Chapter Two

The orcs came at the four elven warriors with their scimitars raised and a yell upon their twisted lips. As soon as they were within reach of their enemy, they started swinging.

It didn’t work out quite the way the orcs had planned. Even with four dead companions reducing their ranks, they outnumbered the elves and thus believed they would ultimately win this confrontation.

Amid slashing blades on both sides, orc bodies piled up, and the desperate battle soon ended. All eleven orcs lay dead, covered in their own foul black blood. Likewise the elven blades were covered in that same blood. Only one orcish scimitar showed any smear of red on its surface. That was the result of a shallow cut on Coron’s right arm.

In less than an hour, the bodies of the orcs had been thrown on a pile of dead wood and set on fire. The elves hated the idea of orc ashes swirling through their forest, but they hated even more the idea of the forest being fouled by leaving the corpses to rot.

Legolas looked up and offered his apology to the trees for the affront. They were not offended and did their best to relieve the prince of any guilt he bore.

Satisfied with what they had accomplished, the elven warriors moved away from the flaming pyre to avoid the acrid smell of burning flesh that was being carried in the thick smoke billowing through this part of the forest.

When they reached a tranquil place that would allow them to find rest, they dropped down on the grass, more weary than they wanted to admit. Here they would clean their blades and properly tend to Coron’s wound.

Galáril took hold of the younger elf’s arm and began to scrutinize the cut. “There is no evidence of poison. I think you will live,” he pronounced confidently, working to hold back a grin.

“That is good news,” Coron replied. “I was worried there for a while.” He was only half teasing, because in truth, he had feared the orc blade that cut him might have been covered with a poison the orcs were known to sometimes use.

Legolas shook his head and smiled. “I am glad to hear it, as well. It took Coron long enough to decide to become a warrior. I would not wish to lose him after so short a time, not to mention the time and expense the realm has spent training him.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Coron replied to his prince in a teasing manner, his head dipping slightly in respect. “I am glad to know I am so valued by the royal House of Oropher.”

“We are short of warriors,” Galáril said totally straight-faced, in an attempt to bring the younger elf back down to reality.

Coron merely made a face at him.

Sitting near the base of a large sheltering tree, Legolas laughed softly and then prepared to clean his knives. There was no stream nearby, and he wanted to conserve what water he carried with him, so he would do what he always did in that circumstance: He would use dirt.

Taking the knife in his left hand, he plunged it down into the earth. When he pulled it free, all the orc blood that had covered it was gone, except for a small bit that remained against the guard between hilt and blade. Using a small piece of cloth, he cleaned first the blood and then the dirt that clung to the engravings in the metal. In just a few moments, the blade was as clean and shiny as it had been before the fight.

Replacing this knife in its sheath on his back, Legolas then plunged the other knife down between two roots beside his right leg. He heard a crunching noise as the knife met some resistance.

An instant later, he felt a tingle travel up his arm, causing an involuntary shudder to run through his whole body. ‘I must have hit a buried rock,’ he surmised, though he was not able to figure out why he had shuddered. The jolt of hitting the rock was the conclusion he came to before dismissing the incident.

When he withdrew the knife from the ground, he cleaned and then examined it carefully. He saw no scratches or nicks on its surface. Satisfied that no damage had been done by the hidden rock, he sheathed the knife next to its mate and turned his attention back to his friends.

Galáril waited only a short time before rising and saying, “Two of us must get back to the palace and report this to the king, while the other two try to make contact with the western patrol. I fear there may be other orc scouting parties in the area.”

Legolas looked at his friend. “You think these were not the only ones?”

“I hope I am wrong, but I believe the main orc band would send more than one party of scouts out, if they intended to do something as important as attack us in our own forest.”

“They would never be successful against the palace. It can become an impenetrable fortress at the first sign of trouble.” Legolas reasoned.

“I do not fear for the king or his house,” Galáril replied. He glanced briefly at Legolas and then looked away. Out here, the prince was not as safe as the king would wish, however skilled his son might be. “I fear for those who live in the forest settlements too far from the palace to reach it quickly in an emergency. They could be overrun very quickly.”

“My father worries about that, as well. Yet he is reluctant to force all of his people to live within easy reach of the palace‘s direct protection.”

Legolas knew that Thranduil, trying to balance his people’s cherished freedom with their need for safety, believed that it might be just a matter of time before a move was forced to take place What had just occurred with the orc scouts might push that decision even closer to the forefront.

“Arondo and I can go to find the patrol,” Legolas volunteered. He saw a grin on Arondo’s face at the idea.

“And stay there to help, of course,” Arondo added.

Officially, Galáril outranked Legolas when it came to military matters and could give him orders and expect to be obeyed. But in all other matters, he was outranked, because when all was said and done, Legolas was still his prince, though he never felt that Legolas took advantage of his royal position.

Galáril took Legolas’s remark as an attempt to offer himself and Arondo as volunteers for the task rather than any form of demand that they be sent. He knew the king would rather his son be home, but Galáril would not demean Legolas‘s warrior standing by making an exception for him. “You anticipated my idea perfectly, Legolas, I will report to Thranduil and make sure that Coron sees a healer.”

The elder warrior and his younger companion headed straight away to the east, wasting no time in getting word of the orc band to the king.

Legolas turned to Arondo. “The tracks Galáril and I found earlier indicate that the patrol is north of us.“ He grinned. “Shall we?“

Arondo nodded and grinned back. “After you, my lord.” He swept his arm forward and bowed, almost doubling over. He loved teasing his friend. The only time he was ever really serious about calling Legolas ’My Lord’ was during formal occasions or in the presence of the king. His grin widened.

Legolas straightened his back, squared his shoulders and raised his chin a little higher than normal. Summoning all the royal arrogance he could muster, the Prince of Mirkwood started forward, flicking his hand in dismissal of this annoying subject.

After a moment, both of them burst out laughing. It was an old, familiar ‘game’ between them. The two friends began to run, mindful that despite this bit of humor, a serious task lay before them.

Legolas had gone no more than twenty yards, when another shudder shot through his body. It felt as if a cold wind had blown across his soul. At the same instant his vision darkened. The forest dimmed, as if night had suddenly fallen. He shuddered yet again, only this time it was deliberate. He was trying to shake off the strange feeling that seemed determined to settle over him.

He had never felt anything like this before in all his years. Perhaps the foul smoke from the burning orc bodes had affected him. Unusual, since he had been exposed to orc-burnings many times, but he could think of no other reason for it.

He continued walking, and soon his vision cleared, and he now felt physically normal. Luckily he was ahead of Arondo, so that his friend could not see the perplexed expression on his face.

*~*~*~*

At Galáril’s insistence, Coron had gone off to be seen by a healer. So it was that only the elder elf was ushered into King Thranduil‘s presence.

The dark-haired elf bowed his head and made a fist over his heart in respectful salute to his king. He raised his head but kept his hand in place until he was acknowledged.

Thranduil nodded and waved his hand, putting Galáril at ease. He looked at the elf, who had been his friend, since he and his father, Oropher, had first arrived in Greenwood. The king’s face was impassive, but his eyes were questioning.

Galáril easily read the king’s look. “I sent Legolas, along with Arondo, to find the western patrol.”

Knowing there had to be a very good reason for doing that, Thranduil asked, ““What have you found?”

Before Galáril could answer, Fuinor, the elf who handled the day-to-day operation of the realm‘s security, entered the room from a side entrance to the left of where Thranduil sat.

“Excuse my tardiness, my lord,” he said, bowing to the king. “There was a matter I could not avoid.” He hated being late for any type of meeting, even informal ones, but he and Thranduil had worked together for so long that there was no need for embarrassment on his part. He gave a small nod in greeting to Galáril.

Thranduil nodded to Fuinor and turned back to Galáril. He did not repeat his question verbally but raised his eyebrows in an inquiring gesture.

“We found a small band of orcs, my lord,” Galáril replied. “We believe them to be scouts for a much larger band.”

Thranduil’s face darkened. He knew full well what the presence of orc scouts in the realm meant. “You destroyed them?”

“Yes, my lord. We were able to kill them all with little trouble.” Galáril wasn’t boasting. He was merely stating fact. Besides, Thranduil knew exactly how proficient his warriors were in handling enemies whose forces were larger than themselves.

“Do you have any idea where the main band of orcs is right now?” Fuinor asked. In matters of security, he was permitted to question anyone who might have information he needed without gaining Thranduil‘s permission first.

“Not yet. We do believe that they are outside the realm’s borders. Legolas and Arondo will find the western patrol, and I believe they will be able to locate the orcs’ precise location.”

Thranduil sat silent for a moment, looking down at the floor while he pondered. Finally, he raised his head. His face was again impassive, but there was a fire in his eyes. “I do not like the idea that an orc scouting party, much less several, have entered the realm. However, I know how hard it is for the warriors we have to cover every foot of the forest. Even so, I do not think a large band of those foul creatures could enter unnoticed. So you are surely correct that they are outside our borders.”

The king turned to Fuinor. “How many warriors can you spare from the northern and eastern patrols to send west?” He was not surprised at the look of dismay on his chief commander’s face.

Fuinor immediately changed his expression to one of resignation. Thranduil had not asked him if he could do it. He had asked for a specific number. Fuinor took a deep breath.

“I know what I am asking, Fuinor,” Thranduil said. “But I am sure you must be awae that it must be done, if we are to protect our people as well as the forest.”

“I know, my lord.” It was plain that Fuinor was trying to figure in his mind what he could do to accomplish what needed to be done. Finally he said, “I can take four warriors from the home guard, three from the northern patrol and three from the east. We dare not draw any from the south.”

“No, I do not want the southern patrol touched. They have their hands full.” Like Legolas before him, Thranduil thought of Quenon, his eldest son, also hoping he was well.

With reluctance, Galáril said, “Legolas and Arondo will stay with the western patrol.”

He avoided looking at the king‘s face, knowing what he would see there. He quickly added, “Coron and I will go, as well, so there will be a total of fourteen added to the patrol’s strength.”

Thranduil‘s voice was neutral in tone, though his emotions were right under the surface. “See to it, Fuinor,” the king said, nodding his head in dismissal. He wanted his commander to start on reinforcing the western patrol that he was sure would be in a desperate battle before long. He only wished that there could be more warriors sent to help fight it.

*~*~*~*

The orc scouts were not the only ones, who had entered Mirkwood unnoticed. A tall figure in a midnight blue robe stood in the shadows at the edge of the forest.

Through the millennia that had passed since he, Begrin, had sent the black obsidian rock to what he had hoped would have been its permanent hiding place, he had kept part of his intuitive mind trained on the evil power he knew as Saeragar. No matter where he had gone or what he had been engaged in doing, he was always aware of Saeragar.

As fate would have it, he had been traveling between the western border of the great forest, now known as Mirkwood, and the Misty Mountains, when he felt the call of Saeragar. Begrin had felt its exhilaration of imminent freedom growing and increasing in intensity. That could only mean that the rock was so near the surface of the land, its discovery was only a matter of time.

His overriding hope was that no one had discovered the knowledge to pierce the rock with a metal blade. Hopefully that would force Saeragar to stay where it was.

As the feeling grew stronger within him, Begrin slipped into the trees, slowing his pace and focusing his senses even more.

Suddenly a pain shot through his head, and he crumpled to his knees, panting for breath. He was free! Saeragar was free!

“This cannot be,” the robed figure said aloud in disbelief. Someone had found the key to freeing the power. Begrin shook his head, as the enormity of the devastating implications hit him.. “Saeragar has found a sentient habitation.” He looked eastward into the thick trees of Mirkwood. There was no doubt in his mind: Saeragar had found an elf to do its will.

Begrin rose to his feet and began running. He had no time to waste. He must reach the one Saeragar now possessed before it was too late.

TBC