"They're right." Wulfgith said. "We're willing to help defend you but we need to know what we're up against and if any of you can fight. If they get past us you're going to have to defend yourselves till one of us can get to you."
Clearly confused by the sudden turn of events, Harold takes a few moments to gather his wits. But soon enough the old drover nods his head at the rapid fire questions.
"Aye, we can fight." He says pointing to his other two companions. "You don't travel the roads of the north for long and avoid knowing how to defend yourself." He adds grabbing a worn, but obviously well maintained short sword from his pack. Devin and Burly hurry over and pull a crossbow and quiver of bolts each from where they were stowed on each of the wagon's benches.
Harold then turns to Tomas, who still stands in the third wagon with his crossbow. Clearly furious with the younger man, Harold stares at him, his eyes hard and warning. "If you've betrayed us to some ruffians boy, I'll have your hide when this is all done. On my daddy's grave I swear it." He waves off the boys crossbow. "And you best point that away from the wagons and these helpful folk unless you want me and the boys to deal with you right now, bandits or no bandits."
For a moment it looks like Tomas is going to hold firm, perhaps even be so rash as sink a shaft into old Harold. His eyes flick to the hardened looks of the Williams and then over to Wulfgith, Thorgrim, Ingold, Cereidh, and Doderic. And seeing all arrayed against him, he lowers the weapon, shoulders sagging in defeat.
"You best see to yourself old man before you start making threats to me." Tomas says with a snarl. "If not for these interlopers all would've gone easy and there would've been gold aplenty. As it is, I suspect you'll still end up feeding the worms afore the night's through." He adds sitting back down in the wagon and folding his arms across his chest.
Eyes turned toward the signal, Ingold doesn't see anything or anyone approaching approaching from the north, at least not within the walls of the river valley. A minute or so following the flight of fire arrows, the scholar notices a glimmer of light bouncing against the scrub of an overlook to the northwest of the wagons. Unable to really make anything out from his low vantage point there little to do but watch and wait for some sign of Hobwise or an enemy.
"Still?" Cereidh muses in false lightness, having caught Tomas' particular wording. "You planned to lead your compatriots into death, then, even if you'd had your way?"
His bow out and ready, Ingold keeps watching where he saw light before, positioning himself to have a bit of cover from that direction and nodding that way, saying, "Look there. I believe our attackers approach."
"Indeed, Cereidh, the lure of easy gold has led many a young man to make poor decisions. Let's hope this one isn't fatal--for any of us," pontificates Ingold, checking to make sure his bandages and herbs are ready at his fingertips.
"No gold is easy, there is always some trade off, but that in work, blood, or conscience." Wulfgith told the lady as she narrowed her eyes. "If you shoot that crossbow, you will have more to worry about than those out there." She told him.
"We can hope as we wish Ingold, but let our actions speak for us as well. Let us make our stand and be it through strength, skill, and mind we prevail with lives intact." With that Wulfgith mounted Swiftkiss again. "The wait begins."
Hobwise continues to sit tight, waiting for the bandits to arrive at the campsite. He remains hidden, senses alert.
Hiding in the scrub, Hobwise watches as the newcomers slowly emerge from the shadows following the sudden and unexpected flight of fire arrows toward their position. The hobbit hears a few night bird calls drift along the ridge. But it only takes Hobwise a moment to realize the sounds are not because some bandit disturbed an unfortunate river bird nest. No they were signals passing between the surprised intruders.
Distant shouts drift up from the camp below, but the constant roar of the river and his focus on the new arrivals keep Hobwise from understanding anything with any clarity.
After several more minutes a pair of the men finally creep up to the fire. Seeing the unconscious form of the man knocked out by Hobwise, the two immediate whistle back to the others and one takes a defensive stance with his long spear after kicking and stamping out the small fire.
Before the fire light is kicked out, Hobwise is able to see that the two are dressed in a similar fashion as the original lookout. Simple furs and leathers with simple but lethal looking spears and short bows. They are short compared to most northern men and generally dark haired with long beards both braided. And both clearly have tattoos of their own, although they are too far away and the light is too dim for the hobbit to make anything out clearly.
Minutes later the rest of the group arrives. There are whispered mutters, some filled with concern or perhaps anger at the sight of the wounded man. But soon enough all seem to focus their attention south and into the river valley where the campfire illuminates the wagons and the others warily watching into the night.
When the group moves on, Hobwise will follow after, staying within range to dash onto them (50'), if possible.
If they appear to be spreading out and arraying themselves in positions where they could shoot arrows or throw spears into the camp below, he will spring into action, but not before.
Someone should tie him up, so he can't run off or worse if fighting breaks out..
He looks a bit dejected.
It was going to be such a lovely meal. He stares to the ground a moment before looking to Tomas
What was it you hoped to achieve? Would the modicum of gold you got, after sharing it with whoever you have arranged this with, really been enough to warrant the weight of deaths on your conscience? Surely a warm fire, good food and smiling faces are a far richer reward than cold metal. Why? He asks glancing up to Tomas.
"I'll take care of it." Harold says, holding up a bit of sturdy rope. Shaking his head sadly as he pulls the young man's arms behind him. "The hobbit's right you young fool. What'd you think to gain by selling us out to bandits or worse yet some bunch of orcs. What'd your daddy think? Best you answer his questions straight away." He adds leaning in close to Tomas. "The big fella with the blade as long as a horse is tall over there doesn't look to be thinking to kindly of you at the moment."
For several seconds there is only the crackle of the fire and the cackle of the river. Tomas' eyes dart around the group and soon enough some of the fire turns to fear as his mind slowly realizes the situation he finds himself. Sweat begins to bead on his forehead as he watches the ridge, but whatever or whoever is looked for doesn't appear. Soon his knee starts to bounce up and down like a jackrabbit on a frying pan. Finally looking into the concerned eyes of Doderic the merchant's son seems to break.
"Whatever you all might think, I ain't dealing with orcs or with any Vala cursed bandits." He finally says, shoulders sagging even further. "And to be honest, I wasn't really planning to get you killed Harold." He adds looking back at the old drover before turning back to Doderic.
"You see Master Hobbit, my mother weren't from Breeland. Her blood came from further north, among the wild Hillmen up near Cameth Brin. The tale is that my father found her lost, wandering alone and near exhaustion one spring morning while guiding a caravan back from a recent trip to Rivendell. Valiantly he came to her rescue and with honeyed words and handsome face he won her heart and brought her home to Bree." A pause, a deep breath. "They were married six months later, my brother already growing in her belly."
"Over time there was my brother, Giles, my sisters, Emmy, Rose, a Marigold, and then I came along." His eyes close and a pained look comes across his face. "Of course she died giving birth to me, for which my father and brother both still place blame on me."
For several seconds he stops his tale, his eyes and mind lost in some place filled with dark memories. As he pauses, there's a shout from one of the Williams brothers. He points up toward the top of the valley where Ingold saw the firelight.
"I saw someone up there. Maybe two. Couldn't get a good look from down here." He says and moments later the flickering light goes out and only silver illumination of the moon shines at the top of the valley.
"We should take cover from attack from that direction," says Ingold, indicating the direction the Williams brother pointed, "But if the invaders are reasonable, perhaps we can yet reason with them--who is our best negotiator?"
Ingold looks around at the others, wondering who of them would be best suited to defusing this situation--if indeed it can be.
well, while I can empathize with feelings of guilt and think it horrid that they would place the blame on a child, after all we all leave this place eventually, I fail to see just how that led you to this? Wouldn't you rather show your father he is wrong by being someone great? I- At the mention of approaching people he stops and turns to scan the woods.
At Ingold's question, Doderic says
I don't know about negotiating.. but I like to think I'm fairly good at talkin' to people all said and done.
"That'll probably be their scout. He's been following us for a few days now." Tomas says casually. Nodding away the concerned looks around the fire. "The others should be here tonight maybe tomorrow night."
"They're a....suspicious people. My mother's folk." He adds turning to look at Doderic. "You see, I am...was...trying to prove to my father I had value. That I could find new markets." He tries to wave his hands in the air, forgetting that they are tied behind his back. "But look around. Where's the opportunity in these wild lands. East? Across the mountains, through that spider filled, fell forest to Dale or Esgaroth. South, through the desolate wilds of Dunland and eventually to Rohan and Gondor? There's some trade there to be sure and it's already locked up. People laughed when I suggested trading with the Hillmen. Called me a fool and worse." The last words snapped in obvious anger.
"Well, I could show father and all of them. Why not seek out those of my mother's blood. Establish trade with those folk. It was done once, long ago. Why not do it again?"
Harold snorts at the boys suggestion. "Because most of them are bloody servants of the shadow boy. As like to stick your head on a spike as trade silver for goods. It's only too bad the elves and southern lords didn't wipe them all out when they sacked the dark kingdom of the north. Wouldv'e saved us all a lot of trouble."
Fire flares up in Tomas' eyes again and he sneers at Harold trying to point at the drover with his bound hands. "There! You see!? Is it no wonder they fight us? No wonder they try to drive us out? My father felt the same way despite being with mother all those years." He shakes his head in puzzlement. "He always said she was different, special because she'd forgotten her people and their dark ways which is why he found her the way he did. Others say she'd hit her head and that caused her memories to fly away. Frankly, I don't know what the truth really is."
"It doesn't really matter now, because I did it. I found my mother's folk and made a trade. Food and goods, and yes, weapons for gold and silver. Coins and metals gathered by their people over hundreds of years."
"Years of thieving, killing and looting! You young fool!" Hollers Harold. "Why it was damned hill tribes that cut down young Farley when he was but a boy. Hill men that burned out near a dozen farms and families north of Archet, including my cousin Dora and her folk. You'd sell them good food and steel?!"
The drover towers over Tomas the young man trying to lean away nearly falls out of his seat in the wagon. But then he musters his own courage and leans back into Harold.
"Aye, I would, you arrogant old fool!" Tomas shouts back. " They're just as much my people as you or anyone else from that blasted burg. And coins is coin. It's the only thing my father understands and the only thing that'll have a chance of getting me one up on him. So absolutely, I'd trade with them!"
As the two argue back and forth, a half dozen figures suddenly appear in the moonlight standing at the top of the ridge. Still several hundred feet away they seem to be studying the camp and the wagons carefully before making the steep climb into the valley.
Hobwise watches from his well chosen spot among the scrub as half of the men reveal themselves to the camp below. The six stand at the edge of the valley gazing down upon the wagons while the moonlight shines upon their furs and iron tipped spears. The other six stay out of sight. Three slip to the south toward the road and a clearer, closer look at the wagon camp. The three others circle a little back north and then disappear east and down into the river valley.
Although all of them appear cautious and alert for any sign of danger or ambush, none seem to notice the hobbit's hiding space or his presence.
Ingold ponders the stories he has heard of the Hillmen. Are they any examples of singular Hillmen or whole tribes that might be counted among the free peoples, or are all the tales of dark portent, indicating that any deal they make would likely end up with robbery at best and slaughter at worst?
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Wulfgith demanded, still sitting high upon Swiftkiss.
"Hillmen chose their side, Tomas." Wulfgith told him. "That Harold has correct." She added.
"However," Taking a moment to pause and ensure she had their attention. "the hearts of men are not so wholly converted. Unlike those of elves, who are naturally set in their ways, man is malleable. Often one of a race of men does not fit within the others of their kind." She stated, something of which she knew first hand. "Tomas, you have set up this exchange. Though I do not think it wise, nor do I wish to see it through, should they be civil... I cannot see a reason to spill blood." Wulfgith said to all those present.
"I am a rider of Rohan, we know the hillmen well. However only a fool choses to bring risk of death when a civil way can be taken. Harold I know what you will say but remember, if a fight breaks out we cannot ensure you or your men's survival. If we follow through with the trade a fight should not break out. We will do what we can to ensure you all get out of this alive, and having them leave peacefully is the best way to do it."
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Doderic ponders quietly at the argument. Finally, after everyone is momentarily silence by Wulfgith, he speaks up.
You are right, they chose shadow, but so do many good men fall to the shadow once. You all may have your own perceptions, made from the lives you lived. We mold our lives, based on what we learn growing up. And often we can become set in our ways yet we can always change. I am not to say that you are wrong, but, I had a perception that adventures never led to anything good. Well, that clearly is not true now is it? As well, What is to say these hillmen had a real choice? And even now, sir Harold, what choice do they have but to raid for the basic needs of survival? If you, nor anyone else in the world would deign to trade, or deal with them, how could they ever make a different choice? People change, I know I have. When I first left my Shire, I was... unsure, ignorant of the dangers as well as the wonders and woefully unprepared. He pauses a moment or two in thought before giving a small nod of his head and a quick grin.
Still am in many ways truth be told. But I was able to grow and change because I had the chance to do so. Should we not consider giving them a chance as well? Surely if we can remove the shadow through a friendly gesture and a small kindness, we should try. Forgiveness is something the shadow does not, cannot, know. Perhaps it is time to try to mend old rifts. Do we not all need a helping hand during our lives. I know I've needed more than my fair share, and certainly got more than I ought. If one can change, surely more can as well.
He ends his small speech by casting a glance towards the figures in the trees and shadows.
It is difficult to find your way out of shadow with no light to guide you. But even the smallest kindling is like a luminous beacon in the flickering shadow.
Hillmen is often a catch all term for the scattered tribes that typically inhabit the highlands along the western slopes of the Misty Mountains from the Trollshaws and further north into the Ettenmoors. It is also true they have often warred upon and raided the Dunedain and others in the lowlands. It is also true that the many of the lands raided once belonged to the the tribes prior to the coming of the men of Numenor.
Unfortunately, without a little time or peace and quiet, you're simply unable to recall anything further.
Harold and Tomas both slam their jaws shut following Wulfgith's shout and stern words. Harold is the first to step back. The drover bows to the mounted warrior. "Apologies my lady." He says. "You are correct, there are other things to concern ourselves with than the scattered ramblings of a dimwitted boy." He turns and takes up his post against one of the wagons.
"Aye, let him be Harold." Says the older Williams. "The boy is a bit daft, but the hobbit's right. We're all a bit daft when young blood is running through our veins. Best we live through this night to see the light of another day." He spits on the ground and makes a simple sign to ward off evil spirits. "But by the Light boy, Cameth Brin?! Everyone knows that place is cursed and home to none but evil spirits and ghosts of the long dead. Anyone living under the shadow of the Twisted Hill is surely daft themselves."
Tomas starts to take offense at the older men's insults and questions, but with another glare from Wulfgith he simply leans back in his seat and stays silent.
Four of the figures up on the rise descend toward the wagons. They disappear into the scrub and darkness of night for several minutes and finally reappear about sixty feet from the camp. Each is dressed in simple furs and carries a bow and spear. Tattoos adorn faces and arms and likely other parts of the body not visible. Most are dark haired with it worn in three long braids. Two of those who descend are women, also tattooed, also with braided hair although one of them has much more striking auburn colored hair. All watch the camp with wary eyes. Spears held ready, but not in a particularly threatening manner.
The oldest of the four steps forward when Doderic speaks. His skin is weathered and tanned from exposure. A bit of gray marks his temples and beard but his arms a hard with muscle. He doesn't stand much taller than Doderic, in fact most of the new comers are short standing between five and five and a half feet tall.
"I am Bragha of the Raven Clan." He says in a roughly accented and difficult to understand form of Westron. "We have come to trade." He pauses letting a bit of anger and distrust show through as he continues. "Yet we find one of our own struck down and arrows of fire signalling in the night." He looks carefully at the readied weapons and defensive posture of the camp. "Perhaps we were misled and instead you have come to shed blood?"
Wulfgith shook her head as she dismounted her horse as a sign of nonaggression. "No, I believe there had been a misunderstanding." She explained as she removed her sword from her hip and tied it to her saddle.
"The merchants where not all aware of who they where trading with, it was only recently been made aware. You have my apologies." She said. "Though it will not undo the damage done."
"Please, make your trade, and we will do the best we can to ensure this ends peacefully." Wulfgith promised.
Then she looked to the others, "Cereidh, could you please try and find Hobwise so that he is made aware of this?"
”Well-said, Wulfgith. I see a people hungry for food and peace, not war,” responds Ingold.
Doderic is happy to let others take the negotiations first. He tends to his tea pot, and finding the brew done. Pours two cups and sweetens them with a dash of honey.
He moves to Harold, handing it to him.
Here, I want no one to say a Took does not keep their word. Unseen circumstances or otherwise. He says with a smile before glancing towards the hillmen's leader.
He licks his lips before cautiously making a few steps there way holding the tea cup in both hands resting near his stomach. He stops for a moment, no more than a few steps there way before giving a sniff and a nod and continuing over. Slowly.
If.. If you would. I have a cup of tea for you. Uh, free, of course. Th-the tea that is. Not the cup. Preferably. If you like it, I should have enough for everyone to have some. Or, at least those of us here. He motions to the camp as he glances to the remaining figures in the distance. We want only good tidings I assure you. He does his best to keep any traditions rumored of the hillmen in mind as he makes his offer of... peace. If not friendship.
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Thorgrim, never one to bandy words when action would do, keeps his own council. To him, a bandit is a bandit, and there is only one good kind. One who would lie in wait and connive to ambush a caravan of good standing had nothing to offer.
Still, those before them have not yet leaped to the red dance, so it might be that the hobbit's soft words could yet win through.
He wholly disagreed with the premise of the words, but starting a rancor in the face of the strange tribe would be of no good.
He held onto Noctacide, and spared a glance at Cereidh, looking after the slender elf's actions.
As the group along the ridge splinters and introduces itself non-violently, Hobwise relaxes, but remains hidden for now.
Bragha nods his understanding to Wulfgith and steps further into the light with his companions still hanging a few steps back. By the way his eyes quickly assess those before him and the way he movements are confident and precise it is obvious he's a veteran of these lands. A warrior with several victories notched upon his belt.
His eyes widen in surprise when Doderic steps up offering the tea and performing some of the traditional offerings of water and salt so common among his people but so often overlooked by the more civilized folk of the lowlands. Accepting the tea, he takes a sip and nods appreciatively.
"Honey." He says. The word lingering as he sips again and offers a thin smile of appreciation. "A treat and welcome gift that is rare this time of year in the highlands." He adds bowing his head to the hobbit.
Setting aside the tea cup, he pulls forth his own pouch. "An offering of my own bounty. May there be peace between us this night under the stars and watchful gaze of the moon." He says pulling forth a small piece of spicy scented, smoked meat and handing to Doderic.
The meat is followed by Bragha loading a pipe with a pungent black and dark green leaf that smells of a tar pit and rosebuds. The man lights the pipe and releases a pungent cloud of smoke that brings tears to the eyes of those standing nearby. Whatever it is, it certainly doesn't have the mellow smoothness and rich easy flavor of a good Shire leaf. Nonetheless, after a few more puffs he hands the pipe to Doderic, clearly expecting the hobbit to share the smoke.
Doderic looks to the offered pipe while shifting nervously on his feet. He gives a twitch of his nose and furrows his brow before glancing to bragha. He licks his lips before giving a pained smile and a nod.
Right then.
He reaches out and takes the pipe with his hand, still holding the meat tentatively in the other. with only a mild hesitation he gives the pipe a hit.
As it seems that no one is going to slaughter anyone, at least in the near future, Ingold walks up beside Doderic after putting his bow away and offers, ”I have some healing skill. Are any of you suffering from injury or disease that I might tend, as a gesture of goodwill?”
Bragha watches with interest as Doderic takes a gentle draw from the pipe, but even with his care the smoke slams into the hobbit's senses like a troll's hammer. With watering eyes and a slight green tinge to his cheeks, the hobbit does his best to maintain the decorum of the circumstances and not let the harsh smoke condemn him to seeming weak in the eyes of the hillmen.
Accepting his pipes return, Bragha takes another smoke, seemingly unaffected by the harsh substance tamped into the bowl. Satisfied it has all been consumed, the hillman taps out the ashes and turns to Ingold.
"We have no need of healing." He says. "One of my scouts has been wounded from a mysterious attack from behind. But he will recover in time and has now learned a lesson to be more careful when walking in the dark. For who knows when a branch or root may cause a hard fall."
That last is said with a hint of sarcasm that simply says he knows something else happened, but doesn't wish to bring further attention to his warrior's failure.
"We have brought silver, copper, and gold to trade as my lost sister's son bargained." His eyes flick toward Tomas. Seeing the boy bound, his eyes narrow and his knuckles grow white upon the grip of his spear. "Yet I find that he is bound as if a prisoner. Why has this been done? Do you wish to retract the trade?"
"That was my fault" Wulfgith freely said as she stepped foreword. "I instructed such before learning the full truth of what young Tomas had planned. The lad suffers from that all do at one point in their lives, youth." She stated. "He became too untrusting and till he explained we couldn't trust him to watch our backs when we thought a fight was upon us."
"He will be freed and allowed to make trade as promised." Wulfgith said, as she herself moved to free Tomas. "Tomas, made the trade with your uncle as you have promised, and then all may be allowed to go on their way." She told him.
"If I wanted to fight you Bragha of the Raven Clan, you would know." Wulfgith stated simply. "Many songs are of warriors who faced the Clans of the Hills, fierce in battle and in spirit. But tonight, battle is not what we seek, but to fulfil a promise and make a small form of peace and recognition."
despite what others may think. Halfings have a rather sound constitution when push comes to shove. Doubly so for a took. After but a few moments he manages to compose himself and give a nod and another pained smile to bragha. However, he doesn't test his resolve and keeps quiet for a bit as wulfgith speaks.
Ingold nods and moves back, assuming his customary position where he can watch and learn--and be ready to give a warning if the situation is about to turn sour.
Hobwise continues to watch from his hidden perch on the ridge. Although the hobbit cannot hear what's being said down below, it is clear things have gone better than expected as weapons remained sheathed and it appears food and drink are being shared.
There is no sign of those who slipped away to flank the camp, but the two who remained behind have revived the hillman knocked out by Hobwise's earlier blow. Although the man is still clearly groggy, he does seem to be up and moving about with a little aid from his companions. Interestingly, the young hillman is the butt of several jokes regarding his prowess at hinting his head when alone on a deserted ridge.
Bragha nods and looks at Doderic with a bit of new found respect. "It is few among the lowlands who can master the smoke of the Black Spined Rock Flower so quickly." He says.
With his hands and legs free Tomas hops down from the wagon and bows deeply to Bragha. "All has been brought as discussed." He says waving an arm toward the wagons. Rising he walks over and removes the tarps covering the goods in the second and third wagons. Sacks of grain, fruits and nuts, most dried, some fresh. Potatoes, cabbages. Tomas hesitates a bit with a wary eye toward Harold and some of the others, then he opens two large crates. Digging through the dried beans he reveals several dozen large steel spear tips and more sacks containing several hundred steel arrowheads, both broad and narrow tipped.
Seeing the weapons, Bragha reveals for the first time a broad smile. Waving the others forward, he directs one to begin examining the food while the others gather the weapons. He also raises a large hand and makes the call of a night hawk. Moments later three other hillmen emerge from positions off in the darkness toward the road. One carries a heavy pack that jingles with coin.
"Silver and gold. As we agreed." Bragha says while dropping a half dozen spear points into his own pack along with many of the arrowheads."[/b]
With barely contained enthusiasm, Tomas takes the pack full of coins and opens it to see inside. For a moment his eyes go wide then he smiles and laughs brightly. "As we agreed." He says.
Doderic things to himself.
what have I just done... remember that name. Best make sure that plant doesn't have lingering side effects... useful as a deterrent as well I bet.
Doderic stands to the side with a content smile at the proceedings. However when the weapons are shown, he does show a mild concern.
Are those.. dwarf-made? Those must of cost a small fortune. he says, recognizing the craft thanks in part due to some of his own weaponry being of similar make. He glances down to the broadsword and dagger at his hip. Both forged by a fledgling dwarven smith by name of Bain, son of Nain who he met years ago in Dale.
"Dwarf-made?" Wulfgith asked, her voice filled with a bit a surprise as she looked to Doderic with a knowing eye.
"Indeed, a small fortune to start."
"With such fine weapons, one could hunt much filling game to ease the long winter nights and provide a stout defense of one's home from invaders or marauding monsters...Or one could bring war against the free peoples of this land," says Ingold with a mixture of hope and trepidation.
"The choices your people make with these weapons, Bragha, will have weighty implications on the lives of many, and perhaps even on the relationships between our peoples," continues Ingold, looking around at all gathered around the campfire. Measuring each person's response, he concludes, "I pray we have chosen wisely to let this transaction proceed."
"My clan is indeed fortunate that one of our blood was able to secure such weapons for us." Bragha says. Tomas blushes as he loads another sack. "We have faced many foes over the generations." Bragha continues pointing his gaze upon Ingold, the only true Dunedain within the camp. "Most often because of the desires of others who wish to take our lands, our hunting grounds, and our homes. For we still have tales told from the ancient days when our people once roamed the land between the great mountains freely and openly."
"Perhaps, one day, we will do so again." He says with a grim smile. "But that day will not be mine to witness. For the hills are restless and alive with trolls and orcs and other tribes who would fight at the sides of such creatures."
"The Raven will not live under the yoke of anyone. So to survive we will do what we must." His voice is hard, weighed with years of loss and determination.
It doesn't take long before the transfer of goods is complete. The moon is midway in her journey across the sky when the hillmen finish and ready themselves to depart. The biggest and strongest weighed down by all they've gathered and Tomas looks on with a wide smile while Harold and the others glower daggers and the young man and the hillmen.
"We will take our leave now." Bragha says nodding his head toward Doderic, Wulfgith and Ingold while slinging his own heavy pack over his shoulders. He looks across at Tomas and nods his head to the boy as well.
"Our business is complete, son of my blood. Should you find goods of a similar nature, we can acquire more silver." He adds before turning away, ready to walk off into the night with the rest of his followers.
Harold is clearly incensed and furious over the entire situation. The old drover glares back and forth between the boy, Bragha, and even your fellow companions. But knowing he is outnumbered and outclassed, the man holds himself in check for now.
”It seems we must trust in your honor then, Bragha,” replies Ingold. Looking to Harold, he adds, ”Too bad young Tomas found it necessary to deceive you, good man. Let us hope his kin show more integrity than he has so far.”
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Thorgrim watched the whole proceedings with a mix of curiosity and mild disinterest. This was, after all, not their affair. And if he came down on every weapons sale that happened outside the eyes of the law he'd have to live a thousand years and have another two of himself besides!
After the others left, there was still one matter that niggled at the back of his head. He was not one to ponder overlong, but this question demanded answer.
"Tomas, where did you get dwarven weapons?"
"I'm not sure what business it is of yours stranger." Tomas replies to Thorgrim while stuffing his newly acquired sack of gold into a chest tucked under the seat of the wagon. "But I've nothing to hide so I'll tell you. I got them through a dwarf I met while traveling east. Through some skillful and clever negotiating I ended up with those goods and he ended up with some ancient dwarven artifacts I'd discovered in a barrow out on the north downs."
He slams the lid of the chest closed and locked, tucking the key back into his pocket. He tosses a sack to Harold that jingles with the sound of coins when it hits the ground near the man's feet.
"Payment for your time and services as agreed." Tomas says. "Now I think I'll take this wagon and my leave. I feel I'm no longer welcome at this fire." He adds working to get the pony harnessed and the wagon ready to travel again.
Hobwise continues to watch the actions of the two groups, and chooses not to reveal himself yet. When the large cache of weapons changes hands, he wonders why these folk would need to arm themselves in so fine a fashion. Are transactions like this normal? Perhaps the Shire was too sequestered to be aware of such goings-on mere days travel from the eastern border. Would his fellows at the Playful Pigeon ale house in Longbottom even shed concern for such news, should they be pried from their merriment for long enough to listen to the whole of the tale?
Looking directly at Tomas, Ingold says, "You do not meet my gaze, your voice quavers, and you sweat here in the coolness of the evening. I believe you got the weapons from the dwarves, but you are lying about trading peacefully for them."
Turning to the Hillmen leader, Ingold asks, "Bragha, would you willingly do business with one who lies, one who would deceive or outright steal from dwarves to get these weapons? Son of your blood or not, his path is a dark and dangerous one, and he is going to get himself killed or imprisoned if he continues to follow the shadow."
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Thorgrim's voice echoes through the encampment. He had witnessed the transaction peaceably enough. A man "finds" a crate. Such a man meets others out in the hills and many and goods change hands. This was nothing special. But dwarven goods? Of war? This is no small thing. To play party to banditry of such epic scale is the kind of thing that could bring, say, five armies clashing.
This, as they say, changes everything.
Noctacide had laid in its massive sheathe like an angry dog straining against a chain. Now it came out with a great silent roar, a monster now awoken from its den.
"I MAKE it my business," Thorgrim snarled at the would-be merchant. He only holds his blade. He doesn't need to point it as his throat. The day is past when one might under-count Thorgrim and Noctacide.
"I know not how Ingold does it, but many believe him a sorcerer who can see into the hearts of men. His power is such that he can see through a lie as easily as I might chop through paper. So you will HOLD and will give HONEST account of how you came by such weapons of rarity and power!
Or we shall enter The Circle, of you wish to press the matter."
Hearing Thorgrim's shout and then Ingold's hurried words, Bragha raises a hand and whistles a single shrill note to bring the other six members of his band to a stop. Turning back to face those of the fellowship, his face grows hard and stern.
"I care not for the concerns and laws of the Dunedain." He says, his feelings toward the men from the west clear in the disdain of his voice. "I care about my people. We brought what was asked. We were ready to leave in peace." A shake of his head as he raises his spear into a more defensive posture. "It is not of my concern where or how the boy got what was traded. That is his business. Not mine. If you wish to betray our trade, then you may do so. But not all blood shed this night will belong to the Raven."
He looks over at Tomas and grimly appraises the young man's with his eyes filling once again with worry and fear. "If you would consider yourself really one of our blood and not that of a soft lowlander, then you will fight. What use is another mouth to feed if it cannot fight? Fight for your honor, fight for the right to keep what is yours. It matters not whether it was taken by strength, guile, mere chance or whatever means." He practically snarls to the startled young man. "Otherwise, go back. Go back to your soft living among the lowlanders. Go back to your father's people and these others who your mother fled our folk to join."
Swallowing nervously, Tomas' eyes flash about frantically from his perch up on the wagon. Time passes. The wood of the fire shifts sending a cascade of sparks swirling up into the night sky while the hum of crickets pulses rhythmically. Finally Tomas comes to a decision.
"Okay...okay...I didn't buy the spear points and arrow heads from a dwarf." He licks his lips nervously. "But I didn't steal them or kill anyone for them. I'd been in the Pony one night and met a couple of men who'd I'd seen a few times before, but didn't know well. As it was, we got to drinking pretty heavy and they started talking about a big score they'd made with friends a few weeks earlier. Had some stuff to move, didn't know how to move some of the best, since they wanted to keep it quiet. Even threatened me if I told anyone about their involvement."
"Being a merchant's son I saw an opportunity. When those two mentioned the dwarf goods, I knew there was a lot to be made, threats or no threats. It was too much to pass up. I'd already been to visit Bragha's folk and knew much of what they needed and that they wouldn't care about where it came from as long as it was what we bargained for. So I talked further with the men and over some time set up a deal. I sent word to Bragha about how much and what. A little later and here we are."
"So you can kill me if you like." He says raising his chin toward Thorgrim. "But I'm your only link to the ones who really had the weapons to begin with. Let me go and I'll give you names and where the stash was hidden. There was more there when I last saw, probably still there..." He adds attempting to put forth a bargain that might buy his life.
Nodding to Thorgrim, Ingold indicates that the young man has finally given the truth of the matter. Other than that, the scholar remains quiet and lets others speak, mulling over the situation in his mind.
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"Oh shut up, Bragha," Thorgrim retorts. The tribe-leader's sanctimonious and hypocritical preaching was grating. "Tomas is the one of honor here, for he, at least, has no blood on his hands. For whatever sniveling, under-handed, back-stabbing blood-price he finagled for these goods, he has never killed a man in front of a wailing wife and crying babes.
Do not look shocked. You will 'not live under a yoke' and 'will do what you must'. I've not taken my first breath last night, so I can tell a raiding party of discontents when I see one.
Or can you, now, swear blood-oath to me that these weapons will only be used on animals of the wild or men awake and under orders of thy oppressors? If you can not say that never will you raid a farmstead filled with more crying babes then grown men, then go thy way but lecture not to others about honor."
His steam was mostly spent, but there seemed to be something more that should be said. For as much as he wanted to slay the lot, despite the 'can' of the matter, it should be said that everyone was at least shown the error of their ways -and- allowed a path to righteousness. He had done the first. Could he do the last? He adds something he heard a wise man say once. He gave it little heed but it seemed relevant now.
'Also, Bragha is a girl's name,' he adds, mentally.
Turning to Tomas, he nods. "Good man. Even now I see the shadow's grip upon you loosening. Were you truly evil beyond redemption, you would have come up with another, a better, lie, and tried to continue to evade. That you say the truth now means there is still something of a man inside you.
So, yes, I accept thy pact: Your life for this information which, hopefully, will end a circle of evil that would corrupt even innocents like yourself.
Of course, did you really intend on the Path of Redemption, you would rid thyself of the blood-gold now in thy purse...but, baby-steps, they say."
Doderic sighs. He never understood why the tempers and pride of the tall folk so often stoked the other. Doderic's eyes narrow as threats start to be given and turns to Bragha.
Doderic lets out a large shout for his small stature.
He stands, rather small in the shadows cast by the fire, a frown on his face and hands clutched to his sides. His teacup laying dropped on the ground. He looks into the fire before speaking again.
And so in the fires of the night
the flames of heart and soul take flight.
threats in boldness given out
with thoughts of only future bouts
to force ones path be truly evil
even though their thoughts deceitful
for if one is to walk in light
tis a choice one makes without a fright.
Doderic looks Thorgrim then to Bragha,
you have done nothing wrong tonight, indeed from some of the stories I've heard... well you have been very civil in contrast of them. You and your clan may leave, all I ask is you do not use the weapons gained against us soft lowlanders... save in self defense... should you need of something, please. Try to seek a trade first, He gives a small smile.
You may find it a better path... Think of it like a challenge, a fight with words if you need. Prove you are as strong or stronger not only in body but in mind. I think you are more than capable of convincing... though if you would like to stay a bit, I plan to put on a magic show of sorts, to entertain. It won't be long... well, after all this is dealt with. He offers
He then looks back to Thorgrim, keeping his small smile, but furrowed brows.
You can't force people to walk a path they do not choose, for then you are no better than the shadow. Intimidation and tyranny is the way of shadow. No one here has done a wrong tonight save lie, which was quickly rooted out. Or are you saying past deeds, assumed or otherwise, are condemnation enough?... We will see to Tomas's tale, but they had no part in it. We will do so civilly, without bloodshed.
Hobwise can make little of the conversation down in the camp below, but he can hear the shouts of his fellow company men, and things seem to be escalating, when at first the transaction of weapons for silver appeared to end peaceably. He determines that now is the time to emerge from the shadows.
Hand on the hilt of his sword, he quietly approaches the two nearest men from the second group who are still stationed along the hill.
"Evening," he begins amicably, knowing that his presence will arouse suspicion. On the other hand, he's a hobbit, and Men are rarely intimidated by persons of smaller stature than they. "I wonder, what purpose you be needing such fine arms for? It's not every night so much coin trades hands, and when the location of such a transaction occurs along the Lone Road, at the Last Bridge, where hostilities have recently commenced only a short ways to the north, where some say giants have been roused to aggression against fair folk, questions about the nature of a group of sturdy men in the vicinity might rightly be asked. But don't measure me wrong boys, I am inquisitive by nature, but don't appreciate being dismissed. For a straight answer, I'll thank you and be on my way."
The men are clearly surprised by your sudden, close appearance. Grabbing spears and short knives they listen with a clear and unsurprising amount of suspicion and concern. Keeping weapons pointed in your direction, one of the men steps forward a clear frown on his face. His dark eyes look you up and down, taking in your travel worn gear and pair of blades. For just a moment his eyes linger on the blade discovered beneath Harnalda.
"Who are you stranger?" He says in a gravely voice that matches his weather worn features. At first he answers with expected suspicion. "And what business is it of yours what the Raven decides to do with its talons?"
But as the hobbit's words continue to flow and he seems of little real threat to the three big warriors, the man relaxes just enough.
"You seem to be neither goblin, elf, or Dunedain." He says lowering his spear a hands width. "And since tonight we travel under the law of peace and trade, I will tell you that these rumors you hear of giants and worse rising in the north are true. My people are pressed on many sides. Our weapons do not work as well against the thick hides of troll and giant, so Bragha, our chief, has broken with tradition to trade among the lowlanders so we can gain that which will bring us victory."
He pauses for a moment, brow furrowing in thought. "Now again, I ask who are you and why have you come upon us in the night."
Bragha's face turns a furious red following Thorgrim's flurry of furious words. His fellows begin to mutter, curse and ready themselves for battle. But before the Hillmen can truly respond, Doderic jumps in and manages to restore some sense of calm and peace. Instead of readying his spear for action, the leader of the Raven Clan nods his head to the hobbit.
"I will think upon your words." The warrior growls. "But I will swear to nothing and to no one on this night. I will say again, the Raven does not seek to pick the bones of the lowlands. Not when our own lands are under threat and our people go hungry with the herds driven away. We came in peace, we will leave this night in peace."
His eyes flick back to Thorgrim. "Perhaps one day, warrior, we will cross paths again and discover who is best with blade and blood. That day will not be today." He adds and then turns and signals his people to leave.
Unlike the hardened chief, Tomas is completely cowed by Thorgrim's words and huddles in the wagon. His body shakes with fear over how the events of the night have completely turned against him. And yet, despite his failures in certain respects, a protective hand still lingers upon the chest of gold and the key kept safely within his pocket.
"Hobwise Hornblower, of the Shire." The hobbit bows, as is his custom. "We are travelers on an errand from Lord Elrond by way of Glorfindel of Rivendell. We travel to ancient Fornost, to see if the rumors of resurgent evil in that land of ages past are true or not. Perhaps you have heard something during your campaign which may illuminate our road?" He says all of this plainly, hiding nothing.