[Arry]

‘Pressing matters!’ snorted Gaeredhel. ‘What could be more pressing than getting the people to safety?’ He eyed the stooped figure of Mellonar as it whisked from the Hall. ‘I have heard from some of the King’s guard that beneath those voluminous robes of his, he has all sorts of secret pockets. I would just bet he has gone to fill them with packets of sneaking little notes he made on everyone who could be of use to him at sometime.’ He eyed his brother, who’d pulled down one of the soft hanging curtains that hid an alcove, and was busy tying it about him and looped over one shoulder as a sling for the child. ‘Here, let me give you a hand with that,’ he said, hacking off the excess and getting it tied securely. For a second, a small smile swept his lips in an upward arc as his finger caressed the little one’s cheek.

Rôsgollo fitted Gilley into the sling, adjusting it so that he would have good use of his arms for weapons as the need arose. He nodded at his brother that they were ready. Gaeredhel took his place before Lord Ereglin as his brother fell in behind. ‘Lead on, then, brother,’ Rôsgollo called out. ‘And be swift.’

At a run, the three Elves moved down the hallway and toward the passageway leading to the North Gate. As they sped down the steps from the hallway, Gaeredhel made one last comment. ‘And what sort of a joke was that last parting remark of the minister – “Go, and may your journey be safe.” By the One! The Witch-king and his minions are upon us in full force. Surely he must know they will harry us like hounds on the scent of a fox.’

The passageway was very wide and long. Refugees from the city were packed in tightly, the overwhelming stench of their fear palpable in the tight place. They were quiet, at least . . . parents shushing their children, many stifling their grief with choked off sobs for themselves and for their loved ones who had not made it through. They eyed the approaching Elves, sizing them up with sly glances . . . would they elbow their way through to the front without regard, these tall, cool Elves, one could almost hear them thinking.

Lord Ereglin stood between his two guards, their broad shoulders and stony looks keeping the press of the crowd at bay. ‘What business calls the King,’ Gaeredhel wondered, ‘to keep his people waiting so?’ Gilly whimpered briefly and was silenced as Rôsgollo gave him a sip of water from his flagon and a small bit of waybread to chew on . . .