The Hunting Trip
Chapter 30: Battle of Wills 

"We are getting near," Bäla chuckled, gloating for what appeared to be his superiority in knowing such things. "They are just ahead."

"Aye. This I know," Bregus said, wishing not to be outdone, rushing her legs to keep up with the eager hunters and the dogs. Her answer came with a twang of annoyance, an emotion she felt growing quickly. He was stating the obvious, and she felt certain he was doing it to make her aware that he had perceived their situation sooner than had she. She did not enjoy this tendency. It had been one of those tedious traits she had found unappealing when he had been made of flesh, and she thought to herself she would have to do something about it before he manifested as a whole again. It had been grating then, and her patience for it now was growing thin. She gritted her teeth, realizing for the first time in many years, that with the good came much of the bad. She really did not desire the parts of him that had made their marriage difficult, yet it was her hope that, when their transformations were complete, she would be the more powerful between them. Powerful enough to overturn his strengths. In her mind, that would put all that had been wrong between them into the right. She did not like, as she had in years past, being subservient to him. This time he would be subservient to her.

On the other hand, this needless tendency of his to prattle on about his accomplishments she could almost understand when she practiced sympathetic reasoning. He wanted to please her. His eagerness to give her this gift was easy to recognize. Though ultimately selfish, he was justified in offering pleasure. If he provided her the elements she needed to achieve her dream an unborn baby and a living Elf she in turn would give him his desire a flesh and blood body to house his spirit. There were many flaws in their plan, and none of it had come about easily, but the one that was troubling her most at the moment was Mattias. To grant Bäla his wish would mean to give him the body of their son for his possession.

That his requirement meant sacrificing Mattias did not sit well with her, yet she knew there was enough longing within her that she could quash this unpleasantness, if pressed.

Such things did not come easily. It was going to take a lot of magic to undo the confusion being wrought upon her people. Already, their fears were growing. She felt their minds reeling with counter thoughts and it was wearing on her again to keep them in place.

Bäla, however, did not seem to mind the fact that Mattias was to be used or that their son was becoming a disruption as a result. It struck Bregus that she might wonder why Bäla was so coldly adamant in regard to this. She turned her head to glance at her eldest son. He was a handsome man and she wondered if that might be part of the allure. She could not blame Bäla for wanting to appear as he had, for in his living days he had also been quite attractive. But his demand that the body be one close in appearance to that of his former life was making this task that much more difficult for Bregus, and had contributed greatly to their trials. Mattias would not willingly comply, and Bregus feared she might have to use force to hold him. With Mattias being the eldest, and thus tribal leader, this would not sit well, nor be easy to accomplish.

But perhaps it was Mattias' position, as well as his body, that Bäla wanted. Cunning, she thought, for their people would not perceive her son's change outwardly when the transformation occurred. Bäla's person would inhabit the body, but to all spectators, Mattias would remain. And Bäla would be tribal leader again.

You think you would rule me then? she thought scornfully of Bäla.

Bregus, on the other hand, would be considerably different. Dare she even think it? She would be beautiful, restored to all the vigor of her youth. And with a bonus. She would have immortality too! Now there was a way to appease the demons that had otherwise plagued her dreams. She could not be burned, carried into the fires of their touch if she would not submit to them. If all went as planned, she would never have to face the dismal decay of old age, with all its aches and limitations again. Forever young. She ached for it.

Bäla, however, would not be gifted this advantage. At least not yet. She chuckled for that. Perhaps someday she might acquire for him another unborn child, another Elf heart, so that he might join her in this eternity. But he would have to prove himself worthy first, and Bregus enjoyed the idea that he would always be beholding to her until his time came. After all, the sun and moon and the stars must be aligned properly for the magic to work. He could well be an old man before that time came. That was plenty of time for Bregus to hold over him her accomplishments. Otherwise, there was no point to bringing him back at all.

As if he could see her thoughts, Bäla stepped closer and stretched his arm about her waist. It was a reminder, and Bregus did smile to it. A physical presence in her bed would not be an unwelcome intrusion. The fact that he would be a handsome creature was not disturbing to her, and she felt a shiver of excitement for that idea. With her own youthful body, she would be desired as well. And the want to be touched, loved for her beauty and the pleasure her body gave, that was powerful magic as well, almost as strong as that evoked in the dark arts.

The feel of Bäla's hand, pressing at her side made her forget for a moment the repulsion she felt for what was about to occur to her son. She longed to resume sexual pleasures, and Bäla, despite all his other flaws, had been a great lover. It was one of the things that had drawn her to him in her youth, that drew her to him now. Yet, he would be within Mattias' body. The idea that her son may soon become the host of their whims made this decision more awkward and difficult. It had been so much easier when she had thought it would be Anborn she would be taking. If I close my eyes to it, she thought, perhaps I will eventually grow accustomed to his presence behind that face.

Still, it shook her.

The taking of the woman who was Anborn's wife, however, would be an easy accomplishment. Without even knowing her, without even speaking to her, Bregus knew she hated her. Taking the child of that one would be a pleasure.

"I think the dogs have found them," Bäla interrupted, and Bregus turned her attention back to the situation at hand. The men were running ahead now, prodded by something within the beasts response.

"Aye, so they have," she answered, no longer thinking his obvious statement was an annoyance. She was as eager as he was to make progress.

****

Misty blue eyes shot open.

Legolas!

Éowyn gasped, jumping back, surprised on her approach to find the Elf suddenly conscious. Stricken disorientation mixed with his misery and pain, and he seemed to look through her unrecognizing for a moment, his brow creased in agony. Pain-filled eyes gazed up at her, blazing blue, the one reminder of color within the gray haze of this scene.

Downy feathers danced around him, tossed loose from the carcass of an owl that lay nearby. Whispered wind lifted and carried the tickle of the soft plumes over the Elf's face and body lightly, playfully, brushing his skin as if painting his form. The motion was harsh contrast to the violence of the incident she had witnessed and the torture he endured. The mystery of that animal's appearance was lost on her.

Éowyn sank to her knees, tenderly reaching for Legolas' hurt body as she did. Her hand moved forward and grazed him lightly about the face and throat. Gentle fingers felt for the weak pulse, though the lady of Emyn Arnen was startled by how quickly it raced beneath her fingertips. She grew alarmed at the clamminess of his skin. She knew what it meant to observe these small symptoms. Shock was upon the Elf, and she knew somehow it must be treated. Legolas' breathing, his stress, his pallor . . . he was deathly ill. She knew not how a member of the Eldar race would withstand such hardship, but neither did she feel ready to find out. Mortals could die from such illnesses. Of that she was certain.

"Ai! Legolas! Where are your hurts?" she queried. It was the first question any healer might ask. "Tell me, friend, and I will aid as I may."

His face contorted in response, ugly hurt crossing his features, and at first she perceived he might not even have strength enough to speak. She decided to probe him gently instead, and she reached for his hand, starting there. It gave her the opportunity to offer comfort, as well as to learn the extent of his injuries.

"Can you feel me squeezing your hand, Legolas?" she asked. It seemed a contrived question to ask, but she had seen his fall. There was no telling from merely looking at his body how harmed he might be.

There was a small tug on her grip, a weak attempt to reciprocate the response. "Aye," his voice weakly cracked. She smiled for that small positive aspect.

She then reached down to his legs, touching and lightly pressing his feet, first one then the other. "Can you feel me touching you here?" she asked.

A tear trickled from one eye, and he shook his head slightly, gasping on a desperate sound of agony. "Nay. . ." he answered with a whisper. "I cannot."

Éowyn too gasped, now suddenly afraid of what her examination might uncover. With trembling fingers, she worked her way up his body, reaching his knees, his thighs, his hips, and finally, his waist. All were met with a negative response. It was at the level of his ribs that he finally confirmed the sensation. She tried to find good in that.

"Do not lose hope, Legolas. This loss of sensation most likely is temporary. You cannot be moved, however, for the time being. I must find a way to bring help to you," she stated, trying not to show fear. Yet her assessment was not good. Legolas' back appeared broken and shock was upon him. Éowyn knew any movement, even the slightest shift, might further damage him. It could even kill him!

Outside sound reached her senses. Legolas' eyes opened again, vaguely scanning to localize the noise of the approaching dogs. Wild terror ran over his features as those pursuers neared. Men's calls followed, and she could see him flinch in fear. He pushed his arms from beneath him, as if to rise. It was a small move, barely recognized as one at all, yet the contest with pain was excruciating to behold.

"Legolas!" Éowyn cried. "What may I do to help you?"

"Pain . . ." he moaned, sobbing lightly into the word.

Legolas' voice came as a whisper and she pressed down to him, attempting to find any means of comforting him. Softly he uttered the words, breath-bound whispers brushing along her ear. "Hide. . ." That was all he could manage.

Eowyn's eyes went wide as she drew back. The sounds of dogs and men were growing nearer. Her voice quivered when she answered in her own gasping cry, though she could not truly understand why her voice came so weakly. "Hide? No, I will not! You are hurt! I cannot leave you!"

"Hurt you . . . She. . . please . . . Hide yourself," he said in a strained voice, eyes squeezing shut tightly.

Compassion drove the heart beating in her breast. Her spirit ached for his misery. Tears filled her eyes in response and their wetness washed over her skin. She pushed a loose hair from his face as the droplets rained down on him. "Hush," she murmured in return, knowing little else could be said for the moment. "I will not leave you. Nor will I allow further harm to come." She knew not what else she could say to appease him.

The noise of the brush stirring was the first indication of the threats approach. Footsteps and shouts echoed behind the rasping motion. The barks of the eager hounds sang forth and the dogs appeared moments later, loping onto the scene at a rapid pace. They were large, hulking creatures, moving with speed and fury, and Éowyn felt her mouth go dry for their sight.

Barely thinking, she rose to her feet. Her heart pounded wildly and phantom memory of what she needed to do moved her to action. Battle instinct took over and without forethought, she found herself drawing her blade, the sliding song of metal clearing its scabbard reaching her ears. The familiarity of a hilt in her hand was welcome. Her sword was drawn. Even after a length of years without the touch, it seemed no time at all had passed. The feel of the weapon in her hands was innately comforting. She was ready to act as her injured friend's protector. She would do anything to save him from these strangers.

She braced herself for their attack though she did not think she could stand up to their blows. But the nature of pack creatures was not to leap unless they needed to halt fleeing prey, and she was not running. She anticipated their movements as she remembered watching the training of hunting dogs in her childhood memories. She stood stock still, observing their arrival. The dogs held true to her recollection. The pack leader broke through to the clearing first and his rush suddenly ended. He lowered his head, sniffing the air, detecting her fear. His eyes were a shocking gold, but there was no playfulness in them. His hackles went up, his teeth suddenly bared in an ugly display, and an arc of snarling beasts closed about her.

She was frightened beyond any words, but her face remained composed. She knew from the sound of the men's voices that these beasts were guided by command. Their charge, if they were properly trained, was to seek and hold their prey, not to kill. That did not mean however that if she ran they would not attempt to destroy her. In the minds of these animals, flight was reason enough to attack. She would not run, though. She understood the dogs. Her real foe was not these creatures. They were merely weapons. The true enemy would arrive in the human mass that followed. She held her sword high as they neared.

The hair on the back of her neck stood up. The truth would now be known, and a shiver went down her spine. It took no time for her real adversary to appear. With a quick cry of discovery, a group of a dozen men broke into the clearing and surrounded her, standing behind the circle of the dogs. They looked back and forth among themselves, somewhat uncertain of what they should do next, and Éowyn was gladdened for that. Surely they had not expected to face a woman in these woods, let alone a woman brandishing a sword. They were armed, knives drawn and bows ready, though again their poise was not completely certain. As Eowyn studied them in these quick seconds, it seemed to her that they almost questioned their actions, like they did not fully believe in them, though none seemed ready enough to stand up to express those doubts.

The beat of her heart charged loudly in her ears while her breathing came in short gasps. She knew voices called out to her, mixed with the growls and barks of the dogs, but she could not settle her heart enough to hear what any of them said. She did not think she needed to do so, in all honesty. Their grimaces and angered eyes told Éowyn that their ire, for the most part, was directed at her, though she could not understand why.

Fearful as she was, she would not show them her emotions. Their menace would not keep her from protecting her charge, though her fright and confusion for why this was happening could not be denied.

As they settled around Eowyn, they were followed by something that surprised her. An equal number of women and several children cowered at the rear of the line, and still more men were to be found there as well. This sight disturbed Eowyn greatly. These innocents should not be exposed to the violence of a hunt, let alone a manhunt! It was irresponsible to make them witness to the brutality here, and worse still to involve them and possibly endanger them. Should a child accidentally get in the way . . . The thought made her shudder. Already she could see some of the children crying for their fear and her shining sword did little to calm them. In empathy to the smallest ones, she thought momentarily it might be best to lower her weapon to diminish those fears. But the snarl of the dogs was at the front of the line, and Legolas' plea for her to flee, to save herself, did not relinquish her thoughts. Based on that alone, Éowyn decided that these were people not to be pitied.

She surveyed the gathering. Among their number there was a range of ages, though most appeared young to her eyes, dwelling in midlife and descending from there. Only one looked old, coming up from the rear and now pushing her way ahead. There was something in the way this person carried herself that was conspicuous. The elderly woman walked through the group, her shoulders held proud and her chin raised as if in challenge. Eye to eye she and Éowyn met, summing one another up in their exchanged glances. A mild tremor resonated within Eowyn, but she was physically able to stifle its outward appearance as she lifted her chin in turn, glaring an equal measure of cool defiance towards this woman. The elder seemed not the least moved by the sight of Eowyn except to appear mildly amused. A sort of pleasure there was to behold in the old woman's gaze, as if she had expected to encounter Eowyn, just as they were now doing.

The old woman, Éowyn noted, seemed to care not for the crying children or the confusion of the group as a whole. She did not gaze upon them to see faces that were turned away, teeth that were gritted in empathy and brows that were furrowed in fear. All of these expressions from within the crowd met the harrowing sight that lay at Eowyn's feet, and in those fleeting glances, the Rohan lady was able to assess that these people were not bereft of emotion. They too cried for Legolas and his undisguised pain. She could even see some among the womenfolk who were pushing to aid him, while stronger hands of the men and wiser souls held them back. Yet the old woman was imperiously unobservant to Legolas' hurt or the mood it set to her followers. She merely glanced down at him, a scowl washing over her features. Looking upon this woman and her reactions, Éowyn felt tainted by a gray veil that drew over the scene. So callous was this strange woman's treatment of the situation. She blithely ignored her people's cries, smiling with menace at Éowyn. It was then that judgment was passed in Éowyn's mind. There was little that resembled love in this old woman, yet she could plainly see greed.

Perhaps equally appalling, or even more frightening was another fact. There was unabashed admiration for the elder in those who commanded the fearful within this group. The crowd's eye turned to the woman in askance of her guidance and Éowyn could tell who ruled them in that observance. A feeling of sickness fell upon the young woman as she watched them.

The old woman's actions spoke loudest. Though these people's minds might be blind to the direct malice she expressed, Éowyn's was not. The elder's glare dipped to look again upon Legolas' injuries, or so Éowyn thought until she caught what was really happening. Eyes flared momentarily and a frown crept over the old woman's mouth. The rasp of "Rartichirillo!" passed the old woman's wicked throat. Eowyn did not know the meaning of that utterance, but she could see it was not directed at Legolas. A cold hatred glimmered in the old woman's eyes, and in that instant Éowyn felt certain her own spite matched it for the vexation she felt. The word, dripping with sympathy and pain, was directed toward the dead bird, that discovery being the only shock held in the elder.

Éowyn was repulsed by the extreme lack of compassion toward her friend, for to the Lady of Ithilien, this failing was tantamount to a crime. Her friend, an Elf, a rarity among mankind and one of but a few in a dwindling number of that race, lay in visible ruin upon the ground. Yet he was passed over for sympathy. To a bird! Not an iota of pity or concern was forthcoming from the old woman for anything beyond!

In that moment, Éowyn decided this woman was coolly cruel and deserved no mercy at the shieldmaiden's hand. The words that followed in their brief conversation did nothing to endear the old woman further to Éowyn's heart.

"Tell me your name," the old one said, commanding her.

Éowyn hesitated only a moment before answering. Spite hastened her but she had greater goals given Legolas' harm and need for aid. "I will give my name, but only if you will share yours. I do not enjoy being directed by strangers."

The woman regarded her carefully, her eyes narrowing slightly as she thought. Then seeming to decide such knowledge could not do her harm, the elder relinquished. "I am Bregus," she said. Gesturing to the others she continued, "And this is my family."

Éowyn nodded her head to show her acceptance at receiving this information, though her face remained stoic. "And I am Éowyn," she said.

"You offer no title," the old woman pointed out.

"Nor do you," Éowyn returned in kind. She had no intention of telling this woman anything more of herself, and giving any information of who her family was or where it was that she resided would only give Bregus an advantage.

"You stand over one of my keep, Éowyn of No Land or Parentage. You will step aside," the old woman said in a commanding voice, ordering her. Instantly, nearly a half dozen bows ringed around Eowyn, poised to strike and easily punctuating the elderly woman's statement.

As though with the sweep of a brush, the mood was painted a wash of gray, though Eowyn tried to find some glory to the scene. She was outnumbered and her weapon was a pale shield to those in the circle. But Eowyn was not about to surrender herself, despite the bleak situation. It was strange to be crowded in by such a host, all staring at her as if she had caused something of harm to come to them. Their penetrating gazes made her uncomfortable, but she knew that to show any doubt would be to give them an advantage. She did not fear death so much, at least not like this, and insurmountable odds in battle had never stopped her in the past. Memories of far more dire situations flagged her broken, wary soul. Cool confidence found its way into her voice and the sound of it was like the forging of iron as a bolster. She answered with authority, such as one used to commanding the masses. "This is my friend. He is not yours to keep and hold, but a free denizen of these lands. He is hurt and I will not leave him! I shall stand down to no one and shall concede to you only this: Move away now! Move away, and none of your kindred shall be harmed."

The elder merely offered a menacing smile as she stepped forward. She placed herself before Éowyn's sword, as if daring the younger woman to press it. "You would attack an old woman?" she asked, and Eowyn felt disgusted that the ancient woman tried to evoke sympathy from a situation of her own manufacturing.

"I would defend those who are harmless," Eowyn replied evenly, unflinching, eyes narrowed.

"You stand ready for battle," the other pointed out, her voice cold.

"I stand ready," Éowyn answered, as if returning the dare.

****

Bregus regarded the woman challenging her for dominance while Bäla whispered in her ear. "Take her. She bears child. She will do for your sacrifice. If we hurry now, we can still reach the Protected Place in time to work your magic. And mine." To this Bregus agreed. She was eager to end this and to take her new place as a young woman.

Disrupting her thoughts however was a male voice crying out, "As she should stand ready against you, Mother!"

Mattias pushed his way forward, his face reddened with anger. Bregus clucked her tongue, vexed that her son was being difficult. His obedience would not be easily had, and he had obviously decided this situation warranted calling attention to this fact. "Silence, Mattias!" she shrieked. Then to better control him, she motioned back, adding, "You are frightening the children with your addled mind."

Through gritted teeth, Mattias spoke. "I will not play this game any further, Mother!"

Bregus cut any further words from flying his lips. She would not let him go on like this. He was disrupting everything, and with a few well-placed thoughts, he might destroy all her work with the sway of his arguments. Bregus' control over the tribe was precarious, and with Kattica gone, it was difficult to hold it together more substantially. "Curtik! Hold him back!" she shouted. "Your brother's mind remains confused. He knows not what he says!"

Curtik stepped up and grabbed Mattias' arm, though her eldest held her eyes and dared not back off from the exchange. The look of betrayal within them nearly ripped her heart.

"Leave off, Brother!" Mattias snarled as he pushed Curtik away. Gordash came forward then and Bregus felt darkness taint her vision as brother faced off against brother. Mattias' voice would not be stilled, though. His eyes continued to seek hers out. "She should stand up to you, Mother! She has done nothing to deserve your wrath . . . our wrath, nor has Legolas! They have committed no sin! Stop this, Mother! I demand it!"

Bregus felt her mind spike with anger at the words. The mood of the crowd was shifting, and Mattias was giving them incentive to grow riled. He raged, "You drag us into your folly and you pull innocents into this madness! And for what? So you may cast some dark magic that will "

A mental command was cried and Curtik's hand shot out and struck the eldest son. Mattias, held in Gordash's strong arms, slumped forward, dazed by the blow.

****

Éowyn saw dissention within the group and was fueled by the incident despite the fact that the blow to the one called Mattias came so unexpectedly. She was outraged by the harm and would declare it wrong, though she was certain her words would not command their attention or convince them otherwise. Still she had to try. She had to attempt to sway their opinions. She had little to lose by doing so. She shouted, her voice rising above the crowd, "My perspective is clearly different from yours. I stand alone, only this weapon to my name and for my protection. I tell you this is my friend. He has been harmed and is in a state of agony. If you would look upon him, you would see the same!"

Bregus seemed to be paying her little heed, her eyes closed and her brow furrowed in some internal struggle. Glancing about, however, Éowyn saw she was having an effect over some of the crowd. While the eyes of a number in that group collectively darted away, as if doing so in unison, others fought this tendency and they struggled to gaze upon her. Éowyn saw their discomfiture and decided to use it to her benefit.

"LOOK AT HIM!" she commanded. She would not be dismissed. Bregus was startled. Startled enough to actually open her eyes and momentarily obey. They stared down at the fallen Elf and Éowyn could not help but feel that they would have some pity. Legolas appeared a lifeless hulk except for the shallow breathing that made his chest rise and fall in rapid succession. His skin was sickly pale, made more so by the trail of blood that leaked from the corner of his mouth and the gashes that marred his otherwise flawless skin. His eyes were sealed in some relief from consciousness, though his brow was furrowed in misery. His pain was terribly evident, tangible and torturous. He gave a soft cry, a grimace twisting his face. He stirred in his dreams, his sob piercing, and Éowyn thought it convincing enough for even the resolve of these cold hearts to be moved. He rocked his head in small side-to-side motions that conveyed the agony his body endured. Such suffering!

"To THIS you have your men draw arrow, poised at my breast? To THIS you insinuate I am evil?" she pleaded, but already Bregus turned away, shutting her eyes again to the plaintive wail. The old woman muttered whispered words, and like a swath of paint, the mood of the people was wholly transformed. Hatred marked the faces of many. Éowyn could see her argument, no matter how persuasive it might be, would not win her favor. The minds of these people were collectively made.

Still, there were some, a few, who were moved enough to feel sympathy. Éowyn could see small uncertainties, and even the old woman seemed to be considering Legolas' condition. Bregus gazed down again. Her brow twisted in conflict, and she stood like that for a long moment before finally ripping her eyes away. She shook her head, dismissing her thoughts, and then finally spoke.

"You imply we are evil," she said with vexation, and Éowyn wondered how these people could not hear that the words contradicted the mood conveyed by them.

She again assessed the gathering. She understood well enough the inclinations of the masses to ally with a majority consensus, for it was not an easy thing to stand up to others and to be a leading voice in a crowd. But she also saw a threat in this old woman, and she felt it unlikely words would be stayed on her own lips for it. Besides, Éowyn had little to lose in doing so. Her life was in jeopardy. Legolas' life was in jeopardy. She would try. "You state that Legolas is your possession and that I am to surrender him. Who is the aggressor if not YOU?"

****

"We are a peaceable people!" one of her people cried out, and Bregus was pleased. She had not planted the words.

"I see no evidence of that," the woman answered with a hiss. Her eyes narrowed, seeking only Bregus, and the elder sensed this woman read that much of the crowd's behavior was driven by her. Bregus could still feel the sway Mattias' words had held, but her confidence was revived by the mood she cast over them toward this stranger.

She composed herself, not wishing to appear daunted. In her ear, Bäla whispered his encouraging urgings. "Do not let her shake you. The people are yours. Look at them. Say the word and they will follow."

Nodding slightly in agreement, she spoke. "Your likes have come before us in the past, claiming innocence when your intention is to do harm to us. We have little choice but to regard you as an enemy," she said with vehemence though she knew her people heard her say this more as a plea. "Hateful intentions will not be tolerated!"

"Your argument is bankrupt of substance," the stranger replied with a vexing tongue. "You say that merely standing up in defense of myself and my friend proves my intent to hurt you? You are unknown to me yet you make me your enemy! You have the advantage in that you outnumber me greatly! What madness would be upon me if I, a lone female, were to attack you?"

A whisper erupted from the group, and Bregus grew alarmed. There were some in her number that were actually finding power in these words. At the same time, Bäla, at her side, scowled a disgusted grunt. Barely audible words in a foreign tongue cued Bregus that the Elf too was speaking. She glanced his way, but the words were not directed to her, and instead she could see that they were spoken to the dogs.

The reactions of the beasts were curious. Their ears pressed back, whimpers of small solace in their voices conflicted with growls of confusion and licking chops. The dogs looked as the people did, uncomfortable, undecided, unnerved. The utterance of the Elven words rolled like music, even though they were said with halting notes, gulps of air telling of pain wrought in speaking them, and only briefly did she consider again that the Elf might be hurt.

Bäla drew her attention back to the circumstances at present. "She is fiery and he is dangerous. Do not let them control your people. Turn them away now before damage is done that you cannot repair." He was correct. The scene was quickly unraveling to something she would not be able to correct. This woman spoke with conviction. The Elf was rallying allies. Bregus mustered her will, calling again upon the mental link she had with her people and also that of the dogs.

"This is tiresome, and time grows too short," the old woman growled then turned to face her people. "Take them," she ordered, spurring the men in the circle with her additional mental prod. "Take her!" Then, swinging around in remembrance of what her intentions were, she amended the order, "But do them no real harm!" This woman could not be injured, nor could she really afford such a thing of the Elf. The woman could be of greater benefit to them. Recalling her own fears of what lay in the hold they sought, she added, "She may aid us in accessing the Protected Place."

The rush of motion came quickly then but to Bregus astonishment, the Elf did not move. In her suspicions she had fully expected he would come alive when the fight began. Yet he lay still. All others sprang forward though, and with nothing but her knife to defend her, Anborns wife swung into action. With frightening dexterity, the female ducked and rolled as an arrow whooshed by, much like a warrior would do. Bregus cried out, realizing one of her people had not heard her mental call. She screamed out to prevent further near mishaps, "Not the bolts! Not the bolts! You shall hurt her!"

No arrow struck, and the woman ripped her sword around and smacked several bows away from those closest in the crowd. Bregus had to admire the womans tenacity and prowess. She fights like a man, she decided. However, in those split seconds, the witchs number grew surprisingly smaller. The dogs leaped, but not at the target of the hunt. Instead the animals turned, growling. They attacked the aggressing men in the crowd. Cries of disbelief and pained shock were heard from the men's throats while confusion was furthered by snarls and rough barks. Bregus own surprise matched theirs. The Elf has succeeded in rallying my allies against me! She cursed while screams of fear came from further back in the group, mixing with the shouts at the forefront of the circle. Women and children cried aloud, wailing, as a cacophony of male voices screamed at one another. The old woman could detect jostling and the dull thudding noise of a fist striking a body. But the puri dais attentions were focused on the attack of those foremost in the crowd. She watched the womans advance, admiration and fear moving her in opposing directions. Like a dance the woman dodged and parried, her movements choreographed to wrestle away weapons and to thrust at any who charged her. At the back of her mind, Bregus realized this woman could have easily sought greater damage unto these people, but thus far she had inflicted only minor wounds. That is interesting, Bregus thought. She does not mean harm. Perhaps I can use that.

The dogs moved forward and back, crossing and snarling the lines of their circle, effectively holding back any man who dared near the woman. The movement by the dogs was a not a happy circumstance for Bregus. She cried out in her anger, urging her people on, "End this! End this! Kill the dogs then! The sun sets soon and all will be in ruin if we do not succeed! End this now!"

Several men stepped forward in answer to this command, but the dogs swept around and snarled and bit, fangs bared brightly. A knife swept out and answered the charge of one of the animals. The woman pressed her weapon in a lunge as the whine of an injured animal assaulted the ears of all about. The cry seemed to rile the other beasts. They leapt and several dropped to the attack. Men and animals, the ones who did not fall to knives, rolled and fought as the womans sword continued to sweep those charging her.

In her fear and anxiety, Bregus called to the men further back. "Stop her!"

At her back, she did not see Curtik notching his bow, but she did hear Mattias shout, "No, Curtik!" Bregus turned in time to see the older brother shove the younger aside. In turn, Mattias was pushed aside by Gordash, and a wrestling match between the two older brothers erupted while voice battled voice. "You will have to slay me, Brothers, if you intend to see this through," Mattias cried out. "Mother is mad! She leads us astray!"

Resuming his stance, Curtik ignored the proclamation. He notched an arrow anew to the string and made ready to shoot at the female. This time Bregus reconsidered her opinion of doing no harm, and she stepped gracefully to his side. In a crooning voice, she gave instructions that contradicted her prior command. "Graze her," she ordered. "I need her alive, but she fights too vigorously to remain unharmed."

It seemed the woman had concluded the same, and her attack became more assertive. In the span of few seconds, she lifted her sword into a two-fisted stance, raising it above her shoulder. Brandishing it in a manner as if to pierce with a spear, the woman came, running, charging Bregus and Curtik in that move. It was an unexpected action, and the two had no choice but to split apart in their defense. Bregus fell to the ground as Curtik flipped onto his back. And while they were down, the woman used her advantage, swinging the sword around and facing Bregus as the intended target. Bregus refused to flinch as the woman brought the long knife around, staying only the killing blow to poise the sharpened tip at the old woman's chest.

"Shall I merely graze you, old woman?" Éowyn sneered through panting breaths.

All arguments ceased. The fighting immediately died. Eyes came up to meet the woman. Control over the scene had turned, but Bregus had no intentions of letting the woman maintain it.

At her ear, Bäla cried, "No! Do not let her win! Call one of the men to stop her!" But Bregus had another idea.

The elder tribeswoman smiled, laughing mockingly, daringly leaning into the womans sword. "Do it then! Do it if you dare! Do it! For if my plans fail, I would be better off to die by the sword than in the terror offered by death's dreams!"

Bäla screamed. "You cannot do this! Do not do this! You can win this!"

But Bregus only laughed, suddenly fearless of the possibilities for her own demise. Remembrance of desolate times when death might have been welcome came to Bregus mind. She would have allowed her end to come to then, had she the courage, and now that she faced it so blatantly before her, Bregus suddenly felt free of her terrors. She smiled as she met the womans gaze across the span of the weapon.

The challenge was made, and the old woman's shoulders were squared to meet the stranger. Deftly she had turned the situation about and it was now the woman who quaked in indecision. Would she kill or would she spare? Bregus prepared herself for either possibility. The woman's face tightened into a grimace, fingers tightening around the grip of the sword, but before she could make her decision and move a forward advance or a backward retreat, from the corner of Bregus eye, she saw a body swiftly leaping and someone pushing the woman to the ground. Almost simultaneously, the air wailed with the telltale sound of an arrow in flight and also the dull meeting of a bolt to flesh.

The womans weapon had been thrown by the charge, and she scrambled quickly, struggling to regain it. A leg from one in the crowd swooped out and kicked the blade away, but the female was already ahead of this move. She pulled a knife from her boot and brandished it with as much ease and force as she had the sword, flipping over and swiping at hands that dared touch her or subdue her. Surprised again at the fighting power of this woman, Bregus scowled.

Her shock was furthered by Bälas scream and her eyes ripped around to see what had precipitated it.

Surprised, she realized also it was Mattias at the side of this woman. An arrow was embedded in his shoulder, and pain marked his face. But there was more to his hurt than that of the physical kind. "Curtik?" he cried, looking into the face of the one who had shot him.

The younger man's eyes met his, widened with an expression of guilt and sorrow. But Bregus swiftly crowded into those thoughts, quelling his mind with praise and approval. His remorse was immediately swallowed and proud resolve replaced it, as if he had meted out justice.

Unexpectedly though, Gordash rushed the young brother, his burly presence overwhelming. His face was gaping in shock. He raised his fist and then he struck, knocking Curtik to the ground. "What have you done? What have you done? You have hurt, Mattias, you fool!"

Bregus tried to reach Gordashs mind to halt the attack, but he was riled, harried, and his thoughts were a jumble of conflicting ideals.

Curtik cried out in his own defense, "I aimed for the woman. He came in between!" And then as if needing more to explain this, he asserted, "She meant to kill Mother!"

****

In that instant, Éowyn saw a shift in the mood of the old woman. As if disgusted by her people's failure to hold the Rohan woman, Bregus appeared to take it upon herself to command the situation. Éowyn scrambled, reading the note of finality in the elder's face, and she raced to retrieve the blade that had been thrown. But the kindness of fate to give her power over the situation would not be offered. The Lady of Rohan would not win this battle. Bregus had been gifted with Éowyn's blade when it had been flung near her feet. Reaching down, the old woman capturing Éowyn's weapon.

Éowyn quickly turned about, trying to find Bregus' strategy. She surmised that Bregus would try to feign an attack, with hopes of distracting Éowyn enough that one of the others might take her, yet Éowyn had no intentions of falling for this ruse. She knew already, from words spoken in the fight that the old woman had reason's for keeping and taking her. What those reasons were, Éowyn could not say. She would strike first, thwarting Bregus' plan regardless.

However, this was not truly Bregus' scheme and the young woman would later be astounded by the simplicity of what Bregus did next. Sidestepping quickly, the old woman circled around. Éowyn expected this. In normal battle situations, the design would be to confuse the victim, to rip her attention between two sides of attack. Éowyn smiled. She knew better. Deciding she could counter any attacking motion faster than the old woman could make, she ignored Bregus for the most part, knowing nothing much would come of a flank attack. That did not mean she let Bregus leave her sights entirely. Even the meekest of assailants could be victorious if they held the art of surprise. Éowyn kept the eldest within her peripheral gaze. From the corner of her eye, she could track the old woman's moves, while her eyes remained focused on the men.

However, it seemed the men also had other ideas and they also separated, circling her as the old woman was doing. Without the dogs to guard her back, Éowyn was forced to flip her head evasively, her eyes snapping to catch all their actions. She lost, at this point, the place to which the elder moved, though she still did not really fear the old woman. She realized a minute later she should have.

The men began to step forward and Éowyn brought up her knife, ready for her defense. It was at her back, however, some few feet away that the young woman heard the voice, and it suddenly dawned on her that she had stepped away from her stance over Legolas in this battle of wills. The voice was the old woman's. She was laughing as she said, "You will surrender your weapon now, Éowyn of No Family or Homeland."

The threat sounded potent, and Éowyn swung her head to glance back. Her surprise forced her to do a double take, and on her second look she recognized she had truly underestimated the old woman.

Bregus was poised over the unconscious form of Legolas, the point of her sword pointed down, as if she might lance his heart. Éowyn's own heart recoiled in fear with the threat. Was it real or a ruse? She could not know. The tribe had been in pursuit of Legolas, but for reasons Éowyn had yet to know. Had it been in their plans to kill him? Like this? So idly cruel? And even if not, by stepping away, she felt she had let him down. "No!" she cried, more at the horror of her failing than as an answer to the old woman. She should have stayed closer to Legolas. She should have not charged.

Bregus sneered, her hatred palpable. "Aye, you will surrender! For if you do not, I shall slay the Elf now, and you may live with the knowledge that you might have prevented it."