Chapter 29

Orcs Again

May 29

Queen Mavranor's Palace, Harad

As much as Halda had disliked the chill of Gondorian nights, he would have traded the current Haradic heat for any one of them. Especially since Mavranor, suffering from an age she could not fully escape, had chosen the warmest room in her entire palace in which to devise her final battle plans. Unobtrusively as possible, Halda wiped the sweat from his forehead and tried to concentrate past the slight heat buzz in his ears.

Mavranor was becoming short-tempered lately. Her trained assassin, her Shadow, had failed to send her any further reports since the deaths of Elessar and his family. It was inconceivable that he would have forgotten to notify her of his movements — and yet it had planted the distant thought that perhaps he was hiding something from her. She did not like to admit that any of her minions might be stronger or more power-hungry than she. Mavranor prided herself on her ability to read the faces and thoughts of men.

The queen's reaction to this suspicion was to draw her circle of confidence almost closed. The only one of her servants she confided in any longer was Halda, whom she said repeatedly was above reproach. In her reiterations of this, Halda wondered if there was true instability lurking beneath the surface. In either case they were here alone, planning together the last master stroke that would cripple Gondor.

Mavranor laid out a map which she had obtained from General Ingem during her visit to the Southron battle lines. It was of the miles of ravines and gorges she had already used to such great affect. While this operation was even more vital than that one had been, the danger was too great for her to personally attend to it, and she was determined that her instructions would be documented to the letter.

"A maze," she murmured, and had she been speaking of her own twisted mind, she could not have described it better. Her dark eyes flicked back and forth below age-thinned brows, busily seeking hidden coves, points of advantage — her mind turning over facts and tactics faster than Halda could ever attempt. "We lure them… we drive them… but first we plant devices of my own design. Pits to swallow fifty at a time. Ravine walls to crumble onto their heads. Spikes hidden in tall grass to impale their feet. No inch shall be left safe, and we shall close them in from behind like rats. When they reach the other end — if troops with no king and no steward can — they will find only ultimate death…" Taking a quill, she began to make notations, using her own personal cipher to keep the notes from prying eyes. At times she would ask Halda's opinions about the workings of the traps, and where to select the materials, and who he knew that was clever with such machines.

Mechanically, fighting the heat, Halda advised as he always did. He helped to augment the diagrams, pointing out when the terrain was too awkward for some of the devices she wanted to place. He almost relaxed, for her mood was safer than it had been in months, and then he berated himself for losing his focus. This was not the way to keep alive.

Over the course of the entire day they did not even pause to eat, and when the sun began to sink, the entire plan was drawn up and Halda had dutifully copied the map with its notes, still in cipher. The copies were dispatched immediately, with certified orders from the queen to General Ingem. He would be waiting for them. The cipher was one known only to Mavranor, Ingem, and Halda. Not even the Shadow used it.

The warmth in the room was leaving, but still Mavranor stayed on for nearly another hour. She gloated over her cleverness, drank half a bottle of wine in celebration, and then, still perfectly sober, she rose. "Can you smell it, Halda?" she whispered.

He looked up at her. For the first time in his entire service he had neglected to stand when she did and now he was startled at this new perspective of her face. The darkness swallowed her hair and left her pale face floating in the chill candlelight. The whites showed all around her dark pupils. Her chin jutted out. She was fearless.

"Smell what, milady?" he asked.

"Rubble. The death of our enemies. Glory." Her lips parted as her breath quickened. "Ours."

"Ours?" An unexpected inclusion. It unsettled him, somehow.

"Yours and mine, Halda. Together we shall govern a kingdom larger than Middle Earth has ever known. Sauron will be but a weakling in our shadow. I will be the head, and you my faithful hands. There is no one else who knows — no one I can trust now. But you… you are a part of me, aren't you? My very soul in a second body." Black eyes like burning brands struck his face, testing him for worthiness.

Perhaps it was his awe of her in that moment that hid his heart from her and cloaked his secret desires. Perhaps greater powers intervened. His gaze met her unflinching, and she smiled with pure satisfaction. When she gathered up her skirts and departed the room for her bed, he felt his entire body drained of energy. He couldn't move, couldn't think. How had he ever dreamed he could deceive this woman and topple her? Her very presence had sapped him of life. The candles guttered.

Fumblingly he started to roll up the original copies of the maps. Mavranor wished for them to be locked away in her secret archive, a room only known to herself and to Halda. No one would be able to find them. Because of the cipher, nobody would be able to read them even if they were found. Gondor's army would follow the course Mavranor had laid out for it. Minas Tirith would fall.

And Halda would… rule? Untold power? At her side? His head swam and his chest constricted, the world suddenly spinning about him as he gasped for breath. 'My very soul in a second body'… no… no… darkness closing in… strange stars… an extension of an insane soul? He could feel her fingernails in his arms, pulling him with her… He was losing his mind at last… His recent dreams rose into the silence. There were cities burning out of the corners of his waking eyes. A lure before him… a pit beneath his feet… spikes in the long grass… 'I do not want to see the grass for blood.'… Where was he?… Who was he?… Her very soul in a second body… A second body… Nothing but a second body…

"NO!" he yelled, his fists clenching. The roll of parchment crackled in his grip, the only sound in the wake of his denial. "No," he whispered almost inaudibly. "I am… I… am…" his eyes flicked to the window and the stars outside. As he watched, an eagle flew out over the dark sands, free, in search of prey, and he fell silent again.

His mind, so fogged for so long, cleared. His old craftiness rose anew, and he felt he had reached the eye of the storm. It would be a fine thing to triumph and to die right now… with his mind solely his own and victory in reach. Perhaps he could smell something in the air after all.

The candle guttered a second time, reminding him of the lateness of the hour, and he took his seat again.

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June 1

Southwestern Border between Gondor and Rohan

"Easy Briak." Eression's soft voice brought the horse to a stop just behind the two elves ahead of him. They had had a hard two week ride and despite his best efforts to hide it, Eression was not sure how much more his weary body could take.

Elladan and Elrohir, for their part, had moved ahead almost without stopping. Their minds were completely consumed with reaching their sister and, though they thought Eression did not hear, he knew they chafed at the slower pace the human was forcing them to take.

Eression tried his best to keep up but at times he felt as though he was pulled along by little more than Briak carrying him. Still he did not request a rest from their hard ride and blinked away the threat of sleep often.

The Black Numenorean was frankly surprised that they had stopped now and, though he had made it a point not to speak to the twins during the ride back to Minas Tirith, he could not help asking about it.

"Is something amiss my lords?" His voice was raspy and he surreptitiously cleared it, groping automatically for his empty water flask. He had not asked them to stop when he ran out, in truth they were probably out of water as well and simply had not noticed.

"Perhaps," Elladan answered distractedly. His eyes were half closed and he seemed to be listening to the sounds of the forest around them. Ahead, at the edge of the trees, the rolling grasses of Rohan spread out before them. This forest was wedged rather oddly between a pass of high rock walls; it was like being between two words: the mountains standing to their right and then dissolving suddenly into flat plains on their left.

A moment later Eression caught the sound of a rushing water nearby and decided he would have to swallow his respectful silence or risk losing consciousness.

"If we intend to stay our pace for a moment, I am need of water."

Elladan only nodded and dismounted shortly after Elrohir. He was wary, this Eression could see, and for the first time during their journey, it was not because of him.

Eression moved into the trees. Not surprisingly the wood became thicker the further from the path he moved, but as a ranger this hardly concerned him.

He also noted that rock ledges rose up as he walked further towards the edges of the pass. It did not take long to find the stream he had heard and it was the most welcome sight the man had seen in days.

Dropping down beside the flowing water, Eression plunged his flask into the flow…and stopped.

Standing quickly, Eression dropped his hand to his sword instead, the flask falling to the ground as he searched the trees around him. He had heard something… An ominous wind ruffled the dark trees and shrouded him in a cloud of rustling and scraping.

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Elladan motioned to his brother, and the two left the path as one. They moved away from the direction Eression had gone walking silently between the trees, following the ever growing sense of danger they had felt on the path.

Something lurked in this pass, of that they were certain, and if they did not find it first there was no saying when it would find them. Elrohir was tense, listening to the gentle whisper of wind above them turn suddenly harsh, as though it knew the danger which awaited them.

The two elves walked until they came up against a high wall of rock which blocked off the west side of the pass. Elladan moved slowly up to the wall, and placed a hand against the cold stone… something was moving… something—

"Elrohir! Run!"

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Eression strained his ears to catch a sound of what might be stalking him. There was an occasional rustle or a snap of twigs, but any small animal could make such sounds. No, there was something else; something close.

Then he heard it. The distinct steel sound of clashing weapons, echoing through the trees, and the screams of—

Eression was taken off guard when something large slammed into his back and he fell forward, hitting the hard ground and rolling quickly before whatever it was could find a way to pin him. He looked up into the leering face of an orc and knew at last what he had feared had been correct.

His expression suddenly fierce, Eression struck up hard against the creature's face, causing it to fall off his legs. Getting unsteadily to his feet, Eression turned in time to see several more coming from the trees. Quickly stabbing his first attacker, he whirled to fully meet the next bout.

As he slashed through the next two, Eression wondered vaguely how long these monsters had been hiding in this pass, and what or who they had been waiting to attack.

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Elrhoir hit the ground hard as two orcs tried to pile on him at once. He heard Elladan scream a warning over the tumult of the creatures slowly surrounding them. Twisting underneath his assailants Elrohir threw a wild punch into the smaller one's face while he drove his sword into the larger. The smaller one recovered quickly, trying to grab onto Elrohir's hair. Twisting sharply, Elrohir got a hold of his short boot dagger and sliced it right through the orc's hand, wriggling at last from between the two beasts.

Upon getting to his feet, Elrohir saw that his brother was being weighed down. Fighting off four of them at once, he had already taken down three, but there were so many.

Elrohir was given no more than a brief glance to his brother before he was overwhelmed by another five, continuing the ongoing battle.

The orcs had come from the rocks at first, dropping down like wildcats, a few of them jumping too far and breaking on the ground below in their eagerness to take the elves down. Next they had materialized from the trees. It all seem too well coordinated — they had surely been waiting for something or someone else, but Elrohir had no idea what or who that could have been.

Quickly stabbing two in rapid thrusts, Elrohir spun on his heel to face the next, then jolted as he heard his brother cry out. Slashing at the third orc as he turned once more, Elrohir paused in confusion as he saw his brother falling beneath the orcs, a severe wound in his side and a dull look in his eyes. Elrohir was only vaguely aware of his own voice screaming Elladan's name.

Then he was running, he was moving with no apparent objective beyond reaching his twin, slashing down every orc who stood in his way. But before he could reach the other elf, he was overwhelmed by orcs from both sides. Taking advantage of his complete distraction, they took hold of his hair, his arms, his waist and hauled him back, laughing as he tried to throw them off.

"Find Morthgahk." The small one-handed one Elrohir had fought earlier was leering evilly at the elf now. "He'll be pleased with this catch; elves are ten times better than pathetic horse lords."

"What of this one, Gorshga?" A larger orc booted Elladan who did not react.

"He's finished. You can smell it on him."

Elrohir trembled from rage or grief, it was hard to tell, but it did him no good. The orcs had too firm a hold on him and quickly dragged him away through the trees.

"Shrakak, you go on to Morthgahk. I'll see to…I'll join you in a moment." Gorshga laughed as his fellow orcs moved away, leaving him in the glade with the dead elf. He realized he was very hungry, and there was no way he'd let the others in on his well earned feast.

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Eression let out a enraged cry as he slashed down the final orc, his breath hard and painful against his chest. He had slain at least twenty orcs and surely more. It was fortunate that they seemed to come in smaller groups for he could never have taken so many on his own. He had sustained one cut across the back of the shoulder due to a crafty orc who had jumped him while he was preoccupied with several others. It stung, but Eression did not think it was poisoned.

Hardly letting his guard down, the Black Numenorean scanned the trees once more, keeping his blade tight in his hand, watching for more trouble.

But what finally he heard surprised him greatly. It was a group of orcs, but they were talking, laughing and jeering amongst themselves and did not seem to realize any battle had been taking place. They were just beyond him in the next line of trees. Then he heard a sound that made him freeze in his tracks.

A loud crack and a scream of pain that no orc had made.

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Elrohir slumped to the ground, gasping for breath. He could not honestly say with what the orcs had struck him, but it ate at him like poison and it sent shocks of pain up his back.

"Ooh…" Shrakak mocked the elf, in a pathetic attempt at a pitying voice. "Does the elf not like my lash?"

Upon the last word, Elrohir felt the fiery pain strike him again. He gasped and gripped the grass beneath his fingers, trying to focus as everything hazed yellow.

The orcs had not bothered to hold him down, but now they were beginning to feel left out, and a few of them gathered around and took hold of the elf, dragging him to his feet just as the lash fell a third time.

Elrohir felt his whole world haze, his heart still crumbling as he fumbled for his brother. He could not focus, he could not see. The darkness swirled around him, and suddenly he was not here in the forest, he was in a dark cold cell… he was lost in his delirium.

The orcs voices only added to the confusion and fear. One touched his hair and he flinched away. The lash fell, he gasped, his hair felt wet, wet and sticky with blood. Where was Elladan?

Elrohir could not find anything in the dark and the painful lash fell again stripping his mind of reason. He screamed but not only in pain, he screamed for his brother.

"Elladan! ELLADAN!"

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Gorshga crouched beside the still elf. He could not decide where to start — so many choices and it was the first time in his twisted life he had been able to make up his mind instead of fighting with his fellows for whatever he could get.

"Perhaps I will simply rip your heart out. No, or I could eat you more slowly…" Gorshga stroked the elf's hair with his remaining hand, then gripped it tightly in his gnarled fingers, dragging the elf's head up until he was staring into Elladan's fair face.

Gorshga leered into the pale face for a moment then, suddenly, his leer fell away as he was staring into a pair of fierce gray eyes.

Gorshga did not even get the chance to scream before his own blade was lodged in his black heart and he was lying twitching on the ground.

Elladan rose shakily to his feet, stumbling back against the rock wall and gripping his side where it was bleeding profusely. What had happened? He couldn't even remember. And where was Elrohir?

Then he heard it, somewhere through the trees, far away but close enough for his keen ears to pick it out. A name. His name.

"ELLADAN!"