AN: Sorry this chapter is short, but it's a mirror of my time at the moment. Please excuse this short chapter, I promise the others will be longer and more in-depth. And as always, the more reviews I receive the more 'inspiration' I get to update faster and make the story richer. Just a little incentive…hehe
Special thanks to:
Zammy, Naomie, Kylin L. Tanbik, "just me", and to my beta and smart-assed muse Elenillor. Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback… and Kylin, I promise nothing!;) Remember Galadriel's words… Hope you stick with me!
Chapter Four: 'Tis A Fool That Instigates An Elf
"We will be traveling fast and with little rest," Haldir spoke to the elves lined up before him.
Calgolodh had sorted through the uninjured elves of his contingent and asked them to volunteer for a rescue mission of their kindred. Rúmil's warriors had lined up without hesitations, their heads held high and their quivers full. Almost seventy guards stood at the ready before the Warden as he paced between them on the ground, his booted feet making no sound.
Haldir barked out names, "Láiraen, Múrendil, Dassenil, Carphir, Orawain, Bhiroadin, Ríanen, Ciarean, you will accompany me," Rúmil and Orophin positioned themselves beside their brother and made a derisive noise and Haldir reiterated, "Us, you will accompany us to search for our brethren."
The elves that were named all nodded their ascent.
"The rest will remain behind and defend our borders," Haldir said, encouraging the ones that were staying behind. "I expect to hear of your deeds when I return. Keep our beloved wood safe, and watch over each other."
Several of the elves bowed their heads. Calgolodh ordered for the elves to take to the trees and man their stations as the ones following Haldir lined up behind the Warden. Glancing over their ranks, Haldir dropped silently to the ground and started off into the horizon, the warriors soundless in his wake.
Haldir headed in the direction Calgolodh had indicated, traveling the path that the other guard had taken his troops. Perking his ears, Haldir listened for any threat that could be lurking in the passing trees and high grasses.
The woodland grew distant as the warriors traveled diligently through the afternoon and into the falling of night. Shadows crept up over the land, accompanied by a sinister fog, bathing the Elves in its chilling caress. The moon faded behind gathering clouds, its light dimmed in the heavens and offering very little aid to the searchers below.
As midnight approached, Haldir slowed his pace, the warriors behind him mimicking his movements, their breath misting slightly before their faces. The Warden found himself standing at the edge of a large plain, rolling with high grasses, fragrant with thick perfume. It would have been rather inviting and pleasing, had it not been cast in gloom.
A shout in the darkness, far off and rough to the heightened Elven ears, made all the guards tense, their faces turning towards the source.
Haldir withdrew his blade and lowered himself along the grasses, his passing unheard as the wind swept over the stalks and waved them threateningly at the encroaching elves. The others withdrew their swords and knives from their scabbards and followed their leader silently through the plain.
Haldir wound his way erratically, occasionally stopping and listening for the telltale grunts of the orcs. All nocturnal wildlife seemed to have stopped their noises, the wind died upon the grass. No nightingales sang, no crickets chirped, no frog croaked. The world was deadly silent, save for the uproar from the Orcish camp now visible to Elven eyes.
Over one hundred orcs were seated around a makeshift campsite, downed trees were used as sitting places, while the branches stoked and fed the fire that burned high and bright in the center.
Haldir turned slightly, the Elven warriors nestling in the grass around him, and quietly routed their positions and the time of attack. The guards nodded once and slipped away into the grass, their movements swift and undetected. Haldir and his brothers slipped their packs down off their shoulders and hid them in the grass.
Deftly, the Elven contingent positioned themselves around the orcs camp, their presence unknown by the foul beasts until it was too late. Haldir whistled faintly, the wind carried their signal to the heightened elf ears hidden amongst the foliage.
White tipped projectiles sprang from every direction, the very wood dispelling the missiles and embedding them perfectly on target. Orcs fell with their cries lost, their voices drowned out as their lives escaped their bodies. The orcs that evaded the Elven bolts raised their scimitars and howled in fury, clashing with the warriors showing themselves.
Haldir flanked Rúmil as they fought through the orc onslaught. The orcs, being too numerous, began to push the two back, cutting them off from the Elven warriors, should one decide to join their fray. Dancing away from an orc blade, Rúmil spun, decapitating two more and rising to stand at his brother's back. Haldir twisted an arm behind himself and looped it around Rúmil's midsection. With a slight pressure change and flick, Rúmil understood the plan of attack.
Dodging a blow intended for his shoulder, Haldir easily side-stepped the attempt, and with the hand that held his sword, parried the next attacker off. Feeling Rúmil shift against him, he knew his brother understood his intentions and with centuries of practice and honing the two began their patented move that other had nicknamed, 'Blossom of Death.'
Haldir had witnessed the technique millennia ago on one of his many travels. Several warriors, foreign to the Elf's recollection of the human settlements, had performed the maneuver and several others during a battle with goblins. Their timing and skill was unlike anything Haldir had ever seen before. They had used several weapons of strange design, but deadly all the same. What garnered the Warden's full attention though, was the ones that were weaponless. The men would use their own body as a lethal weapon. Haldir had memorized as much as he could, and spent a year traveling with the foreigners, learning from several of their elderly the practices and rituals they performed on the battle field. When he returned, Haldir spoke of what he learned and witnessed to his brothers and insisted they learn some of the technique used.
After much arguing, Rúmil and Orophin finally agreed. Haldir taught them the moves and developed a set of signals to be used to communicate to one another the intended pattern to be executed. It took several decades for the trio to learn all the signals and corresponding moves. As they became more comfortable with the new fighting style, their speed began to grow. Within a hundred years, the speed and accuracy of their battle dance became a blur. Other Elven warriors had watched the sharpened skills of the trio during their practices and wished to learn the techniques themselves. Many kept a passion for it and few remained in the Warden's guard that had learned and practiced the new fighting skill.
Haldir and Rúmil were the main pair, easily shifting and protecting, spinning and severing, reading each others body language perfectly. Orophin too was deadly in the technique, though had a habit of mixing signals and nearly impaling the sibling he was paired with.
Pivoting sideways, Haldir withdrew a smaller blade from his side and pressing his shoulder against Rúmil, ducked and whirled around. His blades sang through the air in a deadly song very few ever heard and live to tell about.
Rúmil stepped to his left, his white blade a blur as Haldir spun, taking his brothers place and casting his sword in a rising arc. The two kept a constant changing pattern, sweeping low and slashing high, continually moving and twirling their blades.
Feeling Rúmil bump shoulders with him, Haldir redirected his blade, swinging wide, the elegant arch barely missing Rúmil's as he twisted opposite. Less than an inch apart, the two blades scissored back and forth, dropping all enemies that were unfortunate enough to be in their path.
Within minutes a ring of dead orcs surrounded the two. Bodies piled and mangled, oozing the blackened orc blood upon the ground. Haldir and Rúmil slowed their assault, their senses coming attune with the noises around them. The air whistled with arrows singing to the chorus of their owners' bowstrings. The clashing of metal on metal provided the deep bass background. The strangled cry of an orc soldier pierced the harmony with high-pitched screams.
Haldir mentally marked the location of each of his guards and frowned when he realized one was missing. Fearing the elf was slain, Haldir yelled out to the elf in hopes of his answer from somewhere distant, but only the sounds of the battle met the Warden's ears. With a waved command, Haldir sent Rúmil to Carphir and Orawain, who were being driven back by a dozen orcs.
The frown on Haldir's face deepened when he calculated the dead orcs littering the ground; to the number he had originally counted them to be. He noticed out the corner of his eye, a group of orcs hovering near the opposite side of the campsite, their red eyes narrowed and surveying the ongoing battle. Usually orcs drove hard into an enemy, withholding nothing as they attacked. These orcs kept themselves distant and only watched as their kind was slaughtered.
Centuries of conflicts told Haldir that they were not the bystanders they appeared to be, remaining as far away from the battle as possible. They were protecting their comrades escape, hoping to delay any attackers long enough to allow their kind to retreat.
Haldir scanned the area and made for Cíarean, who had almost dispatched the orcs attacking him. Haldir joined the fight, his blade slashing and severing the spines of the remaining two orcs. They howled in pain and dropped motionless to the ground, their bodies now useless as their voices growled and cursed.
Cíarean quickly disemboweled the last orc in his path and nodded his thanks to his Commander.
Haldir pointed to the contingent of orcs guarding the escapees and shouted, "They are sentries protecting the route of the others!"
Cíarean didn't wait for a detailed plan or the specifics but raced after Haldir, his long knives drawn and ready for action. The two engaged the orcs, who were caught off-guard by the two elves that decided to attack.
Orawain decapitated the last orc opposing him and saw his commander outnumbered across the camp. Yelling for the others to hurry, he ran across the encampment to assist their overwhelmed leader. Ríanen dispatched the last orc opposing him and ran after Orawain, slicing through advancing orcs in his path.
Rúmil ducked a vicious swipe to his chest and waited for the momentum to rotate the orc and leave him defenseless. When the creature whirled around, Rúmil took his chance and slashed the creature's midsection, spilling his internal organs. Rúmil stood, panting hard from the exertion. A finely aimed arrow whizzed past the Elf's ear, the wind tickling the delicate point. He spun and found an orc lying on the ground, the shaft of the arrow protruding from the creature's eye. Rúmil turned back to the direction the bolt came from and saw Múrendil leap lightly from a tree.
Rúmil bowed his head and gave the elvish gesture of gratitude. Múrendil smiled and pointed to Haldir, "Your brother appears to be in trouble."
Rúmil grinned and raced side by side with Múrendil, "What else is new?"
As the other elves joined the battle, the orcs began to retreat. Haldir barked out orders, trying to flank the creatures. Several orcs turned and ran, leaving their friends to the pressing Elves.
As the last orc fell, Haldir ordered Bhiroadin and Múrendil to follow and take down the remainder of the beasts, handing the two several unused arrows from his own quiver. They accepted the weapons and shot off after the retreating forms.
Haldir ordered that everyone else retrieve as many arrows as they could, knowing they would need more and couldn't afford the time to make replacements.
"Remove only those that are intact. Do not waste time on ones that are too deep," Haldir barked as he went from body to body, searching for the white tips that flagged the downed creatures. With a dry throat, Haldir added, "Search for Dassenil as well. I have not seen him since the beginning of the battle."
The others nodded mutely, their brows creased in worry as they began to pull arrows from bodies.
As Haldir withdrew an arrow embedded in the neck of an orc, a guttural croaking noise drew his attention.
An orc laid face up on the ground, his hands clutching his stomach that expelled thick black blood.
"Elves," the orc slurred like a vulgarity. "You will make nice slaves for the master."
Haldir pulled a dagger from his side and placed it at the orcs throat, "We serve no master."
"You will," the orc sneered. "He will break all of the Firstborns."
"Not as long as I draw breath," Haldir snarled, pressing the dagger harder against the orcs throat. Blood began to ooze over the shiny blade, discoloring it and hiding its beauty.
The orc laughed through gasps, blood poured out of his mouth, "We will break you like the others. You will serve…"
The orc never finished his sentence as Haldir's wrist flicked and severed its throat. Its body went slack, as its eyes grew vacant, its life draining away and leaving its mangled form.
Haldir snarled and kicked the orc body over in disgust. The orcs words hung in his mind, replaying over and over.
Orophin joined Haldir's side, his arms laden down with arrows, "What troubles you so brother?"
Haldir repeated what the orc had said as he gathered up the collected projectiles he had retrieved.
Orophin frowned, "Do you believe his words?"
"I do," Haldir sighed, bending over with withdraw another feathered shaft.
"This does not bode well, Haldir," Orophin said quietly.
"We must find the others," Haldir's voice was clipped. "I want an orc alive."
"Alive?"
"We need answers," Haldir said tersely. "We will find out who the 'master' is and why they have taken our kin."
Rúmil joined his kin with his pack secured to his back and Haldir's and Orophin's in his hands.
"Commander," Láirean said, approaching the three brothers with the other elves behind him. "We have retrieved the undamaged arrows."
Haldir noticed how Láirean seemed hesitant and asked, "What news do you loathe to share?"
Láirean's eyes locked with his commanding officer, his voice dropped, "We found no sign of Dassenil."
Haldir saw every elf holding at least a dozen arrows; some of the tips still dripped black blood. A lump formed in his throat as the orcs last words resurfaced in his mind. A small part of him said that Dassenil was a prisoner of the orcs that had escaped.
"Come, we find our kin," Haldir said and started off in the direction he had sent Bhiroadin and Múrendil. He prayed to the Vala that they find the lost guard safe, though ages of experience told him that if Dassenil were found alive, he would most likely be mangled or hovering on the edge of death.
The elves fell silently behind their leader as they made haste in the wake of the others. Occasional orc bodies led the warriors to their comrades, their wooden assassins protruding from enemy bodies. The arrows that were undamaged were easily extracted and added to the quivers.
After a couple of hours, Haldir caught sight of Bhiroadin and Múrendil, who had stationed themselves on large limbs of an oak. Both elves were poised for an attack; bow in hand with arrows resting on taunt lines pointing in the distance.
Haldir noted that Bhiroadin had only the arrow notched at the ready, while Múrendil had three, including the one held at the ready on his bowstring.
"Bhiroadin," Haldir said, knowing his voice would reach their ears, "Why have you stopped?"
Bhiroadin turned to the approaching elves and leapt soundlessly to the forest floor.
"The orcs have taken refuge in a cave, Warden," Bhiroadin said, indicating a short distance away.
Haldir searched the direction and spotted the cave entrance, draped in vines and partially concealed behind some brush.
"What are your orders?" Bhiroadin asked as Múrendil dropped behind him.
The other elves held out the retrieved arrows to the pair who thanked them and slipped them into their quivers. Múrendil made a disgusted face at the orc blood still sticky upon the arrowhead.
"We shall wait," Haldir said, hiding the smile on his face from the look Múrendil had over his arrows. "We would do well to not fall into a trap. The day is approaching. We will rest and make our attack at midday."
"We attack at full light?" Rúmil asked hopefully.
Haldir ignored Rúmil's grin and continued, "We will be patient. They will make their escape as the evening falls and I wish to have answers before then. I want two on watch. The rest will get some rest for the raid we make in a few hours."
The words of the orc he slew earlier came back into his mind and he added as an afterthought, "Kill all but one. Injure him but do not mortally wound."
"Commander?" Cíarean questioned.
Haldir repeated the words the orc had spoken, stressing the points of a master and the breaking of Elves. When Haldir had finished his recollection, all Elven faces were drawn, gray with worry and uncertainty.
Haldir motioned to the trees that dotted the landscape, "Find a comfortable place to rest. Orawain and I will take the first watch."
The other elves nodded and easily scaled the trees, finding forked limbs to rest on and slip easily into Elven dreams. Haldir perched himself on the oak limb that Bhiroadin and Múrendil had occupied earlier. Orawain leapt up on the branch of a stately ash and poised his bow towards the cave entrance, his Elven eyes staring into the darkness.
Haldir notched his bow and took up his defensive position, his eyes scanning the darkness of the cave as his mind reeled with the words the orc had spoken.
"I will find out who you call master, and why you risk war with Elves," Haldir said softly to himself, glaring malevolently into the abyss that concealed the orcs.