The fellowship of mercenaries arriving in Oatbarton four days later was dusty, dirty and stubbly. Ealstan Applethorn had joined the sellswords in the morning after the briefing so there was now five of them. Hellrien noticed that the town had changed little since she had last ridden through Oatbarton a couple of years earlier. Hellrien grinned. She liked things that stayed the same. It was late afternoon, and the sun hung low above the mountains in the north. Cold wind blew along the street. The male hobbits they saw wore vests, while the women were dressed in thick gowns. The nights were still cold this north this early in the summer.
Hellrien dismounted and looked at the others. Arindiis sat slouched atop her Meeko, a great stallion with a beautiful black mane and tail. Meeko huffed, tired from the trek. Arin held the reigns loosely and looked around quietly, her expression unreadable. Askelin rode with a proud look about him, his posture upright and sure. He looked out onto the small village with a still expression on his face.
”It's getting late”, Hellrien said, ”so I think we should spend the night here. Get a place to sleep and wash up, eat something and talk to the locals. Somebody is bound to know something about this dwarf.”
”Bah”, said Ealstan as he dismounted. ”If it's even a dwarf at all. But aye. I suppose it would be good to try finding a place here that has beds big enough.”
Cutwil nodded, got off from his horse and stroked his chin. ”Perhaps the market, if there is one, might know? Hobbits are very gossipy.”
”Aye”, sighed Arindiis as she slid off Meeko’s back.
Hellrien received a tip from the stable-hand about where they should go to ask for accommodations. The stable-hand, Andy Deepwell, knew all the gossip in town and had a pretty good guess about who the visitors were, so he pointed them over to Bob Proudfoot’s house – the cousin of poor Filibert who was murdered. Hellrien took her traveling bags, bow and worn saddle and strode up the street. The others followed.
They dragger their meagre belongings to the weather-beaten hobbit-hole near the stables. The middle-aged hobbit standing in front of the door received them as his long-lost children when he found out these were the ones Dudo Pott had summoned from Bree to bring justice for poor Filibert. He promised them not only a place to stay, but also bath water and a hearty supper that would be served in two hours. He didn’t know anything about the dwarf, except that he was sure there were some in Oatbarton who had seen him in town during the market fair last fall. He also pointed them to Nod Gardener, the head bounder of Oatbarton, who was bound to know anything there was to know about this wrong-doer.
There was a serious-looking hobbit standing near the crossing to the market. He seemed not quite young anymore, but not quite middle-aged yet, a hobbit in his prime. He was wearing a bounder hat with the distinctive feather of the shirrifs. Ealstan walked right over him, and Hellrien followed suit.
”Hullo there”, said Ealstan in a friendly tone. ”You don't happen to be a Mister Nod Gardener do you?”
”Aye, that is correct. How can I help you?” His voice was irritated. His eyes were bloodshot. He appeared tired and worried.
”We're here to look into this spot of dwarf trouble the Proudfoots seem to be having. Wouldn't happen to know anything, would you?”
”I'm going to head to the market”, Cutwil said to Hellrien. ”Some folk may know something, and it is a market, perhaps they have something interesting to buy!”
Hellrien noticed that Arin and Aske were already heading that way, and nodded. ”Alright, Cutwil.”
Nod looked at Ealstan, Hellrien and the others. His expression was not submissive at the least. Hellrien suspected that the bounder knew full well what the Proudfoots had set in motion, didn’t like it very much, but didn’t know what else there was to do about it but help the foreign mercenaries in their grim business. After all, the bounders of Oatbarton were there only to protect the people of Oatbarton, and had very little resources to bring justice against those who didn’t reside in town or anywhere else in the Shire. He smiled at Ealstan, but his smile wasn’t amused.
”I’ve heard of it. I have a warrant for his arrest right here.” He patted at a thick pile of yellowed posters under his arm. ”Or hers. Because you can never tell with dwarves, or so they say. We've been out looking for him a couple of times with the lads.”
”Any luck with all of that?” Ealstan asked, nodding slightly. ”We'll be trying to find the fellow as well so it'd be best if we don't cover ground the shirrifs haven't already.”
”No… nothing, I’m afraid.”
Hellrien was skeptical.
”Have you been in contact with the bounders in Dwaling?” she asked.
”Which areas did you look in?” Ealstan cross-examined.
”We've been circling around Oatbarton, but found nothing. Dwaling... well, they have some problems there these days. Looks like some tall folk has moved on in their town and, well, driven them off their homes. So they only have a little camp outside of Dwaling now.”
”These big folk in Dwaling”, Ealstan frowned. ”They mention a name Sharkey by any chance?”
”I don't know very much about the troubles in Dwaling, I'm afraid. But you should by all means talk to Hob, Hob Hillbrow. He's the boss around the glass-blowers' camp, as we call it.”
Nod looked at both Ealstan and Hellrien curiously. Hellrien pretended not to notice. Ealstan said:
”If we head up that way, we will. For the meantime, any suggestions on where to look for the dwarf?”
”Well, if he came this way, he sure didn't go through the town. Somebody would have noticed. We didn't find any tracks outside, but that doesn't mean anything... there's a lot of woods here, I suppose he could have circled around town.”
”So he could be ways south for all anyone knows?”
”Yes, I suppose it's possible.”
Ealstan nodded slowly. ”Well. We'll have a good look around all the same. If we find anything, we'll let you know.”
”Anything I can help you guys with, just... drop by.”
”We should be well enough, but we'll keep it in mind.”
”Sorry to have disturbed you”, said Hellrien, ”and good evening.”
Hellrien and Ealstan walked over to the market, where they found Aske and Arin. Askelin was just removing his fur-lined hat, giving Arin a begrudging scowl.
”It's just... I like this hat”, Askelin said, tossing his hair back. ”Hmph... Seems Cutwil's already finding himself a snack.”
”Found anything interesting, guys?” Hellrien asked.
Cutwil strolled to the company, wiping his red-stained lips with a satisfied look about his eyes. ”I didn't quite find anything, none of the vendors said anything, but I did find good strawberries!”
”Not exactly an achievement worthy of song”, said Ealstan. ”But good for you I suppose.”
”Am I correct in saying that there's a farm west of here... called Northcotton?” Askelin wondered, pretending to not notice Arin was ruffling his hair.
”Northcotton?” Hellrien wondered. ”I have no idea.”
”If there's no pub I suppose we could set up there if they'll have us”, said Ealstan.
”Aye”, said Askelin. ”Though judging that hobbits are very much based around their agriculture, one would make the assumption that the farms would be well looked after. Mayhaps a sign of this dwarf's passing could be found on the fields? If there is any talk of trampled crops or flowers, or raided stores, it would doubtless be related, no?”
”Sure”, said Hellrien. ”Good idea. Should we go to the Proudfoots for supper?”
”Aye, if they are offering accommodation and food, then it is greatly accepted!” said Askelin.
When Hellrien was finally soaking herself in a sizzling hot bath, a part of the restlessness caused by their journey dissipated. Feeling loose and relaxed she sat in the water, eyes closed. Intentionally she avoided thinking about their mission and concentrated on the present moment. As was her habit, she examined her face from the mirror once she was done bathing. Blue, cold eyes stared back at her hard. Grimacing, Hellrien turned away and walked over to the bed. She put on clean underwear, black leather vest and and tight trousers made of black serge. She wiped her worn but well-tended boots and pulled them on. Then she took out a bundle of woolen cloth with the scabbard belt with two swords in it. She weighed the weapons in her hands thoughtfully. Satisfied, she sheathed the swords. She would not need her hauberk this evening, she was sure of that. She took her hat and stepped out of the guest room.
A pretty hobbit lady – Mrs. Proudfoot – beckoned her to enter the dining room, a large spacious room – as long as you didn’t stretch up and hit your head on the ceiling. The other Dawners were waiting for their supper already. Hellrien glanced at them in passing and chose a seat in the back of the room. She sat down so her right flank was facing the room and the door and the windows were in front of her. Mrs. Proudfoot asked if she wanted something to drink before food and she ordered a jar of homemade beer. The beer tasted unbelievably good, and she leaned happily backwards against the wall and lit her pipe. Through the windows she could see lights turning on in the hobbit-holes along the street. Lanterns were lighted as well, and lights played romantically in the foliages of popple trees. While tasting her beer her mind drifted back in time, back to those days when she had served under The Sworn Brotherhood and had been sent to her first unsupervised mission to assist the Rangers of Tinnudir with their troubles with organized gangs of tomb-robbers. She had barely survived that adventure alive, and certainly not without mental and physical scars. When she had finally returned to the Blue Mountains she had found the stronghold closed and the order disbanded, disappeared.
She had only met one of her former comrades since then – Burwod, the son of Dorvairse, the Captain of the order. According to Burwod most of the Brotherhood had died in the hands of fell spirits around Fornost and Burwod himself had been taken captive by Dourhand dwarves. She wondered what had become of Burwod. Was her old friend still alive somewhere? It was closer to two years since she had seen him last.
Food was served. Hellrien ate roast beef with green peas and apple cake with cream for breakfast. Then she drank two cups of coffee and poured herself another mug of beer from the almost empty jar. The next day they would have to ride to the Northcotton farm and Dwaling, hoping to find some tracks. How long would the pursuit last? How many miles and how many days and weeks they would have left behind when they finally confronted the mysterious killer dwarf face to face?
Oppressive sensation of fear crept into her mind as she sat there in front of a mug of beer. It often happened to her before battle. In recent years it had happened too often. The warm rush of blood after the fear retreated couldn’t drive the coldness off her soul entirely. She noticed it and hated the nameless dwarf in a dispassionate, clear-headed way only another killer could understand.
The dwarf had to be an exceptionally cold-blooded and self-assured killer to have pounded a hobbit to death with his bare fists in front of dozens of witnesses. Again Hellrien felt the gripping fear of unknown, and when she raised her mug and emptied it, she did it impatiently. She looked at the moon. Two hours to midnight. Too early to go to sleep yet. She thanked the Proudfoots, took her hat and went outside. She noticed how several hobbits stared at her. Had to be her height, she thought, almost embarrassed. She looked like the only grown-up in a kindergarten.
She smiled at the mental image and remained standing by the fence looking at the street, circles of light on green foliages and deep shadows between lantern lights.
Hellrien walked aimlessly along the streets and peeked into a few houses and animal pens. Cultivated and tidy atmosphere prevailed everywhere. Hobbit-holes and farms were cozy, well-tended, and the dominating color of the low roofs was moss green or hay yellow.
Gradually the scent of fresh pipe-weed etched into her consciousness. Her stock was running low, and everyone knew the hobbit-grown pipe-weed to be far superior of anything grown in Bree. Following her nose Hellrien found herself standing in front of yet another cozy and elegant farm house in the labyrinth of hedgerows that bordered the streets this part of Oatbarton. Pipe-weed was drying on racks on the yard. Suddenly a short, tow-headed hobbit lady was standing right in front of her.
”Good evening, ma’am”, the hobbit piped up.
”Good evening, ma’am.”
”My name is Blossom.”
”Nice to hear.”
Blossom sat down on a garden chair and leaned forward. Resting her elbows against her knees she planted her chin on the ’hammock’ of her palms. Brown, sparkling eyes stared at Hellrien keenly.
”I do not like weapons of war in my yard”, she said calmly. ”What is your name?”
”Hellrien.”
”Is that a surname or a first name?”
”That’s all there is to it.”
Blossom squinted her eyes a little. ”Hellrien That’s All There Is To It”, she repeated, as if mocking Hellrien. ”You are a killer for hire?”
Hellrien showed her emblem. ”The Bloody Dawn. Doing business for the Proudfoot family.”
Blossom didn’t look at the emblem. ”Are you here to kill somebody in my neigbourhood?”
”No. I came here to buy some pipe-weed.”
Blossom didn’t smile. ”I can’t ask you to leave your weapons outside of my yard, nor can I ask you to leave”, she said coldly. ”I can only make sure that you get what you want and then leave.”
Hellrien fixed her gaze on Blossom. ”What’s the matter?” she said briefly. ”You don’t get along with the Proudfoots? What are you afraid of?”
”I’m afraid of nothing, and I get along with the Proudfoots just fine! But your kind is not welcome here. Killers. I’m running a respectable business, and your sort is not needed here. In the best case scenario you obstruct my business by scaring off the customers, in the worst you will perhaps use those long blades of yours to stab somebody to death and ruin my good name and reputation.”
Hellrien drew in a deep breath. ”Listen”, she said coarsely. ”My swords are sheathed and the only thing I’m after here is some pipe-weed. Will you sell it to me or not?”
Blossom tossed her head back and set her hands on her thighs, palms down. Her hands were small and fingers short. They were like a child’s hands. Her big red mouth arched into a slight smile.
”All right, ma’am. I beg your pardon. I know what you are here for, and perhaps I don’t quite approve the way the Proudfoots have taken to seek justice for poor Filibert, though I understand there’s little else they could do to get it. The Shire is a very peaceful land, and the concept of violent crime is practically unheard of among us hobbits. Unfortunately strangers sometimes come to our land to do wicked things, and there is very little we can do about it if they are only passing through. We aren’t used to dealing with people like that. But to hire foreign killers from Bree to fight fire with fire – more violence can’t be the solution.”
”So what is?”
”I wish I’d know”, said Blossom. ”Are you visiting here?”
”Only passing through”, Hellrien said calmly. ”Tomorrow me and my companions will leave for Dwaling.”
”It’s a long ride.”
”I like riding.”
”I can see that.” Blossom’s eyes measured Hellrien’s heavy-set but fit bearing. ”And what will our courageous fellowship of hired heroes from Bree be doing in Dwaling?” she teased. ”Capture a dwarf and drag it to the Proudfoots in a bag?”
Hellrien’s eyes narrowed. ”We are going to kill a murderer”, she said brutally. ”Quite simply just kill a murderer.”
Blossom tensed up. ”It must be nice to be on the side of the strong and the powerful”, she mocked.
”Isn’t it?” Hellrien said. ”Like you. Like the Shire. The only reason why the Shire is so peaceful and pastoral place is because there are others who have taken it as their duty to make sure that it remains that way.”
”And who’s that? You?”
Hellrien shook her head. ”There are others. North of here. An ancient people, sworn to protect and uphold all the free peoples in Eriador. Your kind mostly know them as ’the Watchers’.”
”Then where do we need you?”
”Sometimes individuals slip through the cracks. The Watchers protect and preempt, they don’t do justice or revenge. They don’t meddle with internal affairs of the Shire or Bree.”
”The Proudfoots must be very lucky then, to have all this coin to buy foreigners who don’t mind meddling and administering revenge for them, so long as they get paid in gold. To be rich enough to buy justice.”
Hellrien was bored with the conversation. Her gaze scanned around the yard. Blossom leaned forward on her chair. ”There is one thing you have failed to ask me thus far, Hellrien the hired killer from Bree.”
”What’s that?”
”The dwarf you and your friends are chasing. You haven’t asked if I have seen him.”
”Well, have you?”
”I have. Quite a lot of people remember him from the Northcotton Market Fair last fall. I remember how scared I was when I first saw him. But many of us merchants made quite a profit that day.”
”Merchants? Like who?”
”Like me, for example. He bought enough pipe-weed to last through the winter, I reckon.”
