[maikafanawen]

Wren almost fainted when she saw Turthôl. Rave had grabbed her from behind when her knees gave out. She didn’t understand though, it looked as though he hadn’t recognized them. He’s probably shocked to us them too, she reasoned.

"Everyone, go on ahead. I need to talk to Turthôl, alone," said Rangar. The situation seemed awkward. What was going on?

“Fine, but Turthôl, I have your fife.” She forced an unsure laugh as she followed Énien up the hill to the Seer’s house. Suddenly the sound of blades, ringing free of their scabbards reached the company. Wren turned just in time to see a dozen Haradrim running towards them, scimitars raised in challenge.

“What is this?” yelled Tareth, drawing his own weapon. Wren cursed under her breath, hand gripping her sword’s pommel.

“What do we do!” she shouted as the men drew closer. Énien took charge.

“Fight them. They’re with him.” The rest turned towards a cloaked figure who was approaching Rangar where Turthôl had left him. It was Baroden. Wren’s mouth dropped. Where was Turthôl? She had no time to think, the Haradrim were upon them. The advantage was with the noblewoman. Her blade was a good ten inches longer than the enemy’s weapon and her skill was at least thrice superior. The one rule that she had lived by and been preached in fencing lessons was never to kill an unarmed man, or attack when his back was turned. So she fought back with a purpose.