FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

"Missus?"

"Missus?"

Heather coughed, sniffled, and opened her eyes. "Ah there ya go, lass! So what are you doing kippin' in the woods? Really not a safe place to be this time of day with darkness falling."

She shook her head to clear the remaining cobwebs as she sat up. Ok, she thought rapidly, I was in my room doing some pagan ritual, and now I'm in the woods after being awakened by some guy who...

She then noticed that the man talking to her was no more than four feet tall, if that. And he was dressed in an outfit that would be perfect for the Great Plains in the 1890s. More significantly, he saw that his ears were slightly pointed, and his shoes...no, strike that, bare feet covered with thick hair.

"A hobbit," she thought aloud.

"Er, yes, I am at that. So is my wife. And you're of the Race of Man. Now having established the obvious, may I ask who you are and what brings you to these woods?

"Um...I'm Heather. I...ah...don't know specifically how I got here and that I got here certainly was not my intention. And if you'll pardon a silly question; where am I?"

The hobbit sat beside her, motioning to his wife to come join them. "Quite pleased to meet you Heather. I am Caldo and this is my wife Clover. You are just on the outskirts of the Chetwood - my wife and I are on our way home after visiting her family out on theNorth Downs. We were heading through the forest and onto Bree, meet some friends of ours there, and then back home to Staddle. I must say that the Chetwood has a good share of bandits; we could well use a set of young eyes so we'd be happy to give you a ride to wherever it may be that you're going."

Heather considered this proposition. It wasn't like she had too many other options. Yet how the hell would her little dalliance into the occult result in her apparent voyage across worlds. Bree sounded appealing; after all it was the nickname of the main horse in her favorite C.S. Lewis book. Heather decided that, whatever she should be doing, she could probably get it done in Bree.

"Thank you, Caldo. I will come," she agreed congenially. She leapt in the back of the wagon, half filled with what seemed to be tobacco and farming equipment. A gentle pop on the reins set the ponies off trotting through the wood.

Hobbits, being hobbits, are generally suspicious of the Big Folk, and as small as she was, Heather still qualified. Even so, the little Big Folk joining them seemed to be an interesting character, as she was dressed in a man's trousers, a single piece blue shirt with odd writing and a horseshoe on the front. She wore no shoes, just white cotton socks. Heather's voice was peculiar; pleasant enough to be sure, being both childlike and husky, but for the life of him Caldo could not place the accent. She certainly sounded nothing like any Breelander he'd ever met, the closest her voice came was to Rohan, but the dress and hairstyle was definitely wrong.

"Where are you from, Heather? You dress and speak nothing like anyone in this region."

Mentally crossing her fingers that the hobbits were as open-minded as they were friendly, Heather nodded and fessed up. "If this is Middle-Earth, you're right. I'm from Evansville, a small city in Indiana, a part of my country - the United States of America. I was trying an experiment popularized by a famous seer or prophet from a few centuries before my time. Well, I lost consciousness; don't know how or why it happened, and the next thing I know you're looking over me. She smiled sweetly. "Thanks again."

Hobbits enjoy a good story anyway. Caldo puffed out his cheeks and blew. "That's quite a tale you tell, Miss Peters, and I'd reckon that you would like to find if Bree holds the key that will bring you back to your proper home."

"Very perceptive, Mister Caldo."

He smiled at the compliment. "Heather, it will take us about ten hours to Bree, but we'll do our level best to provide you with the information to fulfill your quest." His forehead wrinkled. "Heather, how did you know to ask if this was Middle-Earth?"

"About seventy years ago, my time, a professor at one of our great universities - a center of learning - wrote several books set in Middle-Earth. The most popular of them was called The Hobbit. When I saw your feet and stature, I made the connection."

"No hobbits in your world then?"

"Not as you are anyway. According to anthropologists, there was a prehistorical version of us that have been nicknamed hobbits, but they are nothing like you. We call people under a certain height dwarfs or midgets or little people, but we have no dwarves...and certainly no orcs or elves."

"So you aren't from our world but you do know of it?"

"Yeah, I guess Tolkien knew what he was talking about. But I've only read The Hobbit and seen the movies. She noticed his questioning expression. "Movies are like stage plays; only they are shown on a white screen using light and projection of preserved images." Caldo nodded, fascinated. "Tell me about The Hobbit."

She did so, yet found herself interrupted shortly after beginning. "But of course we know Gandalf the Grey! Saw him in town just a few weeks ago. If you are seeking a pathway home, he is the wizard to whom you wish to speak!"

Heather's head swum. So he was still Gandalf the Grey. So this time was before the War of The Ring ended. So the One Ring was still at large. She had to ask Caldo; "What is the date and the year?"

"You would want to know that, of course? Yes, it's August..."

Caldo's eyes widened in surprise and pain as a thick arrow appeared in his throat. The green, cheerful eyes glazed and clouded over and he collapsed at Heather's feet.

Heather and Clover both screamed, Heather in terror, Clover in sorrowful anguish.

"Ponies, you ass! Shoot the PONIES!!" Moments later, the two small horses whinnied and went down as Caldo did. Frightened, confused, and saddened, Clover and Heather sought refuge on the floor of the wagon.

It was not a very secure hiding space of course, within moments the hobbit and teenaged girl were laughingly revealed by the attacking brigands.

"Well this is nice now, ain't it? A hobbit and a girl. One brigand, who appeared to be the leader, was an unsavory looking character who reeked of beer and ales. Heather cringed as he brought his scarred, scraggily bearded face to hers. "What're you doin' in my part of the woods here, lassie?"

Heather took a deep breath to compose herself as well as she could. "I was on my way to Bree with this woman, the wife of the man you murdered," she said evenly, struggling to stare directly into his deep-set eyes.

"Hmmm, yes, well we just wanted to extract our fair toll," he sneered. "But seeing as hanging is the penalty for our bit of commerce; it will unfortunately be necessary to eliminate the witnesses." He took a grimy but sharpened dagger and held it to Heather's throat. She trembled with fear as the sharp tip caressed the soft skin of her neck and throat. "After we've had our way with you of course!" He laughed obscenely to his five companions. "Who wants to try the hobbit!?!"

He shouldn't have turned from his victims to ask them this.

While Heather was screaming "BASTARD" loud enough to rattle windows, Clover took the more practical approach of using her diminutive size to steal away in the dark gloom of the woods. Noticing that half of his victims were gone, the bandit cursed and wheeled on Heather.

"Time for that later," he snarled as he brought a heavy fist down onto Heathers neck, knocking her unconscious for the second time in six hours.

"Damn! Bind the girl. We'll let the chief decide what he wants to do with her!"

Heather's next sensation was a gloved hand on her face. She stiffened as she saw the cloaked figure over her.

"Rest easy, young lady, I'm not with them. Let me...here drink this. It will ease the pain."

She needed it. Her neck was swollen and sore and felt as though the brigand's dagger had been shoved between the vertebrae. She drank the grainy potion, and the odd taste of walnuts and vinegar passed over her tongue. The pain dulled considerably over the next few minutes. Her benefactor took the time to explain the situation.

"I am Amdir," he explained easily. "You were brought in unconscious about, say, three hours ago. What they want you for, I have no idea, but I doubt that it is to any good end. As for me..."

"Where am I, Amdir? And if you'll excuse my asking, who are you?"

"You're on the edges of the Chetwood, probably less than a league from Archet. I'm one of the Rangers from up north 'round Esteldin." Amdir paused, listening to the night. "We have a few minutes I reckon. What is your name, young lady?"

"Heather Peters." She paused for effect. "I'm a student, from quite a ways away." Heather was cautious, she remembered the term "ranger" being claimed by...oh what was his name...Strider, from the movies, but was his virtue shared by all rangers?

"A ways away, I'm sure you are. I've never heard Westron spoken like you speak it, and your dress is unusual. What is that...is that lettering on your shirt?"

"IN-DI-A-NA-PO-LIS Colts. They are a professional sports team from my home state."

"It's an unusual land where they play sports for money. But that's not important right now, begging your pardon. As I was saying before, I'm what some call a Ranger, I've come here to learn what connection these men have with a Black Rider I'd been tracking from the Shire. I learned that a guard from Archet - Calder Cob is his name -- works for these men, the Blackwolds, and captured two visiting Hobbits." Again Amdir went silent, listening. "Hark, they come." He rested his hand on Heather's shoulder. "I will need your help to free the Hobbits. Heather, can you fight? Are you willing to fight?"

Heather set her jaw firmly; "I am." What the hell are you DOING, she screamed inwardly.

"Good. Excellent! I'll take the leader; you grab whatever weapons you can get your hands on. Then kill whatever Blackwolds you can."

She, who was hesitant about lethal mousetraps, paused.

"I'm...you want me to kill them?"

While Amdir appreciated her compassion, he didn't have time for it.

"They're bad men, Heather Peters. You saw what they do," he said with a grim smile.

Right. Then Heather and Amdir heard voices:

"The Nazgûl is coming for the Baggins Cob brought us. Before he arrives, we must dispose of the human girl and that spare Hobbit."

Righteous anger slowed through Heather's veins. Damned if they were gonna take her without a fight!

"Guess your time ran out, pretty gell!"

It's not very bright to announce your intention to murder two people that you cannot see clearly even when you are not outnumbered two to one. It was the last tactical error this particular idiot would make, as Amdir finished him off without breaking a sweat. Heather heard only the slap of leather on skin, followed by a sharp pop of the neck giving way and the man's last rattling gasp.

One down.

"All right Heather, here's a dagger he won't be using. Go and check those boxes there."

She did as she was asked and was rewarded with a fair selection of weapons and supplies.

"Ah, this could come in handy," suggested Amdir as he handed her a sturdy leather backpack. "Would you prefer to fight from a distance or close in?"

"The bow, I think. More of my personality, I guess."

Amdir nodded and handed her a simple bow and a quiver packed with arrows. "Here's a better quality dagger, if your arrows miss their mark." The ranger paused. "You should probably change your clothing; there are few 'Indianapolis Colts' supporters in this part of Arda."

He did have a point there. She changed quickly, replacing the shirt with a short tunic and vest.

"Heather, I'm going to leave it to you to free the hobbits: Celandine Brandybuck and Mundo Sackville-Baggins, I will follow Éogan and find out what I can of his plans with the Black Rider. Free Celandine first, since Éogan's words tell me that she is in the greatest danger. They want Mundo alive. When you have both hobbits safe, meet me by the main gate. When you encounter the Blackwolds, aim for the throat...right here." Amdir indicated the indentation just beneath the Adam's apple.

"Godspeed, Heather." He was gone.

Heather swore that her pounding heart would give her away to the bandits, if not Sauron, before she even let an arrow fly. She opened the door to the courtyard just a crack. A dark figure slouched lazily about twenty yards away. The time had come. She nocked an arrow, placing her index finger above the nock and her middle and third finger below it, and drew back the tightly-wound bowstring as far as she could.

"Please God, please let this work," she prayed softly, and released. Her arrow flew silently, striking the bandit just below the earlobe. It was not a mortal wound, but it was enough to render him senseless. He collapsed in a heap.

She rushed over to the fallen man; her arrow was lodged behind the jaw under the ear. The man wasn't dead, his eyelids fluttered. Confusion filled Heather's mind. Upon seeing the uncertainty of his assailant, the Blackwold grabbed his dirk from his waistband and lashed at Heather, stabbing her deeply in her inner leg just below the knee. She managed to fight off the impulse to scream in pain and fury, and instead finished off her quarry by plunging her own dagger into his throat, cursing as she did so.

It's kill or be killed, she thought.

Another Blackwold she saw in the shadows and this time the bandit didn't have the chance as her arrow tore through his jugular vein and carotid artery. She somberly slashed his throat with her dagger to ensure no recovery, and examined him for what he might be carrying. She was rewarded with a handful of coppery coins. That done, she moved swiftly, though limping, through the compound, another bandit colliding with one of her arrows. She advanced to an inner gate where she saw a small figure being accosted by yet another brigand. She reached for the gate but hesitated, she didn't want to make the gate squeak and spoil the surprise.

"You don't scare me," the small woman's voice proclaimed boldly. Heather grinned wryly, that had to be Celandine. Heather braced her bow on the base of the fence and fired, but her aim was off slightly and her shot only caught the Blackwold's shoulder.

"DAMNATION!" he cried in anger. The element of surprise was gone; Heather fumbled to nock another arrow. She was horrified to see her second arrow sink into the man's left eye, causing him to howl in anguish. She finished him off mercifully with a quick slice at the neck.

"Take THAT, stinking thief!" At least Celandine seemed to be enjoying the carnage. Heather giggled, and raised an open palm to show that she was friendly.

"You must be Celandine? I'm Heather. Amdir and I are going to get you outta here."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," the hobbit's gratitude was profound. "I was hoping Amdir was here to rescue us. When he didn't return, I feared these men caught him! But it seems he was only getting help!"

"My friend Mundo is nearby, I think. We must save him as well! These brigands have been saying terrible things! We'll need a distraction...and I know just what to do!"

Was everything an exclamation with her? The tiny woman dashed over to the fire, grabbing a flaming chunk of firewood, "just need a bit of flame" and throwing it on the thatched roof of the small building, "and a place to put it." The dry thatching was like tinder and the flames grew wildly.

"That should get their attention," exclaimed Celandine. "Follow me!"

The two hustled over to another interior gate. Heather saw another hobbit bound, with a well dressed man hovering over him.

"Don't you move one curled hair, Hobbit!"

"That's him, Eldric, that's his name," whispered Celandine anxiously. Heather responded by sending a poorly-aimed arrow into the man's thigh. He grunted and wheeled on Heather. None of her succeeding arrows did much damage, and she was forced to defend herself with the dagger. Providence favored the girl and she was able to defeat Eldric by plunging her dagger desperately between Eldric's second and third ribs. His eyes went wide. "Angmar will not allow this," he gasped. "There's...worse than me," and he passed on.

"It's about time you got here," Mundo shouted rudely. "Wot was I s'posed to do, rescue myself?"

Oh great, thought Heather.

"Come on you big clodpole! Get me out of here before those ruffians return. They want to sell me off like a sack of potatoes!"

They obviously won't be buying you based on personality, will they, you turd?

Distasteful as the hobbit was, Heather cut his bonds and they followed Celandine to the main gate.

They turned the corner and Heather felt herself go weak at the sight. They had taken too long, and Amdir was facing what could only be the Black Rider. One of the Nazgûl, the ringwraiths, bound to the One Ring.

"Back you foul beast, back to the dark kingdom from which you ride!" Amdir fought valiantly.

"Fool!" sneered the wraith. "Your kingdom is dead. You have no power over me! But soon," he said gently as he stabbed deeply into Amdir's shoulder, "soon, I shall have power over you."

Amdir screamed, more from fear than pain. Celandine screamed for Amdir, and the Rider turned to face the three of them.

"Ah, the halflings...now which is the 'Baggins' promised me?"

The flames flared up as they reached a small can of oil to the side of the gate. The Black mount and its rider reared in fear. "Accursed flame," spat the Nazgûl. "The Dúnadan will suffice for tonight's work. May you all burn, either now or in Mordor on the morrow."

Somehow Celandine managed to pick the lock that was trapping them, the three rushed over to join their fourth.

Amdir's breath was rapid and short. Heather checked his pulse and noted the same was true of his heartbeat. He turned to the teen and spoke warmly.

"You...you found them. You rescued the hobbits. Well done. Do not...concern yourself with me. The greatest danger...has passed. The Nazgûl fear those who wield fire..."

Amdir collapsed.

"We have to take Amdir to Archet, it's not far," said Celandine. "Someone there will know what to do."

As Heather suspected, Mundo Sackville-Baggins was not much of a traveling companion. They managed to uncover a small cart to transport Amdir, and they continued through the Chetwood, with Mundo griping incessantly, eliciting rolled eyes from the other two and Heather almost wished that they had left the sorry wretch for the Black Rider. Fortunately, Amdir and Celandine had been correct; Archet was just a short distance away. It was a tiny village of about a hundred residents tucked into a triangular basin of hills. There was, quite naturally, a pub, and a now-conscious Amdir paid for a weeks stay in the guestrooms. "Strange goings-on about," he said vaguely to the innkeeper who was staring intently at the wound in Amdir's shoulder.

Exhausted, the four turned in just as the sun was appearing in the eastern sky.