Three days later she left them. She sat straight on the saddle, and only the bandage around her head and the stiffness in her right leg reminded her of the battle in the fortress. The Eglain wanderers had tended her wounds, fed her and helped her back on her feet. They knew nothing about the half-orcs in the fortress. They had only seen goblins a few times, otherwise they had enough thinking about in lynx, boars and wargs. ”We are only poor wanderers, miss… we are only interested in what we can scavenge for trade or hunt for food and clothing…”
Hellrien headed east along the mountain range and arrived in Nain Enidh without knowing it. She rode steadily eastward and lived off the dubious meat and bread the Eglain had sold her. The Weathertop arose towards the clouds above the horizon far to her left, and far, far in the east… like a purple shadow in the horizon rippling in the heat she saw the ruins of Mithrenost, marking the border of Nain Enidth and Talath Gaun. The region was barren and desolate, and there were no Eglain settlements before Ost Guruth. An hour after hour she rode east, and mile after mile disappeared into dust behind her. She slept on bare ground and was up on the saddle again as the morning dawned. The highlands surrounding Mithrenost kept rising higher towards the sky. Dried-up riverbeds cleaved the landscape here and there. Stunted trees and bushes of grass grew on their edges. Cliffs and mounds rose from the ground and disappeared into mist. Soon she was close to the Great East Road south of Ost Guruth. After a while she crossed the road and arrived in the region of Talath Gaun east of Ost Guruth. And still she had seen no signs of life. She had half expected to run into half-orcs, orcs or goblins during her trip.
As she rode on she kept thinking about the fugitive camp. She thought about those three men – Harmon Rushes, Herbert Dickerson and Victor Landen. None of their bodies had been among the remains of those the half-orcs had butchered in the camp. They were the ones who had mentioned The Brute – but left out that he was a half-orc. ’Different kind of animal than his brother’, had Rushes simply said. Ozzie had once told her about a woman called Joan Darkhand, who presumably worked with Harmon Rushes. But who was this Joan Darkhand? How was she connected with the others? Was there a connection between the weapon traffic from Bree, half-orcs and the Créoth attacks? Hellrien thought it plausible.
Joan Darkhand – where was she? In Agamaur – Garth Agarwen?
Then she remembered Ozzie. She remebered his gentle nature, his warmth and his almost clumsy ways of wooing her. Had he loved her? Hellrien banished those kinds of thoughts from her mind. Whatever that poor man had felt for her, made no difference anymore. As for Hellrien, she had just taken advantage of him, and that had cost him his life. But there was no point in dwelling on it. Coldness was the only thing she could rely on. It was something she knew.
The sun wandered high on the sky. Hot whirlwinds raised small dust devils farther in the southeast. The horse nodded it’s head and dragged onwards drowsily. Hellrien’s head was swaying from one side to another. Thoughts kept spinning in her unconscious mind.
Suddenly she felt like she was being kept an eye on. She looked about. The terrain was very hilly and rolling. The small ruin on top of the hill where they had found the remains of the Eglain couple was half a mile away. Hellrien turned farther from the ruin, planning to avoid it by going around the northern slope to see if she could find the Créoth tracks still. She had learned to trust her instincts. And now every nerve was screaming danger. A small cloud of dust made her sure of it. In the instant she noticed it above the hill she spurred her horse into full gallop towards the lowland of Haragmar below. Suddenly she heard the blood-curdling warcry of the Créoth. Years had passed since she had last heard that sound, and she felt cold, damp sweat dripping down her back. She looked behind her. Half a dozen Créoth warriors descended down the sandy slope raising dust – only a hundred yards behind her. She leaned on the neck of her horse and shouted in the animal’s ear. The stallion charged into fierce gallop. Foam flew on it’s flanks. Hellrien looked behind her. She was fast increasing the distance between herself and the hillmen, who were on foot. But her own steed was tired after long day trips and she could feel it’s muscles stiffening up. She had immediately directed towards the swampland in the bottom of the valley, but then she noticed a berm rising a side of a hill to her right and turned towards it. The horse was almost out of strength. There was something stiff and cramping in it’s movements. Hellrien screamed again, spurring the horse to use up it’s last reserves of strength as it climbed up the slope. Finally Hellrien threw herself off the saddle. She used her bandage to blindfold the horse, knowing it would lie down and hopefully not get shot by the Créoth warriors. Hellrien untied the saddle bags and the bedroll, grabbed her canteen and crossbow and quickly crawled higher up the slope. The hillmen were approaching the hill and splitting up to outflank her. Hellrien cocked the crossbow and stood halfway up. She set her sights on a bearded Créoth warrior, let the stirrup rise above the horse’s head and took a shot. The warrior flew down the hillside as if hit by a giant’s club. Hellrien cocked the weapon and directed it at another warrior. The bolt made him fall down, and another bolt missed his head by an inch as he was crawling to a cover. Hellrien wiped sweat off her forehead and ran higher up the berm to keep an eye on the hillmen behind her. They were coming at her! Three from this side and two from the other. Five against one – a nasty situation. An arrow penetrated into the sand next to her. Hellrien threw herself into the cover of a rock and took a shot at a cloud of dust. She didn’t hit anything. She loaded the crossbow with steady hands. She had to remain still. From here she could see both groups – unless they split up yet again and crawled to her. But maybe they felt strong enough to charge openly. She cocked the crossbow and stood waiting.
She saw a flash of a movement – two Créoth warriors running at full speed over a small clearing. Hellrien’s crossbow and Créoth bows released their missiles at the same time. Hellrien’s hat flew in the air and something stung her right cheek as an arrow passed by, scraping the skin. The foremost Créoth stopped as if hit by a wall. The other raised his hands high in the air. The foremost dropped on his knees. He held his stomach and started chanting in a low, monotone voice. Hellrien released another bolt and the chanting died. Fierce scream echoed in Hellrien’s ears. A warrior was right in front of her, so close she could see his stiff red beard, greased with human fat, red stripes painted on his cheeks. Hellrien released another bolt but missed as the Créoth leaped at her. Hellrien swung the crossbow in the air, hitting the Créoth on the back while he was still mid-air. Air compressed out of the Créoth’s lungs. He crashed on Hellrien’s knees, flying her against the cliff with a fierce force. Hellrien dropped the crossbow and drew her swords. In that instance she saw a figure of a warrior on a rock in front of her. His bow was ready and and an arrow was aimed at her. Hellrien raised her right hand and threw the sword at the bowman. The Créoth on the rock collapsed as if he had been punched on the stomach. He fell down head first, but Hellrien knew he wasn’t dead yet. The sword had not wounded him severely. Then the Créoth in front of her raised up and a knife flashed towards Hellrien’s stomach. Hellrien slinked aside, terrified, and the knife blade scratched the hem of her mail coat. She swung the blade of the sword in her left side to the hillman’s neck, cutting off the spine. The Créoth fell down face first, kicking sand.
Then it was suddenly all quiet. But there were enemies left still – two or three at least! Hellrien loaded the crossbow and glanced fretfully down the slope, where shadows were dark on tawny sand. Where the hell were the rest of the hillmen?
Suddenly the horse neighed.
Hellrien charged out from behind a rock. The Créoth had already raised his bow. The arrow was aimed at the horse’s head. Hellrien came to a full stop and swung her sword coldly and intently. The bow flew from the hillman’s hands with fierce momentum. Hellrien looked at the warrior. He was young, no more than sixteen, seventeen at most. His beard didn’t grow yet. He had painted his face with crimson and maroon red stripes and tied his hair back. He was wearing a blue shirt and leather shoulder pads.
The Créoth’s hands were paralyzed of impact. He tried to grab his warhammer.
”Don’t kill him, Hellrien!”
Hellrien spun around like lightning.
A tall figure with a stooped neck dashed out from behind rocks wearing a scale armor and holding a longbow. It was Elsa from Barad Dhorn, the prematurely graying sister of Eriac.
”He’s young”, the woman continued. ”Perhaps we can make him talk.”
Hellrien lowered her sword. The Créoth threw himself at her, screaming fiercely. Hellrien stepped aside and knocked him hard on the head with the pommel of her sword. The Créoth fell on the ground.
Elsa spat.
”Good”, she said. ”Tie him up on your horse and let’s get the hell out of here. I have been tracking this group since morning.”
