When Felonwort had been waiting for two more days he knew that something was wrong.
Faragadir had not returned.
Felonwort rose from the crate he had been sitting on to watch the ruins of the city below for any signs of life. He saw nothing but birds.
Faragadir had told him to stay put and not go wander far from the campsite, but the situation had changed. Felonwort had to leave his post soon or he would starve to death, it was that simple. He had ran out of the food Faragadir had been bringing to the camp until his last visit two days ago. By now Felonwort was convinced that he would not see Faragadir anymore. Something had happened to the old hunter.
Felonwort wondered if the old man had been killed by beasts of the wild, fallen off a cliff or broken his leg somewhere too far away to call out for help. Perhaps – Felonwort shuddered at the thought – he had encountered Beriador. But no, Beriador would have squeezed out the location of his camp before killing him. Had Beriador found Faragadir, Felonwort would know it by now – or be dead as a doornail himself.
It made no difference what had happened to Faragadir. Felonwort had to get out of this place and continue south, towards Gondor. He could not wait any longer.
Felonwort started to gather his meager possessions and packed his traveling bag. He cursed as he remembered that he had given the encoded letter to Faragadir, who had sent it to the capital of Gondor with one of his pigeons. Now Felonwort had nothing to sell to the Gondorians, nothing except wild claims about Sauron’s secret plot in northern Eriador, but no proof to back it up.
It did not matter. He could never go back to Bree. There was only one path left for him now, and that path led south.
When Felonworth had packed his bag he entered the doorway on the roof and descended the staircase leading down to the street level. He found his horse Tater where he had left it, happily munching hay next to Faragadir’s bay mare. Felonwort released Tater’s reins from the post he had tied it on and stroked it’s muzzle.
”Hey, lad”, he said. ”Say goodbye to your girlfriend. We’re leaving.”
Tater neighed in protest. Felonwort looked over his shoulder and licked his lips. Tater was right. It was better to have two horses so one could rest while he rode on the other. He could travel faster that way without exhausting the horses too much. Horse theft was a serious felony in Bree, but Felonwort was sure Faragadir would have no need for a horse anymore, and the only law that applied out here was the law of the wild.
”All right, all right”, he relented. ”We’ll take your girlfriend with us.”
Felonwort untied Faragadir’s mare as well and started walking the horses towards the stone bridge. The bridge had collapsed centuries ago but somebody – possibly Faragadir himself – had constructed a ford on the left side of the bridge so the river could be crossed safely during low water.
After crossing the river Felonwort returned to the ancient road that continued southeast through the ruins. Soon he passed what had once been a gate of the outer wall and they were back in the wilderness again. He hoped he would find some settlements south of Tharbad, and soon. He was beginning to get hungry again. He had some coins in his bag but coins were useless where there were no people. He did not look forward to digging and eating moss again.
Suddenly the horses stopped and started blowing and snorting and tossing their heads around.
”What the…?”
Then he heard the howling. It sounded somewhat like a wolf, but the sound was lower and nastier. It was not like any wolf Felonwort had heard before.
”Is that so?” he muttered. ”Just what we needed, dammit!”
Felonwort had developed a bad habit of talking to himself, perhaps because – like so many others who spent a lot of time alone with an animal companion – he always talked to his horse like it was a person who could understand and talk back.
Suddenly the horses lifted their heads and shook their ears. The howling turned into fierce barking and growling. The hair on the back of Felonwort’s neck stood up. They were eating. But what?
Felonwort shivered. The sounds came from behind a long ridge on the right side of the road. Would he venture to go take a peek? The wolves had to be very near.
Felonwort started sneaking up the side of the ridge. The growling and barking intensified. Now he could look over the ridge.
There was a long, narrow, low valley below him. A riverbed. He could see four dark figures swirling around in the cold moonshine, growling and fighting over their prey. Felonwort did not know what the things were, but they were certainly not wolves. He could tell that they were some kind of canines, but bigger and uglier than any dog or wolf he had ever seen before. And it looked like the carcass they were feasting on had once been a man.
Suddenly Felonwort heard screaming from behind him. The horses were screaming! He had never heard a horse scream before. Felonwort turned and ran down the side of the ridge towards the horses. He was halfway on the way down when the screaming stopped and the horses fell on the ground. Tater let out one final whimper, the mare died without making a sound. Four dark, bow-legged creatures armed with crude blades and spiked clubs turned their gleaming eyes at Felonwort’s direction.
Orcs. The leader of the group was an exceptionally large, exceptionally ugly individual. It’s face reminded Felonwort of a bat. It’s ears were enormous, so thin that they were translucent, and they pointed straight outwards. Both it’s earflaps and earlobes were long and sharp. It’s face was narrow and thin, and it had big, pale eyes so close to each other that they almost touched above it’s narrow and long nose. It’s mouth was narrow and shaped like a crescent moon. It was tall and thin and it had unnaturally long arms and legs. It had a symbol of a red eye on it’s helmet and shield.
Felonwort did not stay to take a closer look at the rest of the orcs. He turned around and started running up the side of the ridge. The orcs behind him screamed and howled as they sprinted after him. Felonwort did not have a clear plan in his mind, he just knew he had to get away, to the other side of the ridge where he could perhaps find a place to hide. He had almost reached the top of the ridge now…
Four pairs of glimmering eyes and a low growl over the top of the ridge blocked his way and stopped him on his tracks. Four canine monstrosities stood in front of him, their blood-stained grimacing snouts revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth, their bodies tensing up to leap. The screams and howls of the orcs approached as they raced up the side of the ridge behind him. Felonwort closed his eyes.
Please let it be quick, was the only thought that popped into his mind.
