The next morning, the Sun rose in the east, its light spilling over the towering Misty Mountains to illuminate Eriador.
A few sparrows chirped in the treetops, celebrating the clear, sunny day.
After staying awake all night, Halbarad stretched mightily and prepared to return to his tent for a short nap.
This time of day was usually quite safe. The bandits who robbed and extorted people never got up this early; they caused trouble either in the middle of the night or in the afternoon.
Today, however, was an exception. A long line of bandits suddenly appeared on the distant trail, steadily approaching the village. Halbarad's eyes instantly blazed with anger.
If so many of our people hadn't gone to Annúminas, I would have taken a party out and wiped out those worthless scum long ago!
Now they keep pestering us, over and over again. This time, I'll show them what the Dúnedain are made of.
Furious, the young Ranger swiftly tightened his grip on his longbow and blew a piercing whistle to alert his companions.
The enemy was approaching!
Yet Halbarad's expression soon turned to bewilderment, for the bandits were in a decidedly strange state.
The man at the front had his hands tightly bound with hemp rope, with a sheet of parchment wedged between them.
The rope stretched back behind him, binding another blindfolded captive every half meter. The band of several dozen stretched for twenty or thirty meters.
Under their leader's guidance, everyone shuffled forward cautiously, terrified of straying off course, blundering into something, and tumbling beside the road.
In fact, they had already fallen four or five times that night, and getting everyone back on their feet had taken a great deal of time on each occasion.
The journey normally took less than two hours, but