(continued from this...)
The storm had ceased during the late hours of the night, and the boat lurched to shore in time for the men to wade up on dry land and eat a bite before proceeding to the next leg of their journey. It had been difficult at first to find the cove in the rain, but with the help of the occasional flash of lightning and his spyglass, Balkumagan was able to see it clearly enough to be certain that it was the place he sought. The large group crept along the eastern bank, keeping as far in toward the trees as possible, pausing every few minutes to check for some sign of the enemy.
The Umbari man emerged from his place of concealment, and greeted Balkumagan as the other men regarded him dubiously. “We still have a long way to go,” Balkumagan said to Pharazagar. “Horses are most welcome after that poor excuse for a river trip.”
The Wood-elf had been lying motionless on the ground since the swordsman's arrival, eyes fixed into the darkness straight ahead, calm and undisturbed, but with an expression of brooding thoughtfulness. “What about that one? Is he alive?” Pharazagar asked, motioning to the prone form of Parnard.
“Very much so. He resists overmuch,” Balkumagan informed him.
“Why is he gagged?”
“He waxes on about Elven revenge, if you let him. The Men were getting spooked and angry.”
Pharazagar grunted. "I know a surefire remedy for glib tongues.”
“Remember, brother, the Lady wants them unharmed.”
“Very well,” he replied, and went back to silently watching Danel. There was an unnatural grace to her movements, even in the way she dabbled water on her companion's face. Pharazagar put his hand on his sword. “Now what is going on!” he muttered, his nerves tense as he heard the men’s voices raised to a loud pitch.
“They argue over the small folk,” said Balkumagan.
“Stop arguing at once!” Pharazagar growled at them, as quietly as he could. Then he spoke in the tongue of his people, and declared to Balkumagan, “I have never seen a more quarrelsome, irritable gang of men -”
“If yer want us to be of any assistance, talk in the common tongue, not that southern gibberish,” Jexson broke in.
The Umbari swordsman smiled. “I was just about to ask my friend Balkumagan here why you lot seem to wish to kill one another. Is it over drink? Or women?” His golden eyes danced with amusement.
“Sometimes,” answered Jexson with bold defiance. At this Danel looked up and fixed a penetrating gaze upon the Man of Bree-Town. The sea-longing ring gleamed on his right pinky finger. Its influence was affecting the man more than she had anticipated.
“I see, bickering over the spoils, eh?”
“We just want to be paid our fair share, and see these Elves put in good hands,” Jexson replied, and gave Parnard a shove with his boot.
Pharazagar stepped forward, cursing at the man in Adûnaic, and said, “Enough of that! Do you think we are taking them to a picnic?” He turned to Balkumagan. “We should pay this man for his trouble, brother.”
“We will do what we are ordered to do: that is, to take these Elves, unharmed, to our masters.”
“I think Captain Naraal might like to reward you, in person,” Pharazagar said to Jexson in mock friendliness. Ill-favoured, this breed of long-haired barbarians, pot-bellied, rascally-looking, twisted-lipped, soft-shelled, hang-dog-looking fellows to a man - nevertheless, he was duty bound to work with them.
Then the elf-woman suddenly spoke, and said in a soft lilting voice, “You look unwell, Jexson. I wonder if it is some sickness common to your kind?”
The Breelander spat at the ground. “I am fine, just not used to travelling on them ships.”
“Sea-sick on a little river like that?” laughed Pharazagar.
“I like me feet on solid ground. I am fine now,” insisted Jexson.
To make this trip they would have to follow the road for over twenty leagues, and this was Ranger territory; there was no time to lose. The horses, sensing the Men’s eagerness to depart, began stamping their hooves and rattling their harnesses. Pharazagar barked out orders to the men to make ready and saddle up.
“Wait a second - where is the other elf!” He looked around in all directions. “Where did he run off! Look for him, hurry! Confound it! You men cannot even guard a single elf without him slipping away!” As the men ran around, a silver flash caught his eye, and looking up, he saw that the elf was clinging to a cliff face high above. “There he is! Grab him!” he yelled, as the elf-woman shouted some unintelligible warning. The men scrambled after the elf and dragged him down. Burrwood, one of their number with a specific grievance against Elves, slugged him in the jaw, and gave him several blows on his neck that did not take much effect, on account of the armour he still wore. Balkumagan and Pharazagar rushed in, knocking the men aside, and helped him to his feet.
“High Lord Parnard, you bring it on yourself,” Balkumagan said, dusting him off. “Be obedient like Lady Danel, and it will go better for you.” The Wood-elf's feet were tied together with stout rope and he was flung over the back of Pharazagar’s rangy blood bay horse.
“Have faith, Cousin! The ring is working upon Jexson. Soon he shall die of thirst,” Danel said to Parnard in Sindarin.
“If you persist in talking, lady, we are in no want of leather straps for pretty mouths,” warned Pharazagar.
“An’ any more messin’ and we pull the hobbits’ legs right off, ye hear?” Jexson told her.
Danel’s eyes widened. “I do but tell him to behave as he should.” Then drawing herself up, she placed her hands over her heart and narrowed her gray-blue eyes to slivers. Pharazagar put his hands on his hips, staring at her. What was she up to, he wondered.
“Let us get moving,” Balkumagan said, breaking in upon his thought.
“Yes,” he replied. “We must be away before we are spotted.”'
"Lady, you shall ride behind me. Any trouble and I shall bind you tightly, and muzzle you as well, as my brother suggests.”
