It took over three weeks before Blue Nose allowed her to leave. Trestlebridge had been like a boiling witch’s cauldron. Taala and Eroforth had come to Trestlebridge to investigate what had happened the day after the fire. They had found Hellrien in the Shelton residence, and she had told them the whole story. Maria had been shaken, but able to fill in the missing pieces about what had happened to her that night. Crambe had captured her from her house and together with Hemlock and Bottlebrush they had left town. The half-orc Ray Cranes had been waiting by the shattered tree and together with Crambe ambushed and killed Hemlock and Bottlebrush, who had thought that the plan was to extort ransom money from Maria, unaware of the deal Crambe had made with Cranes. Then Crambe and Cranes had seen a lot of effort to loose their pursuers riding a long way north and along the river before Crambe had traded Maria for a bag of gold. From there Crambe had continued north while Cranes had returned to the orc assault camp with Maria. She did not want to talk about her short time as a captive in the orc camp but she looked relatively unharmed, at least physically.
Andrew and Maria Shelton didn’t want the story of Ray Cranes to come out for the common folk at Trestlebridge, and Taala and Ero had been just as eager to cover up the misdeeds of Crambe and the other two rogue mercenaries, strained as the relations with The Bloody Dawn and the townsfolk of Trestlebridge already were. So all parties concerned made a deal to keep the real story under wraps, and the Shelton secretary played along with it. The official story was that bandits, or maybe a handful of orcs, had slipped across the bridge, killing the guards and starting the fire. Maria had chanced on them in the act and they had grabbed her. Two of the Dawners had been killed while three others gave chase, driving the evil-doers out of town. They had been unfortunately killed in the attempt out in the wilds. Hellrien had followed after them and been able to surprise the orcs and rescue Maria. Nothing about Ray Cranes was mentioned, nor the fact that he had won over one of the Dawners.
Hellrien was doubtful at first whether the townsfolk would buy the story when nobody had seen any orcs roaming the streets that night, but human nature soon proved her wrong. Braggarts from the Town Watch invented stories about heroic skirmishes with orcs, rumor-mongers spread tales of unspeakable terrors and pretty soon the story about an orc attack had been accepted as undisputed reality. The night’s events had been chaotic, and those who did not remember encountering any orcs could only thank their good fortunes for being alive and unharmed.
And so the reputations of both the Sheltons and The Bloody Dawn were spared. But Crambe was still missing. In Blunoss’ opinion going after him was waste of time, as he was long gone now. Most likely he had ridden through the Fields of Fornost to Evendim and Ost Forod, where so many outlaws and misfits had found a sanctuary among people of their own kind.
Turned out he was wrong.
Hellrien saddled up and rode north as soon as her promotion to scout was cleared. By then she had lost most of the excess weight she had gained in Ost Guruth and looked the same she had looked a year ago, fit, tough and dangerous. It wasn’t very difficult to locate Crambe. The tracks had almost disappeared by now, but still she found imprints here and there, clear enough for her to follow. Nobody else but Crambe would have ridden a horse through these orc-infested grasslands. Hellrien followed the trail to the ruins of an ancient watchtower called Amon Raith.
The ruins of Amon Raith had lately been inhabited by refugees from Annúndir, driven from their homes by orcs and goblins. It lied by the Kingsfell road on the north side. Hellrien knew that numerous pairs of eyes were fixed on her as she approached the remnants of the once tall tower on top of a hill, riding slowly along the dirt track. Near the tower there was a small campsite and a few horses grazing about. Hellrien immediately recognized the silver buckskin mare among them. She had seen it plenty enough times in Trestlebridge. It was Crambe’s horse. A couple of men stayed behind the horses or sat leaning on a pile of crates with hoods pulled over their eyes, staring vigilantly at the dirt track.
Hellrien tied her horse with the others. She walked over to the ruins and climbed the stairs. Numerous pairs of eyes were watching her appraisingly. Hellrien walked over to a tent where an old man was sitting.
”What now?” the old man asked suspiciously.
”My name is Hellrien. Do you know a man named Crambe?”
The old man glanced nervously about.
”Do you?” Hellrien snarled.
”I think so, ma’am”, was the old man’s slippery retort. ”He collects wood for us here. He’s a very helpful friend.”
”Tell him that I have come for him”, said Hellrien coldly. ”Move it.”
The old man grabbed his coat and ran down the stairs. Hellrien drank some ale from her canteen and stood still in front of the tent. Crambe must be unusually stupid or arrogant. Or maybe even cunning? Did he think the rangers would protect him here? Would they? Hellrien doubted it. The rangers were mostly concerned about protecting people from orcs and allies of Angmar. They didn’t care about the feuds and conflicts between peoples from Trestlebridge or Bree.
Hellrien felt cold rage standing there. She could sense the tense, threatening atmosphere on the platform. She turned around and glanced at every single man and woman there. Her blue, flashing eyes were cold as ice. Nobody moved a finger.
She felt cold, bitter hatred towards Crambe. She hated everyone who who grew rich on other people’s misfortunes. But now Crambe had made a mistake. He couldn’t stab her in the back, not with all these people and rangers watching. He had to face Hellrien, or run for his life.
The old man returned, out of breath.
”Five minutes, ma’am. Crambe will meet you down at the root of Amon Raith.”
Hellrien looked at her canteen. Her hand was steady. She loaded the chamber of her pipe with pipe-weed and smoked it. When the chamber was empty, she removed her cloak and gave it to the old man. She stepped calmly down the stairs and squinted her eyes in the bright sunlight.
A slender, dark figure stepped forth from behind the stairs. The sun was shining from the side so neither could use it’s shine for their own advantage.
Hellrien stepped calmly on the dirt track. She could feel the hilts of her swords on her fingertips. She felt them with every fiber of her being.
Now she saw Crambe clearly. He was also a dual-wielder, like Hellrien. The hilts of his swords shone in the sunlight.
”Crambe”, said Hellrien.
”Hellrien”, Crambe said, smiling. ”Nice to see old friends. You’re looking good, lass. How are you doing?”
”You need to come with me. Blunoss wants to have a word with you.”
”Why?”
”The spectators here don’t give a damn”, Hellrien said coldly. ”Drop your weapons or use them!”
Crambe swallowed. His chiseled face grew pale and his expression hardened.
”So that’s how it’s going to be then, eh? You wouldn’t settle for half of the gold? It’s more than you can earn in ten years with the Dawn!”
Hellrien’s teeth shone in the middle of her fair face.
”I’m afraid not, Crambe. Some things are not for sale.”
”Fair enough.”
Crambe drew his swords. The two fighters circled each other for a while, then Crambe made a clumsy feint attack at Hellrien. She fended it off easily and made a counter-attack, impaling Crambe. He fell on the ground, screaming.
Hellrien sheathed her weapons. Crambe had stopped screaming. He was lying dead on the dewy grass.
Hellrien fetched her cloak from the old man. Nobody on the platform looked at her, but she felt the eyes on her back as she walked down the stairs and along the dirt track to her horse.
She didn’t look back. And nobody stopped her.
