[The Squatter of Amon Rûdh]

Halasan swallowed a mouthful of the brackish liquid and fought the desire to retch. Their canteens had been empty now for two days, and in all that time the small pool had been the only source of water that they had passed. It was fouled and almost dry but they had resolved to drink all they could stomach and then continue on their way, although both were aware that they could not reach Minas Tirith without further provisioning. A few meagre sips of water each was all the little depression would yield and Halasan's throat still burned. Not for the first time he found himself afraid that he would die on this road. The night before he had been woken by a dream in which he had seen Kiatus, laughing as he stood over a body that could only be Halasan's own. He had risen with his mind full of horror and rage, and he had sworn to himself that the land would not kill him before he had seen the betrayer dead.

They had made good time since leaving the ravaged port. They had rationed their supplies carefully, but they had known that they were too meagre to sustain them for the whole journey. Now they were in their fourth day without food, their third without fresh water. It was too late to make for the river and they were still far from their goal. The horses were exhausted and now they led them, hoping that they could find more water before one of the animals died. Again he promised himself that they would reach the city, but his words were without conviction. Halasan knew now that he would die on this road.

He glanced across at Haleg, who sat impassively on a rock, sucking a pebble and gazing along the trail in the direction of the city. He seemed unaffected by their plight, indeed had spoken of greater hardships endured in the past; but he was becoming more insular and now spoke only to make plans for the journey ahead. He seemed troubled, particularly when Halasan spoke of his quarry. Once, when he had spoken of his daughter's rescue, Haleg had murmured a line from another lay before relapsing into silence: "…And doom fell on Tinúviel". He had not spoken again that night.

Haleg quartered the horizon, hoping to sight other travellers. Halasan's moods were becoming increasingly erratic, and since the water had run low his conversation had lessened until he sat as now in watchful silence. Haleg sighed and turned back to the horizon. He knew these moods; he had seen and felt them before, and he had suffered for it. Still sometimes he would wake, his mind filled with blood and screams, and he would think on the punishment and the crime. At first it had been easy to believe that the one merited the other, but lately it was becoming more difficult. He glanced across at Halasan again. He was no longer sure how they could be told apart.

Suddenly there was a movement on the horizon. A small plume of dust had appeared, approaching from the north. The two men noticed it almost at the same instant, and they made for it. When it became clear that the column was moving in their direction they left the road. Neither believed the burning of Cair Andros’ docks to have been accidental and their own actions in Cambere might yet have raised pursuit, but here was a group of horsemen and pack animals, with all the supplies that entailed. They could not fail to contact it.

*****

The caravan arrived some four hours later. It was led and followed by liveried guards, whose confident bearing and well-balanced movements betrayed years of such service. The merchants themselves, riding near the middle of the group, were draped about with silks and satins, rich jewels and heavy gold. One ate a piece of bread as he rode, and all about the company there were bulging skins and heavy flasks, although whether they held water or wine they could not tell. This appeared to be a convergence of three merchants’ parties, gathered together for safety. That they had food and water was certain, but neither expected the presence of wealth to lead to the bestowal of alms.

The two men rode ahead of the column and dismounted in the road. Immediately the mounted guards moved out to form a screen and one tall man, clearly an officer, rode to meet the travellers. The merchants made no move.

‘State your business.’ The officer’s voice was curt, and his eyes were not on the men he addressed, but on either side of him. He was expecting an ambush, and his care marked him out as a professional soldier.

‘We are making for Minas Tirith, but our food and water have been exhausted,’ answered Haleg. ‘Might we be permitted to purchase supplies of the merchants who travel with you?’

‘These gentlemen are in haste, fellow,’ replied the mounted man. ‘How can I be sure that you have anything to offer besides your starving bellies?’

‘By our coin,’ answered Halasan, holding up a small pouch. He emptied it into his palm and some small coins glittered in the sun. ‘We are in great need and will pay well for food and drink.’

The officer called out and another man approached the group on the road. After a whispered conversation with the tall captain he made his way back to the column and spoke to one of the merchants, the man who had been eating as the caravan had approached. After another brief exchange the rider returned. Once he had spoken the first rider turned to the two walkers.

‘Come with me,’ he demanded. ‘Eldamir will speak with you.’

As they approached the masters of the convoy, guards watching their every move, the man called Eldamir casually threw the last morsel of his meal over his shoulder into the dust. When he spoke his voice was thick and oily, and his words were mocking.

‘I hear that you gentlemen are in need of some provisions,’ he said quietly. ‘Was it not a little unwise to travel so lightly?’

‘We lost our supplies on the road through ill luck,’ said Halasan. ‘Do I hear right that you have food and water to spare?’

‘ I have such things at my disposal,’ answered the merchant. ‘But I will have to replace them at great expense at our next stop, and must charge much to make it worth my while. Folk drive a hard bargain with the desperate.’

‘We need provisions for both of us over two days. Light rations only.’ This time it was Haleg who spoke.

‘I can sell you bread, cheese and water,’ announced the other. ‘For two days’ worth I will accept no less than five silver pieces.’

For a moment there was silence as the two travellers and the guards within earshot pondered this ridiculous demand. Surely only the most desperate of men would pay, and these two tattered creatures did not look to have so much money at all. It was Halasan who broke the silence:

‘That is many times the worth of days-old food. Come, merchant: we are in earnest. I pray you, do not mock me.’

‘And I pray you not to waste my time,’ said the trader in bored tones. I will sell at the price I set or not at all.’

‘We cannot offer such sums,’ replied the homesteader angrily. ‘Nor should you ask them of us if you had any sense of honour.’

‘Clearly I do not, and I have spent too long conversing with beggars.’ The merchant raised his hand and prepared to order the convoy to proceed, but Halasan, burning with rage and humiliation, rushed at the man’s horse, causing it to rear. The merchant fell to the ground, and before he could rise Halasan was upon him.

‘I will not starve on your account! I will not die here! You will give me a fair price!’ His screams became frighteningly incoherent as he hit at the fallen man. A guard made to intervene and Halasan, consumed with rage and feeling himself threatened, drew the great sword and hacked it down into his assailant’s neck. The guard fell and the mounted men began to press in. Several others dismounted and unsheathed swords and knives. Haleg took his axe from his back and moved to stand by Halasan. Then the caravan’s guards attacked.

The skirmish was fierce and short. The guards were well trained and held every advantage, but Halasan and Haleg were desperate men, intent on survival and escape. As the guards closed in they began to seek a way out of the circle. It had been many years since Haleg had fought such men, and they pressed him hard, pressing in a concerted assault, the aim of which was capture. For a long time he was unaware of what befell his companion as he parried and hacked, keeping the axe moving as he sought for gaps in the line. Suddenly he shouted out to his companion, thrusting his axe into a horse’s face and rushing for the gap its rearing left in the circle of riders. Halasan, realising that they would now leave without supplies, grabbed the reins of a baggage pony that he hoped was laden with provisions, stabbing up as a mounted man made to stop him. His sword pierced the rider’s leg, but the wounded man swung his heavy blade down, slicing deeply across Halasan’s chest and belly. He fell to the ground and then Haleg was there, screaming in defiance as he parried blow after blow. They cut their way free, Halasan grabbing a few oddments from the pony’s back as he followed his companion outside the circle of men. Making for their own animals, the two men mounted and rode as swiftly as they might off the road and into the confused land round about, pursued by armed men; but the chase was broken off in less than a mile. The guards of the caravan were looking to their main objective and their wounded companions, and the other merchants refused to lend their men to the chase. The two companions got another three miles before Halasan fell from his saddle, and it was only then that Haleg saw the wound.

******

In the days that followed, Halasan grew steadily more feverish. The supplies they had taken from the merchant were no use at all: a skin of wine, a bag of dried fruit and a box of valueless trinkets. Halasan’s wound festered despite all of his companion’s efforts to clean it and he began to crumble under the pain. He needed regular rest and when he slept he wandered in delerium, calling out names and meaningless demands and pleas. Often the name was Kiatus, and then he would thrash about, attacking anything within reach. As they drew closer to Minas Tirith, Catrina’s name also accompanied these bouts and Haleg viewed the great sword and its new bearer thoughtfully. Halasan would not speak of his wound, and whatever he meant for Kiatus he now hid it from his companion. Haleg watched the grey, pain-wracked face as they rode and he feared for his companion, for the girl, Catrina and for himself. When he sighted the walls of Minas Tirith it was not with hope or relief but resignation. Whatever awaited them in the many-walled city it would be terrible; but there was nowhere else to go, nothing else to do. The sword and its bearer were his concern, and his path lay with theirs.

Silently he urged his horse forward towards the great city. The other man swore through gritted teeth and kicked viciously at his own mount’s flanks, cursing the animal even as it moved off. Ahead the city was waking, and there they would find what they sought. What would happen then, only the gods could tell.

[ July 09, 2003: Message edited by: The Squatter of Amon Rûdh ]