This tale occurs after Bilbo leaves bag-end, but before Gandalf returns for Frodo.

The 3rd age. In the wilds of Ithilien, Radagast the Brown trudges southward.

No Mithrandir, I don't have time to worry about a hobbit and some ring you think to be of some importance. Radagast thought as he trudged through the mud. He was soaked from the top of his head to the bottom of his robes. The shower was not letting up and the clouds covering the moon made it difficult for Radagst to see in the dark. Regadless, he had to continue southward. If I don't reach the border soon, all could be lost. A spell of endurance had sustained the wizard all day, but now its aura of sustaining energy was fading. Radagast grew weary.

Ahead, through the trees, Radagast could see a flickering light. A campfire? Travelers! He thought. With a renewed vigor Radagast moved through the shadows till he was just outside the light of the campfire. He peered into the lighted area. He spied from his hiding place a small number of people. Radagast perceived them to be sturdy folk with an latent heir of nobility about them.

Feeling confident they were free folk of middle-earth, Radagast stepped into the light. It was only a moment till all eyes rested on the ragged wizard.

"To Harad? For a wizard you are a crazy one!" said the Captain.

Radagast was not amused. He surveyed the fighting men surrounding the campfire. Some were clad in armor, others were not. Some were soldiers, others were not. The weary wizard took a deep breath, "If you truely value this land, you will follow me southward!"

"No, Master Radagst, we are but soldiers in a convoy heading to Minas Tirith. There is nothing for us south of Gondor, we are sorry. You may stay with us as long as you wish, but our road lies north, for it is the will of the steward Denethor," explained the captain. The company dispersed. Some returned to their meals, others were caring for their weapons or armor.

Radagast felt dismayed. He hung his head low for a moment, What shall I do? he asked himself. The wizard was deep in thought, when he noticed someone approaching. Radagast looked up. He met the gaze of a steely-eyed man. His hair was dark and stringy, wet from the rain. He wasn't dressed in the garb of a knight, nor the trappings of a travller. His clothes were simple and over his shirt he wore a heavy chain corslet. An arming sword also hung in a sheath at his side.

"You're going to Harad?" asked the man.

"Yes. There is much occuring in Far Harad which will effect us all. I must get there in haste," explained Radagast.

"I am Beowdil, son of Wulf. I've been searching for my wife and sons. They were taken by a party of Uruk-Hai. After months of searching I have reason to believe they were taken to Harad," Beowdil paused.

"Then our roads lead us to the same place," suggested Radagast.

"I am only searching for the ones I love, but I will accompany you till I find them." explained Beowdil.

Radagast nodded, "I would hope for nothing less." The wizard extended his hand.

Beowdil grasped it and they shook. He noticed a strange tenor in Radagast's voice. There was a hidden meaning in what the wizard said. Though Beowdil only promised to travel with him till he could find his family, the retired farmer could tell he would be traveling with Radagast for a long time.

The journey southward was quickly becoming humid. The rains had passed, but Radagast and his traveling companion, Beowdil son of Wulf, were still wet. However, the moisture came due to sweat as they reached southern Ithilien.

Just after noon, the small company stopped for lunch, "Eat quickly Beowdil, we must make haste."

Beowdil glanced at the wizard then knowingly nodded, "Very well," he answered. The two moved to sit down before eating their rations. Radagast paused mid-squat. He lifted his head as if listening to something.

"Did you hear that?" he asked.

"No," Beowdil responded. The fighting man stood up straight once more. His hand instinctively went to the hilt of his sword.

Radagast stuffed the dried rations back into the folds of his robes and gripped his wizard's staff. He looked over at his raven haired companion, "Quickly, this way!" Radagast turned and dashed into a thicket of trees. Beowdil followed. They fell to their stomachs in order to hide behind the low bushes just off the main trail. In silence they waited.

Beowdil strained to catch a whisper of what Radagast seemed to hear with ease. It came softly at first, but quickly the noise grew in volume. Beowdil then caught a glimpse of what the wizard had warned them against.

A small company of three Haradrim were moving north through the forest. In tones hardly audible Radagast spoke, "Southron scouts. Clearing the road for a larger force no doubt."

Beowdil said nothing. Slowly he began to pull his arming sword from its scabbard. As he did the sound of metal on metal was heard as the blade dragged across the scabbard. The Southrons spun in place, spears in hand, searching for the source of the sound. Beowdil felt his heart beat faster and his rage begin to kindle as their eyes fell upon him. He fought the urge to grin.

Radagast glared at Beowdil, "You fool!" he barked in a low whisper.

The Haradrim let out a war cry, it sent shivers down Beowdil's spine. With incredible speed, the Haradrim charged. With greater haste Beowdil, son of Wulf leaped from his hiding place, "WULF!" he yelled as he raised his sword above his head.

Beowdil could feel his rage building, and with that fire he met the Haradrim. In a wide, arching overhead strike Beowdil attacked the nearest Haradrim. The lithe warrior caught the blow with the haft of his polearm. The farmer turned warrior leaped back as the other two Southrons attacked with their spears set to charge. Beowdil spun a web of steely defense about himself parrying the oncoming attacks. Quickly the fighter feinted, causing the third Haradrim to lose balance and tumble. With a vicious stroke Beowdil's blade found its mark. One of the Southrons were now dead. Beowdil's rage was burning in his stomach.

The first Haradite moved in against Beowdil for a second time. Beowdil's building rage narrowed his vision until all he could see was the Southron in front of him. The second southron turned and struck at Beowdil with a poorly placed attack. The spear turned almost harmlessly off Beowdil's corslet of chainmail.

The fighting man could feel the bruise forming on his back. His vision widened momentarily as the painful attack reminded the farmer he must pay attention to all of his surroundings. However, as he gripped his rage once more and his vision narrowed. Beowdil spun around and with a quick stroke downed the second foeman. Once he was certain the Southron was dead he turned to face his last opponent. With a loud bellow, Beowdil released his red hot fury.

In a crash of sinew and steel the two warriors met. Strikes and blows were met with feints and counters. The warriors were bleeding from many wounds which would have been fatal had they not been avoided by late parries and last ditch evasions. Radagast watched from the bushes. He was certain he had found the right hero, I just hope we can find more companions, he thought. The wizard pushed himself up from the ground and with staff in hand he raised both arms into the air.

It's a shame I have a wizard with me who won't fight! Beowdil thought to himself. His back was to Radagast so he couldn't see the wizard conjuring a spell of power. The Southron however, was staring right at the wizard who seemed to grow in stature. The woods surrounding Radagast became sinister and dangerous and the wizard's spell grew in power. An inner light materialized within Radagast growing in intensity. The Southron had to cover his eyes. He screamed in pain as he was momentarily blinded.

Beowdil capitalized on Radagast's distraction, and with a mighty strike supported by his fury, he disarmed his foe.

The Southron fell into a puddle of his own blood. He was only on the ground for a moment before rolling and rising back to his feet. He let his spear lay on the ground still gripped by his severed arm. Beowdil leveled his blade at the beaten Southron who turned and fled southward. The reluctant warrior could feel his burning rage subside.

"Well done," stated Radagast as he walked out onto the main path, "He will report back to Harad's army about what happened."

"Perhaps they'll think twice before attacking the freemen of middle-earth," stated Beowdil. He felt a trickle of blood move down his swordarm. The fighter looked at it in time to see his blood run from the hilt of his sword to the blade and mix with the blood of the Haradrim.

"Where did you learn to fight?" asked Radagast.

"I didn't, I let my rage guide me," answered Beowdil. He looked up and saw the wizard was staring at him.

"I'm no sword master, but I know a few things about the blade. Perhaps you will let me teach you what I know?" asked the wizard.

"I will gladly accept any aid you offer me in finding my family," stated Beowdil.

"Excellent. Then lets bandage your wounds and eat lunch. I'm starving."

With a few days march behind them, Radagast and Beowdil noticed the trees began to thin as they neared the ford in Pelargir which crossed the Poros River. Radagast served as guide, knowing the route from Gondor to Harad. He kept a sharp eye out ahead, and communed with the birds from time to time in order to ensure a safe passage.

The companions crested a hill and looked down towards the ford. There was a winding path of switchbacks leading down a short cliff. Once at the bottom of the cliff, they would be out of Ithilien and free to cross the ford. They would no longer be in Gondor. Once across, the road became The Harad Road which cut through Harondor and skirted Khand before crossing into Near Harad.

Radagast was prepared for that trip, but not the one he was about to experience. His eyes traced the path down the cliff and across the Pelargir Field. To his surprise, the ford was already being crossed. A company of Haradrim sloshed their way through the ford into Gondor. They made a great tumult of noise as they moved. To both Radagast and Beowdil's surprise, the company included three Mumakil.

"Iluvitar be merciful," whispered Radagst.

"O Elbereth Gilthoniel," stated Beowdil, "I have never seen a monster so large!" As if on cue one of the massive grey beasts raised its trunk in the air and let out a bellow. The rider responded by blowing the horn which dangled at his side.

"We can not linger here," Radagast said. There was a hint of concern in his voice.

"We have nothing to fear wizard. The Southrons will not be able to bring their Oliphants up this trail. They will have to go around," explained Beowdil.

"That is what worries me. To the East lies Mordor, the Oliphants will need a straighter pass than the Mountains of Shadow. They will have to go through Pelargir. Pelargir is weak. It is the last free city before Harad and they are nearly broken. They will not be able to withstand the company before us. At least not alone," explained Radagast.

"You are thinking that the aid of a wizard is what the Gondorians need in order to vanquish them?" ventured Beowdil.

Radagast chuckled, "I have sworn an oath to defeat Sauron. No doubt these Southron are traveling to the Dark Lord's lair to bolster his numbers. If we can defeat them, or at least hinder their march, then I will be one step closer to fulfilling my oath," he paused, "I know you are here to find your family Beowdil, and I would not ask you to help, but Pelargir will not have the strength to fight against these Southron. Your blade will be most appreciated in the river town."

Beowdil sighed. He looked out across the slowly moving Haradrim forces. They were already nearly across the ford and beginning to move west around the cliff, towards Pelargir. The farmer thought of his wife and children, What shall I do my beloved? If I go with the wizard I may never find you. However, would you still love me if I refused to aid the helpless? Would I still be the man you married if I turned my back against the defenseless? With a grin on the corner of his lips Beowdil answered, "Do you really think we can stop three Oliphants?"

"Perhaps not, but wouldn't you like to boast about it in a tavern?" Radagast smiled.

Pelargir wasn't far from the border of Ithilien, but even with only two companions the journey lasted a full day and night's march. Nevertheless, Radagast and Beowdil now stood at the river town of Pelargir as the sun began to rise.

"We arrived ahead of the Southrons. Nevertheless, time is against us. We must find the town's leader and prepare what defenses we can to thwart the Southron," said Radagst. His brow was sweaty and smeared with dirt. He and Beowdil had marched through the night. This would give the people of the river town more time to prepare for the defense of their city.

"Do you really think a small river town can thwart the company we saw?" asked Beowdil.

"We must trust to hope. Come Beowdil," Radagast turned and looked skyward. He whistled loudly and waited in silence for a few minutes. Beowdil looked at the wizard, then looked into the sky, then back at the wizard. He turned once more and looked skyward in time to see a black raven soaring downward. Radagast reached out with his free hand and the raven landed on the wizard's open palm. Beowdil was amazed. Radagast leaned down towards the bird and whispered something inaudible to Beowdil. Once finished Radagast raised his hand into the air and sent the raven skyward.

"What was that?" asked Beowdil.

"That was my friend. I asked him to serve as a scout to us and inform us the moment the Southron are within 10 leagues of here," explained the wizard. Beowdil opened his mouth to say something, but he didn't understand the ways of the wizard so decided to say nothing.

With a smile and a wink, Radagast turned to face Pelagrir and lead the way into town leaning on his staff as he walked.

Beowdil had never been to Pelagrir before. Despite the urgency of their quest, the farmer paid close attention to the township and how it was built. Homes and small shops were crafted from wood, taken from the forest, and stones, which were sent down stream from quarries in the north. The road was paved with brick and was used to traffic goods to the river front. Over the townsfolk and to the west, Beowdil could see the riverfront. Its bank was covered by a boardwalk leading to docks of varying sizes. He could see barges and boats coming and going from the docks, some were loaded with cargo and others were empty.

Beowdil turned and looked forward. Radagast was leading them to a large manor not far from the riverfront. Two guards stood in front of the manor's main gate. The gate was made of iron bars and a low wall no more than ten feet high. Beowdil noticed the guards wore shirts of mail, much like his own, simple helmets of iron rested on their head, and in one hand they held a spear and on their hips were slung a sword.

Radagast stopped a few paces away from the guards, who were eyeing him with great suspicion. The wizard looked each guard in the eye, then spoke, "I am Radagast the Brown. I seek and audience with your master. It is of dire importance."

"Master Radagast, you are known to us. I will summon my master at once." The foremost guard placed a fist to his heart and bowed slightly. He then turned, opened the gate and soon vanished into the manor. In silence the small company stood. A cool breeze crept by from the river and was a nice reprieve from the humid air. Beowdil glanced over at Radagast. He stood tall and proud and despite his aged appearance the Istar carried himself with the grace and stability of a young noble. Beowdil noticed the wizard seemed to be listening. Listening for a sound only he could hear.

The sound of a heavy door shutting was heard from the manor. Beowdil turned his attention forward once more. The foremost guard was returning with another behind him. He was a greying man, he too carried himself with noted pride and nobility. He was certainly the Lord of Pelagrir. The gate was opened and Radagast, along with Beowdil, were motioned inside.

"Radagast the Brown, a most welcomed guest. I am Corinir, Master of Pelargir and Lord of this river!" There was a smile on his face as he spoke.

It seemed to Radagast that Lord Corinir was unaware of the Southrons moving against him. The greying Gondorian was rather jovial and didn't seemed bothered by much. Radagast looked across the marble table. Beowdil seemed dwarfed by the tall chair in which he sat. The wizard was certain he too looked rather small in his chair just opposite the reluctant fighter. Radagast took a sip of the wine given him from Corinir's servants, set down the fine goblet, then spoke.

"Lord Corinir, I thank you for the hospitality given my companion, Beowdil son of Wulf, and myself. However, we must speak with you about an urgent matter," Radagast paused as one of Corinir's servants stepped forward to top off the wizard's goblet.

"Urgent news?" Corinir's smile didn't fade, "And what may that be? More Corsairs? Fear not master wizard, the fighting men of Pelargir know how to defeat river-born pirates. We have driven them back countless times."

"Lord Corinir, I do not doubt the men at arms of your house, however, the threat approaching you is not one from the river. A company of Haradrim are marching upon your city even as we speak. Beowdil and I are no more than a day ahead of them. I have a spy watching their movements, and he will alert me when they are closer. I am here to warn you of their advance, and offer my service in the defense of your city," Radagast explained.

Corinir, Master of the river, was silent for a moment. His smile slowly vanished, "Yes, I am aware of their presence. Master wizard, I must confess something to you. There will be no easy way to tell you this, but inform you I must."

Radagast could see Corinir shifting nervously in his seat. The Gondorian was fidgeting with his goblet spinning it around and around with his fingers. His eyes were cast downward, staring at the white marble table, "Don't keep me in the woods, tell me," stated the wizard.

"As I said, we are aware of the Southrons' company. We have been for some time," Corinir paused and waved his servant forward. He lifted his goblet and the servant filled the offered mug. Corinir continued, "Perhaps I'll start at the beginning. As you maybe aware, we have defended the coasts of Gondor for some time. Many attempts have been made by the Corsairs to assail our lands. However, we have always been able to stop their attacks, sink their barges, and reinforce our port town against future assaults.

"Nevertheless, to our dismay, the assaults have become grievous and more frequent. Many of my strongest men have perished in the frequent assaults. At the start of this past year, the Umbars attacked us yet again. It seemed nothing new to us, however, they fell upon us with such strength and force we could not repel their assault. Our fair city had been taken," Corinir paused as he watched Radagast's brow raise in slight confusion. "Yes, the city of Pelargir fell. However, the Umbarians came ashore and I met with their shipmaster. He didn't come with a flag to conquer. He came with a bargain: Allow Mordor to use Pelargir as a staging ground or perish. It was a hard bargain but I could not willingly choose to kill my own people here in this once fair city.

"To deny the Black Numenorians this request would spell the death of every man, woman, and child in Pelargir," Corinir paused as Radagast stood up. The wizard's gaze was fierce and blazed with fury.

"And to grant them this request will spell the death of everyone in Middle-Earth. Lord Corinir, after centuries of fighting and bloodshed, you allowed the Dark Lord's allies to walk into Gondor!" never before had Radagast felt a rage in his stomach burn so brightly.

"I wish now I could take it back. I do, Master Radagast, I understand now the folly of my ways. But in the time we have had since finalizing the treaty, Pelargir has been rebuilt. Now all we do is allow the Southrons to cross into Ithilien where they can trek to Mordor where Sauron lies. Yes, I sold my soul, but the people who call Pelargir home have been able to return to a state of normalcy. We can trade again, live without fear of attack. Do you know how long it has been since the people of Pelargir lived so?" explained Corinir.

"But for how long? The Dark Lord will advance again, he will attack Middle-Earth and your precious city. What will happen then Corinir? Will you again trade your freedom for life of luxury? An empty facade? Which is all you will have under Sauron's rule. You will not truly be free, you are not so even now! Your docks are defiled by Haradrim plotting your destruction. It is only a matter of time before your city is razed to the ground! Are you caught so far in the enemy's web that even now you will permit the Haradrim to cross your lands? Have everything your father's fought for been for naught?

"For an age they warred to keep our lands free. They paid with their blood, and now you will betray that blood?" Radagast fumed.

"What would you have me do? My people are spent, broken, and dying! We have nothing left to give Radagast, we have been beaten," Corinir leaned forward into his hands and struggled to maintain his composure. In silence Radagast stood.

From across the table, from the reluctant fighter, Beowdil spoke, "I would have you perish Master Corinir,"

Both Corinir and Radagast looked over at the raven black-haired man, "What?" they said in unison.

"I would have you perish. Perish, standing on your feet instead of living on your knees. You allowed the enemy into your home, now thrust him out. Give your people a taste of freedom my lord, and they will war against these Southron till their last breath. The enemy thinks you are spent. I do not believe you. Radagast does not believe you. You are sons of Numenor, sworn enemies of Sauron. Make him remember, remember it was the Numenorians who rose up against him. Take back what is yours and drive these invaders from your home!" Beowdil was standing now. He was leaning forward, gripping the edge of the table.

Corinir looked over at the fighting man, "Will you stand with me? My men may find courage in your words." A sudden flutter of wings was heard at the window. All three men turned and saw Radagast's raven standing on the stone window seal. It cawed. Though Radagast was the only one who understood exactly what the raven said, both Corinir and Beowdil knew why it had come.

Beowdil turned and looked at Cornir, Master of the river. He nodded as he spoke, "Yes, Lord Corinir, I too will stand with you against this darkness."

"Rally the archers, post them on the wall by the main gate!" the Captain barked orders as loud as he could over the din of his company. They had only a few hours till the Haradrim reached Pelargir, "Deploy the men-at-arms just behind the gate, spears at the ready. Send the light infantry to the east gate, and put the heavy infantry just outside the city."

The crashing sound of metal on metal was accompanied by the hustle of women and children gathering what they could to move away from the main gate. Radagast looked down on the mobilizing forces from Lord Corinir's manor. Beowdil left about an hour earlier to support the light infantry. The wizard wasn't sure how this relatively small force would be able to withstand the assault of three oliphants, but they had no choice.

Lord Corinir had ordered every able body man to fight in defense of the city. This greatly fortified the ranks of the archers, the men-at-arms, and the light infantry. However the heavy infantry that would bear the blunt of the assault and their numbers were limited to a few hundred. They were placed just outside the main gate, as close to it as possible so they would not be flattened by the advancing mumakil. From their place along the wall they would skirmish with the haradrim. The light infantry would then flank the company of harad while the archers along the wall would spray the howdahs of the oliphants. For the limited time given them to prepare, this was the best plan Lord Corinir and Radagast could concoct.

The bearded wizard lifted his head and looked to the southeast. A rising cloud of dust marked the advance of the Southron's. They were still a distance away, but Radagast's raven ensured him the army would be upon them within the hour.

Radagast stood in silence drawing in and focusing his magical powers. I'll need as much magic as I can focus to drive off the Oliphants, he thought. The magic flowing through him heightened his senses. He heard the door on the far side of the room click and open. The new occupant was wearing robes. The fold's of the robes swished as the new occupant entered the room and shut the door. His boots tapped on the ground as he moved. The door closed with a second click and Radagast turned to greet the visitor. He met the gaze of Lord Corinir and nodded.

"Master Radagast, My men have been deployed. We're ready for the assault," stated Corinir.

"The Southron are close. They will be upon us within the hour. Did you tell your heavy infantry to stay close to the wall? It will be harder for the Oliphants to harm them if they stand close by," said Radagast.

"Yes, and the light infantry has been ordered to flank the Southrons as soon as they hear the skirmish begin. Do you really think we can ward off this assault?" asked Corinir.

"It is only a single company of Haradrim. We have the element of surprise on our side. I've seen this company of Haradrim before. As long as your archers keep the Howdah busy Harad's fighting men will prove easy to defeat. Remember, they've been marching all day in this humid weather," Radagast spoke with confidence.

"And what of the Oliphants?" pressed Corinir.

"That is why I am hear, Lord Corinir. I am Radagast the Brown, master of shapes and hues. By mandate of Yavanna I am here in Middle-Earth. I am friend to all beasts, and I will remind these Oliphants of my station. Do not fear them," stated Radagast.

There was a lingering silence in the room for a moment. Corinir moved to the window, looked at the approaching cloud of dust which signaled the oncoming Haradrim company. He swallowed the swelling lump in his throat then turned to Radagast, "Come master wizard. It is time."

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Beowdil made a few last minute adjustments to his chain mail. He grabbed the rag he carried in the pouch which dangled at his side and wiped the sweat from his brow. He looked around at the company of light infantry he chose to assist. They, like himself were clad in chain mail and carried swords and shields. The heavy infantry bore the same but also carried spears in addition to heavier armor. This allowed them to hunker down and deflect enemy assaults. It was the job of the light infantry to flank the assault and deflected force.

Beowdil could tell the fighting men of Pelargir were nervous. He looked around at the organization of the company. The career soldiers were leading the charge as they bore the finer weaponry and possessed greater skill at arms. They stood at attention ready to charge at a moment's notice. The volunteer force, which included Beowdil, was made up of young boys and old men. Some of them bore armor, others did not. They were all given swords and lacked organization. Beowdil could tell who had served in Pelargir's army in the past and who had never seen combat.

From his position on the eastern gate, Beowdil could see the on coming Southrons marked by a cloud of raising dust. The Howdah was beginning to crest the horizon now. It would be less than an hour before the assault began, and from the way the Haradrim were marching, Beowdil knew they were unaware of the resistance awaiting them at the city's main gate.

The sound of a Southron horn rang out in the air, signaling the arrival of the Haradrim. A hushed murmur echoed through the ranks of the volunteer fighting men. Beowdil forced himself to focus as he reviewed in his head what Radagast had taught him about fighting: Don't overstretch your arm, focus on what is in front of you, pace yourself and maintain situational awareness. The horn sounded a second time. Beowdil took a deep breath. From the depths of his gut, The Son of Wulf felt his fury ignite.

Instantly, Beowdil's vision narrowed. His fury burned hot. He could hear the Southron clash with the heavy infantry. Arrows were loosed upon the Howdah as planned. The captain of the light infantry raised his sword above his head, "Charge!" he yelled.

Beowdil let out a war cry and charged. He struggled to widen his vision. Beowdil quickly found himself at the front of the charge. He could see a Haradrim struggle with soldier from Pelargir. With both hands he raised his sword above his head Beowdil and clove the Haradrim's skull in two. Beowdil quickly spun on the ball of his foot and met the advancing polearm of another southron he saw from the corner of his eye. With a quick parry followed by a powerful thrust, Beowdil impaled the bearer of the polearm. Arrows littered the ground as Haradrim from the Howdah regrouped from the surprise attack and began supporting allies on the ground.

Beowdil quickly blinked as he struggled to control his raging fury. He wanted to grasp the internal wrath and use it, but among all the chaos of battle, he knew he couldn't afford to narrow his vision further. A sense of relief washed over him as he realized he had a greater degree of control over the flow of battle as he kept his fury at bay.

Wave after wave of Haradrim attacked. Like a crag against the oceans currents, Beowdil stood his ground. He accepted the challenge of every Haradrim he encountered with an unyielding, controlled wrath. Despite the success seen among the infantry, the growing sense of hope began to fade as the Oliphants accompanying the Haradrim approached with a thunderous advance. The animals bellowed and began stomping their way towards the city. Gondorians and Haradrim alike dove out of the way of the incoming animals, but to no avail. each step seemed to crush soldiers in groups of ten or more. However, Pelargir's infantry stayed close to the city walls, and those who did, avoided the Oliphants trample.
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From the city's parapet, archers loosed arrows into the advancing howdahs. There was a great chaos below the city's wall. From behind Pelargir's archers stepping through a near by door of a guard tower, emerged Corinir and Radagast. The wizard quickly passed Corinir, the city's steward, and stepped onto the parapet.

"Protect the wizard!" shouted Corinir. A volley of arrows drove home into the Howdah, rending cloth and flesh alike. Radagast raised his staff over his head and in the language of magic commanded the Oliphants to cease their onslaught. There was a brief silence from the parapet. The archers, however, soon broke that silence with astonished gasps. Slowly, but surely, the three rampaging Oliphants stopped moving. The animal drivers urged the great beasts forward but their urgings were ignored.

Radagast turned to the archers, "The Howdah is yours, but do not harm the Mumaks. They will cause you no more harm," he warned.

The Haradrim within the Howdah loosed arrows upon the city's parapet and the soldiers below, but the song of their bowstrings was quickly silenced as they were exposed to Pelargir's sharp arrows.
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Beowdil reigned in his fury and with a new found control met his next antagonist. The Haradrim's face was masked and he twirled a scimitar in one hand. He circled Beowdil slowly, preparing to attack. Beowdil wiped the sweat from his eyes with a bare forearm. He felt grit move across his forehead. His fury raged. He felt his vision try to narrow, but with great concentration he pushed is back. As he did, from the corner of his eye, he saw a second Southron emerge from a battle with his spear at the ready.

Beowdil quickly found himself outnumbered two to one. The son of Wulf breathed and let his vision expand. He parried the first attack and dodged the second. With his trailing foot, Beowdil kicked the Southron's spear into the ground. He used his sword to knock the Haradrim's spear away before twisting it in an arc and planting it into the spear weilding Southron. Beowdil ducked under the scimitar a second time, pulled his sword from the dead body of the second Southron, and with a quick strike, caught the first Southron in the stomach with the edge of his arming sword.

He looked at the still Oliphants. They had ceased their rampage, and once they did, both Pelargir's heavy and light infantry launched their counter assault. Despite their greatest efforts, the Haradrim stood no chance against the fully armored troops of Pelargir. Without the support from their Oliphants the Haradrim force fell quickly. With great haste the surviving Southrons turned and fled from the city.

"Let them go!" came the Captain's orders. With great restraint Beowdil calmed the storm in his stomach and lowered his bloody sword. He heard the captain as the heat in his face subsided, "This battle is over, our city has been liberated!" A victorious roar echoed across the plains and danced over the river's surface.

Bodies were piled high. Lifeless corpses piled upon stretchers. The newly tamed Mumaks were used to haul mounds of bodies to the river's bank where the remains of the battle, bodies, armor, and useless weapons, were all cast into the water to be swept out to sea.

Corinir watched from his tower. Radagast stood nearby puffing on a clay pipe. Wreaths of smoke circled his head like a halo. Corinir turned to look at the wizard, "How long will those Oliphants be under your spell?" asked the lord of Pelargir.

"No spell," began Radagst, "I simply convinced them that a life of quiet service was better than one of war. As long as you never demand them to make war, they will be yours till the end of time."

Corinir chuckled quietly to himself. His expression quickly turned serious, "And what of the Southrons? Will they return?"

"The Southrons, the Corsairs of Umbar. You did not rid yourself of your problem, but you are no longer under the sway of Sauron, the Dark Lord," explained Radagast.

Again, Corinir sighed, "At least we'll die on our feet."

From the back of the room Beowdil agreed. He was smeared with blood, sweat and dirt, "And that," he began, "is a reason for which to die."

"And what now Radagast? Do you plan to stay? Stay and witness our downfall as the followers of the Dark Lord descend upon us? It was, after all, your idea to resist him," Though Corinir was relived to be free of his foul oath, the reality of his future began to weigh heavily upon his mind. "My people are spent. Exhausted and trodden down. Yes, this victory has prolonged the inevitable, but what more can we do? Should the Corsairs assail us we won't stand a chance."

"Look to Minas Tirith. That city still stands. They still defy the Dark Lord. Call for their aid. Your valor here today has lengthened their lives as well. Perhaps an emissary to the Steward. Perhaps he will send a garrison with which to aid you," suggested Radagast.

Corinir cast a glance at the marble floors of his dining hall, "No, I fear not. Minas Tirith has its own trials. Osgiliath is weakening and with the number of Southrons we aided in reaching the Black Gate, that city will not stand for long. I'm afraid we are on our own Master Wizard."

"Perhaps, but at least your people have found their courage. That must count for something," a grin was on the Brown Wizard's face as he spoke.

"What will you do now?" asked Corinir.

Beowdil perked up as Radagast looked his way. The wizard grinned and looked back to Corinir, " My companion and I will continue our journey south. He is in search of his family, and I must confront the power rising there. If I fail my quest, then the free folk will face more than Mumaks in the war to come."

"Allow me to send you on boat. It is the least I could do to repay the aid you offered us," Corinir began to walk towards his large wood table.

"No," Radagast refused, "We will travel by foot. I feel drawn to the slave road. There is work their I must complete."

"The slave road? Only brigands and slavers use that route, Wizard. If it is some great power you seek to vanquish, I doubt you will find it there," stated Corinir.

"The feeling I possess regarding the Slave Road is not one of challenge. Someone there needs our help," Radagast explained.

"Wizard, there are many people who need help on that road. You will be busy for the remainder of this age. You will never accomplish your task if you travel by way of the Slave Road," Corinir was doubtful.

"Yet, I must. Perhaps it is Beowdil's family who is calling to us. Perhaps that is why I am drawn there."

The reluctant fighter straightened his back, "Do you really believe my family may be there?"

"I don't know, but would it hurt to search there for them?"

Plant life was almost absent on the slave road. Beowdil was wary. For days now they trekked along the dirt road. His rest was uneasy, and he was constantly on edge. In just the few short days they had been on the road, he and Radagast had already been attacked by thieves on three separate occasions. Beowdil did his best to keep a watchful eye to his right and left, nevertheless, regardless of his vigilance, the brigands who haunted these roads always seemed to slip passed his watchful eyes.

The increasing heat did not help him either. More than once he had to wipe sweat from his eyes, and more than once the dancing heat waves played with his vision causing him to see mirages. Radagast however, did not seem affected by the ever increasing harsh environment. Ever since their small company entered the main road, Radagast had kept to himself. Beowdil wasn't sure, but he hoped, the wizard was hard at work silently casting spells which would protect them from the eyes of bandits.

After what seemed like weeks, Beowdil wasn't certain. After the third bandit attack he stopped counting the days they spent on the Slave Road. Nevertheless, a day after the third attack Radagast finally spoke, "Someone is approaching. Get off the road."

Beowdil cast a glance to the west. A few crags were jutting upward from the barren landscape. They were no more than twenty feet from the road. He nudged the wizard with his elbow and hustled to the spire shaped boulder. Crouching silently behind his cover, Beowdil waited quietly.

Radagast must have used some sort of spell to detect the approaching party because nearly an hour passed before Beowdil even heard the sound of their approaching wagon. Silently the fighting man waited. From around the crag Beowdil spied a horse drawn carriage pass by. Four Southrons marched by. They each bore a polearm with a scimitar dangling from their belts. Each one had their face veiled. Beowdil shifted his focus to the wagon. It was no more a wagon than a cage. The small cage was empty saved for a pile of discarded garments and, to Beowdil's surprise, a dwarf!

"There he is," muttered Radagast. The wizard was crouched behind the second crag. He was leaning heavily on his staff.

"Do you know him?" Beowdil whispered from his hiding place.

"No," began the wizard, "but he's been waiting for us." Radagast stepped out from behind his hiding place and with a quick shake of his staff, a thread of magic frightened the horse and caused it to rear. The Southrons quickly turned their attention to their panicked steed trying to calm it. "Now, Beowdil!" yelled the wizard.

With great haste, Beowdil rose from behind his crag. He sprinted towards the nearest Haradrim. In a blur of steel, Beowdil drew his sword and downed the first Haradite. Three to go, he thought. Almost on cue, Beowdil felt his vision begin to narrow.

One of the Southrons was busy trying to calm their horse. The other two were now moving in on Beowdil. With a quick parry and a feint, Beowdil avoided the attacks of the two haradrim. The fighting man cast a longing glance to Radagst as if asking for help, and seemingly from nowhere, the wizard was at his side. With practiced finesse and tact, Radagast the brown fought the Southron using his staff. Beowdil was impressed.

The magically fortified staff blocked and parried incoming attacks just as well, if not better than Beowdil's sword. The two free-men danced with death as the two Haradrim tried to land a death blow. Through a sweat dripped brow, Beowdil noted the third Haradrim had calmed the horse sufficiently to join the fight. Quickly, and only for a moment, Beowdil allowed his fury to take control. His vision narrowed till all he could see was the combatant in front of him. With ferocity which almost matched a feral warg, Beowdil struck his foe acoss the chest. The Haradrim fell to the ground dying of a gaping chest wound. He quickly refocused in an attempt to bring the world back into focus. The third haradrim was upon him. With raw talent and budding skill, Beowdil meet his next opponent.

Radagast clubbed his adversary across the top of his head, causing it to crack like a melon. The wizard glanced at Beowdil who was locked in combat with the last Southron. Had Radagast not invested a few nights training Beowdil in sword play then the fight would have favored the Haradrim, but the wizard had been honing Beowdil's skills. He was a talented fighter, now Radagast would change him into a skillful one. The edge clearly belonged to Beowdil.

The wizard moved to the carriage. Immediately, in the dwarven tongue, Radagast stated, "We're here to help you." He waved his hand over the lock and muttered a few words. The lock fell open.

"You have my thanks," the dwarf stated in the common tongue.

As the stout fellow climbed down from the wagon, Beowdil ended his battle with the Haradrim. A powerful strike removed the Haradrim's fighting arm. He dropped his pole arm and looked up at Beowdil. To the farmer's surprise, there was no fear in the Southron's eyes. The Haradrim said something in a language Beowdil didn't understand. To further his surprise, the Southron spoke calmly.

From behind, the dwarf spoke up, "He says to, 'finish it.'" Both Radagast looked and Beowdil looked at the dwarf in surprise.

"You speak Haradish?" asked Radagast.

The dwarf nodded, then turned to Beowdil, "Are you going to honor his wishes? He is useless to his Lord with only one arm. An armless Southron cant fight."

"Who are you, and how do you know what this man wants?" asked Beowdil. He never took his eyes from his opponent, nor did he lower his sword.

"I am Belok, son of Frori the Beardless. I have spent a long time among the Haradrim, as a slave. I've learned a lot about them. The least you can do is grant that Southron an honorable death, one at the hand of his adversary in battle." explained Belok.

Beowdil looked back at the Haradrim. The Southron's eyes revealed a longing to die, Beowdil obliged. With a quick stroke his sword found its mark. He pierced the heart of the Haradrim who died instantly, feeling nothing. Beowdil withdrew his sword and his opponent's body landed on the ground with a thud.

The company salvaged what they could from the Haradrim caravan. They found some water and rations, the dwarf found his axe, and just when they were about to set the horse loose and remove the carriage from the road, Beowdil caught a glint of silver coming from the rags piled in the cage, "Wait a moment," called to Radagast who had already began pushing the carriage.

The farmer climbed into the cage and reached into the pile of rags. He withdrew a small amulet hanging from a silver chain. In silence his companions watched as Beowdil stared at the amulet slowly spinning in the dry wind.

"What is it?" asked Radagast.

Beowdil stared at the amulet in disbelief. It was unmistakable, the silver chain, the small metal pendant, and the letter 'A' etched onto the back of it, "It belongs to my wife, Ariel."

From high above over the burning sands of the Harad waste the sun bore down upon the small company. Of the three, the dwarf, Belok, could feel the greatest amount of vigor.

"How is it you seem so unburdened by this oppressive heat?" asked Beowdil.

"I told you, I was a slave. I have spent many long hours laboring under this very sun. The Haradrim are a nomadic people, but when they establish a camp they usually send their slaves out to fetch water and chase down game for the hunters to slay. Hard labor is always performed by the slaves as well. Slaves and women," Belok explained.

Beowdil wiped his forehead with his brow. At the sound of the word, "women," he straightened his weary back, "Women? Belok, did you ever see any women among the slaves? I mean, women from from Gondor, Rohan, or Dale?"

Belok scratched the top of his blonde head, "I'm sure I saw some, but I don't recall ever seeing the women who wore that amulet you carry. She was probably sold to some chieftain and transported to his dwelling before the slavers came for me," explained the dwarf.

Beowdil sighed. He looked over at Radagast who shrugged.

Beowdil turned to look straight ahead once more. In the distance he could see rising above the endless dunes a plume of smoke. He pointed up ahead, "Look."

"I noticed it earlier," commented Radagast, "It is too big to be a camp fire, and too small to be a signal fire. We should approach with caution."

Belok cocked his head to one side as he examined the rising smoke. He tried to recall if he ever had seen something of this nature during his time among the Haradrim. To his dismay, he could think of nothing. The company approached the rising smoke, and as they neared it they slowed their pace and ducked low as they reached the top of the nearest dune. They peered down into the sandy valley below.

They reached the dune closest to the rising smoke. One by one the companions dropped to their bellies and crawled up the final dune. The fine sand wriggled its way under their clothes, Beowdil was annoyed, foul sand, he thought.

Radagast reached the peak first. He gazed over the dune into the sandy depression. With his beard gathering copious amounts of sand he pressed himself closer to the ground to avoid detection. He gazed down and despite the blazing sun, Radagast spied another caravan. However, this van was not for slaves. Haradrim bodies lay strewn across the ground. The dead men all had spears in their hands but none of them bore the wicker type armor common among Southron warriors. To the east of the depression Radagast noticed a cluster of bald men. Their faces were covered in black, red, and white war-paint. Some of them carried wicker shields and all of them carried clubs made from bone.

Beowdil and Belok reached the creast. Beowdil immediately noticed the robed women surrounded by the war painted warriors, "who are they?" he asked.

"The Mahud," answered Belok.

"What are they doing?" Asked the farmer.

"It looks as if they just finished raiding that caravan," Belok stated matter of factly.

"What will they do with those women?" Beowdil was shifting in the sand. His hand inched closer to his sword.

"Calm your fury Beowdil," began Radagast, "We are out numbered and the Mahud should not be taken lightly. They have-"

As if on cue, from behind one of the smouldering wagons, out stepped a foul creature. Beowdil was taken aback. Taller and broader than a man, massive hands gripped a leather wrapped bone club. Supported on massive trunk like legs, this creature walked with a hunched back. A small head was cradled by sinewy shoulders, and smaller eyes conveyed the look of minimal intellegence and an unquenchable taste for blood and gore.

"-Half trolls." Radagast finished.

"By the Valar...." was all Beowdil could muster.

Belok groaned, "I hate those creatures. I was made to fight one once, as entertainment for the Golden King, they are more than a match for you and I Beow."

"What shall we do then?" Beowdil asked, "I may be searching for my Ariel, but I can not sit by idly and watch those women be hauled off by these Mahud."

Radagast laid quietly. Deep in thought. the sun over head was scorching hot. Sweat rolled down his nose into his beard. With one hand the wizards tapped his wizard's staff. Finally, in a hushed tone he spoke, "We will follow them. We can not help those women when the half-troll is so close. When the moment is right we will infiltrate their camp and free those women. Until then, we must be quiet as shadows."

Beowdil knew Radagast was right. He had never crossed paths with a half-troll. He did not know of what they were capable. His hand moved away from his hilt.

Belok reached over and set his wide dwarven hand on Beowdil's arm, "We'll free them Beow, don't worry."

The companionship trailed the Mahud hunters. Radagast cast simple spells from time to time masking signs of he and his companions. Beowdil stowed his armor and cloak he recovered from the caravan destroyed by the Mahud. Belok lead the way being more familiar with the burning south than either Radagast or Beowdil. Their march was slow. Belok chose their path carefully, staying far behind the Mahud raiders.

As the companions fell farther behind Beowdil grew nervous. Each time the Mahud sunk behind a dune he feared they would never see them again but each time they vanished Belok was able to find them again.

"They're talented hunters," commented Belok, "They hide their tracks well."

"I noticed," replied Beowdil, "I'm glad you're with us Belok. Between the sun and wind I lost track of the Mahud more than once today."

Belok looked westward, "The sun is setting. They'll set up camp soon."

"In the middle of the desert?" asked Beowdil, "We've had very little to drink. I imagine they are in need of water just as much as us."

"They're hunters. They know of an oasis. I am certain. I also know that the half-troll will get upset if it doesn't get water soon. As long as we follow them they'll lead us to water," explained Belok.

Beowdil looked over at Radagast. Maintaining the masking spell for so long was exhausting the wizard. His shoulders were stooped and his clothes were drenched in sweat. Despite this Radagast smiled wearily.

"Whatever we do Belok, we need to stop soon. Radagast isn't going to last much longer. He is spent," stated Beowdil. The company topped a final dune. Belok paused and motioned his companions to drop. They obeyed. In the depression below was an oasis. Beowdil gazed longingly at the starkly different depression. The better part of the day was spent crossing this barren waste and now he stared down at a lush, green oasis.

"I told you," commented Belok. He was grinning from ear to ear, "Do you want to know the best part? Look at the Mahud tracks. They stopped. The hunters have set up camp below."

A pale moon sailed quietly across the cold desert night sky. In the depression below, shining like an emerald from the moon's light, Beowdil could see the oasis. The palm trees swayed slowly on the cold night air. A faint orange glow could be seen near the oasis' edge, marking the location of the Mahud warriors, and their prisoners.

Beowdil looked over to Belok. The dwarf was cradling his axe. The two looked over at Radagast, "It may be hard, but we cant save the prisoners till we have obtained some water for ourselves," explained the wizard.

"That should not be too hard, we just sneak in and grab some water," stated Belok.

"Not quite," replied Radagast, "We will need to fill our waterskins as well." Radagast reached down and patted the empty leather bladder at his side.

"Are the Mahud near the water?" asked Bewodil.

"I do not know," Radagast said shaking his head slowly. He looked up, "However, it is safe to assume so."

"So we will need to fill out waterskins before helping the prisoners?" Bewodil asked

"Indeed."

"Then let us move. The night is growing old." urged Belok. He gripped his axe tightly.

Following Radagast's lead, Bewodil and Belok ducked below the crest dune and circled around to the far side of the oasis, opposite the Mahud. Slowly they moved down into the green depression, careful not to make noise. As before, Radagast quietly cast a screening spell to help the companions move more quietly. Beowdil paid close attention to the orange glow deep in the oasis. Where the Mahud were waiting. Where the captive Southron were waiting.

The cold night air was refreshing to Beowdil. He hadn't felt chilled for a long time. They moved swiftly through the oasis. They had left their packs outside the oasis to prevent them from catching on shrubs or limbs. Beowdil was glad to be rid of the weight. Aside from his clothes to keep the chill off, he carried only his arming sword and waterskin. As the companions moved closer to the Mahud camp Beowdil could smell the moisture in the air from the water source of the oasis. Soon, something else caught Beowdil's attention. The sound of muffled screaming.

Radagast, who was in the lead, raised his hand signaling the man and dwarf to stop. He looked over his shoulder and whispered, "Do you hear that?" he asked. It was apparent that the wizard could hear the screaming as well.

Belok tensed and Beowdil nodded.

"They're torturing them," Radagast stated.

Belok lowered his axe and stared at the ground, "Yes," began the dwarf. He spoke in hushed tones, "but not to death. The Mahud are a tough and hardy folk. Both the men and the women. Their women are so stout, it is easier for most Mahud men to go off and pillage for women of a different culture. It is easier to kidnap a Haradrim and keep her than it is to completely satisfy the demands of a Mahud woman. So the Mahud men capture potential 'spouses.' Before returning, sometimes, the hunters will," Belok paused choosing his words carefully, "assess the captive's durability."

Beowdil felt his stomach turn. His fury burned white hot, "They do what!" The fighting man kept his voice low, but his comment was loud enough for Radagast to stare down the farmer. Beowdil was gripping the hilt of his naked sword, "We have to save them. No one deserves that doom."

"You are right Bewodil, but we must get our own water first. We can not help those women if we have expired from thirst," explained the wizard.

Beowdil removed his waterskin from his shoulder. He handed it to the wizard, "You fill it. I can not sit idly by while such a monstrosity occurs." Without another word Bewodil was marching towards the Mahud camp. He had abandoned all caution.

"Fool of a man!" hissed Radagast, "He will be killed."

"Well don't just stand their wizard. If he's going to die we best keep him alive as long as we can," Belok spit some sand from his mouth, wiped it clean with a sandy forearm then trotted off after Beowdil. Radagast rolled his eyes.

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The screams had ceased. The Haradite woman was dragged by her arm back to her cohort. The offending Mahud passed by the half-troll guard and dropped the woman among the others. Without another word he turned around and walked back to his hunting companions. The cohort of women rushed to their sister. Some did their best to tend the victim while the others glared at the grinning Mahud. He glinted as the camp fire's light reflected off of his moist skin.

There was a sound of shifting brush south of the camp. The cohort of women glanced towards the noise. To their surprise a man bearing a sword entered the clearing. He started yelling and though the women could not understand his words, they could tell he was challenging their Mahud captors. The women jumped as the half-troll stood up with his bone club in hand. The creature moved to advance against the stranger but was stayed by the hand of the master hunter.

-----------------------

"Come at me! Taste my steel! You're brave enough to defile helpless women, how will you fair against a man of the west!" Beowdil shook his sword in anger. His vision was closing in on the Mahud who stood up and quickly grabbed their shields, spears and clubs. Beowdil saw the half-troll attempt to move but was motioned down by the Mahud wearing copious amounts of war paint.

"No challengers? Very well," Beowdil nodded. He gripped his sword with both hands and prepared to charge, "WULF!" He yelled. Blood rushed to Beowdil's face as his fury consumed him. No darkness shall stop me! He thought. The Mahud quickly set up in a defensive line.

From the shrubs behind Beowdil, Radagast and Belok watched the spectacle, "Beow won't be able to push past those hunters on his own. Especially once that Half-troll comes up behind him!" Belok too prepared to charge but Radagast placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him. The dwarf looked up in confusion.

"Wait a moment," Radagast said. The wizard grasped his staff with one hand then raised both hands above his head. He uttered an arcane phrase. It was followed by a sudden bright flash. The entire oasis lit up with a bright, white light. Belok quickly covered his eyes. The half-troll and the Mahud were not as fortunate. The half-troll writhed in pain as he was blinded. The hunters also blinked in disbelief as they were momentarily sightless, "Now!" shouted Radagast.

Beowdil smashed into the Mahud hunters. One of them lowered their shield when the flash went off. He fell first. Beowdil pierced the heart of his adversary and the first Mahud fell without a sound. He exerted himself to withdraw his sword from the corpse and move behind the wall of wicker shields. The Mahud to his right, despite being blind, flailed his club about. The bludgeon weapon was smashed into Bewodil's forearm the crunching sound was loud. A blast of pain surged up Beowdil's left arm but it didn't slow him down. The fighting man quickly recovered and thrust his weapon into the stomach of the second Mahud.

"Save some for me!" shouted Belok. The dwarf leaped into the fray close behind Beowdil. With his battle axe he caught a blow intended for Beowdil's skull. "They're a tough lot but Radagast slowed them down enough. We can take them!" Belok returned the crushing blow with a cleave of his own. His blow separated a Mahud's head from the rest of his body. A pool of blood was quickly gathering in the sand.

With the skill befit a maiar, Radagast stepped into the camp. Using his magical staff he deftly parried the attacks of a Mahud hunter before splitting the attacker's skull with the same shaft. Once the wizard was certain the Mahud were subdued by Beowdil and Belok, he reached out with his hand and shouted, "Fear! Fire! Foes!" a blazing, white, light lanced from Radagast's bare hand and pierced the half-troll's writhing body. The once powerful monster was now whimpering and rolling on the ground powerless against the wizard's might, "You are an abomination of an abomination. I can not permit you to continue your wicked ways. The half-trolls of the Mahud must not aid the enemy. Behold the secret fire!" With another pulse of light the half-troll slumped onto the ground and released its last breath.

Few of the Mahud hunting party were left to fight. Despite the pulsing pain in his arm, Beowdil had struck down every foe who stepped forward to fight. Nevertheless, there were still two Mahud remaining and they showed no signs of retreating. The dwarf, Belok, flanked the remaining Mahud. The two hunters stood back to back. Belok had seen this before. He predicted a lull in the combat as the two sides catch their breath. He prepared for the momentary reprieve by moving into a guarded stance. However, to his surprise, his companion, Beowdil, did not pause. The man's sudden fury caught all three combatants off-guard. Both of the remaining Mahud were slain as Beowdil, son of Wulf, slashed the naked chest of the first Mahud then followed through with a thrust into the spine of the second Mahud, who was focused on Belok. As the last body slumped to the ground all the company could hear was the crackle of the fire.

In the orange light of the campfire Radagast looked to the Haradrim women, "Fear not," he said in the tongue of Harad, "we have come to take you home." The women looked shocked to see an aged, pale-skinned, man of the west speaking the Haradish tongue.

"Your arrival is well met," responded the eldest woman in the cohort, "I am Mali-Hama, daughter of Mali-Ahmir. How may I address you master wizard?"

"I am called Radagast the Brown. I travel here on urgent business. There is a growing threat in Deep Harad, the strength of which could change the course of men to one of captivity."

"There is always a threat in Harad," said Hama, "we are a harsh people who live in a harsher land. Who am I to stop you on your quest master Radagast, but please allow my tribe-sisters and I to draw you water from the oasis. You and your companions will perish soon. You can not travel more this day, stay here tonight in the oasis and depart tomorrow."

"Indeed. My companions and I need rest, and water. I for one am weary," Radagast paused and turned to look at Belok and Beowdil. The dwarf was standing over the man, who sat on the ground. The two were examining the farmer's arm. Radagast moved to his company, "Are you hurt Beowdil?" the wizard reached out and carefully took and examined Beowdil's arm, "It seems the club you caught crushed your forearm. I can set it, and splint it, but you will be unable to use it for some time. These women offered us sanctuary here in the oasis tonight, so rest easy man of Dale. You have earned it."

To Beowdil, those last words spoken by the wizard were heavy. A great drowsiness settled on the fighting man. He felt a great urge to lay down and sleep where he was at, in the blood-soaked sand.

Belok say this and reached for Beowdil as he tried to lay down, "How about you don't sleep with the dead tonight, my friend." Belok helped the man to his feet then guided him to one of the bed rolls laid out my the fallen Mahud. Once Beowdil was in a bedroll, he fell asleep.

The dwarf turned to the wizard, "What did you do?" he asked.

"Beowdil is in great pain. I am not a master healer. The greatest help I could offer now is to aid his rest. I used my magic to put him to sleep," Radagast stated. The wizard turned to accept the filled waterskins from the Haradrim women. Belok heard the Brown thank the women in Haradish and then discuss something. Once they had finished Radagast approached Belok and offered him a waterskin.

"What is going on?" asked Belok. He took the bladder and began to drink as he waited for Radagst to answer.

"Firstly, we will mend Beowdil as best we can. It must be done tonight before his bone begins to heal. Second, Mali-Hama, the matriarch of these women has agreed to take you and Beowdil to her tribe. I wish to go with you, but I sense a great power near here that I must investigate. There is some magic west of us. It is familiar to me, it reminds me of someone I knew long ago. I will rejoin you as soon as I am able," Radagast paused. Belok stopped drinking and looked at the wizard, "Belok, it is important that these women and Beowdil are returned safely to the tribe."

"I give you my word as a dwarf. They shall return," state Belok.

"I knew I could trust you. The dwarves are honorable people and you are no exception." stated Radagast. He took a swig from his waterskin and smiled.

The desert sun rose over the dunes and the swiftly rising temperature caused Beowdil to stir. He opened his eyes and found himself resting on a bed roll. He moved to sit up and quickly realized his left arm was restrained. A sharp pain shot up his arm as he tried to move it. Looking down Beowdil saw the splint bracing his forearm.

Radagast approached casting a shadow on the sitting fighter, "That is my handiwork," Bragged the wizard. He offered Beowdil a full water skin, "Drink this, I am certain you are very thirsty."

With his good arm, Beowdil reached up and grabbed the bladder. After a swig, he looked up at Radagast, "What happened?"

"After your skirmish with the Mahud hunting party, I cast a resting spell on you. You broke your arm during the fight," explained the Brown.

"Are the women safe?" asked Bewodil.

"Indeed they are. Thanks to you and Belok, they will return safely to their tribe," answered Radagast. The wizard was quiet for a moment. Beowdil tipped the water skin up to drink more water. Once he finished, Radagast continued, "You and Belok will be escorting the women back to their tribe."

"What about you?" Beowdil interrupted.

"I have wizard's business to which I must attend. There is a mass of crags near here and from them I am detecting a presence. Something I have not felt since my days in Valinor," answered the wizard.

"Valinor?" Beowdil looked up at the wizard.

"Never you mind Beow. I will come for you when I am able. Until then, you must heal. You are of no use to me injured. Mali-Hama and here tribe-sisters will look after you. Be a generous guest," Radagast instructed.

"Wait," said Beowdil, "are you leaving now?"

"I have already wasted enough time tending to you and convincing Belok that he is not to follow me. Remember, I have not come to Harad to find your spouse. I wish you health and a swift recovering Beowdil the Enduring. May the grace of the Valar protect you," with that Radagast turned and vanished into the trees of the oasis.

Beowdil shook his head before taking another swig of water from the water skin. Once he felt sufficiently strengthened, Beowdil stood up. From the other side of the camp site he could hear Belok conversing with the women. It was only a few moments before the dwarf and the women noticed Beowdil was awake.

"Here is the hero!" shouted Belok, "Did you rest well? Have you eaten? Are you ready to move on? The women say we can be among their people by night fall." The plethora of questions caused Beowdil's head to swim a bit. He could still feel the residual effects of Radagast's resting spell.

"I have not yet eaten," was all Beowdil could manage to answer.

Belok turned to the eldest looking Haradrim women and said something, from what Beowdil could discern, the woman was only slightly older than he. The woman reached into the folds of her robes and withdrew a small round object. She offered it to Beowdil, he took it, and the woman made an eating motion. Beowdil took a small bite of the food and winced. It was very sour.

Belok laughed, "You like that? It's Caldo. Very potent and that one piece will keep you going all day. Eat it, all of it. We need to get moving."

A shiver danced down Beowdil's back with each bite of the Caldo, but as instructed he ate it. Once he was finished the company gathered a few supplies from the Mahud cache and turned eastward leaving the oasis behind them.

A high, desert sun seemed intensified to Beowdil. His arm throbbed, and sweat streamed from his face. However, despite his injuries, he trudged along with Belok and the Haradrim women they had rescued from the Mahud. The loose sand beneath his feet made walking more difficult and the dull pain in his arm seemed to be spreading to his head. Beowdil turned to Belok who was nearby. In an attempt to distract himself he asked, "Won't the Mahud come looking for us?"

Belok took a deep breath and held it in as he thought of a response. The dwarf turned to the man, "No. The hunting party could have been anywhere from two to three days away from their own tribe, and judging by the supplies we took from their cache, I would guess they were at least a week away from returning home. If it were up to me I would guess they were planning at least another two raids before returning home. By the time the rest of their tribe realizes they are dead and gone, there won't be any signs by which to track us."

Beowdil nodded. He turned his head back to see the gaggle of women behind him. The fighter and the dwarf lead the women with Mali-Hama as guide. She indicated to Belok that it would be nearly sundown by the time the company reached her tribe. As Beowdil returned his gaze to the front, from the corner of his eyes, he saw one of the younger Haradrim women staring at him. He noticed it earlier today too. At first he thought this young woman was eager to see a man of the west, however, it was passed noon and the young maiden was still eyeing him as if her fascination was moving beyond mere curiosity.

"Belok," began Beowdil.

The dwarf turned to look at him once more.

"Who is the young maiden? The one on the far left?" asked Beowdil.

"How should I know? I don't know these women," Belok drew his brow together.

Beowdil sighed, "Ask, Hama for me." Belok nodded. He got Hama's attention and there was an exchange of words. Beowdil tried to glean what he could, but the two spoke so quickly that the man from Dale couldn't even tell when one word ended and another began.

Belok turned back to Beowdil, "Her name is Raja-Yusraa youngest daughter of Raja-Dahn. Hama says, like all the girls here, they have never seen a man from the west. She is just fascinated. Don't worry Beow, I'll protect you from her," Belok let out a loud, deep, dwarven laugh. He reached up and stroked his beard.

Beowdil shook his head. once Belok calmed down Beowdil could feel his arm start to throb once more.

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As Hama predicted, it was after night fall when the company reached the tribe's campground. Beowdil took note of the skin tents, each organized in a familial cluster all centered around a fire pit which served as the center piece of the camp ground. Beowdil saw a few men with spears and veiled faces patrolling the camp ground but judging by their demeanor and size, he could tell they were young and inexperienced.

Belok and Hama lead the group to the fire place at the center of the camp. The two were greeted by a Southron with many trappings. It was obvious to Beowdil that he was a man of great importance within the village. Hama and Belok began to converse with the chief and gesture with their hands as they spoke.

When they both started pointing at Beowdil it became obvious to the man which part of the story they were talking about. He tried to betray the fact that his arm was in a great deal of pain, but it was of no use. He cradled his broken arm gently. Beowdil drew his brow together as he felt a pair of smooth, warm hands move their way passed his elbow and over his make-shift splint. He turned his head and saw Raja-Yusraa.

Beowdil wanted to move away as he felt awkward with a young woman massaging his broken arm, but the warmth in her hands was comfortable and seemed to dull the pain in his arm. He was unsure how she was killing the pain, at first. When she drew her hand away and poured more oil into it from a gourd which hung at her side from a leather strap it made sense to Beowdil. Yusraa said something to him but Beowdil could not understand. He just stood quietly, allowing the young maiden to gently rub the pain-killing oil into his skin.

As Belok returned, Yusraa bowed her head and slipped back into the crowd of women. They were growing anxious to return to their families'. The chief yelled something at the crowd of women who then cheered joyously before dispersing into the arms of their loved ones who had gathered. Belok looked over at Beowdil, "You want to have a banquet?"

"What?" asked the man.

"The Chief, he wants to celebrate the return of the tribal women and your valor. He said they will have a feast in your honor," Belok explained.

"What about you? You helped," asked Beowdil.

"Sure, me too, but you are the one who risked life and limb to save his women. Don't worry, I'll get mine too. I haven't had any ale for a long time. I will be certain to drink my share of glory," despite his large beard, Beowdil could see a large grin on Belok's face. "And believe me Beow, I have been to a few Southron festivals, there will be lots of glory to drink!"

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At the chieftain's command the women dispersed to their families. Raja-Yursaa was no exception. She quickly turned and fled to her father. Sand flew up in trails as she sprinted home, "Patu!" she called in the Haradrim tongue, "I have returned!"

Yursaa's father, Raja-Dahn, was weaving a shield when he heard the voice of his youngest daughter. He quickly looked up from his work and at the tent door. It flew open as his beautiful, young daughter dashed to his arms. He hardly had time to drop his tools, "Daughter!" tears streamed down his face, "When the warriors returned empty-handed, we feared the worst." Dahn paused and turned to the other women in the tent, "May, come greet your sister."

Raja-May turned from the stone where she was grinding meal and smiled, "My sister! I am so glad you have come home!" She raced to her father and sister and embraced them both, "I am so glad we are together again."

Yursaa held her family close for a moment before pulling away. "Patu," she began, "there is a man. He is from the west, a valorous man. He saved us, he and his companions fought the Mahud hunting party. Chief wishes to honor them tonight."

"Indeed, we must. It was this man who brought my Yursaa back to me," said Raja-Dahn.

"Patu, there is something else," Yursaa pulled back and reached up. She grabbed a thin leather strap which hung from her neck. At the end of the necklace was an aged brown claw no longer than a man's forefinger.

"Oh," said Dahn, "I see."

A sudden cloud seemed to settle over May's face. She reached up and clasped the claw that hung from the necklace she wore as well.

The blistering heat would have proved bothersome to Beowdil and Belok, but Radagast travelled alone now. The wizard of brown maintained a cooling spell about himself. The spell was complex thus he was unable to sustain it upon three people, however, now that he was alone, it proved far easier. The crag in the distance which drew him away from his companions, was much closer now. Radagast passed beneath its shadow and sensed the air around him cool further. He dropped his spell.

The wizard paused and stretched his magic aura out into the rock formation before him. He sensed a labrinth of tunnels below the surface. He sensed residual magic which indicated these tunnels had been craved not by hand, but with the skilled precision of a wizard.

Radagst marvelled at the shaping spell used to carve the subterrainian maze. However, it wasn't the labrynth itself at which he marvelled, but the unique signature left behind by the caster. "I haven't felt your presence since I left Valinor," Radagast said. No one was present to hear him, but he spoke anyways. The wizard retracted his spell and began to search for a way to open the maze's entrance.

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Beowdil sat on the sand just outside the chieftain's tent. His arm throbbed with a dull pain but he ignored it. The sun was nearly set now, and the bonfire built in the center of the settlement was beginning to rage. Beowdil looked to Belok who was smiling, "I haven't seen a feast this big in a long time," said the dwarf.

"All in our honor?" questioned Beowdil.

"Our honor?" began Belok, "The chief said it was all for you."

"I really don't feel like feasting," Beowdil commented.

"Don't worry Beow. After a few drinks of wine you will forget all about your arm. I for one would like a break from the dried fruit and salted meat we've been living on," Belok paused before raising his arm. He pointed to the opposite side of the circle of tents, "See those butchers. They are carving up more meat than these people eat in a week. You don't want to offend them do you?"

"They should just keep the meat for themselves and forget about some grand festival. I would have done what I did for anyone," Beowdil commented.

"You mean brashly attack a force which outnumbered you?" Belok mocked.

Beowdil looked up and grinned, "yes." he stated.

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The bonfire raged and illuminated the festival. The nomadic Southrons danced to the rhythmic tones of their bards and musicians. The sounds of drums and flutes seemed to keep beat with the crackling bonfire. Belok kept close to Beowdil to translate. Many fathers thanked Beowdil for his courage. As the dwarf promised their were copious amounts of "glory" from which to partake, and just as the dwarf had implied, Beowdil forgot about the dull pain in his broken arm.

Raja-Dahn looked over at Beowdil who was standing by the chieftain's tent. He took a deep breath then turned to Raja-Yursaa. Her eyes sparkled as the light of the fire dance in them.

"The chief has consented. Daughter, you are certain this is what you want?" asked Dahn.

"Yes, father, he is a valiant warrior and a man of honor," answered Yursaa. Dahn looked over his daughter's shoulder at Raja-May. Her eyes conveyed a sense of duty, honor to uphold her people's traditions. He didn't need to speak. May knew what was required of her.

As if perceiving her father's thoughts, May nodded and from behind her veil she spoke, "I will honor you and our people, Father."

"Then let us go," said Dahn. He hugged each of his daughters, turned and marched to Beowdil. He greeted the man from the west with a hearty greeting of Harad, "Kotaw!"

"Kotaw!" responded Beowdil.

Belok leaned over, "I am really glad you learned to say 'hello,' I grew weary of translating that one."

Beowdil did not recognize the man who addressed him, but from over the Haradrim's shoulder he thought he recognized the young woman behind him. Beowdil tried to understand what was said, but the Southron language was beyond his capability.

"This is Raja-Dahn," said Belok, "He thanks you for saving his daughter, Raja-Yursaa."

Raja-Dahn turned to Yursaa and took a cup which she held. Dahn turned and extended it towards Beowdil. He spoke slowly and clearly. Beowdil took the cup and leaned to Belok for the translation.

"From one patriarch to another, responsibility has been passed," Belok translated.

Beowdil raised the cup to his lips, then paused, "responsibility?"

"That is what he said. I may not be a smart dwarf, but I know how to speak Haradish."

Beowdil shrugged and tipped the cup back. Its sweet wine flowed into his mouth. He paused as he felt something solid touch his lips. Beowdil tipped the cup forward and peered inside. Within the wine was a crescent shaped object. Beowdil reached in and pulled it out. It was the curved claw of an animal fastened to a leather necklace. He held the object up and looked at Raja-Dahn. The man uttered something in Haradish.

"Will you accept, as thanks for your valor?" Belok interpreted.

"Oh. With honor!" Beowdil slipped the necklace around his neck, it tapped against Ariel's medallion. The fighting man finished draining the cup of wine then handed it back to Dahn. He turned to say something to Belok but was surprised to see Dahn did not move away as the others had done earlier. Instead he took a second cup of wine from the slightly older woman who accompanied him and extended it to Beowdil. He offered the same statement as before, "From one patriarch to another, responsibility has been passed."

Beowdil stopped moving for a moment. He slowly turned back towards Dahn, "Very well." The man of Dale accepted the offered cup and drank as before. Again, he found a clawed necklace mixed within the wine.

"Will you accept?" Dahn asked.

Boewdil hesitated, "yes," he finally said. He slipped the necklace over his head. It too clicked against Ariel's medallion. He drained the wine and offered the cup back to Dahn, who bowed, then backed away. Beowdil's head began swimming. He looked over at the two women who did not walk away as did their father. From behind her veil, Beowdil was certain he could see the younger of the two women smiling.

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That smile was the first thing Beowdil recalled when the tent flap from the tent in which he slept was thrown open. The slap of the dried flesh startled him awake. A familiar woman entered and set a pitcher near the pile of furs among which Beowdil rested. She said something to him but he didn't understand. Beowdil suddenly became keenly aware that the only articles he wore were Ariel's medallion and the two clawed necklaces. Under the fur coverings he was completely naked. The farmer grew anxious and hyper-vigilant. He noticed the woman wore a long sleeved tunic which stretch to her ankles. Her long, dark hair was down and slightly matted as if she too had just awoken. Beowdil tried to understand her as she spoke but to no avail.

The woman sat down near Beowdil and offered to him the pitcher she held. He took it and peered inside. He saw nothing but water. He quenched his thirst then offered the pitcher back, "Thank you. Where's Belok, can you bring Belok to me?" he asked.

"Belok?" asked the woman.

"Yes! Belok, my dwarf friend, bring him here," Beowdil tried signaling as he spoke. The woman seemed to understand. She nodded, stood, bowed, then left the tent. Beowdil shook his head, "what is going on?"

Shortly, the woman returned with the dwarf in tow, "Belok." was all she said.

Beowdil looked at the dwarf. His eyes were droopy and he moaned, "too much glory?" asked the farmer.

"You and me both my friend," answered Belok.

"So it would seem. Belok, I'm naked."

"Beow, I don't care if you sleep on your head, let alone that you sleep in the nude. Did you have May drag me out of my tent to tell me that?" asked the dwarf through sleepy hung-over eyes.

"I don't normally sleep like this. What in the name of the Valar is going on?" asked Beowdil. He watched as Belok turned to Raja-May and they began to converse. At first Belok nodded as he listened but suddenly he stopped nodding and his state of post drunken stupor vanished and was replaced with alarm. The alarm quickly changed to a smile and Belok began to laugh. Loud and hard.

"Congratulations!" Belok yelled. He raced over to Beowdil and slapped him on his bare back. From the entrance May chuckled nervously.

"Thank you. What is happening?" asked Beowdil.

"Oh, I wish you spoke Haradish so May could tell you what is going on. I guess my translation will have to do. Hold on Beow, I need to compose myself," Belok stopped talking so he could laugh. He laughed for what felt to Beowdil like and eternity before continuing, "Recall last night when you found those claws you are wearing in your drinks?"

"Yes," answered Beowdil.

"That was a wedding ceremony!"

"What?" Beowdil answered, "I'm already married."

"I know, twice now. Or three times actually," Belok said between belly-laughs.

"Explain!" Beowdil demanded.

"That phrase about responsibility being passed and you 'accepting' responsibility and putting on those necklaces. It was those. That entire conversation was an official wedding ceremony, and according to May here, your third wife I will add, it was a marriage sanctioned by both the father and the chief!" Belok was still laughing.

"I'm already married, to Ariel, my wife from Dale. The reason I am in this Valar forsaken desert!" Beowdil stood over Belok yelling. He paused as he felt a draft and remembered he was naked. He quickly grabbed a fur blanket and wrapped himself in it, "Sorry May," he said to the woman by the tent entrance.

"I think she saw more than that Beow. We both got very drunk last night, and I am going to bet. Wait a moment," Belok turned, said something to May. She nodded and Belok turned back to Beowdil, "Yes, she saw far more than that, you not only agreed to wed Raja-Yursaa and Raja-May, but you consummated both your weddings last night. Not bad for your first night in town," Belok said.

Beowdil felt a pit form in his stomach, "but I'm already married."

"That doesn't matter here, a man can wed more than once. To them, Ariel is only the Matriarch of the family, it doesn't make you unavailable. They offered and you accepted," Belok explained. Beowdil sunk back into his pile of furs. Belok could see his friend was in despair, "Let me talk to May."

Beowdil watch as the dwarf approached May and the two conversed. He tried hard to understand what they spoke, but as usual, it was of no use.

"May," began Belok, he was speaking in Haradish, "Beowdil is already married. That is why he is in the desert. He is searching for his wife, Ariel."

"So, Yursaa is not the first wife? She can not be the Matriarch?" said May. Her eyes seemed to light up when Belok spoke. She tried, but could not hide her smile.

"No. In fact, in Beowdil's country a man can not have more than one spouse." explained Belok.

"That is odd. Who takes care of all the women?" asked May.

"Family, friends and their spouses. Look, is there anyway we can explain that there is a misunderstanding here? Can we allow you and your sister to return you your father?" asked Belok.

"No, Beowdil accepted us both in word and body. We are his responsibility now. Should we return to our father as rejected wives, having lost our virtue we would bring great shame to him. At best we would become shut-ins, at worst we would become shut-outs. I am sorry if the Matriarch does not want us, but Beowdil accepted us. Although I will admit, I am glad to learn my younger sister will not be Matriarch over me, she hasn't stopped gloating all morning. Beowdil accepted her in word first, but he accepted me in body before my sister which indeed has caused a strain, since it is tradition for the Matriarch to be accepted first in both cases," explained May.

"I really don't care who knew who first," said Belok, "I would like to know why your father gave you both to Beowdil?"

"It is not right for the younger sister to wed before the elder," stated May.

Belok nodded as if he understood. He turned to Beowdil and spoke in the common tongue, "Well friend, you're married, thrice now. If you end your wedding with these women, you will very literally ruin their lives. I would just accept it for now and learn to speak Haradish. I'll go talk with the chief and see what can be done. In the mean time, put some clothes on."

"What about you? Did you get married last night?" asked Beowdil.

"Me? No, you and your people don't have enough hair for dwarf tastes. I just got blind staggering drunk. Hey, enjoy married life!" Belok laughed again, he threw back the tent flap and walked out leaving Beowdil alone with his third wife.

How long has it been? Radagast asked himself. Even with my magic powers I can't seem to breech this labyrinth. The lack of light combined with the endless twists and turns is exhausting! I am growing weary. The wizard walked by the light of a fading spell. When he grew too weary to sustain his magic Radagast placed his hand on the wall and let his light go out. Completely blinded from lack of light, the wizard placed one foot in front of the other and ran his free hand along the stone wall. A growing hunger gnawed at his insides. He had used a spell to slow his metabolism and combined with the rations he took when he departed from his company, Radagast had enough food to last him for some time. However, as Radagast reached into his haversack he recalled that his rations were long gone. I can't sustain myself forever, he thought, Perhaps I should rest. Then, as he had done numerous times in the dark, dry, cold labyrinth, Radagast sat down, wrapped his ruddy cloak about himself and drifted into an uncomfortable sleep.
---------------------------------------------------
A faint shuffling caused the wizard to open his eyes. He felt bothered when he opened his eyes and saw nothing but black. He momentarily forgot where he was as he closed his eyes a second time, rubbed them, then opened them again thinking it would afford him better sight. After his mind cleared and he remembered where he was, Radagst sighed.

What a dreary place.

The wizard used the labyrinth wall to guide himself to his feet. He reached down and grabbed his staff. He uttered a few enchanted words and the head of his staff lit up like a torch. The wizard could feel his endurance fade. Radagast pushed his aura out in order to sense from which direction came the shuffling. He expected nothing and received nothing in return. He had become so weary, the brown wizard was unsure how far out his magic aura was stretching. As when he entered, he could feel a familiar presence but that sensation permeated the entire labyrinth. It was as if the structure was constructed by someone he knew.

If I know them, he thought why cant I find my way through here? Radagast resumed his trek once more. It was slightly easier to navigate when he could see, however, with each step and each hour the wizard felt his fortitude diminish. The glow of his staff mirrored his physical condition as the light grew dimmer and dimmer. Radagast couldn't remember when the light went out, but when it did, he instinctively put his hand on the wall and stumbled around in the dark turning corner after corner until he couldn't walk any more. Once more, Radagast slid to the floor, wrapped himself in his cloak and drifted to sleep.

The shuffling was louder this time, closer. Radagast's eyes shot open and with a quick shout of arcane words his staff lit up in a flash. Down the hall the wizard glimpsed a shadow not his own. He tried to move quickly, but his body was growing weak. Once on his feet Radagast pursued the specter.

"You can not out wit me forever," threatened the wizard, "For I am Radagast the Brown, master of shapes and hues!" He chased in the direction in which the shadow fled. With a renewed vigor he marched, but the vim began to fade as the day waned on. Just as the many days before Radagast's pace slowed, his staff dimmed, and soon he was bumbling around in the dark. Another day had passed him, another opportunity to escape alluded him, and after blindly walking with his free hand on the wall until his strength was drained, the wizard slunk to the ground and drifted into a restless sleep.
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"Your arm is mending well," May said to Beowdil.

Yursaa gingerly took her husband's arm. She too examined it, first the top then the bottom, "I agree. It seems sound, you healed fast my dear."

Beowdil took his arm back, "Please, don't call me that," he said in Haradish.

"You're Haradish is improving too," May smiled.

Beowdil looked down at the sand. He pushed the grains around with his booted foot, then he looked over at the tent walls. Finally, he allowed himself to look at his second and third wife, "Is it well enough to explain to you my plight?"

"You may try husband. Perhaps today we will understand," stated Yursaa. She took Beowdil by his newly mended arm and lead him to the pile of furs in which he slept. Yursaa sat down and urged him to sit with her. Beowdil relented and sat. May, still holding the splint of wood and cloth that Beowdil used, moved to a nearby table, set the articles down and joined her husband and sister-wife.

"Look, I am already wed to another," Beowdil began.

"Yes," began Yursaa sounding annoyed, "That is how you began last month when you told me I would not be the Matriarch of our family."

"Please," Beowdil pleaded, "I want you to understand. In my land, a man may only have a single spouse. It is not prudent for him to have two, or three."

"But you left, your land and came to ours," May interjected.

"Because my Ariel was taken. I came to find her," Beowdil said.

"And you found us," Yursaa interrupted, "You don't have to stop looking for her. We can help. Our father Raja-Dahn taught us some hunting skills. He was mocked for it, but he did it because he wanted us to be able to help our husband if needed. Oh my husband, if you could only understand our way of life."

"It isn't me I'm worried about. What is going to happen when I find Ariel? How will I explain to her that according to Southron customs I am now the husband of three women?" Beowdil asked out loud. Deep down he hoped one of these women had the answer, but this was not the first time they had this conversation, and each time, no one offered an answer.

"So Ariel will not be pleased that she is now the Matriarch?" asked May.

"Where I come from there is no Matriarch," Beowdil paused, "well, there is, but not like here. Ariel is the matriarch of our family. Her, me, my children."

May's eyes lit up, "You have children? You never speak of them my Dear!"

Beowdil's cheeks flushed, "I do," his mood immediately darkened, "but they were also taken from me."

"I am sorry Beowdil," May reached out and touched her husband's hand. a wave of comfort washed over Beowdil. This was the first time anyone had expressed empathy for the loss of his family. At least this was the first time he was calm enough to notice. He placed his other hand on top of May's and sat motionless. He soon felt Yursaa's jealous stare. Beowdil tried to devote equal time to his two new spouses, but it was extremely difficult. May was so much easier to care for. She was mature, and possessed a gift of empathy which Beowdil had only ever seen before in Ariel. Yursaa was not difficult to love either, but she was used to a level of attention much greater than May. It was no secret that Yursaa's beauty far surpassed May's, and her vibrant youth was contagious, however, if she did not receive the amounts of attention she felt she deserved, she became difficult to be with. This was not to mean the May was ugly, for her eyes were stunning and almond shaped. The emotion she could convey through her dark eyes could fill a room with warmth and comfort.

In an attempt to preserve the peace Beowdil removed his hand and changed the subject, "Now that my arm is better, I want to resume my search for Ariel." He stood up from the pile of furs.

"When will we leave?" asked Yursaa looking up at Beowdil.

"We?" asked Beowdil.

"Yes," began May. She stood up, "Yursaa already told you that we can track. Whether you like it or not, Wulf-Beowdil, our Matriarch has been taken, and the family's off-spring is also missing. Yursaa and I are honor-bound to aid you in any way we can."

"Neither of you can fight. I cant be expected to track and defend you," Beowdil lied.

"Then teach us. I have seen you fight and you are amazing. Belok can help too," Yursaa stated.

"Your father won't be happy," Beowdil tried to dissuade them once more.

"Father relinquished his patriarchal authority to you. We are now Wulf-May and Wulf-Yursaa," stated May.

Beowdil sighed, "I see there is no convincing you otherwise. May the Valar help me, I have three stubborn women to care for. Very well, let's go and find Belok."

Belok sat in the morning sun. He was seated on a bench just outside the tent in which he had chosen to stay. In one hand he held a plate of salted meat, in the other was a mug of ale. The flap on the tent next to his flew open, Beowdil and his women stepped out.

"Are you done arguing?" asked the dwarf in Haradish.

"You could hear us?" asked Beowdil.

"These tents are made from animal skin. Of course I could hear you, and had you tried to leave without May and Yursaa I would have stopped you as well. They are good women. You couldn't ask for better companions," stated the dwarf.

Beowdil shook his head as he fastened his sword to his hip, "If you all are ready to go we should gather what water and supplies we can and head out."

"Where? Radagast seemed to know where he was going. Without him we are lost," said Belok.

"I have been thinking about that for some time now, and since I cant seem to convince May and Yursaa to stay behind, they will help us," Beowdil paused and turned his attention to his wives, "Women, can you guide us to the Mahud camp?"

Yursaa tensed up, May appeared determined, "They are as nomadic as us. However, we do know something of their movement patterns."

"I will gather what supplies I can," stated Yursaa. She turned and walked towards her father's tent.

It was midday by the time everything was gathered together. Beowdil approached his newly formed caravan as Raja-Dahn finished tying down the load. The warrior walked to his father-in-law, "Thank you for your help," said Beowdil.

"It is the least I could do. You are taking my daughters from me, I gathered what inheritence they were entitled to in addition to one of my horses to carry it," Raja-Dahn became very serious. He turned and faced the man from Dale, "Beowdil, I know of the conversations we have had. I know you feel I tricked you into accepting my daughters as wives. I also know that despite your feelings and despite the fact that you do not treat my daughters as your wives, I would ask that you care for them. You are taking them into the wild, a very dangerous wild, and I can not bear the thought of losing them to this Valar forsaken desert. Whether you like it or not, whether you agree or not, by my people, you are the rightful provider to my daughters. Please remember that. If nothing else, love them as I would love them."

Beowdil looked over the supplies as Dahn spoke. He listened carefully as he checked the straps to ensure nothing would fall off the horse. Once Dahn finished speaking Beowdil turned and looked at him, "You have given me two beautiful women to care for. I will not squander that gift. Though I can not promise you to love them as a husband, I will take care of them as long as I am able." It may not have been what Dahn wanted to hear, but it was the best Beowdil could offer. The warrior turned and walked to the front of his small caravan.

May and Yursaa approached their father next. He hugged each of them in turn. Through watery eyes Dahn spoke, "I am very proud of you both. You honor a husband who can not honor you as his wives. Perhaps one day he will understand his responsibilities. He is taking you on a dangerous journey, and I wish to see you again. I have added my hunting gear to your inheretance," he paused.

"Father, you can't!" May protested

"I will craft more. You need it more now than I. Daughters, honor the oaths you have made to Wulf-Bewodil. He will someday honor his," Dahn finished. He drew each of his daughters close once more and kissed them on the forehead. May smiled and walked to the front of the caravan where Beowdil and Belok waited.

Yursaa moved to do the same but before she could, Dahn gently took her by the arm and moved in close, "My dear, I have a special task for you. May is slowly moving beyond her child bearing years. I fear by the time Beowdil is ready to father children by you and your sister that it will be too late for May to bear. As you know, dear, I have no sons, and as I said, May is slowly moving beyond her prime. The longevity of our family is therefore placed soley on you," Dahn paused allowing the weight of his words to sink into his daughter.

Yursaa stared at her father. He could tell by her look that she understood, "Bear for me a grandson. I wish for the Raja line to continue."

"Yes Father," Yursaa said. Dahn pulled her close one last time in a hug. Then she too joined her family at the front of the caravan.