Fréa shifted uneasily in his saddle. They had been on the trail almost two days cantering steadily northward in the direction of the Old South Road. Once they reached that junction, the road should lead them clearly and quickly to Tharbad.
With all their horses killed by the wargs, Brytta's men would have little option but to head straight towards the nearest mannish settlement and try to bargain for some additional mounts. That had seemed evident when they'd sighted the bloodied remains of the steeds. Fréa had headed back and even discovered the mutilated body of a warg or two that confirmed all their suspicions.
Tharbad wasn't a large settlement. Near the end of the Third Age, the city had been destroyed by floods and was only now, after endless years, finally beginning to recover and blossom again. But it was the only mannish settlement in the area, and had a fine marketplace where horses were regularly bought and sold. Brytta would have no choice but to plod along on foot as quickly as he could.
Initially, Fréa had rejoiced to see what had happened to Brytta's men; he had hoped it might be easy for them to overtake the Hildesons and their friends in a relatively short time. Then Haldor and his brother could be captured and returned to Edoras, or more likely slain under cover of whatever scuffle would result.
But what had looked extremely easy on the day they crossed through the Pass was now becoming increasingly difficult. Fréa's spirits plunged as the foothills led on and on with no sign of any other travellers, and no hint of the mysterious, hidden roadway that always seemed to be around the next bend but never came in view. Fréa kept taking the small map out of his pocket and peering down at it to see if he had only imagined that there should actually be a road here.
Worst of all, real game seemed to be scarce. They crossed paths with a coney or two, but had no luck finding anything more satisfying such as a deer, a wild boar, or even a brace of geese.
A scowl passed over Fréa's face as he heard his stomach growl. Curse that Hama for being so stingy with the supplies he'd bought in the markets of Edoras! They did have several days of provisions left, but it was miserable stuff that no self-respecting warrior would deign to eat--salt pork and hard bread that had definitely seen better days. What kind of provisions had this idiot of a lad brought? Moreover, they'd quaffed down the last of their sour ale and were even lucky to find a stream to fill their water jugs and slake their thirst.
It was near evening on the second day that Archim finally pointed out the last peak of Methedras just ahead of them; not far away and slightly to the west should be the point where the Old South Road began. At Graitwa's suggestion, the group agreed to settle here for the night and link up with the road early the next morning at the first hint of dawn.
Fréa barked out orders to set up camp and ordered Hama to go find some fresh game, telling the lad not to come back to camp until he had managed to do so, even if it took him all night. "Maybe you can live on salted pork, but my brothers and I are used to better. See that you bring us something decent to eat!"
With that Fréa stretched out on the ground and slammed his helmet onto his head so that he could block out the incessent grumbles of Archim and Graitwa who were continuously moaning about the situation that their ambitious brother had put them in. For an instant, Fréa was tempted to stand up and challenge them but then thought better of it, and left them to their endless complaints, lying down in the cool shade to take a little nap before dinner.
[ August 10, 2003: Message edited by: Dain Ironfoot ]
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