[Elfhelm]

Herebrand son of Halador had wasted no time in choosing an ideal spot to spend the night. The small party of Rohirrim had pitched camp close to the outskirts of the town. Tall oaks from the nearby forest provided shelter from the unpredictable weather— as well as giving them partial concealment from any friend or foe alike. With a small fire built in the center, the campsite was almost cozy.

As night fell, the outrider patrol took to preparing their supplies and mending loose-saddle straps for the journey they would make the following day. While these chores were being completed, Herebrand paced with long strides around the campsite. There were many things on the Rohirrim’s mind, and he tended to worry easily. Herebrand wondered at the vagueness of his mission, for Elfwine usually briefed him thoroughly before assignments, and the Prince’s lack of crucial information concerning his work had made the patrol leader uneasy.

He knew that the enemies of Taralphiel’s people employed tactics that Herebrand was almost unfamiliar of. He was used to fighting face to face with his adversaries on the battlefield, or perhaps in a small skirmish with his men. The marauders attacking Dor-En-Edhil did not fight out in the open—rather they used a hit-and-run strategy that bore no honor at all. Concepts of honor were very important to Herebrand. Both his father and grandfather had died valiantly in combat. He sighed at the thought of his father. Lord Halador and his son had been very close.

For a few minutes, he supervised the tasks being accomplished by his men, trying to relax and make himself at ease. The patrol leader finally decided that a short walk would clear his head and silence his misgivings. He told Ohtaredan to take over while he went for a brief stroll.

“Be careful Captain, who knows what might prowl around this abandoned ruin in the sun’s absence,” said Ohtaredan as Herebrand left the campground.

On his way down to the deserted city of Calembel, he came across the first night watch—Stagwine son of Seordras.

“Perhaps bad weather will come soon, so make your wanderings brief,” he said.

Herebrand took that to mind, as he descended from the hill encampment of his men. He turned around and saw that they seemed to be no longer hard at work, but rather jesting and acting gaily. Herebrand laughed within himself. He could not be angry with the men he had grown to regard as family. The grizzled veterans had become fathers and uncles, and the young trackers and cavaliers had become like brothers. Though, he was younger than many of the patrol members, they still respected his authority (unless the matter was not serious) and trusted him. In over a year of commanding the outrider of the Prince of Rohan, Herebrand had never lost a man. Several had received minor wounds, and a former patrol member had been wounded badly (through fault of his own), but never had a Rider of Rohan under his command lost their life. He was proud that he had managed his patrol so well. This assignment would be no different from any other; he would not lose any of his brothers-in-arms.

At length, his doubts receded into the outskirts of his mind, conveniently when he reached the outskirts of the ruined city. In daylight, the city seemed abandoned, but peaceful, but at night, it was entirely different. It had almost an ancient regal look to it that was almost ghostly. Herebrand shivered, either because of a swift chill of wind that had come up, or becaues his misgvings were beginning to arise again. He slowly proceeded to the square, admiring the old Gondorian architect that was now falling into disrepair. Suddenly, the Rohirrim captain saw the shadow of a man created by the dim moonlight near the waterless fountain. Cold fear swept over him for a moment before his bravery replaced it. Stepping forward and drawing his hunting-knife (more like a short dagger) and called out to the wraith in his characteristic clear voice.

“Ho there, who wanders the street of Calembel this night?”