Chapter 21      Fighting the Darkness

Servius stood and watched as Tervanis, Garish, and Legolas disappeared down the long steps leading to the cellar.  His face was twisted in a grimace that could have been either a smile or a scowl, and was in fact a little of both.  Anger flowed through him like a fitful river, and his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. 

Things had not gone as well as he had hoped this night.  The elf had not reacted at all as he has expected when he revealed his plans and intentions.  Instead of being worried and frightened, his prisoner had remained calm and unaffected, firm in his faith for his friend.  He had looked at Servius with disgust and pity.  Pity!  As if Servius were the prisoner facing defeat and death.  This reaction enraged him, as well as planted the first seedlings of doubt and uncertainty.  If things had gone so vastly different than expected with the elf, how much more would it be when the King of Gondor arrived?

Angrily shoving his doubts away, Servius returned to the small dining hall to await Tervanis’ return.  A smile lit his face at the thought of Legolas in the tiny cage.  He had had the small prison specially made and brought in for this occasion, a display of his newfound power. 

Yet power came with a price in the city of Norvil, and Servius was all too aware of this.  When he had been mayor of Calembel, he had taken his power and influence for granted.  It was something he had always had and always would have, or so he had believed.  He had learned differently, the hard way.  In the blink of an eye, he had gone from power to poverty, everything he owned stripped away from him by a single word from the hated King Elessar.  His home, his possessions, all his money, had suddenly become someone else’s, while he was left to wander the land a penniless beggar.

The rage returned as Servius allowed his mind to return to that time six years prior in his life.  His two advisors, Fanchon and Telfor had shared his banishment from the city, and the three of them had wandered Gondor for two years, moving from city to city and begging for what food they could get.   In truth, it was Telfor and Fanchon who kept him alive, for Servius was too busy wallowing in his anger and resentment to be of much use.  He was not sure why the two men had stayed with him, yet they had, and the three of them had slowly learned to adapt to their new life of poverty.  Yet each time Servius laid eyes on the wealthy and influential men of whatever city he happened to be visiting, he felt an overwhelming wave of jealously and resentment over what he had lost.  As time passed, instead of fading, these feelings grew more and more intense, evolving into a simmering hatred.  He hated his life, he hated the rich men for the simple reason that they had what he did not, he hated the pity of those who provided them with food and shelter, but most of all, he hated the one who had brought him to such a low position.  That hate had grown so fierce within him, that Servius had been forced to find a way to release all the emotion pressing inside him lest he go mad.  It was then, almost two years after his banishment, that he had committed his first murder!

Now, over four years later, the memory of that crime bothered Servius not a bit.  He recognized it as the moment he had truly begun to change, shedding his old life and beginning his new.  His victim had been a simple merchant in one of the large cities located in the western most reaches of Gondor.  The man’s only sin had been his wealth, his only mistake, sniffing down his nose at three beggars as he passed by.  Servius had followed him to his home, confronted him, and then killed him, taking a generous portion of the man’s wealth.  With his two companions, he had fled the city, plagued by guilt and fear.   Only the heavy purses of gold he had stolen offered him any cheer.  What conscience remained inside of him twisted with agony and regret.  It was yet another pain for which to blame the King.  After all, if the man had not banished him, Servius would not have needed to kill in order to survive.

It had not taken them long to spend all the stolen money, and after that, the second murder had been even easier.  And so it had been for several long months, moving from place to place, and always leaving behind a body whenever they left.  It did not take long before Servius was completely able to ignore the voices of his conscience, and soon after they fell forever silent.  He even began to enjoy the feelings of power he experienced every time he faced one of his victims and ended their life forever.  He began to envision that each of his victims was the hated King Elessar, and as he sank his blade into their chests with glee, he promised himself that someday it would be the King kneeling at his feet pleading for his life.  It wasn’t until two years after his banishment that Servius made his first mistake. 

He had killed a woman. 

It had been quite by accident; the woman had entered into the room where he was searching for the riches of her recently deceased husband.  They had both been caught unaware, but unfortunately for the woman, Servius was the first one to recover.  Afterwards, he and his two faithful companions had fled the city as they had always done before, but this time they were followed.  A group of bounty hunters tracked them for three weeks, nearly capturing them on several occasions.  The men were relentless, and at last Servius realized the only way to be free of them would be to leave Gondor altogether. 

It was then that he had come to Khand and the city of Norvil, a place for rogues and misfits, a city that accepted all those that no other city would accept.  Norvil was a teeming hive of depravity and lawlessness, appearing to have no leaders, nor want of any.  Servius had found out later that this was not completely true, and Norvil did indeed have its own set of leaders, though they were unlike any others he had encountered thus far.  They were the Guildmasters of the city, men who had wealth, and therefore, power.  Each Guildmaster owned and governed a portion of the city, using their wealth to control those under them.  Yet for the most part, they ignored the people and concentrated instead on using their money to gain whatever whims or desires they might have, allowing the city to go on however it pleased just so long as it didn’t interfere with their private plans.  It was almost a game between the Guildmasters, each one waging their own private war against another to see who was most powerful.  It was a very dangerous game, for power within Norvil was a very dangerous thing.  Those who had no power were always looking for ways in which to gain it, and those who already had it constantly thirsted for more.  Each Guildmaster had to be cunning and wise in order to keep their position, constantly hiding from their rivals exactly how much money and power they had gained.  If their rival was unable to determine this, then they would be much more reluctant to challenge an unknown force.  It was a well-known fact that in Norvil, even the Guildmasters were not completely safe, as Rigor had so effectively proved.

Servius smiled slightly at the thought of his ‘benefactor.’  Rigor had indeed been a powerful and wealthy force within Norvil, yet he had also been a fool.  He had found Servius and his two companions wandering the streets of the city, and had taken them in to serve him.  He had had an extreme interest in the land of Gondor, and had wanted to learn all that Servius could teach him.  He had grown to like Servius.  Like had eventually grown into trust.  A misplaced trust, yet Servius had played it for all it was worth.  He pretended to be the perfect servant, faithful and true, his act undoubtedly helped by the fact that Rigor would never have believed it possible that a simple foreigner would be brave enough to betray him within his own home.  Rigor had begun to share with Servius some of his carefully kept secrets, and one day, had revealed the biggest secret of all; the position where his wealth was hidden.

Killing Rigor had been a bit more difficult than his previous murders, for the man was under constant guard.  Yet Servius had grown to be quite cunning, and though the task was difficult, it was not impossible.  The man had trusted him, and in the end, he had died for his foolishness.  Within the blink of an eye, Servius had taken over his wealth, his guild, and his power.  The people of Norvil had barely even noticed, and by the time the other Guildmasters had truly taken an interest, Servius was firmly entrenched in his role as Guildmaster.  They had not bothered much with him, undoubtedly believing it was only a matter of time before he lost his new position to some ambitious cutthroat.  Yet Servius had been much too careful to allow that to happen.  He had learned from the mistakes of his predecessor, and he survived by being careful.  Perhaps even more careful than what was warranted.  He had remained in power, and the city of Norvil shrugged its shoulders and continued on as they always had.

And now Servius once more lived in a position of power and wealth, though it was far different than what it had been in Calembel.  Instead of the giant mansion he had once owned, he now lived in a rather small building displaying none of the grandeur and riches he had once so coveted.  His wealth was carefully hidden away from prying eyes instead of proudly displayed as once it had been.  Yet none of this really mattered to Servius, in truth even his wealth no longer held the same desire in him as it once had.  His view of riches had changed along with him, and now he saw it merely as another tool to use to accomplish a single purpose, another way to attain that which he desired above all else; revenge.

Servius began to laugh, the sound low and rough, and filled with a myriad of different emotions.  For four long years he had worked and planned, and now, at last, he was harvesting the fruits of his labor.  The moment he had waited for so long was quickly approaching, and nothing would stop him from his revenge! 

“He is secured.”

Servius whirled around, startled by the sudden voice behind him.  Tervanis leaned casually against the doorframe, watching him with narrowed eyes, his right hand idly playing with the hilt of his dagger.  There was something extremely dangerous about the assassin’s relaxed position, and Servius suddenly found himself feeling quite uncomfortable.  He quickly turned his back to the man in order to hide his nervousness. 

“Good,” he said briskly.  “Come in, for we have many plans we must discuss before the king arrives.”

Tervanis made no answer, and after a moment Servius glanced over his shoulder to find that the assassin had not moved.  The man was still watching him with narrowed eyes, and his hand continued to caress the hilt of his knife.

“Well?” Servius demanded, hating how weak his voice sounded.

At last Tervanis moved, straightening from his position, and Servius took an unconscious step back.  “I played along with your little games earlier,” the assassin said simply, his voice turning Servius’ blood to ice, “Yet if you ever speak to me in such a manner again, as if I were your personal slave, I will gladly slit your throat.  Do you understand?”

Servius froze, staring at the assassin with unveiled fear.  Tervanis’ voice was perfectly calm, yet Servius had no doubt that the assassin had meant every word.  ‘Here is another man with power,’ he thought shakily.  Tervanis might not be a Guildmaster, or have great wealth at his disposal, yet he had another very important tool; fear.  He was well known as the most dangerous assassin in all of Norvil, perhaps in all of Khand, and that position brought with it its own power.  Servius realized with growing horror that Tervanis could very easily slit his throat here and now, and take every ounce of his treasure if he so chose.  That is, if he could find the hidden wealth.  Yet at the moment, staring into the cold eyes of the assassin, Servius doubted very much if there was anything Tervanis could not accomplish.

Servius took several very long, deep breaths to help himself relax.  Tervanis was not going to kill him.  It was common knowledge that the assassin held no desire for the title of Guildmaster, or the fortune that inherently came with such a position.  He held his own sense of honor when it came to money.  He would gladly accept payment for a job rendered, yet looked with distaste at the acquisition of too much unearned money.  If hired to assassinate a Guildmaster, he would accomplish the job swiftly, take the money he had earned, and turn the rest of the fortune over to whoever had hired him.  In his opinion, too much money made a man weak.  He enjoyed his job, and had no desire to do anything else.  It was clear he would not kill Servius simply for his riches or his position.  In fact, killing Servius at all, for any reason, would be a blow against the assassin’s reputation.  It wouldn’t take long for the word to spread, and afterward, Tervanis would have a hard time finding someone willing to hire him.  Many an assassin had ruined their career by turning against their employers.  No one was willing to hire someone who could easily turn on them and kill them at the slightest whim.  Surely Tervanis knew that, and would not risk it.

Still, Servius was not willing to stake his life on the assassin’s reputation.  “My apologies,” he said sincerely, bowing slightly in Tervanis’ direction.  “I am afraid the excitement of the moment overwhelmed my senses.”

Tervanis nodded slightly in acknowledgement, his hand at last leaving the hilt of his blade as he came further into the room.  Servius let out a silent sigh of relief.

“Now tell me about your journey,” he ordered carefully. After all, he was still Tervanis’ employer.  As long as the assassin was accepting his money, he had to do as Servius said.  Servius might have to be careful as to how he talked to the assassin, but it didn’t mean he had to curl up like a whipped dog.

Tervanis’ lips twisted upward in a slight mocking smile, as if reading Servius’ thoughts.  “There is not much to tell,” he answered simply.

“You had no trouble in Minas Tirith then?” Servius asked.  “No trouble disposing of the queen and that annoying dwarf?” His hand went up to the slight ridge on his nose where the broken bone had not quite healed from when the dwarf had hit him.

Something flickered in Tervanis’ eyes, then just as quickly was gone.  “No more trouble than expected,” he said simply, moving over to the table and pouring a goblet of wine from the pitcher sitting there.

“Good,” Servius said, rubbing his hands together.  “He will be struggling with his grief even as he comes to save his friend.  This is perfect!”

Tervanis’ nodded, then tipped the goblet back and drained it in one gulp, slamming the cup back down on the table with enough force to bend the stem.

“And what about the elf, did he give you any trouble on your way here?”

Tervanis shrugged.  “Very interesting creatures, elves,” he muttered softly, seeming to talk more to himself than to Servius.  “I would very much like to study their race more closely.”  His gaze snapped back to Servius, and he answered the original question.  “He gave us a little trouble at first, but nothing I could not handle.  I have been giving him some doses of Svellon to ensure his behavior.”

“What!?” Servius demanded, his surprise and anger making him forget briefly the danger of riling the assassin.  “You could have killed him, and then all my planning would be ruined!”

Tervanis shrugged.  “He responded to the drug differently than any I have seen before.  It was quite interesting.  But as you can see, it did not kill him.  He is very strong.  Do you truly intend to kill him when the King arrives?”

Servius was surprised at the question, and even more surprised at the assassin’s tone.  “You do not approve?” he asked coolly.

Tervanis did not answer, but turned his back to Servius and poured himself another goblet of wine.

“Why?” Servius asked, truly curious as to why the assassin would care what his plans for the elf were.

“You would not understand,” Tervanis finally answered after a very long pause.  “Nor does it matter.”

Servius’ gaze sharpened, but Tervanis’ back was still turned to him.  “No, it does not matter,” he said slowly, “Not as long as you do your job.”

Tervanis turned to face him again.  “Of course,” he said simply, his features completely unreadable.  “Yet I warn you now, you may have more trouble with the elf than you believe.  He will not sit idly and allow you to carry out your plan.  He will fight you.”

Servius shrugged, a small smile of malicious delight tugging up the corners of his mouth.  “That is yet another concern that does not matter, my friend.  A few nights spent in the cages’ cramped interior will certainly work wonders in eating away at our elf’s calm.  I will have him broken and begging for his life yet!”

********

Legolas stood in the middle of Greenwood, looking up into the intricate network of branches intertwined above his head and listening to the soft song of the trees.  Forms flitted about him, elves dancing in and out of his line of vision as they moved through the trees.  Their laughter rang through the cavernous halls of the wood, filled with peace and contentment.  Familiar voices called to him, encouraging him to join the merriment, yet Legolas stood where he was, intent upon the trees around him.

There was something that was not quite right with the trees, a single note in their melodious song that range false.  The other elves seemed not to notice as they laughed and played, yet Legolas focused his entire being into discovering the cause of the discordant sound.  It seemed small and distant at the moment, but growing stronger and louder the more he listened.  He wished he could silence the other elves so he could better hear, yet they continued on with their merriment, completely unaware.

A small tug on his arm caused him to turn in time to see his sister, Laurell, dance away into the trees, laughing wildly and motioning for him to follow. 

Legolas shook his head and turned back to the trees.  Their song had grown worse, grating upon his sensitive ears until he wanted to cover them with his hands to block out the gruesome sound, and still the elves played on as though they could not hear.

‘What is wrong?’ Legolas called to the trees, yet they only groaned in response, their leaves beginning to wilt and ugly patches beginning to appear upon their lovely trunks.  Legolas cried out in horror, and at last the elves ended their play, growing silent and somber as the green of their home slowly faded to a dead brown. 

‘We must help them!’ Legolas cried, whirling to face the other elves.  They stood in a quiet line behind him, familiar faces of family and friends, their light features now darkened by pain and grief.  Yet it was not to the trees that they looked, but to him, their eyes filled with a deep sadness.  Then, one by one they turned away and disappeared into the darkness of the rotting wood, many of them throwing regretful glances over their shoulders in his direction.

‘Wait!’ Legolas cried, yet the elves seemed not to hear him, and soon they had all gone but for his family, standing in a somber cluster and watching him gravely.  Then, one at a time, they too turned and disappeared into the forest, swallowed by the darkness that had once been their home.  Only his father remained, the king of Greenwood looking greatly agitated and grieved.

‘We must help the trees, father,’ Legolas whispered, certain that his father at least would stay and help heal the strange sickness that had come over their land.

Thranduil did not reply, only continued to watch Legolas with sad eyes.  At last, moving extremely slowly, he turned and began walking away.  Legolas wanted to cry out for him to stay, yet it seemed all breath had left him, leaving behind a horrible ache.  His father at last stopped and turned once more to face Legolas, his face questioning and one arm raised slightly as if to motion Legolas to follow.

Legolas stared at his father in confusion, his heart beating wildly within his chest.  His father loved the trees!  He could not believe the king would so easily abandon them.

 He shook his head.  ‘I must help them!’ he whispered hoarsely, desperate for his father to understand.

Slowly, Thranduil’s arm fell back to his side, and with a last sad look at his son, he turned and disappeared after the others.

Legolas felt torn in two, the grief within him rising until it almost choked him.  The trees, no longer tall and beautiful but bent and ugly, closed in around him, filling the air with their rotting stench.  Branches reached for him, rough bark tearing into the flesh of his arms and snagging at his hair.  Legolas cried out and attempted to pull away from their sickening grasp, but they merely moved in closer, tearing at him like a wild predator ripping at its prey.  He felt their dark poison transferred to him, sickening his body and poisoning his soul.  His flesh began to wither, and the world began to darken, tilting wildly.  Legolas cried out, desperately struggling against the limbs that were trapping him, but it was no use.  Slowly, inescapably, they dragged him downwards into blackness…

****

Legolas awoke to the same blackness as his dream, the cold metal of the bars pressing tightly against his back.  The dark stench of the rotted and poisoned trees seemed to have followed him into his cell, and his stomach heaved repeatedly in violent protest.  He waited for the feelings of sickness to subside, but instead his nausea seemed only to grow, a violent shaking taking over his limbs.  He grasped the bars of his cell tightly, gasping in pain and growing panic, his stomach churning and his head pounding, every muscle in his body feeling as if it was stretched to the point of tearing.

He had been drugged again.  Tervanis had given him some more Svellon.  That had to be why he was feeling so sick.  Yet he could not remember being given the drug, in fact, he was almost certain that he had not!

He moaned and curled himself into a tight ball in the center of the cage, frighteningly aware of the bars that closed in tightly around him, refusing him even enough room to stretch out his long limbs.  A moan was torn from his lips, and tears leaked unbidden from the corners of his eyes.

Something was very wrong!

TBC