This page hosted by
Get your own Free Home PageVinhir, Southern Belfalas, T.A. 2960
Círlin left the Inn of the Night Turtle still laughing with the jokes told by the friendly group of strangers spending the night in the village. The red light of the setting sun stroke his face with a faint heat that promised the end of the winter. The Dunadan stared the calm sea that beat gently the rocky face of the hill where thousands of seagulls nested and cheered the rich food jumping feverishly fifty meters below. Suddenly, among the birds a dreadful scream was spread when a Royal Seahawk pushed its lordly flight from the woods behind. As its huge wings folded and the bird dove for a fresh meal, the sea also became alive with an explosion of fear.
The village headmaster languished for the hotter summer days. This winter had been unusually cold. The crops were delayed, if not wasted. The farmers had been apprehensive about their livestock since the green turf had frozen to death. But now the land seemed to rejuvenate with an unequaled vigor. He smiled when he noticed the first mallos becoming golden as their white petals were touched by the setting sun. He closed his eyes and sensed the warm fragrance of the new meadow plants mixed with a salty scent that erupted from the waves raised from the rocks.
As slowly as his thoughts, Círlin crossed the short distance to the 'Greens', a beautiful well kept garden overlooking the Bay of Belfalas. There, he found old Farandur sat on a large wooden bench set towards the seaside, also dreaming with the explosion of colours reflected on the sea. Farandur was holding the top of his walking stick with both hands and resting his head on them. The elder Dunadan awoke from his thoughts as Círlin sat at his side.
'Oh... Hello, Círlin.'
'Greetings master Farandur. How's going your leg?'
'Better, better, thanks m'lad. Now that the winter gave us a truce, everything gets young again... See for yourself.', said the village herbalist, as he pointed with the low tip of the stick at a whale couple playing with their child.
'A truce?!?', amused the headmaster. 'You mean the last of the winter, master Farandur...'
'Don't count too much on it, m'lad. It will come harder on us, if my weather lore does not deceives me.'
'Now, look master. Do you see all these sudden life? All animals are singing happily to Eru. They sense His life. They praise Him with their new vivacity. Don't you think they left the winter behind?'
'Indeed they praise The One whenever they can, unlike the Men. But this time they feel something we don't. They are living too fast, as if Spring and Summer could be a very short period. And this, my friend, is what Manwe has been telling them...'.
Círlin's happy mood seemed to slowly fade away along with his broad smile.
'I hope you're wrong, master Farandur. It'll be a hard year, if we have another season like the last one.'
The elder arose with the help of the walking stick. He gave the headmaster a warm smile.
'Don't worry for now, m´lad. We'll have the usual warm Spring and Summer, I think. They'll be short, though... Now, now, I'll have that hot soup. You're invited young Círlin. Come, help this old fellow.', Farandur gave the High Dunadan a short bow and started to trudge the way to his house. Círlin took a last look at the Sea and the far horizon, now growing to a dark blue tone. He stood up and turned his back to the cliff, striding alongside the elder Dunadan.
The couple hadn't reach the herbalist's stone house when a dark, creepy sail ascended from the horizon...
***
The wading moon spread long, twisted shadows that walked in a sluggish pace through the streets of Vinhir.
Most Edain wouldn't notice that, the elven Seer was sure. Bent over a window of the Inn of the Night Turtle, Meneldor had been watching the stars for two hours, now. The fair, warm night and the softly clash of the waves gently sweeping the rocks poured a lethargy in his elven spirit. For the first time Meneldor had been thinking about the Undying Lands, the Lands of Light across the Belegaer. He dismissed these thoughts as he looked over his shoulder and stared his long time friends yielded to a heavy sleep. He gave them a faint smile and turned to the sea once more. His senses embraced the silver path laid by the moon on the ocean surface, shining as a myriad of tiny stars. He praised Elbereth for such a beautiful sight.
Then something crossed his mind. Some kind of disturbance that didn't fit the setting. A ghostly shadow mirrored on his eyes... The elf stood up quickly, his heart beating hard. He felt a cold shiver taking over him as he strode graciously to the bed where a broad Dunadan snored profusely. 'Wake up Talis! Wake up!', he said softly but swiftly while he shook the muscled Dunadan's shoulder.
'Uh...What...?!? Oh ????, what's going on Meneldor?', asked Talis Kahfea trying to come up from a sudden dizziness.
'Something is wrong!', replied the elf, 'There's something out there...', he added pointing to the window.
Talis sat on the bed holding his head with both hands for a moment, then coming full awake. He fought with his boots, making the wooden bed cringe noisily. On the other side of the room, Fletch Dray-Took raised his small, curled head, annoyed by all the sudden commotion, then diving it under his pillow.
'What are you saying? What is out there...?'. The ranger walked to the window, giving a curious look to his scared friend. Thrusting his head through the window he saw nothing but felt refreshed with the warm breeze from the sea.
'There's something wrong, I can tell you my friend', Meneldor's startled eyes met the ranger's, but his face had recovery from the fear. 'A cold shadow... Came from the sea and I think that he... it... that thing saw or sensed me...'.
'Where is it now?', inquired the Dunadan scanning the cliff border.
'I don't know... But crossed the village, I guess...', the elf was unusually disturbed. That Talis could tell.
'Come on, let's take a look. I'm sure it was a colder flurry.', voiced the ranger, quickly dressing his clothes. He stepped to the door, but seeing the elven worried face once more, he decided not to leave without his armour and weapons belt.
The young Fletch picked himself up hastily and got his clothes, trying to put them on while he strode after his companions. He almost fell when he pulled up the pants, jumping on one foot and carrying his weapons and armour on the left arm. Somehow he avoided tumbling down the stairs, but not without dropping his sword that went sliding down the steps faster than his mumbled curses.
The fuss caused by the Hobbit burst into the next room. A few seconds later, a reddish-blond head poked out of the door. With a fast move, a Rohirrim threw the door open, exhibiting a firm hold on a fine, cold and deadly blade. The warrior jumped out to the walkway overlooking the dinning room just in time to see Fletch running for the main door and still fastening his weapons belt.
'Hey Fletch! What on Ea is going on?', he called out for his companion.
'Come! Come, Leif! There's a monster out there...', shouted back the Hobbit before diving through the door.
'Monster?!', asked the startled Leif.
Using is quarterstaff as a walking stick, Benil Macka also stepped out of the room. He gave Leif a grin smile. 'You know, another Fletch's monster! Maybe this time it won't be so... uhh... huge!', smirked the kindly shepherd.
From the corner of the room, Blanchon called both men's attention. They looked at the strange elf bent over the window, his white air waving as it did whenever it was touched by the moonlight. Both men kept an uneasy feeling since they had met him, although they had learned to trust the spellcrafter. 'This time he isn't joking! There goes Meneldor and Talis chasing something...', he said pointing southwards.'
'Bloody orcs! They could at least wait for us! Let's get going, quick!', said the spirited warrior while he put on his chain shirt.
***
Meneldor was right behind Talis. The tall ranger stopped several times in order to inspect his path. He was an experienced tracker and even with such light footprints, they were closing the distance to their prey.
With one knee bent on the floor, Talis raised his head to the elf and pointed northeastward.
'There! In that barn...', he concluded.
Behind them, Fletch was catching quickly...
***
The sounds of panic that emanated from the stables held the reddish-blond warrior as soon as he put a foot on the Inn's courtyard. Blanchon raced past him, and seeing Fletch far ahead he urged the Rohirrim, "Come Leif, you will tend your horses later...".
Leif seemed stunned, but Blanchon's words swept his spirit, "What?... No, I must see Ranak!".
The elf scorned as he pressed his race eastwards, "Rohirrim...".
Leif raced towards the stables and opened the main door. Inside, all horses seemed upset by something that the warrior did not saw, but felt. The terror that blinded the animals blurred his vision momentarily. People had called him a mage, but the warrior knew it had nothing to do with sorcery. He just felt the horses. He understood them. His skill was disturbing, even for his kin and mainly for himself.
"Ranak! Calm down!", he ordered.
The great war-horse fought with his own rage, wanting to obey his master and at the same time expel his wild spirit. He hit the stable walls with his rear hooves, then raised to his full height, high above the Rohirrim, in a defiant temper.
Enraged, the warrior jumped up and held the horse's head, staring him directly with his disturbing blue-green eyes. Ranak felt under his dominion and came down. As the powerful stallion calmed, the other horses on the stables became quieter, following Ranak's mood.
Benil Macka appeared at the door. He noticed the Rohirrim and once more admired his skill. The horseman had put an end to the commotion on the stables as fast as the shepherd needed to cross the courtyard. The animals seemed relaxed, now, but the warrior kept whispering to his stallion. The shepherd whistled and a big black dog jumped the high stables' walls and stood in front of him, seating and waiting with his sad eyes fixed on his master.
"Bogas, come!", said the shepherd as he raced outside.
Leif patted Ranak, "Quiet now, old boy. You need some rest.". He gave the horse one last friendly tap and went to Lessa's stable. He mounted the friendly gelding and rode out without the saddle.
Behind, a pair of sorrowful eyes watched his master leave.
***
Círlin led a small band of armed Dunedain down the main street of Vinhir, oblivious to the turmoil going on. On their left, young Harvandur raced after his father's noisy chickens, bumping into the half sleeping villagers that appeared at the door. Unattended pigs crossed the street, hindering all that came through their path. Tanar's mare was putting a fight to be calmed down by his owner and his wife, Lady Aren, whose tainted dogs barked and raced after everyone. Every animal in the village seemed crazy. The armed group hushed as fast as they could, bounded for the village outskirts where the group of strangers had been spotted.
'Oh, be careful, Mr. Círlin, there's a monster out there!', said a young maid of Dunlending legacy.
The tall Dunadan stopped his hasty march and stared the small girl, 'Monster?! What monster, Hacnae?'.
She opened her arms, 'Big monster, Mr. Círlin! I saw!'
The armed mob looked puzzled at each other.
Círlin came down to stare the frightened girl in her eyes.
'Don't worry, Hacnae. I will arrest it, all right?', the headmaster placed his big hand over the girl's head, which gave him a shy nod, 'Just tell me what you saw, and I´ll catch it!'
'It was black and had horns. Biiiiiiig horns!', she whispered as if it could hear her, 'It went there.', she pointed to the Grangee Barn, halfway up the road that led to the Blossom Hills. Círlin rose slowly and his keen eyes spotted the group of strangers circling the place.
***
Talis pushed the door of the barn and stepped in, closely followed by his companions. They had cornered the monster. Its track led to the dark side on the north wall, behind a big haystack.
Back...
Get your own Free Home Page