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 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.

A Burg’s Tale: Chapter 13

“Those accursed brigands took Thistleway’s daughter?” Lofar bellowed in disbelief before shaking his head. “This is bad.” He motioned toward his forge with a large hand. “This sword isn’t ready yet! And I know these types of fellows. They won’t take “no” for an answer.” In more ways than one, I bet, I mused darkly. “They’ll kill that girl!”

“If she’s lucky,” I agreed with a grim nod. He shot an equally dark look at me as if he fully understood the unspoken meaning behind my words. I rested one booted heel against the edge of the steps and leaned down onto my knee with my forearm. “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do about it, though. This is a job for some champion or warden or guardian, not me.”

Lofar grunted at me. “You’re a bloody Mumak of a Man. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of the violence?”

I choked as I snorted and laughed, all at once, and then coughed with a shake of my head. “Not in the least,” I chuckled softly. “I may not go hunting the innocent for amusement, but I’m not one to shy from that sort of trouble.”

He nodded at me. “You’ll have to mount a rescue and free Kenton’s daughter, then!” He shooed at me. “Hurry now! And I’d gather friends, if I were you. I fear you’ll need them to face Blake.”

I pulled my foot down from the step and straightened. “I don’t have any friends,” I replied curtly. “I move around too frequently.” And it hurts when they betray me and I have to end them, I thought immediately before pushing the thought aside. Admitting it did me no good. A weakness was a weakness.

“I would borrow some, then,” the dwarf retorted. “I can’t very well go with you and Grimbriar’s off doing his duty to Bree. Make due with yourself if you must, but you know they’ll kill her and send pieces of her back to her father even if he does find another sword for them at this point, just out of spite for their lieutenant being killed.” He spread his hands and turned back to his work. “Maybe you can convince this Blake not to harm her.”

I snorted as I moved back to Neeker. “I doubt that. I’ll figure something out.” How much easier would all of this be if I knew other people would come with me? If I did have friends? If someone were there to watch my back so that it didn’t get stabbed?

On the other hand, if I started relying on them, how would it be when they were gone? I knew they would be, sooner rather than later.

He pointed toward the northwest. “That camp is out that way in the Bree-fields, from what Grimbriar has heard. Brigand’s Watch, it’s called, and it’s up on that hill you can see from here. If worse comes to worst, this sword should be done soon, and we can make that trade.”

If it comes to worst, I thought as I rode away, we won’t have any need of that sword at all.

As I urged Neeker into a slow gallop, I took stock of the way the land was laid out under the late afternoon sun. The Everclear Lakes were to my right, and the way I was riding in, I wouldn’t have to go through or around the biggest sections of them. Small blessings, I conceded. A stone bridge or two seemed to span the smaller arms of the lake nearest the fortification. I didn’t like that the brigands could see people coming from where they were. It would make it difficult to approach without being seen, at best. At worst, it would make it impossible to sneak in at all.

I paused under a copse of trees, one of several dotting the landscape of hills, to plan my entry. I could see a well-worn road leading up an ascending portion of the plateau ahead of me, if the way the spiked wooden barricades and walls were any indication. It was a fairly sizeable place, I had to admit, and a good setup for keeping watch on the East Road and Greenway. I rode north to go around and up the craggy, grassy hill as far as possible while searching for another entry point that wasn’t as heavily guarded but didn’t find one.

At least, not until I had passed completely around to the western side. I could see the major entry point from there with another beaten road leading into the wooden walls and found it less populated. It was also less open, overall, and I could better get in and out if needed. Stands of trees and other cover gave me enough places to watch from and to keep Neeker hidden until I needed him. I found a good place he wouldn’t easily be found, secured his reins, and let him crop grass nearby while I went forward on foot.

I waited and observed how the outlaws moved and the paths they took doing it. I didn’t want them surprising me. Once I had what seemed to be a good idea of who went where and when they did so, I slipped up the road and then into the fortified encampment. I couldn’t do anything to these people yet. The route into the camp didn’t allow for much hiding of bodies. Or hiding at all, for that matter. I had to sneak quickly and work the same, dodging a sentry by following them far too closely and then moving around them when they turned, more than once. To say that I was sweating by the time I got into the camp would be an understatement, even as the oncoming early evening helped draw some longer shadows for me to obscure myself within.

It was only there that I could reasonably find hiding places and deal with the brigands standing around their fires or moving through the area. I came from behind the women and men as they paused to rest near tents or other large objects, silenced them, and snapped their necks or left them unconscious rather than slit their throats. Too much blood would be a sure alarm. It might be more believable that they were trying to sneak in a nap somewhere out of sight if I positioned them properly and they were somehow found before I managed to get out again.

I didn’t see Maribell Thistleway in the main section. Off to my left, after I had moved further within, stood a wooden arch leading into another, and what seemed to be smaller, set of cul-de-sacs. Waiting for the latest set of guards to move past, I stole forward, peered just inside the entrance, and then moved around to use the large cage inside as a shield. I knew the woman inside had to be who I needed to rescue.

Waiting another few minutes to make sure that it was safe, I finally crept around until the woman could see my mask and I could see her as much as possible. “Are you bound?” I asked in a bare whisper, my attention still on our surroundings.

She didn’t speak loudly in return, for which I was grateful, when she answered, “No. Are you from my father?”

“I am.”

Her tone was breathy and relieved. “Thank you, thank you!”

I fell silent and so did she as a guard came closer to the entrance. I pulled back to become part of the scenery once again as the brigand man paused to speak with a woman holding a bow who passed nearby. They didn’t seem in any hurry, yet their conversation lasted perhaps five minutes before they parted, laughing, to continue on their ways. Only then did I ease forth so that she could see me. I regarded the door and narrowed my eyes at the lock. It would take me a while to pick the thing. “Have you seen who has the key to this?” I asked her almost hopefully. “I’ll find them and retrieve it.”

 “No need,” she said and produced it so that she could slip it toward me through the bars. “I filched the key a while ago, but I was too scared to use it. Now, with you here, I can use it, and we can escape.”

I took the key and found myself smirking. “Clever girl.” I found myself almost rumbling it in appreciation. “You might just have a career as a burglar if you get some training. Let me know if you do.” I palmed the thing and withdrew again to let another set of figures pass by. I only returned and unlocked her cage door once it was safe to do so again.

She stared up at me wide-eyed, startled as many were by my height and the mask, before I told her, “To the west. I have a horse.” I pointed in the direction I wanted her to go. “Let’s hur–“

I didn’t get to finish before she paled and hurried back toward one corner of the walled enclosure. “Oh no!” she cried. “They’ve heard us!”

I cursed as I didn’t have time to do more than draw my blades before two brigands charged in from the adjoining room. Nobody in the main one had come in or noticed just yet, thankfully. “Then we fight,” I growled and engaged the duo of outlaws as they tried to get to Maribell. They were tough opponents, more so than others of their kind I had faced in the last few days, but the last one fell as his blood slid from the edge of my long blade. I nodded at her. “Move,” I hissed.

“Hopefully we can get away before Blake notices!” she said as she began to hurry toward the arch leading out.

“Stop them!” a man bellowed from inside. Another pair of them rushed forward with weapons drawn. Maribell gave a little scream and covered her eyes as she cowered in the corner once again. The taller of the duo had a better class of armor and clothing than the other one racing ahead to get to me first. “Afternoon, Blake,” I taunted as they closed with me. “I’ll be stealing this pretty little thing from you, now.”

“You’ll die like a dog,” he corrected as I ducked and dodged their strikes. A dagger planted itself in his subordinate’s throat to even the odds slightly.

“Only if you catch this hound to do it,” I replied smugly. A slash; a stab. I ducked, rolled, and came up behind him to land a sharp thrust into his lower back below his ribs before moving away again. He staggered toward Maribell with a muffled cry and, upon noticing her in reach, snarled at her with the intent to attack her instead.

He knew he was mortally wounded. He had no last words to his actions yet had made it obvious that she was going to die with him. I went in and dropped, sweeping his legs out from under him so that he fell backward, and ended his life with a knife in the throat even as his own weapon lifted to block it. I pulled the knife from him, cleaned it on his thigh, and returned both of my long knives to their sheaths. I moved to reclaim my throwing dagger from one of the others, did the same, and tucked it away as I moved for the exit.

Maribell said, as she passed me, “Quick! Follow me! With Blake dead, we can make our escape!”

“I’m right behind you.”

It took approximately five seconds before some of the figures in the large, open space spotted us running for the exit. My pruning of their numbers earlier helped keep the attacking brigands from overwhelming me as I defended and protected the young woman. Once we had raced down the slope leading out, I led her to where I’d hidden Neeker earlier. I didn’t need to tell her to or help her mount the saddle, much to my pleasure. Getting up behind her would be difficult if it weren’t for the nearby tree leaning over. I used it as a means of leverage to leap onto Neeker behind her before snugging her against me and kicking him into a fast gallop to the south and east. Sharp cries followed our path as we were discovered.

Maribell’s smaller form pressed warm and tight against my front felt uncomfortable for some reason I couldn’t define as we rode for Bree. I kept one arm wrapped around her waist just in case of trouble and the other hand on the reins while shielding her from potential archers with my own form. Neeker definitely had a bit of speed to him, for which I was grateful, and we didn’t slow until I had the gates in sight. She pointed out where she lived, and I let the gelding walk there to cool off from his sprint. I loosened my hold on her as soon as it was safe to do so since I didn’t want her to think the wrong thing.

We hadn’t had time to chat during the rescue. She remained very quiet for several minutes before offering, “Thank you. I don’t know your name.”

“Morchandir,” I replied politely.

She frowned and turned her head to look over one shoulder at me. “Is that… Elvish? I didn’t think you were an Elf.” She then added, “Or at least, I didn’t see any ears like theirs and I don’t know of any that are as tall as you are, not even in stories.” She hesitated. “I’m Maribell.”

I smirked behind my mask. “My ears are covered, but no, I’m not an Elf. I’m a Man.”

She faced forward once again. “Thank you, Morchandir,” she repeated decisively, emphasizing my name as if rectifying the lack of it earlier.

I made a low sound of acknowledgement. “Don’t worry about it. Your father sent me, and I admit, I’ve never felt guilty about fighting and killing someone that so obviously needed it as that Blake fellow.” A thought occurred to me then. “You don’t need to see a healer, do you? You don’t look hurt, but if you are…”

She shook her head. “No. I’m fine. Only bruises and scrapes, really. Nothing that a hot bath, a little balm, and a couple of days won’t fix. Thank you for asking, though.” I kept my free hand at my side or on my thigh rather than on her. “I know this wouldn’t have happened had my father not run afoul of those brigands. I’m sorry that you were pulled into this mess.”

I chuckled slightly. “To be honest, it seems like problems I shouldn’t feasibly have any interest in or involvement with keep being thrown at me so that I have to sort them out. This ending has been much better, and far easier, than the last thing I had to handle a day or so back, trust me. I may not be used to the idea of rescuing kidnapped daughters and fighting evil Men and dwarves, but I do know that it’s preferrable to slinking through the Barrows killing wights.” I added as an afterthought, “And constantly finding myself wet from water.” And getting one silver fifty copper for my pains.

She twitched at my words. “The Barrows?” she asked in a hushed tone. “What were you doing there, Morchandir?”

“Stealing things and killing people,” I replied drolly. “It’s my usual method of making a living, you understand.” My tone moderated. “Though that particular instance wasn’t for personal gain.” And I’m finding the lack of guilt afterward to be a refreshing change, I finished mentally.

She fell silent again and her slight tension against me spoke of her uncertainty. I couldn’t see her features to know what, exactly, had her feeling that way. That she didn’t seem afraid of me, towering and masked and black-garbed, told me more about her than any words she might have spoken. Then again, I reasoned, she was just in a bandit camp full of people wanting her dead and ready to make good on that promise at any given moment. Better the savior with a strange appearance than the known death awaiting her.

She finally offered to me, “Why were you stealing things from the graves? I don’t think that’s a very good thing to do. Plenty of folks try it and get killed out there. I don’t know that I feel completely awful about it. It’s not theirs to take and the legitimate owners have every right to defend it.” Her voice faltered. “Even if they’ve been dead for a hundred years.”

“It was one grave,” I replied with an odd surge of defensiveness. “And the wight inside had stolen what was there from its rightful owner. He asked me to return it.”

She again turned her head to look at me over her shoulder. “He… did? How?”

I gestured with my free hand. “Taking it is what set him wandering. And his brother, here in Bree. I had to get it back from the evil wight hiding out inside his tomb so that I could bring it back to his brother and they could both rest again.” I amended after, “Well, after I had put down what was forcing them to all walk around again, at least. Bombadil helped at the end out in the Great Barrow…”

She made a small sound and shook her head frantically. “No, no, that’s enough! I believe you!” Her hands flailed in frightened, frantic gestures. “I think I would’ve preferred to be in the cage at the camp instead of there, honestly!”

I grunted in agreement. “If I see another dead thing walking around, I may just break down,” I told her with vague amusement. “You don’t know how happy I am that your captors aren’t sorcerers or fell spirits or hiding in tombs at this point. Or dwarves. Though there is a dwarf involved in this whole thing. Lofar Ironband. Do you know him? He’s that Chief Watcher Grimbriar’s friend.”

“Ahhh. Right.” Her voice dropped. “One dwarf looks similar to another, to me. I’m rather ashamed to say so. Elves, too.”

“What about hobbits?”

She snorted slightly in a small laugh. “They don’t let you see them all as the same. You may not even see them at all, tiny as they are, unless they show you how much personality they really have.”

Thinking on the hobbits that I had met thus far, I had to agree. “Mm. True. Right, so, which way now?” A split in the cobbled street approached just ahead of us. She pointed and I picked up the pace a little with Neeker.

When we arrived at her family’s home, I slid from the saddle first and offered my hands up to her to help her down. “Will you let me see your face?” she asked as she turned toward me. “Wearing that mask all the time must be itchy and terrible, Morchandir. But I do want to see who really rescued me.”

“I wear it so that I don’t offend people,” I told her. “I’m not the best-looking chap and definitely not a hero.”

She hmphed and glowered at me. “All the same, it’s all that I ask before you go. Well, almost.”

Women. I grimaced as I removed it, knowing very well that I would ruin her romantic dreams when I did. She was probably expecting some strong-jawed, cleft-chinned man like in the stories rather than the tall, hatchet-nosed ogre who really saved her – under duress, no less. Holding the mask in one hand, I used the other to ruffle through my dark hair. “Better?” I grated out while trying to not roll my eyes. I definitely refused to look at her to see the disappointment I knew would be there.

“Better.” Her voice was faint. After a moment, Maribell moved to dismount and I had to look up at her. Tucking the mask into my waist momentarily, I reached up again to help her as politely as I could given the situation. She glanced at my hands, paused, and leaned down without warning to press a kiss against one of my cheeks. She then grabbed my shoulders firmly, slid off Neeker without my help, and slipped off toward the opening door. I blinked and then stared after her as color rushed to my face. It was just a thanks, I argued silently. Don’t read into it!

Clearing my throat, I secured the mask where it needed to be around my features as Maribell and her mother hugged and wept at her return. As I remounted, I heard her mother call, “Thank you, sir! Thank you for bringing her home! Eru bless you!”

He hasn’t so far; why start now? I wanted to reply and didn’t. I merely nodded, saluted at them flippantly, and then turned Neeker around to head back out to where Lofar remained. “I probably shouldn’t be blushing when I tell her father she’s safe,” I muttered to Neeker as he trotted through Bree. Killing him for trying to kill me for flirting with his daughter might not be the romantic end to things that anyone hoped for.

When I pulled to a halt at Grimbriar’s cabin, Lofar was already aware of my return. The area outside of Bree was spacious enough that he could see me coming from quite a distance – and see me rushing through along the main road earlier with Maribell, too.

He hailed me and I responded, “Blake’s dead and the girl’s safe at home. Things should be quiet, now.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “I suppose you won’t need the new sword, then!” He then continued with a hearty, “Aye, good tidings!” The expression he wore seemed satisfied. “Glad no harm came to the lass.” He bustled over to a bucket and took a bit of time to visit the nearby well and draw out some cool water. When he returned, he offered it to Neeker after pulling a ladle full for himself and me. I declined and let the gelding only have a little while he rested.

Lofar set the bucket aside and continued. “While you were away, I went over and collected the work from Kenton, and I must say that I think that Man has the hands of a dwarf.” That would be unfortunate, given the size difference, I nearly said. I bit my tongue and smirked all the same. “The work was excellent quality, so much so that I think I’ll get double for it. I told him he could expect more work from me in the future.” He smacked his lips from within his beard and tucked his thumbs behind his belt. The self-satisfaction on display had my eyes rolling in truth. “Seems my kind heart led me to a good find.” He then added quickly, “Thanks to you, that is.”

“Oh, I’m a regular treasure-hunter, I am,” I drawled lazily. “Take care, Lofar. I’m off to let Thistleway know he doesn’t have to worry any longer.”

The ride seemed shorter than before, for some reason, but Kenton immediately cheered and waved an arm at me as he spotted my approach. “Morchandir!” he hailed me joyously. “Oh, bless you!” He reached out for my hand as soon as I dismounted, took it in both of his own, and shook it desperately. “You’ve returned my daughter safe to me! I can’t thank you enough!”

I regarded him in confused amusement as he released my hand. “How did you find out so quickly? I just left your daughter with her mother in Bree not long ago, talked to Lofar, and didn’t see anyone pass by on the Greenway.”

“You’re here, without anything of hers, without her body, hale and hearty…” He motioned. “And no brigands have come looking for me to threaten me or taunt me with her dead form. I know you’ve succeeded even without seeing her for myself!”

I nodded. “She’s well and unharmed, as far as I could see.” I turned after a moment. “No need to thank me. It’s getting late, though, and I’m thinking we’ll have to head back to Bree soon to be safe.”

“Nonsense,” he stated firmly. “You’ve done so much for me, in more ways than you know!” I paused to look back at him, confused, and he continued. “While you were away, I busied myself with Lofar’s work.” He grimaced. “I had to do something to keep from being overcome with worry. No sooner had I finished the work, than Lofar came over to collect it. He seemed pleased with it — even admitted that it came close to dwarf-work! He promised to send me more work in the future!” He beamed at me. “Morchandir, you’ve saved my family and given me a hope for a brighter future. I can’t thank you enough!”

He fished out some money from one of his pouches and offered it to me. “Here, this is what I have on me for now. A silver and eighty copper isn’t much, but I know what else could be.” He set it forcibly into my palm and closed my fingers over it when I made to reject his offer. “Lofar and I discussed the matter while he was here. He has some light armor he meant to sell soon.” He nodded up at me. “On the way back to Bree, we’ll stop by and speak with him so that he can give it to you. I don’t suppose he wanted to do so until I told you what we’d planned, since I don’t see it with you right now.”

I stared at him in silence for several long moments. “Give me…?” I finally echoed, stunned. I hadn’t been gifted with something of that much worth in… years, to be honest. I rocked back onto my heels slightly as my heart did a funny little twisting beat in my chest. “You don’t have to, Thistleway. You or the dwarf. I’m hardly worth—”

He clapped me on the upper arm. “You helped everyone in this work site by getting rid of those bandits. You helped me correct my mistake with Lofar and saved my daughter’s life. You helped him find a new smith to help him with his work. That armor is the least we can do to repay you.” He nodded slightly. “Let me bank these fires so we have something to work with tomorrow morning and I’ll ride into town with you to go see him. The foreman is already signaling for us to wrap up for the evening as it is.” I watched him work for a few moments before the question sat itself in my head and refused to leave before I uttered it. “It’s not… shiny armor… is it?” I finally asked with a twitch up of my lips, knowing it almost certainly wasn’t – but bemused at the idea all the same.

A Burg’s Tale: Chapter 12

“Look, you should go ask the other blacksmiths in town,” the foreman argued with me from where he stood atop the gazebo at Thornley’s work site. “My men wouldn’t—”

“And neither would the town smiths,” I interrupted him. “So, if I don’t find anything out here, I’ll go talk to them next. You can rest easy on that.” He looked as if he might want to continue to complain but I rolled my eyes and turned Neeker away. “The sooner I get this done, the sooner I stop bothering your men.”

I nudged the horse into a plodding walk toward one of the forges set up on the work site. The man standing beside it glanced up at me with curiosity before going back to his work. I decided to move past him and talk to the farthest smith first. Something about the man I passed on the way made my intuition rustle.

The smith looked confused and nodded at his work. “I work on tools and nails, ” he explained with a slight shake of his head. “I’ve never been good with weapons. I wouldn’t know what to do with one other than accidentally cut off a limb.”

I wanted to point out how that didn’t mean he didn’t steal anything to sell it later, but I relented. He honestly looked like he had little to no idea what I was talking about and that settled it for me. After all, I could always come back if it turned out I was wrong. I had other ways of getting information out of people.

I finally circled back around toward the first smith I had passed on my way inside. I had felt his gaze on me as I spoke with the others. Now, he tried to play off my presence as if I hadn’t been doing so and he hadn’t been growing more anxious about it. “Good…” I squinted up at the sky and grunted softly. “Afternoon, it looks like,” I said as I realized the time. My stomach growled against my will so that he looked up at me, and up a bit farther given I still sat astride Neeker, at the sound. “Who am I speaking with?”

“Good afternoon,” he replied with a baffled expression that he attempted to hide. Apparently, the growl was much louder than I expected. “My… my name is Kenton. Kenton Thistleway.”

I cleared my throat. “My name is Morchandir. Let me get straight to the point. A dwarf friend of Chief Watcher Grimbriar has had a sword stolen.” I motioned around. “You haven’t seen anyone here with a weapon they didn’t have before, have you?”

I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a man break into a cold sweat and want to physically crawl into a hole to hide, before. “What? A stolen sword?” he replied quickly. “Stolen from a Dwarf?” He shifted his gaze away with a little laugh that sounded too high-pitched and forced. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He turned back to his forge. “Please, go away, I don’t know anything about it,” he finished desperately.

I watched him lift his tools and narrowed my eyes behind the mask. Leaning down onto the pommel of the saddle with my forearms, I regarded him with a slow smirk. “Really? Because it sounds to me like maybe you do and don’t want to tell me.” He straightened noticeably and my smile grew wider and sharper. I knew I had him. “I think maybe you know who took it,” I continued with a hint of glee for his discomfort. I might have been a burglar but at least I knew how to burgle things and not get caught at it – and how to make sure the ones who did weren’t able to alert anyone, after. “Was it that man?” I asked, pointing to a random worker. “Or the overseer?” I asked, pointing to the man in the gazebo currently yelling at another worker.

The man tugged out a kerchief and wiped at his brow. “Absolutely not,” he muttered. “Run along, very scary tall man.”

Relentlessly, I told him, “Or perhaps you were the one who took it?” I made sure to point my gloved finger right at him as I said it as he took a peek up at me again. Startled, he swallowed heavily, and I saw his eyes widen.

He broke. “Yes, yes, I admit it! I took it.” He set his tools down near the forge again and turned to stare up at me. “Please, don’t tell the constable! Please!” he begged, hands clasped in front of his chest.

I remained in my leisurely position leaning against the saddle horn. “Depends on what I’m offered.”

He shook his head at me. “I did it to save my family!” he protested. “See, a brigand named Nate, he told me that he would hurt my family, unless I made a sword for their captain, Blake.” He flailed his hands around wildly. “But I didn’t have the iron to forge one, and I was desperate to save my family, so I took the dwarf’s sword!” I frowned, and he must have sensed it or seen it from his lower vantage point from beneath my mask. “Nate said that before he gave the sword to Blake, he was going to test the blade against the workers at the site of Thornley’s silo, just before the graveyard and the boar-hollow.” It was my turn to straighten sharply. I might not like getting involved for the most part – there but for the grace of Eru go I and all – but I knew if Grimbriar found out I hadn’t stopped it from happening, I would be in deep trouble. The idea that some man wanted to blood his blade on a bunch of innocent people didn’t sit well with me. At least I wasn’t depraved enough to go hunting innocents just to kill them. “Now, I want to set matters right.” He seemed to think I might not believe him. “I do!” he insisted. “And maybe you can help do that? If you find him there, maybe you can convince him to return Lofar’s sword and leave my family alone,” Kenton hurriedly added. “What do you say?” He sounded hopeful.

I wanted to tell him he was disgusting for being so worried about himself rather than these people who might get murdered, but I knew I would be lying. I’d met plenty of people like him, before. I was a person like him, in the end. “The silo near the cemetery and boar-hollow. Where is it?” I growled.

Kenton pointed southeast with a shaking hand at my tone. “If you don’t tell the foreman about this, I will,” I informed him before kicking Neeker into a gallop out of the work site. I had to get to the silo and hope the nearby graveyard wasn’t already packed with new inhabitants.

I followed the road back toward Bree until a path ran east from it and I saw the beginning of a silo or other construction in the near distance. Something felt off as soon as I laid eyes on the area, however. I slowed my gelding to a halt. Neeker pranced nervously and I knew why: I could smell the scent of boar from where I sat on him. The silo loomed ahead without any sign of the workers Nate had said he would murder. This isn’t good, I told myself with the first stirrings of frustration. I didn’t see corpses strewn around, but I also didn’t see Nate.

Or at least, not at first. My gaze fell to a dark mass on the ground near one of the wooden supports at the entry to the site. Already knowing what I would find, but not knowing who it might be, I swung down from Neeker and led him to the body. Turning it over, I found myself staring into the cold, dead eyes of a dark-dressed man who didn’t look at all like the workers at the other site. Nate, then, I decided. The amount of blood on the ground matched his wounds and I could see a trail of it leading away toward the hollow beyond along with hoof tracks. He had been dead for some time.

I had to pry the hilt of a broken sword out of his hand. The weapon looked too fine to be affordable to a brigand. That said, it seemed to be shattered beyond repair and I had no idea where the blade might be. Probably still stuck inside the boar that killed him, I mused. “Couldn’t have happened to a nicer fellow,” I assured him as I stood up – after rifling through his clothes for his belongings, of course. He didn’t need them any longer, after all.

Kenton didn’t seem as happy about the situation as I would have thought. “What?” he nearly shrieked, his face going white. “The blade broke, and Nate is dead?” He shook his head rapidly and paced a little. “Oh this is bad… very, very bad.” He halted and turned back to me. “What if Blake comes looking for his sword? I won’t have one to give him, and they’ll do something terrible to my family!”

“I thought Nate was giving him the sword?” I asked with confusion. “Won’t he just think Nate took it for himself instead?”

Kenton shook his head and I knew a moment later that it wouldn’t work. Blake, whoever he was, would only demand another one to replace it. “I need a sword to give him! If only I had another blade to give them.” He wailed the last, hands flying toward the sky, as he turned back to me. Slowly, though, they came to rest on top of his head. I could see he had thought of something. This should be hilarious, I told myself, dreading what was about to come out of this man’s mouth. “Wait, do you think Lofar would make another, if you explained the situation to him?”

I snorted and nearly swallowed my tongue at the shock I felt. “You’re a bold one,” I replied with a cough. “You steal his sword and now ask him to make another one for you that you basically mean to steal with his approval this time?”

He pleaded with me again. “My family is in danger! Could you please ask him?” He then added, “It’s the only thing left I can think of, Morchandir.”

I sighed. “Are you sure you even want another weapon from this dwarf? I mean, the first one broke in its first fight. I don’t trust the craftsmanship.”

Kenton shrugged at me with a helpless expression. “If it saves my family, I’ll do whatever I have to.”

“Fine, fine,” I relented. “Let me go ask him. If this Blake person shows up, keep him occupied, though. I doubt Lofar can forge another in a few minutes.” I rode off as Kenton called out his thanks over the sound of Neeker’s retreating hoofbeats.

Lofar looked excited as I returned. “Have you found my sword yet?” he asked before I’d even brought my gelding to a complete stop. “It was one of the workers there, wasn’t it?”

I fished out the broken hilt and offered it to the dwarf after dismounting. I doubted he would appreciate bad news on top of having to stand on something just to retrieve what I needed to hand over. He took it and stared at it, turning it over and over in his hands in obvious disbelief. “B… this… this is preposterous!” he blustered at last with every red hair on his thick beard standing on end.

“The man who took it, Kenton Thistleway, did so because his family is being threatened by brigands,” I explained to Lofar quickly. “The man he gave it to worked for someone called Blake, who wanted the sword in the first place. Unfortunately, that lieutenant decided to blood it on some innocent workers at another part of the site and wound up mauled to death by the boars in the area.” I nodded at the hilt. “That was in his hand.”

Lofar looked ready to throw the hilt in his rage. “It gets better,” I continued. He looked back at me and I said, “The worker who stole it is still in danger. Blake is still coming for his weapon.”

“And?” the dwarf responded gruffly, still seething, as he tossed the remnants of his weapon aside. “I hope he gets his teeth knocked in!” He crossed his arms at his chest.

I took a slow breath in. “And,” I finished, “he wants you to forge another sword for him to give to Blake so that he can save his family.”

I worried for a moment that the dwarf would burst something internally and fall over instantly dead. “Another blade,” he spluttered. “He cannot be serious!”

“That’s what I said,” I agreed with a vehement nod.

Lofar violently waved both hands around. “I am already behind on other work, and now I must forge a new blade in time to fill the order this broken sword was meant for.”

“Might have been a good idea to test it before giving it to the buyer, all considered,” I muttered.

He didn’t hear me. “‘Time is precious, don’t give it away for nothing,’ my father used to say….” He trailed off abruptly and then looked at the hilt on the ground. His furious expression eased and a curiously sad one took its place for a few long, silent moments. He stirred again with a grunt. “Actually lost my father to brigands a few years back,” he said. “Wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

I didn’t know what to say in response. For all intents and purposes, I was a brigand, too, or had behaved as one. I felt awkward standing there unable to say anything that might help him. I had never been good with sympathetic overtures. Sympathy would get you killed, where and how I grew up, even with guardians to balance out that ruthlessness.

He rolled his eyes and moved forward. Bending down, he swept up the hilt with a rough, “Bah! Give me that hilt!” He ran one thick thumb over it as he brooded over it. “I must be going soft. I’ll do it to keep his family safe, but he’s going to have to do something in exchange!” He shook the hilt at me as if I were the one asking him to make it instead of Kenton. “I have two conditions!”

I lifted my hands. “I’ll let him know. Just tell me.” And don’t stab me with the broken blade, I added as I warily kept my eye on the frustrated dwarf.

He nodded at me. “First one is that if that brigand don’t come around, looking for the sword, I get it back.”

“I don’t think he’ll have a problem with that one,” I agreed as I lowered my hands.

He made a growling noise. “Second, Thistleway gives me a hand and does some of the simpler work I’ve got piling up around here, while I forge the new blade.” Lofar turned and began to gather up several items as he spoke.

I shrugged slightly. “Well, he does need to make up for that first theft and for your time helping him…”

He turned back to me with both arms cradling things in need of repair so that I had to accept them. “Here, take these things over to him to work on,” he instructed. Once I had them, he pointed at each one and told me what needed to be done so that I could pass on the information appropriately. “The axe needs a new haft, the bellows need new leather, and the helm needs to be reshaped and reinforced.” I moved back to Neeker’s saddle to secure them to it for travel. “Take that over to Kenton and tell him if he gets it done, and I’m happy with the work, we’ll call it even on the cost of the two swords. My assistance comes with a price.” He flapped his hands at me. “Now off with you, I’ve got to get to work on this new blade.”

I tightened some of the leather I had used to secure the helm to the saddle. “Aren’t you afraid a rushed job will produce something terrible in quality?”

He spat to the side of the cabin. “Do we have any choice at this point? If he’d waited to steal it after it had cooled, it wouldn’t have broken in the first place!”

I’m sure, I replied silently. I bade him farewell as he moved off to get to work and rode back toward the work site. All the riding to and fro had begun to grate on my nerves. Why are you doing this? I asked myself. Why are you helping these people so much? This isn’t like you.

“Morchandir!” Kenton called out excitedly as I reined in Neeker. “You’re back so quickly! With good tidings, I hope?”

I slipped from the saddle and landed softly on the ground. “Lofar is willing to help on the condition you help him,” I said without preamble. “He’s sent along some things for you to work on while he’s forging another sword.” I turned to the saddle to loosen the helm, bellows, and axe haft.

He nodded quickly. “Of course I’ll do this work for the dwarf. Here, let me see what he has sent…” He moved toward me and I tensed unconsciously as he walked up from behind to stand at my side. He had no idea how dangerous it was to do that and I wasn’t going to tell him. You never walked behind a horse or a trained killer without warning them. The reason was the same in either case.

I handed Kenton each of the three items for his examination. It didn’t take long for him to make his verdict. “All of these can be easily repaired, but I don’t have the materials to do it.” He looked up at me and I knew what he was about to ask. I was already sighing as he did it. “I hate to ask this, but could you help me gather what I need?”

“I’ve come this far,” I conceded. “Why not?”

He smiled at me uncertainly before telling me what he needed: iron straps from the foreman, flawless boar hides, and trinkets from what was probably the graveyard just a bit away. “Why can’t you ask your foreman for the straps?” I asked with a frown.

I watched his eyes shift slightly. “He… might… be tired of me asking for things.”

I shook my head. “Fine, but why flawless boar hides? How am I supposed to kill them without putting holes and cuts in them?”

“The leather I can make from them needs to be as smooth and intact as possible,” he explained avidly. “Otherwise, the air will escape from inside through the mended areas and make the bellows worthless.”

I climbed up onto Neeker. “And the bloody grave-robbing?” I growled. Not again, I said to myself. I’d rather dive into the lake headfirst.

He shrugged slightly. “It may not be. It may be an old trash heap area. It’s in the boar hollow and not the graveyard, and the mounds are small. Everything I’ve found there has had little jewels on them, but the trinkets are never expensive looking.”

I eyed him just the same. “Have you ever seen anything dead walking around there?” I asked warily. Please say no. Please say no…

His frown accompanied rapid blinks. Baffled, he replied, “Why would dead things go walking? They’re dead.”

My relief must have confused him even further. “You sweet summer child.” I turned Neeker back toward the general area where the silo and Nate’s corpse still lay.

“Sir, I was born in the spring,” he protested as I rode off once again.

I rode past the foreman to save him for last when I returned. I found Nate’s body had vanished as I approached the silo site again and moved on. I had seen plenty of bear and wolves in the area who would be interested in the scent of blood. Down into the hollow I went to get that errand done first, knowing the second might well happen too given the stench of wild pigs I could make out.

I kept my eyes open for the boars while I found each small mound of debris to rummage through. Pulling out several small trinkets, I wondered why so many were buried in this one place if it wasn’t a cemetery. Then why have the bodies not risen as they have in the Barrow-downs? I contemplated as I moved as silently and invisibly as possible through the area. Perhaps it’s still too far away for the dark power that’s affected it to reach? It comforted me at least a little, although I had lost my taste for robbing graves after my escapades to the southwest finding Andraste.

Enough, I decided as I secured the last trinket in my carrying pouch and turned my attention to the surroundings. I could hear the squeal of young piglets somewhere close by. I didn’t want to tangle with a mother boar defending them. That was probably how Nate met his end, if I had to guess. Instead, I made my way cautiously up to where I had left Neeker hidden at the rim of the hollow. A nice, big male would probably do the trick, provided I could kill it without ruining its hide.

I wasn’t a Hunter. That was almost certainly why the boar screamed at me from where it burst from its hiding place in some bushes in an aggressive, threatening manner without me realizing it. The sound had me jerking back and pulling my long knives free instantly. The thing was huge and angry. It had to be the biggest boar I had seen in my life. “You’ll make a fine set of bellows and dinner,” I told it as I stood my ground.

With another roaring sound, the boar charged me. I had to avoid its long tusks by diving to the side. It was faster than I thought, though: unlike a bull, who had to skid to a halt and turn around, the boar wheeled back with a slash of its head to keep going. I had to keep jumping around to avoid getting gored to death by the thing. This won’t work, I realized. It will wear you down long before you get a death blow on its throat. It was the only way I knew I could kill it without ruining the hide. If it stayed still for long enough, I might could put a throwing knife into its chest or neck from the side…

Legs, I decided. If you want to slow it down, you have to cripple it at its legs. Hamstring it.

I set a nearby tree in my range of sight. I needed to get behind the pig. It might take a bit of agility, but surely I had that after years of burglary? I took off running toward the large oak with the sound of the boar’s hooves beating the ground behind me. It would overtake me quickly, as fast as it was – far faster than any human, at least – which was why I had gotten as close to the oak as I could before darting for it. I didn’t know how much pain I was about to put myself through by attempting this move, but I wanted to risk it. Pulling a muscle would be better than dying out here thanks to a bloodthirsty holiday meal on the hoof.

When I came up to the trunk, I jumped, full speed, toward it and pushed off of it with one foot. I wanted to flip backward over the boar, land, and hopefully cause it to have to stop or ram the tree. Meanwhile, I could take out its back legs. It seemed like a good idea at the time to my fevered, frantic brain, given I had no plan in place. Place a trap, dispose of the boar – that was what I had meant to do before the thing showed up out of nowhere.

Instead, I found myself woefully unable to flip enough to master the move I had begun. Instead, I pushed up and off of the trunk, flailed, twisted my body instinctively….

… and landed on the back of the boar with my head near its terrible, horrifically dirty haunches.

The sound of its high-pitched screech of terrified rage mimicked my own, much lower one as I realized what had happened. Though it wasn’t so big that I could have saddled it as a mount, it wasn’t small enough for me to simply crush it into the ground with my size. I didn’t even have time to plunge my knives into it or cut its tendons before it spun in a circle and took off with me on its back. All I could do is wrap my arms around and under its body and try not to let it bite and slash at my booted legs. If I survived the encounter, I would almost certainly hurt tomorrow morning.

The boar’s hips and back repeatedly punched my face and jaw as I loudly, at the top of my lungs, cursed it in every manner that I had picked up in my life as a soldier, guard, and scoundrel. Finally getting hold of myself, I pulled one arm up and used the knife in it to sever the tendons and muscles as best I could on the hind leg matching that side. The beast’s sound of pain bordered on ear-splitting as it once again tried vainly to wheel in circles to get at me. It took me a moment before I could risk pulling the other arm up to do the same for its other leg. Once I had them cut amidst a spray of blood, the boar’s legs gave out under my weight. I fell off of it and rolled to the side, but had to keep rolling a ways in a dizzy scramble to keep the enraged creature from dragging itself over to me even then.

I finally managed to dispatch it, blood it, and looked around for Neeker. The boar hadn’t run far, at least, with me on its back to weigh it down. I cleaned and sheathed my blades before hefting the creatures back legs up to pull it behind me toward my gelding. I heard another low, threatening grunt from a smaller version of the one I had with me and simply snarled at it, “Don’t even think about it or you’re next, hamhock.”

I secured the heavy creature across Neeker, who seemed none too pleased by the proceedings, and walked him back to Thornley’s work site. Along the way, I stopped at the gazebo where the foreman stood and asked him for what Kenton still needed.

“Bah, he wants iron straps?” the man sneered. “Kenton always needs something. He is straining the cost of this project. We have no straps in our stores.”

I leveled a look at him. “That sounds like a personal problem to me. One man can’t run your costs up. Brigands do, though, I’m sure.”

Rosethorn eyed me for the comment. Turning away from me, he rummaged through a pile of odds and ends that looked to be scrap metal, trimmings, and other discarded pieces of larger projects. “Here, take this old iron pot. He can make some straps out of that.”

Flies buzzed around the boar’s corpse on Neeker’s back just behind me as I took the pot. “And I brought you all this fine boar for dinner. Now, you have nothing to cook the meat in. Whatever shall you do?” I led the gelding away and waved the pot around, calling out in as heraldic a voice as I could manage, “Oye, oye! The foreman has given away his last pot to make iron straps! Prepare yourselves for certain doom and starvation!”

Kenton just stared at me as I halted at his forge with Neeker in tow. “Are you always this way?” he asked with concern.

I lifted my shoulders in a brief shrug. “I’m being more polite than usual right now. I’m too tired and hurt to really give it my best.” I offered the pot to him.

He brushed it off hurriedly. “It’s good you’ve returned! Here, give me those things!” He took the pot from me and I freed the pouch with the trinkets inside. “While you were away, something terrible happened!”

“You’re telling me,” I grunted as I moved to work at getting the boar off Neeker’s back.

“Please, I need your help!” Kenton pleaded. “It’s terrible! Blake came and told me he knew Nate was dead and that he knew I had something to do with it!” I hefted the boar across my shoulders and settled it there.

“Yes, horrible. Tell me where to put this thing,” I grunted in exertion. Turn about is fair play, I mused privately. You were just on it and now it’s taking its revenge ride on you.

Kenton stared and shook himself as he hustled over to a stone structure about waist high. He motioned at it and continued as I followed him. “I tried to tell him I didn’t, that I would have another sword for him soon, but he wouldn’t listen.” I dumped the boar off of my shoulders and straightened with a deep breath in and a heavy sigh out. I would need another bath tonight and a good wash of my clothes to handle the stench left behind. “He said he’s taken my daughter, Maribell! If I don’t give him another sword, and soon, he’ll kill her!”

I swiveled around to regard him. “He… did what, now?” I asked slowly. Did this just turn into a rescue mission?

“You must save her! Please! Get the sword from Lofar, then go to Blake’s camp. It’s in the Bree-fields, up north of Bree. I’m sure he’ll release my daughter when he has the sword.”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “Do I really look like the type who goes around saving innocent young girls from evil villains?”

Kenton shook his head. “Morchandir! Please hurry! I don’t know what I’ll do if they harm her…” He squeezed his hands together. “You’re the only hope I have left.”

“Yes, yes…” I grumbled as I walked back toward Neeker. I could say that I had been mistaken for a hero because of the people who caught me returning the shade’s ring to his brother and letting them rest again. This, however, would be a direct act of heroism that no amount of explanations would deflect. I mounted my horse and rode out toward Lofar for what I hoped was the last time, uncertain of how I felt about being suddenly thrust into the role of champion, but also wondering if Kenton’s daughter was pretty at the same time.

“Idiot,” I muttered to myself aloud. “Don’t get any fool ideas. You don’t even own any shining armor.”