By DarkRiver (darkriver@cyberdude.com)
Author's Note: The characters herein belong to J.R.R. Tolkien, not me and appear without the author's permission, of course, since he's all dead and stuff. This is set in the same continuity as "Sunset Ride" and "Wicked Games," though a few years later. Feedback is welcome!
Rating: PG
Chapter 3
Year 14, 4A
The caravan stood in ruins.
Wagons were upturned, the supplies were strewn about like a mighty wind had struck them. Horses ran about, trailing harnesses and snorting in panic. And everywhere there were bodies. Some were pinned to the earth by spears, other lay where they had been savagely cut down. No one stirred.
Both boys went pale at the sight, feeling their stomachs churn. Elfwine was first to move past the shock and horror, sliding from his horse and going to check on his people. The Ithilien Prince recovered more slowly, glancing about for any sign of movement. As if in a terrible dream, he walked Melefel around the site of the tragedy.
"There are strange men laying here," he commented dully.
"I saw them. Dunlendings. Helping the orcs, no doubt."
Elboron nodded, though there was something odd about the bodies of the dead attackers, something that was causing him to stare a great deal more than was probably healthy for him.
"Everyone's dead," Elfwine murmured sadly.
Still staring, Elboron asked distractedly, "The caravan guards, were they well-trained men?"
"No. That's the worst part. They were just citizen volunteers. I doubt a one of them had more than a summer's training."
"Then doesn't it seem kind strange that these Dunlendings were killed with precise, lethal blows?"
"That would be strange, I guess. Are you sure?"
"Well, I've only had a few sword lessons, mind, but the first thing I learned was where you want to aim for on a body. Both of the, uh, bodies here...they're stabbed through the heart."
Elfwine stood and frowned at him. "But then...if the caravan guards didn't kill them, who did?"
"The orcs, would be my guess."
The Rohan prince's frown deepened. "But...then...wait, are you saying the orcs left them behind on purpose?"
"Well, it makes sense. Try to throw the folks who came here off the real trail."
Elfwine looked deeply worried. "Orcs aren't smart enough to come up with a plan like that."
"I know. I think we need to get back, tell your mo--" He stopped abruptly, catching sight of movement in the grasses.
"Win, get on your horse. Now."
"What? Why?" Elfwine looked around warily.
"Because I think the orcs haven't all left yet."
His cousin's eyes widened and he made quickly for Thornshoe. The hidden orcs slipped from their concealment and pursued. Elboron shouted in alarm, seeing a half-dozen of the things chasing Elfwine. Fleet as his cousin was, they were sure to overtake him ere he reached his horse.
Elboron shouted, "Gondor!" at the top of his lungs and charged the gang of orcs. The confidently murderous looks on their faces transformed to panic as the boy on the large horse bore down on them. With dismayed cries, they scattered before him.
Elfwine was in his saddle, but one of the fell creatures had already reached him. The boy shouted in panic as the orc pawed at his leg. Then there came a black flash and the orc was brought down by Fellfang. There was a sickening crunching sound as the hound tore out his prey's throat.
"Let's go!" Elboron shouted, but his cousin hardly needed to be told. He kicked Thornshoe's flanks hard and she shot off at a gallop. Fellfang ran along behind, barking and growling threateningly at the orcs.
The Prince of the Mark put his fingers to his lips and let out a piercing whistle. The confused horses milling about turned and galloped after. Elboron crowed and urged Melefel into a full run. Orcs afoot could never catch anyone on a Rohirrim horse.
They did not stop for a long time, not until they dared not push the horses any further and felt they had gained a measure of safety. They stared at each other in wide-eyed shock for a moment before breaking into boyish grins.
"We did it!" Elfwine said with a gleam in his eye.
"You should have seen them when I rode through them! I thought their eyes would fall from their heads!" Elboron laughed merrily.
They set about watering their exhausted mounts, flush with the thrill of having survived such dangers. They both had broad grins on their faces, feeling quite brave as they did. Once the horses were tended, they began checking them over for any signs of injuries -- the smallest hurt could turn dangerous if not caught quickly.
"That was a nifty trick you pulled with the whistling," Elboron said as he examined a hoof.
"Thanks," Elfwine said, blushing at the compliment. "I heard Master Haleth do it once. I was hoping the horses would be confused enough to want to listen but not so scared they wouldn't pay any attention. I didn't want the orcs to get them."
"It was quick thinking." Elboron grinned at him. "I didn't think you had it in you."
"Goat-face," Elfwine retorted distractedly, glancing around and chewing his lower lip.
"What?"
"Well... We're in the Dunharrow Valley."
"If you say so."
"Valley, muckbrain. See? Mountains to the left, more mountains to the right."
Elboron patted one of the horses' flanks and gave his cousin a bland stare. "I know what a valley is, fart-breath. I just don't see why you're so agitated."
"Because the only way out is back through the orcs!"
Elboron paused and stared at him. "Oh..."
"Yeah, 'oh' is right. We have no idea where they are, but you can bet they'll be lying in wait for us."
"Well...won't your mother send Riders to come find us?"
"Do you want to wait and hope the orcs don't find us first?"
Elboron leaned back against Melefel. "So, what do we do?"
Elfwine said nothing, opening saddle bags and checking their contents. Feeling panic building at the idea that they were now cornered, Elboron rapidly ran out of patience.
"What are you doing?"
"Confirming something. My people rarely put all their eggs in one basket, as the saying goes. The saddlebags on these horses are stuffed with some of the linens and medicines Dol Amroth needs."
"Great, so, we can sew ourselves up after the orcs have chopped us to pieces."
Elfwine was looking infuriatingly calm, though. "We're not going to get chopped up, Boro. We're going to get these supplies to my uncle."
The Ithilien Prince gaped at him. "You've gone daft, right before my eyes."
Elfwine grinned. "We can't go back the way we came, so we go on. On to Dol Amroth. We deliver the medicine, help the city, get them to send aid to our fathers and we're heroes."
"That still doesn't answer the question of how we get out of this valley."
"Estel's Gate."
"Win, if you don't stop acting so smug and tell me what you're talking about, I will pound you into the dirt."
"There's a tunnel under the mountains. We call it Estel's Gate, because the King used it to during the War of the Ring."
Elboron stared at him. "Wait a minute. My mother told me this story. Wasn't this tunnel the Paths of the Dead?"
"It used to be."
"Used to be?"
"It's perfectly safe now. It's how most everyone reaches Dol Amroth from the Mark."
Elboron's expression was a study in incredulity. "So, you want us, by ourselves, to go through a haunted tunnel, out the other side, across leagues and leagues to arrive at a city suffering from plague."
"It will be an adventure. And the tunnel's not really haunted anymore."
Elboron smirked. "I've been a bad influence on you."
"Yes you have," Elfwine agreed.
"What about food and water?"
"The spare horses are carrying plenty."
"And your mother? Won't she be worried sick?"
Elfwine looked ill-at-ease. "She will, but her scouts will be able to tell her we're not dead or captured."
"And you're sure we're not going to have our brains sucked out by ghosts?"
Elfwine laughed. "I'm sure."
Elboron looked back at the mouth of the valley, wondering where the orcs were lurking, waiting for their prey. They had been lucky to escape the first time. Luck would probably not favor them so again. A single arrow or thrown knife and it would be over. Neither of them could fight, certainly, so running was all they had.
"What do you think, Fang?"
The hound was resting on his bellying, tongue lolling out contentedly. Seeing Elboron's attention fall on him, the dog barked loudly and excitedly.
"I guess we're off to Dol Amroth, then."
"Excellent. I'm worried about Uncle Amrothos, to tell the truth, and I'd like to see how he is for myself. We didn't listen long enough to hear how he's doing and we've no word from him since winter when he went to see Uncle Elphir about mustering troops. I hope he's all right."
Once the horses were thoroughly checked over, the boys took a little bread and cured meat and drank some water. The afternoon sun was beginning its descent. But there were many hours of daylight left.
They mounted up and, with Elfwine leading, they headed deeper in the valley. Farms dotted the horizon, and herds stood in great fields and milled about aimlessly. The hot, still air was cloying and filled with the stench of animals and manure.
At an easy canter, they reached the opening to Estel's Gate before dusk. The opening in the mountain-side stood like a maw ready to swallow them. Elboron looked at his cousin dubiously.
"It will be fine," Elfwine said confidently.
The horses were wary, but not impossibly so. In the end, Elfwine had to lead them in, cajoling and soothing as best he could, and Elboron followed with Fellfang. Very soon, they were enveloped in darkness. Even though the tunnel seemed large, they both felt as if the walls were closing in around them.
"Um..." Elfwine whispered, stopping the column.
"Yes?" Elboron asked tersely.
"Are you good with flint? I found a torch, but I can't light it."
The Ithilien Prince could not help but laugh. He edged forward in the murky darkness and came at last to his cousin. Between the two of them, they succeeded in lighting the torch, which helped somewhat.
They started off again, subdued by the feeling of the mountains above them. Only Fellfang was unaffected, running around happily and barking at anything that moved.
Time passed slowly. It was a miserable experience. For all his bravado, even Elfwine was uneasy so far from the open sky.
Exhaustion crept over them. They stopped more and more frequently to take water or rest their sore legs. Only the terrible notion of sleeping in this fearful place forced them along as the hours plodded by. Just as Elboron was convinced he could take no more without screaming, they say a faint light ahead. Shouting in relief, they heeled their horses and charged for the exit.
Starlight greeted them. They panted and looked around uneasily. It was just before dawn, near as they could figure. The wind was brutal on this side of the mountain, as well. They looked out over the valley below and shuddered. It was a long way down into darkness.
"So...now we find a place to camp, I guess," Elfwine said.
Elboron nodded, too relieved to be out of the murk to form an intelligent reply.
The Prince of the Mark cleared his throat. "It's a shame we don't have the son of one of the most famous woodsmen in Gondor about."
The innocent barb woke him from his trance. "Oh. Right."
They descended a little from the cliffs until they found a secluded nook amidst the boulders that was just large enough for the horses and them. After seeing to the animals, they took a little food and water and nestled down among a pile of blankets, Fellfang between them.
They woke late and made it down to the valley below and traveled south, following the Morthond River as it made its meandering way to the sea. Neither trusted their intuition to find a quicker path, and the idea of getting lost terrified them.
By the third day, the gleam of the adventure had grown dull. The travel rations were quite tasteless and they found themselves dearly missing the kitchens of Edoras with their pastries fresh from the oven and the mutton simmering on the spit. Their only consolation was that they were doing something important.
Even if their parents would murder them once they found out.
On the fifth day, they succeeded in catching some fish. Despite the fact they were horrendously burned in some places and raw in others, they tasted like the finest feast in from a King's table to the boys. Their spirits were bolstered and they pressed on.
The land through which they rode was flat and empty. Only Tarlang's Neck to the east offered any variance to the plane, but it was covered in the same dry brown grasses they were themselves surrounded by, and so offered little distraction from the desolation.
The Morthond gave them ample water, but it also exposed them to swarms of mosquitoes. Very soon, they were covered in tiny bites that itched endlessly. It was an ignominious fate to be suffered by great adventurers, they felt. The great tales they had imagined creating were turning out to be an almost comical travesty.
On the evening of the eighth day, they smelled the strangely salty air of the sea. Spent and grateful they were nearing the end of their quest, they made an early camp and slept long and deep.
The next day they reached the coast and the Cobas Haven. Elfwine pointed out the dot that was Dol Amroth, but for the life of him Elboron could not see it. They picked up their pace, but they did not reach the city at the end of that day either. Despairing and miserable, they made camp once again.
They rode their hardest yet the following day, and by noon, they could make out the alabaster walls and sculpted towers of the city. They let out a hoot of joy, relieved and amazed that they had made it.
"We'll sleep in proper beds tonight," Elboron told his cousin with a smirk.
But Elfwine drew them up as they came within a league of the city, his gaze full of bafflement.
"What, did you forget something back home?" Elboron asked, stretching cramped muscles.
His cousin shook his head. "Do you know what the first thing you do in a city when plague is discovered?"
"Run?"
Elfwine gave him a vexed look. "You lock down the city."
"Right, that's why our fathers are without their reserves."
"Exactly. So, why are ships sailing in and out of the harbor?"
Elboron looked again at the harbor and noticed that tall ships were indeed being allowed in and out. So intent had he been on their goal that he had not realized that what he was seeing was completely out of place.
"Maybe they're bringing aid to the city?"
"Maybe. But this whole business has been too strange for my liking. I think we should go in and look things over before we make our presence known."
"And you accuse me of having too wild an imagination," the Ithilien Prince remarked, but he, too, was clearly troubled. "There was a cut in the cliff-face a ways back. We can leave the pack horses there."
Elfwine nodded his ascent and they turned around. Back from the strand, the ground rose steeply into a rock-wall that loomed over Cobas Haven. The sheer rock was broken in places, and one was a narrow opening just large enough for a horse to fit through. With much cajoling and bribery, they managed to get the pack animals through. Beyond, the cut widened and there were tufts of grass to keep them content.
"Will they stray?"
Elfwine shook his head. "Our horses do not stray."
With Fellfang running along beside them, they rode hard for the city, determined to find the truth of how things stood. If something clandestine were occurring, they would need to get word to the Lady Lothiriel that she could inform the King.
They arrived at the harbor and dismounted, leading the horses into the city streets. Far from the morbid, mournful city they should have found, the streets were teeming with sailors and street vendors. There was no sign of sickness anywhere, and that was very strange indeed.
"What can it mean?" Elboron murmured to his cousin.
"Nothing good. There's far too many Haradrim about, to my eyes," replied Elfwine, watching a group of swarthy men as they crossed the busy street.
They warily made their way deeper into the city, expecting posted signs warning of disease, or wagons conveying the ill to infirmaries or even the sickly smell of corpses being burned. The city was as normal as could be, and that was profoundly odd.
"Even if the plague stopped spreading, it would take months for the last cases to disappear. At least, that's how it always was in the histories."
Fellfang growled suddenly, low in his throat. The hound was glaring balefully at a gathering of cloaked and hooded folk on a street corner. The strange men noticed, and their cowled heads turned to follow their progress.
"Fellfang, heel," Elboron said sternly, a cold knot of fear twisting his stomach.
The dog gave one brief, truncated bark and was quiet. Elboron furtively checked over his shoulder and was relieved to see the group had returned to their conversation. Letting out a breath he did not know he had been holding, he quickened his pace.
"Win?"
"I know," his cousin said lowly.
"They're not supposed to be here, are they?"
"No. And in the open streets! My father would break a tether!"
The boys darted down an alley and gave themselves a moment to let their pulses slow down. They exchanged worried looks.
"We need to let your mother know," Elboron told him.
Elfwine nodded. "But, if they've taken the city... I need to know how my uncles are doing."
"Are you out of your mind?" Elboron hissed. "If anyone discovers we're here, we'll be orc fodder for sure."
"No one will recognize us. Who knows who we are?"
Elboron had no argument, but he was mightily dubious. "What do you have in mind?"
Elfwine considered it. "Let's get a look at the Palace. See if we can get inside."
"Inside?" the Ithilien Prince quavered.
Elfwine's expression was pleading. "Boro...I've known Amrothos all my life. I have to know if he's...if they've..." He wiped angrily at his eyes.
Elboron chewed on his lower lip. "All right. Let's find the palace."
It was not terribly difficult. Artistic as the buildings of Dol Amroth were, with their sweeping arches and marble columns, the Palace was by far the largest and most opulent. It could easily be seen from just about everywhere in the city. Great spires soared to the sky, dotted with stained-glass windows. The sun gleamed off the tile roof, making it glow in the daylight.
As they approached the building, the vast columns -- with their intricate carvings and multiple shadings of color -- showed themselves to be truly awe-inspiring. A vast series of steps led up to a gaping archway and beyond they could not see. A fountain, carved in the shape of two elf maidens dancing, stood before the palace.
The boys froze, gawking.
"Win?"
"I know...it's too dangerous."
"No...I was just going to ask what we do with the horses."
Elfwine gave him a startled look. "You...you're willing to go on?"
Elboron feigned nonchalance. "I understand the importance of family."
The double-meaning of his words were not lost upon the Prince of the Mark. He smiled gratefully and looked about. "We'll tie them up outside that inn over there."
They did that quickly, pausing to give the animals water before they departed. Then, with shoulders squared, they approached the palace. Elboron followed his cousin's lead, masking his fear as best as he could. They ascended the stairs purposefully, moving on through sheer force of will.
"The doors are open, so visitors are welcome. The trick will be avoiding whatever is in there waiting to pounce on travelers and such," Elfwine whispered.
"Then what?"
"We'd never be able to sneak into the audience hall -- even if everything was as it should be, it would be too well guarded. So we'll go into the dungeons. Might be someone in there who can tell us what is going on."
"And jailers, too, I'd imagine, with little kid-sized shackles," Elboron said morosely.
"Boro..."
"And kid-sized hot pokers and flails too."
"Will you stop?"
They reached the foyer and drew up short. There was a small man behind a great desk at the far end. He was very old and had only wisps of his hair left. His hearing was quite good though, for without looking up from his record book he asked, "Name and business with the Prince?"
Elboron looked to Elfwine, who gave him a helpless shrug. Realizing that deception escaped his Rohan cousin, he desperately racked his brain for a convenient story.
"Message runners, sir."
"For?"
"The, ah, chamberlain, sir."
"Names?"
"Ah...I'm, er, Thael and this is...um, he's...Mae...res..."
The man looked up from his book, clearly irritated. He scrutinized them heavily for a moment, and both boys braced to flee. Finally, the man grunted sourly and said, "Tempests, you runners get denser every year. To the left and last door on the right."
They nodded, stunned by their luck. There were three corridors leading away from the foyer. They dashed down the left one, anxious to be away from the agitated recordkeeper.
"Now what?" Elboron asked. They were in far deeper than he wanted to be.
"I don't know. I've no idea where the dungeons are."
"Down, I'm guessing."
Elfwine laughed nervously. "Maybe we can ask someone for directions."
"All we need to do is say who we are. I'm sure they'd be happy to show us the dungeons."
They listened at doorways and, when hearing nothing, poked their heads in. With this method, they found numerous storage closets, coat rooms and antechambers. At a loss, they crept along the passage, past the door they were supposed to go through and around a curve as it angled steadily right.
Fellfang growled and his hackles rose. In the next moment, a door behind them opened and the harsh, guttural voices of orcs could be heard. The boys stood in horror as the foul folk came into view.
The orcs spotted them instantly, but stood frozen for a moment, clearly confused by the boys' presence. Then one pointed to Fellfang and said something in his snarling tongue, patting his ample paunch.
His companions laughed and one pulled out a long, curved knife.
"Run!" Elfwine squeaked and dashed away.
"Fellfang, come!" Elboron ordered.
The dog started to advance on the orcs. Panicking, the boy wrapped his arms around the hound's shoulders and pulled, futilely. Fellfang would not turn his back when a weapon was drawn -- his training ran too deep.
"Fellfang, yield!" Elboron pleaded.
The orcs were laughing harder now. The knife-wielder stepped forward and thrust hard at the dog. Fellfang lunged from Elboron's grip and bit down hard on the weapon-arm's wrist. The orc screamed and dropped his knife.
"FELLFANG, COME!" Elboron screamed.
The hound, licking blood from his lips, looked back at him, lolling out his tongue. The orc's fellows had drawn weapons as well and were nearly upon Fellfang. Elboron almost cried as the first weapon came down.
But Fellfang was quicker. The dog leaped aside, barked, and dodged again. Then, yapping excitedly, he ran down the corridor to Elboron. Shouting a cry of relief, the boy scrambled to his feet and ran.
Elfwine, who had turned around and come back when he had noticed his cousin was not behind him, gaped at the pack of orcs now chasing them. With a panicked look, he turned again and ran like the wind.
They pelted along several intersecting corridors, not knowing or caring where their steps took them so long as it was away from the orcs. Smaller and not weighed down by armor, they pulled ahead every minute. But still the foul folk trailed them, intent on revenge.
The boys skidded to a halt before a spiral staircase. Exchanging quick looks, they started for it. Then, with a flash of inspiration, Elboron opened a nearby door and slammed it hard. Now the orcs would be looking behind doors for them instead of down a staircase.
He hoped it would be enough.
They raced down the stairs, all the way to the bottom and finally paused, gulping in lungfuls of air. Elboron pushed his sweat-soaked bangs from his face and leaned heavily against a wall.
"Lucky...we're...just a couple...kids," he gasped. "Otherwise, I doubt they would ever let up."
Elfwine nodded, kneeling and scratching between Fellfang's ears. "That was...a narrow scrape."
"Any thought on how we're going to get out alive?"
"I was thinking we'd dig our way out."
They exchanged smirks. Once they had recovered, they picked their way down the corridor leading off from the stairs. It was lit by torches, but they offered little warmth and the dust in the air was cloying and the walls too close for comfort. They shuffled down the passage, ears pricked for the slightest sound. It branched here and there, but they feared getting lost, so they continued straight ahead.
Elfwine stopped them with a raised hand. Ahead, somewhere, the barest hint of voices could be heard. Breathing hard, they crept towards the sounds. It was definitely the sound of men, low and worn, speaking to someone with an odd accent.
They came within sight of an iron door with a small, grated window in it. Silent as burglars, they padded forward and looked through the portal. Beyond was a small circular room, the walls lined with iron doors. A huge man was sitting at a table, carving up apples and devouring them messily.
"Now you take these apples, see," the man was saying. "Much sweeter than the apples we have back home. I think it has to do with the soil. Or the climate. It's brutal hot, back where I come from."
"So...very sorry to hear that. Let us out and I'll give you all the apples you want."
Though faint and raspy, it was undoubtedly the voice of Amrothos.
"And I'll see you have the best quarters in the palace," an unfamiliar voice said from another of the cells.
"Oh really? I'll bet. Quarters like the ones you lot are currently enjoying. No thanks."
Elboron tugged his cousin back down the corridor until they were out of earshot. His face was pale but determined. "I have a plan."
"I'm listening."
"The keys are on that table. I'll taunt that fat dungheap out of that room and lead him on a chase. You slip in after, unlock your uncles and come to my rescue."
"And if they're not in any shape to rescue you?"
Elboron grinned. "That fat goat-turd will never catch me."
"Maybe I should be the runner. I'm faster."
"Yeah, and the fastest one needs to get into that room quick, doesn't he?"
Elfwine nodded mutely. "You're willing to risk a lot for my family."
"Hey, your family is my family. Now, you hide in that side corridor there..."
Elboron, with Fellfang at his side, approached the iron room brazenly this time, laughing and encouraging the hound to bark. By the time he arrived, the fat guard was already peering through the portal.
"What's all this then?"
"Messenger, sir."
"What message? From who?"
"From the kitchen staff, sir. Told me to tell you that they've nothing left. You've eaten it all, you big fat son of a rutting pig."
The man's face flushed red. "They did, did they? They won't find it so funny after I eat their rutting messenger!"
The lock on the door rattled and Elboron backed off a dozen paces. The voluminous guard threw the door open and loomed like a troll. "Come here, brat."
"No, sir, don't eat me," Elboron whined mockingly. "My scrawny hide won't add much to that great belly of yours."
Flushing angrily, the man advanced. Then he paused and looked around uneasily. His eyes glittered with suspicion.
"I guess I'm lucky you're so fat. That way you'll never catch me!"
"You think not, boy? I'll have you, and your little dog too!" With that, the chase was on. Elboron gave out his best panicked cry and ran, darting through side passages and around corners, never getting too far ahead. The man had to believe he had a chance of catching him.
In minutes, he was pretty sure he was lost, but he was having far too much fun to be worried. The guard was growing more furious every second, bellowing great threats at the top of his mighty lungs. Elboron laughed in response and kept running.
"I'm starting to feel bad for you, pig-gut. I'm worried you'll run yourself to death."
The guard came around a corner, purple with rage. "You've picked a bad way to die, brat."
Elboron laughed and darted away again. His arrogance finally caught up with him though; there was a forgotten crate around a bend in the corridor. Gasping in surprise, he tripped and crashed to the hard stone floor. Wincing in pain, he got to his hands and knees.
"Not laughing so hard now, are you?" came the man's voice directly behind him.
Elfwine saw his cousin race past, followed by the ponderous guard. He counted to ten to be sure they were out of sight and then ran to the now-open room. Deftly, he scooped up the keys and ran to the nearest cell.
It was empty.
The next was also, but in the third he found his Uncle Erchirion. Beaten and chained, he was still the proud man he knew from childhood visits to this city. The second Prince looked up through a curtain of his dark hair, eyes full of disbelief.
"Elfwine?" he gasped.
The boy rapidly set about unlocking his shackles. "We don't have long, maybe only minutes."
Freed, his Uncle hugged him fiercely. "You are a miracle-bringer," he whispered.
Elfwine was so deeply afraid for his cousin, he could not even muster a smile at the praise. He watched as his Uncle opened another cell. Within was Amrothos, in a similar state of mistreatment. After he was freed, he stumbled over to Elfwine with blatant disbelief in his eyes.
"Is your father here at last?"
Elfwine shook his head. The story spilled out in a rush of words. "It's just me and my cousin Elboron. We came here to deliver medicine because the caravan got destroyed by orcs but then we saw there was no plague in the city and we got into the palace and now Boro is being chased by that horrible man!"
Amrothos tried to absorb this, but he was still so astounded to be free that he could process little else. Erchirion joined them, a young man beside him. Elfwine recognized his cousin Alphros, though it had been several years. Blond and fair as his father, at seventeen he was just coming into his height and girth.
His eyes were aflame with anger. "What did you just say? Someone's being chased by that pig?"
Elfwine nodded, wanting to cry in helplessness. "He led the man away."
The three men exchanged astonished looks. Erchirion took a short sword from the table and twirled it experimentally. "Then we'd better find him fast."
Elboron cried out as he hit the wall. Stars danced in front of his vision...vision that was already blurry and becoming marred by a swollen eye. The man was relentless in his anger and need for vengeance.
Fellfang was nowhere to be seen. A terrible kick from the man had flung the dog off into the shadows. Elboron scrambled away from an angry grab and tried to run. The man, slow at running, was impossibly fast standing still. He struck the boy in the back of the head and sent him tumbling.
"Not so funny anymore, is it?"
Elboron had no more jibes to throw. He cringed and waited for the next blow. But a black bolt shot from the darkness and knocked the man flat. The guard swore vociferously, struggling to rise.
Fellfang rolled free, but when he came up, he yelped in pain.
Elboron saw him lift his left forepaw. Something in the boy shifted, some part of him that was indelibly part of his boyhood. Seeing that Fellfang had attacked this horrible man to protect him, even though he was himself hurt...it moved him to an anger he had never known.
As the man started to rise the boy ran at him and leaped, smashing his full weight into him. The guard toppled hard once more. Elboron quickly rolled free and ran over to Fellfang. The hound whined and looked piteously up at him.
"Come on, I'm not leaving you."
The dog weighed far too much for him to carry far and he knew it, but he would not abandon the noble hound. Mindful of the injured paw, he cradled Fellfang in his arms and staggered away as quickly as he could.
He heard the man rise and curse him. He heard the shuffling footsteps drawing ever closer. His injuries pulled at him, refusing to allow him to speed up. Tears coursed down his cheeks as he anticipated the pain that was coming.
There was a startled cry and then a grunt of pain. Elboron turned slowly, eyes widening in astonishment as the finale of his plan finally came to pass.
Erchirion slashed once more and bright blood flew, spattering the boy. The man groaned and toppled, like a great tree felled by a woodsman's ax. Elboron stood, trembling, watching the man die.
Amrothos stepped over the guard, eyeing Elboron in alarm.
"My dog is hurt," was all Elboron could think to say.
"Looks like nothing's broken. He'll be fine," Amrothos said after a moment's pause. He reached for the animal, but Elboron drew back. "I'm not going to hurt him or you. You remember me?'
Still in shock, the boy nodded blearily. "Yes, sir."
"Good, now, give me the dog. Alphros will see to him. I need to look you over."
Elboron saw a young man he did not know approach. Beyond him, Elfwine could be seen at Erchirion's shoulder. His cousin was staring at him, wide-eyed and worried. Nodding mutely, he gently handed Fellfang off to Alphros. He scratched the hound's ears reassuringly. The dog whined and licked his hand. "It'll be okay now," he soothed the animal. He looked gravely at the young man. "Careful with him. He saved my life."
Alphros nodded, unnerved by Elboron's manner.
Amrothos knelt and gently checked him over. "You've got some bruised ribs, looks like, and some other things that probably hurt like a curse. But you'll be fine." He gently wrapped an arm around the boy's shoulder, feeling his shiver like a leaf in a wind.
"What's wrong with him?" Elfwine whispered.
"He's just in shock. He'll be okay," Erchirion assured him. "Now, you need to explain exactly what you're doing here."
Still glancing worriedly at his cousin, Elfwine launched into the story of how they had wound up here. From the pleas for help from his father to the falsified reports of plague and the subsequent attack on the caravan. His uncles listened in wonderment, exchanging amazed looks.
"You risked a lot, coming in here," Amrothos said gravely.
"I was worried...and...and my father desperately needs help."
Erchirion gave him an encouraging smile. "Rest assured, once we set things aright here, we'll go help your father."
"What's going on? Who locked you in prison?"
"There's a lot to tell on that subject," Amrothos told him. "And we are hard-pressed for time. I will tell you that the Haradrim and their orc allies took my brothers' families prisoner and held them hostage against Elphir's cooperation. When I arrived, he tried to send me away with feeble excuses, but I persisted and soon found myself in chains."
"We need to find my mother and the rest," Alphros said insistently.
"I'll bet they're in one of the towers," Erchirion replied. "We can move easily enough through the palace via the secret passages."
"Our escape will be noticed soon. We cannot tarry further," Amrothos added.
Elfwine looked to his cousin, who was hunched over and silent. "Boro?"
"Yes?" came the dull response.
"We have to move."
"Oh. All right."
Alphros carried Fellfang and Amrothos supported Elboron. The three crept through the narrow passages and slipped into a small storage closet. Beneath a barrel there was a trap door. Stairs lead down into darkness, out of sight.
Erchirion pulled two torches from the walls outside the room. He handed one to Amrothos and then led them down into the tunnels below. The trapdoor was pulled shut and the bar slid into place, cutting off any but the most adamant pursuit.
Erchirion lead them without hesitation. The musty smell of stale air was all around them, and the darkness was alive with the unsettling scuttling sounds of rats. Elfwine stayed close to his Uncle Amrothos, his nerves scraped raw by the harrowing rescue.
They stopped in a wide opening that lay in the intersection of several tunnels. Erchirion lit several torches that hung in sconces on the walls, illuminating the room enough to ward off the rats. There were four wooden chairs in this room and a stone bench, all coated in dust.
"The Swan Lords used to meet here," Erchirion said with a wistful smile.
Elfwine frowned, confused. "Who were they? Some sort of secret society?"
Amrothos laughed. "Secret, yes. If our parents had known how much time we skulked around down here, they'd have had all the secret doors bricked up."
Erchirion grinned faintly. "Especially if they had known that their perfect Lady of a daughter was also a tunnel-rat."
"Like we had a choice. She would have tattled on us if we hadn't agreed to let her join our club."
Erchirion shook his head fondly at the memories. "You boys will be safe here. Stay put and wait for our return. If we don't come back within a few hours, follow that tunnel there--" he pointed to his right "--until it ends. Climb the ladder and push through the trapdoor, you'll be in the stables. Get back to our sister and tell her everything that has happened. Understand?"
Elfwine nodded, feeling ill at ease. "Is it safe?"
"Neither the Haradrim nor the orcs know of these tunnels," Amrothos assured him, settling Elboron on the bench.
"And there aren't altogether that many of them; from what you've said, they want to keep up the illusion of normalcy, here," Erchirion put in.
"We'll be back before you know it," Alphros murmured, settling Fellfang beside Elboron. The hound whined and rested his head in the boy's lap.
"Remember, that tunnel there," Erchirion said, pointing again. "Just in case."
"Yes, uncle."
The three smiled at the boys. "Whatever happens, you've done a brave thing today that we shall not likely forget," Amrothos said.
The three hurried down a tunnel then, leaving the boys in silence and shadow. Elfwine flopped wearily in one of the chairs, which creaked unsteadily. He brooded for a long moment, fretting over his cousin's listlessness and his own fear of something going disastrously wrong.
"That was really brave, what you did," he finally said. "I'm sorry you got hurt."
"It wasn't brave. It was stupid. The only reason I'm not dead is because Fellfang saved me...and he nearly died doing it."
His cousin's voice was alarmingly downtrodden. His face was contorted in pain that was both physical and emotional. He scratched behind Fellfang's ears absently.
"It was brave. I don't care what you say," Elfwine said defiantly.
Elboron shrugged wordlessly.
"Is there anything I can do?"
His cousin shook his head, eyes tracking on nothing. The silence that followed was oppressive. Elfwine did not know what to say or do; his cousin was the expert on ill-timed humor. And he felt so bad for having let Elboron go into danger that he could not think of anything to say that would not be trivial.
Times passed ponderously. Elfwine occupied himself with trying to think of a way he could explain all of this to his mother without being locked in his room for a the next Age. No matter what good came of it, no matter what noble or brave reasons he had to offer, there was no way she would excuse worrying her half to death.
After what seemed like hours but was barely more than half of one, voices could be heard coming down the same tunnel the three men had left through. Elfwine felt a brief moment of dread, but he quickly recognized the voices as human.
His aunts and cousins came into view, all looking haggard and weary. Aeloth, Elphir's wife, was the one who truly stood out. Tall for a woman and severe of expression, she swept ahead of the group and headed instantly for Elboron. Clearly, she had been told of the boy's injuries.
Elfwine's other Aunt, Rian, was slender as a willow reed and possessed of eyes so dark they seemed to be made of obsidian. She shepherded a flock of girls, ranging in age from a child of seven to a young lady of fifteen. They were huddled together like a pack of frightened herd animals.
"We were lucky. Their guards were few and had grown quite lax," Amrothos told the boys.
"I don't count it as luck. I've much vengeance to wreak and will require greater sport for my honor to be satisfied," Alphros said fiercely.
"Alphros," Aeloth admonished him, fussing over Elboron. "If you're going to fantasize about blood and death, please do it outside the presence of the girls."
"Sorry, mother."
The three had collected more weapons and were now all armed. None appeared injured, though much blood stained their clothes. Amrothos leaned on a heavy, curved sword and grinned rakishly. "We're going to go upstairs and disappoint Warlord Kaeliz. He's probably lording his superiority over Elphir even now."
"I'm sure he'll be happy to meet with us," Erchirion said with an equally devilish smile.
"Oh, certainly. Let's go free the palace garrison first, though. I'm guessing they'll be in the forward dungeons. Aely, we'll leave you in charge down here," Amrothos told her with a flourishing bow.
"Mmm," was her only response.
The three disappeared again, though this time with a much lighter air. Elfwine watched them go, worrying silently.
"Let me have a look at you, dear," his Aunt Aeloth murmured to Elboron.
"My father said you came all the way from Edoras to save us," said a girl of ten whose name Elfwine simply could not remember.
"Well..." He shrugged uncomfortably. "We, um, sort of."
She hugged him and kissed his cheek, making him flush crimson in embarrassment.
"He's a real hero, all right," Elboron murmured, a ghost of his old smile flashing on his face.
Elfwine gave him a sour look. "I see you've found your tongue."
"Never lost it -- ow!"
"Sorry, dear. We'll need to get some salve on that scrape there," Aunt Aeloth told him.
Elfwine felt measurably better, hearing his cousin's humor again. The awful chasm of guilt that he had fallen into suddenly vanished. Elboron would heal, his uncles and cousin would take the city back and Dol Amroth would send troops to the King's aid. All that was wrong would be made right.
If there was enough time yet to do so.