A Hunt in Mirkwood
"And tell me, friend Legolas. Since when do spiders leave the trail of Orcish markings?" Aragorn crouched on the ground studying several sets of footprints, quite obviously Orc, imbedded in the soft soil.
Legolas was in the middle of supposedly tightening the string on his bow, but he did manage to create an image of surprise by shooting up his eyebrows and leaning in to take a closer look.
Aragorn rolled his eyes. "You don't fool me Prince. Spiders have not been this way for some time, for the boughs of the trees carry no souvenir of their nests. And these markings tell me that Orcs have not passed here very long ago. They are still fresh."
Legolas merely shrugged at Aragorn's insinuation and went back to studying his perfect bow.
Aragorn growled under his breath as he rose to his feet. "Legolas, this is pure foolishness! We are but two. I count at least twenty different sets of prints. And undoubtedly these Orcs are going back to a larger encampment." He reasoned.
Legolas nodded. "Then it is my royal duty to prevent them from doing so."
Aragorn grasped Legolas by both shoulders and shook him. "You knew we were going to hunt them! You lied to me!" He accused through gritted teeth.
Legolas was taken aback. "I did no such thing Aragorn. I asked if you would care to hunt and you agreed. It was you who assumed that we were hunting spiders."
Aragorn sighed in defeat and released Legolas. "We cannot hope to win a fight against twenty strong. We are hopelessly outnumbered."
Legolas balked and waved Aragorn away. "Perhaps for a mere mortal. But for those as skilled as the Elves…"
Aragorn smirked. "Of course. How could I forget the skill of a Mirkwood archer who shot his own guard in the – "
Legolas covered his mouth before he could finish. "You swore secrecy Ranger. Not another word."
Aragorn smiled smugly, but kept any further thoughts to himself. Legolas re-shouldered his bow and began to inspect his surroundings.
"So. Do you have a plan?" Aragorn asked.
Legolas looked to the trees and grinned. Aragorn grimaced.
Uzbal, an Orc with thirty fighting years experience, found himself the appointed leader of the Orc hunting party. He had not been disappointed this day, indeed his party had taken down two full-grown bucks, at least a dozen or so fowl and nice fat boar. Given the rampant appetites of Orcs, the surplus of meat would barely feed the encampment for a week.
His companions were groaning, mumbling to themselves about the weight of their quarry, asking aloud whether they could at least munch on a bird or two, for they had exhausted themselves during the hunt. In reality cruel traps laden with sharp poisoned teeth actually performed most of the hard work.
"Can't we start a fire at least?" A young Orc questioned.
Uzbal's clawed hand clenched the hilt of his dagger as he growled at his pestering hunters.
"Lets 'ave jus' one 'o them birdies eh?" Suggested an old geezer of an Orc.
Uzbal reared on his dissenters and spat his words in their faces. "How's about I chop off your lips so's we can all have a light snack an' I won't have to listen to another word out o' you!"
Snickers and hoots of laughter erupted around Uzbal. He was still glaring at his two complainers, who were now pouting, when a slight rustle diverted his attention. He held up his hand and the Orcs immediately stopped chattering and listened, sniffing the air experimentally. A bird flew from a tree, wings flapping madly as it darted far and clear from the invading Orcish nuisance.
Uzbal snorted and bade the others to continue about their way. But there was a nagging thought still lingering. Again, he snorted and pushed the feeling away.
It would prove to be a deadly mistake.
One of Mirkwood's finely fletched arrows imbedded itself deep in Uzbal's lung, piercing his artery as it passed. He managed a gurgling gasp before he collapsed face down.
The other Orcs dropped their meaty prizes unceremoniously and reached for their daggers and arrows, yowling with surprise and rage. More arrows rained down from above, thick arrows used by Rangers mixed with elegant Elvish ones, all felling their Orcish counterparts with deadly accuracy.
The Orcs with bows began to blindly fire into the treetops, while the remaining Orcs scattered, becoming disorganized and disoriented.
A strange whistle pierced the air, which the Orcs could not decipher but nonetheless recognized as a means of communication between two parties.
The whistle from Aragorn relayed his message to Legolas that he was dropping to the ground to give chase. Legolas acknowledged his message with a high pitched whistle of his own, roughly translating to mean that he would stay in the trees and give his companion cover.
Aragorn dropped to the ground and took off running without a moment's hesitation. In truth, Aragorn would seek any excuse to be set down from the high limbs of Mirkwood's great trees, for years of living as a Ranger had left him accustomed to surviving off the land and not in the heights in many of Middle Earth's forests.
Legolas' arrows whizzed by his ears with deadly intent as he ran with his sword at his side. With a bellowing war cry, Aragorn brought his sword down in a sharp diagonal swipe, neatly and brutally dislodging an Orc's head from its body. A strong thrust through the ribcage felled another howling Orc. Spinning around, he swung his sword out, catching an Orc in the side.
Legolas too dropped to the ground after taking care of the Orc archers, who proved to be more clumsy with a bow and arrow than an Elfling. He now stood but a few metres from Aragorn's back, firing arrow after arrow in quick succession.
The battle came to an abrupt stop after the remaining seven Orcs and the two warriors were all startled by a loud clap, like a raging roll of thunder. Aragorn took a moment to study Legolas, who was now looking to the sky. Concern etched his face as he turned back to Aragorn; there was not a storm cloud in sight.
A severe flash of light blinded both Aragorn and Legolas, and the seven Orcs yelped in pain. Legolas squinted from behind a shielding hand and gasped.
It looked as though the forest itself had been ripped in half; a large chasm could be seen not in the ground but in the air. Lightning streaked around its edges giving off the blinding light. And if Legolas looked close enough, he thought he could see an odd darkness, and shapes that appeared to be that of trees and stones, but they were not of Mirkwood. Legolas shuddered as he suddenly felt cold. Whatever he was seeing was undoubtedly of an evil nature.
An unnatural wind picked up, swirling leaves violently and both Legolas and Aragorn struggled to stay upright against it. The Orcs were screaming now, terrible squeeks and barks of what sounded like pain.
Then Legolas could see; they were being sucked into the fissure, clawing at the ground as some unseen force deftly grasped Orc after Orc and flung them into the swirling chaos. Aragorn momentarily lost his balance and Legolas lunged for him with one hand and wrapped his other arm around a thick oak to prevent both man and Elf from going the way of the Orcs.
Legolas' hair whipped around his face as he found he could no longer keep his eyes open. When his arms felt like they could take no more, it stopped.
Legolas and Aragorn both dropped to the ground, exhausted from fighting the wind.
Aragorn looked around him bewildered. The chasm was gone; all traces of the Orcs, even the dead bodies of the fallen had entirely disappeared. A few daggers and bits of clothing were scattered on the forest floor, but that was all.
"What sorcery could do this?" Aragorn whispered.
Legolas looked just as shaken as Aragorn was. "I know not." He stood slowly, offering a helping hand to his Ranger friend.
"We must tell my father."
