”There were four of them”, Hellrien said calmly. ”And Temair had been stabbed to death.”
”Yes”, Elsa muttered.
”The Créoth must have another way to enter Garth Agarwen, as they cannot come through Barad Dhorn unseen by the Eglain there. The four adventurers must have used the same entrance. I have a rough idea about it’s direction, so we should be able to find their tracks in Haragmar.”
Elsa didn’t respond. Beneath her weathered skin her face was pale. Hellrien stared at the woman. Suddenly she blew up.
”What the hell’s the matter with you, woman?”
”That ruddy old wretch”, Elsa muttered, trembling. ”Why the hell didn’t he just kill us…”
Hellrien frowned. She saw that Elsa had a strange look about her face.
”What do you mean, Elsa?”
”That ruddy old wight cursed us… over there.”
”So what?” Hellrien snapped. ”Are we supposed to just roll over and die?”
Elsa turned suddenly. Her cheekbones were white as sheet.
”Don’t talk about something you know nothing about!” she yelled. ”There are things worse than death! And I have seen bigger people than you die for such things!”
Hellrien restrained herself. There was a desperate look in her eyes. She frowned her lips. ”All right, I beg your forgiveness. But there’s no sense in you going after them. Your people need you in Barad Dhorn. We’ll split up there.”
”Do you think I’m scared, Hellrien?” Elsa growled.
”No. But there’s no telling what the Créoth will do now. Your people in Barad Dhorn will need you in case the hillmen are planning for an attack. I’m going to pick up some friends from Bree-Land – professional sellswords, people who do this for a living.”
Elsa muttered something incomprehensible. A relieved expression spread upon her face.
”So you’re not going after them alone?”
”Hell no – I’m not a complete lunatic.”
Elsa hesitated. ”All right”, she said. ”We need to reinforce our troops in Barad Dhorn. We need more people from Ost Guruth. And Radagast needs to hear what happened in Garth Agarwen.”
Hellrien didn’t respond. Impatience was burning inside her.
She stretched out her hand. ”I’ll drop by in Barad Dhorn when I’m done.”
”You do that. Good luck, Hellrien.”
In Barad Dhorn Hellrien mounted her horse and rode out of the gate. She didn’t look back.
She found the tracks by following the mountain range to east, just like she had thought. She followed them down to the swamp. They were heading south.
She followed the tracks. As the night came she made camp in the swamp. Night wind whispered and sang. She thought she could hear voices. The Eglain believed that wandering wights, the undead of Agamaur, wandered in the swamp at nights and sometimes talked to lonely people. The Eglain called them the Night Walkers.
She listened. The Night Walkers talked to her from the darkness.
”Are you alone, sellsword? Are you cold? Where are you going, you poor, lonely girl?”
Hellrien trembled with cold. She rubbed her hands against the hilts of her swords. Her old scars were aching.
The Night Walkers whispered and laughed in the dark.
”Your path is the way to death… the curse of Naruhel will find you no matter where you go. Everything and everyone you touch will die a violent death and eventually it will find you too. You have broken the pact. You have seen the sacred altar of Naruhel. You will die, sellsword… you will die soon.”
Then the Night Walkers laughed quietly and fell silent.
Hellrien huddled in her camp on the bog until it dawned. Then she mounted up, pale, enraged, black circles under her eyes… and carried on her journey towards south, and her shadow followed with her.
