Deli found Flogi’s remains on the wooded hill west of Amon Hen. The distorted grimace on Flogi’s blackened, frothy face horrified him. Flogi’s death had been extremely slow and painful.
Flogi. Advisor Glunri’s son. What was Flogi doing here? Glunri must have sent him to Amon Hen, but why?
After making sure Flogi’s killer wasn’t around anymore Deli proceeded to examine the corpse. Flogi had been killed with an arrow that seemed orc-made – crude and ugly but very effective. The arrow had been laced with poison unlike anything Deli had ever seen before. One look at Flogi’s swollen, blackened face convinced Deli not to touch the damned thing. The mark of Sauron, the Great Eye, had been carved on Flogi’s body. The carving had been done after Flogi’s death, as the wound had not bled.
Deli circled around the corpse to find tracks. He found the spot where the killer – an orc – had stood watching and waiting patiently for Flogi to die, not bothering to put him out of his misery. Deli examined the grass around the spot to determine which way the killer had left after carving the mark of Sauron on Flogi’s corpse. There – eastward, towards Amon Hen.
Deli followed the killer’s trail down the hillside to a grassy glade bordered by rowan-trees and climbed the stairs to the top of Amon Hen. He touched the shaft of his battleaxe as he approached the ruins on top of the hill. His hands were cold, the axe was cold. He was thinking about what had happened four years ago at the goblin camp at Orodost. He had lost his nerve, he had become too old. Dwarves under his command had died for the mistakes he had made. This mission was his last chance to redeem himself.
He tried to hate the unknown orc for killing Flogi in such a cruel and brutal way, but he could not feel hatred or loathing. He did not feel anything. He was completely empty inside.
Deli followed the killer’s trail to the courtyard, where the woman of Gondor – Radawen – had gone to see the man who resided there. Deli had been watching them from his vantage point up on another hill before Flogi’s screams had caught his attention. There was evidence of long-term camping in the courtyard, but no sign of Radawen or the man. Four horses were grazing nearby – Radawen’s chestnut and Gulim’s bay ponies, a larger, grey horse and another chestnut horse, the largest of them all. Four horses? There had only been three when Deli had been watching Radawen’s meeting with the man from his vantage. Whom did the largest horse belong to? It was equipped with Rohirrim saddle and tack.
Deli turned his gaze towards the final set of stairs that ascended to the top of the tallest building, where stood the Seat of Seeing. Deli grasped a hold of his battleaxe with both hands and climbed the stairs cautiously.
Deli’s mantle was light and too thin. Chilly wind had turned his face blotchy red. His pale blue eyes were tired. His ginger beard did not look so fierce anymore. The ends of his mustache drooped around his thin mouth. He felt so tired, even bored with everything, including his life.
He felt too old to be a fighter. But he did not know any other way to be.
On the roof of the building he spotted a sprawled figure lying in one corner near the balustrade like an abandoned ragdoll. It was an orc dressed all in black. Deli went to investigate the corpse. The orc carried a bow and arrows reminiscent of the arrow that had killed Flogi, so he assumed the orc to be the killer. There were lots of bloodstains on the marble floor, and the stains told a story for an eye that could read them.
The orc had attacked someone on the roof, a mannish female judging by the size of the footprints. The female was wounded. Then the orc had been attacked from behind by a man with large feet. The attacker had killed the orc with a sword. And then the man and the female had left.
Deli scanned the floor with his eyes. Ah, there: the woman was not severely wounded, but enough to leave behind a droplet of blood here and there. The droplets led back down the stairs.
Deli followed the trail of blood to the courtyard and out of the ruins. Outside it became easier for him to follow the footprints of the pair on the wet ground. The footprints led him back to the glade and finally to a path, an ancient road heading northwest from the glade.
Deli stayed on the trail like a bloodhound.
