[Arry]

‘What business calls the King,’ Gaeredhel wondered, ‘to keep his people waiting so?’

The brothers’ voices were low as they discussed what they expected to happen next. ‘Most likely he is already at the front,’ said Rôsgollo, ‘and there are any number of advisors who have one last thing to say before he is free to take action.’ He pursed his lips and raised one brow at his brother. ‘You know how hemmed in plain Captains are, always having to weigh this and that before even one part of a plan is put into play. How much worse must it be for a King.’

‘Well, If I were King,’ began Gaeredhel, ‘and the Shadow had fallen on this city as it did today, I would make all haste to put as many leagues as I could and as swiftly between the armies of the enemy and my people.’

‘Then thank the One you are not King, brother!’ Rôsgollo returned. ‘Else we might already be rotting corpses on the northern fields.’

The crowd of refugees nearest to the Elves pushed in closer about the two brothers. There were some, in the grip of fear, who agreed with Gaeredhel, and voiced their greatest worries. What if the King had no plan? What if he thought it hopeless? What if he had already fled and had left them behind to slow the pursuit of his own escape? Others with cooler heads raised their voices recalling how the King had always put his people first. Think on it they admonished their fellow citizens, bringing up instances in which the King had acted for the good of them all. Would it not be reasonable to think he would continue to do so? Voices surged and receded and surged again as more of the crowd expressed their opinions.

‘Now look what your loosely guarded lips have wrought,’ Rôsgollo hissed in a low voice at his brother. ‘This is all we need now, a panic in this small passageway . . .’

There were muted cries, then, from the front of the passageway, whispers really, that moved toward the back of the corridor. And the swish of cloaks and clothes, the scrape of boots and shoes as people turned toward the front. ‘We are moving!’ The words rippled and swelled toward the back ranks, bringing some small measure of hope to those who had feared the worst.

The at-first-slow progress increased in speed until the front of the second wave of evacuees had neared the exit of the passageway. Rôsgollo tucked Gilly in close to his chest, secured tightly by the sling he’d rigged for the child. He led the way toward the exit, Lord Ereglin following close behind him. Gaeredhel followed on their heels, his bow at the ready, an arrow nocked.

‘Hurry, brother,’ Gaeredhel called to Rôsgollo, turning often to see what might follow behind the fleeing men and Elves. ‘There are sounds of Dunedain troops trailing us closely.’ He paused in his talking, his keen ears trained on the sounds in the passage way. ‘And beyond that last line of protectors are the foul sounds of Orcs and other spawn of shadow that seek to overcome them . . .’