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Chapter seven:
Ra'zac
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"Ra'zac! They're here!"

When Roran heard the warning-cry, he dropped his water-filled buckets and hurried from Kisselt's house – which he had been throwing water on to protect from fire – over to the wagons on the road, where he had left his hammer.

There, at the furthest end of the road, sat a lone ra'zac upon his steed. He was too far away to be within shooting range of a bow. The creature held a torch in its left hand. The other arm looked like he was about to throw something.

A laugh escaped Roran's mouth. "Will it throw stones at us? It's too far away to-"

His words were cut short when the ra'zac lowered its arm, and a ball of glass came flying and hit one of the wagons. Roran tried to move away, but was too slow. An explosion threw the wagon high into the air and Roran was knocked into a wall by a powerful, hot wind. Dizzily he crawled onto all fours and tried to catch his breath. Through the humming noise n his ears he could hear the sound of galloping horses. He forced himself to his feet, but then at once had to dive out of the way when the two ra'zac rode at full speed into the village between the burning wagons.

The Ra'zac stopped their horses and hacked with glimmering swords against the people who lay dazzled by the explosion. The firelight from it gave everything a yellow glow. Roran saw three men die, before Horst and Loring appeared with hayforks and pressed the ra'zac back. Before the villagers had managed to gather themselves did the soldiers break through the breach. They came with raised weapons, and more strength and anger than when Horst and the others first had fought them. They killed without making out who was who in the dark.

Carvahall would fall if they weren't stopped. Roran jumped at the first soldier he saw and hit him with the hammer in his face. The soldier sank to the ground without a sound. When seeing the dead one's comrades rushing at him, Roran fumbled to take off the man's shield and put it on his own arm. He had just removed it from the soldier's arm when a sword came down and he raised the shield to block the strike just in time.

He blocked the swords and then brought up his hammer under the man's chin, so that he fell backwards, unmoving. Roran barely had time to think. "To me!" he cried. "Protect your homes!" Five men were trying to surround him; the shield saved him from being slashed by a sword. "To me!"

Baldor was the first to answer his call, and then came Albriech. A blur jumped suddenly down from one of the roofs, landing atop of two surprised solders; a cloaked Legolas cut one man's neck and buried his knife in the other. Roran caught a glimpse of a white blade. The elf made the three other men back away, as they were more wary of this new threat, which was faster and stronger than any of the other villagers they had fought. The elf parried easily with a solider, which howled in pain as the elf's knife cut a deep gash in his arm.

"Stay together!" Roran called. Now people gathered behind him. Women and children were throwing rocks at the soldiers. "We are more than you!" he cried into the soldiers' faces and stood his ground.

Legolas slid behind him, so that the villagers formed line with Roran at the front. Baldor happened to be at the elf's right side, and on his left side was someone he didn't recognize.

With more than a hundred behind him, Roran slowly walked to attack.

"Attack, morons!" a ra'zac yelled.

A single arrow flew through the air and Roran caught it with his shield, laughing. Challenging these creatures and the soldiers, that did this to his home. The ra'zac glared at the villagers and hissed in frustration.

A sudden tiredness fell over Roran, like a sheet, and he moved slower – he didn't know why, either, and could not do anything against it. It was hard to even think.

A hand grasped and jerked his shoulder suddenly. "Clear your mind, Roran!" hissed a familiar yet distant voice in his ear, in a language he could not understand the words of.

From behind he heard Brigit yell and a stone flew over his head; the ra'zac turned inhumanly quickly and avoided the projectile. At once, the feeling broke and Roran could think clearly again. Was that magic? Did the others feel it as well?

A sudden instinct grabbed him and he threw the hammer – it soared spinning through the air and hit the ra'zac's shield, leaving a large buckle, before it fell to the ground.

The strange power of the ra'zac stumbled. "Retreat," one of them growled.

The villagers were coming closer, closer – the soldiers fended off any nearing hayforks and pickaxes with their swords. They backed sourly out of Carvahall and onto the road. When they had come a good way from the burning wagons, did they dare to turn their backs to the villagers and hurried down the road to wherever they now rested with the ra'zac in tow.

Roran sighed and picked up his hammer. He hadn't meant it to go like this. His shoulders and his back ached, since he had hit the wall. When he saw that the explosion had killed Parr, he bent his head looking at the ground. Nine other men had died. There lay six dead soldiers on the ground. Already was the night filled by wives and mothers' cries of grief.

He blinked away angry tears. His home, that had always held to him innocence, was stained with blood. How could this have happened?

"Come over, everybody!" Baldor called. Roran looked up and stumbled over to him, by the middle of the road.

Only thirty ells away sat a bug-like ra'zac upon his steed. It curved a finger at Roran and said: "You … you smell like your cousin. We never forget a smell."

"What do you want?" Roran cried, angry, devastated, tired. "Why are you here?"

"We want … information." The ra'zac laughed, and threw a look over its shoulder where its companions had disappeared. Before it disappeared into the cold night, it called: "Turn Roran over, and you will all be sold as slaves. Protect him and we will eat you all. We want an answer next time. Make sure you answer rightly."

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An immense grief pounded in Roran's chest as he stared at the village's weak defenses, looking so fragile, and at the wounded men and those who tended them – they all looked tired. The sun was trudging up the horizon and coloured the sky red, and it reminded him of the terrible, bloodstained night that just had passed by.

The Empire has offended my home.

He listened to the painful groans from the men who had been injured in the fight. Gertrude was walking around among them to tend the worst injuries. His eyes looked over them – he did not want to see more blood – to the defenses between the houses – the barrels and wood and rocks and the wrecks of the two wagons. It looked like a slight breeze could break it all apart. They were vulnerable.

The eyes of the villagers were glazed over of chock, grief and exhaustion. Not many would meet his gaze, or anyone's gaze. Shivers of fear and anger rushed through his body and made him tremble.

It shouldn't be like this.

Also Roran felt tired, more tired than he remembered he had ever been before, and his muscles held a dull pain from the battle. He was making his way to Horst's house, where Carvahall's most prominent inhabitants gathered to make a decision of what the village should do, and if Horst and his companions would be punished for starting the aggression and hostility. Almost all morning had the group been discussing, but recently sent word for Roran to come and take part of it, after he had been done trying to strengthen up their defences again.

Elain stood in the doorway and waved for him to come in. "They are in the dining room," she said when he arrived. "Oh and your new friend, he's in the kitchen, with the elf-child. I don't know if he will be on the meeting or not," she added with a slightly lowered voice. Only Horst, Roran and their companions knew yet that Legolas was an elf. Most people were too consumed by grief to have even noticed him; he was like a drawn-back shadow, and in the fighting he had been on their side.

Roran nodded and went inside, first to the kitchens; Legolas sat behind a half-closed door and covered windows, Eldarion on his lap, feeding him with some milk from the household. When the man entered, the elf looked up and greeted him with a nod.

"I think the men in the dining room want to speak with you too," Roran said.

"I suspected as much," Legolas said with a nod. "I was part of this group who started the fight, after all. I will come in a few moments."

Roran left. Legolas had spent his morning first helping some wounded, but mostly been with Eldarion and speaking with Elain, Horst's wife; since he had no place to sleep they had made arrangements so he would live in their house for a time. Roran probably would too; Horst would speak to him. An old cradle was placed in the corner of the kitchen and when Eldarion had eaten his fill, the elf gently laid him down among the blankets.

When he had come after the battle to see his, the child had been distressed; the sounds from the battle had filtrated into the room where he was with Elain, a strange woman the child was not used to, but now in his elvish parent's presence he was quickly calm again.

He had also seen to his wound, and no infection had set in; he decided to see Gertrude, the healer in the village, after she had tended the wounded. Perhaps she had some herbs that could stop the poison. It had not troubled it for a time, except a few waves of dizziness now and then. He was glad for that it had not hindered him from movements or battling.

Roran had just sat down when Legolas, still hooded, slipped into the room with almost unheard steps. When no one looked at him, he leaned against the doorframe and listened to the conversation.

Around a long table sat Birgit, Loring, Morn, Gedric, Sloan and Fisk among others – the elf recognized only a few of them. He identified the almost-bald, burly man that had argued with Horst after the attack on the soldier's camp during the night, sitting in between Loring – a thin tall man – and someone he was not familiar with. Horst sat by the far end.

"…and it was completely foolish! Now you've put whole Carvahall in danger-" Loring was saying but Morn interrupted him.

"We've already talked about this," he said. "It does not matter if what we have done should have been done. Personally I think it was right to do what we did – Quimby was my friend, and to think of what they did to him, and would do to Roran … - but … but I want to know how we can make it out of this."

"Easy, kill the soldiers," Sloan barked.

"And then what?" Morn wanted to know. "They will send more soldiers until we drown in red tonlets. Even if we turn Roran over, it does not help us much more – you heard what the ra'zac said … You might think differently, but I would rather die than live as a slave."

Gedric, who sat across the table, shook his head: "We won't survive."

Fisk leaned forward slightly. "We could leave."

"There is nowhere to go," Kiselt said. "The soldiers blocks the way ahead, behind us is the Spine, and beyond that is the rest of the Empire."

Another man that Legolas had seen arguing yesterday night pointed an angry finger at Horst. "This is your fault! They will burn our houses and kill out families because of you!"

Horst stood up so quickly that the chair fell. "Where is your honor? Will you let them at us without resisting?" he asked heatedly.

"If suicide is the only option, yes." He glared around at the table, his gaze lingering at Roran, before rushing outside. His face was a twisted mask of pure fear.

In the silence and rippling murmurs this settled over the group, people seemed to notice both Roran and the elf for the first time. "Sit. We've been waiting for you," Gedric said and pulled out a chair on his left, and the elf slid down on the seat with a nod in greeting. Roran, who had already taken seat, spoke up.

"How can I help?"

"I think we've all agreed that it's no point anymore in turning you over," Gedric said. "The only thing we can do is to prepare ourselves for another attack. Horst will make spearheads – and other weapons if he finds time t it – and Fisk has volunteered to make shields. Luckily, his carpenter's shop survived the fire. Someone has to look over our defenses. We'd like you to do that, Roran. Many people will help you."

Roran nodded. "I'll do my best."

"Make sure you do that," said Tara, Morn's wife. She was a large woman with strong hands that could break the neck of a chicken as well as tear apart two brawlers.

Legolas spoke up, a soft tenor from Gedric's left side. "I shall also help with what needs help doing."

"You must be the one Roran met in the woods," Fisk said, giving him a quizzical look. "Baldor spoke about you but could not tell much. What brings you to Carvahall? …You fought tonight, against the soldiers." It was a statement, not a question.

Legolas confirmed his words. Almost everyone, including Horst and his companions who had been introduced to him before, gave him curious looks. It's better if I reveal my … nature, as well, he thought. But if I said I am from a different world … perhaps not yet. "Aye. I am Legolas." He pulled back his hood, startling the gathered and drawing a gasp from several of them. "I came here by accident when pursued by foes, and decided that since going back is … not possible for me at the moment, to help you, for the soldiers and the ra'zac are not friends of me, or my people."

The elf sent Roran a glance when the man said, "He killed two soldiers in the woods that could probably have found me."

"You are a warrior?" Morn asked the elf.

The corners of Legolas' mouth jerked upwards a bit, on the edge of a smile. "Among other things," he told them vaguely.

Horst nodded and raised a hand to silence the murmurs that spread throughout the room about the newcomer. "Let's go back to the problem at hand. We must make sure that our defenses are strong. We have children that must be protected. Or we are forced to have more burials."

"Maybe the children could be taken to Cawley's farm by Noststream," Tara said, turning from Horst and looking at Elain, who sat beside her husband. "You should go too, Elain."

"I will not leave Horst," she said calmly.

This angered Tara. "This is not the place for a woman in the fifth month," she said. "You'll lose the baby if you continue to run around."

Legolas' eyes widened a little. How could I not notice that before, when I spent the whole morning talking to her? He wondered. My thoughts must have been weary by battle and I was too occupied to think anything of her appearance or behaviour …Just like Tara behaved now had Aragorn behaved around him when he was pregnant with their child – worrying and warning him to take it easy. Though they had been lucky enough to have nothing else than councilors and the people to deal with then. Here a whole village was in danger from soldiers and the ra'zac.

"It's more harmful for me if I go and worry without knowing what's happening than staying here," Elain said. "I've birthed my sons; I will stay, like I know you and all other wives in Carvahall will do."

With a tender expression on his face, Horst took her hand in his own. "I don't want you anywhere else than by my side. But the children should leave. Cawley will take care of them, but we must make sure the road to his farm is safe."

"And no one," said Loring with a gruff voice, "not a soul must have anything to do with the families in the lower valleys, we don't want those scavengers to trouble them."

Everyone agreed, and so was the meeting ended. Legolas found himself under many curious eyes and a handful of questions. It was decided that no one outside the room would be told, yet at least, of that he was an elf, because it could definitely stir things up and they needed to have the villagers relatively calm - as calm as possible given the situation.

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