[Arry]

‘You . . . cannot . . . stay . . . with . . . me!’ Gaeredhel groaned out his declaration in short bits. Rôsgollo had stripped his brother of his bloodied tunic, leather vest and chainmail shirt. He forced the rest of the arrow’s head through Gaeredhel’s flesh, snapped it off, and then withdrew the remainder of the shaft. ‘It only pierced the skin and if it grazed the muscle, it did not tear enough that I cannot use it.’ He grimaced as his brother prodded at the wound. ‘It burns no more than the arrow you mistakenly placed in my leg when we were children, brother mine,’ he said forcing a smile in an effort to make light of it. ‘It does not burn in a way that makes me think it is poisoned.’

Rôsgollo dismissed his brother’s claims with a snort. ‘Still,’ he said, ‘it is an Orc’s arrow and filthy from whatever they have hunted before.’ He took his water bottle and sluiced the wound as thoroughly as he might. ‘I have brought a small amount of herbs, thinking we might need them for the prisoners. We can spare some small amount for your wound.’ Rôsgollo fished in the pouch at his waist, bringing out several silver-grey leaves. Chewing them into a paste, he covered the exit and entrance wounds as best he could, then bound the shoulder with clean strips from his own tunic. Once done, he helped his brother put on his own shirt and other gear.

The four held a hasty conference on how to proceed. Rôsgollo held back his preference that they ride back to the Dunedain encampment for reinforcements. Gaeredhel had already read his thoughts on this and gainsaid them. You will have to tie me to my horse to have me go back now. Aloud, Gaeredhel urged them to go forward in the pursuit. ‘We are so close now. We cannot afford to let them hide themselves away from us again.’ He clasped his brother’s shoulder. ‘We have sworn to keep him safe. We must press on.’

‘Do not speak to me of our duty,’ Rôsgollo said quietly. ‘I know it all too well. But my heart speaks of my first duty, which is to you.’ He gazed shrewdly at his brother, gauging his response to his next proposal. ‘I will continue on with Angóre and Faerim to the Orc camp, if you will return to where we first found the Orcs had entered the river. Wait for the Dundedain that will be sent to aid us and direct them to us. We will leave an easy trail for them to follow.’ He paused for a moment, tensed against his brother’s answer.

Gaeredhel was silent, his thoughts guarded. He read the resolve in his brother’s eyes. ‘I will agree to this.’ Rôsgollo took in a sharp breath of relief.

Though I doubt any Men other than Faerim will rush to assist us . . .

-----

Rôsgollo watched as his brother mounted his horse and turned back south, down the river. Angóre, Faerim, and he resumed their progress northward keeping as low a profile as they might to avoid other Orcs left to watch the trail. In due time, they approached the Orc’s encampment, their own presence hidden by the thick stands of trees that grew along the edges of the eastern perimeter.

Dismounting before they drew too near, Rôsgollo stayed back to keep the horses quiet while Faerim and Angóre went quietly forward on foot to scout out the camp . . .