[Child of the 7th Age]

Nitir and Azra stood together on the lone bluff overlooking the horsepens, their arms tightly linked about each other's waists. Beneath them lay a scene of indescribable carnage. The bodies of some forty guards were strewn about the pens and the adjacent grounds. Scattered among these were a few escapees from the Men's Prison.

Two or three horses also lay on the grass. A single animal writhed in agony, spears extending upward from his left flank and withers, trickles of blood from the base of his wounds seeping into the earth. His shrill, pleading cries were the only sounds rending the silence of the night.

To Nitir, it looked as if some hideous creature had plummetted from above, striking without remorse in a paroxysm of killing and rage. Now, only mangled corpses and bloodied weapons remained, mute discards in a grim tableau. But this had not been the doing of the great wyrms or of any who had accompanied the Star.

"What has happened? Who has done this?"

Azra's words sliced through her thoughts. Nitir shook her head in disgust, "This is not us. There are no hobbits here for rescue."

"Then what?" queried the girl. Her words came with difficulty as she searched Nitir's eyes.

"This thing lies in the hands of the Men." The woman responded harshly. "These guards have butchered their companions and the few prisoners who found their way here, fighting to see who could grab onto an animal and gallop away."

A shudder ran through her body. Why had this happened? These guards were not familiar to her; they were assigned to the Men's Prison. During the rescue of the Faithful, Mithadan had unlocked that compound and left it open, to create the illusion of a general prison break. No one from the Star had blocked that gate, or followed the guards across to the horsepens. They could have walked out of here, or even ridden. Nearly fifty horses had been stabled in the pens. If the guards had helped their companions to mount, two on each steed, every man could have left this field unharmed. There was no need for murder.

For the first time, Nitir understood why the great wave would claim this land in one week's time. The evil of ar-Pharazon and Angthaur had spread deep into Numenor and its people. There was so little goodness left that they could turn on each other without remorse.

But all this lay beyond her own simple task. Where were the children? Please, not here, she thought.

Aloud she said only, "Come. We must search for them."

They looked at each other with grim faces, hoping they would find nothing. Their steps took them throughout the pen, as they bent down to search, body by body, rolling over the Men with difficulty. The horse had stopped bellowing and was now frozen in death. But they noticed a small movement beneath him.

With trembling hands, they searched, pushing the horses head and a pile of weapons out of the way. They found only a Man, lying mortally wounded, his eyes stretched in pain that extended beyond the ability to scream.

"Please," he whispered, pointing at Nitir's bow. "Please," he pleaded again, feebly grabbing onto her skirts.

What he wanted was clear enough. Nitir was not certain what to do. And then the Man turned to her with agony in his face, "I beg you, by all that Eru holds sacred. Let me go."

Nitir sat back and drew an arrow from her quiver. A single shot sped forward. Then she went to the edge of the field, and was sick.

So the bleakness of Numenor touched even her. She could not have said if she'd done right or wrong. Perhaps, if she'd had the time, she would have simply sat by his side and talked. But she had no time. She forced her thoughts forward, struggling to clear her mind.

Nitir did not think the children would wander blindly into the night, without direction. They had come to the graveyards to try and find Gamba, because they had visited Esta there that day. Where else would they have gone? She thought back on the conversations of the children in the study. All day, she'd had to shush them up again and again, because they kept talking about boats and the river. She was certain she'd heard Roka saying such things at least a dozen times.

She wasn't sure, but it was the best chance they had. It was getting late. They had to try again and quickly. "Come, Azra, to the river." The two women raced across the grass as swiftly as they could.

[ November 02, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]