The beat of hooves on the ground was the pace to which she set her breathing. She whipped her head around to look behind her as the steed charged, trying to make any sense of their pursuers in the darkness. Nimroch released an anxious whinny, and the white steed took it upon himself to move with more speed. She heard something ‘twang’ in the darkness and realized only too late that an arrow had been loosed at them; a sharp pain being plunged into her side at significant force nearly sent her reeling off of the horse. She barely had time to recover from it before another whizzed past and got caught in the fabric of her glove; less severe, but they were too close to their hunters. She didn’t have the time to stop and treat any injuries.
Nimroch pressed on with a final burst of speed to clear their entry into the Lich Bluffs of Enedwaith. Towering stone structures lined their path, and she realized before long that what she was seeing were tombs. They were riding through a valley of death.
“What are you doing?!” She heard an orcish roar far behind her. “Follow them!”
And she knew she could not stop in this vale of bones, either. She would have to clear the distance or hide. Having turned behind herself to check if she could see them again, she resolved to press onwards. She and Nimroch were coated in blood and grime, but there was nothing they could do for it until they found somewhere safe to rest. They had ridden straight through Dunland; no stopping, no eating. This hunt had to finish soon.
“Please,” she begged the steed as she was held onto him as if he were a lifeline. “Just a little farther. Just a little faster.”
Nimroch tossed his head back with a whinny and a snort, and he pressed on. Just a little further. Just a little faster.
They found a place in Thror’s Coomb to stop. She did not go to Harndirion - the last thing she wanted to do was drag the local folk into such danger. There was a large copse of trees they had set up camp, which was just aside the cold river that came down from the mountains. Nimroch was happy to be able to graze for a few moments, and Mallossel had the chance to finally treat her wounds. The arrow that was stuck in her glove came out with ease once she removed the fabric. There was only a slight scratch in her wrist left behind, but she cleaned it ferociously in the cool mountain water in a vain attempt to make sure no possible poison had the chance to settle in. The bigger concern, of course, was the other arrow embedded in her waist. That was going to require more patience and tact to treat.
She looked around anxiously to make sure that they had not been found yet before she undid the belt of her tunic and shrugged it off on the riverside. From her belt, she collected the knife she’d stolen off of one of the yrch when she made her escape at Nan Curunir. A sharp pang resonated in her chest as she remembered that her brother was still there. Amathlan was waiting for her. She had to succeed.
Mallossel shook her head to clear the thoughts from her mind. She had to focus. First, she had to survive. Then she could go back and get him. She washed the knife off obsessively in the river. She didn’t know what tainted the blade, if anything, but there were no chances she could take, especially if the arrow itself was possibly poisoned. Once the knife was clean, she grabbed the leather belt of her tunic. She folded it over longways and then placed it in her mouth to bite down on. She could not risk a fire to heat the blade or cauterize the wound. But the arrow had to go. And it had to go now.
She was stirred from her sleep by the sound of distant cries. Orcish, she recognized immediately. Nimroch stirred as soon as she did, and an anxious whinny escaped him as she rose and threw her tunic on. As she held the knife tightly in her hands, she heard something move too close for comfort. Mallossel whipped her head around, and in the darkness, she could make out the form of a singular, prowling orc with a halberd in his hands. She had a brief, terrifying vision of the blade sinking into her flesh and yanking her from atop Nimroch, and she knew this one had to be taken care of before he alerted the others to their location. He had not seen them yet in the night; the moonlight was too dim, filtering through the treetops to reveal their presence immediately.
She only had to stalk behind him with the silent, elven grace of her kin for but a few moments. She lunged out suddenly and covered his disgusting mouth with her hand to cover any cries he could release; before he had the chance, she drew the blade of the knife along his neck, releasing a spray of black blood and gore. She stepped aside and kicked at his back, sending him down into the soft snow. She lowered down with her knee on his spine, and just to be safe she drove her knife in a few more times, leaving a sick splatter of blood across the white snow and her own hands and tunic. She tucked the weapon on her belt once more.
Mallossel reached out and stole the halberd from the corpse; finally, a weapon she was intimately familiar with. She ran blood-slicked hands along the pole of the weapon as she adjusted to its weight before she turned back to Nimroch. The steed had watched her in obedient silence, and now they would ride clear of here before the yrch found the fallen body of their fellow.
Dunland, they escaped.
Enedwaith, they were hunted through.
Eregion, there they would be saved.
