Saruman told the troops around him to quiet down. “We cannot risk being heard,” he said. “If we are heard, we will-“
“Be in very grave danger!” a voice said, from the troops.
“Whoever said that,” Saruman said. “is correct. Please raise your hand.” Nobody raised their hand into the air. “I said, whoever said that, please raise your hand!” he repeated. Still, no one raised a hand.
Before Saruman could repeat the sentence again, Something big, brown, and furry jumped out of the bushes and lunged at him.
“A warg!” one of the soldiers cried out. He was right. Saruman didn’t stand a chance. His meakly little sword and his staff were no use. The warg had torn at the scar on his neck, which Grima had given to him. It reopened, and Saruman fell to the ground, gagging, and dying.
Back at camp, Erquellewen and her companions had heard the screams and shouts. “Wargs? In this area of the forest?” she heard Gandalf whisper.
“Do you think Saruman is…” Erquellewen looked disappointed, but hopeful.
“Perhaps, and perhaps not, but we can only hope not. We still need to find out the reason he was going to use this!” Gadalf said, holding up the small bottle that was filled with poison.
“Maybe one of his soldiers will know,” Legolas said. “And here’s one right now!” Legolas was right. Running out from behind the bushes, was a soldier. He was breathing hard, obviously very proud of him self for escaping without a scratch. But when he turned around and saw the companions sitting around the fire, his smile faded.
“Well hello!” Gandalf said. He stood up, grabbed a hold of the soldiers arms, steered him over to the companions, and held his arms behind his back.
“Do you know why Saruman was going to use this?” Aragorn asked, holding up the poison. He had to make sure the quork wason it pretty good, before he handed it to the soldier, who was still being held by Gandalf.
He inspected it carefully, and then nodded. “He was going to use it on the girl,” he said, pointing at Erquellewen. “He wanted that amethyst that she has.” Gandalf nodded to Aragorn, signaling that he could ask more questions.
“What is your name, boy?” Aragorn went on.
“Thomas Flethert, sir,” the soldier responded.
“Thomas, are you one of Saruman’s closest soldiers? Do you even care for Saruman’s life?”
“I was, until that warg back there killed him. And I didn’t really care. He wasn’t that important. It’s not like he was my father.”
“Thomas, do you know where that warg came from?” Aragorn asked.
“No, I don’t. It just popped out of the bushes, and killed Saruman. It tore at the scar on his neck that was from Grima,” Thomas replied.
Aragorn nodded to show his approval. “Gandalf, you tell him,” he said.
“Thomas,” Gandalf said.
“Yes, sir?” Thomas asked nervously.
“You are free to go where you’d like, as long as you swear not to go to any evil reinforcements for help. If you do, I will track you down, and kill you myself!” Gandalf said, with a stern look on his face.
“Thank you so much, sir,” Thomas said, nodding, and sighing with relief. With those words, Gandalf let him go. Thomas waved at the companions as he went North, in the direction of his homeland.
“That’s one good, yet strange soldier,” Gimili said, as Thomas disappeared through the trees.
“Yes, I was very suprised that he gave us all of that information without struggling,” Legolas added.
Erquellewen wasn’t listening. She was thinking of the answers that the soldier had given them. Was he telling the truth? Was he going to track Erquellewen down, and take the amethyst for himself? Or was he a friend, and telling the truth the whole time? Whatever the answer was, Erquellewen knew that time would tell.