Chapter 16

Meeting

"We are not getting anywhere!" Cuiladan hissed to his brothers as he slapped at another mosquito. Though it was still spring, and the night air was cool, swarms of these little parasites had emerged as soon as the three decided to leave their small circle. Of course, Elladan and Elrohir seemed to avoid these nuisances, but without the privileges of an elf, Cuiladan was the soon covered with small, itchy bumps.

"Sh!" Elladan hissed.

All three stopped moving and listened intently, but there was only the soft swishing of the wind above them. Cuiladan, annoyed and worried sick of Estel, proceeded to continue, but was grabbed by Elrohir, who glared at him in the dark. Apparently, he had heard something that Cuiladan had not. The man followed his gaze to the small patch of tall undergrowth before them.

At first, he saw nothing.

Then, just to be sure, he stuck a finger in his mouth and held it up in the dense air to check.

There was certainly no wind so low to the forest floor, but the bushes and vegetation before them were moving.

Snaga neared, knife in hand, holding it threateningly close so the boy could not move his head without cutting his jugular. Estel's hands were still tied behind him so that his fingers were pressed painfully into his back. He dared not move.

"Turn around, you useless piece of meat!" the Orc spoke gutturally.

No! the boy's mind cried. If he did, he would be at the complete mercy of the foul creature. He had no desire to be humiliated in such a degrading way. He hesitated, legs splayed like an idiot, with his tunic going just past mid-thigh.

"Do it!" Snaga hissed.

How could he get out of this? Fantastic escape plans and unrealistic thoughts strayed through his mind, but he knew that they would most likely get him killed. I need to stay alive for Naneth and Cuiladan, he thought. There had to be a way out of this living hell.

Without thinking, he suddenly struck out. He brought up his right leg until his knee was nearly touching his chest and kicked up, hoping his aim was true. The Valar seemed to be smiling upon him, for Snaga flew backwards, letting go of the knife and holding the area between his bowed legs.

With his remaining strength, Estel jumped to his feet before the other Orcs around could react. The Voice seemed to have moved on to something else, as its presence was no longer in the cave, and it did not know what had happened. The boy's vision blurred slightly as the altitude made him light-headed, and he blinked away the spots around his eyes.

"Get him!" another guttural voice sounded, and he heard the ringing of metal.

Go! his mind shouted, and he ran blindly forward, unable to think clearly. Why had Cuiladan, Elrohir, and Elladan never given him any advice on how to escape a den full of Orcs with his hands tied behind his back?

Because you probably cannot, the sarcastic part of his mind told him. He was surprised that he was still capable of irony when he could not even find a way to move past his first Orc.

Use your head! Cuiladan had told him.

Sounds good, his mind replied dryly, and he stumbled forward, head down, running without any balance with his hands tied behind him, and charged the nearest Orc. It must have been so surprised that it forgot about the weapon in its hand because Estel's head connected with its stomach armor and his sheer momentum forced it off its feet.

It fell back into its partner's sword, and next moment, was looking at a strange piece of metal protruding from his chest before it died. The other Orc, weighed down by the dead, yelled for the others to kill the boy.

Snaga seemed to have recovered behind him and rose with double its vengeance, the wicked-looking knife still in hand. As the others advanced, Estel knew he had to back up. Turning so that he stood perpendicular to both parties, he began to crab-walk towards Snaga.

The Orc snarled and leaped for the kill just as the other two charged forward. The boy looked left and right, head spinning and not knowing what to do. He was sure he would die between the two blades, as he had nothing but his flesh to protect him. At the last second, his feet seemed to unfreeze and he stepped back until he touched the sticky wall of the cave behind him.

The creatures could not stop in time and collided, one of the swords finding its way through Snaga's throat. It gurgled, and the boy shuddered as fountains of crimson spread across the dirt. The other Orc cried out, a knife through its stomach and fell forward, its face crushed into the ground.

Surprised at his good luck, Estel faked a right and dodged by the other two Orcs who followed his first move, his heart beating faster all the while. He could barely make out what was in front of him because of the dim torchlights, but he continued forward, loping strangely like an injured dog. He did not look back, but kept running, dimly aware of the snarling and yelling that was occurring behind him.

Once in a while, he saw the orange flicker of torchlights around him, but for the most part, all he remembered of that night's run was the darkness in front of him and the cool, almost moist, dirt beneath his bare feet. After a time, even the occasional, faint call of the Orcs faded away, and he fell blissfully into the oncoming night and sound of his feet on the ground.

The cool night air caught him by surprise, and the breeze in his face started him. He was not aware that he had emerged from the cave, but suddenly, he could see the stars above his head. His mind seemed to reengage, and he realized that he had not seen stars since he arrived in Mirkwood forest.

His eyes swept the ground, lit by the moon and stars, and he realized that stumps scattered across the undergrowth where trees had once been. They had been cut down, but to feed what? He moved his face to the south and gasped at what he saw.

A black tower loomed before him, dark and fearsome in the wholesome night. Estel felt as if there was a raging fire engulfing the surroundings of this pinnacle, though nothing but dead shrubs could be seen for three hundred paces all around. Something other than night created the darkness around the tower, and something other than good lived within its walls.

All at once, he knew where he was. He had heard about it in his childhood at Rivendell, and its title had been spoken with shudders during his first adventure. This, he finally understood, was the dreaded stronghold and city of Dol Guldur.

Suddenly, the rustling behind the vegetations stopped. Cuiladan held his breath and waited. Nothing moved.

"What is it?" Elrohir asked quietly, his voice just barely audible, as he stood right behind the man's ear.

"Don't know," Elladan spoke back with the same volume. "Perhaps nothing. Could be just a rabbit."

Cuiladan's hand found its way to the sword at his hip. Slowly, without a sound, he loosed it from its sheath. "Could be," he whispered back. "Except rabbits do not come this far south in Mirkwood Forest."

He saw that Elladan's hand was going to his hip as well, where his long knife was. "On my count," he said. "One." Cuiladan's sword was half way out of its sheath already. "Two." Elrohir removed his elven blade from his back. "THREE!"

The two elves rushed forward, just as two shafts flew in their direction. Only their lightning quick senses stopped them from being shot, as they immediately dodged to the sides, the arrow flying harmlessly by and planting themselves in the trunks of trees, just as Cuiladan ducked.

Before Elladan and Elrohir could get back into position, Cuiladan found himself facing three dark figures with blades above their heads. He gave a cry, forgetting where he was, and leaped forward, his sword at the ready.

To his surprise, the three figures stopped and jumped back as he came at them. One of them was sensible enough to parry his blow with a swift knife. It was so powerful that it knocked the blade out of the man's hand. In the dark, he heard it fly and land harmlessly with a whoosh in a pile of vegetation.

"Cuiladan, stop!"

He froze at the familiar voice, and took a step back, almost tripping over a root. His throat went dry, but he did not have to respond, for one of the twins whispered hoarsely, "Ranien?"

Not having the eyes of an elf, the man could not see anything except a few black shadows among the trees, but he finally recognized the voice. "Yes, it is I. Gildor and Lindir are here as well," the wood elf spoke quietly.

"What are you doing this way?" Elladan asked. "Were you not sent in the other direction?"

Lindir's musical voice interrupted the conversation. "Precisely. But Ranien has a connection with the trees of this forest. They remember the way that the Orcs went. He can see their thoughts and memories."

The small band was silent for a second, each member very glad that they had found each other. It meant that there was still hope, for the six of them to find each other in such a large area. Perhaps they would actually find Estel. No. Not perhaps, Cuiladan thought firmly. We will find Estel.

"So he has been leading you?" Elrohir asked thoughtfully.

"Yes," Gildor grumbled. "And more and more to the south, I might add."

Of all the elves, Gildor was the least comfortable in the forest. The darkness and the oppressing air seemed to close tighter and tighter around him the more south he went. He loathed the forest, and that was not to mention the great evil that he knew lay in Dol Guldur.

"Then you shall continue to lead," Elrohir said. "The forest is your home, Ranien. You know it better than any of us. Please, lead us to Estel."

"Follow me," Ranien answered, and prayed to the Valar that the trees would not fail him.

TBC...

Please review, everyone! I know I haven't been updating, but I finally got my AP scores back, and I can continue writing, so reviews encourage me... :)