Chapter Eleven

The trolls, who had been standing around and watching Hatch begin the torture of the captives, were struck speechless by the attack on their leader. The whole incident had taken place so quickly that most of them weren’t even sure if they had actually seen what their eyes were telling them they had seen.

Now, what they saw before them was their leader covered in blood and lying motionless on the ground. No captive had ever done anything like that before, and it was hard for them to take in. They knew that Hatch wasn’t just injured and unconscious. He was dead.

Gradually coming out of their shock-induced lethargy, the creatures began to move forward. Oddly enough, there was nothing menacing in their demeanor. Their expressions reflected only curiosity. It was clear that they weren’t paying the captives any attention whatsoever. Their minds were concentrated solely on Hatch, though there was no sign of sympathy from any of them.

There had been no discussion as to what they should do now. It was as if their actions had been preplanned, and all that remained was for them to carry that plan out.

After sparing no more than a few seconds to stare down at the inert body, two of the largest trolls grabbed the leader’s arms and began to drag him across the clearing. Then they unceremoniously threw Hatch’s body on the fire.

Hissing sparks exploded upward, as the logs on the front side of the pile collapsed under the added weight of the new burden.

Legolas and Aragorn watched the horrific scene unfolding before them in shocked silence. The total callousness with which the trolls had dumped their leader’s body on the fire to be burned was stunning. Hatch might as well have been another log for all the care with which it was being treated.

Legolas had killed the beast out of desperation to save Aragorn and himself from a slow, painful death, and he felt no guilt for having done it. But the coldhearted lack of feeling behind the trolls’ actions made the elf cringe, and it had nothing to do with his own aversion to being burned.

The archer looked at Aragorn, who had turned his head away from the scene and was just now looking back at him.

“I would expect such treatment from orcs, but for some reason, I thought these creatures were a little less barbaric. I was obviously wrong,” the ranger said, still in a bit of shock. He may have been young, but he had already seen more horrible things than he cared to remember. This topped many of them.

“I believe it is less about what they did,” Legolas began to explain, “and more about the callous way in which they did it.”

“I agree,” Aragorn replied, just as a thought began to form in his mind. “Perhaps now they won’t be so anxious to do mere captives more harm, if they cared no more for their leader than that.”

As much as Legolas wanted to believe his friend’s words, he didn’t think that would end up being the case. In fact, he feared that the opposite would be true, and it caused a cold knot to form in his stomach.

He thought back to his attack on Hatch. It had been a necessary one, and he realized that it and what had followed had taken his mind off of his separated shoulder. However, the pain was now becoming too great to ignore.

Legolas shifted his weight over to his left foot and leaned that way, trying to ease the pull on his injury. The knot holding the rope to the tree had tightened somewhat when Hatch had yanked on the rope, causing it to loosen slightly. However, it wasn’t enough to give the elf any real relief.

Aragorn saw the grimace on his friend’s face and knew the reason for it. “Legolas? How bad is the pain in your shoulder?” He asked the question in his most serious tone, hoping to let Legolas know that he was not going to accept the standard reply of “I am fine”.

“It will be all right once the rope is off.” That terse remark was not an entirely honest one, and he was sure that Aragorn knew that, but he didn’t want to worry his friend any more than he already was by telling an outright lie. Legolas followed that up by making an effort to give Aragorn a smile of reassurance.

The answer Legolas had given didn‘t fool Aragorn a second. Since it was more honest than usual, and since he didn’t want to openly disagree with the elf, he chose to ignore it for the moment. “If only I could reach your knife...” he grumbled unhappily instead. He didn’t need to finish the thought to get his point across.

As usual, the two friends each hid their true feelings to save the other from undue worry. And as usual, it wasn’t really working very well.

Meanwhile, the trolls were crowding together in a rough circle. An argument soon broke out, accompanied by loud voices and raised arms. There also appeared to be some pushing and shoving going on.

“I was next to Hatch,” the troll called Tack yelled above the din. “I should be leader now.”

He was quickly shouted down by all the others before another raised voice was added to the mix. “That don’t mean nothing. You gotta prove yerself, an’ you ain’t strong enough.”

“I can beat you,” Tack replied. His voice held a strong note of anger in it.

“I kin beat the both of you,” a third voice yelled, though it didn’t sound very serious, more like a remark to bring about laugher. It did.

“I can beat any of you.“ Tack didn’t like being talked to like he had no standing in the group.

Aragorn may have changed the subject while talking to Legolas, but he still wanted desperately to help the injured archer. He knew, however, that there was nothing he could do for the wood-elf until they were released, so he once again turned his attention elsewhere. This time it was to the disgruntled trolls. “It’s like watching children argue.” ‘Or my brothers,’ he added to himself.

The numerous squabbles of the twins also came to Legolas’s mind. He couldn’t help but smile, though it was only a half-hearted one. Intense pain tended to dull a sense of humor.

The trolls’ arguing continued unabated. “I’m strong enough fer you, Scron,” Tack said, as he poked the other troll in the chest with his forefinger. “Do you want to challenge me?”

Just then, several trolls moved aside, creating a pathway among them. Into the middle of the circle walked Pickett. He slugged first Tack and then Scron in the jaw, knocking them both back.

When Tack tried to lunge at the new arrival, the charging troll had his feet kicked out from under him, and he fell over backwards. A heavy foot soon came down on his stomach. He groaned and rolled over with his arms wrapped around his midsection, effectively taking him out of the proceedings.

There was a collective gasp, as the surrounding trolls stepped back a few paces. This was definitely not the timid, easily pushed-around Pickett they were used to seeing. This was more like a slightly smaller version of Hatch.

“I’m claimin’ leader rights,” Pickett declared. “Do any of you slugs wanna challenge me?” His upper lip curled into a snarl, as his eyes narrowed.

Not one troll moved a muscle. Pickett was not physically threatening, but deep within his eyes smoldered a burning hatred that no one else dared to confront. In fact, each one who was the recipient of his glare, found himself unable to meet it and looked away.

The trolls were so big that the ones on the outside of the group blocked the view of Legolas and Aragorn. It was like trying to look through a tightly packed stand of trees.

“What’s happening?” the ranger asked, not even attempting to hide his impatience.

As expected, the elf said, “I have no idea, but something appears to have been a big surprise to the group. And I believe I heard Pickett‘s voice among them, though I could not make out what was being said.”

He didn’t want to admit that the pain he was enduring was causing a buzzing in his head that made even his acute elven hearing all but useless. Had he been inclined to admit such a thing, his response would have been, ‘You can probably hear better than I can.’ No way was he going to worry Aragorn any further with that piece of information. Let the man think it was all the raised voices together that accounted for his inability to hear everything that was being said.

It was then Aragorn noticed that the cages off to their right were empty. That unexpected realization kept him from picking up on the significance of the fact that Legolas’s hearing wasn’t sharp enough to hear every word the trolls deep, loud voices were saying. “If Pickett’s in there now, I hope it doesn’t mean a nasty surprise for us.”

No sooner had Aragorn made that comment than the trolls nearest the captives began to part. Whatever had happened was about to be revealed.

Legolas had been right, and it was Pickett who walked out of the group and strode toward them. In less than a minute, the second shock was registered on the faces of the captives, because Pickett seemed to be the one in control.

Blinking, Aragorn said, “Please tell me that what I’m seeing doesn’t mean what I think it means.”

“I wish I could, mellon-nin,” Legolas replied, “but I do not have a good feeling about this.”

The ranger agreed. “Neither do I. We should have made friends with him,” He lamented, as he shook his head. “How could someone so pitiful and put-upon take over leadership of these trolls? It makes no sense.”

Pickett stopped in front of the captives and looked from one to the other. “I almost liked you two,” he stated with a note of disgust in his tone. It was plain enough that he no longer had such feelings. “Hatch is dead. I am leader now.”

“How did you...” Aragorn started his question but then stopped. When Pickett turned narrowed eyes squarely on the man, he decided not to say what he was thinking.

If Aragorn had asked his question, and Pickett had been able to explain properly, the troll would have told the ranger how it had all come about.

Pickett had been humiliated since the day Hatch had taken over from the former leader. He kept control by instilling fear and used Pickett, whose physical stature was smaller than his, as an example to the others of what would happen should they step out of line. He also just plain liked to boss the hapless creature around. Hatch had possessed a cruel streak in him that had nothing to do with maintaining control.

To the other trolls, Pickett was weak, scared and easily dominated. Everyone knew he didn’t have the courage to stand up to Hatch. Truth was they didn’t either, but they liked to laugh and taint Pickett just the same. It made them feel superior.

As Pickett had sat in the cages and nursed his burns, his hatred for Hatch had built up. It was doubtful that he would have challenged the larger troll, but Hatch’s death had changed all that. Now was probably the only chance Pickett would have had to assert his new-found courage.

All of these things were vague ideas in his head. The emotions, however, were very strong and clear. He had acted on them by taking the chance. Now he was the leader.

Instead of being grateful to Legolas for giving him the chance to claim leadership by getting rid of his tormenter, Pickett turned his wrath on both captives. Even he didn’t know exactly why. Perhaps he feared the same thing would happen to him at the hands, or rather the feet, of the one with the deformed ears.

Pickett didn’t know that Legolas had a dislocated shoulder, and that was a good thing. Had he been aware of it, the troll would have done more than punch the elf in the chest, which he did now with relish.

The pull on the ropes around Legolas’s wrists, as his body was forced backward, almost broke both of them. The flaming agony that burst through his shoulder was so sudden and so violent that the elf could not hold back a scream before his entire arm went numb. Then he mercifully passed out. His body could barely move, but his head fell forward.

“Legolas!” Aragorn yelled, fully aware of what had happened. He turned gray eyes of burning rage at Pickett, but all he saw was a huge fist moving very fast toward his face. He didn’t have time to turn it aside. The blow caught him on the jaw and knocked him out cold.

Pickett, the former weakling who had now found a backbone, crossed his arms over his chest and roared with laughter.

After enjoying the result of his actions for a moment, Pickett turned to several of the trolls behind him. “Take ’em down and put ’em in the cages. Don’t put ’em together.” His newfound voice of authority pleased him.

He watched as the two unconscious brothers were untied and dragged off. A grin crossed his face, as thoughts of what he was going to do to them began forming in his mind.

During an Age in the distant future, it would be said that those who had been abused often became abusers themselves. Pickett was about to become a prime example of that belief.

TBC