Prologue
The great trees of Mirkwood creaked and groaned in the afternoon breeze. The rays of the afternoon sun barely made it through the thick canopy of the great forest, filling the clearings beneath the trees with a dull twilight. Within one such clearing lay an aged outpost, its cracked stone walls painted grey under the murky light. Standing a full five stories tall, the stilted structure rose through the upper reaches of the forest, its stone summit thrusting beyond the nearby treetops, allowing its occupants to survey the lay of the land for many miles.
No watchers stood on the summit of this tower though. The cobblestone roof was desolate and dusty; clearly no one had set foot on it in some time. The robust wall surrounding the observation platform was strangled with dark thorny vines that were creeping up the sides of the tower. The afternoon breeze grew into a strong wind that blew through the wide clearing, scattering leaves with great force and filling the empty structure with a mournful wail.
Even as the wind was tearing through the wide dell, the faint sound of booted feet on solid flagstones began to echo through the forest. The steps grew steadily louder and suddenly there were soldiers in the clearing. Marching in from the Great Forest Road that stretched throughout Mirkwood came two dozen Elven warriors. Garbed in the light brown tunics and breeches that blended naturally with the forest, each of the warriors bore a pair of short swords on hip-slung scabbards. In their hands, each Elven warrior held an elegantly carved longbow with a quiver of arrows slung on their backs.
The Elves streamed into the clearing, swiftly approaching the abandoned watchtower. As they neared the derelict structure, one of the Elves, blond-haired and blue-eyed with a lithe build, called out in a clear voice.
"Hail Captain Navari!"
His greeting resounded throughout the clearing, echoing off the solid walls of the keep. But the echo of his own voice was the only response he received. Urgent concern flashed across the blonde Elf's smooth features and his handsome face contorted in apprehension. He turned swiftly to the tall dark-haired Elf that stood mere feet away from him.
"Captain Orcin, take half the troops and scout the clearing," he commanded sharply, "The rest of you, come with me!"
The captain's hazel eyes flashed in alarm and he nodded sharply, "Yes, my Lord Legolas," he replied in a strong voice. Turning to his company, he uttered sharp commands and half of the Elves broke formation and fanned out swiftly to the edges of the clearing, their sharp steel blades ringing on their scabbards as they raised them to guard.
As his troops secured the perimeter, Legolas strode towards the silent keep, his troops right behind him, their leather boots crunched on the dead leaves that blanketed the forest floor. His pale hands darted down to the gilded sheaths at his hip and he withdrew the twin blades of silver steel that shone in the murky twilight of Mirkwood.
His soldiers did the same and they quickly came to the foot of the tower. Apprehension crept along Legolas's spine as he surveyed the entrance of the fortification in shock. The implacable carved door of the watchtower had been ripped from its wrought-iron hinges and cast aside.
Barking an order to his soldiers to be on guard, Legolas entered the open tower first, his blade held aloft at guard. He crossed the threshold into the darkened foyer of the tower and immediately glanced around the darkened room, his Elven eyes seeing quite clearly in the dimly lit chamber. His troops spread out into the main floor of the keep, scouting out the storerooms and armories located on the ground floor.
"My Lord," shouted one of the Elves from the direction of the armory, "We have found bodies!"
Lowering his sword to his side, Legolas strode towards the source of the voice, turning down a dark musty hallway and coming to a small chamber that had held the weapons for the Woodland garrison that had been stationed at the tower. Bursting into the small room, Legolas's eyes immediately darted to the two Elven warriors who occupied the chamber, one of whom was knelt over a pair of decaying skeletons.
Both bodies were draped in ragged garments of auburn similar to the ones worn by Legolas and his troops. A look of fury came to the Elven-Prince's face and he crouched down next to the corpses of his kin.
"How long have they been dead, Kielen?" the Prince asked the soldier who was also kneeling.
"At least a month, my Lord," Kielen replied, his smooth features recoiling with dismay at the low fate that had befallen their brethren. The warrior's fingers brushed against the mouldering flesh of one of the corpses and lifted it to his nose, sniffing sharply.
"They were poisoned," he said sharply and Legolas's eyes widened in sudden revelation.
"Spiders!" he spat in anger. Springing to his feet he looked down at the bodies, "Kielen, Brene, see to our brother's burial," he said. Turning to the doorway he stepped into the darkened hallway and rushed into the main chamber of the tower.
Several of his soldiers remained there, while the others were scouting the upper levels.
"Meilen, Eeinen, gather your weapons and provender," the Prince commanded to two of his soldiers, a tall dark-haired male and a slightly shorter female with blonde hair a shade darker that Legolas's. The two warriors moved to comply and Legolas continued, "Return to the King's Halls with all speed," he ordered, "Inform his Highness that the spiders have returned to our Southern borders."
Meilen and Eeinen snapped to attention, their provender stowed in their hip-pouches and their longbows slung over their shoulders.
"Tell the King that the spiders assaulted the Tower of Serien and slew the entire garrison. He must send additional troops to the Southern marches immediately so we can reinforce our outpost and reaffirm our borders."
When both Elves nodded their understanding, Legolas looked at them, "Run like the wind," he said, "The sooner we get reinforcements the better."
The soldiers complied and raced out of the keep, their footsteps growing fainter by the second. Once he was satisfied that the messengers were on their way to his father's halls, Legolas turned to one of the remaining soldiers in the atrium.
"Tell Captain Orcin that Captain Navari and his troops were attacked by the spiders," he said to the soldier, "Have him secure the forest perimeter and then join me in the tower. The soldier complied and as he exited the room Legolas ascended the creaking stairs to the second level of the tower, bracing himself to witness the tragic fates of more of his kin.
Legolas spent the next hour surveying the remaining four levels of the tower, witnessing the decaying remains of half the tower's garrison of Wood-Elves. The Elven-Prince quickly put his soldiers to work clearing the keep of the dead and burying them as was the Elvish tradition.
As the full score of Elves in the dell hurried about burying their brethren and restoring order to the fortress, Legolas climbed the stairs to the summit of the tower and stood upon the dull granite roof, staring out at the great fastness of Mirkwood. Many thoughts ran through his mind as he pondered the absence of the bodies of half the Wood-Elves that had been assigned to the tower. It was possible that they had escaped the assault and fled into the heart of the forest. But the more grim possibility that they were now prisoners of the Necromancer weighed heavily on his mind. He stood there for many minutes, surveying the dimming light of the afternoon sun through the dark canopies of the trees.
This far from the halls of the King, the great trees were dark and twisted, their branches weighed down by the dark leaves. Fell things stirred under the woods in this part of the forest. When the darkness had first descended on the Greenwood over a thousand years ago, the Woodland Elves had built many towers like the one Legolas currently stood on to keep an eye on their borders. For near the South end of Mirkwood stood a dark tower, many stories taller than the Tower of Serien. Within that tower lurked a dark sorcerer who was known only as the Necromancer. It was from that fell place that the spiders spawned and came forth into the forest.
As the Elven-Prince cast his gaze upon the trees his eyes darted here and there, looking for any sign of the spiders that had killed Navari's troops. After nearly an hour of surveying the landscape from the high perch and collecting his thoughts, Legolas heard the sound of light footsteps behind him and turned to see the tall broad-shouldered form of Captain Orcin ascend the last of the steps and emerge on the parapet.
"Report," Legolas said in a curt tone, his nerves on edge from being so close to the Tower of the Necromancer.
"I have four of our soldiers burying our comrades," Orcin said, "I have a full dozen still patrolling the edge of the dene and the rest are taking stock of what remains in the tower and are making it habitable again."
Legolas nodded approvingly, "Good work, Captain," he said in a milder tone, "Have half of the patrol move up to the parapet and keep an eye on the forest from high up. Have the rest stand guard around the tower entrance."
"I will do so at once, my Lord," Orcin replied.
"Good," Legolas said, then when Orcin remained on the tower roof, continued, "You have a question."
"Yes, my Lord," the captain said hesitantly, "Do you think we will be attacked here?"
Legolas frowned and his green eyes glimmered with uncertainty, "I cannot be sure," he said after a moment, "Clearly the spiders haven't been here since they slew Navari and his comrades…"
His voice trailed off as he considered the situation, "And yet, I sense an ill omen about this place." He shook his head in consternation, "I do not know what it is, but I know we must be on our guard."
Even as the Elven-Prince uttered the words, in the dark branches of one of the twisted trees, a dark-feathered raven gazed upon the Prince and his Captain, its blood-red eyes watching them with great interest. Then, as the Elven-Prince's gaze was diverted from the trees, it spread its dark wings and took to the air, flapping hard and flying swiftly towards the South.
The dark avian crossed league upon league of forest, soaring over the darkened treetops, its black wings beating furiously. Upon length, the raven reached a vast clearing in the Southern heart of Mirkwood. The darkness appeared to be strongest in this part of the forest with the trees twisted almost beyond recognition and the dark thorny vines choking the old stone pathway that wound between the trees.
At the edge of the clearing the twisted trees fell away and the cracked stone path led into the vast circle that was devoid of any trees. The ground in the heart of the circle steeped sharply upwards, forming a great bald hill upon which stood a mighty tower of stone. The old stone road wound up the hill and came straight to the great doors of the tower which were sealed shut, twin slabs of ebon stone barring entrance to all.
Built from once-majestic basalt, the tower was old and worn, it's stone walls dulled with age. The lower stories were wide and squat, spreading over the entire summit of the hill. The thorny vines had completely infested the lower ramparts, twisting in through shattered windows and winding around crumbling parapets. From the fifth story onwards, the tower grew slimmer and taller, stretching high above the treetops of the surrounding forest. The stone of the upper levels seemed less worn and more robust with the slate-grey walls free of vines and decay.
The structure culminated at the twelfth story, coming to a dark stony point with a high platform that looked out over the great fastness of Mirkwood. The sleek grey stone was virtually untouched by age at the summit and there were narrow windows carved into the mighty walls. The raven soared up to one of the jagged gaps in the unforgiving stone and flew into the summit chamber.
The great hall was vast, with a high vaulted ceiling and tattered ruins of ancient tapestries lining the walls. At the rear of the chamber, past a high altar of carved obsidian was an intricately carved throne of glassy black obsidian. Upon the throne sat a great figure, taller than any man with long spindly limbs and a skeletally-thin frame. The figure was cloaked entirely in robes of pure ebony with its face concealed beneath a wide cowl. The raven flew close and the shadow on the throne reached out with a thin clawed hand that grasped at the raven.
The raven settled onto the coal-black flesh of the shadow's hands and cawed at it fiercely. Beneath the richly embroidered cowl a pair of crimson orbs flashed at the raven's words. A low hiss came from the cloaked figure and it barked a command in a barbarous tongue. From the deep shadows of the throne room, a second cloaked figure, lesser than the first one, hissed in compliance and moved to leave the room, it's black robes gliding along the cracked stone floor.
The raven flapped its wings and soared into the high reaches of the audience chamber, flying towards a window. With its mission complete, the evil bird fled the dark tower with all the haste it could muster, flying off into the darkening sky.
Hours later the Sun was dipping beneath the fold of the Earth and the twilight that managed to penetrate the great canopy of Mirkwood had faded to pitch blackness. The Tower of Serien had been put to order by the Sylvan Elves of Legolas's company and the Prince of Mirkwood sat in what had been Captain Navari's personal quarters.
The Prince was seated at a hand carved wooden table made by a carpenter in the King's Halls. Captain Orcin was seated across from him and the two were sharing a spare meal made from some of the intact provender the Elves had found in the tower's storeroom.
Legolas slowly devoured a piece of white cheese and toyed with a small chunk of salted pork, his manner tense and alert. A mild Eastern wind was whispering through the dell and caressing the Tower of Serien with a featherlike touch. The deep green curtains that lined the windows in the Captain's Quarters fluttered in the light breeze. Legolas tensed at the sound and threw the morsel back onto the plate, his entire body taught with anxiety
"My Lord, what is it?" Orcin asked, his tone laden with concern. The Elven Captain had fought alongside Legolas for over a century and had never seen the Prince look so worried.
Rising from his chair, Legolas strode over to the open window that looked out over the Southern edge of the dene. Planting his hands on the sill, he pushed his head outward and glanced around the clearing. Night had fallen on the dell hours ago and dark clouds had drifted in from the East to cover the Moon, smothering its light and shrouding the forest in a deep darkness that even Legolas's Elven-eyes had difficulty penetrating.
"My Lord, we have the entire company on full alert," Orcin said in a reassuring tone, "Meilen and Eeinen will reach the King's Halls soon and his Highness will dispatch us reinforcements with haste."
The Prince of Mirkwood withdrew from the window and faced his subordinate, "Perhaps," he allowed, "But the shadow of Dol Guldur grows stronger and with it the spiders grow bolder."
He stepped to the small cabinet set against the far wall and withdrew a small flask of cordial. Setting it down on the table, the Prince uncorked the crystal stopper and poured a small allotment of the ruby-red fluid into his tin travel-cup and then poured an equal quantity into Orcin's.
"We will not rest until our reinforcements arrive," Legolas stated, "The miruvor will lend us strength to continue the watch."
Captain Orcin nodded in acknowledgement of his Prince's command and was raising the steel vessel to his lips when a loud scream tore through the clearing. Legolas was back at the window in an instant, his keen Elven-eyes darting across the clearing, seeking the source of the scream. In the dark gloom of the night it took the Prince several moments to spot the source. One of the patrolling Elves was lying on the ground near the edge of the dene, blood pouring from his ankle, belly and neck. A trio of great dark spiders were crawling over his body, their long hairy limbs pinning the soldier down, their sharp mandibles tearing open his flesh and feasting on his blood.
"Sound the alarm!" Legolas shouted at Orcin but even as he spoke, an Elf-horn blasted through the clearing in the sharp bleat that warned of an imminent attack.
"Go and call the sentries back into the tower," Legolas ordered, "As soon as they're inside, bar the door and lock it at once!"
Captain Orcin nodded and raced out the room and down the stairs of the tower, the tin cup of miruvor lying on the floor, its precious contents spilling along the worn flagstones. Legolas took one last look out the window and saw over a dozen spiders spilling out of the twisted trees at the edge of the dell, crawling over the body of the sentry and scurrying towards the tower with all haste. Pulling away from the window, the Prince of Mirkwood seized the wooden shutters and slammed them closed, pulling the locking bar down on them and sealing the portico.
Satisfied that at least one entrance to the tower was closed to the fell beasts, Legolas darted into the corridor and raced up the stone stairs to the summit of the tower, his hand closing on the hilts of his twin blades. Sprinting up the final flight of stairs, the Prince emerged on the parapet to find the four archers on the summit standing near the Southern edge, loosing their steel-tipped arrows at the spiders that were now swarming towards the base of the tower.
A trio of arrows flew from the bows of the Elven archers and struck one of the great spiders in two limbs and the face.
"Aim for the eyes," Legolas shouted, for he had faced the spiders of Mirkwood before and knew their weaknesses well.
The soldiers obeyed and unleashed a fresh hail of arrows at the spiders that had now reached the base of the tower and were beginning to climb up the sheer stone walls. Legolas reached back and unfastened his own longbow from the harness on his back and readied the weapon, nocking a slender steel-tipped arrow. Taking aim with practiced fingers, he drew back the string and let the deadly missile fly. Legolas's archery skills were unparalleled in Mirkwood and his arrow struck its mark dead on, burying itself in the glassy eye of one of the approaching spiders.
The fell creature screeched in pain and thrashed on the forest floor, its eight hairy limbs thrashing about in agony. But even as Legolas and his soldiers' unleashed volley after volley on the spiders, another sound rang through the clearing. The sharp cry of an Elvish horn carried through the battle in the dell, not the short, sharp call of alarm, but the long twin bleats that signified more approaching enemies. Turning away from the lip of the tower, Legolas rushed to the East edge of the observation platform and stared down at the base of the tower.
Twenty meters below, a vicious battle was taking place on the forest floor as two score of dark figures were fighting against the Elven sentries, having slain several of them already. Captain Orcin was among the survivors and was fighting with a great ferocity, his shining steel blades slicing into the foul flesh of their foes. As the captain parried an attack and stabbed his assailant deep in the stomach, the creature cried out in pain and suddenly Legolas knew what the attackers were.
Though the shadows of the night hid their forms from his Elvish eyes, Legolas knew the cry of Orcs all too well. Nocking another arrow, he took swift aim and fired, striking one of the attacking Orcs straight between the eyes. With a scream that could be heard even from twenty meters up, the Orc keeled over, collapsing on the forest floor. The Orc's companions roared in fury and intensified their attack, hacking slashing with fury, their jagged blades shrouded in the pitch-black curtain of night.
The Elves on the ground showed no sign of fear, meeting their enemies head-on, their silver vanes gleaming with cold silver light, a beacon in the darkness that filled the clearing. Nocking another arrow, Legolas targeted the torso of another Orc and fired, the shaft clearing the distance in seconds and striking the Orc's upper torso. The creature shrieked in pain and toppled over, its pale hands clutching its chest.
As he reached for another arrow, Legolas turned to the youngest of the four guards that were holding off the spider advance from the South.
"Haiven, run to the ground and seal the doors," he shouted over the din in the clearing.
The young Elf he addressed had short blonde hair and small grey eyes that had not yet lost their innocence. At his Prince's command, he lowered his longbow and dashed down the stairs into the depths of the tower.
"Orcin!" Legolas shouted from the rooftop, pitching his voice to carry over the din of battle.
"Fall back to the tower!" he ordered.
The dark-haired captain's hazel eyes flashed in acknowledgement and he shouted to his few remaining warriors to retreat. Even as the Elves on the ground were retreating towards the threshold of the tower the Orcs advanced, baying and hissing, their yellowing teeth bared and their crude blades slashing.
Fitting another arrow to his bow, Legolas unleashed a swift flurry of shots at the advancing Orcs, spending the remaining missiles in his quiver in rapid succession, injuring and killing Orc after Orc, covering the retreat of his soldiers with great success. The Elven prince watched Orcin and the two other survivors escape into the stony sanctuary of the tower and heard the hastily repaired door of the keep slam shut with a resounding thud and the cool metallic clicks of the locks.
A moment later another sound rang through the clearing, the guards on the southern edge of the parapet cried out in shock and Legolas spun to see a pair of spiders climbing over the turret wall, spitting poison at the two guards that remained on their feet. The third was already on the cracked stone floor, clutching at his eyes in agony, his entire face covered in the black oily venom of the spiders.
Cursing in Sindarin, the Prince of Mirkwood reached back for an arrow, raising his longbow to guard and felt a tremor of astonishment when he felt nothing but air in his quiver. Spitting out another curse, Legolas tossed his useless bow aside and drew his twin knives from their gilded casings and leapt into the fray.
Leaping towards the larger of the two spiders, Legolas slashed at the creature's closest legs, severing two of its eight legs in a flash. The spider keened in anguish and spat a fresh gob of venom at the Elf-Prince. Twisting his lithe body to the side, Legolas narrowly avoided the stream of poisonous fluid and darted in close to the spider's great hairy body, too close for the beast to spit its deadly secretions at him. The arachnid screeched in pained fury and tried to bat at Legolas with its closest leg. Spinning his knives in his deft hands, Legolas severed the offending limb with one shining blade and with a swift thrust, he plunged the second razor-sharp knife through the spider's hairy forehead and right into its brain.
The dark abomination gave a low chitter of pain and then it went limp, its five remaining limbs going slack in death. Spinning on one foot, Legolas delivered a solid kick to the dead arachnid's torso and sent flying off the tower to join its dead comrades on the forest floor. Turning to the two remaining guards, Legolas saw that they had killed the other spider and were now tending to their fallen companion.
"Kielen, take Brene to the healer's chamber on the third floor," Legolas ordered, and as the Elf moved to comply, a loud skittering filled the air. Darting back to the wall, Legolas looked down to see a dozen more spiders crawling up the wall, their sharp black pincers snapping hungrily. Gritting his teeth in frustration, the Prince of Mirkwood looked at the last guard standing on the tower.
"Retreat, Gerin!" he said with reluctance, "We cannot stand against their numbers."
The lone guard nodded and Legolas gestured for him to descend the stairs. As he did, Legolas snatched up his discarded bow and followed the soldier into the stairway, slamming the door shut behind him, throwing down both the locking bolts. Hoping that the sturdy barrier would impede the spider's progress into the tower, the Prince of Mirkwood descended to the third floor swiftly, Gerin right behind him.
Kielen had already laid Brene out on one of the two sickbeds in the tower's small infirmary. The young Elf was writhing on the wooden bedframe, deep in the throes of venom shock. Legolas looked upon his comrade's prone form with sympathy. He had been a victim of the spider venom nearly two centuries ago and he remembered well the excruciating pain that the poison inflicted.
"Gerin, check the healer's cupboard for any anti-venin," Legolas ordered, hoping that the garrison hadn't used up all their healing salves and medicines in the first attack. Stepping closer, he crouched over Brene's thrashing form, surveying the injured soldier's condition. Brene's smooth handsome face was contorted in agony and although Kielen had wiped the venom from his friend's face with a cool wet cloth, the caustic fluid had left acid scars on the young Elf's face.
A resounding crash from the lower levels of the keep drew Legolas's attention and he stepped away from the wounded soldier.
"Tend to our friend," Legolas instructed Kielen. Turning to Gerin who had been unable to find any salve in the medicine cupboard, Legolas spoke sharply, "Gerin, with me."
The Elven-Prince and his comrade descended the rest of the stairs to the first floor swiftly. Stepping onto the stone floor, Legolas came to the main foyer and saw Captain Orcin and his two soldiers along with Haiven stacking whatever furniture they could find against the heavy main door of the tower. Upon sighting his Prince, Orcin stepped away from the door and saluted, "My Lord, the Orcs are assaulting the door as we speak."
Legolas nodded and surveyed the two soldiers who were barring the door with more objects, Gerin moving to assist them.
"Is this all that remains of our force?" Legolas asked.
Orcin nodded grimly, "We were sorely outnumbered, my Lord. We lost a dozen soldiers against the Orcs, and even though we managed to slay at least twice that number, there are still a full score out there. The captain was nursing a gash on his cheek and there was a hastily-bound wound on his upper left thigh.
Legolas shook his head, "You did all that you could, Captain."
He studied the heavily barred door with his keen blue eyes, assessing the strength of the barrier.
"I had hoped to hold the tower until reinforcements came, but now I see that I foolishly underestimated the strength of our Enemy."
Orcin stepped closer to Legolas and grasped the Prince's arm in a gesture of affection, "Do not give up, mellon."
The Captain's strong arm squeezed Legolas's bicep in a reassuring gesture, "We have barred the door beyond the efforts of these feeble Orcs. There are many arrows left in the armoury and we have several skilled bowmen left. We can hold this fortress."
Legolas gave his friend a smile and nodded, "We will have to try," he conceded, "Brene was poisoned by one of the spiders and is in a perilous state."
Concern crept into Orcin's eyes, both he and Legolas had fought beside the raven-haired Brene before and they knew him to be a doughty warrior and a particularly skilled archer.
"Have we no healing poultices or salves in the infirmary?" Orcin asked.
Legolas shook his head, "The stores must have been depleted in the first spider assault."
The Prince abruptly straightened, "But Brene is in good hands with Kielen, we must focus on our defences."
He turned to the soldiers barring the door, "Gerin, come with me. The rest of you, stay here and keep this door secure."
Gerin came away from the door and Legolas gave Orcin a grim look, "Gerin and I will try to thin the enemy from the crenellations on the fourth floor. Hold the door fast and we will slay the enemy swiftly."
Orcin pressed his hand against his chest in salute and bowed. Legolas returned the Captain's gesture and then he turned away from his soldiers, racing up the stairs, Gerin following closely behind him.
The two Elves made it to the narrow windows on the fourth floor that faced out of the four walls of the tower. Having stopped by the armoury on their way up, both warriors bore a fresh quiver of arrows on their backs and held several more in their hands. Setting their spare arrows, Legolas and Gerin hurried to the three thin slits that had been carved in the North Wall of the tower. Each of them took a position at one of the crenellations and Legolas peered out through the crack at the dark figures that were gathered before the heavy door of the tower.
The still air in the dell suddenly began to stir and a cool breeze wafted in from the West. Catching the black clouds that hung over the besieged tower, the westerly winds nudged them towards the North and as they floated away, the clean white light of the Moon shine down on the clearing, illuminating the entire dene in pearly, clear moonlight.
For the first time since the battle had begun, Legolas could see the attackers clearly. Clad in tattered leathers and crude iron armour, the attackers were all Orcs. Most were pale-skinned with sharp yellow teeth and squinty dark eyes. They clutched inelegant yet sharp blades and several of them were pounding heavy clubs against the sealed door, trying in vain to penetrate the barrier so they could slay their few remaining foes.
Narrowing his eyes in the sight of his hated enemies, Legolas quickly nocked an arrow and took careful aim before letting it fly. The arrow flew swift and true and struck one of the baying Orcs in it's throbbing throat. The foul creature gurgling and screamed at the fatal wound and fell to the forest floor, it's body twitching furiously in its death throes. The Orcs screeched shock as one and they glanced up, their beady eyes blinking furiously in the unwelcome moonlight, trying to spot the source of the attack. Readying another arrow, Legolas fired again, this time striking a blinking Orc right in the eyeball and dropping it to the forest floor to join over a score of it's deceased companions with an unceremonious thud.
Gerin had taken up his bow as well, and the two archers unleashed a furious hail of arrows, striking down Orc after Orc in rapid succession. The pale-skinned abominations roared in shock and quickly scattered, taking cover to avoid the deadly arrows of the Elves. Legolas and Gerin continued their onslaught, aiming their bows at near-impossible angles to skewer Orc after Orc with lethal shots.
The surviving Orcs drew deeper into the surrounding forest until even the supernaturally keen eyes of the Elves could not spot them amongst the dark, twisted trees. Legolas grinned at the sight of the Orc-free clearing and his heart filled with triumph at having finally driven off the enemy.
"Victory!" he shouted his handsome face alight with joy, "Well done, mellon-nin!"
Gerin turned towards the Prince and smiled back, his bow dipping low towards the floor, "Thank you, my Lord," he replied, "The sacrifice of our comrades will be…"
He never finished his sentence as a great black foreleg thrust though the narrow window behind Gerin and struck him in the head with great force, driving him to the ground with a vicious crunch. The stone wall shook against the force of the spider trying to force its way through the narrow opening.
Legolas stood frozen for a single moment, shocked that the mindless beast had managed to crawl along the side of the tower and had possessed the cunning to enter through the slender gap. The creature withdrew its leg and Legolas snapped out of his reverie, nocking an arrow with blinding speed and when the spider pushed its snarling head through the window, Legolas loosed an arrow at point-blank range, sending the razor-sharp bolt straight into the arachnid's skull.
The spider keened and wailed, its inky black eyes going dull and lifeless. A moment later the dying creature lost its grip on the tower wall and plummeted to the forest floor with a soft thud. Even as the spider was falling away, Legolas was crouching on the ground next to his fallen comrade. The spider's blow had been powerful enough to knock Gerin to the ground and had drawn blood. Legolas swiftly swept his arm beneath his comrade's head and elevated it gently.
"My-my Lord," Gerin managed to gasp.
"Save your strength, mellon," Legolas said softly, his eyes studying the warrior's wound carefully.
"I-I feel…" Gerin mumbled and his pale green eyes began to flutter closed.
"No!" Legolas shouted, "Hold on my friend!"
Gerin let out a single pained breath and then all light left the Elf's emerald eyes.
Legolas just stared at the motionless body of his friend, his mouth going dry with grief and shock. Closing his eyes for a moment, he tried to gather his strength, fighting to keep his grief from overpowering him. Gathering his inner calm, Legolas opened his eyes and looked upon the lifeless form of his friend. Whispering a prayer to Mandos for his friend's fea, Legolas closed Gerin's blank eyes and lay his comrade down on the stone floor gently.
He was about to leave the viewing gallery to update Captain Orcin when the sharp sound of a horn reached his ears. It was not the smooth melodic call of an Elf instrument however, but a loud and brutal cry. Spinning on his heel, he returned to the window and for the second time that evening was frozen in shock.
Standing at the mouth of the clearing was a great black Orc. Standing a full six feet tall, the creature had the clean-limbed body of a man with the yellow-eyed face of an Orc. A long, flat-bladed sword was clutched in his right hand and in his left was a crudely fashioned horn, made of bone and decorated with the teeth of man and beast alike. The great Orc raised the horn his blood-red lips and blew another mighty blast on it. Man-shaped figures began to shuffle out of the forest and before Legolas could blink, dozens of Orcs were swarming back into the clearing once more. Those who had fled from the Elvish arrows had returned to battle, reinvigorated by the call of their apparent commander.
The Orc commander stepped into the clearing as the lesser Orcs began teeming around the tower again. Determined to avenge his fallen comrades, Legolas seized his bow with renewed vigour and sent an arrow flying towards one of the baying Orcs, felling it immediately. The remaining Orcs bellowed in shock and confusion, but their black-skinned leader pulled a mighty compound bow off his back and swiftly fitted a black-feathered arrow into it and sent it flying straight towards Legolas's position. The Elven-Prince raised an eyebrow at the incredulous shot, doubting the Orc leader's ability to send the arrow through the slim gap in the wall.
The black arrow shot straight towards the crenellation and to Legolas's dismay, shot right through the gap and towards his skull. The Prince's amazing reflexes kicked in and he threw himself to the side, the deadly dart missing him by mere millimetres and embedding itself in the far wall.
Picking himself up off the stone floor, Legolas returned to his feet, standing well away from the narrow window. Thanking the Valar for his narrow escape, the Elf-Prince felt a sting of pain on his face and his hand reached up to brush the right side of his cheek only to come away bloodied. His eyes widened in surprise at the realization that the Orc had actually managed to wound him.
Legolas wiped his bloody hand on the nearest stone wall and peered down at the clearing from a safe angle. The Orcs were clustered around the doorway and their massive leader was standing behind them, barking orders in a language that Legolas recognized from his childhood lessons as the Black Speech of Mordor. His Elf eyes suddenly spied more movement from the edge of the clearing and a half-dozen Orcs entered the dell.
The newcomers were tall and powerfully built, clad in burnished dark armor and iron helms. Bearing a great resemblance to the Black Commander, the fierce-looking brutes bore upon their shoulders a great black slab of obsidian. The massive block of obsidian stone was carved with many intricate designs and the front end resembled the head of a great serpent, with piercing eyes and sharp teeth.
The commander bellowed an order and the smaller Orcs backed away from the great door of the tower and the six Black Orcs charged the wooden door with a great roar of rage. The barrier buckled on its metal hinges, the wooden surface splintering under the ferocious assault.
Not needing to see any more, Legolas threw himself from the room with great haste, rushing into the stairwell.
"Orcin!" he shouted in panic, "They're about to break in!" He dashed down the fourth floor stairs and landed on the third floor, racing for the next set, "Pull your warriors back before-!"
A great crack echoed throughout the tower followed by a mighty thud and the vicious snarls of Orcs. Legolas leapt down the next flight of stairs, intent on making it to the entrance hall and helping his soldiers to drive off the enemy. The sounds of Orc scimitars cleaving Elven flesh filled his ears and shouts of pain and death echoed up into the tower and Legolas knew that the last of his comrades was dead.
Fury and sorrow battled within him and for a long moment he was tempted to race down the stairs and avenge all of his fallen troops, to slay every last Orc in the tower. Reason fought off his rage and he calmed, knowing that he would never be able to prevail against the sheer number of enemies that he was facing. Not even his father, King Thranduil who was renowned as the greatest warrior in Mirkwood would be able to achieve victory over the sheer number of foes arrayed against him.
Duty crept to the forefront of the Prince's mind and he knew that the only service he could render to his kingdom and his people now would be to flee and bring word of the Necromancer's assault to his father, so that an army of Wood-Elves could be mustered to send the foul servants of the Necromancer fleeing back to Dol Guldur.
With that in mind, Legolas prepared to race towards a window, intending to climb down the vine-strangled walls and escape from the besieged fortress unseen. Even as he was dashing towards the nearest window, he heard a low cry of pain emanate from the upper levels of the tower and he suddenly remembered Kielen who was still trying to tend to poor Brene.
Abandoning his escape attempt, Legolas ran back up the rugged stone stairs, taking them two at a time until he arrived on the fourth floor. Bursting into the infirmary, Legolas seized Kielen quickly, pulling the young Elf to his feet.
"Ready Brene for travel, Kielen," the Prince shouted, "The Orcs have broken into the tower and we must flee for our lives!"
Kielen stared up at his Prince in shock, "My Lord Legolas, Brene is no condition to travel."
The fallen warrior groaned from his sickbed, beads of sweat running down the Elf's brow, his pallor a sickly pale colour.
Appraising the poisoned soldier with practiced eyes, Legolas looked closely and he knew that his comrade would not last the night, whether they took him with them or not. Steeling himself for the difficult choice that lay ahead, Legolas looked Kielen directly in the eye.
"Gather your weapons and go to the window," he commanded, "We must leave now or join our friends in the Hall of Mandos."
Kielen's innocent green eyes filled with confusion, "But…Brene," he stammered, "What will you do?"
Legolas's hand closed on the hilt of one of his silver knives, "What I have to," he said in a steely tone.
When Kielen looked horrified, Legolas felt the need to offer an explanation.
"These Orcs serve the Necromancer of Dol Guldur, and for any living being to fall into his foul clutches is a fate far worse than death."
Kielen still did not look convinced, but Legolas could hear heavy footfalls on the granite stairway and knew that they were out of time.
"Go to the window and start climbing down," Legolas commanded, "Once you hit the ground, run into the forest and head for the halls of the King. I will be right behind you."
Kielen hesitated, his eyes darting to Brene, compassion shining in his bright green orbs.
"Obey your Prince!" Legolas shouted, and Kielen complied, snatching up his bow and running towards the window. As the younger Elf was climbing over the windowsill, Legolas looked down on the dying Elf.
"Forgive me, Brene," Legolas said quietly. Brene moaned in pain and twitched on the sickbed, clearly in agony.
Reaching out with one hand to grasp Brene's spasming hand, Legolas gripped his comrades hand tightly in a comforting gesture and with his other hand, he withdrew one of his shining silver daggers. Holding it over his friend, Legolas whispered a prayer to Mandos and then brought the blade down on Brene's dying from, slitting his throat cleanly with a single stroke.
A gout of crimson blood spurted from the Elf's carotid and Legolas squeezed the dying Elf's hand one last time before releasing it and sheathing his knife. Brene gave a final jerk and then lay still, blood pouring from his wound and light fading from his eyes. Legolas felt sick at the mercy stroke he had been forced to deliver but he had no time to dwell on his nausea. The footsteps grew closer and with a great leap Legolas reached the window and nimbly climbed out of it, grabbing the thorny vines on the exterior of the tower. Using the vines as supports, the Prince of Mirkwood descended to the forest floor swiftly. Above him, he heard the shouts of surprise from the Orcs, but he ignored them and covered the last few meters to the forest floor with ease.
Landing on his feet, Legolas crouched low and crept into the underbrush quickly, his keen eye spotting Kielen waiting in the cover of the trees. Stepping lightly across the clearing, Legolas made it into the safety of the forest without incident. Turning to take one last look at the Tower of Serien, Legolas saw a half-dozen spiders crawling over the summit of the fortress and heard the victorious cries of Orcs filling the night. Gritting his teeth in anger, the Elven-Prince turned away and hurried into the forest, making for the safety of the King's Halls as the Tower of Serien was captured for the second time.
