On the Wings of the Storm

Chapter 1

I opened my mouth to protest, but closed it again when Dirhael shook his head. After all he had been chosen as the leader of my guard because he'd been to Rohan before. And because the old soldier had known me from childhood.

The Marshal noticed anyway and his eyes glittered with amusement. "I will see you there, my lady, and you can explain more fully what fortuitous chance brings you to our lands." He gave an order in his own tongue and one of his riders trotted forward. "This is Breca, your guide." All trace of amusement gone from his face, he gave a curt nod. "Now I have to make haste, for we're hunting orcs, doing our best to keep you safe."

Before I could think of an answer he urged his stallion forward, his riders passing us by either side like water flowing around a rock. The mist swallowed them up once more.

I looked at Dirhael and he sighed. "Lord Éomer commands their Eastern forces. He is the king's nephew."

"Oh!"

I bit my lip. What had my father said to me at our leave taking? I rely on you to conduct yourself with all due courtesy, for you will be seen as representing our country and one day soon we might need Rohan's aid. But then he should have known better to send me instead of Elphir, the diplomat of the family!

***

We reached Aldburg late the following day. Whoever had long ago decided to settle here had chosen well. Nestled against the mountainside and encircled by a broad wall, it commanded the road. Our guide exchanged a few words with the guards at the gates and wearily we followed him between low houses thatched with straw. He led us to the heart of the town, a cobbled square fronted on three sides by houses and stables and overlooked by a mighty hall built entirely from wood. This apparently was the seat of Lord Éomer, where we were supposed to wait for him.

Well, I did not mind, for it meant the first hot bath and proper bed after eight days on the road from Minas Tirith. I felt so tired that I did not even bother to get out one of my books to read that evening, and when I laid my head on the soft goose feather pillow, I was sure nothing could possibly wake me up.

However, I thought wrong. In the middle of the night shouts and the clatter of hooves tore me from formless dreams. I sat up straight in my bed, my heart pounding. Where was I? Then I remembered and hastily throwing a robe over my nightdress got up to investigate. Dirhael met me in the hallway outside my room, naked sword in hand. He stopped a servant hurrying by with a pile of linens. "What is the matter?"

"The Marshal has returned," the woman explained. "We have to see to the wounded." She carried on down the hallway.

Looking after her, I hesitated, for I knew a little leech craft, learnt from the healers in Dol Amroth. Should I offer my help? Coming to a decision I stepped back into my room and unearthed the small satchel of healing supplies from my pack.

Dirhael had sheathed his sword. "Lothíriel, what are you doing?"

"I want to help." I headed out the door again, my captain following behind.

At the sight meeting me in the hall I rocked to a halt on the threshold. The tables had been pushed back against the wall and the wounded lay in long rows on the floor. My bile rose at the smell of vomit and fresh blood filling the enclosed space. Groans rose from them and somewhere a woman sobbed hysterically. I hesitated. What good could I do here? And they were not even my own people. Dirhael looked at me, a question in his eyes. I shook myself. They were people. Swallowing down my nausea, I approached the first of them.

A child! Forgetting my discomfort I knelt down beside the boy. He had a gash on the side of his head, inexpertly bandaged and bleeding sluggishly. "Get me boiled water!" I told Dirhael and started to unwrap the stained linens.