8.  Into The Woods

While the others scattered ahead, searching for whatever small clues would guide them on, Diamond and Pippin busied themselves clearing the campsite.  They were a long day’s ride into the wood, two days of growing tension past the marker.  They were all on edge now, and the strange silence under the trees sent uneasy shivers along Diamond’s back.  There was something menacing about the place that she couldn’t quite figure out.

“There’s no birdsong…” Pippin remarked quietly, and she disliked the worried frown on his face.  He had been almost silent himself since dawn, as if listening for trouble. She was watching him pour out the last of the tea over the embers when Dan’s brief warning cry to run sent them diving for the tangled undergrowth that bordered the small clearing.  They had barely made it behind the first trees when a flash of green light put a stop to the confused sounds of running feet.  The ponies bolted, carrying off much of their gear, and the two of them ducked down, trying desperately to calm their heaving breath.  Peeking past the shielding leaves of the shrubs that concealed them, Diamond softly cursed herself for a fool as she saw their two packs lying, half open, beside the steaming remains of the fire.

“If you never obey another order all your life, just follow this one,” Pippin whispered urgently, working the clasp of the elven cloak to set it about her shoulders.  “They will catch us both if we don’t do something right away!” he added, cutting off her protests.  “You’re the better tracker.  Find help, lots of it, and come back for us.  Now, hide!”  He glanced behind him, towards the sound of the approaching footsteps, and turned back to fix her with one last bright stare.

Heart beating in her throat, Diamond watched him circle the clearing on silent feet and crash noisily from the bushes, sword drawn, a dozen yards away.

“I am Peregrin Took, a Bounder of the Shire.  Declare yourselves!” he demanded, voice steady and blade leveled at his opponents.  Dan’s limp form was slumped over the shoulder of one gray-clad Man, whose dazed stare was as frightening as the open sneer on the gnarled oldster’s face.  Green-clad in tatty robes and carrying a long staff, the old Man’s eyes were fever-bright and focused solely upon the defiant hobbit before him.

“I am above and beyond you, little warrior, which is all you need to know of me.  But what are you doing in my wood, disturbing my peace?”

“I am looking for the families that farm the lands two days’ ride south of here, as was my friend,” he replied, nodding towards Dan.  “I suspect they have come into this forest, though not of their own free will.”

“So you are curious of their fate?”

“Concerned, yes.”

“Well, I believe in giving answers to such ‘concerned’ questions, though they are not always pleasant ones for the questioner.  They are here, all of them, safe and sound.”

“And my other companions, who entered the wood before me?”

“They are also here.”

He made a peculiar gesture towards the surrounding trees and the other members of the Wolfpack slowly stepped into the clearing, blank-eyed and oblivious to the world about them.  Diamond nearly started from her hiding place, anger and dread pounding at her, but Pippin’s last words to her checked her movement.

“Release them,” the hobbit commanded, the edge in his voice a promise of retribution.  “Release them now, or it will go very ill for you.”

The crooked Man laughed.  “Ha!  Ill for me?  Impudent little fool, it is for you that it shall go ill.  None may enter this wood without my leave and none may hinder the task I have been set.  You will do your part and relearn the humility your savage little race has forgotten.”  He raised the staff and barked a sharp command in some other tongue.  Light flooded the clearing, mottled and sickly green, and one narrow beam struck the tall hobbit full in the face.

Half blind and terrified, Diamond clung to the gray bark of the tree she was using for cover.  The long echoing denial from the young Bounder was abruptly cut off by the sound of a hard strike and she peeked out to find the gray-clad Ranger standing over Pippin’s still body, a makeshift club still clutched in one hand.  He stood stupidly, staring down, until the old one snarled at him to pick Pippin up from the ground.  The man stumped off after him with a hobbit over each shoulder and Diamond just caught sight of Pippin’s face, terribly pale in contrast to the trickle of crimson blood trailing across his cheek.  Her brother looked no better, a dark bruise purpling already near his temple.

She continued to watch, breathless, as her companions, hobbits she had known from childhood, walked clumsily after them, blank-eyed and slack-jawed.  As the oldster passed, the vegetation seemed to stir in the wake of his trailing staff, twining and bending to cover the marks of their footsteps.

Long after all sounds of their passing had ceased and hardly daring to breathe, Diamond crept across the greening meadow, eyes darting from tree to tree, expecting at any moment to hear the old man’s laughter and sneering words.  She quickly gathered what little was left of the camp, pausing briefly before reaching for Pippin’s satchel where it lay upon the ground by the cooling embers, notebook pages fluttering in the light breeze.  She closed and bound it, remembering her jesting barb about his handwriting, practically the last thing she had said to him before shouts and running feet had sent them running.  Setting the pack upon her shoulder along with her own, she spotted one last item, gleaming in the waving grass.  Diamond stood a moment undecided beside the long sword, gazing down at the leaf-shaped blade and finely wrought hilt.  If the rumors were true, and all too many of them were proving so, this sword was heavy with oaths to friends and foreign kings, and upon it were laid the spells of Men and elves.  Diamond hesitated to even touch it, much less take it up and carry it as her own, even for a little while.

 “I don’t supposed he’d want it left in the grass to rust…” she muttered, steeling herself to twine her hand about its hilt, and she found it surprisingly light, the leather still warm from his hand.  Taking a deep and steadying breath, she fashioned a makeshift scabbard and belted it to ride opposite to her hunting knife.  It would make for an awkward draw, but she preferred to keep her own familiar blade close at hand.  “Well, lets go find some help,” she finally said to herself, setting off at her longest stride.

***   ***   ***

The note was dated two days past, the remains of the small campfire cold beneath the turned soil in the sheltered hollow of the hill.  Merry read again the brief sentences writ in his cousin’s awkward hand, smoothing the thrice-folded page against his knee.  Tucked safely in the waterproofed pouch that lay among the other items provided in the stone-walled cache, they laid out what clues and conclusions Pippin and his companions had found, as well as the projected meeting with the Ranger Laerion, set for the sixth day of March, still four days away.  Concern and growing suspicion had pushed him to press on, and he urged his partner to follow swiftly but with care; wolves were roaming close again.

Gazing worriedly at his sleeping companions, Merry suppressed a troubled sigh.  The six of them were surely less in the way of reinforcements than the young Took had hoped.  The situation in Michel Delving was far more delicate than any of them had suspected, and there was therefore little help to be had from that direction.  There had certainly been no way to bring a dozen armed Bucklanders clear across the Shire without attracting all the wrong attention when discretion was capital.  Luckily, Samwise Gamgee had far more than half the dose of good sense in his head, and discreet words had reached the right ears in the heart of the Green Hills.  Ferdibrand and Everard Took had casually trotted their ponies onto the path beside them just outside of town and there had been no need for explanation beyond the casual relay of Reginard Took’s kind greetings and best wishes.  Merry smiled, promising himself to send the old fox a barrel of his best brandy for risking Paladin’s ire in such a fashion.  Merry had a very good idea of what his uncle would have to say about the situation.  If the Bounders, by which he meant his headstrong son, could find trouble to get into, they could very well get back out of it without his help.  The old hobbit could be unreasonably stubborn when he felt hard done by, a trait which had unfortunately bred true down the line.  Father and son were once again at odds, and deeply unconscious of the tensions that rippled through the Shire as a result.

Shaking himself from his musings, Merry slid the thin page into his pocket and turned away from the lowering flames.  His eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness beyond the camp and the darker shadows of the vegetation cut their silhouettes against a starlit sky.  The Moon was setting, his light already dim, marking the middle hour of the night.  Merry took a few steps further upon the path that wound its way up the hill and was startled by the sudden shift in the shadows as a dark figure rose from the surrounding gloom.  Drawing his blade, and wishing he had spent more time keeping up his skills, he squared himself towards the slowly approaching silhouette.

“Halt!  State your name and business!” he called, but the stranger continued on, undaunted, and Merry steeled himself for the onrush of his taller foe.  “You are crossing into the Shire, where your folk are unwanted and unwelcome!  Announce yourself or turn back!”

By now, he could hear the stir of his companions, aroused by his shouted challenge, and the soft creak of bows hastily strung and drawn.

The figure paused, throwing back the dark gray hood to reveal an equally gray Man, from his worn garments to his steely eyes and windblown hair.

“I believe you are expecting me, Master Brandybuck, though I was not expecting you,” the Man said, with a polite inclination of his head.  The star upon his breast winked in the uncertain light.

“It is unwise to come unlooked for in the night this way, even for a Ranger,” Merry growled, sheathing the long blade.

“Old habits…” the Ranger replied with a small dismissive wave of his hand.  Two more Men appeared, moving soundlessly through the brush until all three stood quietly before Merry.

“Welcome to the Northwest Marker, Lord Laerion,” Merry said politely, though the hard edge in his voice had not disappeared.  “You are early.”

“And you are few.  Is there trouble in some other part of the Shire that Bucklanders should need to leave their March unguarded?” Laerion replied.

“Nothing to concern Outsiders, I assure you.  But I will always answer my cousin’s call for aid, as you would yours.  Come to the fire, and let us sit in the light to speak.”

Pippin had claimed this Ranger trustworthy in his letter, and likely a lord among the Dunedain, so Merry did his best to accord the newcomers what little hospitality he could offer.

“Well, it appears we have a common problem,” the tall ranger said, settling down across from the hobbit, who still regarded him rather coolly.  “Two of my men have disappeared as well.”

“Then our paths must necessarily merge northward.  Into the wood.”

Even as he spoke, a cold dread coiled slowly about Merry’s heart, certain of nothing save that Pippin was walking into danger, if not alone, then at least without him, and in the company of hobbits unknown and untried by the outside world.  But then, what good could even he do, faced with a peril equal to the skills of a Ranger?

***   ***   ***

Diamond dozed fitfully in the crook of two limbs well above the forest floor.  The few tiny budding leaves were poor cover from searching eyes or cool wind, but at least there was little risk a prowling animal would disturb her in her perch.  She didn’t dare light a fire against dark or cold, for fear of attracting the attention of their enemy, and there was no way one hobbit, alone, could remain safely upon the ground through the long night.  Her mind kept straying to the morning’s awful events, and though she had by now expended both her tears and her anger, still the gnawing terror and wrath that had gripped her would not allow her to sleep.  She kept seeing their faces, just before they had disappeared into the wood…

Leaning her head back wearily against the rough bark, Diamond stared unhappily at the stars, fading into the cold pre-dawn sky.  Already, she deeply regretted the presence of her friends, but it was not her brother’s face that painted itself behind her eyes as they finally closed, exhaustion and numbing cold overwhelming her at last.  A whispered echo swept softly across her sleeping thoughts.  ‘Well, now, Barachiril… What fires have you kindled here tonight?’