The horses stopped at the bank of the stream. Their riders gazed ahead, at the trees that cut across their path like a dark wall, impenetrable save for the single path. The trail of rumour had led from Rivendell to here, and still urged them east.
Mirkwood. Must we enter that forest?
Glorfindel raised a golden brow. Do you fear the spiders? he asked, and laughed merrily as he dodged the lazy punch thrown his way.
Indeed not. But we must pay our respects to King Thranduil were we to enter his land, and you know what happened when last we set foot in his palace.
You mean the time you and Elladan set fire to the tapestries in the great hall? I recall Thranduil was not so pleased.
A light blush coloured Elrohir's cheeks in response to his companion's mirth. It was not our intention, he muttered. Leastways, it was not we who nested a black squirrelling in Father's pack.
Lord Elrond was not so foolish as to believe only young Legolas at fault. He provided the squirrel, yet I wager the idea was not his. Glorfindel's sharp gaze bored into Elrohir's profile.
The younger Elf shifted on Alagos' back. The fact remains that I do not wish to meet our Silvan cousins, he said a shade too quickly.
Glorfindel shrugged. The trail goes east. Perhaps Thranduil has forgotten the tapestries - near a hundred years have passed. His ringing laughter remained in the air after he had disappeared under the dark eaves.
Glaring balefully after him, Elrohir nudged Alagos into the forest. At length he broke out into a smile. He did not wish to see Thranduil again, still dreading the Woodland King's memory, but Legolas was another matter. That Elf, a bare few centuries younger, seemed to bring out all the considerable mischief in the twins.
The trail of the two clumsy Men weaved back and forth, sometimes doubling back on itself, indicating that they had no sense of direction whatsoever. Legolas would have been amused if the overall trend didn't lead south. South, and west. Still, they had travelled a fair distance before the trail stopped abruptly. The Elves spread out, both on the ground and in the trees. The tracks were clear to read: the Men had stumbled into a nest of spiders. The charred husk of one lay against a tree, and drops of black blood were scattered about. Something glittered in the leaf debris; Legolas picked it up.
he called. Your blade has bitten deep in the night.
The Silvan Elf took the long knife, washed to the hilt in sticky spider blood. It has been used well, then. I do not begrudge your Men my blade against such foes. Eyes gleaming, Eiliant cleaned the knife carefully before returning it to its sheath. Though I will have words with them regarding the taking, he continued.
Legolas nodded absently. He too was eager to find the Men, though not for the reasons that might be supposed. His father had been angry at the escape - more at the damage to his palace than the loss of the Men themselves, Legolas thought - yet both clearly saw that the Men could have as easily killed the guards as send them into a healing sleep. The power that could forge such a tunnel... Legolas shuddered. And yet the Men displayed an appalling lack of sense. The signs of a spider nest were easily seen, and they had walked straight into it. It was as foolish as following on the heels of an orcish raiding party.
A call came from the trees: the spiders' path had been found. The Elves set off again, moving quickly. The spiders moved fast when they wished and already had a head start on the Elves. They would have to hurry if they were to catch up before nightfall.
The closeness of the air bodes ill.
Elrohir glanced at his companion. Do you fear the spiders?
Refusing to be baited, Glorfindel merely smiled. No more than you. But listen: they are restless.
The horses halted at their riders' quiet commands, the Elves falling silent. The air was dense and muted sound in an unpleasant way. They could hear black squirrels rustling in the leaves, the murmur of the swift Morn Nen behind them, and, distantly to the north, the chittering of spiders. A large group it seemed, taunting.
Without a word they dismounted and unslung their bows. Leaving Asfaloth and Alagos to wait on the Road, the Elves stepped soundlessly into the undergrowth. It did not take them long to follow the chittering to its source, nor long to assess the situation. The spiders were ranged on the ground and in the trees amongst their thick webs. Two bundles hung high from a branch, wrapped in sticky cocoons, were at the centre of their attention. One cocoon wriggled and swung constantly, the other giving an occasional twitch. Every so often a spider would prod a bundle, causing frenzied struggles, and would dance away with the high pitched hiss that did it for laughter.
Glorfindel and Elrohir fitted arrows to their bows and took careful aim. Whatever was in those bundles, they would not let the spiders keep their meal. They let loose their arrows, and two spiders fell with shrieks of surprise and pain. Then a storm of arrows flew through the air, their own and others that came from the opposite side. Glorfindel smiled grimly as they and the unseen Wood-elves created short-lived havoc amongst the spiders.
The suffocating greyness fell away. Allowed breath and free movement all at once, Nil'Tanar and Ryllaen blinked to see the Elves standing over them with drawn knives, cutting away the spiderwebs. Once their task was accomplished the Elves turned away to join the hunt for the fleeing spiders.
Finding themselves alone for the moment, Ryllaen and Nil'Tanar glanced at each other, one thought in both their minds. It would not be good to be recaptured. They rose on unsteady feet, and ran in the direction opposite to that from which the ringing shouts and shrill spider-screams emanated. They relaxed a little when no outcry followed their movement, though they ran as fast as they could.
Whither do you go in such haste?
Ryllaen yelped and scrambled back, falling over in his rush to get away from the two Elves that had appeared seemingly from nowhere in front of them.
Stopping abruptly, Nil'Tanar shot him an astonished glance. They had not gained freedom as they had hoped, but these Elves were not even threatening them. The Polaran looked back at them, wondering what had caused Ryllaen's wide-eyed panic.
Glorfindel raised a brow. The long-haired Man had gone pale and was staring at him in absolute terror. He had only asked a question, and surely not one that warranted this reaction. Have I turned into an orc? he asked Elrohir in a low voice.
You are as fair as ever. Perhaps he has never seen such beauty as yours before. Elrohir laughed, receiving a glower for his troubles.
Grabbing Ryllaen's arm, Nil'Tanar hauled him to his feet. he hissed. There are only two of them.
Get away. We must get away, Ryllaen muttered wildly. He was pale, the blood drained from his face with soul-deep terror. He closed his eyes and, with great difficulty, weaved a Dart around himself and the Polaran. The walls were translucent, too thin to hold an atmosphere of its own. At that moment Ryllaen could not have cared less.
The Dart rose with almost ungoverned speed, smashing through the thick foliage above and disappearing into the sky.
All the Elves who saw it cried out in astonishment, save Legolas and the Elves of Rivendell. The Mirkwood prince merely looked up into a nearby tree. Galind! Please tell me they do not go south.
The call came down: They fly west! There was a pause that lasted for an hour while those below gathered after the slaying of the spiders and awaited word. They have fallen into the hills!
Legolas sighed. The hills were swarming with orcs. I have never seen Men so capable of throwing themselves into trouble. He turned to the Rivendell Elves without any sign of surprise at meeting them in Mirkwood. Lord Glorfindel, what did you do to them?
Incredulous, Glorfindel stared at the smiling prince while Elrohir choked back a laugh. I did nothing! Realising he sounded overly defensive, Glorfindel modulated his expressive tone. Who are these wizards?
Legolas shrugged lightly. Strange Men the like of which we have never before encountered, but recently escaped from our hold. Do you go to see my father? I must find the Men before they get themselves killed. They are certainly trying their best.
Elrohir and Glorfindel looked at each other; they suspected that this was the tale they had come to find. We would join you, if you are willing.
The blue shell disintegrated with disconcerting irregularity. Ryllaen collapsed, barely conscious, to the ground, while Nil'Tanar scanned their surroundings with a suspicious eye.
Vell-os! No, don't close your eyes. Vell-os, why did you land? Get us off this planet.
Ryllaen looked down at the fist entangled in cloth at his chest, pulling him half up. He blinked wearily, too exhausted to resist. I can't. No, don't - I can't. I thought at first, that it was just weakness, that if I just regained my strength, but- He looked into the Polaran's angry dark eyes. This planet, the weaves... it resists me. There is something here, something hidden from my senses - the veil is thin, I can almost see through... Ryllaen trailed away, and continued slowly. It's as if it's rejecting me somehow. Every time, it's getting harder to manipulate physical force. I don't think I'll be able to do as much next time. He looked away, for the moment the pain in his head was eclipsed by a far deeper pain in his heart. And even if I could, it wouldn't matter.
Why not? Nil'Tanar shook the man until the glazing eyes focussed back on him. Why wouldn't it matter, Vell-os?
I don't know where we are. A whisper, that, so soft Nil'Tanar was uncertain he'd heard it at all. I don't know where we are. I'm alone.
Shaking his head, the Polaran said, So we take it jump by jump, map out a path. Sooner or later we'll find a system you'll recognise.
No, you don't understand. Swallowing, Ryllaen struggled with the words he didn't want to, and had to, speak. I am Vell-os. We are a hive mind: we speak to each other, mind to mind. We feel each other's presence.
Nil'Tanar started to speak, and Ryllaen raised his voice over him, the words rolling out now like an unstoppable wave. The strength of both determines how far we can speak. I'm T2, almost T1. Even if I were only T4, I could sense another T4 at least two jumps away. I'm alone, Polaran. I can't feel anyone, anywhere.
Ryllaen closed his eyes, barely noticing when Nil'Tanar drew away. He'd acknowledged it now, and it brought him no relief. Always, since the beginning of his training, he'd sensed other Vell-os. If he'd tried hard enough, he had always been able to seek out Llyrell, the most powerful Vell-os now alive, and one of the very few T1s. He'd tried long and hard while swinging in the spider cocoon, and sensed nothing. Nothing at all. He was alone, truly alone as he had never been before. The thought terrified him more than the thought of never escaping this planet. He had grown to depend on that slight communion, the only comfort any Vell-os could safely give or receive, the only freedom.
How far? How far, Vell-os? The question was quiet, grim.
Fifteen, twenty jumps in a straight run. More, perhaps, if there is even a jump that will link us back to a known system.
A wormhole?
Ryllaen opened his eyes, stared up at the endless sky. The probability of finding a stable one is near nonexistant. They are few and far between. Even if we did, there is no guarantee it will take us any closer. The output of wormholes follows no known pattern.
There was a long silence.
Nil'Tanar sat down on a convenient boulder. I refuse to be stranded on this planet with you, Vell-os. We will find a safe place to rest, you will gather your strength, and then you will try again. Perhaps when we have left the gravity well you will be able to hold the form better.
In the mean time, you've left us out here without weapons or supplies. I say we go back the way we came. Those Elves seemed decent enough. We'll let them recapture us and rest in their cells.
Standing abruptly, Ryllaen filled his voice with the cold arrogance that was his only shield against despair. I cannot allow that.
Nil'Tanar stared at him. Why not?
Standing orders: I must resist all attempts at capture. I must escape at any opportunity. The shield was imperfect; bitterness crept through the cracks.
Incredulous, Nil'Tanar's voice rose in frustration. Don't be stupid, Vell-os! Would you rather die out here in the wilds of an unknown planet?
Ryllaen rounded on him, eyes blazing with a sudden fury. I cannot disobey orders! Ever! I am not free to do as I wish!
Taken aback, Nil'Tanar fell silent and bit his lip. There was an inflection to free that he had not missed, and that brought to mind old history lessons. What had the schoolmasters said? That after the Colonial Council / Vell-os Wars, the remaining Vell-os had been enslaved, and were still enslaved. Nil'Tanar had not believed it then, when he had only been Tanar, in a classroom full of young not-yet-warriors. How could one force a telepath to do anything against his will, let alone one as powerful as the proud and noble Vell-os? Now... he saw the bitter truth in Ryllaen's expression. A surge of pity welled up in him.
he said quietly, all anger gone. It's true. You are a slave.
Ryllaen stared at him, then turned away. You are mistaken, Polaran, he said. But he said it aloud, and provided none of the mental translation that had become almost second-nature.
Hah, Nil'Tanar thought, feeling the abrupt withdrawal of the other. He returned to more immediate issues. Well, then. We return to the Elves, and we ask for aid. Will that suit you, Vell-os?
The telepath nodded wearily, and began walking with leaden steps. Later he would be glad that the Polaran had found a way around the orders that bound his actions with unbreakable chains. For now, he cared not at all, drowned as he was in old, helpless despair.