The Sign of the Prancing Pony by Uvatha the Horseman

Nazgul Slip Through the Gates

The Nazgul arrived at the South Gate a little after noon. Beyond it was their target, the town of Bree. Khamul reined in. “Let’s find a quiet place to leave the horses. Somewhere they can graze, but won’t be seen.”

“I’d put a concealment spell on them, too. No sense trusting things to chance.” Adunaphel said.

The road passed though a wooden gate, a structure of heavy timbers bound in iron. At the moment, it stood open. Beyond it, the buildings and shops of the town were easily visible.

To reach the gate, they had to cross a footbridge over the trickle of water running in the ditch outside the Hedge. Khamul set foot on the weathered boards. Almost immediately, he felt unwell.  Adunaphel held his elbow until they reached firm ground on the other side.

The gate stood open. The gatekeeper, an old man, blocked their way. “What’s your business here?” He glared at them as if all his problems were their fault.

“We’re just passing through on our way to the Greenway and points north.”

“I'm not happy about letting your kind in for any reason, not even during the day.” Our kind? We’re the only ones here. The other seven are bottled up in Minas Morgul.

The gate-keeper waved a hand to the outside of the Hedge. “If you want the Greenway, go around outside the Hedge.”

Khamul fingered the hilt of his dagger, out of sight under his cloak. “I’d hoped to stop by the Inn, the Prancing Pony. We just talked to Nob’s father, and he asked us to check on his boy.”

“If you give me the message, I’d be happy to pass it on.”

Adunaphel took over. Her voice was low and persuasive. Khamul recognized the spell she was weaving, having falling under it himself. The gatekeeper seemed to relax. His forbidding manner became helpful and friendly. “Stay on this road, and you’ll see the sign,” said the gatekeeper.

That was unexpected. Khamul sheathed his dagger.

The gatekeeper opened a ledger book. “What are your names? Your true names, mind you. None of that secret identity stuff you folk are given to.”

Khamul spoke to Adunaphel’s without words. “What is he talking about?” Nazgul go by their true names, unless they had a compelling reason not to. He looked at Adunaphel, who shrugged. They wrote their names in the book, and the gatekeeper waved them through.

Once they were through the gate, Khamul looked around. Well-kept houses with tidy gardens lined both sides of a broad street paved in cobblestone. The houses were closely spaced. In many cases, they touched.

They knocked on the first door they came to. No one answered. On the fifth knock, a door did open a crack, but before Khamul could say, “Can I ask a question?” the door slammed in his face.

Many of the structures on the main street housed shops, including blacksmith, cooper, and baker. The tradesmen listened to their questions and accepted their coins but didn’t tell them anything useful.

Adunaphel unfolded a sheet of parchment. “The map says there’s an alley just ahead, off the main road.”

The alley consisted of back gardens facing each other with a footpath in between. Withy fences protected the rows of cabbage and string beans from wandering livestock and free-range children. They could have been in any village in Middle Earth.

There was no one around, or so they thought at first. In one back-garden, a woman was hanging laundry from a line between fruit trees.

Khamul leaned over the withy fence. “Will you talk to us for a few minutes? I have money.”

She couldn’t slam the door in his face because they were both outside. She couldn’t avoid them, short of going inside with her task unfinished. She did start to pick up the basket, still half full of wet clothes, but she put it down again.

Khamul offered her a coin. She accepted it with a look that said, ‘I’m only doing this to get rid of you.’ “Fine. But make it quick. I have chores to finish.”

“Has anything strange happened around here recently?” asked Khamul.

“You’re in Bree. We’re not an isolated farm village like Archet or Straddle, we’re at a major crossroads. That’s why they say, Strange as news from Bree.”

“Has anyone developed a skill all of a sudden, like speaking an unfamiliar language, that they didn’t have before?

Khamul heard Adunaphel's voice in his head.  “Let me try. She might be open to girl talk.”

Adunaphel spoke in a confidential tone. “Have you noticed if anyone’s acquired an almost supernatural knack of finding things that are lost? Like a thimble you loaned to someone, but forgot who? A letter you put somewhere safe, safe even from yourself?  A jar of coins buried in the garden that you couldn’t find later, when you went to dig it up?”

The woman seemed to relax. “Ask me if I couldn’t I use a magical power like that! Just yesterday, the plunger for the butter churn went missing. I had the heavy cream all ready, and the plunger was just gone. Come to find out, the boys had taken it outside to play sword fighting, and they left it under a bush.”

She picked up her empty basket and balanced it against her hip. “But have I heard of anyone being able to do that? No, nothing of the sort. Not for anyone in all of Bree. I’d have heard. But a gift like that, it sure would come in handy.”