Hannah (Siri) Is STILL here!! ;)
*glows* Thanks for all the delightful feedback!! You made our day!! :D
Ecri, unfortunately, I fear no body guard would have them ;) They get into a *little* too much trouble for that ;)
Yes, Emmithar, it's true that it seems Legolas has more energy, but I think he's just better at hiding it. Truth be known he's a little more worse off than the human because he's got his ever growing sickness. There really both pretty bad off, but Legolas, as an elf, is much better at hiding it =)
Thank you Jay!! Ah yes well, we do tend take a couple leaves from Cassia/Sio's books. ;)
*blushes* Thank you Littlefish!! I am so glad you are enjoying it!! Yes, well, you are not exactly meant to like Naraka or Furnmorth ;) And unfortunately for our heros, there has to be more to come, since we've just hit the half-way mark in this story. =D
And now, onto the next chapter!!
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Death or Despair
By Sarah and Hannah
(disclaimers, explanations, and summaries
available at the top of chapter 1)
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Chapter 11
Escape With Cost
Somewhere beyond the dark stone, the sun must have risen, but on that score the slaves could only take the word of the guards who roused them. Nearly healed of all but weariness and the strange, clinging sickness that seemed to increase by the day, Legolas nevertheless walked calmly down the tunnel to the foundries, passing halfway there the slaves who were being relieved. His eyes darted keenly to Aragorn, who was walking in front of him: ready to steady the man if he stumbled. Even with only several days of recovery time behind him, Aragorn had improved rapidly, but he had not yet regained his full strength, as his difficulties during the previous day clearly showed. Briefly, Legolas wondered if it was wise to attempt an escape when neither of them were very strong, but then he shook himself, remembering that they could not afford to wait. With only a matter of days before the intended commencement of Furnmorth's plans, it was imperative that they start for Gilthad immediately.
Straightening as he came out of the passageway, Legolas turned to follow Aragorn to their day's assignment at the cutting blocks and was halted in mid-step.
"Elf!" The word itself was almost lost in the sharp tone, the syllable coming out more like a sudden bark instead of an intelligible summons.
Hurriedly, Legolas gestured Aragorn onwards, not wanting him to be caught away from his post when the owner of the loud voice finally reached them. For a moment, Aragorn hesitated, his thoughts clear in the way his eyes flicked from Legolas, to the cooling pools, to the slag heaps, and back to Legolas. The elf caught his gaze and held it, willing him to remember their words to each other the night before. A sickening heartbeat of indecision followed as the ranger remained still; Legolas began to wonder if the promise he had gained from the young man would be worth anything, now that it appeared it might be put to the test. Then Aragorn jerked his head, and started towards his block. The elf let out a relieved breath. Maybe one day he would remember not to underestimate his friend.
A moment later, Legolas was backhanded hard as the man who had been calling him finally reached his side. "Answer, slave!" Naraka snapped, his now infamous temper rising.
Legolas dropped his eyes in an act of humility, above all else not wanting to cause trouble if there was none yet to worry about. His own pride could not be allowed to jeopardize the safety of his home. "Yes, sir?"
Naraka's eyes glittered, but he seemed to be in a hurry, and did not have time to punish the elf, "I believe it is time you moved on with your skills." Reaching out his hand in a swift, snakelike move, he caught a fistful of the elf's tunic and pulled, half dragging Legolas across the foundry behind him. Wincing at the treatment, the elf kept silent, following quickly and only realizing when he reached his destination just where Naraka had reassigned him.
The forges were smaller, but that did not lessen the activity, and after a harsh jerk, to remind the elf who owned him, Naraka left him. Fairly knowledgeable about the different kinds of metal work by now, Legolas took up the empty place and began work on the knives that were being hammered, trying not to remember that it was these same daggers that had given Aragorn so many grievous cuts.
The elf felt more hopeful, now that he had simply been moved instead of taken away entirely, but he was still much farther across the cavern than Aragorn, and with only a few minutes in which to make their escape, he couldn't afford to waste any time on running.
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Aragorn's shoulders had tensed at Naraka's rough treatment of Legolas, and for a moment he had feared that the captain had something terrible in mind for the elf, in which case he could not merely stand by and watch it happen. Not even for Mirkwood. Still, remembering his promise, he managed to restrain himself long enough to recall what the elf had told him about Naraka's seeming inability to decide where in the foundries he was best suited.
Wrenching his thoughts back to the task at hand, Aragorn returned to his work, clipping away cautiously, and all the while keeping one careful eye turned slightly towards the small path that wound between the various armor piles and forges from the mould workings. In case Legolas was unable to reach him, he would have to follow through on his own.
Aragorn had completed only one breastplate before he caught sight of his signal. Kelegalen was walking towards the cooling pools with a bucket on his arm, apparently to refill it for one of the smaller forges. Water was only available to these when hauled up from the springs by one of the slaves. Except that Kelegalen's post was *not* small, possessing, in fact, it's own separate spring; and what was not so apparent about him was the thin, sharp piece of metal that was concealed in the bottom of the bucket.
Setting to work again on his piece of armor, Aragorn went over it several more times, as if looking for mistakes, carefully taking his time as he drew out his examination, all the while counting silently in his head.
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Moving quickly, Kelegalen looked straight ahead, keeping the bucket still so that the leftover scrap of steel wouldn't rattle around. Reaching the cooling pools, he all but disappeared in the steam as a half completed helmet was thrust in, and then removed. When the steam cleared, there was a boy beside him.
"Here," Kelegalen said briefly, pulling out the improvised blade. Nethtalt took it, sliding it up what was left of his sleeve, and to the man's surprise, he almost seemed to smile… However, before Kelegalen could be sure of it, the lad was gone, and though he knew Nethtalt was even now climbing up to the top of the sluice gate, he could not see him through the clouds of steam and ash.
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Reaching the end of his count, Aragorn lifted the breastplate as if he were finally satisfied with it, and made his way towards the heap of armor. Casting his glance left and right, he caught sight of his goal and slowed; it wouldn't do to pass it too early.
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Across the cavern, there had been no way of seeing the signal, and Legolas was still working diligently away on completing his first blade. One thing he felt he must give Furnmorth credit for, if not design, was the quality of his metal. The steel was light and flexible, making the daggers ideal for throwing —
There was a rushing sound of water that reverberated loudly through the cavern, a sloshing, pouring maelstrom that seemed to hurl itself over it's confining walls at the foundry entrance and everything near it. The loud *hhhhhhshshshshshsssssssssing* of liquid streaming over softened metal nearly covered the startled cries of the slaves as their work changed suddenly from red, to black again, and the air around them turned clingy with moisture. Billowing steam from the doused forges clouded the ceiling, tinted red by the remaining fires, and fogged the pool from view as it slowly spread itself across the lower end of the floor.
Confusion covered the faces of the slaves whom the water could not reach, and many halted where they stood, seemingly unable to comprehend what was taking place in their oppressive prison. It did not surprise the elf, therefore, when they did not notice his prompt departure.
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The minute Nethtalt dropped from the gate to the cavern floor, Kelegalen took his arm and led him through the slowly collecting water and the concealing steam back to the mould workings. Positioning the boy at the workings' own sluice gate, Kelegalen was preparing to return to his work, when he felt the lad's hand on his elbow. Nethtalt did not say a word, and could not have been heard even if he had spoken, but his smile was no longer hidden. He had just defied the ones who had killed his father.
Whatever the diversion had given Strider and Legolas, it had returned to Nethtalt some of his own.
//Be swift, friends.// Kelegalen thought silently. //You are Nethtalt's hope as well as Mirkwood's.//
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Aragorn had not anticipated the amount of steam the released water would produce, but even as the warm moisture began to wet his clothing, he was already moving towards his goal. A large, rough tunnel led from within sight of Kelegalen's post to the southern slopes of the mountain, and here was where all the unusable rubble was sent: broken stone, impure metal, and other debris. Here, once every few days, the chute-like exit was opened and everything thrown in. And here, if they had timed everything as they had planned to, would he make his escape.
Pushing between the startled slaves, Aragorn threw his breastplate away and started to run, but abruptly felt his feet pulled out from under him, as if he had tangled them in something. Twisting, he found Orkhalla, one of Naraka's men, with his whip out, his face impassive. Most of the guards had fallen for the ruse and traveled to the sluice gate to see what had caused it to drop, but Orkhalla had clearly not been one of them.
Thrashing to get his legs loose of the coils that had tripped him, Aragorn hurled a helmet that came to his hand at Orkhalla's head, but the guard dodged it and brought his foot down on Aragorn's wrist.
"Stop struggling, or I'll give you something to struggle over," the man nearly shouted above the noise. Rolling quickly towards the boot that was imprisoning his arm, Aragorn managed to use Orkhalla's uneven stance against him, sending the guard crashing into an open forge mouth. It had already been cooled by the first rush of Nethtalt's tide, but the water had begun to flow back to it's original pool now as the guards and slaves managed to raise the gate once more.
They were running out of time.
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Risking a leap directly over an open fire pit, Legolas landed and continued running, not even noticing that he still carried his nearly completed weapon. Balancing lightly on the long arm of a lever, he followed the downward sloping beam, and landed on a shifting pile of gravel, left there after the enlargement of the stream bed when the pools were dammed. Sliding down, yet keeping more or less balanced as he fell, he flinched as the sharp rocks gouged him in passing. Reaching the bottom, he darted between two of Naraka's men almost faster than they could notice, and then skirted the entire tool workers' area and broke into a run. Aragorn had likely already gotten out, but there was a good chance he would need someone to act as rearguard as he made his escape.
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Rising hastily to his feet, desperate to reach the way out before Naraka's men finished with the water and began to turn their attention to the slaves once more, Aragorn got two steps further before he was slammed down again, this time by a hard blow to the back of his head.
"Lord Furnmorth told me you would cause trouble," Naraka hissed, his tone more gloating than angry. "I would have thought the army's sport with you would have done you in, but it seems things will not be that simple." Planting his knee in Aragorn lower back, he wrenched the ranger's arms around, reaching for one of the leather thongs he kept hanging on his belt for just this use. "Complicated solutions are always more interesting though, don't you agree?" He muttered as he began to wrap the thong around Aragorn's bruised wrists. Not caring, if he noticed, the look of pain on the ranger's face as his injuries were aggravated from the harsh treatment.
Even as he twisted and fought against the bonds, Aragorn could see through the clearing mists as the slag tunnel's entrance was closed firmly and barred. He was too late. He had failed.
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Sidestepping quickly as an unstable mound of armor fell almost directly onto his head, Legolas continued to run, recognizing ahead the place where the cavern roof curved down to meet the floor — except in one point where a tunnel led outwards to freedom. Even as he recognized the place, he realized that the door had already been closed, but it was not until he caught sight of two men wrestling a third to the ground that his heart turned cold. The third figure was all too familiar. Aragorn had not escaped either.
A sudden cry from the Dúnadan as Naraka's knee pressed even more sharply into his back brought Legolas suddenly out of his defeat. The confusion had not yet subsided: there was still a possibility that they could elude their captors. Without even pausing to remember what it was he held, his hand driven more by instinct than real thought, Legolas flung the knife at the captain's exposed back.
Whether it was his own instinct that saved him, or simply chance, Naraka twisted at the very moment the dagger reached him, so that it found it's mark instead in Orkhalla's chest, directly between his ribs. Startled, Naraka released Aragorn's wrists and reached for his sword, but Legolas flew at him, wrapping his arm around the captain's throat and pulling back hard as Aragorn struggled free and slid out of the leather straps that held him.
Clawing at the elf's arm, the captain reached around to grab Legolas' head, but couldn't seem to find it as the elf evaded his grasping hands, and finally freed him altogether. Leaving the cruel man gasping, the two friends rapidly retraced Legolas' steps towards the foundry entrance and, bare seconds after they entered the passageway and started upwards towards the mountain itself, they heard the captain's hoarse voice demanding that they be pursued.
Running headlong up the tunnel, Aragorn was only saved from colliding with another of Furnmorth's human soldiers by Legolas' restraining grip on the back of his tunic. Slipping around the soldier before he could detain them, the companions' positions switched as Legolas now took the lead, pulling his friend steadily behind him, trying not to exceed the injured ranger's pace while at the same time hurrying him upward. A horn call echoed around them, carried through the halls and rooms and reverberating ever outwards.
"Legolas, where are we going?" Aragorn had just breath to ask.
The elf had no chance to answer as a group of three men blocked the passage ahead and he was forced to concentrate on fighting his way through. Following his companion's example, Aragorn ducked the knife of one man and then turned it on him, driving it into the guard's shoulder and leaving him even as Legolas tripped the third one onto his back and gestured the ranger on. "Quickly, Strider, we have little time!"
Further up they ran, and Aragorn's legs began to tire from the exertion, until he wished most of all to be given a little rest, but knew it would do no good to ask for it. The calls of the men rebounded through the passages around them, but it appeared that Naraka had not organized a systematic search, and none of the guards seemed clear as to which direction the slaves had gone.
Reaching the upper levels at last, Aragorn could see little difference between the rooms above and the chambers below, except for the faint white glow of daylight which occasionally slanted down from loopholes in the walls. Legolas seemed to become even quicker as the faint glimpses of slate-gray sky rushed past them and the sound of a cold wind outside whistled through the vent shafts. This was what he had been longing for, uninviting as it might seem to others, and now that it was finally granted him, neither ill treatment nor long toil could drag at his feet.
The ranger behind him was not so agile. Beginning to gasp, Aragorn knew that even were they to find a window or a door to the outside, he would be unable to make a running escape all the way to Gilthad. But Legolas would not leave him, so he stumbled on.
They had only just reached a long, straight hall, better made than the others, when at the opposite end there appeared a group of men, with Lord Furnmorth at their head. For a moment, Furnmorth's eyes met Aragorn's. Recognition. Then Legolas slammed open an entrance on the left, and pulled the ranger through to the chamber beyond, closing the heavy door behind them and dropping the bar. Aragorn collapsed against the wall, his chest heaving painfully, the old wound in his leg flaming, as the elf considered their surroundings in the dim light from a torch bracketed by the door. There was a bed with furs on it, a second cloak hanging from a peg, and a large desk with a stack of parchment, a few raven quills, ink, sealing wax and a signet ring grouped together neatly. Legolas' sharp eyes caught the device on the ring, remembering the symbols on the helmets and breastplates and weapons. "This is Lord Furnmorth's room," the elf announced suddenly, giving the sparse walls an even closer look, for if the lord of the mountain slept here, it was possible that there would be… "Strider, there is a window here!" Flinging wide the heavy wooden shutters that protected the opening against arrows, Legolas sprang lightly to the sill, looking down the slope below.
Here the crags of the mountain rose, making a sort of rocky outcrop that spiked upwards, and the elf could tell it would be too steep to escape that way, but below the window itself there was a ledge that traveled out of sight around the mountainside, making a small trail that might possibly lead to a shallower drop. Nodding to Aragorn, who had come up behind him, Legolas dropped lightly down, and waited, steadying the ranger when he too dropped to land beside him. Wincing at the abrupt change from close warmth to sharp chill, Aragorn hugged the rock face and started down the narrow trail after his friend.
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Lord Furnmorth gave a patient sigh, his very presence giving the men around him a feeling that the situation was well within their lord's control. "They have closed themselves off in there: only one escape exists that way." There was no hint in his voice of his feelings at seeing The Slave out once more.
Glancing up, he arched an eyebrow at his captain, who had now come rattling into the very spot at the opposite end of the hall that the slaves had just vacated. Naraka swallowed, recognizing that he had failed yet again.
"Captain," Furnmorth said easily, too far away for Naraka to read his eyes, "come with me. I know where they will end out."
Passing through one of the more poorly made — and therefore seldom used — corridors, Furnmorth spoke composedly to his captain, his voice low, "I would prefer you take them alive if at all possible. The recent trouble in the forge has denied us even further the ability to discard slaves lightly. However, surprise is paramount, and if their objective is the Gilthad, it would be better to simply fell them."
Naraka nodded tersely, turning and giving orders to three of his men, "Go, get bows from the armory."
Furnmorth allowed his mouth to twitch into a faint smile, feeling satisfaction as his assessment of the captain was born out. Naraka might be an unpredictable and violent warrior at times, but he understood tactics and would do his work well.
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The ledge finally dropped away completely, but several feet beyond it, there was a wide flat space. Leaping the gap easily, Legolas steadied Aragorn once again as the ranger joined him, and the two started quickly towards some larger outcroppings of rock at the edge of the plateau. Beyond these, just visible, was the edge of the mountain, and below that: the snow covered ground.
"Can we climb down that way?" Aragorn sounded doubtful, even through his heavy breathing.
Legolas nodded, stepping nimbly over a long fissure, "Easily."
They had nearly reached the larger rocks when there was a whistling, followed by a smattering *sschink* as an arrow ricocheted away from Legolas' feet, followed quickly by a second, third and fourth. From behind them, at another unboarded window that they had not noticed, Naraka's men were firing arrows at their legs, trying to bring them down.
It was an unexpected difficulty, and for a vital half second, Aragorn froze, unsure which of the two closest rocks he should take cover behind. Out of the corner of his eye, Legolas saw a dark flash and heard his friend's cry as a well-aimed arrow finally found it's target in his leg. Grabbing Aragorn's wrists, Legolas heaved him behind the leftmost of the rocks, arrows splintering around him as the archers made one last attempt to hit them before they reached cover.
Aragorn's face was now completely white as his glazed eyes focused on the shaft protruding from his leg, the feather on the end shivering as he gasped. Not eight feet further, the ground dropped away. "Legolas," Aragorn said suddenly, gripping his friend's arm.
The arrows had ceased and Legolas knew the men would even now be climbing from the window and coming closer, so he shook his head, "Not now, Strider. Come, lean on me, we still have time."
"No, Legolas," Aragorn shook his head, "*you* still have time. I can go no further." The elf started to shake his head again, but his friend cut him off sharply, "Go, Legolas!"
*…Aragorn, son of Arathorn, I swear to you, I will not let this mission fail, even if I be alone…*
Casting one last agonized glance at the ranger's drawn face, Legolas tore himself away. Sliding over the edge of the cliff, his hands and feet easily finding a path downwards, the elf's golden head disappeared from view.
Aragorn felt a sigh of relief vibrate his chest, almost covering his sudden panic: he was now alone in Gundabad.
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Using his natural agility, Legolas reached the base of the cliff in only a few minutes time, dropping the last distance to land lightly on the top of the snow drifts that had piled against the mountain side. Down here the wind was given free reign of the valleys and the cold was bitter, but Legolas did not notice this any more than he had when first arriving, and, putting aside any lingering doubts over his decision, he set off at a run. When he had placed some distance between himself and the assured pursuit, then there would be time to rest.
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Aragorn inhaled sharply as he was once more turned face down and restrained, but this time he did not resist the leather thongs as they were wrapped tightly around his wrists. He was too weary.
Through vision that was blurred by exhaustion, he recognized Furnmorth's boots as the lord stood in front of him, gazing down at his prostrate form. "Captain," Furnmorth's voice remained as tranquil as a still pool, "when you are through binding the runaway, it would be well if you were to take several men and retrieve the other. He might cause trouble if he is allowed to run free."
Finishing with Aragorn, Naraka rose to catch sight of his lord's eyes. *Death, if you fail.*
Naraka almost winced at the words, as clearly stated as if they had been spoken, and ducked his head, "Of course, my lord."
"Good."
Furnmorth, satisfied that his unvoiced threat would adequately motivate his captain, started towards the window once more, and then paused. "And Captain?"
"Yes, sir?" Naraka straightened to a more alert posture, expecting further orders.
Furnmorth's face was once more almost benevolent as he tilted his head towards Legolas' route, "You may finish him if you must."
Naraka's lip curled: he understood. "Yes sir." When Furnmorth was out of sight, Naraka turned to his men, "Agarwaen, take the slave back — Lord Furnmorth will decide his punishment. Balkhfiren, Mekhor, come with me."
Following the path of the elf, the three men started down the cliff face. Well fed and strong, they reached the bottom in good time and set out through the drifts, the elf still visible in the distance.
This would be entertaining.
TBC…