Ch. 15 - A Prince's Fury

Fury whipped through him like fire. Never had he been so angry. He noted his hands shook; yet he tried to hide their weakness. The man before him had publicly proclaimed that he had helped Amandil usurp the Rod. His words were honeyed, and those on the Council who did not know the facts would certainly not understand what the Lord of Lamedon had just said, but Imrahil knew. His only wish now was to fly from the Chair and flail the man, nay, strangle him with his own hands. Ragnhild stood and walked forward. She must have seen the anger in his face, for she stepped between the man and the Steward’s Chair.

"My Lord Prince," she bowed to Imrahil, "Lord Ohtar and his son have not returned to Lamedon because of their love for Gondor. Lord Ohtar himself told me that he deemed it his duty to stay here in Minas Tirith until Lord Faramir is able to assume his duties as Ruling Steward. His son, Angbor, bids you let him stay instead, so that his father may return to their land and continue to govern it."

Imrahil looked sideways at Indis’ counselor. ‘What is she saying? Does she seriously consider that I will let the man leave Minas Tirith, especially after the confession he has just made?’

He cleared his throat and stood. "My Lord Ohtar. Your concern for Gondor is exemplary. You would leave your own fiefdom in the hands of others and lend your counsels to us? I am most grateful. However, before I accept your son’s kind offer, I must consider Gondor’s needs. Perhaps we might meet tomorrow morning and discuss this further?"

Ohtar smiled and bowed. "Lamedon has always been friend to the Stewards. I will stay another night, as will my son. The ninth hour would be acceptable?"

"It would. I would bid you meet me here in the Great Hall."

Both men of Lamedon bowed and left.

Imrahil stood, dismissed those who were left, and forcefully took Ragnhild’s arm, leading her from the Great Hall into his study. When he had closed the door behind them, he stepped towards her, upending a small table in the process. He put his hands on her shoulders and gently, but inexorably forced her to sit. He pulled a chair and sat next to her.

"Where is your mind, woman! Did you not hear what that man said?" and he pointed towards the Great Hall in exasperation and fury.

"There are others who were part of this, my Lord Prince," Ragnhild said quietly. "Ohtar was a fool to say what he did just now, but it is to our benefit. Do you not think that his accomplices are now much afraid? None who know what has happened cannot help but see that his words were incriminating. Those who worked with him will try to contact him, I think, or will try to murder him to protect themselves. We must send spies to follow him. We must discover who, besides Ohtar and Amandil, were involved in this. Not the common soldiers, for they foolishly obeyed the council. But those lords of Gondor, those knights even, who for pride, or power, or money, decided to become enmeshed in this deed."

She shook and he regretted his anger. "I speak in frustration. We have one of Boromir’s murderers in our very hands and you would ask me to allow him his freedom?"

"Only for a time, my Lord Prince. I do not believe you should allow him to leave the City yet." She held up her hand to stop him. "Yet. I say yet because we must assuage any fears that his accomplices might have. We must flush them out. And, I believe the way to do that is to watch him. They will come out as ants to honey."

"Arantar," Imrahil called and a Swan Knight opened the door and stepped into the room, bowed and waited.

"I have a small task for you, befitting your cunning nature." Imrahil smiled, as did the soldier.

~*~

She kicked as hard as she could. The wolf only yelped, its vicious mouth still growing closer. She could not find her sword and for that, she swore. There were at least fifteen wolves that she had seen; she wondered how many more hid behind the trees. The pack had crossed from the Drúadan Forest to the Grey Wood during the day. Unusual. Their howling had started as soon as dusk fell, as soon as the little band had started to pack for the continuation of their trip.

Finally, the wolf overcame her kicking heels and lunged for her face. She flung her hands up and felt the hot breath on her arms. She reached out one hand and pushed against its massive jaw, her right hand still searched frantically for her sword. Instead, she felt the cold steel of a dirk lying under Faramir’s body. She grabbed it, held on for dear life, and stabbed it deep into the wolf’s heart. It cried aloud, slobber dropping from its mouth, then fell on top of her. She pushed if off and scrambled for her sword.

She could still hear the battle outside the wagon and knew she was desperately needed; however, she thanked the Valar for her decision to change clothes before they began the night’s trek, else none would have been with Faramir when the wolf had jumped into the wagon. Théodred would be horrified to learn that, during one of the few moments he had left Faramir alone, his charge had been in grievous danger.

"Ah!" she cried aloud as her hand felt the familiar leather pommel. She quickly unsheathed her sword, finished pulling her riding tunic over her head, and stepped out of the cart and onto the step.

In the faint dusking glow, she could see four wolves slain on the ground. Along with hers, that meant there were at least ten left.

Théodred was closest to the wagon and looked up as she stepped out, then went back to defending himself from another wolf that threatened to enter the wagon. It died quickly.

She jumped down and turned to help him, but at that moment, another wolf, one of the smaller females, left her mate alone in his attack upon Gildor and faced Indis. As it made its leap, Indis stabbed. The wolf fell.

Listöwel gave a great cry as the wolf she was battling finally fell under her blade.

Only seven left to slay. Gorlim and Siriondil stood back to back, lunging at three wolves that assailed them. Gorlim’s face was deeply scratched and blood flowed freely from Siriondil’s left hand. Both men continued fighting until all three wolves lay dead at their feet.

Four left now. Each wolf was consigned to each Gondorian. Indis looked about the broken camp. They were all dead save these four. But one looked viciously at her, hints of evil in its eyes. She imagined it smiled; she must have. The wolf lunged again at the body that lay under its great paws.

Gorlim screamed and attacked. The beast was dead in a moment, but its damage was done. Gildor lay wounded, eyes closed, blood spewing from a gash on his temple.

Siriondil, after slaying his own beast, ran to the fallen warrior’s side. "Be still, my Lord," the healer whispered. "The beasts are all dead. You did your duty; now you must rest." He motioned to Gorlim for his kit and the man ran to the trunk lashed to the side of the wagon, pulled out the healer’s kit and brought it to his side.

In the meantime, Listöwel brought hot water from the fire and Indis ran for bandages. She saw Théodred enter the wagon and was glad. Faramir would be safe, for the moment.

Just as she moved towards the injured soldier, Gorlim stood, his eyes frantic. "Where is Baranor?" he cried.

She looked about her but there was no sign of the captain. She handed the bandages to Listöwel and joined Gorlim in his search. Moving dead carcasses aside, they hoped to find their comrade, but there was no sign of him in their camp.

"Look for footprints leading into the woods," Gorlim instructed and Indis moved to the perimeter of their camp. All she found were the prints of the wolves as they came from the forest. She heard a cry, "Baranor!" and ran past the wagon and the horses.

But no – there was only one horse left standing. The other lay fallen; its throat ravaged. Behind the horse’s withers, she espied Gorlim, kneeling in the snow. He cradled something in his hands.