*>A short while before, Heladil and Coru have ridden ahead of the main group acting as scouts and are sharing the quiet of the still lands about them...
 

As the Kite comes to rest upon the experienced hunter's arm, Coru's face looses some of its colour, and he sends Heladil a questioning look.

Soon the bird takes flight once more; its pinions buffeting the air as it pulls itself into the morning sky. Coru is visibly relieved, but he keeps his eyes on the retreating shape for as long as he can see it.

"F-f-fascinating," is all he is able to utter. Then, coming to his senses, he raises an eyebrow, and asks:
"How did you do that? It was as if you spoke to it, pressured it into coming down to us... I mean...that's just..."

Coru takes a deep breath, trying to think logically, but in the end he shakes his head and says, almost to himself:
"Fights with dead men, and talking with birds... Yes, this is indeed an unusual Szreldor hunt."

At Coru's apparent discomfort, Heladil leans over and claps Coru on the shoulder. "I am new to the lands of Men. I will tell you of my people if you will tell me of yours." Heladil looks at Coru with a question in his eye as they ride side by side.

Coru thinks for a while, nods eventually, then starts to talk in his thick Eastern accent:
"Well, as I said earlier, I too have never seen any of your folk, and your customs are as new to me, as mine must be to you. For starters, we don't understand what the wagtail means with its songs or what the crow means when it caws from the pine tree. Perhaps if we did, we would one day have the same relations to birds and animals as we have to other Men. Maybe some of my friends would be crows!"

He laughs out loud then continues:

"Anyway, the way it is today, the birds and animals are definitely not our friends. Or, that is, not on such a personal basis," Coru smiles once more. "I have often thanked the hare that comes by when I have not eaten for days, even called it a 'lifesaver', which is a name I have only given to my closest friends. But life on the plains is a tough one, and you have to hunt prey when you can. You say you want me to tell you of my people. Well, my people live on
and of these plains Heladil, it is all they know. When I first came to the West, I was shocked to learn that Men here live in houses of wood, and that they never move to more prosperous lands when theirs have been exhausted. Where I grew up, we lived in tents, and never remained in the same place for more than two revolutions of the moon at a time."

Coming to the Present suddenly, Coru adds:
"We live a simple life, we take care of our Kine-herds, and follow the Laws of Kher'Ras, living under the rule of our Elder's." He turns his head towards Heladil:
"Does this answer some of your questions? I hope so, 'cause I am eager to hear how many of the tales I've heard of the people of The Great Forest are true."

Heladil smiles and nods his head.
 

*> Meanwhile, further back along the path...
 

Lochan whips his horse's reigns to speed up towards the Guard captain ahead. "Sir, I have asked Urmahd some more questions and have got some more details. We now know that men loyal to Loruss Gars have red war paint down across their right eyes. The Easterling leader that he owed debts to was Lorgan of the Bothar but I suspect that it was really Loruss Gars manipulating all of this. We have a name in the priest's mansion, that of Yaconda Nho. He has not given us a description of him yet but soon he will. This might prove useful in the future. I think that we should talk in depth with our Easterling allies because a point may come when the Northern Lords will get drawn in to this Szreldor Civil war of theirs whether they wish to or not."

"Yes, Ranger. I have been thinking the same. Let us hold swift council with Captain Harmal when we reach him," answers Valdo.

Lochan continues with his report:
"I just wish that we could get some idea what was the purpose of the kidnapping!" The Ranger looks a little anxious and sighs before he continues:
"Do you wish me to scout ahead for awhile? There is little more to be said to Urmahd at present. Otherwise I will talk to Mistress Arekhel and see if I can assist her treatment of him. I may be able to find some useful herbs whilst we're moving through this rich land."

"Yes. Take over from Heladil and Coru if you wish although they seem content to ride ahead for the time being. Perhaps a looping search across our path ahead would be helpful."

The Ranger nods and spurs his urging horse to gallop past the front riders and away down the trail.
 

*>Meanwhile, behind them...
 

The Dwarf, Boldor, seeming a little more surly than usual has been un-characteristically quiet the whole ride so far. His arm has been bothering him of late. It is still in a sling and it throws his balance off when using his prime weapon of choice, his mattock. As for questioning the prisoner, Boldor knows that there are more than enough people in this group who have those skills, the energy and at this point the desire to wring the facts out of him. At one point, he notices Coru and Heladil talking up ahead and sees Coru hand a knife to Heladil. A look of surprise comes over his weathered face:
"Imagine, asking an Elf about the quality of craftsmanship of a weapon!" he mutters. But as he is looking in the pair's direction, he catches sight of Beinn Diomir (The Lonely Mountain) in front of them and immediately his mind wanders off, wondering about his kin in the area and if he will run into any.

After Lochan has finished interrogating the traitor, Relg falls silent. Letting his horse drift a moment, Relg is obviously lost in thought.

Gwalchmai rides his great Shire horse with the eastern man at the rear of the company. He, like Boldor, is feeling the ills of the recent battles but his personal thoughts do not intrude at all upon his companion and the Easterling's silent pondering.

Boldor looks around at the pale and damp landscape around him and shivers. Grumbling and perhaps to save himself from boredom, he moves over to sit beside Raddish and mutters a few words to him. The diminutive Hobbit nods and stares out at the rapidly retreating line of pinewoods disappearing over the crest of the last hill behind them.

Froin, after spending some time at the front of the cart listening as more questions are answered by the prisoner, moves off to the back of the cart to where Boldor and Raddish sit, their feet dangling over the wooden boards. Not wishing to interrupt them, the Dwarf moves to the other side of the backboard and opening his pack, Froin reaches inside to retrieve - three rags, dirtied from years of use, two waterskins, and a whetstone. Then from the side of the pack the elderly Dwarf un-straps a Dwarven axe-head. Taking one of the waterskins, Froin takes a little drink from it and re-corking the top, places it to the side and picks up the other waterskin, this one noticeably darker than the other.

As the talking of the folk near to him continues, Froin begins to clean the axe-head, taking care not to scratch or mar the fine etched Dwarven scrollwork on the blade.

As Billy sits in one corner of the bumpy cart he chews absently on a piece of straw. The Hobbit looks unconcerned with the goings on around him; indeed his curly brown topped head soon starts to droop as the cart moves on. After a few more moments a loud snoring starts to rumble forth which threatens to drown out the horses hooves and the creaking of the cart about him. Urmahd also has succumbed to the roll and sway of the transport, his weakened health and overwhelming fatigue taking their toll, and he hunches up as best he can towards the back of the cart, wincing as the tight bindings on hands and feet restrict the flow of blood to his limbs. He calls out in plaintive cry for someone to loosen them but all ignore the traitor and he gives up, shifting his weight to ease the dull pain and soon falls asleep.

...

As the time rolls by, Froin begins to mumble to himself:
"This would go a lot faster if I had the proper tools and my workshop. But no, I was sent away on a foolish errand while Nàr is left in control of MY WORKSHOP! All that machinery. I have spent many years getting those things up and running, cleaning them, maintaining quality pieces. And all for what? So that my king could leave the workshop in the hands of Nàr and that damned idea of his. That waterworks system. How does he expect it to work? Cheap labour by a cheap Dwarf..."
The Dwarves ramblings go on and on, a definite rage is evident whenever Nàr's name is spoken. Yet the task Froin has set himself up to do is eventually finished.

Returning the items back to his pack, Froin looks at what he has restored. Forgetting all about the conflicts back in his homeland, Froin's attention falls back upon the etched scrollwork that adorns the heavy axe-head in his lap. "If only Tewo was here. He might be able to read something into the designs on this." He looks away north and shrugs.

After almost an hour, Relg suddenly comes out of his private reverie and with a start, drives his horse to a gallop to reach Valdo. "I must speak with you," he says in a demanding voice.

The Guard Captain sighs and turns to listen to the Gargath.

"If we truly go after the Szreldor soon and continue heading in a southerly direction, we would not be ultimately too far from the lands of my people and the chances are not too bad to meet either the tribe of Hekon or the Fulnor'Rha. We haven't been ever 'friends', but their people were originally part of my people and there has never been war declared between us. And as far as I know," he adds, "our common enemy are the Szreldor. So I suggest to send Maleg and one of your militia men, to try to contact them when we reach their lands. Maybe they will join us to fight the Szreldor. It is a threat for them, too."

"Hmm, what you say is true Warseeker. If we cannot put down the Szreldor dogs 'ere long, we will be close enough to the lands of the Mixed Peoples and then your knowledge of Easterling culture might well be invaluable. It sounds a good plan, let us wait and see."

Relg pauses to survey the man riding with him for a moment, then nods once, quickly then reins his horse in and drops back to the cart.

Leaning down and tying his steed to the wooden slats of the cart's frame, Relg leaps from the saddle onto the small wagon. As he lands, the warrior looses his balance and pitches forward over the huddled form of Urmahd. Swearing, he rolls over as a loud groan comes from a crumpled shape under the tarpaulin.

Arekhel stirs and pushes the tarpaulin swiftly away, under which she has been asleep. She looks around in fury, her hair tangled and messy; her face is still puffy from her long sleep. She sits up, rubs her face with both hands, seems ready to shout at Relg for trampling her so un-politely, but suddenly she freezes and looks around her, amazed and confused at the scenery and the figure of Urmahd nearby who stares back at her with wide eyes. She stares at the man for a moment until realising that he is regarding her just the same, raises her eyebrow questioningly at Relg and mumbles:
"Hum, We're taking cripples on board now! Who's that tramp over there?!"

"I am Urmahd, my Lady and you are indeed a sight for sore eyes!"

"And it even makes compliments!... Tramps are well educated nowadays... eh, you said Urmahd?! So, you were indeed inside the coffin, hum?! I was right then!"

The traitor frowns and cocks his head upon one side almost like a bird and surveys the Elven woman before him. His mind races with thoughts but, for the present, he cannot make her out. Scratching at one armpit, Urmahd opens his mouth to speak:
"So... how did..." he shakes his head, giving up the crowding questions in his mind and slumps back against the slated side of the cart, a faint smile upon his bruised and dirty face.

Arekhel swiftly loses interest in the pathetic individual in front of her and stands up fully in the swaying cart. She brushes down her dishevelled clothing and rests one hand against the side of the cart, looking back north in the direction of the watchtower, lost again for a moment in her thoughts.

Recovering quickly and embarrassed that Arekhel is watching his fumbling, Relg reaches in and yanks on Urmahd's arms, rolling the man over to face him. The traitor swears in anger and pain and is just about to spit out a reply when he sees the cold light behind Relg's eyes. He stays silent.

"Right traitor. What do you know of a strange man that wears full black armour? Have you seen someone like him or do you have any ideas about who he could be?" he snarls, pulling the feeble figure towards him.

"Ah, I don't know of someone like that, sir."

"He has something to do with the Szreldor and I do not like his aspect."

Urmahd looks non-plussed and shrugs so Relg pulls the man closer towards him and mutters:
"This man is tall, with an Eastern looking moustache and rides a black steed as dark as his armour."

Urmahd tries to shrug once more but the fear in his eyes betrays him to the skill of Relg and the man shakes an answer out of him:
"I have heard the Szreldor talk of such a man," he whimpers finally. "They call him the 'Black Fist of the North', he is a man that even the Szreldor warriors fear but I have not seen him thankfully myself. If you say he is involved with the Uldragor then it does not surprise me but I... I cannot tell you more. That is all I know."

Relg eventually nods and lets the traitor fall back to the wooden slatted floor.

Coru hears the commotion behind him and drops back to speak with his leader as does Maleg but when he is within earshot, Boldor, in a mood of sudden charity blurts out:
"Hey Coru, I have some skills in weaponcrafts, I saw you showing the Elf your new knife, perchance I can also look at it? No promises now, but it is also a little hobby of mine, weapons lore and such."

Coru, being in the middle of a conversation, is quite surprised to be cut off like this, but after the Dwarf has spoken, his expression changes to a more pleasant mood. "Of course, Boldor, If you'll do me the honour," he says as he gives him the knife.

After the Dwarf has examined it for half a minute, Coru says, "Well?" with a poor effort to hide his impatience.

"Humph. Well I cannot say much about it in fact Coru," answers Boldor with a slight shrug. "It's a weapon made by man, that is sure," he adds. "Yes, a decent weapon sure enough and fancily weighted with the stone here but it's not made with anything rich or expensive that I can tell. Certainly not made with Dwarvish iron, that's for sure. Nope, a fine enough weapon for you to have found Coru but nothing special about it." The Dwarf hands it back to a rather disappointed Easterling.
 

*> Later in the evening...
 

It's Meraina, riding ahead on point for a change, who is the first to see torches fluttering in the strong breeze that has blown up during the afternoon from the northwest. Pointing ahead and slightly to the right, she motions for Valdo and Lochan to join her. Heladil and Sealvach also spur their horses forward to join her and peer ahead, their keen Elven sight parting the gathering darkness easily.

"Yes, there is surely a group of riders ahead Guard Captain," says Sealvach, tipping his trail hat further back on his head. "Yes, it's hard to make out numbers or their origin due to the torches breaking up the outline. Could these be the men we were destined to meet Valdo?"

"I believe so, Heladil. They certainly appear to be waiting and this is the place, the crossroads north of DionaDail, where we arranged to meet Captain Harmal."

Within a few short minutes, the two companies meet and exchange pleasantries. "You made good time, Captain Valdo. We are not even contemplating setting camp for you yet," says the gruff leader of the men of Dail. This must be Captain Harmal, a tall and rugged individual in a worn travel cloak that has seen better days, as has the boiled leather cuirass that is evidenced beneath the man's tabard. Unshaven, the man appears to be in his mid thirties and handsome yet even for the scar that runs across his left cheek.

Valdo introduces the company one by one before Captain Harmal does the same with his men. Harmal raises an eyebrow at the sight of the bound figure of Urmahd but Valdo nods to him before taking the other Captain aside to talk in hushed tones. The now mixed group of guards, some of whom are friends, begin to set up camp beneath a sheltering coppice by the main road as the wind continues to build from the northwest.

Before long, a merry fire burns to take the chill out of the air and most have found rest within its circle of warmth. Food brought from Dail is shared out and some game birds caught by Lochan and Heladil earlier are slowly roasted over the open fire. After all have had their fill, Valdo gets to his feet and holds up his hands for the voices around him in the dark to subside. He clears his throat:

"Noble friends, countrymen. It has come to the time when our paths for a time must divide. As has already been spoken, Urmahd has to be taken back to Buhr Criocha to stand trial as a traitor under the eyes of our Lord Mahrdhricks and there his sentence will be given. Such a dangerous criminal as this has surely friends on both sides of this war and because of this he will need an armed escort to make sure he arrives, as he himself has said, in one piece! Therefore, with much deliberation with Captain Harmal here and the Ranger Lochan, I have chosen to lead that escort myself. Now, believe me when I say I would far prefer to be out there with you - kicking the Szreldor out of our lands but for the time being, this other matter takes precedence."

There is a slight stirring through the assembled group of faces surrounding the fire but no one directly objects. Valdo raises his voice once again.

"I will need five men with me. Targon and Onar, you are two. Gwalchmai, you will stay as will Lochan to lead the rest of those militia men from Buhr Criocha wishing to fight on - I know you have family members captured by the Easterlings so your swords will be sharp. Captain Harmal has overall control over the company but you others are free to choose your own course. Relg, as you have already said, the Szreldor are heading towards the border lands of the Mixed Peoples and you may well find aid from the scattered tribes of your kin. By projecting the speed of the Szreldor, slowed down as they are with the prisoners, we estimate that they will be heading either to the north or south of Buhr Tallanmoor, on the eastern frontier with the Dwarflands. Captain Harmal has suggested that swift riders could take the Dwarf road east and perhaps set a trap for the Szreldor before they get near to Tallanmoor. We have scouts out searching now but so far none have returned. We expect them to await us along the eastern trail with news." He pauses for breath and looks across to Lochan who sits opposite. "If we cannot catch the Szreldor there, then we will have to hound their heels all the way to the river Carnen. If that is the case then I may have time to catch you up, for I will surely leave once the delivery of the traitor is made. So, I say unto you all, we go soon into a battle whose outcome, yet none of us can foresee. You others have joined your allegiance to the people of the Northern towns of your own freewill and for that we thank you. The time is now for you all to make your decision."

It is Boldor who first speaks up:
"I see no reason why we should make our decision now, begging your grace Guard Captain. It is true we have come this far for your people and personally I have barely wet the weapon of my father, barely tasted the tang of battle in my mouth once again. I will go on but for these others," and he sweeps his darkly twinkling eyes across the assembled company, "their choice can come at any time, they are freemen after all?"

"Yes, I see your point Boldor," answers Valdo stepping back as a flush of crackling sparks rise suddenly from a newly flaming bale of heather. "For you it is a simple choice, you head now towards the lands of your people but for the others... of other races. They go not to the halls of their brethren but into the very teeth of danger. I say they choose when they wish and what they wish but I will say one last thing. Their aid will be sorely needed. The people of Buhr Tallanmoor are traders for the most part or simple farmer-folk. They will have little in the way of defense if the Szreldor should choose to pass by their way. Our choice has already been made these days past. Our people are heading into slavery and we want them back. It is as simple as that." He sighs and returns to his place upon the sandy ground.

"Well I swore allegiance to Lord Mahrdhricks for good or ill and I say our job is not done. Not yet!" bellows the huge figure of Gwalchmai, getting to his feet. A number of cheers pass around the fire as many agree with his courageous sentiments. One of them is Froin, the Dwarven Engineer.
"As Ambassador for my people to the northern villages, a too swore allegiance to Lord Mahdhricks and will do all in my power to see that this injustice is corrected. If we go near the halls of my people then good. I may not be a warrior like Boldor or Gwalchmai but I can aid these poor people in other ways," he says, then looks around in the dim light at the others in the group.

Arekhel looks and listens to what they are all saying, but she is not prepared to comment, she just shrugs at their words of 'allegiance' and 'justice'; then wraps herself tighter in her cloak, looking straight into the depths of the fire.

Just then a commotion and raised voices are heard from beyond the circle of light. A horse snorts from nearby and Heladil leaps to his feet in one swift bound as Sealvach appears from the shadows. "It seems we have new company," he says and steps forwards to warm his hands upon the fire, his face hidden as always by the ever present trail hat.

With his back turned, the Gambler doesn't see the appearance of two folk; he of all people should recognise. From out of the dark come two figures flanked on both sides by militia men, coming to stand before Captain Harmal and Valdo.

The first man, shorter than the other and wide of waist with slight flashes of finery beneath an all encompassing cloak, steps forward and bows perfectly to the two men before him. With a sweep of his arm, he accommodates the rest of those who stand to one side by the fire as he says:
"Do not be alarmed my friends. It is only I, Megrin of Dail, merchant to the Lords of the Northmen who stand before you and beg you good sirs for a warm patch by the fire." With a repeat bow and a lightly flicked motion of an arm to the man beside him the fat man speaks again:
"Not even my guardian, Ranal here, is safety enough with Szreldor bands on the loose in these parts." With this introduction given, the other man steps forward a pace until his features are cast sharper in the flickering light.

<A rough look, this other man is easy to place as a man-at-arms, experienced in the protection of merchants such as this one from prying eyes and hands and equally at home in the wilds between settlements as he is in the deep streets and alleyways of a bustling town.>

With a stern frown to equal that of the hired man standing before him, Captain Harmal surveys the newcomer with mixed emotions. "Why do you approach us, out of the dark like this? Do you wish to be shot as a skulkrin?"

"Nay Captain. I thought fairness and openness would save my bacon this night." 

He looks from face to face, searching for a friendly smile. "We were camped a ways down the trail towards Buhr Tallanmoor and saw your fires. We fled Buhr Criocha quickly when the Szreldor attacked so I did not have time to hire fresh guards or regain my supplies for the return journey. I felt it prudent to seek protection from those best suited in all these parts to give it. Thus we came here to ask your aid sire."

Harmal is about to speak when Valdo relaxes and steps forward towards the man. "Do not judge this character too harshly, Captain. I know Megrin from his previous visits to the northern villages. A good gambling partner at any time." He flashes a hated look at Sealvach before adding:
"Those are often hard to find!"