Inside the room, a handful of men wearing luxuriant cloaks and hats trimmed with ermine were seated at a large trestle table with their heads bowed low in fierce concentration. Several had fat ledger books sitting in front of them in which they were recording detailed lists of dates and numbers.
Fréa stiffened uncomfortably as he surveyed the mighty burghurs of Bree, a group whosse influence and numbers had expanded with the reurn of peace in the Fourth Age. He instinctively disliked and distrusted such men. As far as he could tell, they spent all their time sitting in dark corners and writing or instructing others to do the same; they rarely saw the back of a spirited horse, and had little skill with blade or bow. He doubted that any of them could survive for more than a day or two if left on their own in the middle of the wilds.
Fréa hated Brytta with a passion, but he still had some grudging respect for his enemy whose skills with a horse and sword were unquestioned. With these men, it was different. But he needed their support and any information they might have gleaned. He wiped his face clean of any expression other than that of the humble supplicant, and stepped forward holding out the piece of paper that his commander in Rohan had entrusted to him.
[ August 27, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]
|