[Rimbaud]

Stones and Shadows

The glint of metal in the weak, westering sun was first spotted by Elwood, yet it was Kalohern who ran, heedlessly, across the rocky ground, scrambling up, to the peak of a ridge. Once there, he let out a yell, and the others of the company bounded up to meet him, bar Baranthol who was left, bemused, with the horses. The slim Rider led them cautiously up the incline.

The release from the Forest seemed to have imbued them with fresh vitality and renewed purpose. Kalohern gestured outwards, to the far side of the ridge.

Guthrin followed more slowly. When he reached the top of the grey crop of stones, the others were already descending to what lay on the other side. The troubled straw-haired Rider watched them pick their way down and remembered that the original glimmer of steel had come from here, at the peak. His eyes scanned the rock in the failing light, and soon fell upon the object in question. A badge, as that of a soldier, battered, bent and ruined. It was silver, with a crude ‘S’ writ harshly upon the face, in thick angular script. Guthrin turned the item over in his hands and thought deeply. He put the badge in his pocket wordlessly, and sat on the lip of the ridge, legs hanging down, feeling a little exposed but able to see far in each direction. Behind him he heard Baranthol skillfully fastening the horses’ packs and checking the straps, now that the opportunity had arisen. They had moved hard and fast this day.

Arenia had led them, at times unsure, directly into the foothills of the Last Misty Mountain. They had come, somehow at a pace that surprised even their young guide, who seemed transformed after her meeting with the Ent, outside of the trees and onto desolate grey shale, early in the morning. Even Thenamir had lost count of how many days it had been since they started on the trail of the odd men, when they were on watch, all that time ago. They followed the Entwash as it left Fangorn’s Western flank and curved upwards into the Mountains. The incline was severe in places and the journey had taxed them all.

Guthrin looked around him in the fading light of the day. It was Autumn and the winds were gathering and cooling, prepared to bring Winter upon them. He hoped they were long gone from the Mountains before heavy snows came. Onedlo to his left sighed and glimmered as it wound its way into the peaks. It seemed to hold a different force to that it carried within the perimeters of Fangorn and was somehow less vital . All the view to the West and North was dominated by the shadowy masses of the Misty Mountains. Dunland lay beyond, and an uncertain future. The tall, arching peaks slashed through sky and cloud, as if the Earth strived to reach the heavens. The peaks seemed darker and more ominous than Guthrin had expected. There was something in the air, some dark force brooding nearby. He had the closest feeling of being watched. He shook his head and looked South. Before him stretched a long expanse of ground similar to that they were traversing, hard, unforgiving rock, with little greenery. In the failing light he fancied he caught a glimpse of the Isen, far off, into the Gap. Something stirred in his heart and he longed to be on horseback, out on the Plains. A decidedly unfamiliar notion of leading men to a great victory came unbidden to his mind.

On the sheltered side of the crag lay the solution to the riddle of the soldier’s badge. Three large, swarthy looking Orcs were scattered, dead and broken, strewn in a rocky depression in the ground. Guthrin stared down at the scene. The company moved in and around the area as one body, their separate movements somehow forming a unity. Arenia and Kalohern knelt by the nearest corpse to Guthrin. Kalohern was talking and gesturing animatedly. Arenia seemed silent, head bowed. Dwarin leapt from rock to rock, gathering the lay of the land, glad to be free of the trees, as he had mentioned often during the day. Gurthden and Thenamir walked around the edge of the hollowed-out shell-like crater, scanning the ground. As they passed the point nearest to Guthrin he heard their low converse. Thenamir looked up and caught his eye, and Guthrin met it as firmly as he could, as he had tried to throughout the day, but the sun was setting directly behind the once-disgraced Rider and the gruff Gondorian looked away quickly.

Elwood and Volkmar sat in the middle of the scene, the Elf with his chin cupped languidly in hand. Volkmar seemed interested and, Guthrin thought, a little perplexed by the Orcs, which was surprising in the experienced Ranger. A man of few words who doubtless thought little of him, Guthrin deemed. Elwood looked up at him, silhouetted on the ridge, quite often. Three or four birds wheeled distantly high, sky-blown in the quiet blue-gray. They were lost sometimes in the streaks or orange, duskier light that suffused the sky, emanating from Arien’s sinking chariot. The air was chill after the close, prickly suffocation of the Forest.

Ulfwine was climbing towards him, unkempt as ever. Presently he gained the lip of the ridge and sat near Guthrin and Baranthol, and although them men kept the silence, there was an unspoken bond between them, of which Guthrin was shocked and afraid to be part. Feeling more at peace than for many days, the Riders continued to watch the still grey lands around them.

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Day had all but died by the time the others returned to the peak. None of them wished to make camp near the corpses, the pit held an uncomfortable air. Dwarin pointed to the great shape of Methedras before them.

“Best shelter in the lee of yonder Methedras,” he growled. Thenamir nodded inconspicuously, and the party moved on, hastening in the darkness, despite the treacherous ground. None complained. Guthrin helped Baranthol and Gurthden with the horses. Kalohern seemed more interested in Arenia than Telefax for once, although the young lady seemed a little discomforted by the attention.

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They made camp in the shelter of Methedras itself. It was dark before they had finished eating what little food remained, some leafy supplies, roots and berries supplied by their Entish guide, and some of the hard, tasteless wafers that remained from the packs of the Riders. The packs were now both blessedly and worryingly light. Elwood made some infusions with what little he had left, and the vapours he wrought did clear heads and aided sleep for most.

Arrangements for the watch designed that Guthrin and Gurthden take the first half of the night. The remainder made themselves as comfortable as they could on the ungiving surface; only Dwarin seemed at all happy with the ground.

Unable to light a fire, the two Riders paced quietly for warmth, circling the encampment. They spoke little, but both felt the strange unity that had fallen upon the party. Still, as always with Guthrin, the silences were ever uncomfortable.

The pale moon surfaced from behind night clouds sporadically, clouds that had not been there during the cold daylight but were now visible, limned in the ghostly moonlight. The night drew on. Gurthden moved slightly further away from the sleepers at one point, startled by the howling of wolves that drifted from far away, across the stones. When he returned, he realized with a shock that he could discern no sign of Guthrin. He crossed carefully through the makeshift encampment, yet the other Rider was nowhere to be found. Gurthden realised soon that the belongings of Guthrin were not amongst those of the others. The howling drew closer and members of the sleeping company stirred.

Gurthden had no idea what to do. Guthrin had simply disappeared.

[ November 05, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]