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Legolas walked Pavisel some distance away from where he had left his
companions. When he judged he was far enough away to distract the orcs
without endangering the others he let out a loud yell. Shouting in a
mixture of Sindarin, Quenya and Westron, together with Pavisel’s neighs
and whinnies, they made a very satisfactory noise. For good measure, he
set Pavisel to kick with his rear hooves at some of the trees they
passed, and rode straight through the undergrowth.
Accustomed to moving silently, even Legolas could not quite believe the
din they made, although it broke his heart to cause such damage to the
forest. Behind him he could hear the orc patrol start to chase
delightedly after him. It sounded as if most of them, nearly a hundred,
had fallen for the trick. Still yelling a variety of war cries, curses
and insults, even snatches of songs and poetry, he led the orcs deeper
into the forest. He kept Pavisel’s pace slow enough for the orcs to
keep pace, so they would not lose interest and give up, but fast enough
that they would not get too close.
He particularly did not want them to realise that the army they
hopefully thought they were pursuing was in fact one lone elf. They
could know nothing of his people, nothing,
if they thought even an army of elves would make anything like this
racket. Pavisel alone sounded like a herd of wild horses. The orcs were
firing wildly now, blindly shooting through the trees. They could not
see him, so were focused on the noise he made. Few arrows came near,
but one or two - more by luck than judgement - were too close for
comfort.
At last, one of the orcs got lucky. As he pivoted Pavisel to lunge
through a thicket of dry, rustling branches, a stray arrow caught the
horse by his foreleg. With a shrill neigh of pain and fright he reared
high, flailing with his hooves against the sudden pain. Legolas wrapped
his hand in Pavisel’s mane and gripped tightly with his knees. With
another whinny of fear, the horse reared again, his rider still
clinging to his back like a burr, until finally, whispering soothing
words, Legolas was able to calm him. He could hear the orcs pursuing
him screeching delightedly - they must know they had hit Pavisel, at
least; and no doubt hoped to find the pair of them injured and
helpless. It was time to leave the orcs and head back to the rest of
the patrol.
He slid off Pavisel’s back and with a glance over his shoulder led him
away to the left, heading south of his original direction. Suddenly he
froze, and pulled Pavisel into a thicket of hazel trees. Standing
motionless, he watched as one of the groups of orcs following him
passed within feet, harsh voices in full cry, still intent on the
chase. Their booted feet trampled the undergrowth, crushing plants and
saplings underfoot. If they had known their quarry was so close, he
would not have stood a chance, but they continued on, oblivious.
When all sounds of pursuit had faded he inspected Pavisel’s wound. The
arrow had not penetrated very deeply, but had torn the muscle
badly. He just hoped it was not poisoned. With a swift movement he
pulled the arrow out, causing the horse to snort and toss his head.
Murmuring softly to him, Legolas took out a small pouch on his belt and
tipped a little fine brown powder into his hand. There was no water
available, so he spat into it, mixing a dark paste. He smeared it over
the wound, causing Pavisel to twitch his shoulder as it stung.
“All right, my beauty, you will do for now,” Legolas reassured
him. “Now we just have to get back and find the others.” With one
hand on Pavisel’s mane, he moved soundlessly to the south before
looping back towards his companions, using the cliff he had climbed
earlier that day as a guide. He was about halfway there when he became
aware of something coming towards him, moving silently. It was
certainly not an orc, but it did not sound like a forest creature
either. Stealthily, moving behind a tree, Legolas waited until it came
into sight.
“Alfiel!” he hissed. “What in the name of all the Valar are you doing?
I thought I told you to stay where you were, with the others!”
Alfiel turned, startled, and gave a sigh of relief. “You told me
to deal with the orcs. I have. I came to find you, I feared something
had happened.”
“It did. One of their arrows, an unlucky shot, hit Pavisel. It
does not look too serious, but I would rather not ride him.”
“No matter. Come up behind me on Fanuidhol.” Alfiel leaned down and
extended his hand. Gripping his wrist, Legolas vaulted up behind him.
He turned to Pavisel.
“Come now. Follow us.” Obediently, limping slightly, Pavisel walked
after Fanuidhol. With a soft command, Alfiel urged Fanuidhol forward,
back to where he had left the rest of the patrol.
When they reached the clearing, Taniquel stepped forward. She looked
drawn and extremely worried. “Alfiel, thank goodness you came back!”
She sounded frantic. Then she noticed Legolas, seated behind him. A
mixture of emotions – relief, joy, then fear and worry again
flitted across her face. “Eléntia” she said softly.
“Eléntia? What about her? Has she returned?” queried Alfiel.
Taniquel shook her head regretfully. “An orc patrol came back
past us a while ago. They spoke of a captive, taken to Dol Guldur.
Legolas, we thought they had caught you, but it must have been
Eléntia.”
Legolas dropped off Fanuidhol’s back, glancing around at the rest of
the patrol. “We go after her, now,” he said decisively. “I
will not leave her there. Are you sure?”
Taniquel nodded unhappily. “They sounded delighted. They said ‘it’
would be questioned by the masters - whatever they are.”
“Very well. Dol Guldur is about a half a day’s journey from here.
Eléntia left us just after dawn. If the orcs you heard knew
about it, she must have been taken soon after. There was certainly no
sign of her when I went off with Pavisel. Elthan, Math’rin –
” Legolas paused, considering his options. “I think
perhaps we should not all go after her. I think it best if you
stay here as back up if we need it.”
Alfiel shook his head. “No. I think not. When we split up things go
wrong. We should keep together and all go - when we find Eléntia
we will need to get out of there quickly - there will not be time to
come back here and regroup.”
Legolas considered his words. He valued Alfiel’s judgement, which
was why he had come on this mission. “Very well. You could be
right. I shall take Bahnfrei - I do not want to ride Pavisel yet
if there is no need to.”
In a matter of moments they had collected weapons, gear, and supplies,
leaving no sign of their passage. Swiftly, silently, they rode out -
each deeply concerned for Eléntia; and for what they would find
at Dol Guldur.
~*~*~*~*~
As Eléntia regained her senses, she rather wished she had
remained in the gentle oblivion of unconsciousness. She was slung like
a hunter’s kill around the neck of a foul-smelling orc, her head
resting intimately on its shoulder. She stayed limp, listening,
absolutely furious with herself for being taken like the greenest
recruit.
She had been scouting along a path the patrol could take to the south
when she had stumbled on a group of orcs standing on the path. They had
been waiting for her - even before she had fired at the orcs in front
of her she heard others move from the trees behind. They had laid a
trap for her, and she had walked into it like a novice.
Firing two arrows simultaneously at the orcs ahead, she drew her knife
and managed to finish two more that rushed at her. Waving her knife
threateningly before her as a warning to the others not to get too
close, she reached behind with her other hand, seizing a handful of
arrows. With a movement like lightning she sheathed the knife and fired
again at the orcs surrounding her. She managed to fell several more of
the creatures before they overwhelmed her. A harsh blow on the back of
her head sent her to her knees, stars dancing in her vision. A second
blow dimmed the stars and they faded into the dark of night.
Now, down over the centuries, as clear as a bell, she heard the voice
of the captain who instructed the army recruits in battle techniques.
They had been learning of the less glorious outcomes of battle -
injury, death, and capture.
The captain’s first words had been simple - “There are only three rules
to remember if you get captured by orcs. The first rule is: don’t.”
The trainees had all laughed nervously, confident that none of them
would be careless enough for such a fate.
“The second rule is: act stupid. Do not let them know we understand
some of their speech. Do not let them know you are conscious if you can
help it. Listen. Observe. Learn as much as you can about where you are,
what they are planning. Your information could be vital. Remember, you
could escape, and your companions will be doing everything they can to
free you. Many captives we do rescue. Rule number three,” he
paused then, looking at them all sombrely. “You might not escape.
Sometimes, no matter what, nothing can be done. You might be alone, far
away from Lasgalen. The odds might be too overwhelming. Or there may be
no companions left to rescue you.” He gave the trainees a moment to
consider that, then finished with: “Remember that, before you become
too overconfident and think it can never happen to you.”
Over the years she did indeed meet elves who had been captured and
lived to tell the tale, but not many. She also learnt more than she
wanted to about rule number three - graphic detail of torture and
mutilation, whole patrols taken, where there was no one left to raise
the alarm, whose fate was forever unknown – or sometimes whose
fate was all too well known.
Now, the orc carrying her shifted its grip, and its claws dug into her
leg. She bit her lip hard to stifle a gasp of pain, but must have made
some slight movement, which an orc to her left noticed. “ ’Ere,
Fagnor, you didn’t ’it it ’ard enough! It’s waking up!”
The orc carrying her chuckled. The sound sent a shiver down her
spine. “Just in time to meet the Masters, then. We’re nearly
there.”
Eléntia, still limp, wondered what the Masters might be. She
clung both to the fury she felt with herself, and the curiosity –
it helped to keep at bay the utter terror that lurked in her mind.
By slitting her eyes open she could see they were approaching Dol
Guldur. They had left the trees and were crossing a stretch of bare,
barren ground that lay before the tower. When they reached it, the orc
flung her on the ground. “Filthy elf! You can carry the next one!” it
protested.
As it dropped her, her head fell back against the wall striking the
place where she had been hit before, and she blacked out again.
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