Chapter 29. I grasp the implications

This particular band of ruffians travelling Shire-ward on the North-South Road made up for their relatively small numbers by their viciousness and lack of pity towards weaker creatures, qualities highly valued by the man who'd hired them in Rohan, a pale fellow with dark eyes half-hidden by heavy lids. They had left Gondor behind in part because the Lord Denethor had begun imposing ever-harsher penalties, and not only for major crimes but minor transgressions as well. Another motivation had been the rumours that the Dark Lord was amassing a mighty army to invade Gondor and assail Minas Tirith. None of these Men fancied being pressed into service or besieged or overrun by Orcs and Trolls, Easterlings and Southrons. 

Most of them had been together since Rohan. Travelling individually or in small numbers, they'd been captured by those cursed Horse-lords, dragged to Edoras, and held as prisoners. The pale man with heavy-lidded eyes came each day to interrogate the captives newly added to the cells; some he sent to their deaths, but these Men... to these, he had extended an offer of employment in a land far to the North. He had restored their packs to them, emptied of the spoils they had won after leaving Gondor but filled with enough food to begin the journey. 'You'll find even richer spoils in the North-lands,' he'd promised. 

He had given them directions to follow – they would travel the Great Road to the North until they reached Bree and then make their way westward on the East-West Road. 'When you reach the Brandywine Bridge, continue travelling to the West until you come to a town called Hobbiton, a mile or so past Bywater. There, ask for Mr Lotho Sackville-Baggins – and though he's only half your size, watch your step, for he's "Chief", at least for the time being. When you meet him, tell him Sharkey sent you. He'll put you to work – exactly the kind of work you are suited for.'

He had promised they'd enjoy the work, prowling and robbing and bullying, and they'd find rich pickings in the Shire which had been at peace long enough to become fat, slow and complacent.  

These travellers had recently beaten and robbed a party of refugees seeking relief from their troubles, but the horse drawing the cart the ruffians had seized had pulled up lame after their noonday pause, and they had rather more spoils than they could easily carry themselves. Too bad they hadn't taken any captives whom they might have "persuaded" to draw the cart in the horse's place.

'D'you think he'll be put right by a day of rest, or should we just put him down here and now, build a good fire, and have at least one good feast to set us on our way?' the leader of the band was asking, just as the subject of discussion threw up its head and neighed loud and long.

'What's that?' another Man demanded, jumping to his feet. But then the wind carried the sound of a high whinny to them.

'Horses!' the leader said, turning to gaze in the direction of the sound. 'More horses! Fellow wanderers, I deem, travelling parallel to the Road, perhaps in hopes of avoiding highwaymen...'

'Pity the poor sods,' someone else said, prompting laughter amongst his fellows.

'Come along you louts,' the leader ordered, picking up his heavy club and gesturing to the rest of the band to follow. 'It looks as if the solution to our problem is waiting just over the hill...'

*** 

I am still straining to see, hear or scent any enemies that might be encroaching on us when my companion brings his forefeet to the ground with a heavy thud, flanks heaving. Since we are standing head-to-tail, I turn my head back to address him. My lord, I say. What is it?

But he only groans and falls to his knees, bowing his head to the ground.

Worried to the point of feeling frantic, I whirl around to stand beside him, head to head, and reach over tentatively to nuzzle at his neck. What is it, my friend? I ask in my gentlest tones. Are you taken ill?

No answer comes. The great horse's nostrils flare red as he fights for air, but his eyes are flat and dull, unseeing.

What can I do? I demand. What is it? But my companion seems unable to respond. Does he even hear me? Does he know I am still here by his side? 

What is the matter with him? I ask the Voices within me.

...but there is only emptiness where the Voices have been ever since the Company and I parted ways. ...what I mean is, where they ought to be. I had become so accustomed to Their murmuring that I hardly hear Them unless They speak up in order to seize my attention. Where have They gone?

As if in echo, the great horse whispers, Gone.

Did he somehow sense the departure of the Voices? It occurs to me for the first time that perhaps his Rider gave him words of guard and guiding, just as he gave me.

I feel strangely empty. Bereft. Yet I did not realise until this moment that my Voices were...

...gone? I say. They are truly gone? Until this moment, I had no idea how much strength and courage and wisdom flowed from the Voices to me, helping me along the way. I feel as if I am lost without them.

I am drawn out of my despair by the pitiable sight of the great horse, trembling violently, head still bowed to the ground.

So quietly that I can scarcely hear him, he whispers, He is gone. He draws a shuddering breath. He is fallen.

It takes me a moment, but then I remember what he said about his Rider some days ago. He is falling... No, what he said was, He is falling still...

But now... 

He is gone, I whisper in horror.

Tall Hat? What is to become of us now?

He is fallen.

***