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Veryadan
A day and a half later and the companions had narrowed the reports down to three they thought would lead them to some definite evidence of those behind the attacks. The group’s suspicions about Fen Shepherdspurse had continued, especially since others of the Breelanders that had come forward had made little remarks which confirmed his shady character. Still, there were also one or two others who had come in from the area near the Whittleworth farm with confirming tales they heard of what had been done.
Two other incidents had also caught the eye of the Elves and Rangers. The first was the attack on a small party of merchants and their wagons on the Great East Road, just east of Weathertop. Two large trees, it seemed, had been blown down across the road. The merchants had tried to take their wagons around the barrier, they’d been told. But night was falling and the unsuspecting travelers had been set upon and killed; the contents of their wagons stolen.
The other incident occurred between the Midgewater Marshes and Weathertop. A sheepherder and his dog had been driving their small flock toward the foot of Weathertop, when they had been overwhelmed. The mangled bodies of the man and dog had been found flung on the rocks; the entire flock of sheep had disappeared.
Veryadan had been up since first light. He’d seen to the provisions he’d gotten the previous day, packing them carefully into his saddlebags. His horse, fed and groomed, had been brought round to the front of the Inn. He had just enough time, he thought, to enjoy a morning smoke of Archet pipeweed. As he smoked, Veryadan leaned against the railing of the Inn’s porch. He drew his cloak about him to keep off the chill of the early morning breeze. Osric and Aidwain had also gathered a ways down from him he noted.
Tarondo would soon be out with the others, he thought. Once the Elf had laid out his plans of who would be in which group, they would be off . . .
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