and distract your targets while you come in from another place to attack them.” He rose and moved to me so that I could take the small jar from him. “Use this on your throat. It should help with the bruising and healing. I would bandage it just to keep it from smearing all over, but I don’t happen to have any on hand.”

“Oh, well,” Dandelion said cheerfully as she tore off a strip from her cloak. We both looked over at her in surprise as she handed it over to me. “Use this, dear. Gammer’s got you.”

I took the strip of cloth from her, bewildered, and nodded at her. “Thank you,” I replied. Only when she turned away happily did a throw a quick look at Candaith.

He shook his head as he moved back to his tent and other items to collect them for tea. “Gammer Digweed,” he said to her, “these hills are full of orcs. They’ve come from the south and mean trouble.”

She nodded hurriedly as she pulled off her helm at last. A mess of grey and blonde curls sat slightly flattened beneath. “Morchandir explained it a little on the way down. You don’t know what tribe they’re from?”

“No ma’am.” The Ranger shook his head. He had a small pot for water that he filled up and set on the small fire he had going already. “In all my wanderings, I’ve never seen that sigil before. A white hand.”

Her lips thinned as she pressed them together. “That’s worrisome,” she agreed. “In my youth, I had a few adventures and ran through some orcs. I don’t remember seeing that symbol, either.”

It reminded me. I finished my application of the balm with a small noise and resealed it. Setting the jar down on the ground, I then gingerly pulled out the letter that I had gone to fetch from Uzorr’s camp. “Candaith,” I said, offering it to him when he looked my way. “Here. I found this outside of Uzorr’s tent.”

Dandelion made a little sound of dismay. “Was that his name?” She watched the Ranger rise and return to me to collect both jar and paper with a look of complete curiosity. A hobbit, no matter their age, was still a hobbit. “What are orcs doing with letters? I didn’t know they could read.” When I picked up the strip of cloak, she moved to me immediately and gently flapped her hands at mine. “You let me do it. I can make it comfortable. I’ve had all the practice,” she told me firmly.

I let her have her way and looked toward Candaith as he set his balm aside and opened the letter to look at it. “It’s a fair question,” I admitted aloud. “I mean, I know they can speak because they’ve learned how to use our language. But read? Write?” I motioned at Candaith. “We’ve found one letter in something that isn’t what we speak. I suppose they can read well enough to suit their purposes.” I smirked. “Probably better than I can.”

The hobbit woman made a disgruntled sound. “None of that,” she said with a tweak to my nose that I jerked away from slightly. Not that my nose wasn’t a huge target, mind, but I hadn’t even expected it in the least. “I didn’t raise idiot Tooks, and I’m sure my children haven’t raised worse!”

I frowned. “Gammer,” I began to argue, knowing very well that I couldn’t read very well and didn’t have a stellar education, but Candaith made an equally notable sound of frustration that interrupted me. “What is it?” I asked him.

“Another letter written in the Black Speech, Morchandir, and its meaning evades me as did that of its fellow.” Dandelion secured the cloth around my neck as he spoke. “This one, however, bears the mark of the White Hand.”

I frowned, too. “The other didn’t?”

“No. Only the messenger himself, on the armor you brought back,” he reminded me with a nod toward Neeker. He folded the paper up and tapped it on his fingertips in thought. “We must know what message this letter bears.”

“And the other,” I said with a nod as Dandelion moved away. “But who do I need to find to translate them? Does anyone know this Black Speech that I can take them to?”

The Ranger chuckled softly. “This is not a task for you, Morchandir.” I opened my mouth to disagree, but he held up a hand to stall me. “I have finally discovered information on the whereabouts of Radagast, but there is something that you should see first.”

I closed my mouth again. “What is it?”

He grimaced. “Rather, I think it’s something that I want you to see about for me, first.” He tucked the note away and looked between the two of us as he prepared Dandelion’s cup of tea for the addition of hot water. “I know that you’ve heard something about this already, Morchandir, but let me give it more meat now that Gammer Digweed has joined you.” Don’t say it like that, I wanted to reply and refrained. The crazy little Guardian needed to go back to Bree. Or needed a good, solid knock to the head to make her remember that she didn’t have a 6’6″ hobbit grandson.

But Candaith continued. “As I was returning from the lands to the east, the night sky over Weathertop was lit by bright flashes of white light, akin to lightning, yet no clouds darkened the sky and of thunder there was no sound.”

I nodded and looked at Dandelion. “I think it’s what got Radagast moving,” I added. “He spoke with Saeradan about it.”

“Oh?” she replied and perked up. “I know that Ranger! He’s quite serious, but I’ve wandered a bit with him after I retired in Bree.” She set her hands in her lap with a bright smile at me. “How is he, these days? Is that young Grimey Proudfoot still hanging about hoping to be of service to him?”

Candaith looked from her to me in slight bemusement. “Ah, Gammer, he’s Master of Apprentices, now,” I hurriedly informed her. “But we shouldn’t get sidetracked. Candaith was telling us a story.”

She fluttered her hands again. “Oh, deary me! I’m so sorry. Continue.”

He took a breath and let it out again in a soft sigh, but his faint smile told me that he wasn’t upset. “I think that no ordinary storm visited Amon Sûl that night,” Candaith told us both after a moment. “I want to know what it might have been.” He set his forearms on his knees as he crouched by the fire. “I ask you to search the ruins atop Weathertop tomorrow and see if there is anything to find, my friends. If you do find anything out of the ordinary, return to me immediately.” He motioned. “In the meantime, I’ll have the letters looked at so we know what to expect. I would have you both go right now, but you need to recover a little tonight, and by the time you got up to the summit and started back down again, the darkness would make it treacherous.” He added after, “Well, more treacherous, at least. There seem to be orcs wandering up to it from the base, here, and I’m uncertain as to why.”

I watched him pour a bit of hot water into the herbs already in the cup waiting. It would need to steep for a bit, but Dandelion didn’t seem to mind. I listened in the silence to the insects chirping and making noises in the growing dusk. “How do you mean to get the letters translated?” I finally asked. “I don’t know of anyone nearby, do you?”

Candaith hesitated before speaking. “It would take far too long for me to travel to the person I know and then come back, even by horse. I can send a message to him and an answer should arrive in a day, two at most. Crows and ravens fly much faster than I could walk or either of our horses could run.” His mouth formed a firm line. “Which means I have to leave now to save time. I hope by the time you both can make it to the summit of Weathertop and then back down again, I should have the answers that we need from these letters.”

He picked up the tin cup to bring it to Dandelion, who thanked him politely, and then she said, “It should most likely take a day up and then another one down even if we go by the roads left on it. Travelers use the lower areas for camping purposes, I’ve heard, but they don’t go to the top unless they mean to stay more than a single day. The going is rough and rocky when you don’t know the area.”

The Ranger nodded with a quick smile for the hobbit. “The lady is correct,” he agreed.

She chuckled. “Oh, dosh. I’m no Lady. I’ve cracked far too many skulls in my time for that nonsense!”

Candaith laughed as he returned to his things to gather what he needed. He moved with the quick assurance of one who had been used to doing so for most of his life. “I would expect no less from Morchandir’s grandmother.”

I shot him a baleful glare. “Don’t encourage her,” I growled. I’d be parting from the crazy hobbit as soon as I could slip away from her.

He shook his waterskin with a grunt at the sound before strapping it around his body and smirking at me. “If she can keep you alive and out of trouble, friend, I will encourage her to the stars and back.” He stood before them for another moment after checking for his weapons and a few other items. “Where I’m heading should take me no longer than a few hours to arrive, but I mean to stay there until the response is returned. If you come to the camp and don’t see me, wait another day or two. I should be back by then, at the very latest. My brethren will know my urgency is great.” He stepped toward me, and I rose from my seated position near Dandelion to clasp his forearm. She received a nod. “Take care until my return,” he said in farewell before setting off into the gloaming.

I watched him until he vanished. Only then did I return to my seat with Dandelion. “I’ll take first watch,” she said lightly. “You can sleep for a while, my dear.  What will we have for supper?” She set her cup of tea down and moved her own pack to be closer to her. Rummaging through it, she commented, “I have some nice, crusty bread, some cheeses, fruit, oh! A bit of ham and roast left from lunch, too!” She sounded infinitely pleased.

Is her whole satchel full of foodstuffs? I wondered in growing surprise. She kept pulling things out of it like it had been enchanted by Gandalf himself. “Grandm… err, Gammer?”

“Yes, pumpkin?” She didn’t stop when she answered.

“Gammer, why did you only bring food?” I asked after a moment. “You must have needed other supplies, too?” And then I realized it: “And how did you follow me from Bree if you had no horse?”

“Pish-posh,” Dandelion replied with a wave of her hand. “The pony is hidden safely away, and I’ll collect it later.”

“But… the wolves—”

“And you’re a growing boy,” she continued, brooking no argument. “Between the two of us, I know we’ll need quite a bit of food. Hobbits and their kin do love to eat!” She almost twinkled as she said it. “Now, come get something to nosh upon and then look to settling in for bed. I’ll tuck you in.” Part of me wanted to disagree. The rest almost did before realizing I could eat my fill and then sleep a good while after she took watch. It promptly bludgeoned my complaints to death and agreed with what she said. Maybe this arrangement isn’t as bad as I first thought, I told myself as I began to eat.

A Burg’s Tale: Chapter 17

This hero business is not what it’s made out to be, I noted as I watched more than one orc patrolling along the wooden walls of an encampment they had built along the water. “And to think, I drank from that at one point,” I muttered under my breath in disgust. Orc filth along a waterfall, leading off to the Marshes via other waterfalls… You’d think they might have learned some habits from the Men and Elves they had come across, but I had yet to see them clean or pick up after themselves. To say nothing of their eating habits, I also noted with a grimace, spotting one of their number tearing at a boned leg of some form, heedless of the mess it made down its front, before tossing the remnants aside into a pile with other offal inside.

This was Bleakrift. I had made my way across the river at a ford and then over the opposite hill to find myself in front of a small entrance leading to the bottom of some falls. Orcs guarded the entrance they had built there, but I had managed to sneak past them without incident. More of them wandered through the area that I had to avoid, but at least the sound of the rushing water made my sneaking simple. They couldn’t hear me; I just had to make sure they didn’t see me, and I was set.

I had come across a chest as I walked and found myself drawn to it as a burglar would be. It took no time at all to open the lock on the box and find what was within. The valuables were more or less trinkets to me, but I pocketed them, nonetheless. Whatever the reason for them being in an orc camp, I knew the orcs themselves weren’t creators to make and care for these types of items. No, they belonged to Men or Elves, and perhaps Candaith would know who exactly I should return them to. For a price, of course. My altruism only went so far.

I found Bleakrift to be filled with rope bridges, orcs, and more of the chests scattered about. More than once, I saw the orcs squabbling among themselves viciously. Violence ended anywhere in death to maiming with very little in the way of innocuous fisticuffs involved. I knew I should keep moving whenever one broke out, but I had to listen to see who this Uzorr was and where he might be – a free show never hurt matters, in the process. Other orcs either did the same as I or broke up the fighting as soon as they could with threats of doom from those above them. “Aren’t enough of us,” one of them snarled at the two who had been scuffling. “Kill each other some other time.”

Even that information was useful to me. There aren’t reinforcements coming any time soon, I thought as they shuffled off, grumbling, to get back to their duties. Interesting. Whatever orcs are here, that’s all that are here. Any that I kill off besides Uzorr will be one less to harm the people in this land and others.

It gave me a new impetus to try and eliminate as many of the creatures as I possibly could. I needed to corner them one on one to do it, though, and there were far too many of them for only me to handle. I would need help that I didn’t have right now. Candaith would have to do that part at some point and fulfill his words about running the orcs out of the Lone-lands at some point. I wished, briefly, that I didn’t have such a standoffish attitude when it came to others. I needed friends to travel with if I meant to make more of an impact.

I found I wanted to do so. I had been given a duty and, like my past training as a fighter had drilled into me, I now wanted to complete that duty better than expected. My duty was to help save the lands I now roamed from Angmar, the Witch-King, and Sauron however I might. I couldn’t do it alone and realized that as I stood, hidden, inside this large orc camp befouling the waters of the Midgewater Pass. I would have to worry about it later. The middle of an orc camp was no place for an identity crisis.

Tents lined the path leading up the hill of Bleakrift. I used them to my advantage as I crept further up and around. Yet another rope and wood bridge faced me across a span, making me sigh.  It was the third one I would need to cross in this camp, and the hardest by far. Finding time to sneak across and avoid the orcs had thus far been possible by only the skin of my teeth, given its open aired nature, but I had timed it just right so that their attention remained elsewhere. This one had sentries posted that refused to move or look away. I could see, across the bridge, where the path turned and moved up to a circle of stones and boulders creating a cul-de-sac with a table and at least one tent nearby. It had to be Uzorr’s nest up there. Nest? Lair? Did orcs have nests? I wondered in idle speculation.

I would have to fight to get to it. I had the fact that fighting seemed common here to protect me from more than the sentries getting involved, at least. Surly things, I mused as I contemplated my first move. Maybe you should call yourself an orc instead of a troll so it fits more.

The idea hit me without warning. Distraction. Fighting among themselves – the combination might just work to get me across. I had no idea just yet of how I might come back over but given I might not be alive to do so, I felt that particular situation could be a focus for later. Cross that bridge when you get to it? I mused privately. My son would’ve enjoyed that joke.

Searching the ground where I stood, I gathered a few stones sized just right for throwing but also for leaving an impact. It couldn’t be a biting fly to get swatted away and ignored; no, these would be felt and noticed for what they were. I then waited and moved to another hiding place angled so that my throws would hit my chosen target whenever another orc passed him, and he couldn’t see what happened. The patrolling orc walked past on his path, stopped to look around with a bored air, and turned to go back the way it had come. I waited until it had taken several steps onto the bridge before flinging the first stone. It plinked sharply off one of the orc sentry’s shoulders to fall and roll away. The victim grunted and looked over at it with a frown as it came to a stop. He turned away again. I aimed another one at the second sentry and did the same with an identical reaction, though the first orc looked at it with growing irritation. I waited until the solitary patrol returned, did his thing, and walked back toward the other side before repeating the activity.

This time, the first orc rounded and snorted with a glare at the orc on the bridge. “You think throwing things is funny?” he demanded.

The patrol halted and looked back in confusion. “Throwing what things?”

The stationary orc made a disgusted sound and turned back around at his post, but his companion nearby muttered, “I should stab him if he does it again.”

“Me too.”

Silence. They shot nasty looks at the baffled orc this time as he came to the end of his route, stopped, and then turned back around. He said with difficulty before he moved off, “Maybe it a craban?”

“Shut up.”

“Why would it be a bird?” demanded the other in a growl. The orc moved off again with a wave of his thick-fingered hands without arguing.

A few steps later, I threw a bigger stone. It ricocheted off of the first orc’s head, and he put his hand up to the area to rub it as he turned back with a snarl. So did his companion. The patrol kept walking even as the other two got onto the bridge to follow him. Upon feeling the commotion on the planks beneath him, the sentry turned around to find himself being rushed by the two larger guards. He fled to the other side, turned, and drew his weapons to make a stand. It had the added benefit of drawing the attention of the other two sentries on the opposite side so that they, too, drew their weapons.

The fight was a vicious one. Orcs didn’t seem to need much to go after one another with the intent to kill and maim. I took the opportunity to head over the bridge to the other side and left it as soon as they had moved away far enough. I had barely hidden myself on the other side when the roaring of the officers sounded as they arrived to break it up. I didn’t move until the area had been cleared once again. Two orc corpses got dragged off over the bridge while the rest went to lick their wounds. That was easy, I noted mentally. How do they manage to fight together when they seem to hate each other so much?

I headed up to my next hiding spot quickly and quietly and soon, I could see a hulking orc moving around a campfire in front of a hide tent. He was armored and fierce, but he didn’t seem all that intelligent. Uzorr, I identified him privately. The table just outside had several documents that he had seemingly been looking over before the latest fight occurred. I slipped closer to the tent, swiped the documents, secured them in my clothing, and hid again to wait for a chance to strike at the War-master. I had half of my mission done. I had to finish it.

I was about to move when an orc approached who seemed to have some modicum of power. I thought I recognized the creature from earlier not by its looks but by its armor. It slowed, straightened its back, and strode into the tent as if unafraid. Having to report to the boss about the unrest, are we? I asked the officer with a little twitch up of my lips. Never a good thing.

“Two more dead?” bellowed Uzorr. “Do we grow on trees?”

I don’t know, do you? I asked myself, suddenly primed for an answer to where baby orcs came from. I remained disappointed a moment later. “No, War-master,” the officer replied as humbly as he could manage. “The others… they grow anxious. Nothing to focus on but each other. Can we just—”

The sound of a heavy blow made me wince, accompanied as it was by a grunt of some form. I recognized the sound of someone getting backhanded before Uzorr snarled, “If you can’t make them obey, then I will find another who can!”

“No! War-master, I’ll control them,” the officer pleaded. “Right now!”

“Right now!” Uzorr agreed. It was followed by the officer’s hasty retreat from the tent as he scurried down the path. He didn’t slow until he came into full sight of the other orcs. Is that how it is? I wondered with a purse of my lips and a beetling brow. They fight together against a common enemy but lacking one, they turn on one another? Is that violence so bred into them they have little control over it?

I could hear a commotion near the entrance at the bottom of the falls and wondered if the officer might be at the end of his tenure, after all. Uzorr threw one flap of the tent aside to stride out, wielding a spiked mace, and look down at what he could see but growled in frustration. The angle didn’t seem right, given he then moved to walk a bit lower down. This would be now or never. He hadn’t noticed the missing papers and wouldn’t expect an attack from behind. Slipping my knives free, I went soft footed toward his paused back, intent on aiming for the holes and gaps in his armor to make it quick. I couldn’t hold out for long against him otherwise. Orcs seemed built to withstand most attacks.

I only got one shot at him. Coming in from the southwest, I plunged my knives into the spaces beneath his arms, where his armor didn’t cover – or would have, had the blasted orc not started turning at the last moment. Just like before, one knife slid home and I pulled it free while the other missed its mark. Not for lack of aiming, this time, but due to the sudden shift of Uzorr’s bulky bicep into the path. When he roared and turned, I received the full strength of the back of his hand. I felt the blow rattle my entire chest as I staggered back, tripped, and crashed to the ground. I hadn’t kept my knife this time, nor was it anywhere near where I could retrieve it. The second had bounced away as well. My only saving grace from having my breastbone or ribs caved in was my light armor beneath my clothing.

This isn’t good, I thought to myself as Uzorr bared his fangs at me from beneath the visored helm. I couldn’t see his face through it nor did I really want to. “Puny little Man!” he stated as he came for me.

I lashed out with a foot for his leg and he dodged it. It gave me a moment to get to my feet in a crouching position, though, and to whip a throwing dagger through the air aimed for his neck above the chainmail he wore. He tried to dodge it and it caught him high in the ball of his shoulder to stick there. He reached up, tore it free, and threw it aside before charging me once again with the mace at the ready. I needed some other kind of weapon. The only place I could think of to get one at this point would be inside one of the tents.

At his newest assault, I turned and darted toward the first tent. Throwing it open, I came face to face with a gangly looking orc who blinked at me, still half-asleep, in utter confusion. A glance told me there were no weapons other than a bow inside. I heard Uzorr’s approach and roar, threw myself aside toward his tent, and heard the orc inside scream as he took the full brunt of his war-master’s mace blow to the head. It was truncated and came with a sickening crunching noise that I didn’t try to think about. Instead, I threw myself into Uzorr’s tent and found what I was after: a shortsword that seemed like it would do.

Not that Uzorr cared about his now-dead archer. He came in swinging as I ducked and rolled out. “Why couldn’t Candaith have wanted me to destroy these tents?” I asked myself aloud breathlessly. “I can do that!” Uzorr barreled out again after me as I finally stood my ground.

He rushed in and I tried to combat him. He was stronger, though, and despite scoring several deep wounds on his exposed arms and legs, he had the superior strength. I could outrun him but for how long? Sooner rather than later, one of his minions would notice our fight and come to help. He swung for me, missed, and in his own tiring state, failed to bring himself back to a defensive position before my shortsword had removed his mace-wielding hand at the wrist.

The howl that erupted from Uzorr made me realize my own mortality. There was no way the rest of the camp didn’t hear that, I realized with cold horror. I only had that much time to think it, too, before the orc had driven his shoulder into my body to propel me backward. I didn’t know where I was going until my back and head contacted the table I had stolen the orders from and buckled it under the force of my landing.

My ears rang for a long moment. I lay there, stunned, until the stench-filled breath of the War-master washed over my face to say, “Now, you will die, Man!” When he grabbed my throat, the grip was mighty for it being his off hand. I choked instantly, my breath cut off, and clawed instinctively at the meaty extremity trying to kill me. My other hand flapped around searching for something, anything, to use as a weapon to make him release me and came up with nothing. The shortsword had vanished somewhere along with my knives earlier. Is this it? I asked myself as my lungs burned and the blood pounded in my ears. Is this how it ends for me? So much elf queens in my dream and becoming a better person for my son to be proud of. I couldn’t even make it to Radagast as I was told.

I knew I was about to pass out from a lack of air when I spotted, behind Uzorr, a tiny set of hands gripping a shield lifted above him in the rapidly incoming darkness. You wanted to see your son so badly you’re hallucinating him saving you, I told myself as I blacked out. So much for famous last words…

A Burg’s Tale: Chapter 16

We spoke until nightfall before Candaith stated that he would take first watch in order for me to get some rest. He told me to borrow one of the bedrolls in his tent and, when it was my turn to take watch, he would have the other. “It’s better for me to hunt in the night,” I tried to argue.

“They see much better in the dark than the light,” he countered. “They’re creatures of darkness and evil, Morchandir. It’s been bred into their blood and bone for generations. If you can hide and sneak around through them in the darkness effectively, then you’ll be a burglar of some renown, indeed.”

I had found Candaith to be a scholar and far too serious, much like the other Rangers that I had encountered thus far, but for this particular one, knowledge seemed to be both his calling and his bane. He reminded me of a pair of scholars who I had left in charge of my son leagues and leagues to the east and north from these Weather Hills. I found myself listening to Candaith and asking him questions about history and cultures long after I normally grew bored of such pursuits.

My sleep remained fitful less due to the ground, which I’d become accustomed to, and more because of my worries. When I woke to take second watch, I found myself sluggish. Sleep when you’re dead, I chastised myself silently. But let’s not go dying any time soon tonight.

The Ranger seemed more used to the smallish bouts of sleep than even I was as, when he woke near dawn, he seemed no less chipper and awake than before he’d fallen asleep the evening before. He busied himself with creating a bit of tea to go with the rations he had and outlined his plan of action. While I was out thinning the number of orcs that had moved into the area, he would scout around the base of Weathertop and then out to Midgewater Pass for signs of Radagast. If I made it back before him, which seemed highly likely, I was to keep the horses quiet and make sure that the camp remained unseen by anyone or anything passing by.

I had never encountered an orc before. They stayed away from the trading routes we took, or perhaps we took the routes they didn’t want to risk confrontations on, but I knew of them. The other guards and merchants often spoke of their own stories, never personal and always friend of a friend, with details that made them seem ten feet tall and immortal. Warriors of Sauron, they claimed, hard to kill and so hideous they put a mortal fear into you so you wanted to run.

I had met something like that since then, though, and it wasn’t an orc. No, it had been far worse.

Candaith left when I did to head in another direction. It took him very little time to vanish as I watched from afar. He knows what he’s doing, I approved silently before doing the same. He didn’t put me off of him immediately as Strider had done, nor had he seemed as stern and reserved as Saeradan; instead, I had quickly found him more personable and likeable. These thoughts entertained me right up until I found the first orc.

It could be nothing other than an orc, despite the mismatch between what I had been told of it in the past and the reality – and the reality seemed far worse in some way. Part of me wanted to pity the thing as I watched it patrolling a route I had yet to discern. Armored, armed, it stood less than my height but had a build far heavier and more muscular. It walked slumped over slightly and hulking, plodding even, with an air of complete ignorance for its own safety. Arrogance, perhaps, or even hatred for what it saw around it. Everything from its jutting teeth to its unnatural skin tone spoke of ages spent with its bloodline being twisted until nothing could be recognized of what it might once have been. This is Sauron’s hand in the world, I realized with startling clarity. Everything from the dead to the living warps into terrible things. Nothing natural and good could have been born this way. I didn’t want to think about how orcs and other things like it might have been produced.

Scarred, hideous, and – as I noticed it staring blankly at a hare bounding away from it fearfully – possibly completely stupid, I forced down the slight shudder that moved through me at the thought of having to contact the creature. A shift in the wind brought the reek of it to me and I shook my head once sharply. Was this what Sauron would have us become?

I moved out of my hiding place and ended its life with a well-thrown dagger into the space between its collar and the end of its head. It flailed a moment as everything inside it seemed to panic at once before it dropped to the ground, twitching, as it died. I waited for it to go still and glassy eyed before warily retrieving my weapon. I had to clean it with a cloth after and swore that I would burn it once I had finished my mission for the Ranger. The stains and stench would never come out of it, I was sure.

Some of the orcs I killed carried bows while others had melee weapons. A few spotted me and fought like savage, rabid animals before I dispatched them. The archers were stringy and tall with lighter armor than the melee classes carrying their clubs and axes and such. I headed back to Candaith’s camp once I couldn’t find more than the handful wandering on their own.

He arrived an hour after me looking troubled and grim. Or, at least, grimmer than he had when he left. “There are fourteen less orcs to worry with out there,” I greeted him. “It’s not much, but I hope that it helps at least a little.”

He settled by the dormant firepit. “I thank you, Morchandir, but my thanks are tempered with concern; I have never seen a force of Orcs like this in Eriador before today: organized and well-provisioned. They hold an encampment in an outlet within the Midgewater Pass and bear a strange charge on their banners and shields… one that I have not seen before.”

I shook my head. “Wouldn’t they have hundreds of… groups?” I squinted. “Tribes? Families? What do you call these types of gatherings for orcs?”

“Tribes,” Candaith replied. “There are several, but they’re fairly long-standing. Ongbúrz, Tarkrîp, Krahjarn… those are three of the most powerful, along with the Blogmal, though they’re very small. The Krahjarn are the most powerful. I doubt you’d see them outside of Angmar, in fact.” He laced his fingers together around a knee before leaning back in thought. “I know their standards and several that are lesser. This one, however…” He shook his head. “Either it is a very new tribe or one that has escaped our notice in some remote area until now, though for it to be here in the Lone-lands means it must have received marching orders some time ago. I have no idea why my brethren have yet to send word along its path of its approach if that is the case. They don’t have the look of Mordor orcs, either”

My confusion grew. “There’s a difference?” I motioned toward the wilds of the hills. “How can you tell? They’re all horrendous.”

He chuckled humorlessly. “That they are, Morchandir, my friend. However, the closer one gets to Mordor and Sauron, the more twisted and unnatural things become. Wargs become larger and more ferocious. Animals twist around to become something larger and eviler than their normal kin. Goblins and orcs are the same.” He waved a hand. “They’re different by tribe as well and that may be more pertinent to identification.” He fell silent once more. “The tribe at this encampment in the Midgewater Pass, however, is unlike any of the orcs I have seen or read about. It troubles me greatly.”

My lips pressed together. “Would Radagast know anything about them, you think?” I asked. I didn’t feel confident that he would. He seemed too interested in the natural world. Though are orcs now part of the natural world, as long as they seem to have been around? I wondered privately.

Candaith had moved on, however. “That might be.” He gathered his thoughts again. “Their numbers at this camp are great but the day may come when we can drive them howling from the Lone-lands. Not today, I fear, but perhaps not far off.” His fingers unlaced from around his knee. “There is another matter that demands our attention, an urgent matter; we will see to the destruction of their camp in the Midgewater Pass later.”

Oh no, I sighed. Here it comes. Part of me had expected more to be asked of me in this venture, especially given the problems in these lands that I had been sent to help unravel; however, I had been hoping that it might become more streamlined once away from Bree. Not as many people seemed to live in this area to need my help.

“As I began my search for Radagast, near the Midgewater Pass,” Candaith explained, “I witnessed an Orc-messenger depart in great haste.” That would make sense if there’s an entire unknown tribe camping there, I nearly told him. “Quickly, I followed, trailing him eastwards along the shoulder of the hills and then south, but my search was interrupted. I could follow no further, for foul crebain circled above, and to be discovered would do greater injury to our work here than I can permit.”

“Bloody birds,” I growled with a roll of my eyes. “Where do you think this messenger is going?”

He shrugged slightly. “That, I have no real idea about, yet. Rather, not the exact location.” He puffed out a little sigh. “Once again, I must call upon your aid.” He seemed guilty about having to ask. I suddenly wasn’t sure I liked that idea – did he not feel I was up to the challenge? Or was it simply he didn’t want anyone put in danger? “The messenger likely carries with him orders to the outlying camps. If you can intercept the messenger, we may learn the nature of these orders. So armed, we will be better equipped to deal with the Orc-threat.” He rose and pointed. “Search among the Orc-camps in Glumhallow, to the west, and return to me with the orders this messenger surely possesses. I will seek sign of Radagast’s passage elsewhere.” He dropped his arm. “We must know the full scope of this invasion, Morchandir.”

I got to my feet with a stretch that cracked my tendons pleasantly. “And here I thought I would have a few more hours to rest,” I grumbled. “I’m going to enjoy punching this messenger in the face.”

The Ranger laughed slightly. “Most of us do when it’s one of the Enemy’s minions.”

We traveled up the high slope and around to the north a ways before halting. He let me physically see the route he took with the messenger and where Glumhallow and the other camps sat in comparison so that I could understand the lay of the land a little better. “The orc is dressed in black armor,” he explained to me. “You can’t miss him when you see him.” I nodded and set off in the opposite direction of him. I hadn’t traveled long before I came across more orcs and dispatched them as quickly as I could.

Candaith was right, however, when he said that I wouldn’t be able to overlook this messenger. Tall and not as bulky as some of the orc fighters I had killed, yet not as long and thin as the archers, the creature moved with the sure gait of one who had a mission to accomplish and didn’t care about the state of its environment. With nothing really around in the Lone-lands, I could understand how it had no real desire or need to conceal itself. Candaith had named it “he” and I had to wonder, as I stalked my prey, what exactly female orcs looked like. Surely, there were some. How would new orcs come into being? Goblins? Other monstrosities? The hills around me made it difficult to get ahead of the armored figure without a great deal of huffing and puffing and panting on my part. I needed an ambush if I meant to win. That he was on foot, too, meant that the missive was wither unimportant or the orcs had little enough reason to learn how to ride horses over eating them.

I managed to get ahead of him in his path along the bottom of a raised area with a series of boulders and scrub trees atop it. While I caught my breath, I looked at the path he would take to come around it and judged my distance accordingly. I could drop onto him from above. He held an axe of some fashion, one of efficient if crude make that I could only feel was orcish in nature, but it was his armor that had my most interest. As he neared enough for me to study it briefly, I pulled my knives out swift and silent. Chainmail, I grunted internally. Bloody chainmail. At least the stupid thing had left his neck, elbows, and most of his legs bared.

I waited for him to pass just far enough before I dropped down behind him. One long knife swept up and in toward his underarm on the left while the other came from behind to slit his thick, sinewy throat. The stench-filled air suddenly included a low grunt before the orc turned and knocked me flying with one mailed fist before I could complete the slash to its jugular. I fell into the ridge wall and felt the dirt and loose rocks as they tumbled down around me. Stunned, it took me a moment to blink before I could move.

The messenger bellowed at me far weaker than it might without having one lung punctured. It lunged for me with its axe upraised and brought it down as I managed to collect myself enough to roll away. I grabbed up one of my fallen knives, given they had dropped from my nerveless fingers upon impact with the ridge, and slashed down at one of the orc’s hamstrings. I had to keep moving, though. My opponent most surely did, even after losing the use of one of his legs. With a bellow of rage, he turned and ripped the axe free of the earthen prison holding it in order to swing at me with both arms. He missed his mark given his leg couldn’t hold him any longer, and he staggered for balance. I kicked at the remaining leg’s knee to break it and found myself rewarded with a crunching noise that heralded the orc’s body collapsing to the ground.

It coughed out blood at last and slashed at me with the axe. Ground them and they become helpless, that’s what I had been taught and had learned through practice. That wasn’t against orcs, though, but rather against Men. Orcs, it seemed, were far tougher than the average warrior. This one had a ruptured lung, internal bleeding, a slice that had nearly severed the artery in its throat, and no useable legs. Instead of yielding, the armored creature got to both useless knees as if it felt no pain and tried to rise again, slashing at me when I moved in close enough to attempt another strike, causing me to dance back. It snarled with bloody bubbles coming from its lips and hatred seething from its barely seen gaze beneath the helm. Testing how well it could swivel from its position, I darted to the right and then abruptly moved left around it instead in a pair of long, striding bounds.

It had no way to follow me. All of its weight sat on its broken knee and the hamstrung side had no way to push it around. Before it could do more than swing at me from where it had its torso twisted, given the idea of falling to its back might occur to it, I had enough pity to affect a coup de grâce. I leaped back and waited for it to be dead before approaching it, still wary, to examine the corpse. I wrinkled my nose and tried to breathe through my mouth as my gloved hands went over its belt pouch to pull out whatever it had within, paper included, but I found a surprising amount of valuable items that I could sell later as well. Gems, trinkets, little things. The axe had no value except for its metal, and even then, I wasn’t so sure. The mail, however… even decorated with the white paint that smeared it, both helm and shirt might be worth something to an armorer or metalsmith. With another good look around after tucking my newfound gains away, I wrestled the pieces off the heavy orc’s form, wrapped them together with some leather thongs I carried with me, and set back off toward Candaith’s encampment with the faint sounds of clanking that accompanied the other metallic bits contacting one another and myself.

He heard me coming, this time, given he’d arrived first. Emerging from the trees, he sucked on his teeth slightly and greeted me with, “This may be a liability for us until you leave, Morchandir. That noise can be followed.”

“Not if I leave it here until I’m ready to depart,” I replied immediately. “It deprives them of some protection and will fetch me some money once I’m in a settlement.” I moved toward Neeker to secure it to him.

Candaith held up a hand to halt me. “One moment. May I see it?” I cast him a strange look before shrugging the armor off my shoulders and settling them gently on the ground. He took up the mailed shirt and unbound it to spread it out on the ground. After a moment of adjusting it, flipping it over, and resettling it, he frowned down at it and pointed at the white hand mark dripping along the front. “This, you see? This is what I mentioned before about being unknown.” He tapped some of the links. “They may have stolen this armor from some poor soul along the way. Orc craftsmanship isn’t this intricate and good, nor do they have access to the proper tools and resources even if it were.” He fingered the metallic rings before dropping them with a soft metallic noise. “Each tribe has its own image or sigil, like an iron crown on a field of dark blue or black. That’s the Ongbúrz from Angmar.” He looked up at me. “This isn’t from any banner I know of, large tribe or small, and yet it’s here in the Lone-lands. Orcs are here in the Lone-lands.” He set a fist on the upraised knee he still had while crouching next to the armor. I could sense the frustration coming from him almost tangibly.

He seemed worse off than when he had left me earlier and I took a good look at him for the first time. Something seemed to be missing from him and I didn’t know what. “Would it help to know that this came from the messenger and that I have the orders you sent me after?” I asked, hoping to cheer him even slightly.

He sighed and rose to his feet. “It would, at least a little.” I fished out the paper for him and he took it before turning to the campfire site. I rolled up the shirt noisily and tied it up again before moving off to get things set on Neeker.

I hadn’t even secured everything properly before I heard his low cursing. I didn’t ask him about it until I had everything finished and had returned to the campfire site myself. “The news isn’t good, I see,” I offered drolly.

“I can’t tell from what’s written, but I can in how.” He waved the papers. “These orders are written in the Black Speech, Morchandir, a tongue I have never desired to learn.”

“Black Speech?” I asked blankly. “I’ve never heard of it.”

“The tongue of Mordor. Of Sauron,” he replied grimly. “He created it to use as a common language for his servants long, long ago. It is said that he even inscribed it upon the Ring he created that ended the Second Age. Not many know of it, even among his followers, today. That it has shown up here…” He shook his head. “I should have prepared for this, but I hoped that we would learn something useful immediately.”

“If it’s not used that much, you couldn’t have foreseen it,” I pointed out. “Why did you never learn it?”

“It’s unpleasant to those of us who are Free Folk.” He shuddered slightly. “Simply listening to it spoken by another, even the Elves, can make one feel the darkness inherent. I had no wish to taint my mind and my dreams with that knowledge.” He took a breath and released it slowly. “While you were seeking these orders, I followed signs of Radagast through the hills. I was not far along in this pursuit as a patrol of Orcs soon happened upon my location!”

I nodded slowly. “Ahh. So that’s why you beat me back here. I had expected to arrive first, again.”

He pressed his lips together. “No. But this is part of my current dismay. I was forced to break off my pursuit, and I lost my bow as I evaded the Orcs beneath the eaves of the wood.” That’s it, I realized. It’s his bow. He doesn’t have one and did when we parted earlier. “It was a close thing, Morchandir.” His tone turned thoughtful. “A close encounter that yielded insight into the Orc’s leadership.”

I grunted. “Given how tough the messenger was to keep down, I can only imagine what facing several at once might be like. The orcs I killed earlier for you were far easier to put down than that one.”

“Given he had on the armor,” Candaith offered, “it’s a sure bet he had some rank or skills that the archers and warriors didn’t. They would give the better armor to those with more respect. The others that we’ve seen have rudimentary pieces here and there rather than all of what you brought back.” He half-smiled at me. “You did well, for your part, and soon we will understand the intentions of these Orcs as well as their leadership.” The smile faded. “I only wish I had been able to keep up my end of the bargain.”

I hesitated for a moment. “You’re a Ranger,” I said hesitantly. “Why couldn’t you face them and destroy them? You seem to know more about them than I do and have more skills in that vein.”

He chuckled without humor. “That is debatable. However, what I said about their leadership is the real reason.” His eyes narrowed. “‘I would have easily evaded the Orcs I pursued, Morchandir, were it not for the War-master that travelled with them. “Uzorr,” they called him and gave to him what respect that their kind reserve for their strongest and fiercest warriors.” He ran his teeth over his lower lip. “It is likely that Uzorr returned to Bleakrift within the Midgewater Pass, for that seemed to be his domain. He must be slain, and whatever orders were given him recovered.”

“Good luck,” I began to reply. I stopped when I saw his bemused expression. “Right. I’m up, again, aren’t I?”

“Bleakrift is north-west of here, on the north-eastern edge of the Midgewater Pass, surrounded by a shallow body of water,” Candaith said with a vague smile. “Defeat War-master Uzorr and look for a letter of some kind near his person. Return to me victorious and we will discuss further what must be done.” He rose to his feet. “Bleakrift is likely to be a dangerous place, Morchandir, be careful. I will continue my search for Radagast.”

Well, that’s nice to know, I thought with a grimace. I would hate to think I have to put myself in grave danger doing all of this while you sit here unable to find Radagast like you said. “Dangerous, yes. Especially for someone who had trouble with a messenger orc.”

Candaith shook his head. “You’re a burglar, my friend. You can manage to make it inside and then out again quickly and quietly if you choose. Never think that you’re not helping more than myself with these things. If you’re searching for Radagast, your importance cannot be underestimated.” Maybe not, but I’d like for it to be underestimated for maybe an hour while I have a nap and some food, I groused silently. Perhaps sensing my weariness, he smirked and motioned at Neeker. “Grab food and drink if you want. I’m going to start off. Stay cautious, friend.”

A Burg’s Tale: Chapter 15

The journey through the woods and terrain through and around Midgewater took most of a day even on Saeradan’s plucky little mare. I had to make camp halfway through tucked away in a safe little overlook so both my campfire and my horses wouldn’t draw attention. Orcs, goblins, wolves, and other beasts roamed through the rocky outcrops and forested trails just as Saeradan had said. I had already defended myself more than once from their aggressions and had run away on the mare, who Saeradan said was named Flower, almost as many times. Neeker seemed content to follow her without balking or falling behind even when fleeing danger.

And now, I sat across from a somber-faced Ranger and his campfire. I had galloped almost past his hidden area while escaping a pack of wolves when his aid helped chase them off. His tent remained tucked away near the upward slope of the nearby hill while a horse stood tethered nearby. Even the fire itself gave off little smoke. Our introductions had been quick yet simple. “I would have let you pass but for recognizing the mare you rode,” he explained after we had settled down. “I know Flower well. Saeradan sent you.”

“More or less,” I agreed. Candaith, though not quite as tall as me, was still above average height. It felt odd for me to only look down on him a little rather than the usual. Rangers, I reminded myself. The tall ones aren’t adopted in and wearing non-Westron names. They have a bloodline back to Númenor, no matter how diluted at this point. However, at his confused expression and the slow tug down of the fabric covering his nose and mouth, I explained, “Gandalf sent me to Saeradan in an attempt to find Radagast the Brown. Saeradan said he had come this way and that you might have seen him do so.”

Candaith’s features altered at the name of the wizards. He had a more critical once-over of me that seemed briefly wary before altering back to relaxed. “Radagast the Brown?” My sudden upwelling of hope died almost instantly as he shook his head “I have not seen him and know not of his passing, but there is a cold and a shadow that has come to these lands of late.”

I nodded at his words. “It has something to do with a gaunt-man and Agamaur, or something trapped in that place. That’s all that I really know, though. It’s why I’ve been sent to find Radagast; however, I’m under the impression that you came here to investigate the lightning up there.” I pointed toward the looming mass of Weathertop nearby. “Radagast apparently left sometime after you.”

He again shook his head. “He may have taken another path from mine to get here. Such is the way of wizards. It is said that he has powers related to nature and the beasts inside of it. If that is the case, then Radagast may have found his path far less challenged than either of our own, given the number of hostile creatures between Saeradan’s cabin and this place.”

“There are spiders in the Marshes big enough to ride, I’m told. I wouldn’t put it past him or Gandalf to do just that.” I gently lifted my hands to remove my own mask after I’d spoken. It seemed proper and right to do so, what with Candaith exposing his features to me first.

He chuckled without comment at first, but after I had set my mask aside, he scrutinized me closely for several moments. What is with all of these Rangers studying me like a new artifact? I wondered privately as I caught him doing so from the corner of my eye. First Saeradan and now this one? When I turned to meet his gaze and challenge him with it, Candaith relented. “Saeradan’s word comes late to the Lone-lands,” he replied instead. “If Radagast the Brown passed into these lands then perhaps hope is not lost in this place.”

Something about what he said left me uneasy. “Is it in other places?”

He pressed his lips together and his tone became grim. “I have returned only recently from a journey in lands far to the east, lands held firmly in the grip of evil.”

Alarm moved through me. My son lay to the east, over the Misty Mountains. “How far that way?” I countered. “And how long ago?”

He regarded me with more interest for my reaction. “Rhun,” he answered. “Months, given I just arrived. Though Northern Mirkwood is hardly any better.” As I relaxed, he chose not to press the issue. “Rhun has been under the control of Sauron for a very long time, though. The only hope of its redemption may be the final destruction of Sauron himself.”

I held my expression neutral as I looked toward Neeker and Flower. I couldn’t say anything about Strider and his mission nor of the Ring that one of the hobbits carried. “Then we can only hope it happens soon,” I replied evenly. It was hardly a lie.

“Too right.” He frowned at the fire as I returned my gaze to him. “When I returned from that journey, I learned to my dismay that evil does not stir in the East alone.”

I chuckled humorlessly. “No, it has a tendency to live everywhere.”

He glanced up at me again. “More than that.” His forearms settled on his knees and his hands rubbed together in idle thought. “Goblins now roam to the south, while their larger and more ferocious cousins among the Orcs spread through the Weather Hills like a festering plague.” I kept silent in the knowledge that he had more to say. I found my hunch correct when he stated, “I must find the main body of the Orcs.” His expression tensed slightly. “If you will assist me in driving back the Enemy in these hills, I will begin the search for Radagast the Brown. What say you?”

“Not much choice, is there?” I motioned at him. “You have tracking skills as a Ranger that I don’t. If I leave here, where am I going to go searching for Radagast on my own? I don’t have much knowledge of this area. Even if I did have an idea, if I found any information that would help us both out after I left, I don’t have the ability to find this camp without a guide or at least the time to familiarize myself with how it’s laid out in comparison to Weathertop there.” I nodded my head toward the massive hill with its ruins. “And, to be fair, if I’m here that long, I may as well help you anyway.”

He smirked a little. “You’re far cleverer than the average man. I would have mistaken you for a Ranger, yourself, were it not for the accent and the rather strange desire to wear a bird’s face over your own.”

I glanced askance at my mask and felt an answering smirk twitch up my lips. “Have you seen the thing its hiding? I consider it a blessing.” Changing the topic, I then asked, “Are there Rangers in the south?”

His brow creased. “How far south do you mean? We’re not the most numerous. Though I’m sure some of my brethren have wandered through those lands and beyond the same as I have in the East.”

And there are definitely none in Enedwaith or Dunland, I said silently. Not if the rumors that come from those lands are at all true. “I guess you aren’t named Rangers because you sit at home doing needlework.”

His laugh was pleasant and true even if it sounded as if he didn’t often use it. “Witty, too. Are you certain you’re not one of us?”

“My father died in one of Gondor’s battles when I was around five,” I explained with a lift of one shoulder. “Mother had no way to support me and left me on the street to save herself soon after. I’ve no idea where she went off to.” I stopped. “Or so I think. I wasn’t terribly old, and my memories of that time are vague. I’ve only really pieced things together from what I was told by people around me before I started wandering.”

“A Ranger by birth rather than by training,” Candaith said with a half-smile. “If you weren’t as old as you are now and still a child, you would’ve been taken in by one of us, I’m sure.”

I shook my head. “Only if you’d been there or I had been here.” I spread my hands. “Now, look at me. I’m a burglar charged by a wizard to help save the world.” I waved my hand around in a vague gesture to encompass where he had camped. “Beginning with this area, it seems.”

He slapped his hands against his knees decisively. “Stay here this evening and rest. Tomorrow, you can begin helping me while I help you. Search for Orcs among the Weather Hills, west of my camp, and thin their ranks. I will begin my efforts to find and track Radagast the Brown.” I didn’t say I’d do it, though, I nearly protested before recalling that I actually didn’t have much choice in the matter, as I’d said before. “It’s an offer that I can’t refuse,” I agreed drolly.

A Burg’s Tale: Chapter 14

Butterbur just looked at me when I returned that evening and paid for another night at the inn. It wasn’t until the next morning, long after I had seen off the others and satisfied my curiosity about my new piece of armor, that I came down for a bite of food and he finally spoke to me. “You’re sure you’re leaving this time?” he asked in dubious amusement. “No coming back unexpectedly again?”

“I’m very sure,” I replied as I leaned against his counter. “I had to make a little extra coin before I could set off with any reasonable assurance of success.”

He gestured with the rag he used to dry off his mugs and glassware. “You seem to have spent it all here regardless, Morchandir.” He laughed a little. “Which is the way of it, from what I’ve seen.”

I nodded at him as I straightened. “I’ll find a bit more on the way. I had nothing when I arrived here, though, and I have what I need now to ride out to Saeradan and hopefully beyond.”

He grunted. “Saeradan, is it?” He paused. “He might be one of them Rangers, but he doesn’t act like them. Heard he even smiles. He lives out on the Greenway somewhere as you ride toward Thornley’s.”

It was my turn to nod. “That was how I got distracted last time. I rode out there and found the Chief-Watcher and his dwarf friend in need of help.” I knocked on the armored jacket I now sported beneath my tunic. Leather, nicely made, lined with bronze metal, I didn’t want it getting in my way or showing to the enemy before they realized I had more protection on my upper body. It would help me keep from being seriously injured for the most part. I knew I couldn’t withstand a direct shot from a strong bow or a thrust from a blade yet without it piercing that armor, but at least I might survive were it to hit me. “I got a little reward worth keeping for a while, though, for rescuing Kenton Thistleway’s daughter from the brigands out that way.”

“Aye, I heard you all discussing that when you were in last night,” Barliman replied. “You’ve been a right hero around here lately, helping Bree. If I didn’t know Gandalf had given you some pressing business, I would say stick around here and help us out another while before you head off again.”

I glanced at him sharply from beneath my mask. “How did you know that?” I snapped.

He must have noticed my tension since he flapped the rag at me again dismissively as he worked. “You haven’t been shy about announcing it while in your cups, big man. Mostly to the ladies.”

I choked slightly. “Lies. I would never use that as—”

He snorted out a laugh. “Now, how did you get hit, you ask? Well, if I recall,” he drawled with glittering mischief in his eyes, “Daisy took your fancy. You got her attention with some claim that you were off on a grand mission to save the world courtesy of Gandalf the Grey himself and you danced on my table before falling off. She still wasn’t after the kiss you gave her, though, once you got back to your feet.”

I groaned and looked away. “Nnngh… that was what I said? I don’t even remember!”

“I didn’t figure as much.” He smacked his lips a moment as he regarded me. “I don’t know that she recalls it much, either, but you didn’t give away any pertinent details. Rest easy.”

I sighed. “I’ll have something to eat and drink and be on my way, then.”

Less than an hour later, I had my things back on Neeker, secured for a long journey, and pointed his head back toward the West Gate. I swore I wouldn’t stop for anything short of an emergency right in front of me, however, so that I could finally get this charge of mine started. I knew that Saeradan’s cabin sat off the Greenway somewhere without knowing exactly where. I passed Grimbriar’s home to the right as I went past it and kept my eyes open as to where a second one might be. I hadn’t spotted another one as I rode back and forth between the work site and Lofar or off toward the outlaws perch up on the hill past the farmstead and out near the lakes. I cursed myself for not thinking ahead long enough to spot it while heading up the hill to save Maribell despite knowing I hadn’t been focused on the Ranger at that point. Distractions would lead to death.

I rode past the work site and almost to where a sign pointed off to the turn toward Hengstacer Farms on the right before halting Neeker. I had to turn back and ride the way I came, frustration mounting as I did. Where in Mordor’s pits was this Ranger, anyway? I grumbled to myself silently. Does he not want to be found?

As I spotted Thornley’s work site in the distance to my right, I had almost decided I’d somehow missed it again, regardless, when I caught sight of a chimney through the trees and hedges back off from the road a little way to the left. Turning my horse toward it, and ever conscious of the bears and wolves in the area, I slowed my horse to a canter and then a walk as I came closer. “Who goes?” growled a rough male voice from just ahead.

I halted the gelding and lifted a hand to show that I didn’t mean harm. “Morchandir,” I replied. “Gandalf sent me to you for help, if you’re Saeradan the Ranger.”

An older man, balding, yet still hale materialized from the surrounding trees near the cabin to look me over. He took his time in silence, wary yet polite, while doing it and I did the same. If this was Saeradan, as I thought it might be, then he seemed taller than most average men. “Gandalf, you say?” he finally replied, focusing on my eyes through the mask. “What help can I offer him or you?”

I loosened my feet from the stirrups to swing down off the gelding and took his words to confirm his identity. “He said I needed to find Radagast the Brown.” I paused and then added, “Strider has taken his wards to the east and Gandalf had to follow them. He’s charged me to help Bree and the other lands against Angmar to the north and whatever fell spirit has taken Agamaur.”

Any other man, perhaps a lesser one, might rock back on his heels at the news but not Saeradan. He took it as if I had just asked him about the weather that day. With a nod at my word, the Ranger frowned in thought for a long moment before pursing his lips. “Come with me a bit further,” he offered with a beckoning motion from one of his hands. “It’s best if we discuss this at my home rather than standing in the open.” He turned to pace back toward the lodge I could barely see behind the line of trees, and I immediately followed him while leading Neeker.

When we arrived, I noticed there was a hobbit nearby whittling a piece of wood while leaned back comfortably in a chair and smoking his pipe. A pair of horses, one normal and one pony, stood in a paddock at the back in the shade of the ridge running behind them. “Grimey, we have a visitor. Do we have any tea left?”

The hobbit pulled his large, hairy feet down from where he had them crossed on the stone stoop of the lodge. Popping up to stand, he grinned widely and chirped, “Why, I think we do, Saeradan. We might just have a bit of treacle and bread from my baking this morning, too!”

The Ranger smiled briefly back at his associate, but I felt the need to interject before he could respond, “I’ve had a nice breakfast this morning, Master hobbit, so you don’t need to go to that point.”

He made a pffft sound and waved off my words. “Nonsense!” He moved up the stairs. “I came to make sure the Man has his cupboards full again, today! He can’t watch the road and do his duty to the other Rangers without a full belly and the strength to do so.” He stopped at the stoop and turned back to us. “You’re much larger than most Men.” He squinted at me and seemed on the verge of asking me something before subsiding at a sharper look from Saeradan. “Well, you’ll need food now or later to get that oliphaunt body of yours going,” he said a touch awkwardly. “And if you’re here, you have business that probably means you’re a Ranger even if you’re… not. So, you’ll just have to—”

“Grimey,” Saeradan interrupted him gently yet firmly. “The tea?”

“Quite!” The hobbit opened the door and vanished inside with a little too much haste. I wondered what it was he was going to ask.

I glanced down at the Ranger. He was taller than the average Man even if he didn’t have my height. “Is he always this way?” I asked with mild amusement.

“Most hobbits seem to be but yes, he is.” He motioned for me to take a seat if I wanted to. “Grimey Proudfoot was here when I arrived many years ago, some thirty at this point. He was considered a teen back then, but he took his obligation to me seriously as the first one I met and befriended me. He’s become a craftsmaster and takes on several apprentices these days for many different crafts. In fact, he’s one of the Master of Apprentices.”

He also has an unfortunate name, I wanted to point out. I held my tongue, though. “So, you haven’t been able to get rid of him for three decades?” I mused aloud.

A chuckle erupted from Saeradan. He might have been a Ranger who wasn’t as grim as the others, according to Barliman Butterbur, but the action did seem a little out of character for him just the same. The other Rangers I had met seemed far more serious. “No, and to be honest, I have no desire to do so. Some may think they’re a little naïve and irritating with their relentless need to befriend and care for others, overall, but their loyalty is something to cherish once offered. They don’t give it up easily, either, even when you’re not at your best. Other races may forsake you for hurting them, even if it’s necessary at the time, and may never trust you afterward, but a hobbit will always see the good in you despite it and return.”

I looked back at the cabin door and frowned. It put a few things into perspective for me, given the hobbits I had met thus far and the other races as well. Especially my burglar trainer, if they even had them, back in Bree. “I see,” I managed to reply softly. Were Fastred and Albra helping me, and others like me, because they felt it was their duty to do so? Or was it something else entirely?

My reverie broke when Saeradan continued. “Your reason for coming, though, Morchandir. Gandalf and the others may say that time is of the essence, but a wizard’s time is like that of the Elves’ and not those of Men, dwarves, and hobbits. Not even those Men of Númenor like my Chieftain.”

“Aragorn,” I murmured with a slight nod of recognition. “He’s from Númenor, though? The stories say that it fell long ago.”

“And it did,” Saeradan agreed as he had a seat on one of the steps of his home. “I’m not a student of history like others of my brethren, Morchandir, but I will say that our Chieftains are descended from the men of Númenor more strongly and directly than others of us who are Men of the North.” He smiled faintly. “You may hear us named the Dúnedain. We are the same as most others of the race of Men, outside of our longevity in comparison, by this point.” He continued after a moment, “Though the Númenóreans lived some four hundred years in their peak and could withstand most diseases, it has been a very long time since then. Most of the bloodline has mixed in with the non-Númenórean Men. The Dúnedain still retain their hardiness to a greater degree.” He motioned at me, “The taller heights, and the keen senses and minds of our forebears, but our Chieftain has the blood strongly – far more than any of us who still follow him. He’s of a great height not unlike your own, in fact.” He seemed sadly wistful. “Not every Ranger is one of the Dúnedain by birth these days.” He shook his head. “We have grown few in number, Morchandir, much like the elves. I fear our fates may be tied to their own here in the West.”

I frowned down at him. “Why would that be?” Strider my height, though? I wondered privately. It was only then that I remembered him always half-shadowed or otherwise sitting, leaning, crouching, and moving so that I couldn’t tell for sure. Shorter than I was, that was what I had thought. I had no ill-conceived notions to pretend I might be of the same stock as this ancient-blooded Chieftain, though. I was simply a freak of nature.

“There are some relations in the past,” Saeradan admitted. “But,” he continued, once more turning the conversation back to where it should have been, “that is neither here nor there. You were sent to me by the Grey Pilgrim, were you?”

I nodded once. “Indeed. Gandalf told me that he had received information from someone he called Gwaihir that corruption was spreading through Agamaur and the Lone-lands. He fears it may be connected to some recent activities from Mordor and Angmar that I helped discover in the Barrow-downs.” At his sharp look at me, I offered, “The dead walk there, stirred by some ancient evil, and I saw with my own eyes the Captain of the Black Riders speaking with a dwarf lord named Skorgrím and a gaunt-lord named Ivar Blood-hand.” His expression became grim indeed at the news. “They spoke of Ivar’s ward in Agamaur to the east and of a creature named Mordirith in Angmar waiting the dwarf and the gaunt-lord. That Saruman was of no concern to them now. That the Nazgûl had a champion working for it whose work hadn’t come to fruition yet.”

Something akin to a growl rasped out of Saeradan’s throat. “And this is why Gandalf travels to join my Chieftain and his companions.” It wasn’t a question. He knew as much.

“It is. But the Nazgûl knew the… very important thing that Aragorn travels with, and for, is headed to somewhere called Imladris. I spent a lot of energy and time trying to keep that information and more from reaching them and it did anyway, somehow.” I crossed my arms at my chest. “Gandalf charged me with going either north or east to stop Angmar’s plans to rise once again after all this time. He needs me to speak with Radagast for some purpose.”

The Ranger ran a hand over his pate and sighed at length. “More than likely because the wizard roams in areas where Rangers are aware of him. He has ties to me and mine, too.” He then hesitates and finishes with, “And he is one of the few wizards left in this Middle Earth other than Gandalf himself and Saruman, neither of whom can aid you here in any good way.”

Grimey bustled out of the door with a tray of teacups just then. “Ah, here we go!” the hobbit exclaimed. He carefully stepped down the stairs and offered the Ranger one of the three steaming cups and then lifted it so that I could choose mine. “If you need honey or cream, I can fetch it. It’s a nice hawthorn mixture I brought for Master Saeradan when he grows too tense from his worries.” He set the tray aside after taking up his cup.

I loosened my hood to pull it off and set it aside to drink the blasted stuff. Ruffling my dark hair, I sipped it delicately and winced at how hot it was. I felt awkward with the ceramic thing in my gloved hands, as if it hardly belonged to them. Proper people drank from such fine containers even if everyone drank some version of tea on occasion. It had a distinct flavor to it I hadn’t tasted in long enough that I felt a bit surprised, but the brewing had been done skillfully.

Saeradan watched me with an intent expression on his face after I removed my mask. He held the cup with far more ease than I could manage. He didn’t comment on the mask like others had done, though I could see that Grimey wanted to with all the innocent curiosity of a child, and I smiled faintly toward him. “You make this well. I heard you were a Master of Apprentices?”

He brightened, flashed a huge grin, and puffed up instantly. “I am! One of the youngest hobbits of the Guilds to make that rank, too! You should see how my old Gaffer and Gammer go on about it even now!” He laughed. “It tickles them to no end to have a grandson as handy as I am. I visit them in Stock as much as I can manage.”

The Ranger finally took his gaze from me to settle it on his hobbit friend. “Grimey,” he said seriously, “young Morchandir has been tasked to find Master Radagast.”

Grimey lost a little of his cheer. “Bother,” he replied. Turning to me, he then stated, “You missed him by perhaps a few hours. He left for the Lone-lands last evening in a hurry. He seemed worried about something.” He clucked his tongue. “I should have packed him some hawthorn tea, come to think, but he was in such an all-fired hurry…”

Saeradan nodded in a curt fashion. “I must confess that I do not know where Radagast was bound when he left here, other than eastward into the Lone-lands.” He blew across the top of his tea in much the same fashion as I did.

I watched the surface ripple as I did so and then asked the two, “Did he say why he was worried or heading in that direction?” Glancing up at the duo, I discovered Saeradan watching me closely yet again. “You seemed surprised when you heard my reason for coming to find you and the wizard. I don’t suppose he told you any of what I did.”

Saeradan shook his head. “I do know that he was concerned with lightning which he saw upon the peak of Weathertop.”

“Lightning?” I echoed, baffled. The tea in my hands stood forgotten for the moment. “I didn’t see clouds last night in any direction, though. Or during the day, come to think of it.”

The Ranger’s nod of agreement looked somber. “Neither did he or I. Lightning from a clear sky? I can see why it might grab the attention of a wizard like Radagast.” He pressed his lips together. “One of my kinsmen, Candaith, has already journeyed to Weathertop to investigate. Perhaps Radagast has joined him there. We saw the lightning before the wizard’s arrival and Candaith left quickly.” He half-smiled. “Wizards aren’t known for their forthcoming manners or desire to share what they know, as my kinsman is well aware.”

Thinking of Gandalf’s attitude, I had to agree. “No, they can be downright rude and aggressively presumptuous of someone’s nature and submission to them.”

Grimey followed our conversation with his gaze, back and forth, before interjecting, “Candaith usually camps in the same little hidden place near Weathertop when he’s in the area. Saeradan visited him there once.”

The Ranger motioned toward the back of his lodge. “If you wish, my horse would bear you to Candaith’s camp.”

“I was unaware that the animal had the sense to go there like a messenger bird,” I replied drolly. “I do have my own mount, though.”

“Tie it to Saeradan’s until you arrive,” Grimey instructed. “It’s Candaith’s mount and one of Hengstacer’s, anyway. They have a set of horses that know the route back and forward, you know. Ride one to and Candaith will bring it back or send someone back with it. I imagine you’ll have to come back at some point and can bring it with you if he doesn’t.”

I lofted a brow at the hobbit. “You are awfully free with other people’s property, you realize that?”

A chuckle sounded from the Ranger. “He is speaking the truth, though. I rarely need my mount. I walk most of the time. If I need anything, I tend to visit another kinsman in the area, Andreg, or walk to Thornley’s just down the way and borrow a mount from them. He’s gotten to trust me enough over the years that he isn’t afraid I’ll lose his investments. I even lend a hand to them now and again in exchange.”

“I like to stop in now and then, too,” Grimey said. “I have some apprentices there who rotate in when the regulars have to take a leave.”

I smirked as I sipped my tea again. “You’ll probably get word that Kenton Thistleway is on leave for a time. Even if he’s not one of yours, I just rescued his daughter from the brigands nearby. I imagine he’ll want to take a few days off to settle her back in and spend time with his family before returning to work. He’s going to be helping Lofar Ironband from now on.”

Grimey perked up immediately. “The dwarf friend of Chief-Watcher Grimbriar?” At my agreement, I watched the hobbit wiggle slightly in happiness. “Oh, that’s wonderful news! Lofar isn’t any apprentice but we’ve worked together before and know one another. I’m very glad that he found someone to help him. He’s as stubborn a dwarf as they come, though, and didn’t want to ask for an apprentice with his new load of work – kept insisting they didn’t have the expertise for what his customers needed.”

Saeradan seemed faintly exasperated in his good humor at how Grimey had taken off with his conversation. He cleared his throat and the hobbit quietened down with a quiet, “Oh! Sorry, Master Saeradan.” The Man then turned back to me. “Finish your tea and then take my horse. She will lead you through the northern stretches of Bree and through the Midgewater Pass to Candaith’s Camp.” He paused and then looked over at Grimey again. “I need some parchment and a quill. Can you fetch it for me?” He turned back to me as the hobbit set his teacup down and took the tray inside to do exactly as he’d been asked. “I’ll draw you a map of the route as much as I can just in case you lose my mare to one of the wolves or orcs between here and there. I would suggest riding without stopping as much as possible. It’s a wild area that has seen quite a bit of invasion lately from dangerous things. You may not want to face them down just yet if you’re on your own.” “I am,” I told him after a moment. “I’m always on my own.” I wanted to ask him what was wrong with my face that he felt the need to regard me as much as he seemed inclined to do. Has he never seen someone as ugly as I am before? I wondered with a general lack of amusement. I wonder what it would be like to be a Ranger or some heroic Númenórean or Dúnedain like what he mentioned? I doubt any of them have ever been to the south, though. He said Men of the North, earlier. For better or worse, my bloodlines are in Gondor even if I know next to nothing about them. I lifted my tea to sip it and settled down on Grimey’s chair as delicately as possible to enjoy my drink and the company for another short time. I had a feeling I wouldn’t be able to again for a while.