[Mithadan]

After fording the Bruinen, Nardol rode steadily along the East Road and crossed the Last Bridge as evening fell. Moving on for a mile or so, he turned off the road and found a familiar clearing where he camped for the night. He built a small fire, then brushed and fed his horse, Rustal, before bedding for the night.

The next morning, he proceeded west until the top of Amon Sûl came into view. Then he sought and found a little-used path which veered off to the south and followed the track as it skirted around the edge of the rugged lands to his right. The South Downs were passable but difficult and he did not wish Rustal to injure a limb. So instead, he intended to pass to the east of the Downs before turning west again towards the Greenway and Sarn Ford.

Late in the afternoon, the hills of the Downsstill rose to his right and their shadows dimmed his path amidst the trees. Nardol was nearing a small clearing when he heard a sound like the trill of a bird. He scowled and Rustal stopped and pawed the turf. Urging him on, Nardol approached the edge of the clearing then stopped again. Looking left and right, the horse and rider entered the green but moved off the path, edging towards the east.

Just as the trees bagan to close around the track again, a Man stepped from the trees to the west and blocked the way. Nardol took note of the Elvish spear which complemented the torn Elven cloak which the Man wore. Rustal stopped and stood motionless as the Man raised a hand.

"Well met, Elf," he cried. "Well met indeed. I am glad you have come to visit me and my friends." As he spoke two Men emerged from the trees to the west and two more stepped out to block the path upon which the Elf had ridden. With his left hand, Nardol drew a throwing blade and with his right he pulled forth his sword.

"Oh, we're tough, I see," laughed the Man. "Now play nice and we'll let you on your way...after we relieve you of your horse and any valuables you may have. Be sweet and we may even leave you your boots and a knife. But no promises..."

The two to the west were joined by a third. Each bore a long knife and a club. A fourth emerged carrying a long sword. Nardol bent and whispered to Rustal, then straightened and raised the throwing knife. He turned quickly and let the knife fly not to the west but to the east where a thief had crept out of the bushes with a spear. Even as the Man fell with the blade in his throat, Rustal leapt towards the east and rushed past yet another Man who had stepped from the underbrush.

Rustal galloped along for a few minutes, dodging between trees with an uncanny judgment of space, then halted at Nardol's urging. The horse and rider turned to the south, then to the west, crossing the track, then back towards the north. They neared the clearing again silently. When he could here the sound of cursing, Nardol sheathed his sword and swung a bow from his shoulder.

Dismounting, he approached the bandits from the west even as the shadows began to darken towards night. The leader, stood above his fallen comrade while the others stripped him of his weapons, boots and money. Nardol whistled. As the leader turned, an arrow caught him in his left eye. Another of the thieves fell even as his fellows turned and ran screaming into the trees. Nardol entered the clearing quickly and scooped up the Elven spear. "This is too good for the likes of you," he snarled. Then he spat and turned away. Mounting Rustal, he continued along the path...