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Warning: more grief and angst in this
chapter.
The other elves stared at Legolas in horror. “What is that
thing? How does it know you?” gasped Alfiel.
Legolas shuddered. “A Nazgûl. I remember Elrond and
my father telling me about them once – it is one of the Ringwraiths of
the Dark Lord. My father and Oropher - my grandfather - were part
of the Last Alliance. It must recognise the insignia. Come, we
must leave here!” Turning, with a last sorrowful glance at
Eléntia they moved away, deep into the forest and away from Dol
Guldur. Whatever happened to her now, she at least was free from
pain and torment, but the other five were deeply shocked by the
horrific events.
They had completed their mission and discovered the evil that had taken
possession of Dol Guldur, but they had paid a terrible price,
Eléntia most of all. Then Alfiel wondered if it was not
Legolas who had paid the highest price. All Elven warriors knew
they could be called on to do what he had done, and all prayed they
would never have to. They also prayed it would be done for them
if needful.
“What now?” questioned Taniquel.
“We go back to Lasgalen. I must tell my father the nature of the
evil in Dol Guldur, and send word to Mithrandir” said Legolas
tonelessly.
Greatly saddened, but immeasurably relieved to be leaving, they mounted
and rode through the trees. There were no sounds of pursuit, a
fact which both puzzled and alarmed them. Alfiel glanced at
Legolas. He was silent and withdrawn, caught by horror. He
was in no state to lead them just now.
“Ride hard. I want us to get as far away from this accursed place
as possible by nightfall.” At Alfiel’s command they rode
northward through the forest to the outskirts, and continued northeast,
riding just inside the borders. The trees were thinner here and
they could gallop the horses, crouched low. Legolas was again on
Eléntia’s horse, leading Pavisel. The wound did not seem
to be poisoned, which was fortunate, but Legolas did not want to strain
the horse by riding him if not absolutely necessary. The
brilliant moonlight cast bright bars of light and shadow between the
trees along their path, producing an ethereal flickering effect.
The elves rode far into the night, anxious to put as much distance as
possible between them and Dol Guldur. At last, when the horses
were stumbling with weariness, they halted by a small stream.
Allowing the animals to drink, they settled for what remained of the
night, performing their routine tasks in silence.
After a few minutes, Alfiel went to Fanuidhol and searched through the
bags. Finding a small flask, bound in leather, he uncorked it and
offered it first to Legolas. He took a sip, then looked at Alfiel
in surprise. “Miruvor? Where did you get this?”
Alfiel gave a brief smile. “Elrohir traded me three bottles for a
wolfskin a while ago. I usually carry it. I thought we could all
do with some tonight.” He passed the flask around the group and
they each took a small sip of the revitalising liqueur.
Alfiel took watch, while Elthan and Math’rin lay down wearily.
Legolas sat to one side, still, silent and withdrawn, gazing blankly at
the night. Alfiel felt great sympathy for him, but decided not to
disturb his thoughts just now. He would probably need time to
himself in an effort to come to terms with what he had had to do.
None of them had said more than a few words since they stopped for the
night, the normal conversation and banter noticeably absent.
Alfiel could tell that none of the other four elves were asleep.
Legolas still sat motionless, at one side of the clearing. Elthan
and Math’rin were silent, but were both lying awake, lost in
thought. He could hear Taniquel crying quietly, her back to the
others.
Alfiel himself felt an overwhelming sadness. Eléntia’s death
brought back vivid memories of a patrol he had been part of long ago.
They had been caught in an orc ambush and had had to fight their way
out. One of his companions, Rowarth, had taken a sword thrust into his
stomach and chest. Seeing him dying, crying in pain, the patrol leader,
Jepsonth, had been given no choice. A dagger to the heart, a subtle
twist, had ended Rowarth’s agony in seconds, mercifully, but had given
Jepsonth a lifetime of guilt. Ultimately, in an effort to assuage his
guilt, he had taken such reckless risks he had been killed at the
Battle of Five Armies, needlessly, leading a charge which had achieved
nothing.
With a start, Alfiel jerked himself back to reality, reminding himself
that he was supposed to be on watch, not lost in memories of long
ago.
The night was very quiet, just the trickling of the stream, the
shuffling of the horses. Taniquel still sobbed softly to
herself. Eventually she got up and went over to Legolas.
Wordlessly, she sat down and slipped an arm around him. She said
nothing at first, just offering comfort and companionship, but after a
while said: “You did what you had to. She knew we were there,
that we had not abandoned her. Thank you for what you did for her
– I think I would not have had the courage to do it.”
Legolas looked at her in surprise. “Yes, you would. I know
I could trust you to do it for any of us. I just hope - ”
he paused.
“Yes?” she prompted.
“That I never, never, have to again,” he admitted in a low voice.
“I know. So do I. Do - do you think she knew?”
He was silent for a long time, his face turned away. Then: “I do not
know,” he said at last. “I do not know which is worse - that she died
in fear of those creatures, or died knowing that - that it was my
fault. That I had failed her.”
Taniquel made no reply, searching desperately for the right words, a
way to end his torment. “Look at it this way,” she said carefully. “If
it was you, would you rather it ended in pain and fear, or would it be
better knowing that Alfiel or I had - ” she could not bring herself to
say ‘killed you’ but went on: “stopped it. And you did not fail
her. If we had left her there, or if we had attempted rescue and
been killed, or captured ourselves – we would all have failed her.”
She could tell from his slow nod that her words had had at least some
effect, but his face was still averted. She continued to sit by him,
silently supporting, and after a while he drew a shaky breath.
“Tani? Thank you. It helps.”
She stood, and offered her hand to help him to his feet. “Go on, get
some rest. It must be time I took over from Alfiel.”
Legolas lay by the fire, wrapped in his cloak, gazing up at the night
sky. The full moon had dimmed the stars, but he could make out
Eärendil shining brightly. Unable to sleep, the events that
day preyed on his mind. ‘Forgive
me, Eléntia. I should have tried harder. Forgive me.’
He had a sudden vision of Eléntia’s fate if he had not
acted. Raped, abused, her body and spirit broken, but retaining
enough awareness to know utter despair, and to know that she had been
abandoned by her companions. He could not help wondering if they
should have tried harder to rescue her, although he knew,
realistically, that any such attempt would certainly have ended with
them all dead, or worse, sharing Eléntia’s fate in
captivity. The last outcome was the most likely one. Either
way, news of the new inhabitants of Dol Guldur would never reach
Lasgalen, and his people had to be warned.
At length he rose and went to where Taniquel stood keeping watch.
Sending her to take what rest she could, he sat silently while the moon
sank below the trees and the stars faded before dawn. As birds
started calling with the new day they broke camp and continued north,
still riding as swiftly as they could. They all wanted to leave
Dol Guldur as far behind them as possible, reach the safety of
Lasgalen, and report what they had found.
They had abandoned the stealth of their outward journey for
speed. They made only one brief stop at midday to allow the
horses to rest and drink, then continued, riding long into the night.
When they reached the turning for a narrow track they halted for what
remained of the night. They set off again at dawn. The track led
north-east through the forest and joined the old Forest Road close to
the pass over the mountains. There was still no sign of pursuit,
a fact that disturbed Legolas, given the Nazgûl’s threat.
They had to move more slowly along the track, and Legolas, after
checking Pavisel’s wound, rode him again, leading Bahnfrei behind
him. By the afternoon they came to an area infested with
spiders. Cobwebs were thick here, and they rode warily.
They were riding in single file, keeping a sharp lookout for the
spiders, when there was a rustling sound off to their left. They
peered through the trees, trying to see if they were being pursued,
when a huge, black spider dropped out of the trees above them directly
onto Alfiel’s back. Hearing his cry of alarm, Legolas turned in
time to see the spider falling to the ground, legs twitching, a dagger
embedded in one multi-faceted eye. Taniquel, riding immediately
behind Alfiel, had thrown one of her knives in the instant it landed on
him.
“Are you all right? Did it get you?” Taniquel stood over
the spider, and bent to retrieve her knife. She wiped the
black blood off it fastidiously.
Alfiel looked down at her. “That was quick work. Thank
you. It did not even have time to bite me.”
“Are you sure?” she insisted.
“Quite sure. I was only ever bitten once, but it was something I
knew about, believe me.”
“Nice work, Taniquel.” Legolas called back to her. “We had better
be extra vigilant. They seem to be getting more cunning. I
have never known them to try that before.”
They continued along the path, but although they saw spiders in the
webs near the track, no more attacked them. They camped for a
third night near the end of the track, planning to reach the Forest
Road and cross the mountains the next day.
By early morning, they were riding slowly down the Road. They
were weary now, exhausted by sorrow, the pressure of the long flight
and the unending gloom. The Road was no longer kept clear, and was
overgrown with weeds, stray saplings and brambles. The surface
was uneven and muddy. They had nearly reached the path that led to the
pass over the mountains when a sudden volley of arrows flew around
them. Math’rin’s horse, Barandir, screamed as an arrow sank deep
into his chest, and he fell to the ground. Math’rin’s cry of
anguish as he rolled clear was the last sound he made. Two
further arrows struck him in the back, and he lay lifeless among the
weeds that choked the path. They had ridden into an ambush.
Orcs lurked on both sides of the Road, firing arrow after arrow at
them. Excited by their success, they shot wildly, but by a
miracle no more hit the patrol. The four remaining elves returned fire
grimly, and cries told them they had felled some of the orcs. The
volley of arrows stopped, but then dozens of orcs rushed at them from
the trees, armed with short swords and spears. Many fell before
they reached the group, but soon they were too close for arrows to be
of any use. Legolas slashed and stabbed with his knife, while
beside him Pavisel reared, striking with his hooves at any orc foolish
enough to come too close. With a snort, the horse lashed out with
a back leg at one who tried to creep up behind Legolas. The
creature fell back, its face smashed. As more orcs crowded him, Legolas
bent, snatching up a sword beneath one of the orcs he had killed and
fought two-handed, knife in his right hand, the sword in his
left. Taniquel habitually fought with two knives, and Legolas saw
her fighting desperately. In one swift movement she stabbed one
orc, ducked beneath the sword thrust of a second, and straightened up
to simultaneously stab both it and a third orc through the neck.
Elthan also fought with a knife, and Alfiel used a rapier-like sword,
wielding it two-handed with a grim intensity, sweeping the head off the
orc nearest him. The horses, all trained in battle, used their
hooves, kicking out at the onslaught. Sensing a movement behind
him, Legolas stabbed backwards with his knife, whirled to slash another
orc across the throat, then turned back in time to impale two others
who thought to use his distraction to finish him.
At last all the orcs lay dead. Legolas went first to Math’rin,
but it was far too late. It looked like he had been killed
by the first arrow that hit him, lodged deep in his heart.
Barandir was also dead.
He turned swiftly at a sharp cry behind him. Alfiel and Taniquel
knelt beside Elthan. He lay on the ground, a deep crimson stain
on the front and side of his tunic. Legolas dropped to one knee
at Elthan’s side, as Alfiel pulled the material away. Elthan
gasped in pain. There was a deep sword cut on his side and across
his chest, laying bare flesh and bone. “I – I am sorry,” he
panted. “It crept up on me. I saw it too late. You must go,
get back while you still can. There are too few of us left now.”
“It will be all right. There are no more orcs. Let me get
the bandages from your pack.” Legolas went to Lithuin, Elthan’s
horse, and searched swiftly for his medical supplies. He knew the
wound was mortal. It was likely Elthan knew it too, he was a
healer. But he would not, could not stand by while yet another of
his companions died. When he returned Alfiel had raised Elthan
up, resting against his chest, easing his laboured breathing. A
glance at Taniquel and Alfiel made it clear that they too knew there
was no hope, but like him, they had to try.
Placing a thick pad over the wound, Legolas started to bandage
it. Elthan gasped with pain again, then started to cough
convulsively. Bright red blood frothed at his mouth. His
hand reached out blindly to Legolas, who took it gently. “I am
sorry I failed you, Lord. At least they never took me
alive.” Elthan’s head fell back against Alfiel, and his eyes
slowly closed.
Heads bowed in sorrow, they knelt by Elthan, Legolas still clasping his
hand. He released it, then looked at Alfiel and Taniquel.
Taniquel had tears in her eyes again. She asked: “We cannot take
them back with us, can we?” It was not a question. Alfiel
shook his head, and turned to the grass at the forest’s edge. The
leaf mould was deep and soft, and it was easy to dig a shallow
grave. Math’rin and Elthan were laid together. There was
nothing they could do for Barandir. Legolas murmured a prayer to
Elbereth over the grave, then they gathered their weapons to move on
again. As she bent to collect stray arrows, Taniquel winced in
pain. Alfiel looked at her sharply. “Are you hurt?
You should have said something!”
There was a deep slash across her shoulder. She looked at it in
surprise. “I did not notice it.” She yanked the neck of her
tunic down to look. “I think it does not seem too bad. Give
me one of those pads.”
Legolas pushed her hand away. “Let me see.” As he reached
out to inspect the wound, Taniquel caught at his arm. The
sleeve was slashed and stained with blood, and there was a long, deep
cut on his arm from elbow to wrist.
“What about you?” In the heat of battle, and the aftermath,
neither had noticed the wounds. Fortunately they were not
serious, and the orc blades did not seem to have been poisoned.
Alfiel bound both injuries, smearing on a salve against the possibility
of poison just in case, and they picked up arrows to replenish their
supplies. Legolas examined Pavisel. When he had kicked the
orcs, the wound by his leg had opened again, and was bleeding. He
would have to ride Bahnfrei again.
They were about to turn off the Road when suddenly a black shadow fell
across the path. A chill fell on them, like that they had
experienced at Dol Guldur, and they looked upwards
apprehensively. A huge, dark creature, winged like a bat, flew
overhead. But instead of a soft, furred body, this had dark
scales, feet that ended in claws, a long, whip-like tail, and a hideous
head. A figure in billowing black robes could be seen on its back.
“What is that?” breathed Alfiel. “Is it a dragon?” The
other two did not reply, staring at it in horror. There was a
harsh cry, and a second creature wheeled into view over the
trees. Suddenly Legolas drew his bow, and with a deep breath,
loosed an arrow. It flew high into the air, straight towards the
creature. It gave a shrill, croaking shriek, and plummeted
towards the forest, disappearing from sight. He had already fired
again, and the second monstrosity fell from the sky. They waited
tensely, but nothing else appeared.
Taniquel gave a sigh of relief. “I think those things had come to
pick up any prisoners,” she said. “We should be thankful there
are none. We need to get back before anything else comes after
us.”
Legolas looked at the sky apprehensively. He could not be
certain, for the creatures had appeared above them very suddenly, but
unless he was imagining things, the winged beasts had come from the
north, over the mountains. From Lasgalen.
“Alfiel. Taniquel. Did you see where those things came
from? Which direction?”
Alfiel shook his head apprehensively. “I could not tell.
They were just - there. Why?”
“I cannot be sure, but I think they came from the north. We need
to get back, quickly. If they have been to Lasgalen….” He
did not need to finish the sentence.
The three of them, leading Pavisel and Lithuin, left the Road and
headed towards the pass into the mountains. Behind them, trodden
unnoticed into the mud and weeds, Math’rin’s harp lay, smashed and
broken.
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