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By Root 982 0

but something rather different, akin to the dark irrational terror that grips a suddenly lost child. Only now did he understand that Tzerlag did not just fetch him water through the Elf-infested forest at Osgiliath, did not only carry him on his back under the nose of the sentries at Minas Morgul – no, all this time the scout had also shielded the doctor with his powerful and comforting 'there's a man in the house' protective aura, and this aura was now in tatters. To be honest, Haladdin had agreed to this mission of vengeance only because he had firmly decided that it was better to be in any kind of a bind, but with Tzerlag – and had guessed wrong this time. The circle has been completed: Eloar paid for Teshgol, in a few hours they will pay for this camp… Then, frightened and despairing, he yelled in the Orocuen's face:

"Are you happy now?! First-rate vengeance, still can't get enough of it?! You paid with all of us for one Elvish bastard, may the earth swallow him and his ilk forever!"

"What did you say?" the scout echoed in a strange tone. "May the earth swallow this Elf forever?"

Chapter 13

Suddenly Haladdin, brought up short, beheld before him the usual Tzerlag – the one who knows what to do.

"Sorry," he mumbled guiltily, looking away.

"Whatever, it happens. Bygones. Now, try to remember exactly – you too, Baron – did that

pair of Easterlings beat it before or after I took on Eloar?"

"Before, I think…"

"Before, Sergeant, I'm positive – bet my life on it."

"Right. So they can't possibly know that Eloar is dead or that he even fought… All right. Now, doctor – can the baron walk at least a couple of miles, with crutches?"

"With crutches – yes, I think so. I'll stuff him full of analgesics… There will be a bad reaction afterwards."

"Do it, doctor, or he won't have any 'afterwards'. Put together the medkit, some water and those breads, nothing else. Oh, and some weapons, just in case."

A few minutes later the sergeant handed Tangorn a pair of cross-shaped crutches he had just fashioned out of shortened Easterling spears and began laying out instructions.

"We'll split now. You two will get on the edge of the hamada and head north…"

"North?! But that's where the outpost is!"

"Exactly."

"Oh, I see – do the opposite of what the foe expects?"

"You got it, doc. Listen. Don't stray from the hamada to the sand. If – no, when – the baron conks out, you'll have to carry him. Don't lose the crutches, hear? Watch that the wound does not reopen, or else there'll be blood drops on the stones. The most important thing for you right now is to not leave any tracks; that's easy on the hamada, it's all gravel. I'll catch up with you in two, two-and-a-half hours."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'll explain later, every minute counts now. Forward march, warriors!.. Wait – gimme a couple cola nuts, I could use them, too."

After seeing his comrades move off, the scout got busy. He had plenty of things to do, most of them small and easily overlooked ones. For example, he had to gather all the stuff that might come in handy later, should they survive this bind – from Elvish weapons to Tangorn's books – and bury it, carefully noting landmarks. Then to prepare his own sack – water, rations, warm cloaks, weapons – and stash it on the hamada. Now for the most important task.

Tzerlag's idea, prompted unexpectedly by Haladdin's outburst, was simple. Suppose that Eloar had not perished in the attack, but ran off into the desert and got lost? That would be quite likely – an Elf in a desert is like an Orocuen in a forest – and his comrades would first and foremost search for their prince (or whoever he was), and only then for the guerillas who wasted six Easterling mercenaries (no big loss). He now had to turn this preposterous supposition into certain fact.

He took moccasins off the Elf's feet and picked up the cut-up leather breastplate; saw a simple silver ring on the corpse's left hand and pocketed that, too, just in case. Then he dug a pit about two feet deep, put the corpse there and covered