Forgive my long departure from the updating of this tale, but with school and work my muse has left me for a little while but has at long last returned. This is a shortish chapter, though essential. Chapter 17 which is already completed lies in wait on my computer. We return to the east and leave the family of Elrond behind, though not forever. I apologize for my interpretation of them if it struck you as insulting or far from cannon, but believe me it gets better. As always read and review please. gratis
Fire surrounded them- so to did death at the edge of an iron scimitar- in that moment it did not matter who was prisoner or who was guard, only survival mattered. Tal-ano, lifted his sword and the unsheathing of curved steel resounded as the snarls of the creatures before them barked into the night sky. Oddly enough the shouts of women and children were not to be found. The small band of men was not completely surrounded, to their rear stood the burning tent-hall, which began to fall into ruin as fire ate the beams that supported it. The elder chieftains held forth their staves as though they were weapons capable of firing flames and lightning from the gourds that dangled from their tip. The elderly women also stood in defense, yet they drew small knives of stone or steel that were clasped to their belts. Between these few and the hoard of orcs stood the guards who had survived the intrusion each brandishing a curved blade or a tightly drawn bow, and one elf, holding in his hand the small knife of an old woman. The old men dressed in sea blue held a close converse with one another as the circle of cursed beasts inched toward them, rejoicing in the easy victory.
"There can be no victory this night Alatar, death will come to these men…"
"Have faith dear friend, hope will come…"
"How can that be so… How can you possibly consider that there is hope here… this is a cruel, dark world, and I fear I followed you into my own oblivion."
"Then leave, the road westward lies open to you still… All that remains for you is to but speak one word and you will leave this world behind…"
"You wish me to leave you in this peril? That I cannot do…"
"Well then, I suppose there is but one choice left to us…"
It was then that the face of Alatar shimmered as though the light of ancient day lay upon it, to the eyes of the elf who saw it the memory of Melian in her glory reverberated in his mind. From the sea-blue cloak the old man wore came his pearlescent hand wrapped around an object most curious, as it shone like the crecscent moon that hung low in the western sky. The colors of dawn tinted the surface and laces of silver, outlining a tree, traversed across its smooth and pearl-like body. To the lips of this shimmering man the horn was placed and time stood still. The intake of his breath, and the gentle note that first resounded spoke of ancient days in the minds of the elves and men, and then the music from that beautiful horn burst forth as though no words could describe it, in any tongue or way of speech of man, elf, or dwarf now or in the future of the world.
To the ears of the men it burst forth in one, long, sonorous note that shook the material of their bones and awoke the hearts of they who lay in a stupor of shock and hopelessness. To the elf sang it sang forth in a myriad of tunes, each one more glorious than the first, and in him awoke a gentle image of a large inland sea to the west of where he stood, beneath the stars that shone in the days before the sun. And to the cruel beasts that pushed forth the sound was dreadful and filled with threat and unknown fear. They stopped in their attack and looked all around them, believing they would see a vast army in any direction ready to come upon them in a fire of rage and furious contempt. Fear took their feet and from that small band they ran in every direction, even into the running waters of the river that cut through that land to their death. As the beasts fled the sound of the horn to the tear-filled eyes of Tal-ano came the sight of that cruel band of men led by their gold-laden captain. They too ceased their escape to hear the tune of that horn and fear was written upon their faces, yet as soon as it had faded from the existence of the world they too began to flee the terror that the fleeing orcs brought to their minds. For if such a thing caused fear in those callous hearts how could they too not be fearful of it.
Tal-ano, with courage in his breast shouted to the gold-laden captain,
"So, my brother, where lies your courage when your slaves run, and choose not to defend you! A coward you remain and a shame upon your family!"
Yet no word of reply came from that man, as he turned his horse and sped into the darkness of the late night; the man Tal-ano turned his back to the fleeing hoard of men and laid his eyes upon the seemingly tired form of the old man, whose weary limbs that once held a now vanished horn leant upon an elf for support. One of the old chieftains leant him his staff and knelt before him; Alatar with a look of worry upon his face made a motion with his hand for the man to rise, though the chieftain would not listen. It was then that the sound of an arrow entered Tal-ano's ear as it passed not but a few inches from his head. It was quickly followed by the sound of a young woman crying in pain, and the sight of Cidrhali falling to her knees as she held her pierced arm, nursing the pain. The man turned then and saw only the form of a man dressed in black flee into the darkness, and as the man began to run after it, the voice of his father came to him,
"Tal-ano! Now is not the time for vengence! Take heed of your people!"
And with a clenched fist the man turned and ran to the side of his sister whose wound was already being cared for by the medicine woman Jzathi-ma-ala. Celebrin, however, looked deep into the darkness where the man fled and noted the direction he went as far as his elf eyes could see. He then turned his attention to the wounded woman who had saved his life, and met her eyes as though she were watching him the entire time. She bore her pain well as the barbed arrow was pushed though her arm, keeping her ever lively eyes upon the elf as she gave to him an encouraging smile.
In case anyone was thrown by the action of the sequence the "horn" that Alatar used was none other than the Valaroma. Alatar and Pallando were Maia of Orome, whose famous horn brought fear to all the hearts of the servants of Sauron.