AUTHOR'S NOTE: I have stuck to canon as much as I possibly can, but there are certain things I have changed for story purposes. Imrahil is alive, but he is out on the sea, fighting corsairs. Elphir rules Dol Amroth. Ithilien is rulled from Minas Ithil for now. This chapter will bring about another change.
ADDENDUM: I am not throwing anyone a curve. This story is not swinging towards romance. Falling in love is part of growing up and ignoring that would be impossible. If you don't like it, skip ahead a page.
Chapter 17
Year 18, 4th Age
Orthale wiped blood off his sword and sheathed it, glowering like a thundercloud. The battle had shifted away from him, so he was able to wheel his horse and ride off a bit, stopping upon a hilltop and surveying the incomprehensible sight of the battle that had so rapidly turned against him.
Things had begun perfectly, his army of man and orc working together as best as he could possibly hope - perhaps the object lessons he had provided prior to the fight had assisted in that. In any case, his army had come to before Edoras after sunset and been met by a mere two eoreds. Hopelessly outmatched, the riders of the Riddermark had showed their quality, blocking his army's path.
Then things had started to go impossibly wrong. One of the Dunedain Chieftains - Educh was his name, and Orthale would remember it, for he had plans for the man and his family - led his people in a revolt at the very center of Orthale's forces. That apparently was the signal, for another clan responded by doing the same. Educh's clan was tied very closely to Chieftain Achteg, as it happened, and the two had somehow engineered this little betrayal.
That alone was not a total disaster - Orthale had considered the possibility of treachery or, at the very least, widespread cowardice. He had the manpower to compensate, but it had forced him to call in his reserves.
The trap was too clever for Eomer, Orthale knew. He sensed the hand of Amrothos in the scheme that brought everything to ruin. That was another name on his list of people in line for horrible deaths.
Ten eoreds came at his flanks, five to either side. Still not insurmountable, but definitely more resistance than he had bargained for. But they were only the beginning of the end for the attack force. On their heels came Gondorian infantry, and from behind Orthale's army appeared a legion of Dol Amrothian knights.
Someone had warned Eomer, and Orthale was fairly certain it was Educh. And Orthale had been too cautious, moved too slowly. As a consequence, his carefully laid plan was coming apart.
Orthale looked about, assessing his forces and looking for a way to salvage the situation - if only he had given himself the time to bring in the Haradrim. There was no help for it now, of course. But the next time - and there would be a next time - he would be sure to be better prepared.
A Rider was bearing down on him and he glanced over, startled. His sword was out of its sheath at the speed of thought and he parried the savage cut easily. He and the Rider circled each other, and Orthale stared balefully at his opponent.
"Aldurn," he sneered. This day was marked by treachery, apparently. "Was I late in a payment, perhaps?"
"Your gold is too heavy for me, you bastard." Aldurn swung again and again, but each time, his former master blocked him.
Orthale eyed him with incalculable indifference as he fenced with the impassioned Rider - not many living actually knew that Orthale was an expert swordsman. He took the man's savage attack and turned it aside callously. "So, you've decided to buy back your honor with a noble death?"
"I'm not the one who will die here, Orthale. Your scheming ends today." Aldurn was not filled with the vigor of youth, but he had the fires of righteousness to fuel him instead. His strong arm powered one blow after another against his enemy's defenses, certain that he could smash his way through.
Orthale was not entirely sure how long he could last, if he allowed the man to keep battering him. "No, traitor, the fight does not end today." He whipped Aldurn's blade aside and brought his sword down across the man's helm. Blood flowed and the noble guard slid to the earth. "I am descended from Kings, traitor. I do not give up."
It was tempting to leave the army that had failed him to suffer butchery at the hands of the enemy, but Orthale was more wise than vengeful and he knew he would need another army one day. He could not afford to get a reputation for needlessly sacrificing lives.
He took up his horn and sounded the retreat. And then he simply rode away, back to his hiding place, to look for and await the next opportunity.
The boys returned home a week after the battle, and the signs of it could still be found littering the field before Edoras. They noted it with some alarm, but the city still stood and it flew the white horse banner of the Riddermark. So, while all was not normal, it was at least safe, by appearances.
"I'm sorry if I cost you a chance to kill orcs," Eldarion told Elboron with a wry expression as they entered the city. Everything certainly seemed as it should be.
Elboron managed a smile - he had gotten better at them on the way back. "Maybe King Eomer was nice enough to save some for me."
Elfwine laughed. "I wouldn't count on that. My father is very selfish about orc blood."
They left their horses with Haleth, who was looking a bit wooly-headed in the manner men do when they have been drunk for longer than is generally advisable. Curiosity gnawing at them, they rushed into Meduseld and headed for the Great Hall.
Even though it was midafternoon, the hall was littered with the inert forms of men sleeping off their drink. This was not precisely unusual, save for the hour, but there was one thing they all noticed that made their eyes widen...some of the men laying about were very obviously Dunlendings.
Eomer was at the King's table, gripping a mug of water and looking in a happy sort of mood. The King of Rohan tended to view hangovers as a badge of honor, and the worse one was, the better the celebration had been. It was a perspective that caused Lothiriel to sigh often and roll her eyes.
"Good morrow, boys. You missed the fun," Eomer told them with a grin.
"Good day father..." Elfwine corrected and could not help but smirk a little. "I take it the war is over already then?"
"War?" Eomer snorted. "That hardly even counted as exercise. I think I invited too many soldiers." His brows knitted together and he pondered his son owlishly for a moment. "Remember that, boy. Be careful how many men you call for. You might not have enough sport for all of them."
Elfwine relaxed visibly. His home was safe. "And I take it Educh helped out?"
Eomer grinned and patted a snoring lump of a man who was face-down on the table next to him. There was a muffled protest. "The enemy was most dismayed. They started killing each other in an effort to get away."
Elfwine leaned in close to Elboron. "I told you he was bloodthirsty."
Elboron grinned back in a feral way. "I see nothing wrong with that."
"Oh." Eomer grew more somber. "You should head up to the healer's wing - south wing, upper floor...I think. Aldurn was hurt..."
Aldurn's injury was serious, but not life-threatening. The healers were keeping him in bed for the time being until they were more certain what his situation was. Aldurn was asleep when they came in, so they decided to come back later.
After getting some food into their bellies, Elfwine very obviously made his escape. He wanted his friends to have some time to themselves and he very much wanted to see if Magda was still in the castle. As irrational and as doomed as his feelings for her were, he was helpless to change their course.
It was amazingly difficult to find her, oddly enough. He crossed Meduseld two times at least and asked about a dozen people. Apparently, Magda had grown so at home that she had become somewhat infamous for exploring and surprising people by showing up in the unlikeliest of places.
Elfwine was just getting the point where he was going to start calling out her name at the top of his lungs when he heard the distinct ring of her laughter. Grinning excitedly, he dashed down the hall and around a corner, anxious to see her before she disappeared again.
He skidded clumsily into a wall and fell back, stunned (and chilled) down to the very core of his being.
Even a brave a young man like Elfwine was petrified by the sight of the girl he fancied in deep, hushed conversation with his sister, Hanild.
They saw him and both burst into giggles. That set Elfwine's cheeks to flaming and he immediately grew surly. The giggling...he just could not abide the giggling.
"You might want to pay more attention to where you're going, brother. Your face isn't much to start off with, and you keep smashing it into things and you'll wind up looking like a wild boor."
Elfwine glared at her. Hanild always took much too much delight in irritating him - none of the others were like that. Eltheriel was a quiet, sensible girl and Wynohael just adored her big brother. "Well, that would make two of us," he lashed back.
Hanild glared daggers at him. "You're a horse's ass, Win."
"At least I don't have a horse's ass, Nily," he snapped. Then he turned and stormed off, not willing to put up with this right now.
It was amazing how quickly a good day could go bad.
Elfwine was stomping down a flight of stairs when Magda caught up to him. He heard the light patter of her step, but he did not slow. He was in a passionate sulk right now and he had been kicked in his tender pride.
"Win, please..."
He stopped and did not face her.
Magda slipped around in front of him and tried to take his hand, but he snatched it back and simmered at her. "Win, we weren't laughing at you..."
"It seemed like it from this end of things." He knew he was not coming off well here, but this had come as such a total surprise. It stung - a lot. "I thought you were different than the girls here, Magda."
She sighed and took his face in her hands, looking seriously into his eyes. "I'm sorry, all right? I didn't mean anything by it."
Elfwine tried to hold onto his sulk, but it was impossible when looking into her eyes. "You didn't?" he asked contritely.
"No, Win. Your sister makes me laugh, but not about you."
"Then what about?" he asked suspiciously.
Magda blushed and looked down at her toes. "That's not really important."
"I'd still like to know."
"I'd still like to not tell you."
Elfwine frowned but recognized that he was not going to get anywhere and it was probably time to stop misbehaving anyway. "Er...I...you want to walk, um, with me? A little?"
Magda lit up, smiling at him (and still flushed) and nodding fervently. "And maybe you can tell me about all the grand adventures you've been having without me."
Elfwine looked pained for a moment. "I'll tell you, but they weren't very grand..."
She gave him one of her sweet little smiles that made his knees turn to liquid. Then she took his hand and let him lead the way through the corridors. Telling her about the incident with Eldarion and Elboron being kidnapped and the more prosaic adventures the three had had in Ithilien took some time, and helped him build the courage to talk about the fall of Minas Ithil.
He wound up sitting with her on a bench, leaned in very close as he spoke, recounting every nauseating, horrible detail. He told her about the lives that had been lost - Erkenbrand, Beregond and Elboron's parents and the hundreds of others who had either died fighting or died running. And the telling drained him in a way he was not prepared for.
But it was also cleansing and healing, having someone he could just talk to about it without feeling like he was adding to their own burdens.
"I'm sorry, Win," she murmured to him.
"I...it's not even about me. Elboron...he's been destroyed by this and my father...he loved his sister almost more than anyone."
She smiles and pushed a strand of blond hair behind one of his ears. "They have their burdens, but it hurt you too. It must have been very alone...lone..some? Yes, lonesome, going through it all."
Elfwine nodded slowly, his eyes meeting hers and his teeth worrying at his lower lip. "I am glad you're still here."
Magda blushed anew and smiled. "Thank you. I am...glad as well."
Elfwine's fingers gently caressed the back of her hand. "I, um, would worry you don't like being behind stone walls."
Magda eyes his fingers and shrugged a little. "They frightened me at first - but I feel...safe within them."
"Oh...good... I don't want you to ever be afraid, you know." He was suddenly desperately thirsty and he could sense a tremor coming over him.
Magda's smile was glorious. "I feel safe with you," she confided. "And...sad." And just like that, her expression shifted to one of melancholy.
"Why is that?" he asked her, alarmed that he could make her sad.
"Because..." She pulled her hand away with an effort. "I cannot let my heart fly where it wishes. Our fathers...they will never allow it."
Elfwine's brain stopped on the "my heart fly where it wishes" part of that. Utterly unable to suppress the absurd grin that split his face, he captured her hand again, feeling ten times larger than he was. "What if...what if they did? What if I talked to them and made it okay?" And send my father into a frothing, convulsive fit in the process.
Magda's expression shifted again, and this time there was fierce determination. "If you could convince your father, I could do so for mine..." Her eyes reflected a turbulent desperation. "Is it even possible, Win?"
"I don't know...but it's worth fighting for..." He was falling into those dark eyes of hers, unable (and unwilling) to make himself look away. "Isn't it?'
Magda swallowed hard, her hand coming to lay on his shoulder.
Elfwine did not realize until then just how close they had become. His heart hammered against his ribs. Nothing had ever been this exhilarating, confusing or momentous. He dipped in closer and then shied away, blushing and smiling at his nervousness. Magda was grinning too, chasing his lips with her own and then moving back, like a mare prancing before a stallion.
It made the hairs on his arms stand up, all this pent up energy. Elfwine touched their noses together, his thoughts scattered like road dirt under a wild herd. Magda nuzzled at him, her face aglow with happiness, enjoying the play.
She was, truly, the most gorgeous thing he had ever laid eyes on. The soft curve of her lips called to him and finally, finally, he touched his to hers. The jolt that hit him was even stronger than it had been the first time. This was no brief peck between nervous children under the gaze of their elders. This lingered, their lips gliding clumsily over each other gently, nervously, more wonder than passion in it.
His arms slowly slid about her, and hers about him, and for a time, they just let themselves fly away on an impossible dream.
A discreet cough brought them leaping to their feet.
Eldarion was leaning against a wall, looking tousled. "Let's to dinner, friends, unless you fancy having Educh carpet his tent with an Elfwine-skin."
Both blushing youths laughed and nodded their agreement.
"Well..." Elfwine yawned mightily and put the scroll back in its case. "I think I figured it out, but it still doesn't help us very much."
Elboron and Eldarion looked up from the Strategem board they were contesting over, both looking equally tired. The game, though, compelled them to stay put. Hours of careful maneuvering had left them in a stalemate, and that made the both of them that much more determined to come out the victor.
"Well, out with it then," Elboron urged, eying Eldarion closely to be sure his opponent did not try and swap pieces suddenly.
Elfwine's brow furrowed. "It seems to say that the hammer was hidden, but that if it is ever needed, Helm will always have it - or that he will have it at hand. Like I said, it's not very precise, but that is the best meaning I can make of it."
"You said whoever was looking for it checked Helm's grave, though, right?" Eldarion asked, watching Elboron move a Rider into position to pin his King.
"Yes, he did," Elfwine agreed.
"So, was it maybe stolen earlier? By someone else?" Elboron asked.
"That would seem to be the only sensible assumption," Elfwine conceded dubiously. "Though that leaves all the questions of who and when and where did they take it. I don't like the idea of that thing out there somewhere."
Eldarion cursed nastily. "I can't believe it!"
Elfwine nodded. "I know. After all the work, we come up empty..."
"No..." Eldarion glowered at the smirking face of Elboron. "I can't believe you pulled the Havrik Feint. I can't believe you know the Havrik Feint."
"I am full of surprises," Elboron confided loftily.
Eldarion fumed and struggled to find a way out of the trap he was in. Then, not being the least bit gracious about it, he tipped his King over. "Cheater."
"How was that cheating?" Elboron demanded.
"By you being smarter than you look," Eldarion returned with a little grin.
Elfwine grinned, the scroll and the mystery of the hammer forgotten now. "I don't think that counts, Dar."
Eldarion threw a reproachful glance at Elfwine. "Traitor." He sighed and stood up, sulking impressively. "What would my lord like from the kitchen?" he asked, undoing his belt.
Elboron laughed and lounged back, thinking about it for a bit. "Let me think...Win, do you think there are any raspberry tarts down in the kitchen? I thought I smelled some in the oven earlier."
Elfwine blinked as Eldarion started to struggle out of his tunic. "I think there might be, yes. Why is Dar naked?"
"Because I made a bet with our unscrupulous friend, Win. And now he's King for a night and I'm fetching something from the kitchen for him, naked."
Elfwine looked from one of them to the other and then fell over into a fit of very boyish giggles.
Eomer settled himself in a chair in his wife's sitting room and folded his large hands in his lap. The celebration had finally wound down and so he was not only sober but he was not suffering a hangover either. As was his custom when coming to see his wife, he had put on a clean shirt and scrubbed his beard. Lothiriel was not obsessive about cleanliness and in exchange, he tended to make certain concessions.
Lothiriel smiled warmly at him and set aside her tea cup. "You're looking a might bit less green, my lord," she mocked him gently.
"I can't really justify being drunk anymore, dear." He looked positively mournful at the prospect. "How are you?"
"I am a bit tired. I think I might be catching something," she admitted.
"That would explain the rather nasty smelling brew you are drinking today," he admitted with a wry smile. His wife's moods and health could be read by her teas, he was sure. Had he a better nose for them, he might be better able to gauge her temper by whatever she had in her teacup, and that would be a useful thing.
"It is hardly foul-smelling, dear," she argued with a little smile. "I needed to speak to you about something and I need you to try and not react how you usually do to when given a shock."
"How would that be?"
"It usually involves broken furniture."
"That was just the one time and Amrothos can drive anyone to that," he countered, brooding just a bit. "I take it this is bad news."
"No, dear, but it is not news you will like very much. A girl has caught the eye of our son, you see." She gauged his reaction carefully.
Eomer beamed - at last, something he could talk to his son about that he had some understanding of. "Well, he is of an age, dear. It is quite right and proper, actually, that he should start courting. Why would I-" He stopped dead and his eyes narrowed. "Who is she?" Lothiriel sipped her tea and then tried to calm her husband with a look. "The Dunlending girl, Magda."
Eomer swore eloquently and put his face in his hands. "I knew he had fool ideas in his head, but I never thought he would go this far..." He sighed heavily. "Well, best to end it quickly then. I'll speak to him right away." The King started to rise.
"No, dear. Please, stay seated."
Eomer remained where he was, his gaze becoming suspicious. "Did Win ask you to talk to me?"
"I can't actually answer that." Lothiriel's gaze was pointed. "Would it harm anything to let him court her? Nothing may come of it."
"Would it harm...? Lothy, I love you, but you have no idea what you are - what he is suggesting. The hate between our peoples is so deep, so much a part of us...it cannot just be shrugged aside."
"You and Educh were getting along well enough," she pointed out primly.
"Yes, and there were also a dozen brawls with serious injuries during that little celebration. And to be honest, I still don't completely trust Educh. I like him well enough, but some part of me is deeply nervous about turning my back to him."
"Don't you think it is about time to start changing that?"
Eomer gritted his teeth. "No, I don't. Two clans joined us. Ten tried to wipe us out. The Dunlendings are not some poor, misunderstood group of nomads. They are killers and I can't expect my people to just forget all that."
Lothiriel eyed him for a long time, unmoved by his frustration. "It's what our son wants, dear."
It was a brutal strike and it had the intended effect. Eomer stared at her for a long time, his prejudices vying with his love for his son. In the end, the decision really did come to be that simple. "All right," he sighed. "But this will not end well. Mark my words."
Educh was not all that much more enthused by the situation than Eomer, but he kept his peace about it. It was not that he disapproved of Elfwine - quite the opposite, really - but he was aware that his people had a hard time seeing the Rohirrim as anything but usurping butchers. Allowing his daughter to be courted by their prince would gain him the suspicion (and enmity) of a great many of the clans and could very well cause a clan war, if it got bad enough.
All of that just ceased to matter, though, when he had looked into his daughter's pleading eyes.
Educh and some few of his clan abided a while at Meduseld while the rest returned to their lands. The palpable tension in the keep abated as people who could not quite forget centuries of feuding finally no longer had to face each other every day.
So it was that Elfwine of Rohan and Magda of Dunland began their courtship with all the official royal and clan traditions - including the obligatory chaperone everywhere they went. It was a wonderful and yet maddening time for them, being able to learn more about each other and entertain the chance of their being more between them.
Having their hormones kept in check, though, made them both quite jittery.
Summer ended and autumn came over the Mark quickly, bringing cool breezes and early showers. Much to the dismay of the young lovers, Educh insisted it was time to return home. Elfwine promised to visit soon and then there was a wrenching goodbye as she was marched off home, casting frequent glances back at him.
The moping that followed drove Elboron and Eldarion to distraction. Nothing would rouse Elfwine from his frequent bouts of sighing and looking out windows or the odd habit of laying about, staring at the lock of Magda's hair he still held. At one point, they threw him out into the icy sleet to shock him back to normal, with marginal success.
Two familiar figures showed up at Meduseld one damp night - neither of whom were terribly effected by the weather. Legolas seemed rather unaware of it, in any real sense, and Gimli shrugged it off much like a mountain would. They were welcomed in and invited to supper with the King and his family.
"No, nothing of any real importance," Legolas replied when Eomer asked if they were here as messengers for Elessar.
"Not to you, elf, but there's a debt for you to repay. I endured all of those fell woods you dragged me through-"
"And were much amazed, as I recall."
"Nevertheless, you've put off going with me to see the Glittering Caves long enough," Gimli argued, tearing a massive bit out of a shank of lamb.
Legolas sighed and looked to Eomer with a little smile. "Dwarves have a depressingly long memory. Show them something shiny and they never forget."
"Hah! As if your people aren't descended from magpies," Gimli retorted, waving the shank like a weapon.
Eomer laughed. "So, you'll be going to Helm's Deep, then?" he asked, wiping ale out of his beard with his sleeve.
"Yes, tomorrow, I think. This storm seems to have just about had it," Gimli told the King around another mouthful of mutton.
"Would you mind some company?" the King asked speculatively, glancing at his sullen son briefly.
"In the mood to survey some old ruins, Eomer King?" Legolas asked curiously.
Eomer shook his head, grinning. "Not I, my friend. However, I have a son whose long face needs remedying. Perhaps a little ride, some fresh air and a historical landmark will get his mind off his troubles."
Elfwine actually perked at that. He had not seen the ruins up close before. Helm's Deep had not been reconditioned after the battering during the war and now stood vacant, a grim reminder of sadder days. "That is an idea..."
Legolas looked to Gimli, who was draining his third tankard. The dwarf belched and shrugged indifferently. "Makes no difference to us."
Elfwine looked to Elboron and Elfwine excitedly. "Could we?"
They both grinned at him. "Well, of course," Eldarion said. "Anything to get you to stop with all the sighing and whinging. Honestly, Win..."
There was some good-natured laughter at that, and the prince of the Mark blushed and looked rather surly about it.
It was grey and windy the next day, but the rain had indeed come to an end. Gimli absolutely refused to get on a horse, a peculiarity that Legolas entertained by not riding either. That left the boys with little choice but to do the same.
The two stalwart adventurers set a hard pace, though, pushing the boys to their very limits hour by hour. There was no doubt that the two could easily have gone even faster, but they weren't in an exceptional hurry. And it would hardly be polite to run the boys into the ground.
Afternoon of the fourth day brought them before the vast fortress. There was a moment of silence as they all stared at it. For the boys, it was simply looking upon a place of legend, a visual reminder that the tales they had been raised on were actually history. The ugly cracks in the giant walls gave startling testimony to the violence of the attack that had occurred here.
Legolas and Gimli were also somewhat humbled by it. They had been in the very thick of the fighting, and though they had faced it all with a humorous flare, the blood that had been shed here had stained them forever. For a little while, they were both just frozen in the grip of vivid, troubling memories.
The group slowly picked their way forward, heading through broken gates and along cluttered walkways. The bodies had all been burned long ago, but there was so much debris about that it would take a month to clean it all up. The Rohirrim preferred to leave things as they lay, a small monument to the bravery of those who had fought and died here.
They entered the main hall which was lit by shafts of sunlight slipping in through broken windows and cracks in the walls. This room was actually freer of detritus, a fact that none of them paid any attention to. Most of the fighting had taken place elsewhere.
"We're going to head down into the caves," Gimli announced. "You lads stick together and try not to get lost."
Legolas looked somewhat disconsolate, but he did not argue. "We'll be back in a few hours."
The three boys watched the two make their way down another corridor, heading for the entrance to the cave, and then they turned to each other. Amidst the awe and wonder they felt at being in this place of legend, there was a very palpable excitement.
"Let's get some torches lit," Elfwine suggested practically, slipping off his pack. They had wisely thought to bring some, knowing the keep would be mostly dark.
"This was the first major defeat for the Dark Lord, wasn't it Win?" Elboron asked as he took out flint and tinder. "I mean, right here is where it all changed."
Elfwine nodded taking out two torches and handing one to Eldarion. "History was made here. Twice, actually. Helm withstood the forces of Wulf here. Some say his ghost still roams these halls..."
"That's a cheery thought," Eldarion put in with a nervous look. "Though if we see him, maybe he can tell us what happened to his hammer..."
His friends laughed uneasily.
With Elfwine in the lead, holding one torch, they proceeded on through the darkened, dusty corridors of the Hornburg. Elboron was in the center, and Elfwine held the other torch behind them.
It was an eerie sort of place, silent in a way that did not seem entirely natural. The deeper they went, the more aware they became of just why no one had come back to rebuild here; this was a graveyard. Just walking here felt like a terrible violation - and an unwelcome intrusion.
They came into one of the old barracks and paused, staring about. There were old pallets here, easily enough for an entire eored. There were also a wealth of old spears and broken helmets, all scattered about wildly. Something scuttled about in the shadows, and the tiny squeaks of vermin could be heard.
"I smell something," Elboron said suddenly, his tone urgent. "Orcs!"
Elboron leaped to the side, meeting a lunging orc head on. The efficiency with which he slaughtered the creature was both a wonder and a horror to his friends' eyes. Clearly, his obsession had forged him into the perfect killer; ruthless, bold and swift.
More of the things appeared and all three were soon engaged with them and they unabashedly called for help, hoping the winding halls of the Hornburg would carry their message to Legolas and Gimli. For there were too many of the orcs to contend with on their own, to be sure.
The three were pressed into a tight circle, fighting desperately back to back. As skilled as Elboron was, as fast as Eldarion, as clever as Elfwine, they could not find a way to break loose of the murderous mob. The stench of their enemies drew horribly close until all they could see where the ugly faces of the monsters.
And then the attack suddenly stopped at someone's barked order.
The boys looked around wildly, exchanging uneasy glances. They were caught and they were outnumbered. The only hope lay in buying time.
A single human figure appeared out of the shadows. Tall and not that much older than they were, he had a sort of austere handsomeness about him. He eyed the boys, each in turn, and then laughed a little.
"All my careful planning...and you just hand yourselves over to me. Remarkable." His smile was not the least bit comforting. "If you are holding out for rescue from the elf and the dwarf, they are dealing with a sizable squad of my more vicious orcs. And, if by some miracle they survive, the door to the caves has been barred and quite firmly secured, so we have some time to get to know each other." His eyes glittered in the torchlight. "I am Orthale, son of Grima, son of Galmod, son of Eowald, son of Hatha, son of Freawulf, son of Eothain, son of Eothol son of Hale... son of Wulf and Theolen. I am the heir of Helm, and you boy," he said to Elfwine, "are between me and my kingdom.