1 Weathertop

Fear. Unconditional and hopeless fear. The feeling struck her like a fist in the chest and she staggered backwards, breathing heavily. As her mind struggled to make sense of the horrible feeling, Frances realised that no sensible though could make its way to the surface of her mind. Cold shivers started to seize her body, and the panic threatened to overwhelm her. Frances searched frantically for an anchor, something that would prevent her from drowning in the dark thoughts that crushed her mind. In the void space that engulfed her in a hopeless state, there was nothing to observe, nothing to understand, nothing to put her brain back online and pull her out of it. Her eyes were wide open with the intensity of the seizure, and try as she might she could not shake herself out of this catatonic state.

An intense screeching resonated in the void; Frances felt her knees buckle and she stumbled down, her hands flying to her hears in an attempt to protect her eardrums from the dreadful shrill. The cry was worse than a set of nails on a blackboard and its high-pitched resonance cut through the bones like an ultrasound detonation. Pinned to the ground, Frances struggled dearly to resurface, but she could not manage to shake the panic out of her failing body.

Suddenly a cry resonated in the emptiness, its anguished tones dug into the waves of agony to reach Frances' survival instinct. Humanity tried to dig their way into the fuzzy fog that had claimed her spirit. As her consciousness started to resurface, Frances realised that the voice had shattered the glass bubble with its frantic prayer, triggering her inner instincts of protecting people. After her experience in the FBI service, following her two companions into situations that had nothing to envy to this one, the young woman had made a habit to rush without thinking too much of the consequences. It was a part of who she was, and she was ready, once more, to satisfy that impulse. Like this very first time when she had saved those people by hiding them in her wooden talan. This reckless move had been the point of origin of the whole story, her internship with FBI foreign agents and the finding of the blue necklace; her destiny. Now was not the time to crouch back; if she had been called here, then fight she must!

In the darkness, the mount seemed so huge, and more sombre even. As she attacked the flank with the ease of her climbing years and light weight, the young red head could still feel the dread trying to dissuade her from going on. Dark waves of despair and hopelessness were tingling her senses and trying to claim her back to the dark side. No matter how attractive the idea of turning catatonic again, Frances managed to shake herself, and she smiled. In the past, monsters and supernatural forces had crossed her way and she had naturally freaked like a girl, but today there was no way in hell she would give up. This was a challenge, and Frances had never lost a bet, stubborn as she was. She climbed swiftly, burying her survival instinct for a while. The dread was feeding on it, sending her images of horrible death in unknown dark hands, pushing her to reconsider her options. Too bad for the darkness that Frances had an iron will, and an arm's length experience in the domain of fright from her previous encounters. None, though, had been this talented. Pushing the darkness away from her mind, Frances wondered what she would find.

From the muffled cries that arose in the night some people seemed in a very hazardous situation; help might be welcome. Pulling her senses out like she had learnt in her meditation classes with the FBI, the young woman caught the smell or dying fire and salty food. What came next crushed her with fear? Frances stopped, her legs giving out, hands covering her face. Up there, death awaited her. The coldness enveloped her, and the young woman shuddered, biting her tongue to refrain from wailing in fear. The abominable presence of those beings was too strong to bear, but another cry shook her out of her trance. Frances' head snapped. People were in danger, they needed her! Repeating this like a mantra, she shakily climbed on her feet, and took off again. The cries intensified, fuelling her ire, and the young woman accelerated. Screeches responded to the desperate yells, and Frances nearly lost her footing on the small promontory. What kind of creature could produce such a sound? Coming to an edge that seemed to surround the summit, Frances hid behind a boulder to assess the situation. Her breath was short, from the effort as much as from her own dread.

From where she was kneeling the view was less than encouraging. Even in the gloom her eyes could make out five cloaked forms, their silhouettes even darker than the rest of the thick shadows. The macabre group was closing in on what seemed a gathering of children, but she could not exactly see how many of them. The distinctive ring of steel filled the air with its high-pitched vibrations and Frances watched with astonished eyes the disembodied cloaked leader brandish a sword that was bigger than a mast. Holding her breath, Frances steeled her mind to repel the panic effect that poured out of the monsters. Then she grabbed one of her hidden knives and picked up a heavy rock fitting her palm size. One of the kids uttered a desperate plea, it rang her cue to act.

She needed to disorganise them and dig a hole in the tight formation; then she would fight them one by one. Or die trying. Probably die. She took a second to shut down the little voice in her head that warned her of the probable outcome and the shortage of escape options. Then she silently stood, balancing on the balls of her feet, and threw the rock in a perfect trajectory. The projectile hit the second spectrum on the left right over its head. There was no squirk, no sound, no scream, no sound issued when the rock found its mark, but the slow movement initiated by the group showed that the distraction had worked. The yelling kids were brandishing daggers to their opponent with an obvious lack of skill, their courage was impressive. It seemed almost like the dreadful ambiance had little effect on them when it nearly crippled her will. But Frances was stubborn; she would not relent. The brief pause in the cloaked forms seemed like a consultation with no words, and then suddenly the two lateral ghosts detached themselves from the rest and turned around to face her.

'Damn,' she thought, there were two spectra ready to crush her but three remained on the children. She was out of options unless… The young woman pulled her dagger's free and brandished them in front of her in a defensive position, her eyes frantically studying the terrain. A low, frightening chuckle filled the air, chilling her to the bone. The voice was definitely not human, its tones empty and too low to be natural.

- 'Please intimidate me more,' said the young woman sarcastically.

The witty remark helped her release the incredible pressure of darkness threatening to swallow her. And it distracted the others, for ghosts stopped advancing for a few instants. Their surprise did not linger as they soon resumed their slow walk to circle her.

- 'No answer ? That's so rude!' she uttered, diverting the attention for half a second.

Several cries from the little camping group saluted her arrival, raising some enthusiasm that did not last long since the three other spectra closed on them. There was little time left, and Frances challenged the two other cloaked forms with a witty remark. As swiftly as eagles falling onto their prey, the enemies rushed to her, probably hoping to cast her away without breaking a sweat. However, Frances had other plans. As soon as the two forms came close enough, she jumped on a boulder, then another, and landed on the top of an outcrop that towered over the battle field. Screeching in frustration, the two forms collided slightly before attacking her from below. The young lady ducked and dodged the long sword, concentrating on the movement of the weapons instead of her rising panic. From her standing spot, the stars seemed to shine brighter, and she breathed easier somehow. It was the prefect spot. From here, she could join the other groups, and the two spectra could not reach her both, the first one involuntarily protecting her from the second one. As the sword clung again against the rock, missing her by a few inches, Frances slammed her heel hard against the blade and stuck it between her foot and the rock. Hissing, the creature attempted to pull it away, and Frances imprinted a rotation movement on the blade while throwing one of her knives right into her enemy's hood. The trick worked, and the cloak staggered backwards, screeching, losing its grip on the handle and freeing the sword that rotated inwards. Frances gripped the sword and lifted its tremendous weight, gritting her teeth at the strain it caused to her forearm muscles. Damn them for fighting with a trunk!

The second spectrum was coming for her at full speed, and the young woman darted off, hoping to circle the scene from the edge and protect the kids from the rest of the ghosts. However, her now pissed off opponents was quick on her tail, and she had to turn around in order to exchange a few blows. Its strikes were powerful, and the weight of the stolen weapon dangerous enough to send her off balance. Bless her self-defence training in Interpol, and her childhood dancing on tree branches for keeping her on the ridge! However, the wraith was much stronger and faster than she was, and were it not for her higher spot, she'd be dead by now.

Frances knew she was firefighting, and it was only a question of time before the sharp blade got her, so she untangled herself from the wall, retreating into the ruins before leaping upwards again and running away from the creature. "Damn it, I'm weak.' Now lost in the maze of rocks, the young woman panted heavily, wondering how long before that thing got to her, and how she could come up behind the group without falling to her death. Terrified, she could not help but stare at every boulder, fearing that the frightful creature might pop up. It was her worst nightmare taking form. The things she feared as a kid were now really lurking in the dark, waiting for the right opportunity to get to her, their form nearly immune to her attacks while she felt freezing from the inside at their approach. The waiting, though, was worse. She felt her sanity vacillate, terror seeping through the cracks of her well-trained mind. "Enough!', she thought. Frances braced herself. As a rush of air cold as death tangled her messy hair, something unexpected happened.

First of all, one of the kids cried in agony, and his voice did not ring totally like the one of a kid. It felt more mature, but the loud screeching than filled up the void prevented Frances from analysing the cry further. A particular smell rose, and weird light started to dance around the corner of a pillar, sending shadows all around her. Lifting up the heavy blade, the young woman gathered what was left of her courage and sprang forward to the battle field, the noises indicating what a mess it had become. As she darted into the open area, only a hidden reflex saved her from the tip of the blade that should have pierced her heart had she not rolled on the ground. Her stalker had been waiting in silence, and her movement caused him to lose balance. Pissed to death, Frances her chest swell with anger, and she furiously took advantage of the chaos to stab her sword into his back, sending the cloaked form over the edge of the cliff.

- 'Yay!' she screamed in triumph, the cheerful tone of her voice totally out of place.

Behind her, hell had broken loose, and the object of this chaos twirled a burning torch around with enraged movements as his other hand wielded a single-handed sword. In the ambient darkness it was difficult to get a good view of the man who had just jumped into the mess, but his fighting skills were amazing. Setting into fire one of the ghosts, he skilfully attacked the others with the flames. Most of them fell back. There was, however, still one of them bending over the group of kids, and Frances rushed forward, lifting her heavy sword. The ghost merged with the shadows and disappeared without even trading a blow. Loud screeching rang again as other cloaks took fire, and suddenly the anguish was gone, the dread curtain tearing apart while the torch came closer. It seemed like her heart could finally beat again, letting the blood pump into her veins without clenching helplessly in her chest. Frances breathed in and out, letting the anger pour out in low waves.

The dark-haired man eyed her suspiciously as he caught his breath. The sword was getting heavy, and the young woman let the blade fall, showing her surrender to the man who had saved them all. His grey eyes studied her stance, and followed the steel weapon as it clanged to the ground. He was tall, and strongly built. His outfit and his posture screamed wildness, but there was wisdom in his glance. The man rushed past her before throwing his torch away and joining to the little group. Moaning could be heard from one of the little beings, and the three others were pressed together, panicking from the injury their friend had sustained. It was weird to contemplate adults' face over such small bodies, Frances had never seen such creatures before. All of them had mid long curly hair that hid most of their faces. As she came closer, two of them watched her approach as if in awe, their staring interrupted by another cry from their black-haired companion lying on the ground.

The man held a dagger in his hands, trying to assess the situation. And then, the little man cried out, and the weapon disintegrated. Throwing the hilt away, the stranger said in a low voice:

- 'He's been stabbed by a Morgul blade.'

- 'Do Something!' Exclaimed the Little Rusty Guy

- 'He is beyond my skill to heal,' claimed the strange man calmly. "He needs elvish medicine.'