Alweard lay on his back, waiting to be sure that Wrecca fell asleep before he would move even a finger. When they had reached camp, Osythe had determined that Alweard, with his freshly cauterized wound, was in no shape to stay the night on his own; Wrecca had so generously offered to look after him. Now he faced the grim realization that he was violating his friend’s trust.
He did not let his guilt stay his hand for long. Slipping off his bedroll, Alweard slipped from the tent in silence, resisting the temptation to wince at the ache in his side. While he could not take it or the blanket with him for fear that it would disrupt Wrecca’s slumber, that was no obstacle; another blanket and bedroll had both been piled with his belongings, which had been carefully hidden outside when he planned his escape in the day. Padding over the beaten earth with bare feet—he had traded the heavy footfalls of boots for the discomfort of the cold ground beneath him—he used the torchlight as a guide, lingering in the shadows that the sentries’ fires did not reach.
When he had found his way behind the line of tents, he thanked his foresight, for his belongings, including clothes and the supplies he had hastily packed for this trip, were still untouched. His breath misted in the air before him as he shrouded himself in a woolen tunic and cloak and slipped into his boots. As he pulled his hood down over his face, his hair tumbled forth, spilling out over his shoulders; he had no time to tie it back. When he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the polished surface of his seax, he saw a dark-haired traveler dressed so unremarkably that neither Rohirrim nor Dunlendings could look askance at him. His spears and sword were next; the dagger he had claimed from the troll-hoard months ago was hidden in his saddlebags, as its Gondorian make—the image of the ship—could betray him. The harp was the only new addition. It was no masterpiece to begin with, but now none would claim it; its frame was weathered by the cold wind and he had replaced a couple of the strings after finding it that evening. Yet when he looked upon it, he heard a voice from twenty years ago: “It has been said that the harp was once a princely art among the Hill-men. I would wager that the wild men west of the White Mountains enjoy music no less than you or I.”
Though he had no time for reminiscence, Alweard still smiled. “I hope you’d be proud of me, Lastor,” he whispered. “Still remembering the lessons of old men after all these years.” Gathering his saddlebags and spears in his arms, he took care to avoid the firelight as he made his way to where his horse was tied near the edge of the camp. Quickly fastening the girth of his saddle beneath the dapple gray’s belly, he pulled a rolled scroll of parchment from one of the saddlebags. “I’ll be back,” he whispered, and made for the Oathlord's tent.
No soldiers stood guard outside Thorvall’s tent when he approached; in the hush of night, the only sounds were the shuffling of guards on patrol and the snores of men at rest. The note was largely ceremonial; rare was the man of Rohan who could read or write, for they had no need of letters. Alweard had figured that the Oathlord knew enough to understand what he had written.
Thorvall,
I am aware that you and Osythe would rather I be convalescing at present. However, the urgency of my task does not allow for idleness. I trust you will understand.
I have left camp to pursue my orders from Helm’s Deep. My mission has not changed. While I had hoped to set out tomorrow, I realized that no good friend would let me ride out alone; I had to give myself permission.
Do not send your good men and women after me. If you must, search for me only if I do not return within a month’s time. If all goes well, I should be gone for no longer than a week or two. Do not delay for me, for if I return, I will re-acquaint myself with your present business; if I do not return, there is little purpose in waiting for a dead man.
I will miss Yule, so make sure Wrecca gets plenty to drink without me.
ᚫᛚᚠᚹᚣᚱᛞ
With his last order of business complete, he dashed back to his mare, taking her reins as he walked to the gate. Darkened by clouds, the sky above showed no star to guide him.
