Chapter 28. Just Around the Bend

The New Walkers moved cautiously along the winding, rolling Road in the direction whence the runaway Messenger's horse had come, weapons at the ready. From somewhere ahead of them, possibly around the next bend had come the distant scream that had alarmed them all as they'd comfortably ambled along the Road, anticipating their arrival at the outpost that was their destination this day. 

Haldoron welcomed the respite that the Kingsmen's outposts represented. Brief as the hours were, each overnight stay meant that he could relax his vigilance somewhat, knowing that other Watchers were on duty to safeguard the sons of the Thain and Mayor of the Shire, along with their companions. Thus, he welcomed the opportunity to sleep deeply and restore his energies. During such times, he found himself marvelling anew at Aragorn's achievement – travelling from Bree to Rivendell without rest or reprieve.

Even after the Travellers had met up with Glorfindel, who bolstered them with his strength, his guidance, and his power, such that he could ride openly against the Nazgúl, their plight had remained desperate. Certainly, the mighty Elf's horse had helped by carrying Frodo, lightening the others' load since they could pile the greater part of their burdens upon the pack-pony travelling with them. Even so, the final leg of the flight to the Ford had taxed the Hobbits to their limits. Even Aragorn had fought encroaching weariness, in part because of his ceaseless vigilance over the previous part of the journey, in part because of the strength he had spent in resisting the Black Breath during the attack at Weathertop, and in part because of the need to keep up with the pace set by the swift, tireless Elf as Glorfindel urged them on while watching over the Hobbits he'd taken in his charge. More than that, he'd sworn a sacred oath to them, there in Bree: If by life or death I can save you, I will.

I'd have sworn the same oath had I been in his place, Haldoron thought to himself. But I could not by any means have done any better than my kinsman. All too likely, I would have done much worse.

On the Hobbits' part, much of their anticipation as each step brought them closer to their night's rest had centred around the expected meal, based on the guardsmen's warm hospitality they had experienced all along the way before this point. In all honesty, Ferdi had been surprised at Men's ability to cook and serve acceptable meals, especially in light of Haldoron's tales of life as a Northern Ranger before the War of the Ring. While scouting or patrolling, Rangers ate travel rations – the thought of which was enough to make Thain Paladin's former scout shudder. Ferdi's preferred fare could be described in two words: hot and plentiful.

...which he'd unexpectedly found to be the case for the meals served at the outposts of the King's messengers and guardsmen. On noticing Ferdi's hastily-concealed surprise, the first time the party had sat down at table with Kingsmen, the grizzled sergeant commanding that outpost had said simply, 'It is well known among Men that an army travels on its stomach.' Ferdi's mind had formed a mental picture of Men creeping along on their bellies, seeking to use the underbrush to conceal themselves while moving forward to attack – as Lotho's louts had tried, during the Troubles, and more than once in their efforts to overrun the Tooks' defences.

Only later, while trying to fall asleep while faced with an unfamiliar, overlarge bed and the unaccustomed noises to be found in an outpost of Kingsmen, did Farry's uncle connect the excellent cookery he had so recently enjoyed with the idea of "fighting fit" as he'd overheard in a discussion between the Thain and the King before they'd left New Annúminas on this venture.

Inconveniently, considering the need for stealth at this particular time, Ferdi's stomach growled. Hush, he thought to himself, followed by the admonishment, You've gone soft. You had better sort yourself out, laddie-mine, before you alert whatever Trouble is waiting up the Road, even as we are approaching...

By unspoken agreement, the New Walkers had chosen a line of travel that lay a little way to one side of the Road despite the hindrance posed by the deep heather and bilberry brushwood that grew on the slopes above the beaten track. Not only did they hope to lessen the possibility of drawing attention from whatever or whoever might await them, but they could drop to the ground and find cover if rogue Men were waiting around the bend in the Road to waylay travellers. 

Haldoron brought up the rear, in part because his height would allow him to shoot over the heads of the hobbits, should things come to that. Ferdi, weaving his way through the undergrowth, walked at the head of the line, with the teens just behind him and Robin Bolger following close at their heels as if herding the young hobbits ahead of him. If Ferdi should find a target, he'd shoot and then drop to the ground to allow the younger three to follow his arrow with their own to confound any retaliation on the part of those they now hunted. After which, of course, they'd take cover and consider their next moves, depending on the circumstances.

For Ferdi fully expected to confront ruffians, and not far ahead now – the Road had crested a small hill and was now dipping downward, and the walkers had reached the beginning of the next wide bend in the Road that ran just below them. What other explanation could there be?

From whom had issued that agonised scream? The most likely answer was the Messenger, for his horse had returned to the Travellers with an empty saddle.

But whatever had happened remained to be seen.

How I detest surprises, Ferdi thought to himself as he led the small party forward. Pip may call me a spoilsport; but at least he's learned over the years not to plague me with surprises, pleasant or otherwise...

He wondered about his fellow Traveller – not the young hobbits, for they still delighted in pranks and jests as well as happy surprises, such as an unexpected party or treat, nor his nephew Robin who was old enough to be cautious but not yet jaded in his outlook. Ferdi hoped the young Bolger would be able to maintain his hopeful view into future years; but then, as a lad, he'd watched his parents tame rogue Men with food and kindness. Thus he'd learned to look for the good in the Men he met rather than, like his Tookish uncle, quite naturally expecting the worst of them.

To Ferdi's surprise, Elessar had not lost his sense of wonder. He'd actually seen the Man laugh at a prank perpetrated against him on the part of Ferdi's cousins Pip and Merry, and more than once!

His first impression of Haldoron had been that the former Steward was a humourless fellow, but growing acquaintance had persuaded the Took to look deeper as he pondered the similarities and differences between Men and his own folk.

Considering the Man's life experiences over the years, Ferdi thought his co-leader was more than likely to hate surprises as much as Ferdi himself did. The rebellious part of his mind, the part that made him restless at the best of times, the part that was not at the present moment watching and listening and directing each cautious step, surprised him by making a mental note to discuss the topic with the former Steward at some future date.

I told you, I don't care for surprises! he rebuked that rebellious part of himself. Be quiet!

Mind your step, his mental voice retorted. Paying closer attention to his footing, Ferdi adjusted his stride to avoid stepping on a stick that lay across the rabbit trail he was following through the brush, trusting in the others following in his footsteps to notice and follow his lead.

As he came round the bend, he looked up again and swept the slopes to either side of the Road ahead with a keen gaze, then stopped and stood hesitating, poised for action, yet unsure of his next move. A lump lay in the Road just ahead of them... no rock or fallen tree but a body... and that was all.

Haldoron joined him where he stood, and, resisting the instinctive impulse to abandon caution and rush to the fallen rider's side, both heads turned as Man and Hobbit made a deliberate, thorough survey of their surroundings. Something untoward had happened here. Might this be a trap of some sort, meant to draw them in, leaving the young son of the Thain vulnerable?

'No sign of robbers concealing themselves amongst the trees ahead,' the Man said at last, barely above a whisper, as he pointed to clumps of hazels rising from the slopes to either side of the roadway. 'The only movement seems to be from leaves stirred by the breeze. No sign of any other Men, just the Messenger... Did the horse stumble and throw him to the ground? Did he have a heart seizure and fall from the saddle?'

Ferdi shook his head. 'Too young for that,' he gritted, speaking from the glimpse he'd had of the Messenger's face as the rider and horse had swept past the Walkers. Besides, there was the matter of "fighting fit", as Elessar was wont to describe his guardsmen after a tankard or three of ale.

The two moved cautiously forward, dividing their attention between their vicinity and the crumpled form sprawled in the dust of the Road below and just ahead of them now. The younger hobbits followed, with Robin dropping back to serve as rearguard.

When they came even with the fallen Man, Ferdi gestured to Haldoron, indicating that the Hobbit archers would remain in the underbrush above the Road and cover him with their weapons. The Ranger-guide nodded. Even as Haldoron straightened from the crouch he'd assumed when they'd sighted the body, Ferdi began to issue rapid, whispered instructions to the younger Hobbits.

He sprang from hiding and dashed down towards the Road, Pip-lad murmured to himself, watching the Ranger-guide's quick descent to the Road. As he quoted the memorable description, one of many that he'd heard his father read multiple times from the Red Book, he drew his bow and fixed his attention to the side of the Road that Ferdi had indicated he should watch. From the corner of his eye, he saw his friend Farry take aim at a spot on the other side where a ruffian might find cover. No doubt Robin and Ferdi were doing the same, marking the places where the underbrush grew thickest near the Road.

Haldoron didn't exactly dash, but he did move swiftly. Soon, he was bending over the fallen Messenger. His mouth moved, but so quietly was he speaking that the hobbits guarding him from above heard nothing of what he said. As they watched, dividing their attention between the underbrush and the Road, the Ranger-guide reached out and rested his hand on the other Man's shoulder. He remained motionless for a breath or two, and then he bowed his head.

No ruffians erupted from cover to bring him down. No missiles flew, whether rocks or arrows or even clubs. The rising wind ruffled the heather and rustled the leaves of the hazels on the slope above them, and that was the only sound to be heard on that desolate stretch of Road.

The wind stirred something else, as well.

***