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"This is the worst of being out here, no fire, just cold rations for the whole round trip. I still think it's stupid. Our own people patrol Ard-galen, also that lot from Himring and the Gap. It's safe enough to risk a small fire surely."
Lammaen gave her cousin an uncertain look. He was a lot older than her, of course - some days she thought everyone seemed older than her, all born over the sea - but she was starting to suspect that did not mean he was smarter. Even at this distance she could feel the vast heights of Thangorodrim oozing malevolence. It would not have surprised her at all to know that eyes watched even this unimportant corner of the grasslands for movement, light.
"I don't know that it wouldn't be, Aldon," she said diplomatically. "But those are the rules, and we're almost two days' ride out, one of the patrols might see and report us. I think we must just eat our cold food."
There was no moon, but that made it safter to be moving out in the open like this. She was very young to be on Ard-galen, which was the preserve of the cavalry that kept guard over the fortress of Angband, but it was also a place where the wild horse herds roamed and her task, once every dark moon, was to come out and look for eye infection from the noxious flies that swarmed from Angband. She treated what illness she found and also could somehow feel if there were things frightening or unsettling the herds. it was not that Lammaen could speak with the horse tongue - that was a gift given to few - but they accepted her and she could sense their pains just as they could sense her wish to aid them.
Her father was not happy with her doing this, he felt it needed just one stray orc, one arrow in the dark... But her mother, a weaver who provided cloth for Prince Fingon himself, said the work was important, the horses vital, and so she was allowed to continue.
Aldon came with her because they would not allow her to make the journey alone. He was her cousin on her mother's side so she was used to his complaints and had learned to either turn or ignore them. Arguing with him never worked so she tried to avoid it where she could. She knew that now he was tense, worried by the smallest thing, because his wife was pregnant, which was unusual in these uncertain times, and he wanted to be home with her, not sitting out in the middle of a darkened plain, rich though it was with the scent of long grass and good soil.
It grew chilly after sunset on the vast plain, and Lammaen had learned to bring an extra cloak because they would sleep in the open and she had woken up stiff with cold more than once. Tonight though, there was an unexpected warmth on the breeze and it felt almost pleasant. She and Aldon sat in the kind of silence only common to family or close friends and ate their meagre rations, listening to the sounds of the night: the shush of the grass, the crick of insects, the occasional track of some small creature.
And the horses. The horses were restless. They passed the little camp site in twos and threes to begin with, not galloping but moving briskly. Horses did that for whatever reason and to begin with she paid them no heed. When their own mounts became restless though, she started to worry
"Aldon, do you think something's wrong? Listen to the horses - and they're not settled on the plain either. It's moon dark, they should be herding together for the night."
Aldon was not a stupid man, even if he at times behaved as such. He got to his feet, sword in hand, and looked around, listening for hints of danger. After a moment Lammaen joined him, holding her little hunting bow. It would not be much use against an orc attack, she knew, but suddenly there were chills going down her spine and she knew with a deep knowing that something was very wrong.
The little breeze had strengthened, it lifted and tossed Aldon's hair and tugged at the edge of her hood. And there was the strangest odour, unpleasant, something she could almost taste more than smell. More horses came past, this time bunched together and in a hurry. She called to them softly but they paid no heed.
Aldon shook his head. "I think, I think we should pack everything up in case we have to leave before daylight. There could be an orc party out there, we have to hope one of the patrols sees them if that's the case."
She nodded, realised he couldn't see her, said, "Yes, yes I know. Maybe - we could start riding back anyhow? Before dawn? I've done what I came for, I've seen no eye blight, sensed no distress except tonight..."
"They won't tell you what's wrong?" He had never been convinced of her gift or understood it and it showed in his tone again. She had wanted someone else to come with her, one of the women who patrolled the plain would have been perfect, but her father felt better knowing there would be family with her.
"I can't talk horse, Aldon," she said, and for once there was an edge to her soft voice. "I just look for injuries and disquiet. And right now, they are not happy." As if to punctuate the words, four horses came past at a gallop, almost running straight into them. Their own horses, already on edge, were startled, the big bay rearing up snorting while the black tried to pull loose, whinnying.
Aldon looked after them shaking his head. "Perhaps we should start back, yes. Maybe run into one of the patrols, have company back to Barad Eithel."
She made no argument, her nerves were jangling with the need to be gone. She knelt to put together her bedroll and blanket, and she was gathering up the food set aside for the morning when she heard him gasp.
"What is it?" she asked.
"Angband," he replied briefly. She turned to look towards the fortress at the base of the mountain and as she did a gust of wind carried the acrid scent of burning to her. What she saw confused her and she rose again slowly to her feet staring. She even raised a hand to shield her eyes, but it made no difference. At the base of the mountain hung a red glow and as she watched it spread out in a flickering line, eating the darkness piece by piece.
"What is going on?" she asked in a whisper.
Aldon shook his head. "I don't know. I can't see what kind of devilment this is. Something - He is doing something in Angband. Perhaps it went wrong. Perhaps..."
What that next 'perhaps' had been she never heard, because suddenly as she watched the line of red off in the distance erupted into a wall of flame. "No," she gasped. "What? Why?"
Aldon went past her, grabbing his bedroll. The sky had taken on a strange, reddish hue, making it easy to pick out the details of hills and rushing horses and the distant trees on the way up to Barad Eithel and home. "Get your stuff," he snapped. "Now. We have to leave now. Hurry up, girl."
She tucked the bedroll under her arm and tried to gather up the food again. Her insides were churning, her hands shaking, the nervousness of the horses magnifying her own. "Water, we need water," she said distractedly.
He grabbed her by the shoulder and dragged her up, hurting her in his fear. "Leave the damn water, leave the damn food, get on your horse, we have to go now. Look at it, Lammaen. Look at it!"
She looked back. She had taken her eyes off Angband for minutes only and yet already the flames seemed stronger, larger. The air felt thick, it burnt her throat, hurt her chest, and overlying the smoke was a strange, nauseating stench that seemed to strengthen with the flames. And the wind was rising, no longer a playful breeze but something that pushed and gusted around them.
"He's burning his way out," Aldon hissed. "And I am not waiting here to watch it happen. Come."
He dropped his bedroll on the ground and went for his horse, swinging up onto its back. Lammaen hesitated, looking around, remembering the actions of the plains horses: how they had all been going in the same direction. Angband was invisible behind the brightness of its wall of flame, a wall that was already reaching out, spreading like rivers of fire... "We need to make for Himring," she said. When he ignored her, she raised her voice, almost shouting. "We need to make for Himring. The horses know, they were going that way."
"Did you fall on your head? Himring is twice the distance as home, why would you do that? Do you have some urge to join the Fëanorian cause or...?"
"The horses know!" she shouted, desperate for the words that would convince him. She could not explain it better, though a corner of her mind was drawing the map she had once seen, adding the things she knew from experience like the way the land dipped and curved, the lie of ditches and hills, making almost a bowl within the bounds of the Ered Wethrim and Dorthonion and mighty Thangorodrim. But there was no time to analyse it, no time to decide if she was right.
"Get on your damn horse and follow me," Aldon shouted back, and kicked the bay into action, dragging its head around in the direction of their home, his wife and unborn child.
"I'm going to Himring," she said stubbornly, although he could not have heard her in the noise of the horse's hooves. She grabbed at Gella's bridle, blinking back tears: he was meant to look after her. The horse reared up and she had to step back smartly to avoid being kicked. Her grip on the bridle broke, and Gella took off into the dark, ignoring her inarticulate shout.
She stood in the false dawn staring after her horse, the animal that had betrayed her, and then back at the fire, mesmerised. It was moving faster than she had ever seen fire move before, but the line going towards Lothlann was slower, much slower. And then she realised it didn't matter if she was right or wrong. She was too far from anywhere and with no horse she would die here out on the grassland she had loved.
She found the water skin and drank deep to ease her throat, still watching the not so distant wall of red. It was a long walk home and an even longer one to Himring. There was no point in the bedroll, she left it there and started walking.
The air was strange, the awful smell, like burning rotting garbage, was getting worse, the wind drove the flames before it. The wind never came out of the north this time of the year… Aldon was right, He was breaking out. She could hear distant voices calling, one of the patrols probably. They were too far away, there was no point in trying to shout. She wondered how badly it hurt, to burn alive. If it was quick. What her father would say, and her mother. Her father would blame her mother...
She felt as though she walked in a dream through the long grass, once fragrant, with a waterskin in her hand, her eyes on a sea of red that reflected off the scudding clouds above. She started breathing through her mouth because the smell of the smoke and whatever else that was made her sick. She felt very alone, it was as though there was no one else left in the world. "We will all burn," she thought, but the words had no real meaning.
Lammaen had no idea how long she had been walking when she heard the horses coming up from behind her. She looked back mainly to make sure she was not about to be trampled because she understood that frightened animals were less likely to notice a smaller, less important creature in their path. There were three of them and they were almost level before her mind put together that these were horses and she needed a horse. She began making the soft calling noises that always brought them to her, but they were afraid and kept going past her.
She raised her voice, trying one final time, trying to keep the tears from spoiling the chirping sounds. Just when she thought there was no point, one of them paused, looking back at her with wide, rolling eyes. "K-shee, k-shee," she called. "I am afraid too. Please help me."
It was a stallion, always the most difficult to get through to, tall and long legged with a blond mane and tail. She walked up to him slowly and very carefully raised a hand to stroke his nose. He flinched but then stood still for her. Finally her mind started working again and she remembered that she knew this horse from before and he must have recognised her.
"Of your kindness, will you carry me on your back?" she asked, still speaking softly because that was her way. She put a hand on his neck, the other on his back, and paused, then leapt as best she could, still holding onto the waterskin, and managed to scramble onto his back. It was a gift from the Mighty beyond the sea that he allowed it without trying to throw her off, though he did buck around a bit once he realised what she had done.
She made soothing noises while they found their balance, her eyes back on the fire that - surely - seemed closer. Then she let him turn back on his path, the road that would take him towards the hard open lands the Fëanorians kept watch over. She had no idea if she could reach them in time. She had no idea if Aldon would reach home before the flames came licking up the sides of the Ered Wethrim. All she could do was hold on, urge the horse, perhaps her saviour, to go faster, and hope that she was right, and that the horses did indeed know the road to life.