The Sign of the Prancing Pony by Uvatha the Horseman

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Nazgul at the West Gate

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Late in the afternoon, a heavy overcast moved in, threatening rain. Twilight came early. Shops began to close, and people disappeared from the streets.

The Nazgul had reached the western-most part of town, where the houses were scaled down in size, with round windows and doors. The folk who lived here were of a distinctly different race than those on the east side of town, of shorter stature and stockier.

Khamul was getting discouraged. “I think we’ve approached every single person in Bree. Most wouldn’t talk to us at all, and the ones that did didn’t know anything useful.”

“What about that lady sweeping her front step?” said Adunaphel.

“We already talked to her. Remember how she went on about her cats?

“That shop is open. The one with bolts of cloth on the counter.” She pointed to a draper’s stall, where bolts of fabric in spring green, deep red, and sky blue were on display.

“You just like shopping. Do you really have to buy something everywhere we stop?”

The counter was of ordinary height, but the shop-keeper stood on a box to reach it. They tried to speak to him, but he waved away the coin they offered.

They trudged back toward the Great Road. The streets were empty, and every shop had been shuttered for the night.

“My feet hurt. Let’s find somewhere to sit down,” said Adunaphel.

They came to a small square with a fountain at its center. Adunaphel sank to the curb surrounding it and refused to move. “I just want to pull off my boots and soak my feet for an hour. Will you join me?” She patted the stone beside her.

Khamul approached, but only so far. “Sorry. I don’t like running water.”

Twilight became night. “Why do we have to keep looking for it? Couldn’t he just make himself another one?”

Khamul sighed. “We’ve had this conversation. Numerous times.”

Time went by in silence, until Adunaphel said, “You know what? The Inn must be open by now. We should go back there to sit in a quite corner and listen to what people say after they’ve had a bit to drink. We could learn more at the Inn than we did all day.”

“You just want to sit down and not do anything,” said Khamul.

“I also want to get something to eat,” she said.

Fat drops of rain stuck the cobblestones, leaving splashes the size of pennies. Within a few minutes, it began to rain in earnest. Adunaphel wrapped her arms around herself, shivering. Khamul offered her a hand and pulled her to her feet.

“I just realized, we haven’t talked to the gatekeeper at this end of town. He’d have questioned everyone who came in. Maybe he knows something.”

The West Gate, where the Great Road passed through the hedge, was sealed off by a pair of heavy wooden doors secured by a stout beam. Even the openings that pierced the gate. the spy holes and a sally port little bigger than a cat door,  were closed.

A light burned inside the gatekeeper’s cottage. Khamul pulled the bell chain. Metal clanged on metal. There was a shout from within. “The gates are sealed. No one goes in or out until morning.”

They huddled together under the eaves, which afforded a little bit of shelter from the rain. “I don’t need to go out, I just want to talk to you,” Adunaphel said in her sweetest voice.

The old man came out holding a lantern. Misting rain showed in its light. “Make it quick.” But he must have been bored, or lonely, because he seemed willing enough to talk to her.

“Has anyone come in today, maybe someone with abilities you wouldn’t expect them to have?” Adunaphel’s voice was low and soothing.

A feeling of warmth spread over Khamul. It made him feel safe and trusting and relaxed. And annoyed, because he knew what it was. He stepped away from her, leaving the shelter under the eaves for the full force of the rain. The feeling faded. Adunaphel’s persuasion spell had a very short range.

The old man, who was standing quite close to her, seemed to be liking it. He had relaxed considerably, and he was talking as if he wanted to impress her.

“Something odd did happen today. I had a funny customer. One of them Rangers he was. I should have sent him around the hedge, but for some reason, I let him in.

“He didn’t even write a proper name in the ledger, not like you’re supposed to. Under the florid script, it said ‘A. Traveler.’ And his boy didn’t sign the ledger at all.”

“His boy?”

“His son, I was thinking at the time, but it could have been some other kinsman, or a servant. I didn’t ask. I felt sort of woozy when I talked to them, and didn’t enforce the new rules as strict as I might.”

“Once they were through the gate, my head cleared, and I realized I shouldn’t have let them in. I went to call them back, but they’d vanished, him and the boy both. It was like they’d just disappeared into thin air. There weren’t on the main road, and they weren’t in the alleys. There were just gone.”

Khamul listened closely. It sounded like the Ranger had used a spell of some sort. Rangers had amazing skills in woodcraft and tracking, but unlike the Nazgul, they did not have magic. So if this Ranger had used magic, where did he get it?

It was possible the Ranger had found that which they sought. Khamul felt like he’d been punched in the gut.

“If they stayed in Bree, where might they be?” Adunaphel asked the gatekeeper.

“Unless they were just passing through, which seems likely for folk who live in the wild, they’d be staying at the Prancing Pony. There are a few widows in town with a spare room to let, and a few ale-houses with a counter for pouring and a bench outside, but only local people would know of them.”

“Next stop, the Prancing Pony?” Adunaphel asked him.

Khamul felt torn between his desire to lay hands on what they were seeking and his fear of Rangers. But if anyone had it, it would be a Ranger, not some farmer or alewife who wouldn’t understand its importance.

Khamul steeled himself for whatever lay ahead. “Let’s go.”