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Chapter 3: Elf in Boots
Several more days passed without any sign of Legolas's "fruitful friends," as Mithrandir insisted on calling them. Then, as the Elf and the wizard sat in camp one night, a branch suddenly detached itself from a bush and crept toward them. Mithrandir, as was his custom after the evening meal, had been smoking a pipe and sending smoke creatures to hover over the head of Legolas, who was doing his best to ignore them. Stubbornly he occupied himself in polishing a knife that had already been buffed to a brightness that rivaled the light of the full moon that shone down upon them.
"Legolas," Mithrandir muttered from around his pipe stem, "I believe that your love of plants and wild creatures is once again about to bear fruit, so to speak."
"Ha ha," Legolas said dryly. He put down his knife, drew another coin from his pouch, and tossed it at the feet of the bush. He expected that the coin would be taken up hastily and that the bush would retreat, leaving behind a trove of nuts or fruit. Instead, the bush remained quite still, the coin lying untouched upon the ground.
Mithrandir had been smiling, the lines crinkling about his eyes in the pattern so familiar to Legolas, but now he grew solemn. "I have never known a Dunlending child to hesitate at the sight of a coin. You had better go see what that bush wants."
Legolas nodded. He unbuckled his belt, leaving even the sheath of his knife behind, and walked slowly toward the visitor. When he was a meter away, he sat cross-legged upon the ground, his hands in his laps, palms upward. The bush spoke.
"Master, you are being tracked."
"Are we?" Legolas said calmly.
"Aye, and by nasty creatures, too. They are Goblins come down from the mountains. They are many in number."
"How many?"
"Thrice the number of days in a turning of the moon."
"Are they well led?"
"They came down from the mountain and picked up your path straightaway, as if they knew where to find it. And, Master, they travel swiftly. Only when the sun is at its height do they pause to rest. Other than that, they travel both by day and by night. I think they know who it is they track."
Legolas nodded his understanding. "I thank you, Master Bush."
At these words, a giggle came from behind the bough. Then, to Legolas's delight, a face peaked out. It was a grubby face—'twice as dirty as Estel ever was', Legolas thought to himself—but the smile on the face bespoke goodness and well-intended curiosity. Legolas nodded toward the coin. "Take it, Master Bush."
"Nay, Master Elf. You left a coin for the apples worth three times their value."
"Take it nonetheless. It is a gift."
The child hesitated, and Legolas smiled at him in encouragement. Slowly the child reached for the coin and closed his hand upon it. He looked up at the Elf. "I did not come for a reward," he whispered, a trace of defiance in his voice. 'He knows', Legolas thought sadly to himself, 'how little his folk are regarded outside the borders of their impoverished lands'.
"Master Bush," said the Elf, "do you know ought of the descendants of Hugh the Farmer, whose touch would turn a withered vine green?"
"Aye, I do. No family is more greatly esteemed in this land."
"Go to them. Tell them that Legolas of Mirkwood, known to them upon a time as Anomen, foster-son of Elrond, sends them a stout-hearted youth whom they would do well to take into their service. Proffer them that coin in earnest of what you say. It will be the fee for your apprenticeship."
The boy's eyes grew wide. Legolas arose and offered the lad his hand, pulling him to his feet.
"And tell your companions that the next time I or my companion passes through this land, they should not squander apples as missiles."
The boy grinned. Legolas released his hand and clasped him upon the shoulder. "Stay well, Master Bush."
"And you, Master Elf." The boy stepped back, bowed, and walked briskly from the clearing. He held his shoulders straight. Legolas smiled briefly at the sight, but then, all seriousness, he returned to Mithrandir.
"We must break camp at once," he said to the wizard.
"Ah, I rather thought that would be the outcome of the interview," Mithrandir said calmly, tapping his pipe bowl upon the earth and then shoving the pipe into his bag. "What sort of peril do we face?"
"Well nigh one-hundred Orcs."
"Come down from their lairs in the Misty Mountains?"
"Aye, and there may be an intelligence behind their movements."
"Sauron, no doubt."
Legolas shrugged. They had reached the southernmost portion of Dunland, nigh unto the Gap of Rohan but also, to Legolas's way of thinking, much too close to that portion of Fangorn Forest where Orthanc was situated within the ring of Isengard. If Orcs came swarming down from the Misty Mountains, it seemed to him that it was more likely Saruman's doing than Sauron's, whose lands were still distant. Yet he knew that it would do no good to suggest this to Mithrandir. The wizard's next words, however, almost broke Legolas's resolve to avoid arguing over the matter.
"Well," Mithrandir was saying briskly, "if we are being followed by Orcs, we have got to lose them before we venture onto the Plains of Rohan, where there is no cover for anything larger than a hare. The best thing to do would be to shelter at Isengard for a spell."
'For a spell?' thought Legolas bitterly. "Aye, for a spell to be cast, like as not—and on us!' Aloud, however, he tried to state his objections in as neutral a tone as possible. "Mithrandir," he opined, "we should be going miles out of our way if we journeyed to Isengard."
"Nonsense, my lad. We would still be heading south."
"East," corrected Legolas.
"Southeast," rejoined the wizard.
Legolas opened his mouth to reply, but suddenly closed it. He seized Mithrandir's cloak and leaped for cover, pulling his friend after him.
"What—" began the wizard.
"Hush!" the Elf hissed. Mithrandir fell silent. Soon he could hear it, too: the tramp of dozens of heavily shod feet—distant but not distant enough.
"No time for a retreat to Isengard," Legolas whispered. "Mithrandir, against such a large company, you must use your staff."
Mithrandir looked troubled. "I am not sure that I should, Legolas. In fact, I am not even sure that I can."
Legolas was bewildered. "Why ever not?"
"My son, I am a Maia, not a Vala. I am not sure how many spells I am permitted."
"Permitted?" repeated Legolas.
"Yes. I do not know for a fact that I have an unlimited number of spells, at least not of the major sort. I may only be allowed a certain number for the totality of my stay in Middle-earth. Or I may only be allowed a certain number during any given period of time—one a week, perhaps, or one a fortnight. You know that I have always been sparing of my magic, and that is one of the reasons. I used a blasting spell two months back to escape those Orcs who cornered me in the Pass of Caradhras. I am very much afraid to repeat the performance so soon after the event. If I fail, we may be worse off than if we tried some other avenue."
"Very well, then," said Legolas, taking a deep breath. "We shall have to hit upon that other avenue, shan't we? Lend me your boots."
"My boots?"
"They make deeper marks than my shoes, and they are in the style of a Man, not an Elf. Men move more slowly than Elves. The Orcs know this. We have been traveling together. If the Orcs see only one set of tracks, and those the Man's, they will assume that the Elf has gone on ahead to scout out the trail. They will continue to follow the Man, believing that by doing so they must perforce be following the Elf as well."
"Actually," Mithrandir said thoughtfully, "it is possible that they do not even know that they have been following both an Elf and a Man. You scarce leave a trace that could be descried by a Ranger, let alone an Orc."
"Even better," said Legolas, "for then without a doubt they shall not trouble themselves to look for any trail other than the Man's."
"Which shall in fact be your trail. What will I be doing in the meanwhile?"
"Hiding in yonder tree. If you walk upon those stones, you should be able to reach it without leaving a trace. I shall remain nearby until I am certain that they are falling for the ruse. Then I shall lead them far from here until I am able to give them the slip at a river ford. They will think I have made the passage and shall look fruitlessly for me on the other side. Meanwhile, I shall circle back and rejoin you."
Nodding agreement, Mithrandir pulled off his boots and handed them to Legolas. Then, in his stocking feet, he walked gingerly over to the tree that Legolas had pointed out. Thrusting his staff into his belt, he pulled himself arm over arm into the tree, demonstrating, as usual, a strength that belied his agéd appearance. Legolas, meanwhile, strode to the tree line east of the clearing, being careful to leave clear tracks. Once under cover, he turned to keep watch over the tree in which Mithrandir was now hidden.
Shortly after Elf and wizard had gotten into position, the Orcs came shambling into the clearing. They began to pass by the tree, but then, suddenly, one of the smaller Orcs stumbled with fatigue and fell. Lifting his face from the dirt, he began to yowl, directing his rage at a larger Orc who seemed to be the leader of the band.
"I ain't goin' another step widout no rest!" he howled at the Orc chieftain. At once the larger Orc drew his scimitar. Among Orcs, it was generally the rule that a mouth opened in protest would upon the instant close in death. In this case, however, the smaller Orc was saved by his companions, who, exhausted as he, immediately threw themselves upon the ground. They did not do so out of any concern for their companion, but without meaning to they created a blockade around him. The chieftain, like most Goblin leaders, did not possess genuine courage. He had risen to his rank by his willingness to bully the small and weak, and he took care never to take on more than one foe at a time. He therefore contented himself with aiming a savage kick at a runt Orc on the outskirts of the huddle who lacked the spirit and the strength to strike back.
Elves, unlike Men, do not sweat; otherwise Legolas would have been perspiring now. Orcs lay thickly at the very base of the tree in which Mithrandir was hidden. Orcs can only be described as one-dimensional creatures, not inclined to raise their eyes heavenward; but Legolas worried over what would happen if a branch or bit of bark was dislodged and fell upon one of the Goblins, prompting him to look up. Mithrandir had climbed as high as he dared, but a lucky glance might still lead to his discovery if one of the less stupid Orcs realized that a grey robe did not belong in a tree.
It was not a falling branch, however, that finally caught the attention of the Orcs. One of the creatures, gaping, arose to make water. As he fumbled at his garments, he suddenly let out a howl and clutched at his vitals. The other Orcs, thinking he had suffered a wardrobe malfunction, hooted and jeered at him.
"Caught his bits in his britches," guffawed one.
"Did—not," gasped the victim, who, as he was bent over double, was having great difficulty breathing, let alone speaking.
Legolas, too, was having difficulty breathing, but in his case it was because he was trying to stifle his own laughter. He knew the source of the Orc's ailment, and he suspected that the other Orcs would soon discover it as well.
Sure enough, the entire band of Orcs was suddenly showered with missiles—and not mushy apples, either, but rocks. Some of them were as large as apples, though. These well-aimed stones rained in from three sides. Only from the east, the direction in which Legolas wished to lead the Orcs, did no missiles fly.
Howling, the Orcs lumbered to their feet and lurched eastward, toward the Misty Mountains. As they fled, they flailed their arms about in a futile attempt to fend off the stones that rained down upon them. Their chieftain seized this as an opportunity to try to reestablish his standing. "Ye see," he gloated, "what comes of stopping without orders. Next time you'll listen to me and not find yerselves in such a fix." These words he underscored by kicking his subalterns and hitting at them with the flat of his scimitar. Too demoralized to fight back, the Orc underlings fell back into their ranks. "Move on! Move on!" bellowed the chieftain. "Here's the trail, clear enough. Follow it, you maggots!"
This trail that the Orcs were now scrambling after was growing longer by the minute. As soon as Legolas saw the Orcs stampeding toward him, he abandoned his hiding place and loped eastward, leaving in his wake a set of exceptionally clear marks. He meant to lead the Orcs back toward their lairs, and he suspected that, when he finally gave them the slip, it would take a strong-willed leader to turn them toward the west again. In that hope, he ran swiftly toward the Misty Mountains.