We broke camp just after dawn and made our way back to the beach where the ferry was tethered. As planned, Aglahad swam across the western channel with the rope that Lóni had spliced together. We loaded the mounts onto the ferry while Aglahad walked upriver towards a small oak tree. A heron appeared in the scrub there and hopped along the bank before taking off and drifting downriver.
Once he was done, the boy waved across the water and Lofar took up the slack while the rest of us shoved off. Soon we were moving out into midstream and Lofar let out the rest of the rope. The ferry drifted across the river to where the bank jutted steeply from the water.
"Pull us up," I called out but the boy was already reeling us in like a big fish.
Soon the ferry was alongside a muddy landing where the bank rose gently up towards the oak.
I waved at Aglahad. "Tie it off!"
After we'd led the mounts up onto the riverbank, we looked down on the ferry where we left it grounded. One of the cattle herders or fishers would come upon it soon enough. Aglahad had insisted on leaving a note explaining that the ferryman, Gaerion, had been murdered by a skin-changer and that the position was now vacant.
We rode southwest across pasture land and it wasn't long before we picked up the Old Dwarf Road. It was still in use near the river and well-maintained. We rode between the high double walls that were particular to this part of Lindon. They sloped away from the road and were filled in with earth and allowed to overgrow with grass and weeds and shrubs. The walls were largely unbroken but for the odd gateway to either side. But straight ahead, the blue line of the mountains was ever in our sight.
After seven leagues or so, a low stone wall marked the extent of the pasture and we passed through a dark timber gate. Beyond lay fields of potatoes and strawberries and mown tracts dotted with haystacks. Here, dark moss edged the road in the shadow of high brambles and hawthorn. A sky lark hovered, twittering above a field to the north.
Just after noon, the fields abruptly gave way to open heathland. Now the road was all but invisible under moss and mulch but the way ahead was still obvious. The mountains did not seem to be any closer.
The horses walked on. The road dipped and curved to the left around a steep outcrop then rose to a low hill. We paused at the brow; the road faded into the aeglos bushes and thick heather that stretched off into the west.
"What now?" Aglahad said.
"The road has been heading west of northwest since the river, as straight as a spear." Lóni said.
"If we keep our heading we should reach the pass," Lofar concluded.
"Easier said than done in this heather," Finduilas commented.
I stood in my stirrups and looked around. "We could follow that tracker's path there." It was little more than a line where the heather was not as thick.
"It seems to be going off to the southwest," Aglahad said.
The Ranger walked her horse on. "We have little choice."
We rode single file along the path for the rest of the afternoon. Finduilas led and I took up the rear. The path curved and dipped with the land but did not deviate too far from its south-westerly heading. As the sun started to lower towards the mountains, I reached into my tunic for the etching that Raindis had given to me.
I pulled on my reins and urged the others to rest. I unfolded and turned the crumpled parchment, glancing between it and the mountains.
"Do you recognise anything?" Aglahad said.
"Nothing seems to match."
We rode on for another mile or so when the path forked away to the west.
This time Finduilas halted the line. She stood and looked down the path. "It seems to be as straight as this one."
"I still think we should be further north," Lofar said.
"These paths were made by Elven hunters," Lóni pointed out. "Who knows where they lead?"
"So far," I said, "they have led us towards the mountains. And that is where we are headed."
Finduilas seemed to share my faith; she turned her horse and led us along the fork. As I clicked my tongue at Losnoron, I sensed something was amiss. There was a swishing sound like a sudden gust of wind across a barley field. Then a brown shape sprung from the heather behind Aglahad.
But Bronweg had already seen it. She sidestepped and turned as a huge mountain cat leapt up from the scrub, its front paws spread out and its claws extended. Finduilas was already drawing her bow as the beast landed and ran towards her. Lofar swung his hand-axe down, slashing nothing but air. Finduilas's horse danced back and her arrow went wild. I jabbed at the cat but it pawed at my staff as though it were a game. Finduilas loosed another arrow and it found its mark in the beast's flank. It yelped in pain and seemed to retreat. But then it readied itself to pounce again before another arrow appeared between its shoulder blades. The cat slumped to the ground.
Aglahad was already running towards it, holding Bregedúr out. He raised the sword and drove it down past the arrow and into the cat's heart.
"Did you see the size of it?" he cried, his voice trembling. He turned to Lofar. "It was almost as big as your pony."
"What is a mountain cat doing down here?" Lóni said.
"Ten leagues from the mountains," his brother finished.
"Hunger?" Aglahad said. "That would explain why it attacked us."
"They usually ambush lone travellers," I said. "No, not hunger. Not in midsummer. I fear there is some dark power at work here."
As the others stared at the dead cat, I realised that they were half-expecting the skin-changer's dead body to be lying there.
"Come," Finduilas said dismissively. "We should be on our guard. If the world is turning upside down."
But the twins were already working together with their hand-axes on one of the back legs.
* * *
I kept referring to my etching as we rode. One mountain looked much like the other now. The path curved gradually northward, to the pleasure of the Dwarves.
By early evening, the dimming light turned the heath purple and the path became difficult to discern.
"We should make camp soon," Aglahad suggested. But we remained silent. It was after heading north for another few miles that the land started to slope downwards to a narrow river. This was indeed a barrier after the gurgling streams we had been fording throughout the day. Again, we paused, looking east and west along the river for a place to cross.
"What is that?" Finduilas said, pointing to the northwest. A mile or so upstream and beyond the river stood two pillars.
"Perhaps some way marker," I said. "The path leads towards them. Perhaps the hunters of Lindon know of a crossing there."
We made our way towards the pillars and soon enough the sound of rushing water rose before us. A wide ford spanned the river, a furlong or so downstream of the pillars. I led the others up the gentle slope of the northern bank and onto the Dwarf Road.
"See," Lofar said. "I said we should ride north and north is where the road sits."
Its stones were bare here but uneven. The horses walked gingerly towards the pillars. I took the etching out once more and almost slapped my brow as I looked at the scene before me. The borders of the etching, with their Dwarven knotwork, matched the pillars before us.
"Here!" I called out and the others stared at me. "Come, look at this." We gathered together before the pillars and I passed the etching to Aglahad. "See the mountains there?"
He looked at the etching, then at the mountains between the two pillars. A broad smile spread across his face. "A great draftsman made this! The horizon is exactly the same." He passed the map to Lofar. "And those two peaks, marked with the runes. See?"
Lofar looked at me and laughed. "T and G. Tumunzahar and Gabilgathol."
* * *
We made camp between the Dwarven pillars then watched a murmuration of starlings throbbing and pulsating against the golden western horizon while Lofar prepared dinner. Aglahad was rummaging in his bag and now he pulled out a green bottle.
"Ah!" Lofar sighed. "More faegwîn."
"Mead," said the boy as he worked on uncorking the bottle. "I bought it in Tharbad." He finally popped the cork and took a swig, handed it to Lofar.
I glanced across the campfire at Finduilas as she dabbed her burns with my lissuin balm. Lóni was trying to light his pipe as though it were the most important thing in the world. Suddenly his ruddy face glowed in the dark. For a flickering moment, all about us was green and daylight.
Lóni looked up towards the mountains. "Mahal is working in his forge tonight."
"Mahal?" Aglahad said. A low rumble of thunder rolled across the plains.
"Aulë," I murmured.
There was another flash of lightning over the mountains. "That's what our father used to say," Lofar said. "On warm summer evenings such as this."
Lóni puffed his pipe and gazed into the darkness. "He was a burned Dwarf," he murmured. Lofar smiled; he raised the bottle of mead and took a gulp.
"What do you mean?" Aglahad said.
When I touched his forearm, he sensed it was one of those times to be quiet. I looked at the twins. "You fought in the War?"
Lofar passed the bottle to Lóni. "We all fought in the War, Siriondil."
"We saw our uncles, our cousins, our father fall."
"I thought your people built tombs for your dead."
I cringed at the Aglahad's lack of tact. It seemed that he couldn't let it be. I turned to the twins. "Lóni, Lofar. If I may, I would explain a little of your history to my ward here before he puts his other boot in his mouth."
Lofar guffawed, almost toppled over into the fire but Lóni sat gazing up at the sky towards the west.
I turned back to Aglahad. "You have learned of the Battle of Nanduhirion –"
Lóni took the bottle from his mouth and swallowed. "- Azanulbizar."
"Forgive me, Lóni. The Dwarven name is such a mouthful."
"Yes," Aglahad said, suddenly remembering his history. "The final battle of the War, fought between the Dwarves and the Orcs before the East-gate of Moria."
Lóni passed the mead back to his brother. "Many Dwarves died in that battle, laddie. Too many to give proper burials to."
"So," I continued, "rather than leaving their kin to bird and beast, the survivors felled every tree in the valley and set great pyres."
"He was a burned Dwarf." Lóni looked past the flames of the fire and met Aglahad's gaze.
The boy was silent for a moment, then realised his blunder. "Forgive me, friends. I meant no harm. I -"
"Nonsense," Lóni said. "We say it proudly, in honour of our kin who fell."
"It was a hard fought battle," I said. "In a fierce war of retribution."
"Aye, retribution," Lóni said. "Vengeance played a part, indeed –"
"Vengeance for the slaying of King Thrór," Aglahad said proudly.
"- but our true cause was to retake Khazad-dûm."
Lofar held out the mead bottle. "Brother, would you take another nip?" he said, a little too loudly. I glanced at Finduilas; I wasn't the only one who thought Lofar wanted his brother to be quiet.
Lóni held his palm out. "They may as well know." He glanced at each of us through his pipe smoke before changing his mind about the drink and gesturing to Lofar to pass him the half-empty bottle. He gestured towards Aglahad and I. "When first we met in Tharbad, we were not journeying to Thorin's Halls. We were journeying from there."
Lofar sighed. "We've been sent by Thorin to find Glamdring. But why he wants it, we don't know."
Lóni glowered at him. "We do know." He tapped his pipe on a small log near the fire.
I cleared my throat. "Perhaps it is time you revealed your true purpose."
"I for one," said Finduilas, "do not relish venturing into the ruins of Belegost with those I cannot trust."
We looked around the fire at each other, nodding.
"This sword, Glamdring," Lóni continued, "has the power to slay Durin's Bane."
"You mean to take back Moria?" Aglahad said.
"We mean to find the sword and take it back to Thorin."
"And once you have the sword," Finduilas said. "What then? Who will wield it? Thorin?"
Lóni shook his head. "Some other power than ours must come before Durin's folk may walk again in Khazad-dûm."