31.

            Legolas upon his mighty destrier wound through the forest as it climbed the spur of Amon Din.  Every now and again he would pause and study the earth, seeking thereupon the marks of passage from the horsemen he pursued; Galás and Kaimelas also cast about upon either side of him, searching for hoof prints.  Behind them rode the Black and Silver Knights, swords drawn, peering into the trees about them cautiously.  The light beneath the great pines was dimmed, for the sun sank west upon the other side of the mountain and they were nearly in darkness, though it was but late afternoon.

Suddenly Galás cried out, pointing to the earth before his horse; when the others came up to him he said:  “Look, look!  I have found their tracks; they are circling this thicket and proceeding to that outcropping there.”  They followed the marks and saw that they led to a great jutting rock, overhanging a dark dell, about which were growing many thick and tangled pine trees, and holly bushes covered in vines.  The path was narrow with a sheer face upon the right, and slick damp rock on the left, so that they would be forced to ride single file.  Legolas frowned and lifted his visor, turning to the other knights.

            “I do not like this; there is no other way to encircle the rock,” he said; “the ground is too steep for our horses.  Either we ride into that dell and invite ambush, or we abandon our mounts and climb around it.”

            “We will waste much time that way,” said Malbeth, “and each moment that passes ensures the elusion of our enemies.”

            “I see no one about,” said Kaimelas cautiously, “and I neither hear nor smell anyone.  But the reek of smoke and clamour of battle still fills the air, and we are yet upwind.”

            “The very sight of this pathway chills my heart; I do not want to risk a trap,” said Legolas.  “Could we not tie our horses to these trees here and enter the woods?”

            Mardil studied the steep slope and grimaced.  “Not in armour certainly,” he said.  “We should bog down before we went but ten paces.  We are not clad for hunting but for full combat.”

            “We could remove our armour,” suggested Kaimelas.

            “Yes, and remove our protection as well!” said Malbeth.  “Nay, good Elf, I am more comfortable encased in steel, though I know you like it not.  It does impede us somewhat but we are the more protected.”

            “Each moment we debate gives our prey a few more steps,” said Galás.  “Well, my Lord; you have elected to lead us.  Whither shall we go?  Up the slope in naught but our under-linens, or down this pathway here?”

            Legolas chewed restlessly upon his lip, thinking hard.  When at last he spoke it was with great reluctance.  “We shall keep to the path, and hope my choice goes not ill.  There were but four of them, so far as we know.  And I begrudge this Lion every step and am very impatient to bring him down.” Then drawing his sword he led them in a file to the dell.

            They had gone no more than twenty paces when Galás gave a shout; there was the twang of a bow string, and Mardil’s horse fell beneath him, throwing him with a great clatter down the steep slope, where the knight landed upon a great boulder and was still.  The horse thrashed upon the narrow path, throwing up great clots of loam, until it too tumbled down the slope, struggling to regain its feet and squealing in pain.  From the top of the outcropping appeared the dark heads of men with bows and arrows.  Legolas shouted a warning, raising his escutcheon, but beside him Kaimelas with a strangled cry fell backward, grasping at the feathers protruding from his chest; his terrified mount squealed and bolted into the brake, where it floundered in the thick brush until another swift arrow pierced its eye and it dropped heavily, Kaimelas senseless beside it.  Galás whirled his mount behind a wide oak trunk, leapt from the horse’s back and set arrow to string, answering the volley.  One of the men tumbled from the rock and landed limply upon the loam beneath it.

            “Back, back!” cried Legolas, as Hatchet shrieked and bellowed beneath him.  “They are above us.  Back!”  An arrow struck his escutcheon and stuck quivering in the wood; another bounced off his cuirass and landed in the dirt by Hatchet’s hooves.

            But the men upon the outcropping heard him as well and leapt to the floor of the dell, letting fly their arrows with abandon; most missed their marks but some struck true, though the heavy peytrals and breastplates deflected the worst of it.  With a cry Galás fell, dropping his bow and clutching his side; Malbeth cursing turned his mount to shield him.

            Angrily Legolas spun Hatchet about, trusting in the Dwarvish armour he wore, and urged his snorting destrier into the dell, ignoring the cries of dismay behind him.  Brandishing his sword he cried out, “Eryn Lasgalen!” and charged into the midst of the archers.  Desperately they tried to pierce his armour but it was too thick for their short bows and the arrows merely bounced off of it.  Two stood against him but the other three fled shrieking from the huge warhorse as it lunged at them, and from the bright sword that hewed at them.  The two who remained were swiftly cut down, and lost in his wrath the Green Knight urged Hatchet down the pathway to pursue the others.

            One turned, eyes wild, and fitted an arrow to his string; Legolas however was upon him ere he could loose it, and rode him down.  Then there was another twang, and with a surprised squeal Hatchet fell to his knees, throwing his master to the earth.  One of the archers had found the notch in the peytral fastening, and the destrier was wounded, lying coughing up foam and churning at the dirt with his great hooves.

            Furious Legolas rolled to his feet; swift was he though impeded somewhat by the heavy armour, and pelted after the other two archers, who fled from him in terror.  He heard the sound of hoof beats behind him and cried:  “Malbeth!  Pass me!” and leapt to the side so that the Black Knight’s destrier could overtake him.  The dark caparisoned charger rushed past, snorting, and ere the two remaining men could gain the turn of the path he was upon them, striking at them with his sword.  Legolas put on a last reckless burst of speed and caught one as it turned to him.  He slew him quickly and turned to aid Malbeth, but the Black Knight had his man and sat upon his destrier, looking uneasily about for any other enemies.

            “My thanks,” panted Legolas; “I feared me they would escape us.”

            “They have done enough damage,” said Malbeth grimly.

            At once Legolas remembered their friends, and with a cry of dismay ran back down the path, tearing at his gauntlets to remove them.  He fell to his knees with a clang and a clatter by Kaimelas’ side.  The arrow was sunk deep in his chest, and his jerkin was soaked in bright red blood; his face was white and still, but to Legolas’ relief he yet breathed, though the fletching fluttered with each halting breath.  Hurriedly unlatching his helm from the bevor and flinging it aside he took hold of the arrow, and bracing himself against poor Kaimelas’ chest wrenched it out.  The Elf groaned but did not open his eyes.

            “Here,” said Malbeth, handing the Green Knight a cloth. “Stanch his wound; I shall see to the others.”

            “My thanks,” said Legolas again, pressing the cloth against his friend’s chest.  “O my Kaimelas!” he said sadly.  “That you should lead such a long and merry life beneath the dark eaves of Mirkwood, yet be struck down in Gondor!”

            “Let me be!  See to Mardil,” said Galás from behind him, panting heavily; “I shall not perish from this hurt, though I may wish it soon enough.”  Legolas turned; his seneschal had already plucked the arrow from his side and held his hand, shiny with blood, over the wound.  Groaning he crawled up to his lord.  “Well, as you said, my Lord, the perfect spot for an ambush,” he gasped, dragging himself to Kaimelas’ side.  “I am not certain I enjoyed being punctual for this particular party.  And in the end I see our armour availed us nothing.”

            “Malbeth and I are unhurt; our armour it was that saved us,” said Legolas.  He looked down at the great spread of blood upon Galás’ side.  “How bad?” he asked.

            Galás shook his head.  “I have had worse,” he said lightly, though Legolas saw his face was very white.  “It pierced naught but my flesh, and was deflected by my ribcage.  Here, my Lord, give that to me, and I shall press it upon Kaimelas’ breast; still our enemies elude us, for we have not come upon the horsemen yet, and you and Lord Malbeth must still pursue them.”

            With a sigh Legolas released his hold upon the scout’s wound, and Galás pressed down upon it, while his lord rose and went to the edge of the pathway to peer down into the gloom.  “Malbeth?  Mardil?” he called to the two dim figures below.  “Shall I come to your aid?”

            “If you would but collect Lord Mardil’s destrier, my Lord, I believe I can assist him up the slope,” said Malbeth, looking up at him from the nest of brakes where the Silver Knight sat.  “I have succeeded in removing the arrow from its forearm and though it may not bear a man’s weight I am confident it may walk, though it be slowly.”

            “What ho, Mardil?” asked Legolas, climbing down the slope, slower than his wont for he was hindered by the armour.

            “I fear me I have broken my leg, Lord Legolas,” said Mardil, grunting as Malbeth hauled him to his feet.  “It is not too bad but I cannot walk.”

            “He has also sustained a bad blow to the head, I fear,” said Malbeth, commencing to drag the Silver Knight up the steep slope.  “There is blood from the cut and a great lump forming.”

            “Well, we shall see,” said Legolas, and reaching the trembling war horse he spoke softly to it in his own tongue, until its eyes ceased to roll and its twitching subsided.  Then he took it by the bridle and led it slowly up the slope until it stood, tremulous and favoring its right fore.  The Green Knight shifted its peytral and ran his fingers over the bloodied gash.  The stallion whickered uneasily and jerked away.  Hearing the scrape and clatter behind him he turned and gave Mardil his hand, hauling him up from the fore while Malbeth pushed from behind, until the Silver Knight dropped panting upon the pathway.

            “Give me a moment,” said Legolas to them; “I must see to my own warhorse.”

            “An it please you,” gasped Mardil, as Malbeth began to unlace his greaves.  Legolas ran back down the path to Hatchet, but was too late; the destrier’s eyes were fixed and the blood upon its mouth already dried.  Sitting silently for a moment on his knees Legolas gazed upon the form of his dead horse.  Then he rose slowly to his feet, collected Galás’ trembling destrier, and led it back to his companions.  He looked down upon Kaimelas, thinking hard, then seeing a lump in the jerkin knelt and drew a small bundle from his pocket.

“What is that?” asked Galás in surprise.

“It is a doll,” said Legolas, unwrapping it and gazing down at it.  But instead of the rough wooden toy he held he seemed to see before him the burned homesteads and empty fields, and not hearing the voices of his friends about him he listened instead to the cries of fear and grief from the imprisoned women and children of Amon Din.  Then he suddenly jerked to his feet and dropping the doll began to unfasten the ties about his manifers.

            “What are you doing, my Lord?” asked Galás apprehensively.

            “Malbeth,” said the Prince of Mirkwood, his voice firm and brooking no disapproval, “you shall remain here with the wounded, tending and guarding them; when night falls put Kaimelas, if he still lives, upon your horse, and Mardil and Galás upon Galás’ horse; lead them gently down the slope to Faramir and King Thranduil and tell them all that has passed here.  Should Our Lady wish it I shall return before her stars appear, and we might have other festivities to plan for the evening.”

            “What do you mean?” asked the Black Knight, rising to his feet.

            “I am going after our Lion,” said Legolas firmly.  “But I cannot pursue him encased in steel.  Here, unfasten this; I cannot remove this cuirass on my own.  Galás, give to me Kaimelas’ bow and quiver.  Should I not return you are to do all I have said; it means I have failed and my blood has watered the slopes of Amon Din, as a libation to my friendship for Lord Aldamir.  But Lord Malbeth, as you have pledged your allegiance to me, show all the fidelity and fraternity to my kin here, and to your own kin Mardil, and see to their wellbeing.  And when they are safe with their lords you may come after me if you like, to carry my body back to my father so that it may be mourned properly.”

            “Do not speak so!” begged Galás anxiously.  “I have no wish to be a lord of Ithilien.  You must return, my Lord, to spare me that ignominy.  And anyway how could I explain it to your esquire?”

            Silently Malbeth assisted Legolas out of his armour, and at last the Elf stood before them, clad only in his arming doublet and breeches, barefoot and bareheaded.  He strapped his grandsire’s sword about his waist, slung his knife belt over it, and putting the quiver and bow over his shoulder addressed his men.

            “I go to hunt,” he said shortly, his gray eyes full of eager wrath.  “Stay not for me, nor attempt to follow, good Malbeth, for my feet unshod shall be swifter than yours.  Remember, when the stars show their bright faces you three must forsake me and turn your eyes to the East!”  And so saying he sprang into the forest, silent and stirring neither leaf nor branch, vanishing without a trace of his passage.

            Galás gave a great sigh and turned his attention to Kaimelas, finding an unsoiled spot upon the cloth to press down on the bleeding wound; Malbeth dropped back to his knees and began to examine Mardil’s leg.  They worked for a moment in silence, until at last Mardil spoke.

            “Merry Galás, you know your Lord better than we; do you think in your heart he shall return?”

            Galás turned to him, his dark eyes sparkling; he answered:  “If the Great Goblin of the Misty Mountains could not cause him to turn a hair, my Lord Mardil, I do greatly doubt this Lion shall manage to turn him from his purpose.  In truth I almost pity his prey, for when the hunting mood is upon my lord he is cold and resolute.  Fear not, my friends!  Many years have I been his companion in the hunt and he has not yet been bested.”  So saying he applied himself once again to the unfortunate Kaimelas, and Malbeth and Mardil sat back to wait.

************************************************

            Swift as a passing breeze and as light as thistledown, the Green Knight circled the stand of trees surrounding the trampled path; he flitted from branch to branch like an errant gust of wind, noiseless and fleet upon his bare feet, his hands out of their heavy gauntlets grasping the bark easily and guiding him in his flight.  From time to time he lowered himself to the earth, scrutinizing the marks left there by horse’s hooves, but ever the trail wound higher and deeper into the fold of Amon Din, and the sun sank lower, covering him in darkness.  Legolas heeded that not, however, and with his keen eyes descried the broken twigs and crushed leaves of his enemy’s passage, his sharp ears attuned to any aberrant sound but hearing little.

            At last he came to the end of the trail.  Beneath him on the forest floor were the four horses that had borne his prey; they were tied up to trees, streaked with dried sweat and champing at their bits nervously.  Behind them was a stand of low boxwood and laurel, bent and trampled, and beyond that a rock face broken by a thin crack, the entrance to some sort of cave or underground passage.  As far as Legolas could tell the footprints led within, though there was some scoring as if a heavy burden had been dragged inside.  Doubling back from the clearing he dropped silently to the earth, drawing Kaimelas’ bow and fitting an arrow loosely to the string.  He cautiously crept forward, casting about with eyes and ears and nose; as he drew closer he could smell the acrid odor of sweating men, and heard the sound of boots upon rock.  Crouching behind an accommodating oak tree he peered into the clearing.

            At first even his eyes could see nothing; then after a moment he saw in the gathering shadow a face staring out of the crack in the rock; it looked to and fro, eyes wide and anxious.  Rising slowly to his feet to perceive more Legolas could see it was a big man, badly gone to fat, dressed in a rich red robe and holding a short, broad sword in one hand.  Though the visage of the man did not inspire confidence Legolas could see he held the sword both firmly and well, and upon closer scrutiny saw the shiny nicks in the metal that bespoke of recent usage.  Sinking once again to the earth, Legolas replaced the bow and arrow and drew his sword, then stood quickly and strode into the clearing.

            The man in the cave leapt in surprise, his face quite white; however when he saw that Legolas was an Elf he gave a cry of delight.  “At last!” he exclaimed, beaming.  “I had feared we were pursued by some of those terrible men from the camp.  How relieved I am to see you!  We have managed to capture the perpetrator of these vile acts; however it was at great cost to ourselves – we have wounded within our cave.  Come quickly!  You shall see for yourself who this wicked man is.”  So saying he stepped aside and waved Legolas into the cave.

            Legolas stepped forward, sword limp by his side; however when he was abreast the fat man he struck the same time the man did, the metal of their swords clanging together; the fat man cried out in dismay and tried to assail him again.  But Legolas swung the great sword back, striking the smaller blade and throwing his opponent back against the stone wall; with a swift twisting movement the man’s sword dropped ringing to the ground.  Legolas set the point of his blade against the quivering flesh at the fat man’s throat, fixing him with a cold stare.  The man lifted his chin, teeth bared, glaring back at him.

            “After you, my lord,” said Legolas quietly.

            The fat man ground his teeth together; his eyes flashed with anger.  “Who are you who dares raise a sword to Eradan of Linhir?” he hissed.

            “Do you not know me?” smiled Legolas.  “I am the Green Knight.”