Silent was the night and the ship that sailed down the Anduin. The plan had been perfected the night before. Slip up the river under cover of night, hit the little town quickly, despoil it and its women, take new slaves to replace those that had died, and fly before sunrise. The men rubbed their hands in delight. Gondorians had always been such easy prey and so easy to deceive.
As the ship approached, Rangers slid into the cold chill of the great river. A skiff, filled with the enemy, pushed off from the boat. Faramir gave the call of the limpkin and the men slowly wended their way towards the dinghy, holding bamboo reeds to breath through.
Swiftly, men were pulled from the craft at one fell swoop so that not a cry for help could pass their lips.
"Thought they were seventeen cunning corsairs, didn't they?" gloated Faramir.
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