Chapter Two

The Rangers had been on one of their normal patrols when they saw thick black smoke rising from a village nearby. Fearing an orc invasion, they had approached quietly and attempted to determine what had happened. At Aragorn's signal, the group of nine Rangers split into groups of three. Two groups circled around the village in opposite directions while Aragorn's group headed through the center of the village.

While keeping an eye out for orc activity, Aragorn and his men studied their surroundings closely as they passed. Many homes were burned to skeletal remains, smoke rising from the smoldering ashes. A barn on the outskirts of the village stank like a slaughterhouse. Fearing what they might see, Aragorn gestured for one man to accompany him and the other to keep watch, then crept inside the door and blinked suddenly as his eyes watered from the smell. He coughed as the acrid scent insinuated itself into his nose and mouth, so strong that he could taste the death in the building. Five cows, still in their stalls had had their throats cut, and they lay where they had fallen in pools of their own blood. Their eyes were clouded over, and Aragorn could only shake his head in dismay at the wasteful loss of life, any life. Passing by the slaughtered animals, they looked through the rest of the barn, swords in hand as they searched for enemies or more victims. Aragorn was glad that the brief exploration of the barn revealed no human remains. Upon leaving the barn, Aragorn examined the ground closely for signs of orc activity. A frown crossed his face as he saw only human footsteps leading away from the barn. A battle had obviously raged in this place, but so far, orcs did not appear to be part of that battle. They moved silently through the village, taking a moment to do a brief search of each destroyed location for victims of this senseless violence, human or otherwise.

Aragorn was relieved, but rather confused as each search revealed destroyed property, the loss of people's livelihoods, but no human bodies. The sounds of people shouting caught their attention, coming from the left side of the village. Aragorn had begun to believe that the inhabitants of the village had fled before whoever had caused this destruction had arrived. Judging by the angry shouts and yells, not everyone had escaped. With a silent hand signal, Aragorn instructed his men to follow as he headed swiftly for the sounds they had heard. They stayed in the shadows as they approached, trying to judge what was happening before getting involved. Jumping blindly into a fray would not be a wise course of action. Aragorn groaned as he got closer and saw the youngest Ranger in their patrol jump directly into the center of the angry men. The other two men with him drew their swords and waded into the crowd to protect the young man who had just been felled by a rock to the head.

"What has happened here?" Aragorn asked angrily as he and his men approached the crowd with their own swords drawn.

The men who had been throwing rocks moments before turned to glare at Aragorn.

"Who are you and what right do you have to interfere?" A tall red-haired man stepped out from the crowd, breathing heavily and glaring daggers at Aragorn. His fingers clenched tighter around the fist sized rock he still held in his hand.

"We are of the Dúnedain, and I am called Strider," Aragorn replied. "We were on patrol near here and saw the smoke. There were obvious signs of a battle, and we intended to see if we could be of assistance. There has been some orc activity recently, and we determined to destroy any orcs before they could cause more harm."

"Well, as you can see, there are no orcs here," the man said, his breathing calming somewhat as he looked at Aragorn. "Thank you for the offer, but we do not need your assistance. Take your men and leave us."

Aragorn raised an eyebrow at the man's words, then looked over to where Brégnir, one of the Rangers, was kneeling beside Rumen, checking his injury. "How does he fare?" Aragorn asked.

Brégnir looked up at Aragorn. "He lives, though he will have quite a headache when he wakes. I would not recommend moving him far until we can determine that there is no lasting damage to his head."

Nodding, Aragorn returned his attention to the man before him. "As you have heard, we will not be leaving just yet. I will not further endanger his health by traveling before he is ready." The glower that Aragorn leveled on the man made him flush and lower his eyes.

"Sorry for that," he muttered softly. "We meant him no harm. We didn't see him, didn't expect anyone else to put themselves in the middle of us like that."

"And may I ask why you and your friends here were attempting to stone another?" Aragorn asked. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Brégnir had moved to begin examining the man at the center of the crowd.

"That is no concern of yours," the man huffed angrily. "But if you must know, he kidnapped my son and burned down my house. We were attempting to force him to tell us where he has hidden my son!"

"I didn't," a soft voice husked from the man kneeling on the ground. Aragorn looked over to the owner of the voice. A dark-haired man looked back at him. The man had an arm wrapped around his ribs, and had blood trickling down his face from a cut to his forehead. Aragorn was sure that there were many other injuries hidden beneath the man's clothes. With a hand gesture, Aragorn asked the man to continue. "I never touched his house or his son," the man said in a hoarse voice. "I was in the fields when his house caught fire. When I returned to town, I found he had taken my son. I did nothing to him, but he won't tell me where my son is."

"Liar!" the red-haired man spat at the other, raising the hand still clutching the rock. "You will get your son back when you return mine!"