Chapter 3
The Stranger
Cold rain slid down hard against the dozens of people that stood in the large arena, making the air biting and harsh.
Of the many slaves, only a few remained, forced to watch their family and friends, their comrades, be pulled away from their sight and out of their lives. The young ranger watched as eyes wandered mournfully, downcast heads no longer feeling the rush of the wind and the pelting of the rain as they burrowed away from more than just the cold.
Aragorn leaned his head back against the cold, rain-soaked wall behind him. Shutting his eyes he tried to block out the horrible pain he could hear that echoed and rippled though the air of the slaver's arena, the forlorn calls of so many broken hearts. Anger filled him at the same time. The utter heartlessness of slave-trading tore at him.
He and the young boy had been separated from the large group of slaves that Ralorn had acquired and left alone. Another elf, whose name Aragorn quickly found out was Silore, had come the night of the ranger's first day in Ilmgalad, bringing with him a few dozen young men and women that bore marks of enslavement. For a short while Aragorn and the blind boy had been bound with the lot of them, until Ralorn discovered them and ordered Mayroniel to get them away from the selling ring.
The two of them were dumped in one corner with the horses, chained to the wall and quickly forgotten. As soon as they were left alone, the ranger quickly stuffed his ring into the pocket of his tunic, safe from prying eyes.
Aragorn had quickly gained a complete disregard for his own treatment and rather focused on that of the teenager; when he discovered that though the boy was blind, it was not much of a handicap. The young man could sense movement and recognize voices faster than Aragorn could register what was happening. Before they had been left alone, the ranger witnessed a bit of the boy's unbreakable spirit. While the guard tried to clap a metal ring about the boy's wrist, Aragorn watched the sightless eyes narrow, and before anyone could react the boy's elbow had made swift contact with his guard's nose. The elf yelped at the sudden pain and slapped the teenager upside the head, but the young one had already won. Blood was dripping from the injured nose and he knew it.
His sight may have been dead, but he was not, and those that handled the blind boy knew of his cold defiance. The young man never moved willingly or easily, and his guards were having quite a time roughhousing with the fighting spirit of the teenager. They beat him to keep him under control, and never gave him a name. It was always "boy," and the tone was always mocking. The young teenager would steel his jaw every time it was uttered; in his mind the name he had been pinned with was worse than any swear word his guards had ever said about him.
Once they had been left alone, Aragorn turned to face the young man. With the guards gone the fighting fire had left his eyes and the old, chilled look had returned, looking the same as when Aragorn had first seen him.
Wanting to talk to him, but remembering that neither he nor anyone else knew the boy's name, and the way the teenager had reacted to being called "boy" had not been of the best, Aragorn decided to call him something else when the time was right. Sitting there silently, he began to consider what he could call him, a name that the boy would respond to.
While thinking about it, understanding and respecting the distance that the young man placed between himself and everyone around him, Aragorn decided to try and gain a bond of trust between himself and the teenager. So softly, almost unable to be heard, he began to sing in a low but clear voice.
Shutting his eyes and leaning back farther, Aragorn relaxed completely against the wall and let the melody full of life and light flow from his lips, such a strange contrast to the mood of the small slave arena. As he sung, the dull aching of the overwhelming pleas began to disappear and the memories of home began to again soften his heart. Smiling for the first time since his capture, he let his song in the elven tongue grow steadily louder until it could reach all the ears close around him.
A Elbereth Gilthoniel
Silivren penna míriel . . . .
The horses around him perked up at the sound of the Grey Tongue, the weariness in their limbs seemed to lose its fire and the seven of them turned their heads toward the ranger. The soothing elvish rolled around their hearing and all of them visibly relaxed, letting the song still whatever stiffness of heart they had received. Peace thrummed along with the soft patter of the rain, and all manner of uneasiness was forgotten.
O menel aglar elenath!
Na-chaered palan-díriel
O galadhremmin ennorath . . .
The horses were not the only ones close by that were affected by Aragorn's song and the softness of the words spoken. Right in the middle of his singing Aragorn opened his eyes a slit and chanced a look at the young teenager next to him. To his surprise, the boy was looking vaguely in his direction, and a small smile had touched his face.
Fanuilos, le linnathon
Nef aear, sí nef aearon!
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The day was drawing to a close and many of the merchants and slaves had left the arena, searching either for better luck on another day or merely some place to sleep, protected from the small storm. Ralorn sighed and turned back toward the entrance of the arena. Though his day had been successful and most of his slaves sold, he had hoped to get rid of them all that very day so he could continue his journey home. The trip there was not an easy one and would take many days to get there safely, and with the weather looking as it did now, Ralorn wanted to get out of Ilmgalad quickly to make the trek as easy as possible.
Another lone rider entered the arena on horseback, and Ralorn turned to watch him quietly. The rider handled his mount with ease, the animal tame and willing beneath him. Like nearly everyone else on this dreary, rainy day, he was clad in a dark cloak and his face half-hidden under a large hood. He used neither bit nor bridle for his mount, and he himself carried little with him.
He dismounted from his white horse, patted the great animal on the neck and whispered a few inaudible words to it before moving toward Ralorn. His steps were strong as he neared the slave trader, pushing back his hood just enough to reveal his face as he did so. Ralorn could see the fair features clearly the young, unhardened edges that framed grey eyes, a straight nose, and a small mouth. His dark brown-black hair was bound away from his face in the style of an elven rider, and his pointed ears made it easy to bind him to such a race. Ralorn was struck by how young the rider looked, almost feminine if one would be so bold, and yet carried himself no less than that of his men.
When the rider made it to Ralorn, he greeted the leader and gave a slight bow. "Mae govannen, slave-trader. What do you bring to the market? Slaves only?" His voice was light and clear.
"Slaves only. What is your interest?" Ralorn watched the stranger look over the few slaves that remained, standing chained in a row. Taking in the sight of them in moments, he turned back to Ralorn, his face expressionless.
"I'm only searching. My name is Arahil. I come looking for strong work. I have not seen you before in these parts. Where did you travel before coming here? You are Ralorn, are you not?"
"Aye, I am Ralorn, and I come here to revisit the lands of my youth and those I once knew." A strange glint entered Ralorn's eyes as he said so, but before Arahil could confirm its existence, it was gone. "You say you are looking for work? Why? You look far too young to be traveling." He quickly took the chance to jest the elf.
He may as well have said Arahil was too young and immature to be out on his own, and the young elf rider did not take the jest at his youthful age lightly. "I may be young to you, Master Ralorn," he said with a clenched jaw, "but I know much of warfare and horses. You yourself are a master of such. So am I."
"You?" Ralorn shot the elf a surprised glance. "But you are little more than a child! What could you possibly know about horsemanship, weapons, or slave trading that I do not already know?"
Arahil grew silent, thinking through the losing battle. He had been seeking Ralorn for a while now, wanting to join his warriors. Then suddenly, a light of revelation entered Arahil's eyes, a devious plan forming to earn him the spot he desired.
"Oh, I see," Arahil said loudly as Ralorn turned away from him. "So you're afraid that I may know something you don't?"
Ralorn stopped dead in his tracks. His pride had been injured, and his fighting side won over his calm demeanor. He turned around swiftly.
Arahil was waving him off. "Don't worry about it. I know you're busy, but I never thought you'd back away from my challenge."
Ralorn stomped back over to the reckless rider. "I fear no one! But I do not need to prove my skill to you!"
"No, you don't," Arahil said evenly, "But I want to prove my skill to you."
Ralorn stopped again. He had seen the way Arahil had handled his horse, and despite everything else, he had spirit. Spirit that Ralorn knew if he harnessed the right way, Arahil would become a valuable tool for his plans for revenge.
He finally nodded. "Name your challenge, rider."
"I challenge you to a race through the forest," Arahil stated, "to the river one league away."
Ralorn could see the insane brilliancy of it. It had been raining for the past two days, making the ground slick and muddy, and the nearby forest in the opposite direction from whence they came was full of fallen logs and rocks. To make it though such a place under such conditions uninjured - and alive - would prove impressive skill indeed.
"Mayroniel!" Ralorn barked at his assistant without breaking his gaze from Arahil, who stared steadily back. "Bring my horse."
Mayroniel nodded without question and left to fetch Ralorn's stallion.
"I'll meet you at the edge of the forest in five minutes," Ralorn told the young rider before tuning away. "We'll see what kind of skill you possess."
Arahil was smiling as he returned to his horse's side. The white stallion snorted eagerly and tossed his head.
"Yes my friend, it looks like you'll get to show off your turns and jumps again. You feel up to it?"
The white stallion whinnied energetically and stamped his feet. Arahil laughed lightly.
"Good. Good, Asfaloth. Good." Asfaloth nudged his rider over to his side, urging the elf to mount so they could begin. Arahil1 mounted and turned Asfaloth toward the edge of the forest, just outside the arena they were in.
"We cannot fail them."
Arahil was ready and waiting when Ralorn came to the desired spot, his dark stallion behind him. Just outside the city walls the forest thickened out in twisting dangerous paths, tempting riders eager to prove themselves.
Centuries before, a terrible storm had raged through the once beautiful forest, leaving the land stripped and desolate in its wake. It took many years for the forest to heal itself, but as it did so, it overgrew the destroyed trees and fallen boulders, bringing new life but terrible danger. The ground was left uneven and rough, the land irregularly shaped, and lying in wait were the countless trees and rocks hidden under the new undergrowth. Traps and tricks lay around every possible turn, every corner. It was wonderful to explore and an excellent place for hunting game, but quite unwise to bring pack animals in, especially horses. The chances of making it to the river that lay but a few miles in unharmed were quite slim using animals, and at a gallop - the attempt was considered the works of a madman eager for death.
Ralorn mounted his stallion and cantered him over to where Arahil sat in his white horse. A long line had been drawn in the dirt with a stick, the official 'starting line.' Passerby's stared - some walked on shaking their heads, while others called out to them, asking if they should come look for the bodies later. Both were ignored.
"I shall watch you carefully...if you can keep up with me," Ralorn told the younger elf next to him as they got ready.
Arahil was unmoved by the taunt. "I look forward to seeing your skill." The tiny hint of sarcasm was not lost on the other and it made Ralorn frown in annoyance. Arrogant little whelp. He was going to put this young one right in his spot.
"All right, let's get on with it. Ready?" Arahil responded by leaning forward, arching his body to match the angle of his horse's neck. "Three, two, one... GO!"
Both horses were kicked and the animals cried aloud, leaping forward. Long strides ate up the ground, closing in on the edge of the forest.
Directing Asfaloth to a fallen limb, Arahil squeezed hard with his legs and lifted off the white horse's back, giving the animal the full ability to jump. Asfaloth responded and gathered his legs under him, leaping up and forward, soaring over the log as if it were only a pile of leaves. They landed evenly and Asfaloth bolted, kicking up mud as he went.
A descendent of a rich bloodline of war-horses, Asfaloth had been born a fearless fighter. Standing over five and a half feet at the shoulder he towered over the other creatures around him, and with a light, muscle-laid wiry frame it made it easy to take the most impossible jumps and turns at neck-breaking speed. Unmatched in his agility, ever loyal at heart, Arahil's only traveling companion and eternal friend, he was a greatheart tried and found worthy of whatever he went up against.
Though Ralorn knew nothing of the lineage of the horse, or of the rider for that matter, he could still recognize skill when he saw it. The powerful, yet nimble strides of the horse and the sure hand of the rider that guided him was a perfect match. His own stallion was fast and wiry as well, but not nearly in league with that of the white horse. Ralorn followed the white stallion closely, watching both horse and rider perform feats he thought unmatched.
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The ground was slippery and difficult to run on. It took several strides for Asfaloth to get used to the unknown footing on the ground. Arahil grit his teeth and watched the ground carefully, his elven sight granting him the help he needed. With his eyes, hands, and legs, he directed Asfaloth carefully though the darkening forest.
The first several hundred feet weren't too bad, but needed to be watched carefully by both horse and rider. The ground was getting slicker as they got farther in, as the sun showed her face less here, and puddles of water were everywhere. Asfaloth was already turning a dull grey color up to his knees.
They both could see another dark rider off to their right side, keeping up with the white stallion despite the muddy forest floor. Arahil watched them carefully out of the corner of his eye, but he wasn't prepared when Ralorn suddenly swerved to them, cutting them off.
Asfaloth roared at the black stallion and his rider, angry that they had made him falter on the uneven ground. Shaking his head he regained his old speed in a moments notice, following Ralorn closely. Baring his teeth and snorting, he caught up to them and bit the black stallion hard, right on the rump.
The stallion jumped and cried out at the sudden pain, jumping forward and off to the side, taking a different path than what was originally intended. As they galloped away, Arahil could have sworn he could hear Asfaloth laughing as he listened to his oppressor whimper loudly as he escaped the white stallion's teeth. Nickering in pleasure, Asfaloth snorted and again focused on the awkward route ahead of him.
Suddenly much faster than Arahil thought it could happen, Asfaloth's churning hooves discovered a long, slick, shallow mud hole. With a neigh of surprise and a small cry of shock from his rider the stallion slid forward far too fast and nearly lost his balance, heading straight for a huge boulder that loomed only feet away, stuck firmly in the ground. Thick trees shrouded either side, cutting off any escape.
Yet whether by luck or pure terror, Asfaloth managed to gain control over his feet just before crashing into the boulder that would have most certainly broken his legs, and at a whispered word of encouragement from Arahil the stallion again leapt, popping right over the boulder like a cat. His body arched rather well for being caught off guard like he was, and he gracefully stretched out his legs, soaring over the boulder.
Hardly a breath later Arahil realized it was a big mistake.
There was no ground to greet them. The boulder had been large enough length-wise to hide a deep crevice behind it; a dried up stream with several sharp rocks layering its base. Arahil closed his eyes and gripped the mane in his hands tightly, the wind whistling in his ears as he spoke desperately into the white horse's ears, of which were turned back to him, listening for commands. Then, as if in slow motion, he felt the horse below him allow the earth to pull them both down to what looked like certain doom.
'No, not so soon! We cannot be defeated this quickly!' Arahil cringed as he felt Asfaloth's front legs slam hard against the side of the stream, bracing himself for the swift plummet into the rocks. But as he did so, instead of falling forward and being flung from his stallion's back like he expected, they were suddenly flying upward. Asfaloth had managed to land with his forelegs on a stable patch of land, and letting his hind legs follow swiftly to land in the same spot he had let his adrenaline-powered muscles push himself back into the air. He propelled them both toward the other side of the stream, gliding over a distance of only about seven feet.
Asfaloth touched ground on the opposite side and scrambled up the small hill, showering mud, rocks, and plants down into the dead stream as he went. Making it up to level ground the stallion popped though the bordering trees, came to an abrupt stop and reared high for a moment. He neighed his pleasure before again leaping into a gallop.
Arahil was more than surprised. Though he knew of his horse's talent he had never expected the stallion to react so quickly and smoothly. Asfaloth was ignoring his attempts to stop him for fear that the horse was injured, and all Arahil could do now was hold on and let him run.
Survival mode calmed and careful training kicked in - before long Asfaloth had turned into a ghost, a magical beast that shunned every other living thing but the one that rode atop his back. If anyone ever thought Asfaloth was out of the league of Arahil, they were sorely wrong. The two worked together perfectly. They needed each other; for Asfaloth only did his best with Arahil on his back - Arahil in charge. Stallion and elf were trained onto one another, listening to the others' thoughts it seemed. Arahil knew of his stallion's abilities well, but never before had he seen the great animal perform like he did now, as if Asfaloth had recognized the desperate need for Arahil to prove himself. Using the elf's hands, legs, and words as keys, the white giant was prepared for any obstacle that they came up against.
Long graceful strides were eating up the distance, zigzagging around trees and running past boulders with a scarcely found talent. Some of the turns were so sharp it looked as though the horse had to lay down on his side and float a foot above the ground while running at a mind-blurring speed, he and his rider a white and black flash - there one moment and gone the next, fading to nothing in a blink of an eye. They had become one in the forest's eyes.
Asfaloth's hooves dug into the ground sharply, leaving behind large fist-sized holes and flinging up loose mud behind him, his legs stretching and gathering beneath the long slender body, neck thrust forward and head out, eyes bright and nostrils wide in excitement. He did not hesitate as Arahil directed him through the forest, defying all thought in his quick and precise twists that were previously thought almost impossible.
Arahil had lifted his lithe body off the horse's back and squeezed hard with his legs, allowing the animal complete control over speed as he hunched low over the long proud neck, his hands that gripped the soft flowing mane moving with the strides of the horse - Arahil pushing his hands forward when the stallion's neck thrust straight and flat, pulling his hands back when the stallion's head fell back and up, creating an ever moving circle at the sides of the white neck that both encouraged the horse and calmed the rider.
They were back where they needed to be, entering a world that was so familiar and dear to them, for a moment they felt invincible and ready to touch the stars if they so wished. Asfaloth neighed and Arahil whooped, the sounds of victory echoing through the dark forest.
Then out in front of them the forest seemed to open up and they entered a long stretch of barren land, quickly identified as water-softened boulders that served its purpose as the ground. With no thick trees to cover and hide it, the large rocky floor was only a little wet and without mud. It only lasted about fifty feet before taking a sudden downward drop at the bottom the desired river lay in waiting. If possible, Asfaloth ran even faster, needing no urging from his master and did not stop as though his life depended on it.
With a crack and a snort, the powerful white stallion ran to the edge and his feet left the ground - they were flying again. Arahil leaned back until he was straight over the horse's back, one arm raised high over his head. His hood was thrown back and his long braided tresses seemed frozen in mid air. His eyes were alight and his smile wide - gripping the long mane tightly with one hand he leaned back farther so the stallion would not have to deal with the extra weight at his head, nearly lying down flat on the horse's rump. He was gripping tightly with his legs as Asfaloth again slammed down to the ground, leaving hoof marks deep in the drying mud of the cliff. Immediately he began to gallop downward, though his strides remained graceful and controlled. The clouds had lessened and the sun was peeking through the heavy blanket that remained.
Asfaloth crashed into the underbrush, snapping smaller trees and plants as he went, dodging boulders and leaping over fallen logs. There seemed to be no end of the mountain growth, and the irregularly shaped ground made it very difficult indeed. Several times Arahil feared the white stallion would trip and fall, a sure death for them both. He could feel the heavy sweat that now coated the stallion's body through his leggings, and Asfaloth's breathing was becoming slow and deep. But it was all oddly surreal, watching the horse take a diagonal, almost vertical decent down the side of the cliff, and not once hear or feel a foot placed wrong.
After a distance of many thousands of strides, Asfaloth reached the bottom, finally regaining his normal pace on level ground. They were so close to the river, and the sound of water made the weary stallion run faster toward its cool rushing.
Seconds later the silence was broken as Asfaloth leapt and plunged into the water of the river, forgetting for a moment that he still had a rider on his back. Luckily the river was only about four feet deep and Arahil managed to hang on, relaxing on his horse's neck as the stallion came to a full stop.
Stroking the animal comfortingly on the side, Arahil slid of the sweat-marred back and swam next to Asfaloth, watching the horse drink his fill of the sweet river water. Treading water, Arahil pushed handfuls of water over the horse's back several times before abandoning the stallion to his pleasure. Pulling himself out of the river and letting the horse play, Arahil shook himself off and stood next to the river's edge, waiting for some sign of Ralorn and the black stallion.
Looking back at Asfaloth, Arahil had to smile. They had done it. Even if they hadn't won Ralorn would have no reason not to take him on. The race had proven both himself and the stallion's worth in ability.
Briefly his sharp ears heard the sound of pounding hooves, and in a moment Arahil saw Ralorn racing down the side of the cliff on a side much less steep than the one they had taken, he noted with a smile. The change in course earlier on had given them a much easier path to take, if not longer. The young elf would never forget the look Ralorn gave him as the elder rode up to his side and stopped, his face surpassing all the looks of surprise and shock that Arahil had ever seen. The stern elf kept looking up at the long trail on the side of the cliff and the distinct line of broken plant life, then back at the young elf and his horse.
Ralorn couldn't believe it. Though he had taken a different route he had not missed some of the narrow escapes Arahil and Asfaloth had pulled, taking on one of the harshest paths through the forest that was hardly safe even on foot. And the ride down the side of the steep cliff... the achievement was nothing short of remarkable and praiseworthy. And though he would dearly love to say that the stallion had done all the work, he knew better. It took a very experienced rider to guide a horse though such danger; both horse and rider must match in skill. Shaking his head in disbelief and rolling his eyes slightly, Ralorn dismounted his black stallion and walked over to the nearly soaked younger elf.
Glancing over at the white stallion in the water, Ralorn watched the animal that had just lifted his head to stare back curiously, and even a bit protectively, when Ralorn looked at Arahil. With one look from Arahil, Asfaloth shook off the accusing look and left the water, stopping right behind Arahil and stared at the other elf with a look of mock disinterest.
"Beautiful," Ralorn murmured, watching the tall horse with a critical, but experienced eye. "He has a perfect build. I don't suppose you'd be willing to sell him, would you?"
The younger elf balked at the offer, but before he could even register what had happened Asfaloth stiffened and bit him hard on the shoulder. Arahil laughed as the stallion looked at him sternly and shook his head at Ralorn. "I think Asfaloth would kill me. Besides, he's my only friend in these wilds. I don't know what I'd do without him."
Ralorn sighed regretfully and shook his head again. "I've hardly seen such skill." Looking back over at Arahil, he held the steady gaze though inside he was kicking himself for not seeing it sooner and losing sorely. "You've proven yourself far more worthy than many I've seen. Still willing, I will grant you whatever position you desire among my men."
Arahil gave a small smile. "The honor belongs to the stallion as much as me, but I will accept the offer to ride with you for a time."
Both extending hands, they clasped each other's forearms in a gesture of acceptance. Ralorn's voice was firm and bold, neither smiling nor frowning. "Welcome to the Guard, Arahil."
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A lone guard entered the long since empty arena, walking quietly through the selling ring and over to the corner where the two slaves and several horses were waiting. The elf was tall and broad-shouldered for one so fair, and his hair was a dark reddish-blonde. But unlike most of the others he did not have a fierce haunted look in his eyes, but one of more firm seriousness. He stopped next to one of the horses, a tall buckskin mare, and led her toward the wall where Aragorn sat watching him.
Pulling a knife from his belt, he pushed Aragorn off to the side and severed the bonds that bound the man from behind. Aragorn's curiosity toward this elf changed to surprise. For the first time in nearly a week - though he didn't know the exact time range - he was free. But why?
"Come with me," the elf whispered, gesturing toward the buckskin mare. He pulled off his large cloak and covered the ranger with it, hiding the man from view. "Quickly."
Curious, Aragorn did as he was told. The elf mounted up behind him, and with a swift kick in the mare's sides, they bolted forward. Lone ears marked their passing, mournfully wishing they had not gone.
"Where are you taking me?" Aragorn whispered to the elf behind him as they left the arena and began to trot lightly through the rain-soaked alleyways. "Who are you?"
"My name is Valan," the elf whispered, his voice deep and musical. "And I'm taking you home, if we remain unnoticed."
"Home?" Aragorn's eyes widened slightly as he tried to turn his head to look at the fair being behind him, but Valan pushed his head back. "But how is this possible?"
"Quietly!" Valan whispered harshly, his voice firm but not angry as he began his story. "I have been in the service of Lord Ralorn for many years, and during that time his main goal was and has remained the desire to get revenge on the twin sons of Elrond. When he discovered you had been taken in as a brother and a son, it wounded him more than you know." They reached the open front doors and Valan urged the mare forward, toward the safety of the distant trees.
"He pushed many things aside and came back to this area of the northern lands and away from the Corsairs, of whom he has been working with for some time. He wants nothing more than to harm you in the cruelest way he can, and trust me; he has seen enough to make it worthwhile." Aragorn felt Valan wince slightly as he spoke, and much of the young man's fear began to radiate from the Firstborn's refusal to speak of it. "I cannot watch him torture you so, for though his ways are not unheard of he can make it count when he allows his assassin to take over. You need to beware of Mayroniel, for though he wouldn't do anything to you yet, he will be utterly ruthless when it comes to inflicting pain. Some of his ways are so painful on both mind and body you may end up taking your own life rather than endure the sight of him again, if you still have the strength to do so. I do not believe what Ralorn is doing now is right, and I'm going to prevent it if I can. Now be silent, we must get away from here."
They were passing silently by the edge of the dangerous forest, where in the distance they could see Mayroniel, Silore, and the other guards waiting for the returning riders, of whom were just returning. When Ralorn left the edge of the forest on his black stallion with another unfamiliar elf right behind him on a white horse, Valan swore under his breath and kicked the buckskin hard.
The mare leapt forward with a loud neigh, running fast toward the opposite forest, away from Ralorn and his men. Aragorn's heart was thudding wildly as Valan pushed the mare faster. There was no way Ralorn could have missed that cry.
He was right. Ralorn spotted them, and upon recognizing both the buckskin and her rider he kicked his own stallion into a gallop and raced after them. As he did so, Mayroniel and the other guards pursued on foot, yelling inaudibly as they went.
Pulling his cloak closely about him Aragorn squeezed hard with his legs and bent closer to the horse's neck, wondering why he was being rescued in a way completely unexpected and now looked as though it would fail. Valan pressed the mare to run her fastest and though she did her best, it was not nearly enough.
An arrow whistled through the air behind them and brushed by the mare's legs; she gave a little leap of surprise and dodged the other way. Valan began to direct her in a zigzag pattern so they would be a more difficult target.
Another arrow whizzed toward them and struck Valan in the leg. The elf groaned slightly but grit his teeth and did not stop or fall. One last arrow was launched and this time it flew true. It struck the mare in the rump and she fell with a grunt, collapsing into the underbrush and throwing both riders. The young ranger hit the ground hard but rolled over quickly, looking over at Valan who had landed a few feet away from him. But Aragorn didn't even have time to react before Valan suddenly too cried out as an arrow imbedded itself between his shoulder blades. He fell to the earth, moaning softly.
The mare had screamed when she landed right on her legs and was now whimpering in pain. Aragorn crawled closer to her on his way to Valan, his eyes locked with the pain-filled ones of the horse. Looking over the sweating body, he saw two legs that jutted out in odd angles. She had broken them both badly in the fall.
Ralorn arrived a moment later, his face furious but his eyes alight. He had not missed. Swinging his leg over his stallion's back he unsheathed a knife from his belt and walked over to the mare's side. He knew better than anyone else that the mare would be seriously crippled if allowed to live. With one quick move, he slit the mare's throat. The mare whinnied once, and then did not move again, her eyes turning grey and lifeless. She was gone.
Walking over to Valan's fallen form, Ralorn kicked the body hard in the ribs. Valan winced but managed to remain silent.
"I knew you were going to try something," Ralorn said angrily at Valan, his hands clenched into fists. "Ever since we left for the Northern lands."
Valan did not respond and closed his eyes, letting his head fall to the ground. Aragorn crawled over to him quickly and quietly when Ralorn looked up to his following men.
"I'm sorry," Valan whispered, turning pain-dulled eyes to the ranger. "I did try. Please beware of these elves, especially Mayroniel and Ralorn. They have much in store for you. For many months now I have been wishing for a better life than the one I've lead, so Valar willing this may count to ease my soul's passing when they see I did try. There may be something else I can do before I go." He paused and drew in a deep breath as Mayroniel began to head his way, unsheathing a knife. "Ranger, if you can, take care of the boy as well as yourself. He can help you if he trusts you." Valan's head rolled to the side, his breathing turning haggard. Mayroniel walked up behind him, his blade glinting.
Shoving the astounded ranger aside, Mayroniel waited until Ralorn nodded his head before driving his knife into Valan's abdomen. The pierce barely below his ribs made Valan gasp in pain, his breath coming in short, ragged gulps for air. Mayroniel none-to-gently yanked out his knife out of the former guard's stomach before turning away in disgust.
Aragorn reached out for the suffering elf, but his hand was kicked away and he was yanked to his feet. Mayroniel shook him hard and lead him back to Ralorn.
Ralorn looked back at the ranger dispassionately. The escape had nearly worked, but in the end the attempt was proven futile. Now that all who showed signs of disloyalty revealed, perhaps there would be no more incidents like this one. Turning to his men, he pointed to Valan who still lay on the ground near the body of the dead mare.
"Let this be a reminder or a lesson for any disloyalty. If you submitted to me, you also submit your life to my whim. I will not let treachery such as this ruin years of work." One last time Ralorn looked over at Valan, and spit on the ground. Valan was still alive, if only just. Let him die a slow, painful death. He would be lucky to live three days with an injury like that since there was no one close enough with the power to heal a wound so severe. Many of the elf's interior organs had been cut into with the weapon Mayroniel still held.
"Arahil," Ralorn directed his attention to the younger elf that had ridden up behind him. Arahil had dismounted and now stood next to his white stallion, stroking the horse's neck and speaking softly to him, his face like a pillar of stone. He had watched everything that had happened, and none of it gave him any pleasure. Rather, it made him sick at heart. Yet even so he did wish to let Ralorn know that. "This is the first of many that you will learn when you enter into my service. I don't think you'll forget it quickly."
Arahil decided not to argue, though everything in him wished he could. "I understand."
"Good."
Mayroniel pulled Aragorn after him roughly, hardly allowing the ranger a backward glance at the dying elf and the carcass of the mare behind them. He prayed that Valan knew of his thanks for the attempt, but his heart burned painfully that his short-lived freedom had been at the cost of an immortal life. Finally Mayroniel slapped him hard, and Aragorn was forced to fall in step with the guard. Understanding the elf's ruthlessness now, Aragorn winced at the firm grip on his arms.
Valan lifted his head at the passing group, watching the ranger disappear between the guards. "Be strong, Ranger... don't let go."
Arahil passed right by the fallen body and pressed his fingertips into the side of Valan's throat. The pulse was weak and slow. Valan lifted his gaze to the eyes of the young rider, and whispered only, "Take care of the Ranger and the boy."
The young elf watched the cloudy eyes grow glazed and knew that Valan had passed out from blood loss. Unwilling to leave the elf to die out in the forthcoming sun next to a dead horse, he mounted Asfaloth and rode ahead of the group, back to the trading town.
Inside, he found the local healer and urged the man to go get Valan and take care of him for what time he had left. When the man balked at the thought of offering free service, Arahil rolled his eyes at the thought of human greed and paid the man quickly. Just before the young elf left Ilmgalad with Ralorn and the other guards that night, he saw the healer and a few others carefully carrying Valan inside the walls. Content that he had done what he could, Arahil silently followed Ralorn back into the Misty Mountains.
And taking Valan's last words to him, as a complete stranger, into heart, he kept an even more close and watchful eye than what was originally intended on Aragorn... and the blind boy.