[Palando]

Sweat glistened in a thin sheen over the rider’s exposed burnt skin as their mounts laboured in the oppressive heat. Cloying dust swirled around the riders. Halasan longed again for the cooler weather of the previous week; the refreshing wind in their faces as the Swift Swallow had drifted pleasantly down the Entwash.
He played again the events of the previous night in his mind and was touched by a deep sadness at the loss of his companions. Even though he could not call them friends they had a least offered a distraction to his troubled thoughts. Now only Haleg remained. Quiet, brooding Haleg. The man with death's touch and a dark past. He at least was a fitting partner for the revenge obsessed! They had ridden together in silence as the sun rose ponderously into the eastern sky. How quickly change comes, how unexpected!

He chuckled.

It had started during the evening, after dinner at the Inn. Tunar had said little to start with, his gaze always straying north, with a depth of pain that trouble the woodsman. And then he had told them that he was to return north. Everyone understood. Their journey was not one for man with family back home!
They walked him to the docks where, as luck, or fate, would have it a ship was readying to depart. The price for passage had been high, but Halasan had insisted on paying it, as well as offering Tunar a small bag of coins for his help. The blacksmith had been embarrassed and saddened, but thankfully had not tried to refuse the offer.

All of them had gathered at the docks when Tunar’s ship pushed off. They waved and then turned to leave when, with a sudden in rush of air, several of the ships caught a flame. The smoke had been quick and terrible. But even now, as he rode on towards Minas Tirith on his lathered steed, he remembered the faces of the two arsonists. Their panic stricken features almost comical.

They ran, but stumbled to a halt as Elenna suddenly collapsed, the dark smoke pouring down her lungs. With a bellow of rage Azariah threw her over his shoulder and they had made it up the hill, clear briefly of the smoke. Laying her gently down he was stricken with pain and guilt at her pale face and distant eyes. She coughed again and this time blood splattered over her face. A rage engulfed Halasan then. How many innocents must pay for his need for revenge? Her face, and the pain in Tunar’s eyes played in his mind again and again. A coldness washed over him as the smoke rose over the hill towards the group.
“It is now time for us to part” he had said in a dark, brooding voice. “This is all my fault, I sense it.” Azariah tried to speak, but he ignored the warrior and continued. “Azariah, see that Elenna gets to safety, stay by her always… In so many ways she reminds me of my daughter…” Salty tears tumbled from his eyes, creating white trails down his smoke stained face. “I must complete the journey without you now.” He turned to leave and, barely noticing Haleg beside him, began to run. Somehow he had known then that Haleg would follow, for his future seemed so closely tied to Haleg’s past. Like a circle of revenge.

Without any real plan in mind the two headed back into the smoke, though not before spotting the two arsonists again, talking to a man and a woman outside the Inn. For many minutes they ran in the darkness, his laboured lungs struggling for air in the black smoke. Dizziness washed over him, his head tumbling in confusion. Then, just as he was about to collapse, the ground had given way under him and he was engulfed in cold, dark water. Breaking through he sucked in a deep breath, and was racked by a terrible coughing fit. Luckily the wind was driving west, carrying the smoke inland and the air was clear, giving a chance to recover. From the water he watched the swift swallow make its last journey as it bubbled and hissed before collapsing beneath the waves. He started swimming.

Reaching the other side he found a stable with several lean horses inside, used for sending overland messages anyway In the realm of Gondor. Being mindful to calm to horses he and Haleg, who once again was with him, saddled two horses, gathered what supplied could be found and headed out. Not looking back again until the dock was beyond view. The heavy black smoke still rising into the night sky, obscuring the stars.

Shifting in the saddle, his bones weary from the ride. Halasan paused to drink some water from a rapidly emptying skin. Both he and Haleg knew that they did not have enough water or food to last more than two days. And it would take at least four to reach Minas Tirith!