15. The Muster

The Thain had no need to send messengers throughout the land. Many outstanding archers were already on the spot with their weapons. Most of them had ridden ponies to the Faire, and those ponies were travel-beasts rather than racers, and fresh from the rest they’d enjoyed over the days of the archery tournament.

It also seemed that word had spread of the Northlanders’ desperate plea for aid, for while the Free Faire’s final-morning activities were taking place, hobbits in Michel Delving, both residents and visitors, were packing bags of food and supplies as if the race were a foregone conclusion. 

*** 

Thus, seemingly-endless rivers of Shire-folk streamed from various points towards the Tooks’ camp, where the Tookish fairgoers were rolling their bedrolls and packing up their supplies.

Besides individuals carrying bags of provisions and necessities came those who had rather more in their store-holes. ‘I’ve food!’ the innkeeper shouted, hauling a cart behind him, heaped high with bulging bags. Several vendors who’d come to sell to archers at the tournament had closed their booths and were giving away their wares rather than packing them to take home again. And the curator of Michel Delving’s Mathom-house distributed several waggonloads of lovingly-preserved weapons.

*** 

At last, Ferumbras woke Bandobras, who’d slept through all the commotion and preparations. ‘Dobby,’ he said. ‘I’ll be wanting my bedroll now.’

Bandobras threw off the covers. ‘You’re leaving already?’ he said, blinking away sleep.

‘We’re ready to leave,’ Ferumbras said. ‘Friend is tacked up and waiting for you.’

He helped Bandobras to his feet, whereupon a great cheer went up.

Astonished, the scout stared at rank upon rank of archers, many bearing other weapons as well, one body mounted and another a-foot.

‘What’re ye waiting for?’ Isumbras thundered. ‘Time’s a-wasting! Ye can still make five-and-twenty miles before the Sunrise!’

***