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Hostage of Hate  by Littlefish

Chapter 30    A Race Against Time

“They are gone, Aragorn.”

At Gimli’s quiet comment, Aragorn rose swiftly from his position on the bed and went to join his friend at the window.  The street below was lit by the soft glow of the almost full moon and by the lantern light filtering from the windows of the Sleeping Dragon.  Nothing moved on the dark street, and the positions where Servius’ guards had earlier stood watching the inn were now eerily vacant.

 “It is time for us to go,” Aragorn murmured softly, his eyes carefully searching the street below.  “It seems Thorbis’ men have done their duty, and now we must do ours.  There is only a few more hours until dawn, so we must be quick.”

Gimli grunted in reply, his hand rubbing against the haft of his axe, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.  He was not an exceptionally patient being, and the long hours waiting in the dark room for Thorbis’ men to make their move had caused him to become somewhat irritable and edgy.  It was obvious that he was more than a little anxious to be given the opportunity to unleash some of his frustration on Servius’ men.

Aragorn moved to the foot of his bed were Anduril lay on a low wooden chest.  Lifting the sword, he belted it about his waist, then motioned Gimli to follow him out of the room.  He too was feeling the quickening rush of blood through his veins that always preceded a battle, and he could not deny the fact that he was relieved that the wait was finally over.  If all went according to plan this night, Legolas would be free by dawn, and they would all be well on their way away from Norvil by mid-morning. 

They took the back way out of the inn, unwilling to go through the common room crowded with rough and drunk citizens looking for a final glass of ale.  The cook and a few of the maids gave them curious looks as they moved through the kitchen towards the back door, but no one moved to stop them.  Once outside, Aragorn led them carefully down the narrow alley beside the inn, keeping a sharp eye out for any of Servius’ men.  Yet it seemed that Thorbis’ men had done their jobs effectively, for there was no sign of any of the guards.

They moved quickly through the streets, dodging from shadow to shadow and avoiding the numerous gangs of dangerous looking men drifting about the city looking for a fight.  They made good time, using the direction provided by Delran, and soon were standing at the mouth of the alleyway that led down to Servius’ guild.  There they stopped, peering suspiciously into the dark shadows before them.

“I can’t see anything,” Gimli growled, hefting the haft of his axe out of his belt and holding the weapon at the ready.  “The guards could still be down there for all we know.”

Aragorn nodded, then motioned for Gimli to remain silent so he could listen.   He heard a strange scratching sound, like long claws scraping against wood or stone, and an occasional angry squeal.  It didn’t take him long to guess what was making such noises.  “Rats,” he whispered softly.  “Many of them from the sound of it.”

Gimli grunted, glaring into the darkness with a look of disgust.  “Every single one of Servius’ men are rats, if you ask me, with him being the largest one of all!”

Aragorn sighed.  “I suppose we will have to trust that Thorbis has kept his word,” he said softly.  “Come Gimli, we are losing time.”  Aragorn removed Anduril from its sheath, then cautiously began making his way forward into the deep darkness of the alley, Gimli only a step behind.  He stopped only a few steps in, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the blackness and listening intently.  Still, all he could hear were the scurrying noises of rodents, and so he started forward once more.

They had gone perhaps a yard down the alley when Aragorn spotted movement up ahead.  He squinted through the gloom, barely making out the squat bodies of several large rats, their eyes glowing ominously red in the dark alley.  Littering the alley all around the rats were strange mounds which Aragorn soon recognized as bodies.  The smell of blood was strong in the air, and now, along with the sound of claws and squeals, there came the disgusting noise of sharp teeth ripping through flesh.

Aragorn grimaced, sickened by the gruesome sight.  He could not see Gimli’s expression in the dark, but he sensed the dwarf stiffening beside him, and knew that he too was affected by the scene.  Death hung heavy and oppressive over this alley, and for the first time Aragorn was glad the moon had veiled itself behind a low sheet of clouds, masking the details of the horrendous sight.

Aragorn wrenched his eyes away from the floor of the alley and peered at the squat front of the building sitting before them.  No light spilled from the boarded up windows, and all was eerily silent.  Aragorn exchanged a glance with Gimli, then slowly began making his way forward once more, cautiously skirting the bodies littering the ground and kicking any rat that seemed reluctant to give up its feast and move out of the way.

Three men lay slumped before the entrance to the guild, their positions giving the false pretense that perhaps they were only sleeping.  Aragorn stepped over them, then hesitated, staring at the plain wooden door before him.  He reached out a hand and tried the latch, fully expecting to find the door barred shut.  Instead, it swung silently inward, revealing a dimly lit hall.

Aragorn shook his head, marveling at Servius’ stupidity.  The man obviously believed the guards out in the alley were adequate protection, a thought which he would soon realize to be folly.  Still, Aragorn wasn’t about to question his luck.  Stepping inside, he waited until Gimli had entered behind him, then quietly shut the door.

The hall was wide and plain, lacking the rich decorations that had been so prominent in Thorbis’ guild.  It was completely deserted, but Aragorn spotted a small stool sitting beside the door with a tall bottle of ale resting beside it.  The bottle of ale was only half empty, and Aragorn had a sudden suspicion.  Whoever had been set as guard here might have heard a noise out in the alley during the fight and gone to investigate.  They were likely lying dead in the alley at this very moment, which would explain the unlocked door and the empty stool.  Aragorn had to admit that Thorbis’ men had been extremely effective in their attack.

Aragorn turned his attention to the rest of the hall.  Several doors branched off to both the right and the left, and near the end of the hall a set of stairs led upward.  All was silent, Gimli’s breathing the loudest thing to be heard.  It seemed that Thorbis had been right in suggesting this as the most opportune time for their attack.  Whatever soldiers remained in the guild were either sleeping, or keeping to themselves in their own quarters.  This offered Gimli and Aragorn more time in which to search for Legolas without interruption.

“Should we split up and search in different directions?” Gimli suggested in a low whisper.  “It is nearing dawn, and it would save us time.”

Aragorn considered this for a moment, then shook his head.  “I think we should stay together for the time being,” he answered softly.  “At least until we get a better idea of what it is we face and how large this place may be.”

Gimli grudgingly nodded, then headed for the first door branching to the left.

“Be careful,” Aragorn advised quietly.  “I wish to keep our presence here secret for as long as we may.”

Gimli didn’t answer, but he did place an ear to the door and listened quietly for several long moments before swinging it open to reveal a set of narrow stone stairs leading downward.  Gimli glanced at Aragorn, then reached up and grabbed the single torch that flickered in a small bracket at the top of the stairs.  He motioned Aragorn to follow, then led the way down the narrow steps.

Another wooden door stood open at the bottom of the stairs, and as they cautiously moved through it, they discovered themselves in some sort of cellar.  Large crates and barrels lined the walls haphazardly, and near the center of the room stood a small iron cage. 

Aragorn scanned the room carefully, then turned back toward the door, confident that there was nothing to find within the cellar. He stopped, however, when he caught sight of the strange expression on Gimli’s face.  The dwarf was staring toward the iron cage, his brow furrowed.

“What is wrong, Gimli?” he asked quietly, looking at the cage curiously.  Then he saw what had caught the dwarf’s eye.  Near the center of the cage two loops of rope lay discarded, the brown fibers of one of them stained a dark red, almost black.  Aragorn frowned and took a step closer, a slow, sick feeling rising in the pit of his stomach.

“Aragorn,” Gimli whispered softly, his voice a mixture of horror and anger, “Do you think they put Legolas in there?”

Aragorn stared at the tiny cage, his own horror building up within him.  He was certain the two loops of rope lying within the cage had been used to bind the hands and feet of someone.  The probability that that someone was Legolas caused his stomach to clench painfully and his rage to rise hot within him.

Gimli obviously did not need Aragorn to answer.  The dwarf knew, just as certainly as Aragorn knew, that Legolas had indeed been held within that tiny cage.  The fury on Gimli’s face was enough to make any sane man run screaming in terror, and the dwarf’s voice was rough with emotion when he asked, “So where is he now?”

Aragorn only mutely shook his head, not trusting his own voice.  He knew only one thing for certain; Servius would pay dearly for what he had done to Legolas.

“If they have hurt him…” Gimli began, but did not finish.

Silently the two turned and left the room and the small cage, the memory of it forever burned into their minds.  They both knew very well how Legolas would react to being locked in the tiny confines of the iron prison, left alone in the dark of the cellar.

Once back up in the main hall, they quickly moved to search the other doors.  Two of them led into storage rooms and two more into completely empty rooms. The fifth door they explored branched off into yet another hallway with even more doors, and the sixth led into a large dining hall with the remains of a feast still sitting upon the table.  Nothing in any of the rooms indicated where Legolas or Servius might be.

They had just left the dining hall and were heading toward the stairs, when the door leading into the second hallway opened and a band of about six men burst into the front hall, laughing and talking amongst themselves.

There was no time for Gimli and Aragorn to hide, and a moment later the men spotted them.  The group jerked to a halt, their eyes widening in surprise.  For a moment all they did was stare at Gimli and Aragorn, obviously too shocked to do anything else.  Then, one of them finally opened his mouth and screamed “INTRUDERS!” at the top of his lungs.  His scream was cut short, however, as one of Aragorn’s knives flew through the air and embedded itself deep within the man’s chest.

Complete pandemonium broke out then as the remaining men leapt forward, brandishing their weapons and crying out their challenges.  One man leapt at Aragorn, his face filled with rage, only to crumple at the King’s feet in a motionless heap as Aragorn’s sword smashed into the side of his head.  Two other men came at him then, but Aragorn easily dodged their blows.  Beside him, Gimli let out a loud war bellow and slammed into two of the guards, knocking them both to the floor with one blow.  Soon the hall was filled with cries of pain and the angry clash of steel against steel.

It did not take Gimli and Aragorn much time at all to dispatch the men attacking them, Aragorn with grace and elegance, and Gimli with pure brute force.  Yet the last man had barely fallen to the floor before another group of soldiers burst from the same hall, this time led by a giant of a man with muscled arms even larger than those of Kiesco’s.

“Get em’, Garish,” several of the men shouted as the large man charged across the hall toward them.

Aragorn and Gimli immediately split, forcing the large man to chose which one of them he would come after.  The man veered away from Gimli and raced toward Aragorn, an ugly grimace on his large face.  He swung a giant sword toward Aragorn’s head, which the King easily ducked, then lunged forward, obviously intent on pinning his smaller combatant against the wall with his superior strength.  He did not count on Aragorn’s speed, however, and the ex-ranger easily danced out of his way, his own sword sweeping around to cut a gash in the giant man’s arm.  Behind him he could hear Gimli’s roar as the dwarf fought against the other men.

“Come and get me, Garish,” Aragorn taunted softly, grinning as the man let out an angry roar and dove for him once more.  But instead of dodging out of the way this time, Aragorn met the charge straight on, ducking beneath the giant’s outstretched arms at the last moment and bringing his sword’s point up.  Garish was unable to stop his own forward momentum, and he let out a strangled cry as he impaled himself on Aragorn’s sword.  Aragorn rolled away, pulling Anduril with him as Garish crashed to his knees, his sword dropping from his hands as he clasped at the gaping hole in his belly.

Aragorn turned to help Gimli then, only to find the dwarf slamming his final opponent to the ground, his axe raised above the man for the final blow.

“Wait, Gimli,” he called, hurrying forward.

Gimli checked the downward momentum of his axe, his surprised gaze moving to Aragorn.  The man Gimli had been about to kill reached for a discarded sword lying near him, but Aragorn’s boot slammed down on his wrist before he could bring the weapon to bear.

The man let out a terrified squeal, and began to thrash desperately in an attempt to escape.

“Be still,” Aragorn snapped angrily, placing the tip of Anduril at the man’s throat, “or I will allow my companion to finish what he started.”

The man immediately quit struggling, his eyes going wide.  “Please,” he whimpered, “Please do not kill me.”

“I will allow you to live as long as you answer my questions?” Aragorn said simply, listening carefully for the sound of any more approaching guards.

The man nodded wildly.  “Yes anything,” he yelped.  “Anything.”

“What lies up these stairs?” Aragorn demanded, motioning to the stairs he and Gimli had been about to take.

“That leads to my Master’s office,” the man said quickly, “and to his private quarters and the quarters of his two advisors.”

“Are there guards?”

The man hesitated, and Aragorn pressed Anduril more firmly against his throat.  “Do not lie,” he hissed threateningly.

The man gulped, then nodded.  “Yes,” he said pitifully, “There are guards.”

“Where is Legolas?” Gimli demanded from over Aragorn’s shoulder.

The man pointed a shaky finger back down the hall he had just come.  “At the end of the hall there is a set of stairs.  Your friend is in the room at the top of those stairs.  He is guarded by four men.”

“Thank you,” Aragorn muttered, kneeling and slamming the hilt of his sword against the man’s temple, immediately rendering him unconscious. Then he rose, his gaze meeting Gimli’s.  The house was once more silent, but Aragorn did not entertain the hope that they had managed to defeat all of the guards so easily.  It was likely that even now the remainder of the soldiers within the guild were flocking to their master’s side, preparing to make a final stand.  The battle was far from over.

 “It will be dawn soon, Aragorn,” Gimli muttered softly from beside him.

Aragorn grimaced.  “It is time we split company,” he decided.  “Go and find Legolas.  Hurry Gimli, for I know not what orders have been given regarding him.  His guards may have been commanded to kill him should anyone break through the guild’s defenses.”

Gimli nodded his agreement.  “You will be going after Servius, then?”  It was more of a statement than a question.

Aragorn didn’t answer.  He didn’t have to.  “Find Legolas, then join me as quickly as you can.  I may need your assistance.”

*******

Servius was barricaded within his office along with his two advisors, surrounded by a small contingent of his guards.  He had been awakened by the first sounds of battle from downstairs, and had known immediately what was happening.  He did not know how his enemies had managed to get past the men guarding his guild, but the fact that they were inside and searching for him was inescapable.  He had gathered as many of his men to him as he had been able, then hurried to the relative security of his office.

He was furious, but he was also more than a little nervous.  King Elessar had been full of surprises this night, and now Servius was unsure of what to expect next.  How had the King managed to get inside his guild?  How many men did he have under his command?  How long would it be before he discovered where Servius was hiding?

It didn’t matter, Servius told himself, for before this night was through, King Elessar would be dead.  One way or another, he would succeed in his plans of revenge.  Perhaps it would not end in the way he had always dreamed it would, but that hardly mattered any more.  The only thing that did matter was that the King die.  Soon.

******

Legolas lay tense and expectant upon the bed, his ears straining to catch any more sound from outside.  All was silent now, and yet he had been certain of what he had heard. A battle had taken place outside within the alley, and he could guess from what he had heard that it had been brief yet fierce.  The silence now seemed loud in comparison, telling him nothing of what had happened or who had won.  The lack of reaction from within the guild told Legolas that he alone was aware that anything had happened at all. At first he had felt certain that what he had heard was Aragorn and Gimli coming for him, but as the long minutes dragged by he began to doubt this assumption.  He knew there were many men guarding the guild.  Far too many even for the great strength and skill of his two companions to withstand.  Aragorn would not have been foolish enough to make such an attempt when there was no hope for victory.  Yet who had it been then?

Legolas jerked in surprise as yet another sound reached his ears, this time from directly outside his door.  It was a small grunt, one that could very well have been made by one of the guards out in the hall shifting positions.  Yet Legolas somehow knew it wasn’t.  He gazed intently at the door, his heart beating expectantly within his chest, waiting for what would come next.

The door swung open, causing the two guards on either side of it to jump up in alarm, their hands flying to their weapons.  However, a moment later they relaxed as Tervanis entered the room, silently shutting the door behind him as he came.  Legolas heard the unmistakable click of a lock sliding into place.

“What are you…?” the first guard began to ask, but he never was given an opportunity to finish his question for a small knife suddenly blossomed in his throat.  His eyes widened for a moment in shocked surprise and pain, and then he sank lifelessly to the ground.

The second guard grasped for his sword, his mouth opening in alarm, but he fell as quickly as his companion, a second knife protruding from his own neck.

Legolas watched in helpless horror from the bed, marveling at the quickness with which the assassin had dispatched the two men.  Neither had been given a chance to cry out, and Tervanis had moved so quickly that not so much as a single drop of their blood marred his tunic, though it was now spreading across the floor in a gruesome pool of scarlet.

Tervanis crouched and withdrew both of his knives, pausing to wipe them clean on the dead men’s tunics.  Then he rose and moved toward the bed,  knives still gripped loosely in his hands.

Legolas watched his approach warily, wondering if the assassin had come to kill him were he lay.  Somehow he doubted it, but his stomach still clenched with apprehension.  Whatever Tervanis was up to, Legolas was certain he would not like it.

The assassin stopped only inches from the bed, his gaze moving up Legolas’ bound form.  Their eyes met and locked, and Legolas felt a horrible chill spreading down his spine at the expression on Tervanis’ face.  The assassin looked like a man who had been desiring something for a very long time, and had suddenly been offered it upon a silver platter.

Legolas opened his mouth to speak, suddenly desperate to end the man’s stare, but before he could say anything, Tervanis was moving again.  With the same speed he had used to kill the two guards, the assassin lashed out once…twice, and the ropes binding Legolas’ wrists to the bed fell away.  Then, without a word, Tervanis turned and cut the ropes from Legolas’ ankles as well.

Legolas was so startled by the man’s actions that he could only stare up at Tervanis in disbelief.  He felt the painful tingle of blood flowing back into his wrist, but the discomfort was lost to him as he stared up at the assassin.

“Get up,” Tervanis ordered simply, his knives disappearing somewhere beneath his cloak as he took a step back away from the bed.  He continued to watch Legolas with his hungry gaze. 

Legolas slowly pushed himself up onto his elbows, swinging his legs off the bed and onto the floor, his gaze never leaving Tervanis.  A wave of nausea threatened him, but he ruthlessly pushed it back, swallowing the bile rising in his throat and ignoring the loud protests of his battered body.  Pushing himself up into a sitting position, he slowly rose from the bed, only a slight trembling in his legs giving evidence to his weakness.

“Move around until you have regained your strength and balance,” Tervanis commanded, taking several more steps back in order to give Legolas room to move about.

Legolas hesitated for only a moment before obeying, still trying to figure out what the assassin could be up to.  He moved around the room, the blood beginning to flow once more through his legs and arms and the feelings of dizziness slowly beginning to fade.  His ribs still ached fiercely with every step he took, and his head still pounded relentlessly, but he resigned himself to these weaknesses and then staunchly worked to ignore them. 

After a few moments had passed he turned back to face Tervanis.  “What is it you want?” he asked softly.

In reply, Tervanis reached beneath his cloak and withdrew two swords, one of which he tossed toward Legolas who caught it easily.  “You,” he answered simply, a small, crooked grin lifting the corners of his mouth.

Legolas looked down at the sword he was holding, then back at the assassin.  “You wish to fight me?” he asked, incredulous.

“For someone as intelligent as yourself, I would have thought it to be obvious,” Tervanis replied mockingly.  “Yes, Legolas, I wish to fight you, and though the conditions are not exactly as I might have liked, they will have to do.”

“Why?” Legolas asked slowly, still unable to mask his surprise.

“Why?” Tervanis repeated, then shrugged.  “I began my trade as an assassin when I was only twelve years old,” he explained calmly, “and since that time I have never been bested by anyone, nor met anyone who could even begin to match up to my level of skill.  Yet when I watched you fight my men that day you tried to escape, I knew that fate had brought you to me.  I saw your skill and knew that you alone could fight me, and perhaps even defeat me.  Many years I have lived without challenge, and I have grown weary of it.  I decided that one way or another I would find a way to fight you and see for myself if my assumptions regarding your skills are correct.”

“And what if you defeat me?” Legolas asked slowly.  “What will you do then?”

Tervanis cocked his head to one side.  “I will merely have to go in search of a new challenge,” he stated simply.  “Perhaps I have stayed in Norvil for too long.  I will go out into the world and discover for myself if there is anyone worthy of my skills.”

“And if you fail?”

Tervanis grinned widely, then shrugged, “At least it will be a new experience,” he murmured softly.  “But come, Legolas, enough talking.  Even now your friends will be coming for you.  I would have this done before they arrive.”

Legolas gave a start at the news that Aragorn and Gimli were coming for him, but he was given no time to reflect on this piece of news, for Tervanis had unsheathed his sword and was steadily advancing.  Legolas quickly unsheathed his own weapon, then squared his feet in preparation to meet the man’s attack.  He was well aware of how swift and skilled the assassin was, and in his present weakened condition he knew he would be hard pressed to defeat Tervanis.  Still, he was given little choice as the assassin leapt toward him, his sword aimed straight for Legolas’ chest.

Legolas’ own sword came up to meet Tervanis’ with a loud ring of steel upon steel, and the dance for survival began.  Legolas, his injuries forgotten, moved with the grace and speed of his people, his elven reflexes guiding his sword in each thrust and parry.  His feet never remained in one place for more than a moment, and his blade was nothing but a silvery blur as it arched and cut through the air.

Tervanis matched him move for move, his own sword a blur, first cutting one way, then feinting back mid-swing to sweep in from another direction.  The assassin’s form was perfect, his eyes locked on Legolas as they moved about the room in a graceful dance, their steps matched perfectly, the ring of steel against steel the music that guided their feet.  Anyone watching the fight would have been immediately captivated by the deadly beauty and elegance of the battle going on before them.

Legolas felt the hot rush of blood through his veins, urging him to greater speed.  Tervanis danced forward, his blade sweeping toward Legolas’ head only to be knocked away only inches away from its target.  Then Legolas was moving forward, his own sword pressing for any chance to break through Tervanis’ guard and find flesh.  Minutes seemed to drag into hours as the battle continued, neither gaining any ground on the other.  Both combatants were soon breathing hard, covered in sweat, and yet their battle did not slow in the slightest. 

Still, Legolas abused body was beginning to show signs of rebellion.  He could easily block out the pain of his battered ribs and aching head, but the weakness in his limbs was not something that could long be ignored.  The warrior within him was giving him strength, and yet that strength would not last forever.  Sooner or later this fight must end, and unless it was sooner rather than later, Legolas highly doubted his chances for victory.  Yet no matter how hard he pressed his injured body for more speed, Tervanis seemed to be matching him step for step.  Had he been in fine health Legolas would not have viewed this as a problem, holding faith that his elven endurance would see him through.  Yet as it was now, he knew he could not keep the battle up much longer.

His old elven masters had often taught him that one’s own body could be just as effective a weapon as a sword or dagger.  Many years of experience had taught Legolas the truth of this statement, and he hoped now to use it to his advantage.  Raising his sword to block yet another blow from Tervanis, he twisted his body to the side, rolling his form with the force of the blow.  Just as expected, the assassin pressed forward, believing he had managed to unbalance his opponent.  Legolas ducked underneath their crossed blades, bending with an amazing show of flexibility, and bringing his free fist up sharply into Tervanis’ stomach.

The assassin let out a low grunt, stumbling back, off balance.  Unfortunately, Legolas’ position did not allow him to take advantage of his opponents momentarily dropped guard, and a second later Tervanis was fully recovered and pressing back in for the fight.

The cuts around Legolas’ wrists had re-opened during the battle, and soon his grip upon the hilt of his sword was made slippery with blood.  He made a quick feint to his left, switching at the last moment and sweeping his blade up and to the right, forcing Tervanis’ own blade down to meet it.  Then, instead of stepping back and waiting for the counter-attack, he stepped forward, his left leg sweeping around in an attempt to pull the assassin’s legs from beneath him.

Tervanis was too quick, and darted back from the attack.  However, Legolas had carefully judged exactly when and where to make the bold move, and as the assassin moved back, his sword rising in order to strike down at his vulnerable opponent, he tripped over one of the sprawled bodies of the guards and stumbled backward.

Legolas leapt forward, his blade sweeping around, yet at that moment a sharp twinge from his ribs caused him to gasp and falter, his sword merely cutting a shallow gash across Tervanis’ torso rather than killing him.

It was Legolas’ turn to be thrown off balance, and before he could recover, something hard slammed against the side of his head, causing bright stars to explode in front of his vision.  Legolas realized a moment later that Tervanis had thrown one of the guard’s vacant stools at him.

Legolas fought to regain his balance, but it seemed that his body had finally had enough.  His ribs were screaming in protest, and dark fringes of pain marred the edges of his vision.  He stumbled back against the wall of the room, raising his sword at the last minute to block a blow from Tervanis’ sword that would have surely cleaved him in two.  Yet it turned out that the true danger was in fact not Tervanis’ sword, but the small dagger he had retrieved from beneath his cloak and now held tightly in his left fist.  With Legolas’ attention focused on deflecting the blow from the sword, his left side was left completely defenseless, and Tervanis took full advantage of this fact.  Darting forward, he thrust the dagger deep into Legolas’ left side, directly below his ribs.

Legolas gasped as white-hot fingers of pain raced up his side, robbing him of his breath.  He jerked backward, ripping free from the dagger and struggling to remain on his feet.  Yet the fight seemed to be fleeing him just as quickly as the blood flowing from his side and soaking his tunic.

Tervanis stepped back, breathing heavily as he watched Legolas’ struggle to regain his wits.  When it became obvious that the fight was over for the elf, he calmly re-sheathed his blood stained knife and took yet another step back away from his opponent.

“Well done, Legolas,” he whispered softly.

Legolas fought to remain conscious, fought to keep hold of the sword still clutched in his right hand as he stared back at Tervanis.  His breath was coming in sharp gasps now, and the pain from his side seemed to be intensifying with every gulp for air.  He was uncertain what was going to happen next, yet he was determined that if he was going to die, he would die standing on his feet.

“I did not expect you to defeat me,” Tervanis said calmly, his gaze still locked on Legolas.  “Not injured and weakened as you were.  Still, you have given me much to look forward to.  We will meet again, Legolas, and when we do, the battle shall be an even one, with neither of us holding advantage over the other.  I look forward to that day.” 

And with these words, Tervanis turned and strode from the room, leaving Legolas to slump with a soft moan to the floor.

TBC 

 





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