Chapter 5: Rogvold

Who the hell is that again? - Thorin grumbled through his teeth, but still opened the door.
I apologize if I disturbed you… - a quiet voice with clearly audible metallic notes was heard.

A tall, gray-haired man, already very old, but dry, fit, carefully entered the room; on his tanned face under thick gray eyebrows, bright blue eyes of such rare purity stood out that the dwarf could not help but admire them - as he would admire precious gems. Smooth skin stretched over slightly protruding cheekbones, deep folds ran from the wings of his nose to the corners of his mouth, a fine network of wrinkles lay in the corners of his eyes; the lower part of his face was hidden by a neat snow-white beard that ran in a straight ribbon from one ear to the other. He wore a simple brown jacket and high leather boots; on his belt, on each side, hung two short knives. He had tied his long hair with a leather cord so that it would not cover his eyes.

Folco propped himself up on his elbow, trying to get a better look at the stranger, while Thorin gave him a very unfriendly look and, in response to his first phrase, grumbled something under his breath like: “You did disturb me.”

I just entered the inn, - the stranger continued, - and the first thing I heard was the story of your skirmish with the strangers. I hurried to find out if I could be of any use to you…

The dwarf’s gaze, fixed on the stranger, seemed to say more clearly than words: “You can be very useful if you rid us of your presence.” The newcomer looked at the hobbit’s bruised back, rummaged in a small leather pouch hanging at his belt, and handed the dwarf a pack of dry leaves with a strong, pungent smell.

This is celema, - said the gray-haired man. - I see, venerable dwarf, you have already used your remedies… so, sour stonecrop, two-headed bolten and cave moss - all correct. But it will be very good for your injured friend if you follow my advice and brew celema as well.
How do you… you know our remedies? - the dwarf asked in bewilderment.
I have lived a long time and traveled a lot, - the stranger smiled. - I have been to your parts, in the south of the Lunar Mountains, and even befriended Hort, one of your elders.
How did you guess that I was from the south of the Lunar Mountains? - Thorin was completely confused.
Only in the south of the Lunar Mountains do they make five-layered forged axes with a spike, - the stranger answered with a grin. - In the North they are three-layered, in Moria there is a characteristic wavy pattern on the blade, in the Lonely Mountain instead of a spike there is a small anvil with the image of a mountain, and besides, the axe itself is rounded. The Iron Hills are distinguished by double-sided axes also in five layers, while their single axes are more like poleaxes. Well, shall we get acquainted? - He smiled broadly, welcomingly. - My name is Rogvold, son of Mstar, and locally - Rogvold the Oak. The Bree-landers nicknamed me that for my endurance and for the fact that I just can’t seem to get old.

Thorin and Folco introduced themselves. Rogvold nodded, and then began to fuss around the prostrate Folco with the dwarf. He questioned them about what had happened, from time to time asking short questions, smiling enigmatically and nodding in different places of their story.

So, they were all in green? They sat separately from everyone else? A jester boy? Interesting…

Gradually, the dwarf and the hobbit became more and more animated, Thorin had no trace of the dislike he had so clearly shown a few minutes earlier. When the hobbit brought the story to his accurate throw, a clear disapproval appeared on Rogvold’s face, but he thought, sighed and shook his head.

No, I’m still wrong, - he said. - You did as you should, although not everyone understood it. Continue!

The hobbit spoke of the appearance of the hunchback. Rogvold suddenly started and looked at him very attentively.

You said his name was Sandello? The hunchback Sandello? - He leaned back with a look of utter amazement. - You were very lucky, Folco, son of Hamfast. You could have been killed with bare hands, without even getting up from the table!

Folco choked, the dwarf’s eyes widened. Both silently looked at Rogvold.

I knew him, - he said slowly, as if with difficulty recalling some long-past events. - I saw him several times at tournaments in Annúminas. Despite his height, he took first prizes in sword fighting three times in a row. It always seemed to me that he lived only to prove to everyone at these tournaments that he was the same as everyone else, and even better. But the Steward did not like him, and he did not invite Sandello to his guard, I don’t know why. However, the Steward is a good judge of people… I don’t know what Sandello has been doing all these years - he is about twenty years younger than me. I heard that he became either a hunter or a gold prospector… - Rogvold shook his head again. - Fate is capricious! I would like to know who he serves now, and that he serves is as clear as day. Whose voice was it that made the hunchback give up his favorite pastime?! Rogvold paced the room. - It’s okay, we’ll meet this Sandello again! - the dwarf grumbled, but it was clear that after the new acquaintance’s story, his determination had diminished.
People like Sandello are very expensive, - Rogvold continued, not listening to the dwarf. - But if he takes someone’s side, he will not betray them until his very death… By the way, the decoction is ready.

He went to the cauldron boiling on the fire, took it off the tripod and poured a dark, fragrant liquid into a mug.

Burning himself, Folco drank the hot decoction, while Rogvold gently rubbed his back with the boiled leaves. The new remedy worked very quickly - the pain in his back disappeared completely, and only his head was a little dizzy. Folco blissfully burrowed under the blanket and began to listen as Rogvold told about himself, answering the dwarf’s impatient questions.

I am a native Arnorian, born and raised in Annúminas. In my youth, I was distinguished by my strength and for this I was taken by the Steward - in those years just as young, just appointed to this post - into the city’s mounted guard. I was a decurion, then a centurion, I went on the memorable Last March to the North thirty years ago, when orc settlements were spotted there, and I rose to the rank of a commander of five hundred. But the years went by, I grew old, and one fine day I left the King’s service and became a freelance hunter. Now I wander through the forests, catch falcons and gyrfalcons, tame them, teach them and sell them in Annúminas for the Steward’s Hunt. That’s basically it. - He spread his hands a little guiltily.
And where are you heading now, venerable Rogvold? - Thorin asked.
I’m on my way to Annúminas. Perhaps we’re going the same way?
Yes, we are also heading there. - What made a dwarf from the Lunar Mountains and a hobbit from a quiet country that has become a fairy tale for many go there? Forgive my question, but this is a rare case even in our quiet - relatively, of course, time, that a hobbit goes to Annúminas, and alone! Folco and Thorin exchanged glances. - We have an important matter for the Steward, - Thorin answered calmly. - Could you, venerable Rogvold, advise us on how to arrange to see him as soon as possible?
Many seek an audience with the Steward, - the hunter answered, trying not to show his surprise, - but to see, let alone speak with him, you will have to wait quite a long time. First, you will submit a petition to the Steward’s Chancellery with a statement of your request. Then you will receive a response from a junior clerk of the Chancellery, where you will be assigned a date for a conversation with one of the Steward’s secretaries - he must make sure that the topic really deserves to be heard by the Steward himself.
But our case is special, we cannot retell it to all the pettifoggers of Annúminas! - the dwarf was indignant.
By the way, you may be asked not to burden the Chancellery with extra work at all, - Rogvold smiled. - Don’t you know that dwarves are not subjects of the Northern Crown and, therefore, should turn to their ambassadors in Annúminas if they have any difficulties in trade or craft matters! The petition should be written by a hobbit - they are still in a special position. So the Great King bequeathed, and his word is still sacred. The dwarf scratched the back of his head. - How many days will that be? - At least a month, - was the answer. - I know what crowds besiege the Steward with their petitions. Almost all of their cases can be resolved by lower-ranking officials - and in the end it turns out that way, but for some reason everyone strives to start from the very top.

The dwarf looked sourly at the hobbit curled up in a ball.

There is a way out, - Rogvold spoke again. - The Steward knows and remembers me. If you tell me what your business is, I may be able to give you some good advice. However, I don’t want to impose myself in any way, and, I beg you, don’t think that I’m trying to pry any of your secrets out of you.

After some hesitation, the dwarf briefly repeated what he had told Folco on the first night of their meeting. Rogvold listened calmly, thoughtfully sucking on his pipe, and when Thorin fell silent, he began to speak, stroking his beard with his left palm:

You have just told of amazing events, Thorin. In the years when I served at the Steward’s court, I happened to hear that in the archive left to King Elessar by Elrond Half-elven, the lord of Rivendell, there were amazing tales of the Underworld, the World that lies below the deepest settlements and mines of the dwarves. And I recall that somewhere in the very heart of the mountains, the soldiers of Morgoth, that very First Great Enemy, of whom the subsequent Enemy, Sauron, was merely a prison warden, are still imprisoned from the days of the First Age. Who they are, what it is - I do not know, and I listened to these, as it seemed, worthless rumors with half an ear. Now I regret it. Who knows, maybe this is somehow connected with the current events in Moria? - Rogvold shook his head thoughtfully. - But you are right, we must go to Moria, and if your brethren in the Lunar Mountains refused to do so, let’s try to find companions among the dwarves of Annúminas! The most reckless and desperate young men of your tribe, who are bored with living in the old places, always gather there. It’s decided, I’m going with you!

With a completely young, sharp, springy movement, Rogvold jumped up and paced the room, muttering something under his breath and counting on his fingers. Finally, he stopped and turned to the hobbit: - So, you arrived tonight? Folco and Thorin nodded simultaneously. - Was the road calm? I mean - did you encounter anything unusual on the way? You were on the West Road, weren’t you?

Unusual… - Thorin grinned wryly. - Let’s just say - we encountered more unusual things this night than in all my previous six… or seven? - I don’t remember how many, trips to Bree. It all started with…
I found a corpse on the road! - Folco interjected excitedly, but the dwarf cut him off:
Wait! Everything in order! First of all - that howl that I heard on the approach to Hobbiton, and the second time we both heard it already in Buckland. A terrible howl! Folco says that it reminded him of the memorable descriptions of a similar voice from the Red Book, but we decided that it was completely impossible.
In our time, nothing can be impossible, - Rogvold calmly remarked. - Don’t be so quick to dismiss your guesses, no matter how implausible they may seem to you. I will say that I also heard it - on the approach to Bree. Only I was coming from the south. I heard it twice - late in the evening and already late at night, and it seemed to me that the second time it was somewhat different - more malicious, perhaps.
That’s right! - Folco slapped his forehead, throwing off the blanket and jumping to his feet. The conversation that had started made him completely forget about the beatings he had received. - That’s right! Thorin, then by your count it was already the third - well, when we passed the Barrow-downs! - Yes, there was a third time, - the dwarf nodded, frowning. - But that’s another story. Then there was the corpse that Folco found, I didn’t even notice it in the dark.

Folco told about the dead hobbit. Rogvold listened silently, and his face darkened. - Again! They’ve gotten in here again! - he uttered. It was unclear who he meant, but as soon as Folco was about to ask the old hunter this question, he raised his lowered head again.

Well, that can still be understood, - he said. - Wait, wait, don’t interrupt me, I’ll answer all your questions a little later. What happened is, of course, very sad and sorrowful, but explainable. But was there anything else, something unlike anything else?
No, venerable Rogvold, tell me first, how do you explain this matter with the corpse? - Thorin interrupted him.
I have two assumptions, or, if you like, guesses. The first - the poor fellow fell into the hands of local robbers - don’t be surprised, we have here residents of several villages who have taken to robbery, having fallen out with their neighbors. So, he was probably returning home, to the White Downs, they tracked him down and killed him. The body was left in a conspicuous place - to make them more feared - then it’s easier to show up in some forest village and demand a ransom. They are not very afraid of the guards, because they know the area well and are remarkably good at hiding. Besides, you can’t do much with cavalry in the forest. You have to fight them in other ways.
And the second one? - the hobbit, who was eagerly catching every word, asked impatiently. - Oh, the second one! The second one is much more interesting! Rogvold stood up, tiptoed to the door and suddenly threw it open. The corridor was empty, they were not being eavesdropped on. The hunter carefully bolted the door with the air of a conspirator and beckoned the hobbit and the dwarf to him.
You’ve probably heard about the village of Addorn that was burned down a month ago? You’ve heard, it can’t be that Nob didn’t tell you about it. And he said that those who had been there were chased all the way to the Angmar Mountains, right? Well, did he? - He did, - Toril nodded. - So what? - For two or three years now, - Rogvold said in a quiet, slightly sinister voice, - we have had not just flying gangs of ordinary robbers, but detachments of well-armed mounted warriors, not bad masters of combat, by the way! They attack large convoys, sometimes burn villages, and then disappear as suddenly as they appeared. They don’t shy away from ransom - even from small towns. Who they are and where they come from is still not really known. People say they are from Angmar - but, firstly, all the evil we have always comes from Angmar, that’s just how people are, and secondly, a free people who have left the Kingdom really live in Angmar, there are a lot of them there. We have had skirmishes with these mysterious detachments. As a rule, they avoided open battle, but last year, in the spring, they were cornered pretty well. They lost about four hundred then - by the way, among the dead were not only men, but also orcs. A centurion friend of mine, whom I can trust, told me about this. Then for about seven months it was quite calm - our usual robbers also quieted down, also, by the way, pretty well plucked last winter and spring. And now again! So there you have it, my second assumption: the hobbit was captured by one of these detachments, which had passed unnoticed from our borders to Bree itself. The fact is that these horsemen were very diligent in hunting for prisoners. But most likely either the hobbit could not go on, or he was not needed, and they finished him off, not bothering to even hide the corpse, or maybe they were just in a hurry. .

There was silence. Folco fell silent, realizing that things were starting to get serious.

On the way here, - Rogvold continued, lowering his voice to a barely audible whisper, - I saw something that I would very much like to doubt the truth of, to attribute everything that happened to bad dreams or an unknown illness. I entered Bree through the South Gate, and the Green Road, as you know, runs along the eastern border of the Barrow-downs.

The dwarf and the hobbit involuntarily shuddered. The memories of the terrible lights on the tops of the barrows and the mournful singing in the night silence were too fresh. Both lowered their heads and were silent.

However fleeting the shudder that seized them was, Rogvold noticed it and immediately guessed everything. The old centurion sadly nodded his gray head. - Did you see it too? - he asked quickly. Folco saw that even the seasoned warrior of Arnor could not restrain an involuntary movement that betrayed his anxiety, bewilderment, and a deeply hidden, but still constantly present fear.

Did you see and hear it? - Rogvold repeated. - Old hunters and trackers told me that something strange is happening in the Barrow-downs, that they are coming to life… Then, and it happened two years ago, I didn’t pay any attention to it, because we, the hunters, sometimes like to brag, we have such a habit. But now, when I saw with my own eyes how the marble Fangs on the tops of the hills were blazing, when I heard that terrible song - I confess, I feel a little uneasy. Tell me, what did you see?

Thorin in a few words retold Rogvold their night adventures on the very threshold of Bree. The hunter nodded again.

There is no doubt, - he sighed. - This detachment is from the North. I stumbled upon the tracks of strangely shod horses yesterday afternoon, when I was cutting through the forest. These tracks led in one direction - to the Barrow-downs.
Wait, - Folco intervened. - And why did you decide, venerable Rogvold, that these warriors came from the North?
Not all of them, - Rogvold answered seriously, - but many. You see, their horses are indeed strangely shod. Such horseshoes and such nails are forged only in Angmar. I have been there more than once, when I accompanied the Steward’s embassy. And now I see the same horse tracks a few miles southeast of Bree!
And our detachment was going in the opposite direction, bypassing Bree from the northwest, - the dwarf was surprised.
Is that so? - Rogvold raised his eyebrows. - This is indeed news! So they were going to the Barrow-downs from different directions. They must have had a meeting point there! And we are sitting here in a warm and comfortable inn, not worrying about anything, - the hunter said and bit his lip.
What should we do? - Thorin asked him. - You are experienced, you know the area - help us! After all, what we three saw concerns not only the Bree-landers, but all of Arnor! In my opinion, we should notify the commander of the Arnorian guard!
The commander won’t take a step without a direct order from Annúminas, - Rogvold smiled sadly. - He is guarding Bree. If he is attacked, he will fight, but otherwise… Unlikely, venerable dwarf. Besides, it’s not convenient for cavalry to go into the forest depths.
Interesting! - Thorin jumped to his feet. - So it’s convenient for those horsemen to go into the depths, but not for ours, is that it?!
Well, don’t rush, please, - Rogvold raised his palms as if in defense. - We will, of course, go to the commander, if you really want to. But, I repeat, it will be of little use.
Little or not, I will never forgive myself if I don’t do it! - the dwarf uttered and hastily began to get ready.

He girded himself with his wide belt, tucked his axe into it and looked questioningly at the hobbit.

Despite all his doubts and the awareness of his complete worthlessness in battle, Folco suddenly realized that he could not deceive the dwarf’s expectations, could not, just like that, give Thorin a reason to be disappointed in him and to spit contemptuously for a long time at the mere mention of the hobbit country; and Thorin would be completely indifferent to the reasons that prompted the hobbit to be a coward. And this new, unfamiliar feeling overcame him.

Are you ready, Folco? - the dwarf asked. - How is your back, is it all right?

Thorin turned to the hobbit, already standing on the threshold. Rogvold also rose after them.

I’m fine, - the hobbit answered in a weak but firm voice, trying his best not to let it tremble.

They left the inn, telling Barliman, who they met on the way, that they would be back soon and that he should look after their room. The innkeeper nodded and wished them a pleasant walk: he said that a walk before dinner is useful, it improves the appetite. Folco’s insides clenched as he imagined what this “walk” could turn into. Rogvold walked beside him; the old hunter seemed as calm as a rock.

They walked along the wide, well-kept main street of Bree. Rogvold explained to the hobbit that, like almost all such streets in other Arnorian settlements, it was named after the Great King. They walked past high fences and sturdy gates; behind the fences stood two-story log houses, roofed with gray shingles; the houses were buried in the greenery of gardens, already slightly touched by the autumn crimson. People were bustling about everywhere, paying no attention to the three armed companions.

The street began to slope downwards, gradually descending from the wide, sprawling Bree-hill, and several smaller streets branched off from it; as on the main street, sturdy, well-kept houses stretched along them. All the streets led to the Fence that surrounded Bree on all sides, went out into the open field and turned into ordinary country roads leading to the surrounding villages. Bree, as in the days of Bilbo and Frodo, served as a kind of capital of a rather large island of inhabited lands in the middle of a boundless sea of wilderness. For three hundred peaceful years, the Arnorians had worked hard; however, there were too few of them, and they settled mainly to the north, in the area of Annúminas, Fornost and the lakes lying between them. The previously completely wild area along the Green Road, which had been completely abandoned by the beginning of the Fourth Age, had long been developed; however, people had advanced insignificantly to the east - by about a hundred miles. There were no large settlements there, only small villages. It was they that became the prey of the mysterious mounted warriors.

All this Rogvold retold on the way to the hobbit, who was listening to him with his mouth open, while they were walking towards the long two-story houses visible near the very Fence. Here were housed two hundred Arnorian horsemen, stationed in Bree by order of the Steward after the frequent robber attacks on the East and Green Roads.

It can’t be said that everything was in vain, - said Rogvold. - The guardsmen didn’t get out of their saddles for days, scouring the neighborhood in search of unknown robbers. They caught some and immediately hanged them. It’s quieter now than it was, say, two years ago.

A warrior in full battle gear standing at the entrance silently blocked their path with his long spear.

Who are you going to see, venerable ones? State your business, and I will pass your request to the centurion.
We have an important matter for him, venerable, - Rogvold answered politely to the young warrior. - My friends and I, it seems, know where one of the rebel detachments is located.

A worried and concerned expression appeared on the warrior’s face. He pulled a rope hanging next to him, and somewhere in the depths of the house bells jingled.

Is that certain?! - The guard’s eyes sparkled, the knuckles on his fists, which were convulsively gripping the spear shaft, turned white. - That would be great! An end to all this ugliness then.

Three more similarly armed warriors appeared from the depths of the house. On each - a composite cuirass, a high pointed helmet, at the belt - a long sword, behind the shoulders - a white and blue cloak with an embroidered Arnorian coat of arms. The one walking in the middle, an already elderly, stocky warrior with a tanned, weathered face, stepped forward.

I am Narin, the head of the guard, - he said quietly, a little hoarsely. - What do you want? What do you want to report?

Rogvold repeated. The old warrior did not betray his excitement in any way, except that the voice with which he commanded the newcomers “Follow me” became more hoarse. The guard remained at his post. Rogvold, Folco and Thorin, accompanied by Narin and two silent young warriors, walked into the depths of the vast military house.

They walked down a long corridor and stopped at the farthest door. A sentry also stood next to it.

Is the captain in? - Narin asked the guard. - He is. What is your business with him?
An important matter, let me through quickly! - The sentry silently stepped aside, and Narin, passing by him, threw on the move: - It looks like there will be a fight…

They found themselves in a small, bright room with a pleasant smell of resin coming from the fresh, recently nailed to the walls thin boards. Wide benches stood along the walls: their backs, like the entrance door, were covered with a carved pattern. In the middle stood a large round table, next to it - eight wooden carved armchairs. Various weapons were hung on the walls, the polished steel of a cuirass, crucified like the skin of a strange beast, sparkled. In the opposite wall there was another door, already without any decorations, knocked together from burnt oak beams.

Please be seated, - Narits addressed the guests. - The captain will be out shortly. Hey, Herwin! - he turned to one of the young warriors accompanying him. - Come on, quickly, the map on the table!

The sound of footsteps was heard behind the oak door. All the warriors, including Narin, immediately straightened up and drew themselves up. The captain quickly entered the room and stopped, not reaching the table on which the map was spread by two steps.

I greet you, venerable ones, - a soft, not at all warlike voice sounded. - Was your journey easy? What brought you here? What grievances or insults have stained the honor of the Kingdom, and therefore - my honor? Tell me, and, believe me, we will find a way to satisfy you! For I not only command the Bree guard, I am also the sheriff of this area. I am listening to you!

The captain went to the table and sat down, showing no surprise at the fact that a map was spread out on the table. Now the hobbit could see the commander of the Arnorian detachment properly.

He was young - probably barely thirty. A high forehead, clear eyes, a clean, open, slightly elongated face - all this immediately disposed the hobbit to him. Folco heard Thorin grunt approvingly behind him.

I greet the venerable Rogvold, - the captain continued. - You have not been to Bree for a long time, esteemed one… So, I am listening to you, and let your companions introduce themselves, if they wish! - He leaned back in his chair. - Thorin, son of Dart, a dwarf from the Lunar Mountains. - Folco, son of Hamfast, a Brandybuck, from Hobbiton.

The captain bowed his head politely. - My name is Erster, son of Korst. I am listening to you! The three newcomers exchanged glances. Rogvold coughed and began to speak. And while he was telling about the events that had taken place, Folco watched with surprise and disappointment how the expression on Captain Erster’s face changed. It suddenly became gloomy, depressed, as if he had been informed of the death of a close friend or relative. At the end, the captain could not restrain an exclamation of annoyance.

This is important, very important, all that you have said, - he said slowly. - But I cannot throw my squad into the unknown, just like that, without a direct order! Narin! What do you think about this? The old warrior coughed in embarrassment. - We must advance, captain. Something was glowing in the Barrow-downs last night - that’s for sure. We must, we must definitely check!

He even leaned forward. The faces of the young warriors standing next to him expressed complete approval. However, the captain only grimaced.

I know that myself, - he answered not very politely and began to question the hobbit and the dwarf about all the details of their meeting with the mysterious detachment.

From excitement, the hobbit answered, barely moving his tongue, and thought only of not confusing anything out of fear. Having listened to them, the captain sat for a few moments in deep thought, then raised his head and looked intently first at the dwarf, then at the hobbit.

Is that all you wanted to tell me? Hurry, we need to act quickly.

The dwarf nudged Folco with his elbow, the hobbit looked at him questioningly.

Tell him about the dead man! - Thorin whispered to his friend.

Folco, stammering, somehow managed to tell the story of the murdered hobbit found on the road. The captain grew gloomy, sighed, and then ordered Narin to record it in the report. - These are all leaves of the same tree, as the elves would say, - he uttered, bending over the map again. - One to one… So. Anything else?

Somewhat confused by the obvious indifference to his story, Folco looked down. Then Thorin spoke and from beginning to end told the captain the whole story of the fight in the inn, focusing mainly on the hunchback Sandello and the strangely dressed men in green. The captain started.

This is better! It’s as clear as day that they are from the same company! Well, then, it means they haven’t had time to go far, since you didn’t notice any spare horses in the detachment that went to the Barrow-downs. Well, Narin, it looks like it’s really time for us to act! Sound the alarm, and I’ll send a signal by pigeon post!

Narin grinned with satisfaction and, looking out into the corridor, shouted to the sentry: - Sound the alarm! General assembly! Saddle the horses! A clatter and loud voices were heard in the corridor, and then, announcing to the neighborhood and echoing in the distant forests, the clear, high voice of a large horn sounded.

Well, we have met, and it is time for us to say goodbye, - said the captain. - We thank you for the valuable information. You have honestly done your duty, now it is our turn. May your road be easy, wherever it may lead! And now, farewell. He turned, but Thorin stopped him. - And what about us?! - the dwarf exclaimed. - We want to fight too! I’m not used to hiding behind others’ backs.

The dwarf’s eyes blazed, he was beside himself with anger. The captain calmly turned to him.

This is not your business, - he objected imperturbably. - We, the Arnorian guard, exist for that very reason, so that everyone - both men, and dwarves, and hobbits - can live peacefully. This is our duty, not yours, venerable Thorin. I have no time to argue with you, so I will only say that we have a long march ahead of us, and are dwarves good horsemen? Maybe you know how to fight on horseback? So leave our business to us. Farewell!

The captain disappeared behind the door. Only one very young warrior - a youth, almost a boy - remained with Rogvold, Thorin and Folco.

Please, venerable ones. - His voice sometimes broke into a bass, then rang high. - I will escort you.

They went out into the courtyard in silence. The captain, who had already managed to arm himself, was sitting in the saddle on a tall red stallion. The decurions were giving last orders; each warrior had two horses.

The captain raised his hand. Hooves struck the dust, the formation instantly turned and rushed along the Main Street towards the South Gate. Armor shone, flags fluttered, the sonorous battle horns still sang. The warriors’ faces burned with a dark battle fire.

The squad disappeared. Thorin spat gloomily, tucked his unnecessary battle-axe into his belt, and cursed elaborately.

“What shall we do next, venerable Rogvold?”

The old ranger, who had taken almost no part in the conversation with the captain, merely threw up his hands:

“Let’s think, let’s ponder at our leisure! Erster led his men southeast, not to the Barrow-downs… All right. I suggest we return to the inn now, rest today, get some sleep, and tend to all the scrapes and bruises of our hobbit. And then we’ll all go to Annúminas together! For what you wanted to tell the Steward, I hope, is not exhausted by what you told Captain Erster?!” “Naturally,” the dwarf grumbled. He was angry and taciturn. They turned and slowly walked back to the old inn. The dwarf, judging by his appearance, had cats scratching at his soul, while Folco, on the contrary, made heroic efforts not to jump for joy. The danger had passed for a while, others, specially designated for this purpose, had truly taken over – what could they reproach themselves for? Not everyone has to be a warrior.

They parted with Rogvold at the inn’s threshold. The ranger was going to visit his numerous Bree-land friends. The dwarf and the hobbit, without much thought, had a hearty meal in their room, sat for a while longer, and then went to bed – they had to get up early tomorrow.