For those who have been kind enough to send in your reviews: Thank you again.
Bryn, do not bite your fingernails or they will end up looking like Elijah's! This chapter answers some of your questions. Yes, I have grown to like Dwalkin, too.
Nanashinigami and Kellen thank you for your kind words.
Knight-Obi, yes I've read the trilogy way too many times, and I'm bracing myself to re-read the Silmarillian again.
Saber-crazy, I thank you again.
If I haven't thanked Chianna before, thank you! Your review was a lovely Christmas present to me. I really do read every one and take note of your suggestions and critiques.
***** ***** *****
Chapter Nine
***** ***** *****
As the battle began, Vanasulë noticed over a dozen of the marauders had escaped their trap completely. They rode in a loop up and around toward the flaming wagon-barricade, shooting any villager they could target with their small efficient bows. This then was their tactic, the Elf observed: Move quickly, strike, and keep moving. Well, two could play at that game.
Jumping from the roof he had claimed as his base of attack, Vanasulë leapt from roof to roof, easily covering the narrow gaps between. Each time he landed, he took a moment to target one of the marauders. Those he targeted fell from their racing horses and did not get up.
Vanasulë came to the first building outside of the villagers' wagon-barricade. He took cover behind the field stone chimney and began picking off more of the raiders. This tact worked well, but he was forced to stop when he heard a scream from below. Looking down, he saw one of the village's women with an arrow protruding from her chest. Blood ran unchecked down the bodice of her dress. Though he wanted to continue shooting, the Healer in him would not allow him to see the young woman suffer.
Vaguely, Vanasulë wondered what had happened to the twins, Elladan and Elrohir. Arrows had stopped flying at the enemy from the east side of the street where they were supposed to be stationed. Had something gone amiss?
The snow gave as Vanasulë landed lightly on the ground, his bow still knocked with a white-fletched arrow in his left hand. He moved carefully and silently toward the sounds of the still screaming woman.
The screaming now came from inside the building next to him, a small shop with the residence attached. He could hear three more female voices now. They tried to comfort the wounded woman.
The shop's door was still ajar. Entering with his eyes still on the street for sign of more attackers, Vanasulë closed and barred the door. He then turned to face the interior. Beyond the shop, some sort of textile business was another darkened doorway. He moved stealthily forward and into a darkened parlor. Four women huddled over a fifth. As he looked more carefully, he saw the injured woman had seen no more than thirteen summers.
"You two," he gestured with his eyes to two on the girl's right, "go upstairs and shoot out the windows at any foe you can target." They almost jumped as he spoke, then focused on him with wide, frightened eyes. "You two, station yourselves at the windows down here. And you," he singled out the oldest of the women who had grey streaks in her long dark hair, "get her a blanket." He indicated the moaning teenager.
"Can you help Gemma?" the oldest one asked, rooted to the spot, her dark eyes locked on the Elf.
"Yes." His grey gaze bore into her conveying his utter certainty. She nodded and left to find a blanket upstairs. The other two women, whom he had ordered upstairs, followed in her wake.
Settling his bow against a chair, Vanasulë lifted the moaning girl up in his arms and carried her to the only soft piece of furniture in the room, a large chair with a thickly cushioned seat. Carefully, he sat her down. His eyes met hers. Dark, large and brown, they were filled with pain and fear.
"You shall not die, young one," he told her softly. "We Elves have a few healing tricks. But the arrow must come out. That will be the hardest part. Can you hold still?" He knelt down beside her and took her cold, blood-covered hand in both of his.
"I don't know," she admitted. Tears fell from her eyes to stream down her freckled cheeks. "It hurts so bad."
"I will help you. Just listen to my words." Vanasulë began to speak very softly. Within a few moments, the girl's eyes fluttered closed. Her breathing relaxed as she listened to his rhythmic voice, lulling her into a trance.
"You will feel only a tug," he whispered to her. "Just a little tug. Do not let it frighten you. It is a good thing. Tell your body that it is good. Tell your heart to beat steadily. Let life flow easily through you."
Bracing the skin around the shaft with his left hand, Vanasulë gently pulled the wound apart with his index finger and thumb. Willing the girl to stay under the trance he had put her in, he pulled the arrow out. She gave a soft gasp.
"Oh, Eru, help us," the younger woman by the window whispered. The two women in the room had forgotten their task as archers. They both looked over at the strange Elf working on their young friend. An eerie glow clung to the Elf, growing more pronounced in the darkened parlor. As he spoke to Gemma, the glow began to increase, becoming a shimmering golden-white.
"What are you?" the woman asked, awe tingeing her voice.
******** *********
Aragorn had seen Vanasulë follow the injured woman into the house. After using all his arrows, he now waited, sword in hand, for any of the raiders to try and get past his post. Something behind the buildings caught his eye and he froze. Someone had run or ridden by the narrow gap between the houses. All Aragorn caught was the back of a horse. Quietly, he stepped back to see what was going on.
One of the marauders had three horses by their reigns. He joined three more men in the back garden behind one of the buildings. The breath caught in Aragorn's throat as he realized one of them was Legolas. Moving closer, using the building's outhouse to hide himself, Aragorn tried to see what they were doing.
Legolas' arms were tied behind his back and an arrow protruded from the back of his right leg. His clothes were stained dark red below the arrow and it looked as if the Elf had bled a great deal.
As Aragorn spied on them, one of the men bent down behind Legolas. Aragorn sucked in his breath as he saw the man break the arrow shaft. Legolas, stoic Elf that he was, did not even flinch, Aragorn noticed. How much he is like the my twin brothers.
One raider held the horses while the other two picked Legolas up and swung him over the pommel.
"No!" Aragorn breathed. He looked around, but there was no one to aid him. If only he had more arrows. He had to get help.
Snow crunched beneath his booted feet as he ran back toward the burning wagons. All the archers above had stopped firing. None of the raiders within the barricades were still horsed. Verona stood her ground, her bow at the ready. The few marauders still able to stand were on the northern side of the burning wagons, outside of the ambush zone. Two were trying to catch horses and escape. A third had already ridden north out of town.
Sheathing his sword, Aragorn followed their lead, grabbing for the reigns of a frightened horse.
"Where are you going?" Verona called.
"They have taken Legolas." It was all he need tell Verona. Aragorn whispered softly to the sorrel mare he'd snared. He breathed into her nose before mounting her. With a gentle word and shift of poster, he urged her through the narrow gap between the buildings.
Aragorn scanned the back yards and gardens for sign of Legolas. Already several furlongs away, the escaping marauders headed north with his friend. Touching his heels lightly to the horse's flanks, Aragorn rode after them.
The darkening clouds which had been threatening snow all morning, finally let their force loose upon the countryside. Gusts of wind tugged at the Ranger's hair, blowing snow into his eyes, tearing at his clothing. He rode just close enough behind the men with Legolas to keep them in sight. The snow began falling so thickly, he was forced to use his tracking skills to follow.
With a sinking dread, Aragorn hoped they did not go too far. His mind formed a vague plan of finding out where they would hold up, then riding back to get the Elves to aid him in an attack. But what if the men didn't stop? What if they kept riding into the storm?
*** **** ***
Elrohir had been oblivious to the men behind the inn as he targeted their comrades in the road below. He did notice that Vanasulë ran north across the roofs to get a better shot at the men attempting to flee. His attention was on the scattering targets below him when the first arrow whizzed by his head from behind.
Looking over his shoulder and downward, Elrohir saw the four men. Three more arrows flew up towards him. He rolled down the roof, caught himself on the edge, and flipped himself into the balcony. He rose to his feet. An arrow knocked and ready to fire, Elrohir watched an arrow fly from a neighboring roof down towards the quartet below. One of the men fell dead. The other three split up, seeking what small amount of shelter the kitchen had to offer.
"Can you get them?" Elrohir called to his brother on the roof next door.
"Yes."
Good, thought Elrohir. He climbed back up on the balcony railing. Catching hold of the roof, he swung himself gracefully up. Once he made it to the shelter of the chimney, he peered down into the street. Behind him, he heard another man fall to Elladan's deadly arrows. The sound of cursing and running feet floated up to him. He looked left and saw the men sprinting around the building toward the burning barricade.
Quickly, he knocked an arrow and fired. The lead man fell. A moment later, a second shaft embedded itself in the last man's back.
"That will teach them to try and sneak up on an Elf," Elrohir muttered in satisfaction. Turning his attention back to the street, he found enough to occupy himself for a short time.
The battle did not last long. A few of the marauders had avoided the trap. They had ridden back north, the way they had come. Most others, over fifty of them, lay dead or dying in the road below. None remained to return the Elves' deadly fire.
"Do you see any left?" Elrohir called to his twin.
"No. I do not see Legolas or Vanasulë. And did you see Aragorn? He took off on horseback by himself." Elladan stood up, his eyes searching the street for any remaining threat as he spoke to Elrohir. "Let us find out what is going on."
The roof Elladan stood on was only a two-story building. He was able to jump easily to the ground. Elrohir got to the balcony of the inn, then went inside and down the stairs. As he passed through the common room, he saw that Pao was still there, tied to a chair, a gag in his mouth.
"Sorry, I will let you free as soon as possible," Elrohir apologized as he went through the broken door into the street.
Elladan stood there unmoving, except for his vivid blue eyes. He held his bow in his left hand, an arrow resting on the string, as he searched for their friends with his Elven hearing and vision. Snow began to billow down and swirl along the road. His dark hair blew across his face and he turned into the wind, allowing it to clear his sight.
"Legolas! Vanasulë!" Elladan called. Down the street a few doors, a window opened and a woman leaned out. She waved at them.
Looking at his brother, Elladan quirked his head toward the woman. "Come."
They moved cautiously, still weary of any of the raiders possibly feigning death in the street. Yet none of their fallen enemies moved.
The door to the shop opened and the two Elves were ushered in and toward the parlor within. They found Vanasulë kneeling beside a young woman in a chair. Sensing them, he rose and turned to look them both in the eye.
"I assume this means we won," the older Elf said causally.
"Some escaped. Aragorn went off alone after them. I will follow him." Elladan spoke to Vanasulë, yet his attention was drawn to the young woman. Her dress was stained with blood.
"Where is Legolas?" Elrohir asked.
"He is not here." Vanasulë's brow darkened. "Is he not outside?"
Elrohir turned and for the first time noticed the other women in the room. They stood silently, their eyes all on Vanasulë. It did not take him long to realize what they must be thinking if Vanasulë had just healed the woman in the chair. He spoke in Sindarin, knowing none of the villagers could understand. "You should not practice your arts so openly, my friend. These people will think it is magic."
"I could not allow her to suffer." Vanasulë replied, picking up his weapon. "We should find Aragorn and Legolas."
The front door opened to reveal Verona and Dwalkin standing in the threshold. They came back toward the parlor.
"Are there any more injured?" Vanasulë reverted to the common tongue.
"A few, no one really bad. We did loose two of our own," Dwalkin told them sadly. "Verona here saw Aragorn ride off after your friend."
The village woman nodded. Her face was darkened by soot from the burning wagons, but she still held her bow. "He told me they took Legolas."
"Where?" Vanasulë demanded.
"He rode north," she told him.
"Then, we shall ride north," Vanasulë announced. "Mr. Skipkey, you live among brave people."
"I didn't know they had it in 'em," he told the tall Elf as they walked back out into the snow. "I guess they were all as fed up and tired of being frightened as I was."
In wordless agreement, the three Elves split up, each going for his own horse. Elrohir also called for Legolas' horse, which came willingly.
The snow fell thickly as they followed the nearly invisible trail of Aragorn and the men holding Legolas.
*** *** ****
The marauders who had escaped the ambush in the village straggled back to a farmhouse, a few leagues north of town. Until that morning, they had been using it as a refuge against the storm. When the snow let up, they had headed for the town. Their first night at the farm, they had murdered the farmer, but kept his wife and children alive to run chores, cook and amuse themselves.
Now, as the raiders rode back in, the widow and her two children cowered inside their home. The nightmare had returned.
The first to arrive was Lucky Tupril. He'd realized at once that they could not fight a battle in the narrow, confined space of the road. On the outside of the ambush, he turned his horse north at once. Soon followed Jursel, Panks and Spithwon. Even as the four were congratulating themselves on surviving the massacre in the town, RaChay, their leader, Sidig and Jal rode up.
"Look, boys, we have a hostage," RaChay indicated the golden-haired Elf thrown over his saddle's pommel. "Take care not to hurt him, we need him alive."
RaChay dismounted and let his men get the hostage down.
Legolas steeled himself as his feet hit the snow sending a new jolt of pain up his injured leg. The men holding him kept him from falling, as they each took an arm and almost carried him inside the farm house.
The front room was still in shambles from the raiders' last visit. Yet a small fire burned in the hearth and there was the smell of some herbs in the air. Legolas felt himself on the verge of passing out. He could feel the blood dripping down his leg. His right boot was filled with it. He wanted to sink down, but the arms roughly holding him did not allow it.
"Why do we need a hostage?" Jursel asked, eyeing the Elf's leg. "He's bleeding all over the place."
"Because Elves are loyal to one another. We can lure his friends in and kill them one by one. You don't think those villagers had sense enough to attack us on their own, do you? Besides, I saw two more up on the roofs, so I know there are at least two, unless my boys killed them all."
The men laughed heartily at this. Legolas kept his face impassive except for the tense muscles of his jaw. He could feel his strength ebbing away. He did not know how much longer he would remain conscious. His leg was continuing to bleed. Being bounced around on a horse had not helped.
One of the men came up and looked him directly in the eye. "RaChay, he's awfully pale. If you want him alive, we'd better tend to his wound and stop the bleeding."
"You're our healer, Panks. Take care of it." RaChay headed toward the fire pit and threw on more wood. "Where's that useless woman? Woman, bring us hot tea!"
"Over here," Panks grabbed the front of Legolas' tunic and half-dragged him toward the stairs.
Legolas' leg could not bear any weight. "I cannot climb the stairs without my hands," Legolas told the man. He was surprised to hear how strong his voice sounded.
"Oh, yes, like that's going to happen. Do you think I'm dull-witted, Mr. Elf? Here, you, Lucky, help him up the stairs." Panks gestured toward the largest of their band who had just helped Legolas into the house.
Lucky stood beside Legolas looking intently at him. "I have never seen an Elf before. He's prettier than the farmer's widow, isn't he?"
"Just help him up the stairs," Panks told him. "RaChay needs him alive."
With a "Humf," Lucky put an arm back around Legolas and helped him hop up the stairs. There were two rooms above and Legolas was taken into the larger one. With the thickly falling snow and howling wind, it was dark and cold in the room. The wooden shutters were latched closed. Their captive was forced face down upon a rumbled bed.
Legolas thought he wanted to sink down, but lying with his face against the unwashed bedding nauseated him. His hands were untied from behind his back and each wrist was tied to the top legs of the bed.
"I'll finish securing him, you get me some boiling water," Panks instructed Lucky. "Bring up some wood for the brazier here. It's freezing. How these peasants stand it like this, I do not know." He roughly tied Legolas' ankles to the bottom legs of the bed.
Satisfied that their prisoner was going nowhere, Panks left. A moment later he returned with an oil lamp. He set it atop the small table beside the bed.
"Now lets look at that wound of yours," Panks said, sitting beside Legolas on the bed. He spread the blood-soaked suede material around what was left of the arrow shaft aside. "That will have to come out, but I'm afraid you'll just bleed more."
Legolas said nothing. He felt ill and cold. He should not be feeling cold. He realized shock was setting in and he vaguely began to wonder if the brigand's arrow had hit a major vessel. A lucky shot. Not so lucky for me, though. Legolas closed his eyes, fighting the waves of vertigo washing over him.
More noise brought Legolas' attention back to the present. For a moment he had wandered under starlight through the forest of Mirkwood. "Elbereth Gilthoniel," he whispered to comfort himself.
"I want to watch," Lucky's voice came from above. Legolas wondered what sort of person took pleasure in the pain of others. This Man acted more like an Orc.
Panks was doing something with the boiling water, which released steam into the room. "This looks clean enough. Help hold his leg still, would you, Lucky?"
A soft exhalation of breath was the only signal Panks heard that told him when the Elf passed out. He finished digging the head of the arrow from the hot, wet interior of the Elf's leg, then squeezed it shut. Blood welled out between his hands. Lucky helped him wrap a dressing as tightly as possible around their captive's leg.
Lucky looked down at the unconscious Elf. "He is pretty pale. It almost looks..." He bent over. "Panks, he's glowin'."
"So I've noticed. Get some snow in a bucket, would you Lucky? We'll put it over the wound and hope it slows the bleeding. RaChay will have my hide if this one dies." Panks stood, wiping the blood off his hands. His patient indeed had a deathly pallor to him.
Wind whipped at the wooden shutters. At least we've warmed him up a bit, Panks thought. If no one disturbs him, he might have a chance.
The door to the room opened again, as Lucky brought in the requested bucket of snow. Behind him piled Jursel and Spithwon.
"What are you all doing here?" Panks asked, hands akimbo on his hips.
"We wanted to see if he really glows," Jursel told him. He and Spithwon went over to the restrained hostage and stared.
"See, it's just like I said," Lucky told them.
"Just don't you boys hurt him," Panks said sternly. "I spent a good amount of time tending his wound and I don't want you to undo all my work." He walked out of the room, intent on getting something to eat.
Lucky looked at his two friends. "I think we could have a little fun without even touching his leg, don't you?"
The other two nodded eagerly.
"What did you have in mind?" Jursel asked.
** ** ** ** ** **
To be Continued...
5
Bryn, do not bite your fingernails or they will end up looking like Elijah's! This chapter answers some of your questions. Yes, I have grown to like Dwalkin, too.
Nanashinigami and Kellen thank you for your kind words.
Knight-Obi, yes I've read the trilogy way too many times, and I'm bracing myself to re-read the Silmarillian again.
Saber-crazy, I thank you again.
If I haven't thanked Chianna before, thank you! Your review was a lovely Christmas present to me. I really do read every one and take note of your suggestions and critiques.
***** ***** *****
Chapter Nine
***** ***** *****
As the battle began, Vanasulë noticed over a dozen of the marauders had escaped their trap completely. They rode in a loop up and around toward the flaming wagon-barricade, shooting any villager they could target with their small efficient bows. This then was their tactic, the Elf observed: Move quickly, strike, and keep moving. Well, two could play at that game.
Jumping from the roof he had claimed as his base of attack, Vanasulë leapt from roof to roof, easily covering the narrow gaps between. Each time he landed, he took a moment to target one of the marauders. Those he targeted fell from their racing horses and did not get up.
Vanasulë came to the first building outside of the villagers' wagon-barricade. He took cover behind the field stone chimney and began picking off more of the raiders. This tact worked well, but he was forced to stop when he heard a scream from below. Looking down, he saw one of the village's women with an arrow protruding from her chest. Blood ran unchecked down the bodice of her dress. Though he wanted to continue shooting, the Healer in him would not allow him to see the young woman suffer.
Vaguely, Vanasulë wondered what had happened to the twins, Elladan and Elrohir. Arrows had stopped flying at the enemy from the east side of the street where they were supposed to be stationed. Had something gone amiss?
The snow gave as Vanasulë landed lightly on the ground, his bow still knocked with a white-fletched arrow in his left hand. He moved carefully and silently toward the sounds of the still screaming woman.
The screaming now came from inside the building next to him, a small shop with the residence attached. He could hear three more female voices now. They tried to comfort the wounded woman.
The shop's door was still ajar. Entering with his eyes still on the street for sign of more attackers, Vanasulë closed and barred the door. He then turned to face the interior. Beyond the shop, some sort of textile business was another darkened doorway. He moved stealthily forward and into a darkened parlor. Four women huddled over a fifth. As he looked more carefully, he saw the injured woman had seen no more than thirteen summers.
"You two," he gestured with his eyes to two on the girl's right, "go upstairs and shoot out the windows at any foe you can target." They almost jumped as he spoke, then focused on him with wide, frightened eyes. "You two, station yourselves at the windows down here. And you," he singled out the oldest of the women who had grey streaks in her long dark hair, "get her a blanket." He indicated the moaning teenager.
"Can you help Gemma?" the oldest one asked, rooted to the spot, her dark eyes locked on the Elf.
"Yes." His grey gaze bore into her conveying his utter certainty. She nodded and left to find a blanket upstairs. The other two women, whom he had ordered upstairs, followed in her wake.
Settling his bow against a chair, Vanasulë lifted the moaning girl up in his arms and carried her to the only soft piece of furniture in the room, a large chair with a thickly cushioned seat. Carefully, he sat her down. His eyes met hers. Dark, large and brown, they were filled with pain and fear.
"You shall not die, young one," he told her softly. "We Elves have a few healing tricks. But the arrow must come out. That will be the hardest part. Can you hold still?" He knelt down beside her and took her cold, blood-covered hand in both of his.
"I don't know," she admitted. Tears fell from her eyes to stream down her freckled cheeks. "It hurts so bad."
"I will help you. Just listen to my words." Vanasulë began to speak very softly. Within a few moments, the girl's eyes fluttered closed. Her breathing relaxed as she listened to his rhythmic voice, lulling her into a trance.
"You will feel only a tug," he whispered to her. "Just a little tug. Do not let it frighten you. It is a good thing. Tell your body that it is good. Tell your heart to beat steadily. Let life flow easily through you."
Bracing the skin around the shaft with his left hand, Vanasulë gently pulled the wound apart with his index finger and thumb. Willing the girl to stay under the trance he had put her in, he pulled the arrow out. She gave a soft gasp.
"Oh, Eru, help us," the younger woman by the window whispered. The two women in the room had forgotten their task as archers. They both looked over at the strange Elf working on their young friend. An eerie glow clung to the Elf, growing more pronounced in the darkened parlor. As he spoke to Gemma, the glow began to increase, becoming a shimmering golden-white.
"What are you?" the woman asked, awe tingeing her voice.
******** *********
Aragorn had seen Vanasulë follow the injured woman into the house. After using all his arrows, he now waited, sword in hand, for any of the raiders to try and get past his post. Something behind the buildings caught his eye and he froze. Someone had run or ridden by the narrow gap between the houses. All Aragorn caught was the back of a horse. Quietly, he stepped back to see what was going on.
One of the marauders had three horses by their reigns. He joined three more men in the back garden behind one of the buildings. The breath caught in Aragorn's throat as he realized one of them was Legolas. Moving closer, using the building's outhouse to hide himself, Aragorn tried to see what they were doing.
Legolas' arms were tied behind his back and an arrow protruded from the back of his right leg. His clothes were stained dark red below the arrow and it looked as if the Elf had bled a great deal.
As Aragorn spied on them, one of the men bent down behind Legolas. Aragorn sucked in his breath as he saw the man break the arrow shaft. Legolas, stoic Elf that he was, did not even flinch, Aragorn noticed. How much he is like the my twin brothers.
One raider held the horses while the other two picked Legolas up and swung him over the pommel.
"No!" Aragorn breathed. He looked around, but there was no one to aid him. If only he had more arrows. He had to get help.
Snow crunched beneath his booted feet as he ran back toward the burning wagons. All the archers above had stopped firing. None of the raiders within the barricades were still horsed. Verona stood her ground, her bow at the ready. The few marauders still able to stand were on the northern side of the burning wagons, outside of the ambush zone. Two were trying to catch horses and escape. A third had already ridden north out of town.
Sheathing his sword, Aragorn followed their lead, grabbing for the reigns of a frightened horse.
"Where are you going?" Verona called.
"They have taken Legolas." It was all he need tell Verona. Aragorn whispered softly to the sorrel mare he'd snared. He breathed into her nose before mounting her. With a gentle word and shift of poster, he urged her through the narrow gap between the buildings.
Aragorn scanned the back yards and gardens for sign of Legolas. Already several furlongs away, the escaping marauders headed north with his friend. Touching his heels lightly to the horse's flanks, Aragorn rode after them.
The darkening clouds which had been threatening snow all morning, finally let their force loose upon the countryside. Gusts of wind tugged at the Ranger's hair, blowing snow into his eyes, tearing at his clothing. He rode just close enough behind the men with Legolas to keep them in sight. The snow began falling so thickly, he was forced to use his tracking skills to follow.
With a sinking dread, Aragorn hoped they did not go too far. His mind formed a vague plan of finding out where they would hold up, then riding back to get the Elves to aid him in an attack. But what if the men didn't stop? What if they kept riding into the storm?
*** **** ***
Elrohir had been oblivious to the men behind the inn as he targeted their comrades in the road below. He did notice that Vanasulë ran north across the roofs to get a better shot at the men attempting to flee. His attention was on the scattering targets below him when the first arrow whizzed by his head from behind.
Looking over his shoulder and downward, Elrohir saw the four men. Three more arrows flew up towards him. He rolled down the roof, caught himself on the edge, and flipped himself into the balcony. He rose to his feet. An arrow knocked and ready to fire, Elrohir watched an arrow fly from a neighboring roof down towards the quartet below. One of the men fell dead. The other three split up, seeking what small amount of shelter the kitchen had to offer.
"Can you get them?" Elrohir called to his brother on the roof next door.
"Yes."
Good, thought Elrohir. He climbed back up on the balcony railing. Catching hold of the roof, he swung himself gracefully up. Once he made it to the shelter of the chimney, he peered down into the street. Behind him, he heard another man fall to Elladan's deadly arrows. The sound of cursing and running feet floated up to him. He looked left and saw the men sprinting around the building toward the burning barricade.
Quickly, he knocked an arrow and fired. The lead man fell. A moment later, a second shaft embedded itself in the last man's back.
"That will teach them to try and sneak up on an Elf," Elrohir muttered in satisfaction. Turning his attention back to the street, he found enough to occupy himself for a short time.
The battle did not last long. A few of the marauders had avoided the trap. They had ridden back north, the way they had come. Most others, over fifty of them, lay dead or dying in the road below. None remained to return the Elves' deadly fire.
"Do you see any left?" Elrohir called to his twin.
"No. I do not see Legolas or Vanasulë. And did you see Aragorn? He took off on horseback by himself." Elladan stood up, his eyes searching the street for any remaining threat as he spoke to Elrohir. "Let us find out what is going on."
The roof Elladan stood on was only a two-story building. He was able to jump easily to the ground. Elrohir got to the balcony of the inn, then went inside and down the stairs. As he passed through the common room, he saw that Pao was still there, tied to a chair, a gag in his mouth.
"Sorry, I will let you free as soon as possible," Elrohir apologized as he went through the broken door into the street.
Elladan stood there unmoving, except for his vivid blue eyes. He held his bow in his left hand, an arrow resting on the string, as he searched for their friends with his Elven hearing and vision. Snow began to billow down and swirl along the road. His dark hair blew across his face and he turned into the wind, allowing it to clear his sight.
"Legolas! Vanasulë!" Elladan called. Down the street a few doors, a window opened and a woman leaned out. She waved at them.
Looking at his brother, Elladan quirked his head toward the woman. "Come."
They moved cautiously, still weary of any of the raiders possibly feigning death in the street. Yet none of their fallen enemies moved.
The door to the shop opened and the two Elves were ushered in and toward the parlor within. They found Vanasulë kneeling beside a young woman in a chair. Sensing them, he rose and turned to look them both in the eye.
"I assume this means we won," the older Elf said causally.
"Some escaped. Aragorn went off alone after them. I will follow him." Elladan spoke to Vanasulë, yet his attention was drawn to the young woman. Her dress was stained with blood.
"Where is Legolas?" Elrohir asked.
"He is not here." Vanasulë's brow darkened. "Is he not outside?"
Elrohir turned and for the first time noticed the other women in the room. They stood silently, their eyes all on Vanasulë. It did not take him long to realize what they must be thinking if Vanasulë had just healed the woman in the chair. He spoke in Sindarin, knowing none of the villagers could understand. "You should not practice your arts so openly, my friend. These people will think it is magic."
"I could not allow her to suffer." Vanasulë replied, picking up his weapon. "We should find Aragorn and Legolas."
The front door opened to reveal Verona and Dwalkin standing in the threshold. They came back toward the parlor.
"Are there any more injured?" Vanasulë reverted to the common tongue.
"A few, no one really bad. We did loose two of our own," Dwalkin told them sadly. "Verona here saw Aragorn ride off after your friend."
The village woman nodded. Her face was darkened by soot from the burning wagons, but she still held her bow. "He told me they took Legolas."
"Where?" Vanasulë demanded.
"He rode north," she told him.
"Then, we shall ride north," Vanasulë announced. "Mr. Skipkey, you live among brave people."
"I didn't know they had it in 'em," he told the tall Elf as they walked back out into the snow. "I guess they were all as fed up and tired of being frightened as I was."
In wordless agreement, the three Elves split up, each going for his own horse. Elrohir also called for Legolas' horse, which came willingly.
The snow fell thickly as they followed the nearly invisible trail of Aragorn and the men holding Legolas.
*** *** ****
The marauders who had escaped the ambush in the village straggled back to a farmhouse, a few leagues north of town. Until that morning, they had been using it as a refuge against the storm. When the snow let up, they had headed for the town. Their first night at the farm, they had murdered the farmer, but kept his wife and children alive to run chores, cook and amuse themselves.
Now, as the raiders rode back in, the widow and her two children cowered inside their home. The nightmare had returned.
The first to arrive was Lucky Tupril. He'd realized at once that they could not fight a battle in the narrow, confined space of the road. On the outside of the ambush, he turned his horse north at once. Soon followed Jursel, Panks and Spithwon. Even as the four were congratulating themselves on surviving the massacre in the town, RaChay, their leader, Sidig and Jal rode up.
"Look, boys, we have a hostage," RaChay indicated the golden-haired Elf thrown over his saddle's pommel. "Take care not to hurt him, we need him alive."
RaChay dismounted and let his men get the hostage down.
Legolas steeled himself as his feet hit the snow sending a new jolt of pain up his injured leg. The men holding him kept him from falling, as they each took an arm and almost carried him inside the farm house.
The front room was still in shambles from the raiders' last visit. Yet a small fire burned in the hearth and there was the smell of some herbs in the air. Legolas felt himself on the verge of passing out. He could feel the blood dripping down his leg. His right boot was filled with it. He wanted to sink down, but the arms roughly holding him did not allow it.
"Why do we need a hostage?" Jursel asked, eyeing the Elf's leg. "He's bleeding all over the place."
"Because Elves are loyal to one another. We can lure his friends in and kill them one by one. You don't think those villagers had sense enough to attack us on their own, do you? Besides, I saw two more up on the roofs, so I know there are at least two, unless my boys killed them all."
The men laughed heartily at this. Legolas kept his face impassive except for the tense muscles of his jaw. He could feel his strength ebbing away. He did not know how much longer he would remain conscious. His leg was continuing to bleed. Being bounced around on a horse had not helped.
One of the men came up and looked him directly in the eye. "RaChay, he's awfully pale. If you want him alive, we'd better tend to his wound and stop the bleeding."
"You're our healer, Panks. Take care of it." RaChay headed toward the fire pit and threw on more wood. "Where's that useless woman? Woman, bring us hot tea!"
"Over here," Panks grabbed the front of Legolas' tunic and half-dragged him toward the stairs.
Legolas' leg could not bear any weight. "I cannot climb the stairs without my hands," Legolas told the man. He was surprised to hear how strong his voice sounded.
"Oh, yes, like that's going to happen. Do you think I'm dull-witted, Mr. Elf? Here, you, Lucky, help him up the stairs." Panks gestured toward the largest of their band who had just helped Legolas into the house.
Lucky stood beside Legolas looking intently at him. "I have never seen an Elf before. He's prettier than the farmer's widow, isn't he?"
"Just help him up the stairs," Panks told him. "RaChay needs him alive."
With a "Humf," Lucky put an arm back around Legolas and helped him hop up the stairs. There were two rooms above and Legolas was taken into the larger one. With the thickly falling snow and howling wind, it was dark and cold in the room. The wooden shutters were latched closed. Their captive was forced face down upon a rumbled bed.
Legolas thought he wanted to sink down, but lying with his face against the unwashed bedding nauseated him. His hands were untied from behind his back and each wrist was tied to the top legs of the bed.
"I'll finish securing him, you get me some boiling water," Panks instructed Lucky. "Bring up some wood for the brazier here. It's freezing. How these peasants stand it like this, I do not know." He roughly tied Legolas' ankles to the bottom legs of the bed.
Satisfied that their prisoner was going nowhere, Panks left. A moment later he returned with an oil lamp. He set it atop the small table beside the bed.
"Now lets look at that wound of yours," Panks said, sitting beside Legolas on the bed. He spread the blood-soaked suede material around what was left of the arrow shaft aside. "That will have to come out, but I'm afraid you'll just bleed more."
Legolas said nothing. He felt ill and cold. He should not be feeling cold. He realized shock was setting in and he vaguely began to wonder if the brigand's arrow had hit a major vessel. A lucky shot. Not so lucky for me, though. Legolas closed his eyes, fighting the waves of vertigo washing over him.
More noise brought Legolas' attention back to the present. For a moment he had wandered under starlight through the forest of Mirkwood. "Elbereth Gilthoniel," he whispered to comfort himself.
"I want to watch," Lucky's voice came from above. Legolas wondered what sort of person took pleasure in the pain of others. This Man acted more like an Orc.
Panks was doing something with the boiling water, which released steam into the room. "This looks clean enough. Help hold his leg still, would you, Lucky?"
A soft exhalation of breath was the only signal Panks heard that told him when the Elf passed out. He finished digging the head of the arrow from the hot, wet interior of the Elf's leg, then squeezed it shut. Blood welled out between his hands. Lucky helped him wrap a dressing as tightly as possible around their captive's leg.
Lucky looked down at the unconscious Elf. "He is pretty pale. It almost looks..." He bent over. "Panks, he's glowin'."
"So I've noticed. Get some snow in a bucket, would you Lucky? We'll put it over the wound and hope it slows the bleeding. RaChay will have my hide if this one dies." Panks stood, wiping the blood off his hands. His patient indeed had a deathly pallor to him.
Wind whipped at the wooden shutters. At least we've warmed him up a bit, Panks thought. If no one disturbs him, he might have a chance.
The door to the room opened again, as Lucky brought in the requested bucket of snow. Behind him piled Jursel and Spithwon.
"What are you all doing here?" Panks asked, hands akimbo on his hips.
"We wanted to see if he really glows," Jursel told him. He and Spithwon went over to the restrained hostage and stared.
"See, it's just like I said," Lucky told them.
"Just don't you boys hurt him," Panks said sternly. "I spent a good amount of time tending his wound and I don't want you to undo all my work." He walked out of the room, intent on getting something to eat.
Lucky looked at his two friends. "I think we could have a little fun without even touching his leg, don't you?"
The other two nodded eagerly.
"What did you have in mind?" Jursel asked.
** ** ** ** ** **
To be Continued...
5