After leaving Colbert Hellrien rode south through the woods until she found the road again and followed it further south to Duillond. It took her two days to get there. From Duillond she rode east, crossing the mighty River Lune. Passing through Needlehole she crossed the Rushock Bog and journeyed through a land called the Shire, a lush and fertile land inhabited by short people known as hobbits. She reached Stock five days after she had left old Colbert with the company of ghosts. Here Brandywine River separated the pastoral paradise of hobbits and the last thriving outpost of the civilization of men in Eriador – Bree-Land. Brandywine River had it’s source far north in Lake Evendim. From there it flowed through the easternmost reaches of the Shire and past Sarn Ford until it finally connected with the Sundering Seas west of Eriador. But the Great East Road continued east across the Brandywine Bridge, all the way through Bree-Land and farther. Before a traveler had reached the great town of Bree another road crossed the Great East Road, and if the traveler turned north from the Greenway Crossing and kept following the road until it turned into the overgrown Greenway, it would eventually lead into the ancient capital of Arnor, Fornost Erain.
Fornost Erain, nowadays better known as the Deadman’s Dike, was Hellrien’s destination.
She had been taught something about the history of this once great Númenorean city during the history lessons in the Sworn Brotherhood Stronghold. She knew that Fornost had been the capital of ancient Arnor until it had fallen under a full-scale invasion of Angmar’s forces near the end of the second millennium of the Third Age. The Witch-king of Angmar had held the city for over a year, and even though Men of Gondor eventually destroyed the Angmarian army, the city was ruined for good. What was left of it now was nothing but a miserable ruin, befouled by orcs and goblins and haunted by spirits of oathbreakers and treacherous men.
Hellrien felt her heart beating faster when she thought about all the things she might find there. But she knew she had to be cautious. She was alone now, and she could rely on nobody but herself. Alone her prospects to do anything were very limited.
It took Hellrien two more days to reach the North-South Road. She had been through some rough times when she finally rode through the mountain pass towards Trestlebridge. She had been on the road for a long time now, and the long journey had left it’s marks on her. Her hair had grown, stretching below her shoulders now. The clothes that had kept her warm up in the Blue Mountains were now tattered, dirty, greasy and smelly. Only her weapons were in good shape. She had lost weight and looked skinnier than before. But she was feeling great when she saw the walls of the town rising from the floor of the valley, and her blue eyes sparkled on her weather-beaten face.
Trestlebridge, the border town between Bree and the wild frontier of North Downs, had seen some rough times too. Constant attacks of orc hoards had left their marks on the town and it’s residents. Whole rows of buildings had been burned to cinder, and the people of the town were proud, hardened and wary, constantly on a lookout for another attack. The traffic on the market square was surprisingly busy, and Hellrien had to almost push through the crowd to get to the stable. She left her horse and saddle in the stable, picking up her weapons, saddlebags and a large jug of Barliman’s strongest brew she had purchased from Bree when she had stopped by there a couple of days ago.
”Is there an Inn or something like that in this town?” she asked the stablehand.
”The Woodruffs often rent a bed for travelers”, the stablehand informed her. ”It’s the last house to the right before the bridge. Elsie should be at home at this time.”
Hellrien thanked and tipped the man for his advice and made haste to the Woodruff’s house. A woman in her forties was sitting on top of the stairs. Hellrien’s white teeth flashed from the middle of her muck-stained face.
The woman looked at Hellrien. She could see right away that Hellrien was a stranger and had been on the road for a while.
”Welcome, stranger”, she said with a friendly smile.
”Thank you”, Hellrien replied. ”Are you Elsie Woodruff? I was told I might get a room for the night here? Obviously I would pay for my stay.”
The woman looked skeptical about that promise, eyeing Hellrien’s shabby clothing from head to toe. ”That’s me. And it looks like you need one. What’s your name?”
”Hellrien.”
”Alright, miss Hellrien, I have room to accommodate a guest. May I ask what has brought you to Trestlebridge?”
”I heard one could make fortunes up north in the Deadman’s Dike”, said Hellrien. ”Maybe I’ll become rich…” She smiled.
”I see. Well, I wish you luck with that.”
”May I ask you something? Would you happen to remember a large party of people riding through this town and over Trestlebridge? It would have been a few weeks past. Maybe a couple of months at most.”
The woman scratched her head. ”People always come and go through here to ride up north. Most of them I never hear about again.”
”Try to think, please. This would have been a large group of armed men, like a small army with fancy steeds, armors, weapons, the works.”
”I’m afraid I can’t help you with that, sorry.”
”Who in this town would best know about the happenings up north?”
”That would be my husband, Mattie. He and my brother Noll are wood-workers and often ride up there for a few days to collect wood. They know people who live in the North Downs, even some of those shady Ranger characters.”
Hellrien nodded. ”Could I have a word with him? These people are my friends, and any news of them would be welcome.”
”You will find him at Noll’s house on the other side of the town. It’s the first house after the gate this side of the street. On the southern side of the market square. Shall I show you to the guest room now?”
”Thank you, ma’am.”
Mrs. Woodruff showed Hellrien to her room. She asked Mrs. Woodruff where she could get her clothes laundered and buy some new ones. The woman promised to talk to the local weaver and have someone sent over to pick up Hellrien’s clothes, as she was on her way to the market square herself.
Hellrien washed up and brushed her hair, feeling content. She left her dirty clothes to the weaver’s errand boy and ordered a new dress. While waiting for it to arrive she chugged down half a gallon of Barliman’s finest and was somewhat drunk when she dressed up and got prepared for the dinner. She considered taking the warhammer with her, but decided it would have looked ridiculous with the dress. She didn’t believe there was any need to arm herself just to walk around in Trestlebridge. With her extensive training in Elite Gondorian Arts she suspected she could take out anyone in this town single-handedly, armed or not, if it came to that. And if orcs or something like that decided to attack, Mrs. Woodruff’s house was not that far off.
Mrs. Woodruff stared at Hellrien in disbelief when she came out of the door. Could this ample-bosomed, tipsy harlot really be the same ragged bum that had stood before her only a couple of hours ago?
”Is that really you, miss Hellrien?” she asked. But there was no smile or friendliness in her tone anymore. Now Hellrien was a threat. Too much competition in Bree, whore? her coldly staring eyes seemed to beg the question.
”Hic! I think so.”
”You can find my husband at Noll’s house until dusk”, she said chillingly. ”Later they will go up north to chop wood for a few days.”
Hellrien fixed her eyes with Mrs. Woodruff’s. ”It looks like I have to act quickly then. Hic!” she replied, flashing a sloppy grin at Elsie.
It was a wrong thing to say. If looks could kill, Hellrien would have kicked the bucket right then and there.
”I am going to bed at nightfall, miss Hellrien”, Mrs. Woodruff said in a freezing voice. ”If you’re not back before dark, I suggest you find yourself another place to spend the night.”
Hellrien turned and left. She found a vendor in the market square selling meat pies. She bought a couple, found a comfortable spot to sit and bask in the sun and hunched over her food. Mrs. Woodruff’s jealousy aside, she needed to have a chat with her husband. She looked at the sun. Less than an hour to dusk. She finished her dinner and walked towards the building Mrs. Woodruff had described. She knocked on the door, and a man with ginger hair and beard came to open.
”Is there something I can help you with?” he asked politely. He had marked difficulties in keeping his gaze fixed at eye-level; it kept sliding down to Hellrien’s bosom.
”Mattie Woodruff? My name’s Hellrien. I need to talk to Mattie.”
”Noll Tobbit. Come on in, miss.” Noll turned away from the door and hollered: ”Matt! There’s someone here to see you. Said her name was Hellrien.”
Hellrien stepped inside and looked around in the room. It was a typical bachelor’s home, with simple, sturdy and functional furniture and somewhat untidy general appearance. A powerfully built man in a blue outfit stood up from the chair he had been sitting on.
”Miss Hellrien?” said the man, stretching his hand. ”I’m Mattie.”
Noll seated himself on a bench by a wall and kept throwing shy glances at Hellrien’s direction when he thought she wouldn’t notice.
Hellrien shook Mattie’s hand. His handshake was firm and brisk. Mattie was in his forties, a heavily built strongman – five or six inches taller than Hellrien, and definitely at least three stones heavier. His face was broad and heavy. He had brown, protruding hair, bushy eyebrows and beard covering his scarred mouth and nose. Hellrien couldn’t help but think about Elsie Woodruff. She hadn’t expected her husband to look so primitive. But when she looked closer into Mattie’s eyes she took note of the intelligent, humorous twinkle in the bottom of his small pupils.
”You wanted to talk to me about something?” said Mattie. His voice was deep and resounding, a commander’s voice.
”I did”, said Hellrien. ”Some time ago, a few weeks maybe, a couple of months at most, a large group of people rode through here. I mean, I think they must have ridden through Trestlebridge, as they were on the way to the Deadman’s Dike. Do you remember?”
Mattie scratched his beard. ”Can’t say I do, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Times are strange, and it’s not uncommon for all kinds of queer folk pass through town on their way to North Downs. What did they want with the Deadman’s Dike?”
”It’s a long story. But they are my friends, so I would very much want to know what happened to them. Maybe try some treasure hunting too, if possible.”
Mattie nodded in understanding. ”I see. But to tell you the truth, you will not find any treasures to scavenge up in Deadman’s Dike. Not anymore. There’s nothing there but certain death.”
”Is that so?” Hellrien muttered. ”But I was told about a camp there… a camp for treasure hunters?”
”Aye, there is a camp. It’s called the ’Treasure Hunters’ Camp’, but there’s not much treasure hunting going on these days. You see, lately the Deadman’s Dike has become the base of a large orc infestation. Orcs, goblins and even worse creatures, that’s what I’ve heard. The folk you will find in that camp now are mostly scouts for the Free People’s, watching and reporting as Angmar’s forces grow their power in the North Downs. There’s even a couple of friends of mine from Trestlebridge over there. But that’s not a place for a wee lass to stroll around looking for shinies. To get to the camp you would need to get past the Norbury Gates, and the Fields of Fornost are teeming with fell creatures, orcs, barghests… I wouldn’t be crazy enough to attempt going there.”
”I’m not a ’wee lass’”, Hellrien snapped, unable to hide the irritation from her voice. Mattie raised one bushy eyebrow and looked Hellrien closely, noticing the uneven scars on her face and the steel in her eyes. At first he had classed Hellrien as a typical camp follower – one of those people who always hung around with armies, following them from camp to camp, providing services that the military did not supply. But now he had to adjust his opinion a little. Hellrien was clearly a hard woman, harder than most he had seen before. If she was a camp follower, she must have been in some hard places too.
”Alright, miss”, Mattie said amicably, throwing a skeptical glance at Hellrien’s attire. ”No disrespect meant. I trust you have weapons… and know how to use them?”
”I do”, said Hellrien gravely.
”Well, then. When are you leaving?”
”Tomorrow. Your wife rented me a bed, I’m spending the night at your house.”
”Did she now?” Mattie’s left eyebrow rose again, and the humorous twinkle returned into his eyes. A mischievous smile flickered in the corner of his mouth. ”That was very generous of her!”
Mattie grew serious again. ”Well, miss Hellrien, if your mind is set, you must do what you must. I’m sorry I can’t come to escort you, but I have duties here. You’re a brave woman if you’re going to venture out to the Fields of Fornost all by yourself, and I do hope you know what you’re doing. Look up the Widdup brothers if you do manage to get to that camp – Arch and Will. Say hello from me. If there’s anything to know about what happened to your friends, they should know it. Now if you excuse me, Toll and I need to get to our camp before it gets dark. It’s a few miles up north along the Greenway. We need to go chop wood for a few days.”
”Oh well”, said Hellrien, stretching out her hand, ”in that case I’m just going to thank you for all your help.”
”Don’t mention it. I do hope I get the pleasure of seeing you again, miss.”
Noll escorted Hellrien to the door, and Mattie bowed politely as she left.
Hellrien strolled aimlessly at the market square, wondering what to do next. The grateful Rangers of Tinnudir had given her a pretty pile of silver as a parting gift, but as sure as the sun rose from the east she was bleeding coins and would run out eventually. She had not yet given many thoughts about her future. What would she do next – if she returned alive from Fornost, if she didn’t find her friends… or found that they were dead?
As far as Hellrien knew, there was only one way a woman could make fast and easy money. Now that she was wearing a dress she could feel the eyes upon her. Even with all her scars she was still attractive to the menfolk. While Hellrien had never been a lass of remarkable beauty, her face was still pretty and she had been blessed – or cursed – with the type of body many men found irresistible, curvy and heavy-breasted. The scars on her face didn’t mar her looks too much – if anything, they made her look exotic and dangerous, and that too was a turn-on for some. The women of Trestlebridge regarded her with different kinds of eyes entirely. Their eyes told Hellrien they knew exactly what kind of woman she was and that there could be only one reason for her presence in Trestlebridge – to seduce their dear husbands to fornication and lasciviousness, leech them out of their hard-earned money and infect them with all kinds of awkward diseases as a miserable trade-off.
Hellrien was a worldly woman with every sense of the word, and there had been a couple of occasions in the past, but now she doubted she could do that sort of thing anymore. Not after what those brigands had done to her in Evendim. She had managed to push off the memories about those days as Ernil’s captive for the most part, but now it all came back, making her skin crawl with horror and revulsion. No. She wasn’t that desperate yet. She wasn’t that hungry yet. And she still had money left.
Besides, maybe there was fortunes to be made in Fornost after all, despite of what Mattie said. Maybe she would find her friends there, and everything would go back to normal, whatever that meant in Hellrien’s life. Maybe.
She heard raucous laughter emanating from a winding path from the other side of the market square. The path led out of town and up the edge of the chasm Trestlebridge had been built upon. Hellrien stepped on the path and followed the merry sounds. A small group of local drunks were sitting on the edge of the chasm, passing on a large jug of home-brewed wine. There was a spectacular view of the ravine and the bridge that had given it’s name to the town. Hellrien was accepted to the ring with no difficulties.
She remembered Mrs. Woodruff’s ultimatum, but there was still an hour or two to kill before dark. There was time for a few swigs from the jug and watch the sunset.
But the wine was strong and the company jolly, and before long Hellrien forgot all about Mrs. Woodruff’s curfew…
