Hello everyone,
The next chapter is up, along with a few answers. I promise to provide more background as the story continues. Thank you for showing that my story caught your interest. I'm very glad to see the reviews and follows. As banal as it may sound, good words truly inspire writing and creative ideas. I hope the next chapter will be interesting.
Caught by the Storm: 2
There was no more sun. It drifted beyond the horizon, leaving a faint afterglow among clouds, which soon was to disappear completely as the night took reign of the land. The caravan's pace, maintained nearly for five hours, hadn't slowed on the account of worsening visibility and changing terrain. Garan pushed his men past the usual hour when the group set camp for the night. No more howls disturbed their flight, but all living creatures were gifted with intuition. Temporary peace meant to lull the caravan into a false sense of safety. Meanwhile, the pursuers got closer and closer. Massive paws laboured unstoppably as the beasts covered the land in the giant leaps, faster than galloping horses, following an instinctive call – Kill them all, KILL.
"You will fail. We'll be ready."
Erulien snapped out of a sleepy trance. Realising that these words had escaped unintentionally, she threw a wary glance at her companions. Evalyn was asleep, curled up by her father's side. She held onto his arm tight like she wanted to reaffirm a deep bond between them that was powerful enough to thwart death.
Full weight of the responsibility to prevent that illusion from shattering, settled heavily in her heart. The elf listened to their breathing, fortunately undisturbed by her outburst, and then reached for the dark-green roll. Inside it, lay hidden an item somewhat dulled by time. It was a blade, no longer than a few inches, equipped with a handle that allowed a comfortable grip. The sheath made of flexible leather provided a safe enough storage. However, Erulien never liked weapons and kept this one wrapped away, even if it wasn't a real fighting knife. The healers used such tools on the battlefield. They cut through the cloth worn by the wounded to access the injuries. This knife hadn't been touched in ten years. Today, she had the urge to have it close.
The sleigh came to a halt. In brittle silence, large snowflakes pelted against the tightly stretched roof. There were a lot of them now as Erulien stepped outside, alone and most vulnerable. Dim silhouettes were mystical behind their dancing patterns and landscape objects appeared to come to life. The caravan was aligned by the mountainside, protected from the north by a cliff that gradually rose in height. The unroofed sleigh that used to be ahead of the one the healer had travelled on was set perpendicular to the road, serving as cover for a bowman. The rest of the men, however, assumed a defensive position at the back. Erulien stealthily moved towards them.
Snow crunched under their heavy winter boots. Horses snorted and pawned the ground nervously. Someone grabbed the healer's arm tight and pulled her behind the defensive line. From there, Erulien peered into the darkness, attempting to discern the shadows that lurked between the snowdrifts, feigning attacks and then disappearing behind the landscape. They were ugly hunchbacks with massive bodies and disproportionately large heads. Three pairs of orange eyes dully glowed with malevolence seven feet above the ground. The wargs made unrushed semi-circles around the men, gradually tightening the ring.
"Don't let them draw you out," Garan ordered.
The wargs growled in response to the human voice. The sound brimmed with such hate that Erulien shuddered and huddled safer behind their cover, but she was unable to look away as the beasts drew closer, setting men's nerves on the edge. An arrow hissed though the air only to be caught between massive jaws and snapped like a twig. The warg bared all teeth as if mocking that sorry attempt and charged head on. It side-jumped forward and left to avoid two more arrows, aiming to break the line with one more leap, but Rohan was ready for it. His two-handed broadsword cut the air dangerously, foiling the charge.
Instantaneous attack on the right caused greater damage where two beasts flanked the defenders. One of the men fell with a cry, pressed into the ground by the warg's front paws on his chest. The beast was robbed of a killing move by Garan driving his sword into its side. He hadn't hit any vital organs. Nonetheless, the stab penetrated thick fur and sunk deep into flesh. The warg swirled about, aiming to rip a chunk out of his side at close quarters. Delek blocked the assault with his shield, sacrificing the defensive weapon. An inch thick oak cracked, torn from his arm by the warg and tossed aside. Blood sputtered from a forceful pull as Garan freed his sword, nearly paying with his life for losing his balance; only the aid of his comrades who covered the brief fallback saved him from being torn apart. The wargs were done playing the retreating game. They pressed the attack, dragging men into a despondent fight where neither side was willing to give up ground.
The fallen man hadn't moved as the battle raged around him. Someone had to get him before he was trampled to death. Why did it have to be her? Erulien's teeth chattered. She wasn't a field healer. Most of her life she lived and worked at the city, protected by walls. Legs didn't support her, so she crawled towards the fight, too terrified to look anywhere other then at the injured man. She wanted to melt into the snow, become small and invisible. Snarls and grunts of exertion came right above her head. Thick material of the man's cloak, encrusted by frost, was nearly wooden and her fingers were just as an inflexible. Desperately, Erulien sought grip, ultimately failing to drag the man back even a step.
"Move."
Slow to respond, the elf was pushed out of the way by Galina who grabbed their companion under the armpits and dragged him backwards. The healer followed closely, in no need of encouragement to retreat once knife-long teeth snapped right behind her. The caravan bag, smartly packed with the healing supplies, was pressed into her hands as soon as they moved the man securely out of the way. Galina picked up a sword, not taking part in immediate battle, to be prepared in case the wargs broke through the line. Assisted by one of the women, Erulien focused on stopping the flow of blood. It gushed liberally from the ripped wound that stretched all the way from his hair line to the chin. Here she was in control, but the cries of the fiercest fight reached her all the same.
Demented, the wargs twirled about, ripping chucks of the frozen snow out of the ground with sharp turns. They evaded plentiful, yet unskilful blows and waited for men to make a mistake. Someone would stumble sooner or later; then, they would rip off their head in one move. Even much outnumbered, the beasts had to be the masters of this situation. This group of men was courageous and well organised, but they were merely traders. Aside from Garan and Rohan, none had the benefit of the warrior training. Should they have fallen, the wargs would have easily torn everyone apart. Their remnants would not have been found until the spring.
A terrified shriek broke the healer's concentration. Recognising the voice, Erulien dropped half-tied bandages, forced to look up to the head of the column that had been forgotten in battle. The bowman raised no alarm so fast came an attack that toppled the barricade and trapped him beneath. An unfortunate horse that got in the way was beating on the ground in the final convulsions with a broken neck. The dying animal was of no interest to another warg that assaulted them. The beast turned over the sleigh, sensing fear and humans trapped inside. It loomed over it, ripping apart the roof and grunting in pleasure of a kill as if it knew the pitiful creatures inside had nowhere to go.
Erulien didn't have children, but the sight of the turned over sleigh with a little girl huddling under and screaming in fear invoked suffocating rage. This was Evalyn who read a tattered book of edain fairy tales, curled up on her lap, and whom the healer urged to drink a spoonful of yucky fish oil for health when her father fell ill. In a flash of fury, Erulien reached the warg faster than a flying arrow and buried her knife to the hilt in the only vulnerable spot – the eye.
The warg jumped three feet into the air. One of its paws randomly caught Erulien on the chest, knocking her several paces back where she landed hard on her back. Her fingers contracted around a fistful of snow in an effort to draw a shuddering breath, while the creature made several wild leaps, howling in pain and chaotically smiting all in its way until all its rage turned on the offender.
Driven by the self-preservation alone, Erulien managed to get onto her arms and knees, and desperately lunged underneath the sleigh that was loaded with the caravan's wares. The rage was gone, replaced by a blinding fear. She slid to the other side and came crashing into the rocky wall.
Half-blinded, the warg followed the hated creature that wrought such pain. It smashed chest first into an obstacle between them, collapsing a pile of rugs and crates, tearing and trampling all within reach.
Something crashed into the elf's shoulder, heavily enough to bring her down to her knees once more. The impact was hardly noticed, in the face of being trapped between the wall and the maddened beast. A crack in the wall, spiralling up like a black snake, caught her attention. Desperation gave strength to squeeze inside like a mouse that sought refuge from a cat in a mouse trap. The crack was shallow. Several steps in, Erulien encountered a wall. Pressing against the rough surface felt like being embraced by the icy hands of the lost souls who had died in the mountains.
Stuck shoulder deep in the narrow passage, the warg panted and growled. The knife handle protruded from its eye socket like a downturned grin. Rotten stench of dead horse came from its breath. Its paws ground holes in the ice, every muscle strained to reach the trapped creature. Maddening effort tore its sides to blood, leaving damp clumps of fur on the rocky surface. Suddenly, it raised hairy muzzle towards the sky. An unearthly howl tore through the narrow passage upwards into the mountains where the echo was lost among the ridges. Malevolent light dimmed in its eyes and the warg fell dead.
Erulien regarded the beast in shock. What foolery was this? She must have lost her mind. Aside from the rapid beating of her heart, the elf heard a subtle melody like that of the silver bells ringing.
An armed figure appeared at the entrance. As the stranger spoke reassuring words, Erulien grew sure it was no one from their caravan. "The threat is gone, friend. It is safe to come out." The voice was melodious like that of a crystal stream. Westron intonations were nearly flawless and now they held concern after receiving no answer. "Are you injured?" The stranger moved towards her with great agility, although his armour scraped against the rocks. "Come with me," he asked once more. His face was shadowed, but she caught a glimpse of gold hair. His hand, stretched towards her, emanated soft light.
Slowly, Erulien entrusted her hand to him and followed, but dug her heels in after taking two steps. "I'm afraid of it!" she said desperately; no matter how foolish that seemed. In order to leave the cave, they had to walk over the dead warg. An avalanche had to come down before she agreed to step on the beast, while she still wasn't perfectly convinced that the warg wasn't playing some twisted game and wouldn't bite her leg off. She was going to tell this armed stranger so, no matter what. However, he didn't argue nor grow frustrated. The warrior wrapped a strong arm around her waist and before Erulien could yelp took her outside where he set her down effortlessly.
It was a mistake to throw an instinctive look back at the warg because on the ground lay undeniable proof of its death. Its body was severed in half by a mighty blow. Nauseated by all the bloodshed, Erulien fled from her saviour. Behind a snowdrift, she dropped on her knees and emptied scant content of her stomach. She remained crouched until some ability to think rationally returned and she was able to shake off a layer of snow that gathered on her shoulders and face the surroundings.
The road bustled with activity. Yellow circles of scattered lantern light moved about in complicated patterns. Beyond her sight, Galina called out to Evalyn. A surge of relief washed over the healer as the child responded. Elven speech mixed into the chorus of voices, but only in brief exchanges, much like the military commands. Two distinct groups, united after a fight with a common enemy, worked together side by side, but did not mingle. The elves were clearing away remnants of the battle, prudently allowing the edain to put their caravan back on track without unasked interference.
The elves! The firstborn song that linked all their souls to creator called out to her. The patrol must have heard the warg howls and came to defend their borders. A strong gust of wind threw a handful of snow into her face, momentarily blurring the world. Erulien rushed to the center of the activity, nimbly moving around people and jumping over the obstacles. Where was Garan? No doubt he was grateful for the assistance, but how would he receive her kin? There was an atmosphere of caution present between the parties. Please trust them, Erulien implored silently, at last coming across the man.
Garan was in deep conversation with the tall warrior who saved her earlier. Concerned frown marred the man's face and his arms were defensively set across his chest. The elf veiled his emotions. He was a picture of intensity, due to the difficult situation rather than an attempt to intimidate.
"I encourage your caravan to follow us to Imladris. I cannot spare my men to lead you to a safer ground where you can wait out the storm because the slightest delay may trap us on this side of the mountains. The weather will grow worse over night and the passage will close."
The edain hesitated. His group had to cross the mountains regardless to continue their journey west, but he was very much aware that the caravan may become trapped in the elven city or from there travel an unknown route.
Any moment he could have refused the passage and then the groups would part ways. She couldn't, she didn't want that to happen so soon. "Garan, I beg you to trust them," Erulien interfered. "We have wounded. Atamir is badly ill. It's better to lose your way than to lose your men!"
"I rather lose neither."
The look Garan directed at her was very much admonishing. It wasn't the place of an outsider who joined his caravan less than a month ago to interfere in vital decisions. Yet, Erulien believed in his natural ability to hear others out fairly as he addressed the warrior.
"However, given the circumstances, I thank the Imladris Guard again for coming to our aid and ask them to take on the additional responsibility of leading us through the passage, should you be willing to give us permission to enter your city."
The warrior inclined his head politely. "Lord Elrond welcomes brave men of good conscience to his valley." A smile touched the corners of his mouth that appeared to be far more natural for him than maintaining a grim façade, "Especially when they have such a passionate advocate."
"The advocate has reminded me of my duties and I must return the favour," Garan informed them strictly.
Erulien blushed, but didn't retreat just yet. "I want all wounded placed at the center of the caravan, close to each other," she requested before hurrying away. She thought she heard a suppressed chuckle, but perhaps it was just another gust of the increasingly powerful wind. A full night march awaited them at the mountains. She prayed for the strength for them all to endure it.
