Abduction in Edoras RPG

[Firefoot]

Haleth emerged from Meduseld to find the company of his men that he had gathered to find Linduial waiting. Standing on the steps so that everyone could see him, he held up his hand for silence. He had done some research since he had talked to Eodwine, and had come up with some ideas for at least starting to find the filth that had kidnapped the Lady Linduial.

“First of all,” began Haleth, once the crowd was quiet, “I extend the Queen’s and my thanks to you for showing up today. Your willingness to serve in this venture is appreciated. However, before we can go riding off to rescue the Lady Linduial, we must have some idea of where she is being held. To do this, I require two things of you. First, I would have a couple of men stationed at the gates to Edoras; all travelers entering the city should be questioned about whether they have seen anything suspicious on the road. Secondly, word must spread through the city of this vile kidnapping; it should also be known that anyone with word of the kidnapping will be rewarded handsomely.” After going into further detail and divvying up roles, Haleth sought out Eodwine, who he had spotted near the back of the crowd.

“I have gone through the records of the king,” said Haleth after they had greeted each other, “and have come up with this list of perhaps ten men who might have been stirred to commit the kidnapping.” He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Eodwine. “A couple were eliminated almost immediately either by myself or the queen or king for various reasons. I believe there are five or six names left? I thought we might start here in looking for our kidnapper. Have you any suggestions?”

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine was quiet as Garstan, Thornden, and Deren talked among themselves. There was much his mind was turning on.

Eorl of Middle Emnet who can't even keep a guest out of harms' way. It was a good thing the Queen had turned the search for Linduial over to the capable hands of Haleth, for Eodwine was at a loss. He had talked with great confidence last night to Haleth about what they must do, but now that he thought over what had been said, he realized that Haleth had probably just been picking his brain and been playing trickster's advocate. Eorl of Middle Emnet who can't organize a proper search party, who freezes with indecision and shock at the cropping up of bad news. Something bad happens, Eodwine, and you lose all your mien. You fake. You belong on the open road with good Flíthaf, not in a Mead Hall playing at lording it. Fool of a Messenger. You should have kept to your lore keeping. He sighed and kept a bright appearing face so that his three cronies would not notice his foul thought.

He had dreamed of Kayðra again. He wished he knew surely whether he had found her corpse, or whether he had merely dreamed it fourteen years ago. He saw clearly the charred remnants of the farmstead, saw burned into his thought the blackened bodies three, of wife, daughter, and son. Surely he had not dreamt it?

He barely felt that he could put his mind properly to the search for Linduial, so weighted he felt with two nights of dreams in a row of Kayðra. Was she alive, telling him to come find her? Or was she merely a ghost suddenly haunting his dreams? If a ghost, why? Were the dead jealous of the living? Was she warning him away from Saeryn?

Haleth was speaking. Words of thanks and the piecings together of a plan.

"What?" Eodwine said, "He's calling me?"

"Yes, lord," said Thornden.

Eodwine made his way forward through the crowd; the other three were close on his heels. It seemed Haleth had a list of names. It was something to do with the search for Linduial. Likely kidnappers? Haleth was asking for suggestions as to what to do? Eodwine's thought was too far flung. He hardly knew what he was being asked. He cleared his throat.

"I defer, Haleth, Eoredlord, to your wisdom in the matter. I am yours to command as you see fit."

[Folwren]

Thornden followed Eodwine forward to where Haleth stood waiting. He listened in silence as Haleth pulled out a folded piece of paper and handed it to Eodwine, explaining what it was. He watched Eodwine carefully as the Eorl numbly unfolded the piece of paper and hardly glanced at it.

“I defer, Haleth, Eoredlord, to your wisdom in the matter. I am yours to command as you see fit.”

Thornden remained still, standing upright and rigid as a couple of years as a guard had taught him, but in his mind, he wondered what troubled Eodwine. He knew, from the wall toppling down the past week, that Eodwine took much blame upon himself when something went wrong, but it was also his way to take the responsibility in recovering what he had lost, or setting to rights what had been damaged. Now he appeared reluctant to do so.

No, not reluctant. Thornden looked quizzically at Eodwine’s face. Not reluctant. He wanted very much to get Linduial back. It was something else. But Thornden didn’t know what.

Thornden pulled his thoughts away from Eodwine. Whatever the problem there, it could not be addressed now. He had to think on the kidnaping of Linduial now. His eyes riveted to the paper in Eodwine’s hand. As he perused the names, he turned over in his mind what Haleth had said.

‘I thought we might start here in looking for our kidnapper. . .’

Someone touched his shoulder and he turned his head sharply.

“I’ve been added to list of people going to the gate,” Deren said, jerking his head towards a group of men preparing to leave. “Tell lord Eodwine, won’t you?”

Thornden nodded. “I will. Good luck.” He watched as Deren walked away. Deren joined the men and then the entire group went off down the street, towards the gate. Thornden turned back towards Eodwine and Haleth. Haleth was speaking to another man, answering some question. “My lord Eodwine,” Thornden said quietly, close to Eodwine’s ear. Eodwine looked up. “If I might be so bold to make a suggestion - I don’t think that we would accomplish much if we walked up to these men’s homes,” he indicated the paper, “openly hostile and demanding to search their place. They’d jump to the defensive at once and we wouldn’t be able to learn anything.” He stopped a moment. He had not thought of what they could do instead of that.

“I don’t know what we’d be able to do, though,” he added after a short moment of silence between them. “I think that it would be a good idea not to rile anyone up before we have any evidence against them.”

[Celuien]

So there was a list of possible suspects. That was encouraging. Garstan had been puzzling over how go about finding Linduial. He was certain that anyone daring to play a game of kidnap and ransom with the Queen would also need great cunning. A man that clever would be hard to unearth without leads. More fascinating - and disturbing - was the idea that a list would exist. Disloyalty among the nobility of Rohan? Not all of noble blood, it seemed, were of noble mind, and sadly, this was not limited to the kidnapper.

Still, Garstan was certain that the guilty party would be on the list. Anyone treacherous enough to attempt this plot must have been noticed in a time suspicious enough to generate lists of potential troublemakers. Indeed, not all evil came to an end with the War.

Five or six names. He wondered where the owners of those names lived. Garstan remembered the short space of time between Linduial's disappearance and the ransom note's arrival. She must, he reasoned, already have been secured in the kidnapper's lair when the note was sent. To wave such a letter under the Queen nose before the victim was well hidden would have been foolhardy. Lothiriel would surely react by sending a search party as soon as the letter arrived. She had done so. And the kidnapper must have accounted for that in his plan. The more he thought upon the matter, the more Garstan was convinced that Linduial was already locked in the kidnapper's prison when the letter started on its way. That meant she couldn't be more than a half a day's journey, by horseback at least, from Edoras.

Thornden and Eodwine stood close together, speaking in low voices as Thornden pointed to the list. Garstan, thinking that he might have hit upon a point of some importance, went to join them. He felt more comfortable with them than the Haleth. All made him uneasy to an extent, as he was keenly aware of his lack of military experience and lower rank compared to the rest of the party. At least he knew the Eorl and Thornden from his stay at the Mead Hall. But still, he was uncomfortable with the thought of interrupting their discussion, and so stood a little to the side, far enough from them to avoid unintentional eavesdropping, and close enough to attempt to interject his thoughts when an appropriate chance came.

[Firefoot]

“Scyld?” A woman’s voice drifted down to the cellar from the top of the stairs. Before responding, he gave Linduial a sharp look that glanced from her to the glass of wine-water and back. The meaning was clear: If anyone finds out, you will pay.

“Yes?” he replied, walking to the bottom of the stairs to see who it was, since she didn’t seem to have any intention of coming down. Then he recognized Osfrid’s lady friend – Muriel, he recalled. She was looking down into the dark cellar with a peculiar expression on her face – a mixture, perhaps, of fear and distaste.

“Osfrid said to get you to hook up the cart. I don’t know how,” she explained.

“Very well,” he answered, contrary to his thoughts: Too good to hook up his own wagon, is Osfrid? He ascended the stairs and led Muriel out to the stable without attempting to strike up a conversation. He noticed that Muriel’s nose wrinkled as they entered the stable, confirming his opinion of her. Osfrid did have rather poor choice in women – there wasn’t any fight in this one at all – simple-minded, liking her comforts… Scyld thought of how very dull his job of jailer would be if Linduial were like Muriel. In fact, he realized, if Linduial wasn’t the pampered noble she was, she might actually be a rather nice sort.

Scyld went about hooking the horses up to the cart wordlessly and efficiently. He had no particular love for horses in themselves, but he had done enough stable work in his years here to know his way around the stable and be comfortable with the horses… unlike Muriel, he noticed, who appeared to be half-expecting one of the horses to tread on her foot or take a bite out of her any minute. When the cart was ready, he decided it would not be a good idea to leave her with the horses and settled himself in to wait for Osfrid to appear.

[JennyHallu]

Lin woke from a restless slumber to faint sunlight slanting down from a high vent in the opposite wall of the cellar, and falling with little warmth across the bars of her cell. She reached blindly for the pitcher of water she kept beside her bed, her hand grabbing at empty air before she remembered where she was with an unpleasant start.

The cell was spring-morning cold, and the air coming through the vent blew fitfully against her body, still clad in the light linen gown she'd donned for the fair the day before. Glad no guard seemed to be around, she used the cracked chamberpot that had been provided for her, and shoved it carefully under the cot, making sure not to spill. No one had yet come to clean it out, and she hoped they would soon, before it began to smell.

Wrapping the thin blanket around her shoulders she sat on the edge of the cot, using the wan light to inspect the bindings on her arm. She hadn't done too bad a job the night before, actually, but she untied the knot and unwrapped it, inspecting the damage. Her wrist wasn't quite straight, and this worried her. If she did get out of here, she wanted the arm to be usable still, after it healed. She tried to ignore the dark purplish welts swelling to prominence, aware that there were far more hidden under her gown, and a certain tightness around one eye spoke to yet another. She wondered briefly if she could set it herself, remembering her painful examination last night had shown her the breaks were clean. She had once watched her father's surgeon setting her brother Farahil's broken arm, though, and remembered how he'd bound the arm to straight bits of wood to hold it steady while it healed. She had nothing like that...unless...

She turned, searching under the bed. The floor was dusty, but bare. With a sense of disappointment she started to turn away, but the corner of her eye caught and held on one of the slats holding the straw mattress. With a strong heave she managed to lift the mattress onto a shoulder, reaching down awkwardly to pull at a slat. The weight of the mattress made her usual graceful movement impossible, but, getting her fingers under the edge of the slat, she lifted it and knocked it awkwardly onto the floor.

Too long. The slat was too long. Gritting her teeth she slipped her fingers firmly under one end of the slat and stepped down hard near the middle. Lifting with a grunt, she fell back unbalanced onto the bed as it broke. The short fall jostled some bruises, but she looked down at the slat in triumph. Now all she had to do was set the bone, and bind it tight.

Lin was trembling in anticipation of this coming pain. She grabbed the bar of the cell tightly with her injured hand and pulled very very slowly back, feeling her progress with her good hand. To her surprise, the pain really did not much increase as she did so, and as she carefully settled the bones back where they properly went, she felt almost a feeling of relief. It hurt, by Eru it hurt, but she could bear it. If she had to. She placed the arm firmly but gently against the bed slat and bound it firmly down with yesterday's wrapping, using her teeth to tighten the knots, making sure she could move and feel her fingers. As she straightened up, she heard the footsteps in the cellar behind her and spun rapidly around. Scyld stood there, with a tray of food. Eggs and some cold ham, it seemed.

“I have a message with breakfast for you,” he said smirking, but it couldn't quell her triumph in this moment. “How did Sorn put it, now? Something like if your wrist hurts so badly, he will come down himself and set the bone. And I would not count on Sorn’s skills as a healer.”

Lin grinned thinly, humorlessly, lifting the set and splinted arm to Scyld's gaze like a challenge. "Tell that yrch he can fall on his sword," she said, answering the smirk.

Scyld did not answer immediately, entering her cell to set down the tray. He took her glass for a moment as he left, and when he handed it back to her through the walls of the cell, she could smell the wine that had replaced most of the water he had brought her. She gripped his hand for a moment as she took it, aware of the risk he ws taking.

"Thank you," she murmured sincerely.

A feminine voice at the top of the stairs called Scyld's name, and they both turned towards it like children caught out of bounds. Scyld threw her a warning look and left before the woman could come down.

Lin watched him go with a half-smile on her lips. No need to fear this getting found, she thought, knocking the glass back and gulping down the contents before setting ravenous to the cold and ill-cooked meal as though it were a feast in her honor.

[Taralphiel]

Sorn sat a while longer after Scyld left. He studied the dagger Linduial had used again, smiling before placing it gently back in her basket. He stood, taking a key from his vest pocket, and locked the door to the study. He kept all of his finest things in there, and in better times, all of his land titles and fortune. Placing the key back in his pocket and patting it down, he decided to go for a walk.

The long hallway where the study sat was a central of three long passageways in Sorn's estate. The first had a larger room at it's beginning, so that one entering would be lead to the left, and to Sorn's long hearth that stretches almost the width of the front of the House. At the end this first hall connected to the outside, and a path to the stables. This hallway also had the one entrance to the cellar where Linduial was being kept.

Sorn walked to the front of the central hallway, cutting through the hearth and taking the long route to the back of his house. He enjoying casting an eye into his servants rooms, making sure they were well kept and nobody was up to nonsense. Reaching the end of this first hallway, Sorn stepped out into the chilly air.

Looking forward, Sorn could see some bustling in the stable. The door was heaved wide open, and he could make out people readying a cart. 'Ah, Osfrid is preparing to leave' he thought, and stepped onto the stone path to give the man and his woman a few last orders.

On his way, he saw a figure, lumbering slowly through the cold. He grinned. Gurth rambled along, his dog barking at his heels. It seemed that the drink of the night before had yet to clear Gurth's thick head. Sorn stopped and smiled at him.

"Good Morning dear Gurth! You were given too much last night, I fear. You should set to the kitchen and get some bread for you and your hound. You look to sorely need it!"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas rode with a bitter resignation to his fate as messenger, his entire being aching, rather, to be a member of the rescue team.

He would find the tip that would lead them to the very gates of the fiend's home. That way blocked, he would use his copious amounts of wit to discover a hidden entrance. Moving silently as darkness, he would guide his team through torch lit halls crawling with potential doom. Making their way to the cavernous dungeons, he would spot Linduial. As he'd move toward her, the fiend himself would jump from the shadows and engage him in battle. Swords would clash, daggers would lash out, and Degas would end the battle in a way that legends would later depict as marvelous and kind, disarming the cruel beast that had stolen fair lady and arresting him for the crime with no injury to him. It wasn't, after all, for Degas to meter punishment for the crime. He would look up, Linduial, clad in flowing white, would meet his eyes... He would take the keys from the monster's belt and move to her. Her shackles would fall and she would throw her arms around him and--

Degas hit the ground with a resounding thud. His horse was dancing nervously, stamping at the ground, whinnying. Degas rolled to his feet quickly, rotating the shoulder he landed on and rubbing it as he circled his horse carefully.

She'd never bucked him in her life and he'd raised her from infancy. There, before in the road, was a large snake, coiled and hissing. He shivered at the sight of it, glad there were none present to see what he was about to do.

Grasping her firmly by the reins, Degas led a wide circle around the serpent. Move it? He shivered. He'd only ever dealt with snakes when Caelyn had asked of it. Saeryn had no fear of them. She was fascinated by their sleek scales, the quick darting motions of their tongues. Degas would rather they did not exist, but for the sake of his pride, he would pretend no fear in the presence of others. He rubbed his horse's nose softly, whispering soft reassurances as they avoided the snake together. Once further, and certain of her calm, he mounted once again and continued to ride.

Perhaps a few more hours before his arrival, he thought. He reached into a pack for some dried meat and an apple, guiding his mare with his knees. A few more hours before he informed Lord Farlen and his sons, all of whom Linduial spoke of with great love, that she was missing and the fault was his own.

[Folwren]

Deren walked with three other men down the sloping streets towards the gates. Two of them carried spears. Deren and one other, both of which had never acquired the ability of using a spear well, walked behind, their swords and daggers by their sides. They said next to nothing as they marched. People silently made a way for them, staring with wide eyes at the grim and stern faces.

They found the gates opened, as usual, and the two guards left to watch it sitting on a great rock just by the wall. They both leaped to their feet as they saw the four men approaching and stepped quickly into their places, suddenly in rigid attention.

The formost of the men, Lystholn come with Deren walked to one to explain their appearance. "You've heard of the kidnapping of Lady Linduial?" he asked. The man nodded stiffly. "We've been sent to add extra guard on the gates, to try to spot any questionable characters coming in or leaving."

"Are we being kicked off duty, then?" the man asked, a flash of what may have been eagerness darting over his face.

"No. We've merely come to add men. We're to question every person who comes into the city about whether or not they have seen anything suspicious out on the road or anywhere."

"Ha. Not like they'll answer if they've a hand in it!" the guard scoffed.

"Perhaps," Lystholn answered coldly. "People who don't have anything to do with it, peasants, rich travelers, anyone, will speak up if they know anything. That's all I hope to acquire. Yet we might hope for some good luck. I think that if anyone does know something about it but doesn't choose to tell we may be able to notice some. . .discomfort while we put the questions to him. Take your posts. Fyn and I will stand outside."

He was obeyed. The two original guards stood back and allowed Lystholn and Fyn to pass through to take up their place outside the gate. Deren and his other companion stationed themsleves opposite the first two guards. Now all they had to do was wait until the first traveler came seeking to enter Edoras. Deren leaned his shoulders back against the wood of the gate post. All they had to do now was wait, and no one knew how it would be, or how many people would pass through, before they gained any real information or something they could use.

[Firefoot]

As Haleth finished answering the question of one of his men and was turning back to Eodwine, he overheard the comment of the one speaking to Eodwine, “I think that it would be a good idea not to rile anyone up before we have any evidence against them.”

“An excellent point,” put in Haleth. “I doubt we would accomplish much by knocking on people’s doors and asking about a kidnapping. Those innocent would probably be annoyed, to say the least, and the guilty one would almost undoubtedly lie. Rather, I think it would be better to send some men out into the city to ask some subtle questions. Perhaps you, Eodwine, and your two men here would be one of those search parties? You'd probably attract less attention than armed guards... Try to find out if any of these men have been in the city recently, I suppose, and anything else you might be able to find out - use your discretion.

“I suppose that will be all for now… if none of this works, I’m about out of ideas. If you come up with any, I’d be happy to hear them. If anything interesting turns up, I’ll be in touch.”

“Very well,” responded Eodwine, and with that, Haleth set off to find a few more men to send out into the city. The queen was counting on him… but how did one go about finding a kidnapper? It would be luck indeed if anything turned up…

[Folwren]

Darkness was beginning to fall. In a few minutes, they would be able to shut the gates and return home to a warm supper and bed. Deren yawned a huge yawn that nearly split his jaw. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. Another few minutes went by and he stood up to go to Lystholn to express his thoughts on going home. Lystholn turned towards him as he approached, but before Deren could say a word, the sound of carriage wheels came out from the darkness. The clopping feet of a tired horse sounded out in the night, and then the shape of a cart and horse came into view.

Lystholn and Deren glanced at each other and then Lystholn gave a great sigh and began to stand up.

“Don’t worry about it,” Deren said, placing his hand on Lystholn’s shoulder. “I’ll deal with this one, then we’ll be able to shut the gates for the night.”

He turned and walked forward, his hand up, and his face set. Inside his head, he ran through the questions that they had asked all the people entering the gates. The driver pulled back on the reins, uttering a low ‘woah!’ to his horse. It came to a stop and stood chewing on its bit.

“Hello there, friend!” he called out as Deren walked closer. “We weren’t expecting guards. I don’t suppose some urgent matter of safety has come up now, do I?”

Deren filed that quickly away in his mind as he finally stopped near them. He laid his hand on the horse’s high back. “You might, if you like, but if you would choose not to, then don’t,” he answered him.

“Don’t rightly know what you mean, sir!” the chap said, sounding amiable enough.

“Something did come up in yesterday’s proceedings. You can understand, I’m sure. . .lots of people, some of them not altogether honest. We’ve been sent to make sure no further villains entered the gates. What’s your name, sir?”

“I’m Bertwald, and this is my wife Hilda. We’re from the Middle Emnet on our way to the West to visit Hilda’s mother. She’s sick and they don’t think she’ll live long. From what we’ve been told, she may not be alive even when we get there!”

“What are you doing in Edoras?” Deren asked, disinterested in the woes of Hilda’s family. “Where are you going?”

“You wouldn’t expect us to ride all night, could you? We have to rest sometime. I was planning on going to our lord’s Hall to sleep tonight and break our fast in the morning before we leave again.”

“You’ll be leaving in the morning?”

“I imagine so!”

Deren looked at him sharply. In the dark, he had no doubt that Bertwald could see little of his face or expression, and he dearly wished he could. It might have made the man tremble a bit. More than that, if Bertwald could see his face, he could see Bertwald’s face, but as it was, he found it extremely difficult to tell if the look on the man’s face was the simple honesty that most farmers’ faces bore.

“I hope so,” he said, stepping away from the horse and cart. “We’ll be watching for you. Good night.”

[littlemanpoet]

Garmund and Léoðern in danger from the man who had taken Linduial for ransom? Fear for the children and rage at the man grew together within him, and all thought of a ghosted past or present was set aside. The moment his head had cleared from such thoughts, Eodwine felt shamed that he had been so careless of Linduial, so filled with dreams and wistings that served no use.

He paid close attention to Torim as he described the location of this Sorn. Eodwine tried to think if he knew the man, a landholder about a day's ride from Edoras; well within the confines of the Middle Emnet. I am this man's Eorl.

When Torim had finished describing the way to Sorn, Eodwine turned to Haleth. "Do not blame yourself overmuch, Haleth. Your choice may seem ill, but maybe fate will show that it was for the best that they should be free just now. Who knows but that they may not aid us e'en though it be against their will?"

Haleth cleared his throat and gave back gruff words. "My thanks, Eodwine. I'd have that choice back nonetheless." He rose. "The day is young! Let us ride within the half hour! Mayhap we can meet this Sorn and have the lady freed before night falls!"

Eodwine rose. Fresh horses would need to be borrowed along the way, more than once, but the need was great. He feared that they were already too late. The men rushed to the stables, Eodwine calling for Léof.

[Firefoot]

Scyld shrugged. “Curiosity – wondered if I should keep them in mind or not. I’ve no doubt Sorn would like to know... but I have no reason as yet to tell him.” He watched her for a moment more, still thinking about her impassioned outburst against Sorn. Her hatred of him – not surprising in itself, really, but the depth of it – that was a bit surprising, but good – good for him. It was time to let her know some things…

He looked her in the eye and spoke quietly and with feigned nonchalance; he had been an eavesdropper far too long not to give heed to being overheard himself. “I caught sight of Sorn with them the other day – admiring the knife, I think – and I know where they are… and how to get to them.” He watched her face as the implications of this settled in. “I know a lot of things that Sorn would probably rather I not knew – at least, things he would never tell me…” Scyld paused, still not sure how much she ought to be told. She would certainly want to know about Osfrid’s mission. Actually, presented in the right light, that would be the perfect thing to tell her. But first, he glanced around to make sure the door at the top of the stairs was closed. He had much more to fear from Sorn than any potential rescue party at the moment.

“For example,” he continued in the same deadly quiet tone, “perhaps you remember Osfrid? No matter. But Sorn has sent him and his lady friend on a mission to Edoras. He never told me why, but I could tell you.” He had gotten her attention now and was thoroughly enjoying drawing out the suspense. “He wants to find some weakness of yours… a person you wouldn’t want to see hurt.”

[Firefoot]

As the fourth day of searching for Linduial’s kidnapper began, Haleth was beginning to feel rather resigned. On that first day, they had narrowed it down to just three likely possibilities, but since then they had made very little headway. Their information, the few bits that they had anyway, was inconclusive and circumstantial. None of the three suspects looked more likely than the next.

Perhaps it was worst for him. Others, they could do things. Ask questions at the gate or in the city, mostly. But he always had to be available in case there was news – people had to know where to find him. That meant he had been spending a lot of time doing very little or nothing at the Mead Hall, which had become the unofficial headquarters of investigation.

He was preparing himself for another long day when a man stepped into the Mead Hall. He looked to be a traveler, but not one come from a journey. He did not see Eodwine at the moment, so he approached the man himself, trying not to feel too hopeful. Surely if the man had information, he would have come to them before now.

Trying to keep the tiredness out of his voice, he asked, “Can I help you, sir?”

[Firefoot]

Haleth’s initial annoyance with the man had subsided, and he wished now that he had not been quite so rough. After all, the man had come now, and that was the important bit. Now they could actually move on to finding Linduial – and he would have something more to report to the queen than “no progress”.

“Peace, man,” he said, realizing that the panicked man had never given his name. “What is done is done, and while I wish you had come forward earlier, that cannot be changed. We will see that neither you nor your family comes to harm because of your service to us and the queen; indeed, you shall be rewarded handsomely should your information prove correct. Now, your name, please?”

“Torim, m’lord.”

“Now, Torim, could you describe Sorn and the men who were with him?” Haleth probed.

Torim seemed to seize up again at the mention of Sorn, but spoke in a reasonably steady voice, telling them first of Sorn, then of a thin, average height man with short blonde hair, and finally of a sturdy blonde man who he seemed to recall had a mustache.

Haleth nodded. “Your help is very much appreciated.” He looked to the others. “Can any of you think of anything else?”

[Firefoot]

Scyld’s confusion outweighed his joy at this pronouncement. “I have already asked you to speak plainly once,” he growled.

“The offer seemed quite clear to me,” Linduial answered.

“The offer, yes, but not what you want in return. Surely no one in their right mind in your position would make such an offer without wanting anything back. What do you want of me?” This was Scyld’s last attempt to make sense out of her. Bargains, he could understand. Offers born of trust or friendship… not so much.

“Well, obviously if I am to testify for you, I must be alive,” she said.

“That is all?” asked Scyld warily.

“Did I ask for anything else?”

What was this, some kind of fool’s bargain? Could it really be possible that there was no catch? If so, how ever did people who thought like this survive and do well for themselves? That such people existed had never truly occurred to Scyld. Unless… there was one other possibility. “How do I know that if I let you or help you to survive, you will really speak for me and that you are not just bargaining for your life?” She just looked at him. “I do not understand you,” he said finally, annoyance creeping back into his voice. “Not at all.”