At dawn, Rogond roused himself (he had not slept well), washed and dressed, shaved off his scruffy beard, and presented himself to his companion, who was readying the horses and packs. Galador looked at him in approval.
"You still resemble a walking carcass, but the shaving has helped. How do you feel?"
"Like a walking carcass. But if I don’t tax myself I should be all right. I’m anxious to be riding again."
One of the horses, the strong dun, nickered softly at Rogond. Galador chuckled. "It seems that Eros is eager to be away, as well.
Let’s hope for a gentle ride."
Rogond’s horse had a streak of mischief in him that was occa- sionally inconvenient, but he stood patiently as Rogond mounted with some difficulty. The horse sensed that Rogond was not himself and bore him with care. Eros was a fine animal, one of a noble, hardy race prized in northern lands. He was thick-coated and proud of bearing, stronger than he was swift, but tireless and steady. The other two horses were Galador’s own Réalta, a silver-white grey, more refined and swifter but less powerful than Eros, and Cronan, a sturdy chestnut pack-horse.
Following Nelwyn and Gaelen proved to be more difficult than Galador had foreseen. For one thing, the She-elves were not mounted and could therefore pass obstacles that horsemen would have to ride around. They could negotiate narrow paths, wend their way through tangled undergrowth, and climb sheer, rocky inclines where the horses could not go. For another, they were swift, hardy, and unencumbered by a comrade whose strength and endurance were in doubt. Galador didn’t really hold much hope of catching them so long as Rogond was with him, but neither would he risk leaving his closest friend behind. He had observed that men were occasionally quite sensitive about the relative frailty of their bodies. It didn’t help matters that many Elves weren’t shy about reminding them; though most tried to be kind, they were often seen as patronizing. The last thing Galador wanted was to hurt his friend’s dignity.
Rogond had managed to mount his horse with some help from Galador, but he could not make speed. He was still very weak, and Galador feared he would fall if pressed too hard. It fell to Galador to dismount and follow what signs there were; even after all this time there was more evidence of the passing of the enemy than of the two Wood-elves. Rogond trailed behind, keeping a watchful eye for any who would approach.
As the afternoon waned, Rogond suddenly swayed in the saddle as a wave of dizziness took him. He leaned over the horse’s neck, clutching at the thick, black mane, fighting the darkness that clouded his sight as a deafening roar filled his ears. Perhaps this had not been such a wise idea, but there was no turning back now. Galador sensed his distress and was soon at his side, his face disquieted.
"Are you fit to continue? If not, we can rest for a while." He shook his head. "You look truly ill, my friend. It makes no sense to drain your strength in this pursuit. Let’s make camp and continue tomorrow."
Rogond considered for a moment. Though he struggled against it, his body probably wasn’t strong enough to continue. Yet to rest now would mean losing the She-elves, perhaps forever. They would need his aid—he was certain of it. He bit his lip, the pain bringing his thoughts back to clarity and his vision into focus. He knew that Galador would stop rather than risk his friend’s return to health. Rogond would just have to convince him.
"I feel my strength coming back…I’ll be fine to ride yet awhile. We dare not wait, Galador. You know it."
"Yes, they have gained ground on us since this morning, and I fear they will not rest or delay their pursuit," said Galador. "Our only hope lies in the enemy. If it reaches the river and decides to cross, they will lose the sign, for they cannot follow across the river on foot. For that they will need a boat…or horses."
He looked up at Rogond, whose face brightened at the prospect. If Gaelen or Nelwyn needed to cross the icy-cold river, they would have to wait until the horses arrived. From then on, all would travel together. The thought cheered both Rogond and Galador, and they continued their slow progress to the south and east, toward the River Ambros.
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