The trail had finally grown cold.
Neither at the Hengstacer Farm nor in Trestlebridge did Cutch find the merest clue to his wife’s passage. Perhaps his beloved Seregrian had slipped over the Bridge unnoticed, or maybe she had not come this way at all. Doubts arose in his mind about whether her destination lay anywhere north of Bree, the last place where she’d likely been. Still, he’d ridden into the North Downs as far as he could before he must choose his next destination: Ost Forod or Esteldin. At the crossroads, he stared at the silent signpost, hoping to find advice, which of course did not come.
Was he truly on a fool’s errand after all? If his “mell bereth” had intended him to be with her, would she not have insisted on his company? Was she making the same mistake he’d made years ago that not only revealed his trueheritage but also cost him his right eye? No, she was not so unwise as to make that same decision. Perhaps she thought his presence would somehow interfere with her intentions, whatever they might be, and she was counting on him to trust her to go alone. If that were the case, then he was indeed on a fool’s errand.
Why, then, was he still driven to continue? Of course, he knew the answer, and it occurred to him that it was at best selfish; she still took his breath away, and he had been too long without Her presence. But was that foolish, or simply the instincts of a devoted mate? The signpost remained silent on that point as well, and stubbornly pointed out his choices, one of which was to go back the way he’d come.
Return home, and do … what? Tend the garden, fix solitary meals, dust and sweep the rooms of a House that was now dark and silent without Her? She was the light and warmth of her House, and since she’d left on her errantry, others of her House’s Company had also drifted way. Only he and the Captain remained resident, and although their friendship had deepened, it also seemed to magnify what was missing; the presence of Her Ladyship Seregrian of Bar-en-Acharn. For her fellow immortal, Captain Teahesto, hers was a friendship that spanned millennia dotted with centuries of time apart. Their patience with such gaps in time seemed normal for them. Cutch, however, being both mortal and her husband, had no such patience. No, he could not go home, at least not yet. Perhaps he could somehow satisfy his craving to know her quest, location, and well-being without potentially interfering…
Cutch dismounted and allowed his horse to graze on the tall grass beside the road. Taking a sip from his waterskin, he regarded the signpost. “One more destination”, he thought. “Then we will see.”
Westward was Evendim and Ost Forod, and on the horizon along that road Cutch could see the ruins of Fornost, an age ago the capital of Arthedain until devastated in the war with Angmar that broke the kingdom. “Deadman’s Dike” it was now called, and fell things reportedly lived there. Cutch was confident his wife’s talents and familiars would keep her safe if she kept to the road and skirted the city to the south. Beyond, into Evendim, Rangers kept watch at Tinnidur, their keep situated across Lake Nenuial from Annuminas. Now an abandoned crumbling city half claimed by the lake, Annuminas was long ago the original capital of Arnor. Surely the Rangers would know if Seregrian had visited Evendim.
Eastward was Kingsfell, a region mostly of fertile, rolling fields where auroch herds grazed between the farms. The Gatson family ran the most predominant farm, and until recently was the only one operating. Thanks to the efforts of the Dunedain Rangers, who depended on the farm’s produce, the family was able to continue despite Orc threat. The Ranger encampment, Esteldin, lay west of Gatson’s in a pass concealed in the Kingsfell mountains. If there was a capital on the North Downs, Esteldin would be it, and the Rangers there, ever vigilant, would also likely know if Seregrian had passed through Kingsfell.
“But which way?”, Cutch wondered. The signpost offered him no hints.
Off to the east, he heard the distant cry of a bird of prey. It hadn’t the tone and timber of his wife’s eagle familiar, but with a sigh and a shrug Cutch accepted the cry as an omen. He mounted his horse and gently heeled it onto the eastern road. “Esteldin it is, then.”
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