The troop of cavalry approached without undue hurry. It became clear they had been seen when a horn blew thrice and the body of riders went from a loose column to a dense fighting formation. Rhavanielle took off her hat and waved it in the air as soon as she guessed that they could see the faces of the trio. The horsemen rode at a canter around them once, closing them in a circle of humorless looking men. One of their number, a tall golden bearded young warrior rode close, looking the three strangers over with wonder.
“Now here is something most strange to me!” he exclaimed. “Two dwarves and a young girl dressed like a boy wandering on foot! What manner of travelers are you?”
Rhavanielle's eyes widened, but she held her tongue and let Gorm speak as they had arranged.
“Hail, son of Eorl!” exclaimed Gorm in his wizened voice. The three of them bowed low as one and their spokesman continued under the bemused gaze of the helmed horse lord. “I am Gorm, son of Arvid and this is Sfeithi, son of Ossvalt. The girl is Rhavanielle, our servant.” Rhavanielle tried her best to look properly humble, shifting nervously from one foot to the other.
The chief of the riders drew himself up, and gazed at them imperiously from under his helm. “I am Freagild, Eorl, Gesith of the household of the King. You may pass through the Mark, but know you that the borderlands are not safe for simple wanderers. From afar, we took you for beggars from Dunland.”
“We are simple traders seeking markets for iron goods,” Gorm spoke up. His trepidation was gone and he now warmed to his act. “The dwarves of Enedwaith forge armor the like of which you've rarely seen!” he added.
Freagild the knight of Rohan appeared dubious of this. “If this is so, you'd have been better advised to wear some of it traveling through the Gap, dwarf.”
Gorm's enthusiasm deflated in an instant but Sfeithi chimed in. “We were robbed by orcs from the mountains! Our trusty servant pulled our chesnuts out of the fire though. Quite an adventure!” Always leaven your lies with the truth, Sfeithi thought to himself. He nodded as if warming to a tale.
The Rohirrim waved his hand impatiently. “I doubt it not, friend dwarf. You shall fare better in the Mark. Travel straight east and tarry not on the road until you reach Marton. You'll find a mead hall with some room for travellers there, I should think. If not, or if you cannot afford, it, I expect someone will let you share a barn with their hogs.”
Rhavanielle blinked and frowned. Her expression caught quick-eyed Freagild 's attention immediately. The man smiled behind his golden beard. “This serving girl is more suited to wait on a thegn's table than on two tattered dwarves, I think. And she outwitted orcs of the mountains! Wither did you find such a treasure? She looks akin to our own folk.”
Gorm swallowed. The plan they'd quickly hatched hinged on the dwarves holding the attention of the horsemen. The elf's part was merely to stay behind them, stay silent and look as dull witted as she could manage.
“The girl is a Breelander, I take it. An orphan who took service with us after running away from a farm...” Gorm's improvisation sounded less than fully convincing to Freagild who quirked a brow. Here was a man who knew when he was being lied to.
“I have little time to treat with ragamuffins, Sfeithi, son of Ossvalt,” said the rider sternly. “Know you that cheats and swindlers will find little welcome in the Mark. Pass on eastward as you may, but do not presume upon the stupidity of my people.”
Gorm and Sfeithi set about bowing obsequiously. Rhavanielle made her second mistake by standing like a simpleton, looking at the ground. Freagild grunted and wheeled his massive horse round and raised his hand. The troop swirled round, automatically forming into two long files after their chieftain, dozens of hooves pounding the earth. Sfeithi wondered at them fretfully. What must a thousand horses sound like?
The trio stood for a moment longer as the eotheod rode away northward. Rhavanielle broke the silence.
“I gather I did not seem like one who was used to sleeping in a manger.”
“No. I reckon not,” grunted Gorm. “Still, they're gone. We mind our manners and we'll be alright.” He plucked a long stem of grass and stuck it between his teeth.
Sfeithi took a deep breath. “Time enough to be off. He didn't seem to think it was safe lingering about in these parts, though I don't understand why. Nobody seems to live here.”
“They are looking for raiders from Dunland,” Gorm said. “Nobody lives here because it's too close to the Dunlending folk.
Rhavanielle looked about in all directions. No one save the fading horse troop. “Let's be off, then,” she said quietly. The storm clouds that had been gathering were now being shredded apart by mighty winds from the west, bringing a crispness to the air. She felt a sense of being watched and noted the presence in the distance of a flock of crebain in the north, hovering over the horsemen. Disquieting memories crowded at the edge of her mind. She remembered an aphorism that had been common in Arnor when she had once dwelt there. Crows follow war. Crebain precede it.
