“What will we do?” asked Parnard.
I had suggestions, but before I could open my mouth Barahirn spoke up. “How can I be of help?” he asked.
I regarded him for a moment with admiration. Though he had suffered much, the fire in his blood was taking hold of his heart and spirit again.
“Say when you tire and we shall let you rest,” Curumaito told him, but with a small nod to me that it was not at all what he meant. For Barahirn, some purpose, some involvement with others was needed to move on with his recovery.
Barahirn shook his head on the pillow, and Estarfin took the bait.
“These Men - you could help by describing them but it is hard to tell stray dogs apart. Is there aught that may be unique to them? To find them?” he asked.
Barahirn admired Estarfin - his admiration had always been obvious; he yearned to be as one of the old Noldo Warriors, seeking to please him, and learn from him when he could. To now have his attention and to be able to help was giving him a new purpose.
“They were a rabble, Lord Estarfin. Yes – brigands or ruffians, not plain Men, not farmers nor merchants. If only you had been here, Lord, you and Lord Belegos would have routed them all.” The young stable master’s eyes brightened at the imagery he was considering. Estarfin smiled slightly at him - but this was no game. We truly needed all of the details Barahirn could recall.
Parnard leant up against the headboard of the bed. “Perhaps Belegos will return with news of their whereabouts,” he said.
“The Lord Belegos said he had to travel north,” Curumaito told him, fluffing Barahirn's pillows as he struggled to sit upright.“It seems there is trouble in Evendim and Angmar yet again.”
“Lord Estarfin, the leader is a large Man, tall - almost as tall as you,” continued Barahirn. “He had a gruff voice, and his speech is unlearned. His hair is cut short and is of a dark brown colour, and he has a slight beard.”
“Is any of that unusual for their kind?” Estarfin asked.
“As far as I know, it is not, unless the height and breadth is more than most, and the voice harsher.”
“That does not seem like one of those short-statured Bree-land farmer folk,” commented Parnard.
Singing was heard as Marawendi sat beside the ginger cat, Himbo, who was sleeping in the room, and she began stroking his fur, making soft crooning sounds.
“He had small eyes like small blue dots in a pulpy, flushed face. He held me by the throat: I could see his ugly face while he choked me. Hideous, twisted with malice, he was. If only I had had a knife. Aearlinn bit his finger when he grabbed her.”
“Oh, did she? Did she?” said Parnard, a grin spreading on his face. “Did she bite it off?”
“I think not, but the yell he made!” Now Barahirn was in his stride, speaking more in the past hour than in the past few days (by my suspicions) to those most willing to listen. “There was one he addressed as ‘Davion,’” he said.
“An evil-sounding name!” declared Parnard.
“He had a thinner face and light brown hair, and it was this ‘hero’ who ran his sword through poor Aearlinn as she turned to run!” He began coughing, and Curumaito poured a glass of water for him. Nodding his thanks, the young Noldo took a few swallows, then lay back against the pillows again. “I need to get well. I need to kill him.” For a moment his usually pleasant face darkened. He had a strange expression, one I had never seen on him before: although understandable, I liked it not. Were those men wanting more from Aearlinn than her life?
“He will be dealt with, Barahirn,” Curumaito said, gently patting him on his arm. “But your immediate task is to recover and to aid the others here with your skill and knowledge.”
“Exactly so!” said Parnard, with a genial poke of his finger. “There are needs, and then there are needs, and your needs are other than killing Men right now.”
“Listen to Parnard,” I told Barahirn, which seemed to delight the Wood-Elf. “Are there any other details that you can tell us about these Men?”
“There was one with hair the colour of straw. A ‘Horse Lord’, I think they are called. I have only ever seen a few of them. They do not often travel west of the Hithaeglir.”
I noticed how Estarfin narrowed his eyes at this news. Although I did not know all of what had transpired, he held no love for the Men of Rohan. I rested a hand on his arm again, acknowledging what I knew, and he gave me a swift glance: ‘All was well.’
“Fair-haired, eh?” said Parnard. “Well, well! Any Men we see hereabouts, we will swiftly dispatch.”
“The leader called him Wolfson, Wolfstan, or something like that.” Barahirn scratched his head with his uninjured hand.
“It sounds like one of their uncouth names,” said Estarfin.
“More savage-sounding names I could not think of in a million ages!” said Parnard with indignation. “Is it a Man or an Orc we are dealing with here? Did they say where they were heading? Or did they not say anything when they burst in and torched the buildings to a cinder? We must consider all angles.”
“There were no Orcs: they were all Men.”
Estarfin seemed deep in thought, then said: “Brigands. There were plenty of brigands in Yondershire some months ago. We cleared many out. Could this have anything to do with that?”
But Barahirn was not finished telling his tale. “Two rode over the bridge. They did not hesitate. One grabbed Aearlinn while the other tried to corner me against the house. We were unarmed, but it was still two against two.” He sighed and grew pale of face. “I wrestled the leader off his horse, Aearlinn broke her would be captor’s nose, and took one of his knives - “
“Wrestling him off his horse, very good!” interrupted Parnard.
“- and then thirteen others rode over the bridge. The ‘bloodied nose’ man took up Aearlinn on his horse again; I had a sword held to my throat, and they set fire to the buildings. I could not stop them.” His words were filled with pained shamefulness, but it seemed a little lessened, and he looked me in the eye now as he spoke.
“It was a noble effort, Barahirn. You did your best, and we thank you for it,” said Parnard, and he clapped a hand on his shoulder, making the stablemaster wince in pain.
“What of their mounts? Were they fine steeds or typical of these parts? What of their tack? Was it distinctive?” pressed Estarfin.
Barahirn, closing his eyes, seemed to relive the event in memory, as he shuddered a few times, paled again, then flushed red of cheek, the side of his lip drawing up in a snarl. “Rough horses for the most part. Dirty coats, unpolished leather. They were not well cared for. Most were brown or tan coloured, though there was one exception: the straw haired man had a pale gold coloured horse with blonde mane and tail. An unusual colour, and that horse and tack were very well cared for. Oh! Now I recall it!” he cried out, his eyes flaring open. “The leader, his name is Jexson. A couple of the Men called to him - yes, I can hear it again! Jexson is the leader, Wulfson owns the golden horse, and Davion is the one who murdered Aearlinn!” Barahirn slumped back against the pillow looking tired. “Four of them were rather short. No more than five foot tall. Strong or arm though. Had they better beards I may have thought them Naugrim. Burrwood? I think I remember hearing that name, too.”
“They did not intend you to live, else they would have spoken more cautiously.” I spoke my thoughts aloud.
“Thanks to Lord Belegos and your neighbours, they were foiled from the fullness of their intent,” said Curumaito.
“Any mention of where they might be heading?” I asked Barahirn, thinking of drawing more information out. The answer was as I suspected, more or less.
“When I was on the ground, I heard Jexson say to his men, ‘Here are some right pretty bracelets, trinkets for the ladies of Combe and Bree’, and that he would sell them at auction, a few at a time.”
“Those I made from the conch shells you fished out of the Sea for me,” I told Parnard. “I was planning on selling them in the markets of the Falas.”
“That man also said he found some ‘sparkly rings that seemed to sing like the sea.’”
“And those are the rings I was working on for us, to lessen the sea longing! What good will they do for any Man! Now I shall have to craft them again.” My expression soured as I thought of the wasted time spent crafting them.
Estarfin looked at me, an unspoken question in his eyes.
“I shall speak of them with you, later.” I said, making a faint smile. “One of those rings was to be a surprise to you, meldanya. Now they are gone forever.”
“You said they will auction the stolen jewelry in Bree?”
Barahirn nodded confirmation of this to Estarfin.
“That foul town of Men!” said Parnard with a contemptuous toss of his hair, adding fuel to the fire, as Estarfin turned to us both, and said,
“How large is this town? Could we attack it with any success?”
Now, having dwelt for some time in Forlindon, I knew a little about Bree-town. I knew it to be a fair sized place with several outlying villages. I had the impression Parnard knew something of Bree as well, though probably had not been anywhere near the place. Estarfin knew it not, save as a place to avoid, at my urging.
“Attack the town!” Parnard cried out in disbelief. “We should stay far away from Bree-Town!”
I shook my head at Estarfin. “Although we could cause much damage, we could not take it.” I said, knowing my words were not enough to drive all thoughts of attack from his mind. “Stealth would achieve more than attempting a raid.”
Estarfin only shrugged in reply.
Speaking my thoughts aloud I said to him, “Mistake me not. I would like little more than to set a blaze in the places those Men shelter.” Alas! Those words proved unwise.
“A blaze could be a good distraction,” he said.
“We do not want to risk a war between Breeland and Mithlond,” I told Estarfin, frowning with concern.
“No, we do not,” agreed Parnard, who was doing his best to steer the Noldo away from this folly. “It is the people who will suffer for the ills of a few wicked Men, and not only Men, but the Halfling folk as well.” I made a slight smile of gratitude at him for backing up my course of turning Estarfin from his plan.
“We did not start this,” Estarfin stated flatly.
I knew that stubborn expression well. “Indeed we did not,” I agreed. In truth, I was thinking of how to best distract Estarfin from setting Bree alight. Curumaito came to our rescue. The healer, who had been mostly silent as he observed his bedridden patient, now announced something unexpected.
“Lord Parnard,” he said, catching the attention of my ‘cousin,’ “It would be remiss of me not to inform you about the new Captain in Celondim. He is to oversee this troubling matter; I encountered him a few days ago. He says he is your brother. I must admit, he does not look much like you.”
Parnard froze and his jaw dropped, his eyes shifting from the healer’s to fasten their gaze upon a nearby table, but he seemed to pull his thoughts together again, as he suddenly began to frown and shake his head in a most forbidding way. “No, no, no,” he finally said.
“Captain Culufinnel, appointed by Lord Cirdan himself.”
“No! Surely you jest - ?” It seemed the usually loquacious Parnard was lost for words, and a fit of silly laughter escaped his lips.
Curumaito frowned, shaking his head, and the laughter died in the air.
“‘Captain’ - ? Did you really say ‘Captain ’ - ?”
