[Aylwen Dreamsong]

“There he is!” Joal spoke in a hoarse whisper as he and his companion trudged into the White Horse. Joal was exhausted, and Whisper elbowed him in the stomach, as his breathing had become rhythmic croaks. Pointing to a dark booth in one corner of the Inn, Whisper led Joal to it and the two sat down, joining a darkly dressed man who’s hood showed only the moon of his face.

“Ah! Tavari and Joal! It has been a long time since you traveled into the land of the Strawheads!” the man chuckled and took a gulp of his ale, and then brought the mug down onto the wooden table, sloshing beer onto the table.

“Yes, we need your help. Did you chance to see the man that the easterlings are after?” Joal questioned, and peered at the man’s mug.

“You look tired, boy! Have a drink! It isn’t poisonous!” The man laughed outright, and then smacked the table with the back of his hand. “Now then, I might know what man you’re talking about, but…”

Whisper knew exactly what he meant, and was about to pull out the purse of jewels that the Easterlings had paid them in advance, but Joal began to speak. “Oh, come now, fool! Every spy this side of the Misty Mountains knows about that man! You better” Whisper clasped a hand over Joal’s mouth before he could continue. Handing the man two red gems and a pearl necklace, Whisper glared at Joal and bid the man to go on.

“That’s better. Now, the man you’re speaking of, Halasan, I think is his name, came and went from this Inn a few times over the past two days. He left one last time this morning. My son followed him to the seamstress’ place, and then to the smith’s shop. After that, my boy followed them to the gate about two hours ago. That’s all.” The man finished, and flung his hand, palm up, onto the table again. Joal rolled his eyes as Whisper handed him another necklace, then the two swiftly and silently left the White Horse.

Outside of the White Horse, night had already taken over the skies. The two rushed towards the gates of the city. When they got there, the gates were already shut tight for the night. Guards patrolled it, and the two assassins had to sneak by them to get out of the city of the Rohirrim.

“Run, Joal! I know you can!” Whisper called behind her as the two sprinted away from the gate and down the road. Whisper could hear Joal’s heavy breathing as he tried to speed up.

“Not with two left feet I can’t!” Joal called back through pants and hasty intakes of air.

A ways down the road, Whisper stopped and Joal bumped into her, knocking both down into the dust. When Whisper had controlled her temper and both the assassins had stood back up, Whisper pointed to her left. Joal could barely see a crackling flame from a coppice away from the road.

“Now, Joal, I want you to be very quiet, so as not to snap a twig and get yourself killed,” Whisper ordered.

“Yes, ma’am,” Joal replied mockingly. “And what of you, oh great Tavari Whisper?”

“Stop joking around, Joal! Let’s get this done with!”

The two split up, hiding in the shadows of either side of the camp. Whisper surveyed the fire area, and saw only a visibly tall male on guard near the fire. He held an axe in one hand, and a sword in the other, but did not look as though he planned on using them. Medium length black hair showed random streaks of silver, and yet his face showed a younger look. Was this Halasan? No, Whisper reminded herself. The easterlings said he’d be unarmed.

Joal walked – no, skipped – around the length of the camp, until he ran into Whisper, sending both of them falling to the ground, Whisper crushed underneath Joal. The once silent thicket became alive with snapping twigs, crunching leaves, and frantic grass animals fleeing. The smith looked up, and for a long time neither Joal nor Whisper moved, and their breathing was scarce. When the smith finally went back to his own thoughts, the two quickly and silently rearranged themselves and laid belly-down on the ground for the rest of the night. They both drifted off into a deep sleep.

The next morning, Whisper woke with the sun beaming down onto her, and she woke up Joal. To their disappointment, they had slept later than their prey had. They had gone, leaving nothing to signal that they had slept there the night before. Whisper and Joal did the same, returning to the road in the bright sun.

Following the travelers during the day wasn’t too difficult, and staying at a safe distance was no hard task. The two followers never lost track of their prey, for random bouts of coughing kept them in the right direction down the roads.

When Halasan and company finally made camp that night; Whisper and Joal decided that that would be the night to attack. Readying his daggers, Joal also made sure his length of rope was close by, for in his experience (however limited) it always paid off to be prepared. The two did as they had done the night before and split up as they went around the camp. This time, the night watch was taller than the one before, and had close-cropped black hair and stern grey eyes. Whisper kept watch over the guard, and Joal was the self-appointed killer of the man named Halasan.

Avoiding the night watcher from the previous night and an unconsciously coughing woman, Joal neared two other sleeping men, one with an axe in close proximity, the other weaponless.

Joal tiptoed towards the man without the axe, remembering the discription the Easterlings had given to the assassins in the beginning. Joal, as Whisper had told him the night before, kept clear of twigs and leaves and walked toes first, then heel. Coming to a crouch next to the unarmed man, Joal spun his daggers around, and grinned evilly. Now it is my turn to get the kill, and not be the clumsy one! Joal thought. He didn’t even notice that the axe-man had never been asleep in the first place, and only had been lying with his eyes open. Joal didn’t even see the axe coming before he could kill his prey.


Whisper crept up behind the watchman, and had drawn her remaining dagger. She had chosen to kill the guard, in case a quick get-away was needed. As she leapt from bush to bush to get closer to the guard, she finally came close enough to throw her dagger. Whisper raised her arm to spin the dagger, but before she could, a loud cry pierced the calm air.

Joal! Whisper cried inwardly, but she dared not say it aloud.

Whisper ducked behind the brush as the guard turned to see what had happened, and Whisper backtracked through her chain of bushes, following the watchman. When he stopped, Whisper stopped. A shadow-man hovered over a crumpled figure, and another figure had awoken from sleep and stood from his spot. Three men, the watchman, the shadow-man, and the sleeper hovered over the body that Whisper knew in her heart was Joal’s. Pain began to well up inside Whisper’s heart as she noticed the shadow-shape of a weapon protruding from the shadow-man’s strong arms.

A slice rang through the air, along with a gurgling groan, as the shadow-creature pulled what Whisper realized to be an axe from the crumpled body of Joal.

A tear rolled down Whisper’s cheek for the first time in long years; her partner Joal was dead, she was certain. He had only been thirteen! Whisper’s training, which she had received from the dead boy himself, told her not to move a muscle, and her sadness had struck her into a state where she wouldn’t have moved anyway. Joal was gone!

[ March 27, 2003: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]