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Chapter 5: Sharp Shards
Aragorn and Legolas had passed by the easternmost edge of the fen and had turned north so that they might once more journey within the outskirts of Fangorn Forest. As they marched, they debated whether or not to detour toward Isengard in order to briefly shelter within its fortified ring. Aragorn had never been to that place and was curious to see the great tower of Orthanc. The young human's interest had been piqued by reports that the tower had been erected by magic, for its stone was reputed to be too hard to be hewn by human hands. Legolas, however, adamantly opposed the excursion, and since the Elf's vehement objections were stronger than the Man's mild curiosity, Aragorn yielded to his friend's wishes.
"You have a great dislike for Lord Saruman, don't you?" Aragorn observed as they walked along. "Why is that so, Legolas? Mithrandir trusts him, and you usually place great stock in your mentor's opinion."
"I think that in this one case Mithrandir has been blinded by partiality. Saruman is of his order. Moreover, they have labored together, and Mithrandir's memories of the past color his notions of the present."
"But, Legolas, have you any reasons for believing that Mithrandir ought to doubt Saruman?"
"I know that I can prove nothing," Legolas said slowly, "but whenever I have encountered Saruman, foul folk have flocked in his wake. It has happened far too often for me to believe that it is only a coincidence."
"Yet belief is not proof," Aragorn pointed out.
Legolas nodded unhappily. Only Galadriel shared his suspicions about Saruman. He believed that someday those suspicions would prove true, but he would take no pleasure in uttering the elven equivalent of 'I told you so', for that would mean that harm had befallen those whom he loved.
By this time they were crossing the path that would have led them to Orthanc, and they stopped in the middle of it, puzzled. They could see that a great number of feet had passed this way recently, for the soil was churned, and they could make out that the throng had included Orcs, Men, and Elves, a most peculiar collocation. Moreover, the Men were not shod as the Men of Rohan were. Aragorn wrinkled his brow. "Legolas," he said worriedly, "those look like the marks of Southron traders that Halbarad pointed out to me upon a time."
Legolas nodded somberly. He recognized the marks. He had first seen such spoor in the company of Glorfindel, who had trained him as a tracker. "The tracks of Men and Orcs are to the outside," he pointed out. "The Elves are all in the center."
"Captives," Aragorn said bleakly.
"And heading toward Isengard," Legolas said flatly.
"Perhaps," opined Arargorn, trying to put matters in the best light, "Saruman is going to redeem them."
"Do you really believe that?"
Aragorn considered. If the captives were being taken to Isengard, and Saruman redeemed them, well and good. But if not? Quickly, he reached a decision.
"Legolas, we must try to free the captives before they reach Isengard. If we do nothing, great and irremediable harm may result. If we rescue them, we may be doing Saruman an injustice, but it would be far worse if through inaction we consigned the innocent to an eternity of suffering."
Legolas naturally agreed, and the young Elf and human turned toward the north, following the path to Isengard. As they walked, they discussed how they might effect a rescue.
"I reckon there are a dozen Orcs, and half as many Men—too many for us to take them on directly," Legolas opined. "We must rely upon stealth."
"Aye, and upon those of the captives who are able to assist in their own rescue."
Night fell but the moon rose, and by its light Aragorn and Legolas continued their pursuit. At last they drew near the spot where their quarry had made camp, and it was as they feared. In the center of a clearing huddled seven Elves. All but the youngest, a tiny elfling who clung to his mother, were bound hand and foot. Around them twelve Orcs and eight Men lay sleeping. A thirteenth Orc stood watch. To Legolas, the light watch was yet another sign of Saruman's treachery. For why would the slavers set such a light guard unless they felt that there was little chance that they would be assailed so close to Isengard? There was no time to dwell on the question, however; the sooner they freed the captives and escaped from this place, the better.
The two friends had agreed that Aragorn would dispose of the most of their foes whilst Legolas would free the captives. "The Elves may be frightened if approached by a Man," Legolas had pointed out, "but they will trust one of their own kind." The Orc guard, however, they would take out together.
Carefully they crept up to the guard, keeping just within the bushes. Legolas positioned himself to the right; Aragorn to the left. Legolas made a slight noise. The Orc looked his direction, turning his back toward Aragorn. The creature took one step toward the Elf's hiding place. Suddenly, his head was yanked backward, and a flash of silver crossed his throat. His head was released, and for a moment he stood, a look of surprise upon his face. Then, without his ever having uttered a sound, his legs crumpled and he collapsed to the ground. Clutching his bloodied knife, Aragorn knelt beside the dead Orc and yanked the creature's knife from its belt and tossed it to Legolas, who slipped from cover and into the midst of the camp. He knelt by one of the male Elves and cut his bonds with the Orc knife. Leaving that blade with the freed prisoner, he drew his own knife and cut the bonds of a second captive, while the newly freed prisoner freed a third one.
Aragorn, meanwhile, crept to a slumbering slaver and dispatched him with the same efficiency with which he had done away with the Orc guard. The third freed Elf slipped to the body of this slaver. Retrieving the corpse's knife, the Elf moved on to cut the bonds of yet another Elf.
This went on for several more minutes until the elfling, watching wide-eyed, began to whimper. The sound roused one of the Southrons who slept nearby. Groggily, he opened his eyes, and slowly the scene registered upon his brain. Suddenly he sat up with a shout that aroused the other surviving Men and Orcs.
Hastily Legolas cut the bonds of the last Elf. This one, with no weapon, fled into the woods with three female Elves and the elfling. The other two Elves remained with Legolas and Aragorn as a rear guard. Parrying the swords and scimitars of their foes, they slowly retreated. At last, when Legolas deemed that enough time had passed so that the elfling and females, with their male escort, had had an adequate head start, he gave the signal to retreat.
Aragorn was fleet of foot but no match for an Elf. As they fled, he fell a little behind the others. As for their foes, one of them, a Southron, was a little swifter than his fellows and drew ahead of them. With a sudden burst of speed, this Southron caught up with Aragorn and tackled him. He had no mind to kill him, though, because a slaver is always ruled by thoughts of profit. If the Elves had escaped, at least he could sell this young human and so recoup in part his losses.
When the Southron had brought him down, Aragorn had fallen upon his sword arm. It bent at an odd angle, and Aragorn felt a sharp pain shoot its length. Nevertheless, he fought hard to break the Southron's hold. "Stop struggling, boy," the Man grunted. "I'm not going to hurt you." Aragorn put no stock in such promises, however, and brought his knee up hard into his captor's groin. With a shriek, the Man released his hold upon Aragorn, who staggered to his feet and ran after his fleeing comrades. Abruptly, however, he was yanked backward. Greed trumping pain, the Southron had surged to his feet and managed to lay hold of Aragorn's pack. Desperately, Aragorn wriggled free of it. Roaring in frustration, the Southron threw it aside, and Aragorn heard the crash of breaking glass as the pack smashed against his tree. The next sound he heard was that of a knife whirring past his head, followed by a howl. Then silence fell. Aragorn looked back. The Southron stood slumped against a tree, a knife protruding from his chest. As Aragorn watched, the Southron slid dead to the forest floor. Suddenly the young Man jumped as someone seized his arm—his good arm, fortunately. It was Legolas. The Elf had heard the Southron shriek, realized that Aragorn had fallen behind, and raced back for him. "Aragorn," he said urgently, "run on. I will get the pack."
"Leave it," cried Aragorn. "The goblets are broken."
"I want my knife, anyway," retorted Legolas, shoving Aragorn in the direction the others had gone.
In a few moments, Legolas rejoined his friend, who was angry to see that the Elf had paused to retrieve the pack as well as the knife.
"Are you mad?" the young human gasped through the pain that jarred him with every step he took.
"Save your breath to speed your pace," Legolas shot back. "You are slowing us down."
"Then leave me," Aragorn gasped. Legolas was right; he was slowing them down, and their foes grew ever nearer. The young Man could hear the shouts of their pursuers and the crack of broken branches as they trampled all before them. Then he noticed that Legolas was unfastening the pack as he ran. Once it was open, the Elf upended it and, trailing it behind him, scattered its contents upon the ground. A few of the goblets were unbroken, but Legolas did not care. They would serve his purpose, for their heedless pursuers would trample upon them, with predictable results.
Aragorn was grinning now, his delight in Legolas' cleverness outweighing the pain of a broken arm. When they had been tracking their enemies, he had noticed that they were shod in light footgear, such as would be suitable for lurking in a forest whose deep leaf litter cushioned every footfall. Legolas had noticed, too.
Suddenly the air was rent with shrieks and howls. Their pursuers had reached the patch of broken goblets. Aragorn and Legolas ran on. Little by little the sounds receded, and at length nothing was heard but birdsong.