It was two days before the company set out again. Faramir was going with
them, and he needed to make sure affairs were in order in the town. It gave
the king time to check Sal's arm was healing. The cut was still painful,
but the king said it was healing well and there were no longer any signs of
the poison. The king also took the time to give Sal some more training in
fighting. He'd learned a little in Minas Tirrith, as most boys did, but he
wasn't very good.
After an exhausting hour of parries and thrusts, Sal sank into a chair in the room he had been given, wondering what Bergil would think if he knew Sal was being trained by the king. Sal couldn't believe his fortune. A few days ago he thought he was going to be sentenced to death. Now, he was still likely to die, but at least it would be a noble death.
The morning they sat out was overcast. It was also dark, as again they set out early, and the only hint of the sun was a slight lightening of the sky over the eastern horizon. Silently, they rode north through Ithilien, towards the black gates of Mordor. Sal tried not to think about what was ahead, about the death he was almost certainly facing. But with nothing to distract him but the rhythmic thud of hooves on the ground, he couldn't help thinking of it.
The only distraction came a little before noon, and that only increased Sal's fear. They rode through an area of woodland that had been destroyed. Trees had been slashed down and bushes torn apart. It looked as though fire had burned what remained.
"What happened here?" Sal asked, looking round.
"Battle," Faramir replied, "Many good men died here."
They rode through without stopping. The sight of the battlefield had made clear to Sal that it wasn't just his life at stake, or even the lives of the other members of the company. The cause of this battle was surely the reason for this journey. That meant many other lives would be depending on Sal's actions. Sal wasn't sure he wanted that sort of responsibility, knowing that if he did something wrong people would suffer for it. He wished he had taken the chance King Elessar had offered him and stayed behind in the town.
***
Nothing happened for the next two days. As the rode on, Sal began to feel more afraid. He keep feeling that something was watching them from the trees, but there was nothing there. He noticed the others looking around nervously too. Sal's mind was filled with a fear of something nameless and distant, but growing nearer all the time. Something was going to happen, something terrible.
He tried to dismiss his feelings as ordinary nerves, and didn't speak of them to the others, in case they thought him a coward. Still, the fear remained. He couldn't place the object of his fear, it was just there.
On the morning of the third day, they approached the gates of Mordor over a stony wasteland. Even in the absence of the Enemy, these lands hadn't begun to heal of the wounds of war. A few patches of grass clung desperately to the rocks, but still this place felt dead and empty. The small company approached what was once a fearsome barricade. The great black gates that had once dominated this area had been torn down, and the rocks that had built the battlements were flung about as though a giant hand had torn them from their positions. The gap through Ered Litui, the ash mountains, was open, but somehow that made it terrifying to Sal. He felt certain there was some trap.
Mordor had always been the name of nightmares to him. He had been a boy in the shadow of its fear, and people still spoke the name with dread. It didn't seem right that they would be able to ride right into it. His fear gained a fixed position as he stared at the ruins of the gates, and it lay beyond them.
"Come," the king said quietly, and the company followed him through the gap. Sal's hands trembled as he gripped the reins, but he couldn't leave. He had known he would be coming here when he agreed to leave Ithilien, so he had no choice but to follow his king now. It was what he had said he would do.
The sound of hooves was loud on the stones, and echoed from the cliffs around them as they passed the ruined gates into Mordor. Sal half-expected some force to strike them down as they passed the threshold of the gates, but nothing happened. The horses passed onwards, the riders silent with fear. The halflings looked as terrified as Sal, Legolas looked wary, it was difficult to tell what Gimli was feeling behind his beard, but Sal thought he was afraid too. The king rode ahead, so Sal couldn't see his face. He couldn't imagine the king could ever be afraid, but something about the way he kept looking around at the rocks surrounding them told Sal he was.
Time dragged on, and every moment Sal expected some terrible thing to leap from the rocks. But nothing happened. Loose stones clattered under the horses' hooves. The noise of their passage seemed deafening, but less so than the silence of the rocks around them. Gradually the sun rose higher in the sky, and the king signalled that they should stop to eat.
Sal wasn't hungry. Something about the dead land around them had stolen his appetite. Still, he took the piece of bread he was offered. He didn't eat it, just held it in his hands as he looked around the group. The two halflings started to talk, but there voices sounded foreign and wrong, and so they quickly stopped.
They were journeying along the ruins of a road, that at this point ran along a slope, with a steep rise to one side and a drop on the other. Sal walked slowly away from the company, and looked over the edge of the road. The slope away wasn't too steep, but it was strewn with rocks that could easily conceal an army.
His fears proved unfounded moments later, when the army attacked from the other side of the road. Orcs leaped from the rocks and boulders, charging down on the camp. They must have waited until the company had momentarily let their guard down for this attack. Still, it was only a few seconds, before arrows were flying at the orcs, and King Elessar was striking at the orcs with his sword. Gimli had his axe out, and the two halflings were side by side, swords in hand. Sal drew fortune, but was torn between flight and fight. Two orcs charged towards him, and he swung wildly with fortune, forgetting all his lessons of swordsmanship. He managed to block a blow from one orc, but the other brought a blade round. Sal tried to dodge, but the blade cut across his chest. He cried out, fortune living up to its name as he thrust it into the orc's chest.
Sal had barely pulled fortune free when the surviving orc swung again. With a cry he blocked the blow, then dropped below the swords he charged into the orc's legs. Swinging fortune blindly, not caring if he killed the orc or not, he turned at fled down the slope away from the road.
His chest flared with pain. Each breath caused his wound to feel as though another blade struck it. Blood splattered the ground as he ran, until Sal felt dizzy and weak. There were cries behind them from the ongoing battle, but Sal didn't look back to see who was winning, or even if he was being pursued.
At last the combination of pain and blood-loss was too much. He stumbled on a rock, and fell, unconscious before he hit the ground. His limp body rolled and slid further down the slope among the rocks, adding scrapes and bruises to his injuries. Until at last, he lay still. Alone and injured in the land of Mordor.
***
Author's note: Yet another horrible cliffhanger. I'm evil. But then, it's one way to make sure you read the next part.
After an exhausting hour of parries and thrusts, Sal sank into a chair in the room he had been given, wondering what Bergil would think if he knew Sal was being trained by the king. Sal couldn't believe his fortune. A few days ago he thought he was going to be sentenced to death. Now, he was still likely to die, but at least it would be a noble death.
The morning they sat out was overcast. It was also dark, as again they set out early, and the only hint of the sun was a slight lightening of the sky over the eastern horizon. Silently, they rode north through Ithilien, towards the black gates of Mordor. Sal tried not to think about what was ahead, about the death he was almost certainly facing. But with nothing to distract him but the rhythmic thud of hooves on the ground, he couldn't help thinking of it.
The only distraction came a little before noon, and that only increased Sal's fear. They rode through an area of woodland that had been destroyed. Trees had been slashed down and bushes torn apart. It looked as though fire had burned what remained.
"What happened here?" Sal asked, looking round.
"Battle," Faramir replied, "Many good men died here."
They rode through without stopping. The sight of the battlefield had made clear to Sal that it wasn't just his life at stake, or even the lives of the other members of the company. The cause of this battle was surely the reason for this journey. That meant many other lives would be depending on Sal's actions. Sal wasn't sure he wanted that sort of responsibility, knowing that if he did something wrong people would suffer for it. He wished he had taken the chance King Elessar had offered him and stayed behind in the town.
***
Nothing happened for the next two days. As the rode on, Sal began to feel more afraid. He keep feeling that something was watching them from the trees, but there was nothing there. He noticed the others looking around nervously too. Sal's mind was filled with a fear of something nameless and distant, but growing nearer all the time. Something was going to happen, something terrible.
He tried to dismiss his feelings as ordinary nerves, and didn't speak of them to the others, in case they thought him a coward. Still, the fear remained. He couldn't place the object of his fear, it was just there.
On the morning of the third day, they approached the gates of Mordor over a stony wasteland. Even in the absence of the Enemy, these lands hadn't begun to heal of the wounds of war. A few patches of grass clung desperately to the rocks, but still this place felt dead and empty. The small company approached what was once a fearsome barricade. The great black gates that had once dominated this area had been torn down, and the rocks that had built the battlements were flung about as though a giant hand had torn them from their positions. The gap through Ered Litui, the ash mountains, was open, but somehow that made it terrifying to Sal. He felt certain there was some trap.
Mordor had always been the name of nightmares to him. He had been a boy in the shadow of its fear, and people still spoke the name with dread. It didn't seem right that they would be able to ride right into it. His fear gained a fixed position as he stared at the ruins of the gates, and it lay beyond them.
"Come," the king said quietly, and the company followed him through the gap. Sal's hands trembled as he gripped the reins, but he couldn't leave. He had known he would be coming here when he agreed to leave Ithilien, so he had no choice but to follow his king now. It was what he had said he would do.
The sound of hooves was loud on the stones, and echoed from the cliffs around them as they passed the ruined gates into Mordor. Sal half-expected some force to strike them down as they passed the threshold of the gates, but nothing happened. The horses passed onwards, the riders silent with fear. The halflings looked as terrified as Sal, Legolas looked wary, it was difficult to tell what Gimli was feeling behind his beard, but Sal thought he was afraid too. The king rode ahead, so Sal couldn't see his face. He couldn't imagine the king could ever be afraid, but something about the way he kept looking around at the rocks surrounding them told Sal he was.
Time dragged on, and every moment Sal expected some terrible thing to leap from the rocks. But nothing happened. Loose stones clattered under the horses' hooves. The noise of their passage seemed deafening, but less so than the silence of the rocks around them. Gradually the sun rose higher in the sky, and the king signalled that they should stop to eat.
Sal wasn't hungry. Something about the dead land around them had stolen his appetite. Still, he took the piece of bread he was offered. He didn't eat it, just held it in his hands as he looked around the group. The two halflings started to talk, but there voices sounded foreign and wrong, and so they quickly stopped.
They were journeying along the ruins of a road, that at this point ran along a slope, with a steep rise to one side and a drop on the other. Sal walked slowly away from the company, and looked over the edge of the road. The slope away wasn't too steep, but it was strewn with rocks that could easily conceal an army.
His fears proved unfounded moments later, when the army attacked from the other side of the road. Orcs leaped from the rocks and boulders, charging down on the camp. They must have waited until the company had momentarily let their guard down for this attack. Still, it was only a few seconds, before arrows were flying at the orcs, and King Elessar was striking at the orcs with his sword. Gimli had his axe out, and the two halflings were side by side, swords in hand. Sal drew fortune, but was torn between flight and fight. Two orcs charged towards him, and he swung wildly with fortune, forgetting all his lessons of swordsmanship. He managed to block a blow from one orc, but the other brought a blade round. Sal tried to dodge, but the blade cut across his chest. He cried out, fortune living up to its name as he thrust it into the orc's chest.
Sal had barely pulled fortune free when the surviving orc swung again. With a cry he blocked the blow, then dropped below the swords he charged into the orc's legs. Swinging fortune blindly, not caring if he killed the orc or not, he turned at fled down the slope away from the road.
His chest flared with pain. Each breath caused his wound to feel as though another blade struck it. Blood splattered the ground as he ran, until Sal felt dizzy and weak. There were cries behind them from the ongoing battle, but Sal didn't look back to see who was winning, or even if he was being pursued.
At last the combination of pain and blood-loss was too much. He stumbled on a rock, and fell, unconscious before he hit the ground. His limp body rolled and slid further down the slope among the rocks, adding scrapes and bruises to his injuries. Until at last, he lay still. Alone and injured in the land of Mordor.
***
Author's note: Yet another horrible cliffhanger. I'm evil. But then, it's one way to make sure you read the next part.