by Michael Gallant

Chapter I

Corill looked down at the carcass and shook his head. The buck's body lay where it had fallen, a messy wound behind the shoulder where the bolt had entered and then been cut out. The head was missing, but no attempt had been made to skin or gut the animal. Although it seemed to have been there no more than a day, the crows had already been to work. With nightfall, the forest's larger scavengers would be along, thankful for an easy meal in the last stages of winter.

As a Captain of the King's Foresters, one of his duties was to prevent poaching. While he personally turned a blind eye to a commoner taking an occasional deer for food or hide, especially when the winter stores were running low, this was inexcusable waste. He ran a hand through his short crop of thick, sandy hair, considering how to proceed before speaking to the two Foresters with him.

The troops waited in silence for their leader to speak. Like them, he was dressed in a worn leather jerkin and boots over simple homespun shirt and breeches. A weather stained cloak of forest green hung about his shoulders. He stood just under average height and was of stocky, powerful build. A life spent in the sun and wind had left his face deeply tanned and five years of command had etched fine lines in his brow and about his eyes. He looked a good deal more like a farmer or shepherd than a Royal officer, but the sight of the sword on his hip and the matching glint in his steel grey eyes would give one pause before questioning his authority.

"A'Maserk," he stated simply.

Sergeant Miren rubbed his chin and cautioned, "You'd better be sure before you accuse a Baron, Captain," his use of rank rather than name was strictly for the benefit of the younger forester present.

He and Corill had been comrades since they were both young boys and had served together for years. The sergeant was extremely tall and thin, with fair hair and pale skin which the sun had no power to darken. A man of few words, he served Corill as the voice of reason, carefully weighing facts before speaking or acting. Corill indicated the prints in the snow around the corpse.

"Riding boots. See the impressions of the heels? That limits it to soldiers or nobility. I also doubt like hell that some villager wants a trophy on his wall more than food on his table. This was A'Maserk or his hired swords out for sport."

‘What are we gonna do, Captain?" Loriel, the Forester who had found the body, spoke up.

Corill smiled at the eager expression on the young woman's face. She would cheerfully see the Baron dragged in chains before the local magistrate. A child of impoverished tenant farmers, she had no love of the nobility. At twenty, she was some five years younger than Corill and Miren, and had served three winters with the Foresters. She was tall and athletic, a decent swordswoman and the best archer in the company. Corill felt that she had the makings of a good sergeant, given a few more years experience.

"I suppose I'll have to confront His Lordship and hear his story before we take any action," the Captain sighed, "then, if he won't co-operate, we bring charges."

"Let's hope he does co operate," commented Miren pessimistically.

In appearance and manners he resembled a clerk or librarian rather than a warrior. He was always coldly logical. Corill had to remind himself that the sergeant put most of that intellectual talent toward the study of weapons and warfare. He had read the memoirs of all the great commanders he could lay his hands on. Buying books on a sergeant's pay showed great dedication. He was also one of the deadliest blades in the Kingdom. Nonetheless, his lack of indignation at the crime irked the Captain.

"He's breaking the King's Law!" Corill snapped, "I'm not coddling him. That buck could have fed a family. That hide could clothe them. People have to live off of the land, not pillage it. You know why the law is there. Remember what happened in Irenndi a few years back? The harvest failed and the commoners were not allowed to hunt. The nobles used the famine as a tool to drive the freeholders off the land. Why do you think so many starving Irenndishshowed up in our ports looking for any bloody employment we had to offer? By Kerra, a quarter of the Royal Army is Irenndish immigrants. I don't say this," he pointed to the carcass, "is an attempt to starve the people, but we can't allow the precedent. Game on Royal lands are to be taken for food and hides only. " He stared earnestly at his sergeant, "We haven't spent the last seven years fighting bandits, border raids and the last Kerra-be-damned Frensean Army to cross the river just to see the people robbed by their own nobles. I'll be civil to the Baron, but he will learn that this is a crime. And we have authority to deal with criminals."

"Let's head back," his voice softened, "No point in freezing out here. I'll pay the good Baron a visit tomorrow."

* * *

Earl Erken A'Konnel looked up from the map spread across his desk as his daughter Tauriel swirled into the room. He smiled fondly at her, remembering the enthusiasm with which he had viewed the world at seventeen. She was turning into a woman as beautiful and full of life as her mother had been.

"Father," she began eagerly, twirling a ringlet of auburn hair with a finger "the Baron A'Maserk has invited me to go riding tomorrow."

The Earl's eyes narrowed with the suspicion than all fathers of young women harbor regarding the attention paid by young men.

"And you wish to join him?"

"Why, yes," she replied, puzzlement at the question showing in her blue eyes.

His mouth twisted into a wry smile, "Have you met the Baron?"

"Not really. We've been introduced at formal functions, but that's all."

"That explains your enthusiasm," he growled good naturedly, his mouth twisting into a wry grin.

"Father," she reproached, matching his smirk, "Don't judge so quickly. He seems a gentleman."

"Hmph," the Earl ran a calloused hand through his greying hair, looking for more objections, "Why isn't this baron at the Royal castle in preparation for the King's campaign against Frensea? The army marches soon, if it hasn't already."

His own son had led the A'Konnel troops out several days ago. He was anxious for the boy and envious of him at the same time. He would have preferred to command his troops himself, but the lad was old enough for his first campaign, and needed to learn if he was to succeed to the County. The Earl wondered why the baron was not likewise filled with zeal to serve the Crown. Tauriel shrugged, such politics beyond her sphere of interest. Her father's sour smile returned.

"Very well. You careless youngsters carry on while old warhorses like your father fret over the fate of the Kingdom. I'll arrange for an escort for tomorrow morning."

She thanked him and bounded out. The Earl shook his head and called for a sergeant to command the escort. The soldier stopped two paces before the desk, snapping into a perfect position of attention. The Earl was pleased at the sergeant's deportment, but demanded no less.

"Sergeant, tomorrow you shall accompany the Lady Tauriel to Castle A'Maserk," he ordered, "then, while you are there, get a good look at the troops. I want to know why he hasn't marched. Find out their morale, numbers, composition, what rumors they've heard, that sort of thing."

"Spy on ‘em, m'Lord?" asked the sergeant innocently.

"Sergeant Berrith," the Earl chastised, "we do not spy on our fellow nobles of Kerthor. We merely observe our allies and assess their strengths."

"As you say, m'Lord," the warrior grinned, "D'ye trust this Baron wi' yer daughter?"

Long years in service to his Lord had given the sergeant license to discuss such matters, as long as they were out of earshot of the rank and file.

"I think the Baron is an irresponsible young man shirking his duty to the Crown so he can meet with young ladies," he answered dismisssively, "I trust he's still a gentleman. Tauriel knows what is and isn't appropriate, I've no fears on that count."

"As ye say, m'Lord," sergeant Berrith replied, hoping that his tone was free of skepticism.

Even his years of service did not allow him to pursue the matter further.

* * *

It was pitch black when a soft rap on the door woke Corill. He raised his head and grunted an interrogative.

"Sir," a hoarse whisper came through the door, "It's an hour till sunrise. You left word to be awakened."

Oh. That. "Thank you, Daeron," he croaked.

A good officer always remembers his people's names, even an hour before sunrise. His head thudded back onto the pillow and he cursed. Marshaling his courage, he flung off the covers and rose, stifling a groan.

The bedchamber was freezing. Being captain, Corill had a private room, so he allowed himself the luxury of whispered curses. He quickly dragged a tunic over his head and pulled on some trousers, the same clothes he had worn the previous day. The clothing felt even colder than the air. Damn that poaching Baron to an eternity sitting a snowbank with his trousers down.

Corill asked himself, as he often did on cold, early mornings, why he had chosen to enlist in the Foresters rather than following in his father's footsteps. He would be a master woodcarver now, steady clientele, a warm workshop, apprentices to light the morning fire. In the frigid predawn that didn't sound so terrible.

Padding into the main room, he saw that the sentries had stirred the embers of last nights fire back to life and piled new fuel on the blaze. Someone had mercifully started a pot of coffee. Since its introduction from the south a generation ago, all the services and particularly the Foresters had become addicted to the beverage. It was just the thing for long guard shifts or early mornings, warming and wakening the cold and weary. He poured a mug and took a long sip of the bitter, steaming liquid.

"Remind me to promote you," he smiled wryly at Daeron.

"Aye, sir," the younger man chuckled, warming his own hands around a mug. "Just got off duty in the tower. It's cold as a moneylender's heart up there."

Corill laughed quietly, "They don't play up this aspect when they sign you up, do they? ‘Come freeze your bollocks off for the greater glory of Kerthor! Join the Foresters today."

Despite the shared bitter mirth, the talk reminded Corill of why he had turned down his father's offer. At first, it had been a simple love of the outdoors, a fascination with nature and a desire for adventure. When he compared the idea of defending the borders of Kerthor against evil marauders to that of making figureheads for ships and chess pieces for the wealthy, the choice hadn't been that difficult for a young man of seventeen.

After his first campaign, though, it had become much more than that. He remembered the carnage of the Frensean invasion, the villages looted and burnt, the old or infirm lying dead among the ashes. The invading army had been bad enough, but bands of freebooters sprang up around them like vultures. Deserters, thieves and common rabble took advantage of the chaos of war, the breakdown of normal peacekeeping forces to slake their lust for blood, rapine and plunder.

Corill's expression hardened as he recalled the faces of the survivors. The shock in their eyes was burned in his brain. Eyes that seemed vacant, fixed on something not of this world. He remembered young girls who had been raped, villagers of all ages who had lost family, homes and all possessions. The commoners were overlooked by the kings and generals when war passed through, but not by the marauding hordes, bent on easy prey.

Corill had vowed that while he could draw a bow and swing a sword, he would do all he could to prevent these horrors from ever befalling the people of Kerthor again. Promoted shortly afterward, he had tirelessly molded his company into a shield between the commoners and those who would victimize them. That included patrolling the border for raiders, and hunting down bandits. Or, he added, curbing poaching noblemen.

Finishing his coffee, he took up his sword and walked out to the cleared yard before the cottage, gritting his teeth against the wind's bite. He assumed a shivering en garde stance as the grey light of false dawn crept into the eastern sky. For the next quarter of an hour, he went through the motions of cut and thrust, advance and retreat, parry and lunge. This was an unchanging part of his morning ritual. Fighting was his trade, and he would not let his skills deteriorate; too many people depended upon them.

Warmed by his exertions, he reentered the cottage as the rest of the company was rising. He passed into the bathchamber, stripped and washed the sweat from his body. He then dressed in his cleanest and newest tunic, ate a hurried breakfast, saddled his horse and set off.

* * *

Baron Deyf A'Maserk smiled as he watched his servants hang the new rack of antlers above the fireplace in the great hall. He was quite proud of that buck, eight points, his personal best. He played the hunt over again in his mind's eye. Everything had gone perfectly. His hounds had located the beast and flushed it from cover, and his men had driven it right past him. He had placed the bolt through the beast's shoulder at thirty yards. He felt quite the predator, the chief wolf whose pack runs down the prey but who was first at the kill.

Satisfied with the placement, he turned away and strode to a mirror. He looked with approval on his long dark curls, his carefully trimmed beard and the cut of his clothing. He threw his cloak back rakishly over one shoulder to better display his tunic of deep blue velvet, heavy with embroidery.

The Baron was feeling particularly pleased this morning because he had arranged a rendezvous with Tauriel A'Konnel. He had met the lass at a ball the previous autumn. Her beauty was remarkable, and he heard tales of a fiery temper, a strong rebellious spirit. He read into this a certain wantonness, and savored the anticipation of the meeting. He was not modest regarding his appeal to women. The Earl's daughter would make a delightful conquest. Two successful hunts would be just the thing to put him in the spirit for the coming campaign.

* * *

Tauriel and her escort, consisting of Sergeant Berrith and four troopers, reached Castle A'Maserk about mid morning. The day was cold, but bright and clear and the afternoon would likely bring splendid riding weather. The Baron greeted them with all courtesy.

"My Lady," he bowed, "you look radiant. Come, I shall give you a brief tour of my humble abode. From the tower you should be able to see most of the area I've selected for this afternoon's diversion. We shall set out after lunch," he turned to her escort, "Sergeant, you and your men will find my troops' dining accommodations adequate. I assume you shall wish to accompany us on our ride?"

"Aye, m'Lord!" snapped Berrith.

"Very good. You shall be summoned. My dear?" he offered an arm to Tauriel.

She curtsied in reply, took his arm and was led off. The Lady, for her part, was captivated by A'Maserk's courtly manner and the splendid surroundings of the castle. Her father's keep was far more spartan, a stronghold whereas this was palatial, a country house within a walled courtyard. Sergeant Berrith was less impressed. He had assaulted and defended enough fortresses in his service to the Earl to see the flaws in Castle A'Maserk. The forest was allowed to grow too close to the walls, a bowman could creep unseen to within twenty paces. The arrangement of the buildings in the courtyard left too many blind spots and areas of dead ground which archers in the towers could not cover if attackers breached the wall. He also noted that many of the Baron's men were strangely armed and armored, likely foreign mercenaries. He harbored a native soldier's disdain for these hired swords. All this information would be of use to his lord.

"We'll see if this Baron rides as well as he dresses," he muttered to his men as they set off to find the offered meal.

* * *

Corill reached the gates of Castle A'Maserk shortly after the A'Konnel party, and in far worse spirits. To him, the ride was not a pleasant diversion, but an additional duty to be carried out.

He was not looking forward to the interview. Speaking to the Baron tried his patience on the best of days. As he was admitted through the gate, he drew his cloak more closely about him. Away from the bright sunlight in the shadow of the walls, the wind seemed cold indeed. He rode to the stable, dismounted and led his horse inside. A groom looked up from polishing a saddle,

"Wot c'n Ah do for ye, Cap'n?"

"You could start by seeing to Morlinte," Corill indicated his mount. The groom ran an appreciative eye over the great black stallion.

"Cor'! ‘E's a grand ‘un," he whistled, "Ah'll see ‘e gets a good rub down and an ‘ot mash."

"I should be so lucky," muttered the Captain.

He handed the groom a silver mark, at which the man's grin widened,

"My thanks." "An honor to serve ye, sure and it is, Cap'n," the man called after him as he walked out, confident that the horse at least would enjoy the stay.

Leaving the warmth of the stables, Corill hurried across the windswept cobbles to the main keep, shoulders hunched against the cold. Passing through the great doors, he found two guards clad in mail and helms flanking the inner door.

"What's yer business?" demanded the first.

"I am a Captain of King's Foresters," Corill replied tersely, "here to see your master on behalf of His Majesty."

As a royal officer, he reasoned that this was technically true. One of the soldiers ambled off to relay the message. Corill waited, rubbing the circulation back into his hands. Though the guardroom was out of the wind, the cold still seeped through the stone walls, and the door stood open. He listened enviously to the crackling of the fire in the hall beyond.

After a long wait, the guard returned, smirking.

"‘is Lordship is involved in important business an' cannot be disturbed," he announced, "‘e bids ye return tomorrow."

Corill glared at the man, the ice in his eyes driving the smile from the soldier's face. The guard stepped back a pace and glanced at his superior.

"I said," grated the Forester, "that I am here on His Majesty's business. I have ridden far and have other duties to attend to after speaking with the Baron. I am going to see him. Right now," he gave the guards a glare he usually reserved for erring recruits in their first week of training. "Trying to prevent my doing so would be obstructing the King's justice. And somewhat hazardous."

The senior guard, a burly sergeant, wavered a moment, caught between contradictory orders. Eventually he reasoned that while a Baron outranked this captain, he personally did not, and a Royal officer's authority superseded a Baronial order. Like countless soldiers through the ages, he decided to follow the forms and pass the problem on to his superior. Let the two of them figure out who was boss.

"Ye'll find ‘is Lordship in the chamber at the top of the stairs," he said flatly, "but I warned ye."

"Noted, Sergeant," Corill brushed past the sentries.

He walked across the hall, fighting to control his anger. The poaching was bad enough, but his reception had deepened his sense of outrage. Who did this Baron think he was, to break the law, robbing from the people and then cavalierly dismiss Royal authority? Approaching the fire to warm his hands, the Captain tried to force himself to think like Miren, cold and logical. No good would come of his anger. As he reached the hearth he looked up from his scowling reverie to see a newly mounted rack of antlers.

He stopped cold. His eyes narrowed dangerously and all thought of diplomacy and restraint vanished. After a brief moment of angry silence, he spat on the hearth and turned toward the stairs, no longer needing the heat of the fire.

* * *

Upstairs, the Baron and Tauriel stared at one another in mute outrage. Her hair was disheveled and her gown torn. He was red faced and gasping from a blow her father had taught her shortly after she had begun to attract male attention. Tauriel recovered speech first.

"How dare you lay a hand on me?"

"Don't act so shocked!" he snapped, "You're not that bloody naive! Why did you accompany me up here unchaperoned if you're such a pure unspoiled maiden?"

"You said we were coming up here to look over the terrain and decide on a course for today's ride," she blurted indignantly.

"Near enough a description," he snarled.

Words failed Tauriel as she searched for an appropriate response to this unforgivable slur. A heavy blow on the door interrupted her thoughts.

"I said I am not to be disturbed!" shouted A'Maserk.

"My Lord," came the forceful reply, "it is not my intention to take much of your time, but in the name of the Crown, open this door!"

"Pushy bastard," muttered the Baron.

He seized Tauriel and thrust her through an open doorway.

"You keep quiet. We'll finish this conversation shortly." he hissed, slamming the door and shooting the bolt.

The Lady found herself in a small corridor connecting chambers, probably for the servants' use. The door at the far end proved to be locked. She considered calling out to the Baron's visitor, but if he were a minor official or servant he would not likely oppose a noble in his own castle. She would wait and listen. In the meantime, she looked about for a suitable weapon if A'Maserk continued to press his advances. With her father's men in the castle, she did not fear too greatly. As the daughter of a powerful noble, she had never known danger and it was slow to impress her.

Corill was about to strike the door again when it opened. He stepped into the room, bowing almost imperceptibly.

"My Lord."

"Captain."

"I am here regarding a grievous breach of the King's law by your Lordship or your retainers," his judgement called for more diplomacy at this point, but his emotions were not listening.

Baron A'Maserk's eyes narrowed. "Explain yourself."

"My Lord," Corill managed to keep his voice level, "as the winter stores are dwindling, it is a crime to hunt for sport alone. The people need the game to get by until they can plant."

"You disturb me for this?" the Baron asked incredulously, "you come here, interrupt my solitude to tell me -- me! A Lord, by Guth!--am to forego sport so that some unwashed peasant could take that deer?"

The man's arrogance dispelled any patience remaining in the Forester.

"If it is sport you desire, we would welcome Your Lordship and your men on our patrols. We find hunting bandits and raiders adequate entertainment. If, however, you find simple unarmed beasts more to your...tastes and abilities..." he let the sentence hang unfinished, watching to see what effect the barb would have.

Baron A'Maserk was not accustomed to being insulted. As a result, several seconds passed before realization dawned. His face went red, his mouth worked mutely with rage.

Behind the door, Tauriel listened with awe. Whoever this man was, he clearly did not fear the Baron to speak to him so. Surely he would not leave her in A'Maserk's hands. She called out and pounded on the door.

The sound caught both men off guard. The Baron stared at the door in persecuted disbelief, Corill in surprise.

"Locking our ladyfriends in the closet?" the woodsman inquired, "or perhaps the maid locked herself in. Quite a trick, considering that the bolt is on this side," he strode to the door.

"I forbid you to open that!" ordered A'Maserk.

Corill feigned deafness. The Baron was appalled. For his whole life he had controlled all within his domain. His word had been law. Now, within minutes, he has been defied by a tease of a girl and a loutish commoner with a commission. This was too much. The Forester drew the bolt and opened the door, ushering Tauriel into the chamber,

"Are you well, my Lady?"

"I am, thank you sir," she replied, "but given a few more minutes with that lecher--"

"I will not be spoken of in this fashion," interrupted the Baron with a shout, "by a commoner and a half-wit girl! In my own castle, by Guth!"

He snatched a sword up from where it lay on a table, cast aside in the eagerness of his advances on the Lady.

"Well, you shall not live to boast of it!"

"My Lord," Corill's voice was steady, "I am a Royal officer. For you to kill me would be an act of treason."

"Ha!"

"And highly unlikely," added the Forester with a twisted smile.

"You impudent dog!" snarled the Baron, "I'll teach you respect for your betters!" he lunged at the captain, driving his point towards the woodsman's heart.

Corill retreated a pace, parrying with his own blade in the act of drawing it. Stepping clear, he went en garde facing his adversary.

A'Maserk made the first move, lunging forward and hacking at Corill's head. The Forester parried and cut at the nobleman's side. The Baron counter-parried and thrust. The woodsman deflected the attack and darted by his foe, cutting at the Baron's head in passing. A'Maserk ducked, whirling to face his enemy.

The combatants now circled, the Baron hacking at Corill who kept a tight guard, gaging his opponent's skill. A'Maserk soon began to tire, and the Forester's first counterattack almost got through his defense. The Baron realized that this commoner was a fine swordsman and that his own anger was hurting his bladework. He bellowed for his guards.

Corill cursed and seized the initiative, driving his foe back. The Baron gave ground, parrying desperately. They circled the chamber, the Forester trying to end the fight before help arrived .

It was with relief that the nobleman heard footsteps pounding up the stairs. His retreat brought him past a bookcase. He parried with his sword as he grasped the heavy piece of furniture with his left hand and heaved it over at his opponent. Corill sprang back to avoid the bookcase as it ponderously lurched over and crashed to the floor. The Baron took the opportunity to retreat into the hallway and a guard rushed in, sword bared.

Corill winced at the sight of enemies filling the passage outside. The first few were unarmored, which was a small comfort. Seizing the initiative, he lunged at the first man, evading a simple parry to bury his point in the soldier's chest.

As the warrior fell, the Forester leapt to the doorway, hoping to hold it and prevent the enemy from using their numbers to full advantage. Two men faced him through the narrow entrance. He blocked one cut with his sword, drawing a dagger with left hand. As the second soldier thrust at him, he parried the blade into the first man's way, then thrust his dagger in under the second man's swordarm. While the other tried to disentangle himself from his dying comrade, Corill kicked him in the midriff, forcing him out into the passage. As the warrior staggered out of the doorway, Tauriel slammed the door and bolted it.

"My thanks," panted Corill, leaning against the wood.

"On the contrary," she replied, "I'm grateful for your courage, good sir."

The door shuddered from heavy blows. Corill dragged a bulky chair against it. "I hate to postpone an introduction to so charming a lady," he said "but I fear we had best be going."

He rushed to a window and flung it open, then gaged the distance to the ground and grimaced. He began to remove his cloak.

"Might I inquire as to what you propose?" she asked.

"We're too high to jump, and I believe the door is out of the question. I trust you found no exit through the other door, so we need a rope," He gestured at the two bodies, "If you would be so kind as to assist, I need cloaks, belts, anything that we can tie together," he began hauling a tapestry off of the wall, then added, "my Lady."

Tauriel wrinkled her nose in distaste at the task, but quickly began to remove the cloak from one of the fallen guards.

"You may dispense with the formality," she said, trying not to look at the dead man's face, "Having saved my life, you may call me by my name. Tauriel A'Konnel, daughter of Earl A'Konnel," she presented the liberated garment with a smile.

The woodsman accepted with a hasty but respectful bow, "Corill Lintemacil, Captain, King's Foresters."

He wondered at her composure in such a situation. He was happy that she was able to function, but he did not expect such from a young noblewoman.

"What of the soldiers in the hall?" she asked fastidiously looking away as she removed the belt from a corpse.

"It's a stout door," he replied, measuring what he had already tied, "just pray they don't send for axes."

They continued their work in silence. When they had completed as much as time and materials allowed, Corill anchored the makeshift rope to the leg of a heavy table, too large to fall out the window even if it was pulled by their weight. He made a loop in the loose end, glancing nervously at the much abused door.

"Forgive my presumption," he began, "but my Lord your father didn't have you schooled in climbing perchance?"

"Tragically, no."

"Well, put your foot in this loop, hang on and pray. I'll lower you down first, then climb."

The descent was trying but successful. Reaching the ground, the two fugitives raced for the stables. Corill was pleased to see that the alarm didn't seem to have carried that far. He shouted to the groom to saddle the Lady's mount and swiftly saw to his own.

The groom, seeing their flushed faces, disordered clothing and obvious haste, jumped to an erroneous conclusion.

"In a bit of an ‘urry, Cap'n?" he leered, clearly as impressed with the Forester's taste in woman as in horses.

"A bit," Corill agreed, realizing that the truth would be unlikely to gain him aid form A'Maserk's servants.

"There's a silver mark in it if you hurry!"

The incentive proved sufficient. Shortly the pair were mounted and Corill tossed a coin to the groom. At that moment, several soldiers burst into the stable. A zealous sergeant seized the bridle of Tauriel's steed. The Lady however, more indignant that afraid, lashed him across the face with her riding crop. As he fell back cursing and clutching his cheek, she urged her horse through the soldiers.

Corill's great black horse sent forehooves flying about the ears of those who sought to contain him. With a desperate plunge, he too was free.

The guard at the gate, not having been brought abreast of developments, heard the approaching cacaphony and stepped curiously out into the path of the oncoming riders. Corill urged Morlinte straight at the man. To the soldier's credit, only at the last moment Did he spring away, missing trampling by the narrowest of margins. Clearing the gates, the pair galloped at breakneck speed for the cover of the forest.

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