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Warning: much angst and elf torture
in this chapter.
By riding hard, the elf patrol reached Dol Guldur by late afternoon.
The tracks had become hard and stony, and thickets of savage brambles
crossed the path. The thorns scratched the horses and the legs of the
elves even through their clothing. As they drew closer, they came
across felled trees, many of them. Mighty oaks hundreds of years old,
beautiful birches and elms lay where they had fallen, and by the pools
and streams graceful willows had been cut down. The destruction seemed
wanton and purposeless, for no better reason than that the trees had
been things of beauty. The forest pools themselves were choked
and stagnant, cluttered with debris and filth. The stench from the
fouled water was nauseating. Legolas stopped in shock. He could
feel the suffering of the trees as a physical agony deep in his soul,
and shuddered. “They are poisoning the forest. Destroying it!”
Spoil heaps polluted the clearings, piles of litter, food waste and
excrement. Huge flies buzzed slowly through the air, and there were
signs that rats had gnawed at the rubbish. The very air seemed
oppressive, thick with the shadow of evil.
“I came down here long ago when the Necromancer was here,” said Alfiel.
“It was never like this, never! It must be the work of the orcs.”
“They delight in despoiling the land. I fear it will grow worse as we
approach the Tower.” Legolas shook his head in pain. The bond he
had with the forest – though nowhere near as strong as his father’s –
made him feel ill at the carnage they could see.
At length they approached Dol Guldur. They had still not caught up with
the orcs, who had pressed ahead tirelessly. They halted at the
edge of the forest, concealed by the few remaining trees and their
green and brown clothing, and gazed at the desolation before
them. The land surrounding the tower had been cleared of trees,
the ground left bare and barren. Even the grass was withered and
brown. Dol Guldur was about a furlong away, in the centre of an area of
open ground nearly four acres in size. There was no hope of approaching
unseen, not even by night - the full moon would flood the clearing with
light.
Roughly halfway to the tower, strung out around the clearing, orc
sentinels ringed the tower, facing outwards to the trees. They were the
larger creatures they had seen earlier, and were armed with spears,
swords and bows. Nearer the fortress were nearly a hundred of the
smaller goblin soldiers from the Misty Mountains. They had no idea how
many more might be inside - or what else might be there. It was clear
that any rescue was going to be very, very, difficult.
Eléntia had been dragged to the base of the tower, and her
wrists and ankles manacled to rusty chains hanging from the walls. Her
head was bowed. Her hair had come loose and was falling over her face,
and they could not tell if she was conscious or not.
“How do we get close enough to rescue her?” breathed Elthan.
Legolas shook his head. “I do not know yet. Maybe at nightfall, before
the moon rises. We need to think.”
~*~*~*~*~
This time Eléntia was not out for long, because when she came
round the orcs were still chaining her wrists to the tower walls, using
heavy, rusty chains that looked like they had seen years of use. She
stayed limp, head down, feigning unconsciousness, listening to the
orcs’ foul speech.
“What’re we going to do with it? Do you think we can ….” asked one
suggestively.
“No, none of that!" retorted another. "Keep your filthy
hands off it! I’ve got orders - questions first, don’t harm it yet. But
after - ” it gave an evil chuckle, sending shivers down
Eléntia’s spine - “after, well, we’ll have to see, won’t we?”
The orc quoting its orders - and who
would give orders to an orc? Who would dare? And who were the Masters?
- moved away, and the ones who had captured her muttered resentfully.
“Fagnor, I’ve had enough of this! Wake it up, let’s get a move on!”
One of the orcs, she thought the one who had been carrying her, picked
up a spear from the ground and jabbed it viciously into her side. She
could not prevent a cry of pain, and lifted her head. She spat at the
orc, and gave vent to her anger, fear and disgust with a torrent of
abuse. The orcs could not understand what she said, but could surely
judge it from the tone of her voice. One - Fagnor? - came closer. She
recoiled, but the movement made the chain on her ankle clank. It was
loose. Taking the opportunity, she kicked the orc as hard as she could,
right between its legs. The pain that shot through her foot was nothing
compared with the satisfaction she felt as it gave a roar of pain and
hobbled off, hunched over in agony. The others laughed in derision, and
infuriated, it turned on her with a knife. For one incredulous second
she thought it was going to kill her there and then, but instead it
slashed repeatedly at her, cutting her across her arms and chest. She
screamed, she could not help it, hanging limply, the chains around her
wrists dragging at her arms.
Suddenly the slashing stopped and she heard the orcs growling at one
another in warning. She stayed motionless, panting, the cuts burning
like fire, trying to suppress sobs of agony and hopelessness. Slowly
she managed to stand, and lifted her head, hair falling lankly about
her face. There was a stir of movement among the orcs surrounding her
as a figure, cloaked in blackness, approached. A wave of pure evil
seemed to emanate from him, and the terror she felt intensified a
hundredfold. She tried to back away, but was held fast by the chains.
The figure turned away from her, seeming to look across the waste land
to the forest. It spoke in a low, hissing whisper. “I see you. I see
you watching your friend. Come closer, so that you may see what
we do to her.”
With a sudden spark of hope, she followed its gaze. Hidden by trees at
the edge she could see the rest of the patrol. All of them. They had
come for her, they had not abandoned her. No matter what the orcs or
this other being did, she was not alone.
As the black figure finished the litany of its plans for her, her
spirit quailed again, but the flame of hope could not be quenched.
Eléntia lifted her head, looking straight at the others. Across
the distance that separated them, as clear as words, her message was
unmistakable. Help me.
Now the black robed figure turned its attention back to her. It raised
one hand, the sleeve falling away to reveal a bony, skeletal hand. She
pressed herself back against the wall of the tower, as it extended one
finger to touch her, a feather-light caress. She had time for only one
thought. “Ai, Elbereth, help me!”
~*~*~*~*~
While Legolas and his companions watched, one of the orcs surrounding
Eléntia prodded her with a spear. Her head rose, and she spat a
curse at it, a stream of invective that impressed Alfiel. The chains on
her ankles were still slack, and her foot rose, kicking the orc, hard,
between the legs. It howled and staggered away, taunted by the jeers of
its fellows. She paid a high price for her defiance. Enraged, the orc
spun round and slashed at her again and again with a long black knife.
She screamed and sagged in the chains. Taniquel flinched and looked at
Legolas. “We must do something to help her, and soon!”
As the orc raised its knife again, one of the others grabbed its wrist.
“Don’t kill it, remember. The Masters want it alive. They want to
question it. If you’re good, he might give it to us after to play
with.” Scowling, the orc lowered the knife, satisfying itself with a
heavy kick at Eléntia.
Suddenly the orcs fell silent and backed away, cringing and cowering. A
tall figure, much taller than even an elf, emerged from the tower. It
wore a long black cloak, with the hood pulled forward so nothing of the
face could be seen. The five elves watching felt a sense of deep dread
fall on them. “What - what is that thing?” mumbled Elthan. There was no
response. They all seemed transfixed by the dark figure. It raised its
head and stared straight at them, but still only darkness could be seen
beneath the hood. Legolas felt a cold fear grip him, and somehow a
chill of recognition.
“I see you,” it hissed in a sibilant whisper. “I see you watching your
friend. Come closer, so that you may see what we do to her. Or do
you fear to come closer? Do you fear to see what will become of her?
She will stay here as our prisoner. Do you know what slow torments we
can inflict, so she will tell us everything she knows about your
defences, your realm, your pitiful King? Do you recall how orcs were
bred from elves, long ago? My orcs will welcome fresh new blood to
breed with. She will serve us for a very long time - for you will never
free her!”
Crouching in the undergrowth, those listening felt a chill of horror.
They all knew what orcs did to captives, who were tortured until death
was a release, had heard stories of elves taken by Melkor, maimed and
mutilated until they were bound to his will. There were dark tales of
females enslaved as brood mares, propagating the foul race. Elthan
caught his breath on a note of terror, but Alfiel was gazing at Legolas
steadfastly.
“We have no choice. You know what you have to do” he said softly.
Legolas shook his head in desperate denial. “No! There must be
something we can do! Wait until nightfall, take them by surprise - just
one or two of us, slow and stealthy - ” he broke off, aware that Alfiel
was shaking his head sadly, Taniquel was looking at him with pity,
biting her lip, and that Elthan and Math’rin would not meet his eyes.
“I cannot do it. We have to try something.”
“You know what you must do” repeated Alfiel. “You are her captain, her
prince - and the best shot of all of us.”
Stricken, wordless, Legolas stared numbly at the other four members of
his patrol, at the expanse of cleared, barren ground, and finally at
Eléntia. He wished someone else would take this burden
from him, but it would be an intolerable request. This was his
responsibility. It would be his action, his arrow, his
nightmare. His failure. Slowly, with a sigh, Legolas
nodded, accepting the inevitable. “I know.”
The dark figure had turned from them, back to Eléntia. She
raised her head and looked straight at the hidden watchers, fear and
pleading in her eyes, as the hooded shape stretched out its hand and
touched her, almost gently, on the forehead. She gave a long wailing
scream of pain, loss and despair, and those listening flinched. “You
must do it now!” pleaded Alfiel.
“I know!” he cried. Hands shaking, Legolas rose to his feet, fitting an
arrow to his bow. As he sighted along the shaft he became still,
focused, intent. He drew a deep breath and held it. Motionless, he
breathed a silent prayer to Elbereth and loosed the arrow. ‘Forgive me, Eléntia.’
It flew true. Eléntia slumped between the chains, the arrow
embedded deep in her chest.
~*~*~*~*~
As the creature touched her, Eléntia felt fire sear through her
head, obliterating all coherent thought. All hope, memory and love were
gone. She gave just one terrified scream as despair, hopelessness and
utter terror engulfed her in darkness.
Then fresh pain, clean and purifying, pierced her heart, bringing in
its wake calm, stillness and peace. Pain and terror fled, as silence
opened and welcomed her. The darkness was gone, and there was
only light.
~*~*~*~*~
Quicker than sight, Legolas sent another arrow into the black robed
figure, then another. Both passed straight through, and struck the wall
of the tower behind it. The orcs wailed in dismay, but the black figure
gave a high keening cry of anger and fury that chilled those listening
and watching to the bone. “You missed him!” exclaimed Taniquel in
disbelief.
Legolas shook his head. “No. I did not miss. I hit it, I know I did. We
should go.” He sounded shaken.
The figure reached forward, and ripped the arrow out of
Eléntia’s breast. It inspected it, then with a brutal gesture
snapped it in half, throwing the pieces to the ground. Legolas heard a
hiss, then the cold voice cried, “Do you think to harm me? I know you,
Elf! The royal house of Mirkwood, of Oropher and Thranduil. We will
hunt you and all your kind down for this! Begone!”
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