[Nogrod]

The rainstorm came as unwelcomed news. Novgorod had barely gotten dry after last day’s swimming during the morning and now he was soaking wet again. The continual going uphill and downhill had taken its toll of Novgorod already, but now the slopes were even turning slippery and unstable. The going was getting slower all the time. The first days of the journey he had been in high spirits, now it was different.

These were rough regions to trek. He had known it beforehand as he had picked this southern path in the first instance. No one can drag me into Mirkwood, not even a great golden horde, he had mumbled then, and comforted himself with the thought of avoiding Mirkwood even now as he tried to keep his balance on a steep and slippery uphill he was ascending.

He wasn’t afraid of any fairies or the stuff like that people who had never actually lived in Mirkwood were afraid of. No, no. But he had some unsettled disputes with other rogues and rogue-gangs living in Mirkwood. Novgorod had no desire to meet those rogues or to settle those matters.

Novgorod was almost out of breath as he was reaching the hilltop and decided to have a break after finishing the climb. But there was to be no rest. As soon as he reached the top of the hill he saw them. About ten Easterling-rogues having an encampment on the top of the next hill northwards from him, effectively closing his way as the mountains were on his left side and the river at his right..And their guardsman had obviously seen him too as he had suddenly started to wave his hands excitedly and was pointing to his direction.

Before Novgorod had time to curse properly he noticed three of the Easterlings mounting their horses and starting towards him. It was hard for the horses to descend the unstable slope but they kept coming towards him with a slow but steady pace. They were some hundred yards away from him now as they had reached the low ground between the hills separating him from the Easterling encampment. Novgorod had nowhere to run, except running back south. I’m after the great golden horde and will not be running backwards...

Well, the table is laid and the dices are cast. Now it’s time to perform the miracles..., he thought gloomily to himself as he waved his hand to the Easterlings approaching him. With that he started descending towards them, spreading his both hands wide open to make sure they understood his intentions. They did and halted at the foot of the hill. Hopefully it’s not Khadil-Azahr or Derwang...

Some twenty yards from the Easterlings he called them: “Not the best of days, aye?” He took a careful look at the three. The one in the lead looked uncomfortably familiar. Gemel-Whir! Darn! Just my luck, he thought and cursed heavily to himself. But aloud he yelled: “Gemel-Whir! What a surprise!” He decided to take the risk as there seemed to be very little he could lose anyhow. “Are you still riding with that old Khadil-Azahr, the robed-robber? Don’t tell me you’re still sticking with the old stager?”

“I sure am, and he will be delighted to see you again, I’ll promise you that”, Gemel-Whir answered wryly. “No tricks Novgo’. Just walk between us. My friends here have lances ready if you try something.”

They arrived to the encampment after some slipping and cursing of both Novgorod and the horsemen. Khadil-Azahr, impressive-looking older Easterling, clad in silken robes walked towards them. After recognising the newcomer he smiled maliciously and welcomed him. “Well, well. Who do we have here? Novgorod, the “shadow-blade”, the trick-man himself! Praised be the stars!” He glanced at Gemel-Whir and winked an eye to him. “Nice little coincidence this is, isn’t it?” he continued with his broken Westron and returned his gaze to Novgorod.

“So you have been searching for me to pay back your crime and to give your life for it?” Khadil-Azahr needled Novgorod and bursted to laughter. “Well, what do you say now? You have no chance of tricks this time my friend.”

How ironic! To get yourself killed because of the one decent thing you have done in your life. Novgorod was desperately looking for options to get out of the situation. He knew he had not much time. He had joined the party of Khadil-Azahr two years ago and been with it for a couple of months. After a greatly successful hold up he had decided to get out of the gang that was then hunted heavily, like leaving a sinking ship he had thought at that time. But he had not left alone or empty-handed. He had stolen almost half of what there was in Khadil-Azahr’s coffin, killing one of Khadil’s personal guards by stabbing him in the middle of the night. But what probably was even worse, he had taken the young Esgarothian girl, Fannan, whom Khadil had as a personal toy with him. They had scared the other horses away and rode to the woods. The journey to Easgaroth had taken a few days and Novgorod had had his share of the enjoyment with the young girl. But he had both taken her away from the gang that had kidnapped her and brought her back to her home. To Novgorod, that was the most deecent thing he had done in his life.

The rush of memories overwhelmed Novgorod’s mind and distracted him from coming up with a way out. “So how would you like to recompense me of my losses, other than by dying nastily?” Khadil-Azahr queried maliciously. “I guess you are too poor to pay me back the money and too much of a loner to hand me some soft company you deceitfully robbed me?”, he grinned. After a moment of silence he continued: “Taking that for granted, how would you like to die? Maybe chopped in pieces? Skinned alive? Torn apart by the horses? Suffocated? Strangled?” Khadil-Azahr was laughing and laughing louder after every suggestion he made. The laugh spread over the whole Easterling encampment. The only one who didn’t feel like laughing was Novgorod, but he laughed too. Then he suddenly had an idea, a crazy one, but without better ones around it could be worth trying. And would he succeed in it, he would truly laugh for it.

“If I have a right to choose, I would like to be torn apart by horses”, Novgorod answered in as steady voice he could produce, silencing the laughter. “I’ve always fancied that”, he added and made the Easterlings burst to laughter again.

“You’ll get what you want Novgo’. Take his belongings and tie him up!” Khadil-Azahr called to his men, looking Novgorod keenly to the eye.

“I hope you would grant me just one request Khadil.” Novgorod said to the older Easterling. “I’ve been a fighter all my life and would like to die with my sword on my side. Take the other stuff but let my blade be on my waist as I die. If my hands and legs are tied, there should be no problem for you, but it would mean me much.” Khadil-Azahr studied Novgorod’s face for a while and then nodded slightly. “I’m not a heartless man and would like to die myself with my sword. Keep it.” With that he turned to the other Easterlings. “C’mon, tie him up, leave the sword! We have a spectacle to wittness!” He smiled wryly to Novgorod and turned away.

Four horses were picked and to the saddle of each one of them a rope was tied. These ropes were then tied to Novgorod’s wrists and ankles, one to each. Then Novgorod heard the whips lash. He felt a stunning pain in all his limbs as the ropes tightened. His left shoulder went out of its place. It hurt terribly. But as he had hoped, the ground was slippery enough to save him from being torn to pieces. The horses could not make their balance and were tumbling. As soon as the horse that was tied to his right hand had slipped and fell to the ground the rope got loose. He drew his sword and hacked the other ropes. Amidst the confusion he managed to get up and run for the horse still tied to his right hand. It was struggling to get up as Novgorod jumped on it. Mounted he faced the baffled Easterlings. “No tricks this time you said!” he yelled at Khadil-Azahr and took the reins of the horse, gallopping towards the other horses, cutting the rope from his right hand as he went.. Hitting a few of the rest of the horses with the lap of his sword he managed to panic them and they ran away. Riding through the camp he dared to do the trick he had learned as a young man. There was a backpack of one Easterling just in front of him and he turned around in his saddle, leaning downwards and grasping the sack, turning up from the other side of the stallion he rode.

Novgorod rode straight over the Easterling camp and headed northwards to make it to the downwards slope. An arrow caught his left hand and went through it just above the elbow and at least three arrows hit the horse as he was getting downhill. The horse slipped and then fell, in full speed. Novgorod was thrown from the saddle and landed on the slope, hitting his side painfully to a boulder he landed on. Without thinking he started rolling down the hill, carefully holding to his blade and the Easterling’s backpack.

As he tumbled to the foot of the hill he glanced upwards. Some of the Easterlings tried to follow him, but were stumbling on the slippery and unstable slope. Without horses they had no advance and no one seemed to dare a roll-down. He got up and not caring about the pain in his left hand and his right side he took to running as fast as he could. The curses he heard were not any more in Westron, but in the Easterling tongue, and they were becoming fainter and fainter all the time.

One of the curses in Easterling he did understand. Slimy Burbot! He had heard that one before from the same mouth now bellowing on the top of the hill far behind him. Sorry Khadil! I outwitted you a second time...