Round Robin
Chapter 7
By Chianna

The forest was unnaturally quiet. The slavers' passage through the forest had alerted its denizens; most had gone to their burrows, high perches or dens to wait out the intrusion. Aragorn knew that he would need to make a decision soon, so he closed in on the scene before him. The oppressive quiet amplified the sounds and sights not twenty yards in front of him.

Legolas lay unmoving on the ramshackle old hay cart the two slavers had converted into a prisoner transport wagon. It was not enclosed, so they had gone to some lengths to ensure that their booty remained secure. A span of chain ran the length of both sides of the cart. As he watched, the apish one that the other had called Varan hauled the elf's arms over his head and secured them to the chain. Legolas' bloodied body lay stretched out on the bed of the cart. Varan proceeded to the end of the cart and did the same to the prince's legs.

Anger at his friend's treatment tightened in his chest, burning white hot. His options had narrowed to only two slim possibilities. First, there was no way with the injury to his leg that he could follow a wagon on foot. He could go back to Rivendell, get his brothers and get a horse. They could double back and easily follow the wagon tracks of a laden cart.

Almost in the same instant, Aragorn discarded the idea. What if Legolas was transferred to some other vehicle, it rained or they traveled over rocky ground? Too many factors could stop even an elven-trained tracker from finding the sign that would lead to his friend.

Strider's only other option was not very appealing either. In his weakened condition, his strength reserves were almost completely tapped. He had the endurance left for a short fight, but he could ill afford any complications. But the slavers seemed to be only armed with bows, short swords and cudgels. Brutes, he thought; the cudgels were probably to subdue hapless victims. If he were able to close more distance before revealing himself, it would be unlikely that either would have time to let loose an arrow; and Aragorn's broadsword would give him an advantage in reach that the short swords lacked.

Mind made up, Strider advanced as quietly as his aching leg would allow, using the cover of the trees and brush to mask his approach. His heart leapt, as he saw movement from Legolas in the cart. The two slavers seemed unaware of his approach as they noisily completed final preparations to depart their crude camp.

But Strider's approach did not go unattended. Legolas lifted his head and turned it in the direction of the noise that only elven ears could have perceived. His bleary eyes caught a figure approaching and tried to focus. Two steps closer and he recognized his best friend approaching. Just as suddenly, his hopes for rescue turned to despair as his eyes focused just beyond the ranger. He tried to shake his head and yell out a warning. Only a pained whisper passed the elf's lips. "No, Estel. No." Too late, he realized that his friend's attention was already engaged elsewhere.

Strider's approach finally gained Varan and Syrill's notice. The ranger's appearance took the two completely off guard. The ranger's already unsheathed sword spun in a graceful and deadly arch to rest pointing at the two as they stepped back to clumsily grab their weapons.

Syrill, unquestionably the smarter of the two, knew that graceful flourish signaled that they were probably up against a master swordsman, no matter how young he appeared. The slaver grasped his sword in front of him and knew with no uncertainty that it would only be a matter of time. Clumsily he blocked the first blow as Varan finally brought his sword to bear as well. With a moment's respite, Syrill noted how the ranger was favoring his left leg. He was even further heartened when he looked just beyond the ranger. With a yell, he fought harder, not with any hope to do the ranger injury immediately, but rather to distract him.

Aragorn managed to slash the arm of the bolder slaver and knew that they were both tiring as he wove his sword between them. For just an instant, he heard the clank of a chain and stole a look at his friend. His eyes locked for a moment with his friend's bloodied face.

Legolas only had the strength to utter one word. "Behind!"

As stated earlier, a cudgel is a rather inelegant weapon; but, under some circumstances, it can be used quite effectively. In this case, applied with even moderate force to the ranger's injured leg, it brought the man to his knees, gasping in pain.

In that instant, Aragorn knew that he had miscalculated: There had been a third accomplice. In his exhaustion and pain, he had not reconnoitered the area as carefully as he was normally wont to do. Legolas' warning had come too late.

Facing away from his attacker, he sensed, rather than saw, the next blow. Trying to swing his sword arm around to attempt an attack probably saved his life. The blow intended for his head struck his left shoulder instead. There was the sound of a sickening pop as the force of the blow spun the ranger around and drove him face-down into the mud.

Legolas', hope and Aragorn's consciousness, departed in the same instant.

Legolas was helpless as he watched the victor eye his defenseless friend. The cudgel nudged his back once, then twice. Aragorn moved not at all.

"Pick him up and secure him in the wagon. He's a mess, but we might get something for him."

Syrill approached more brazenly now that the ranger lay unconscious at his feet, one hand holding his injured arm. Syrill ordered Saran to throw the ranger into the cart, "like manure rolling downhill," but not before delivering a vicious kick to the ranger's unprotected back.

"That's for the cut, slave! I've only just begun to get back my own from you sorry hide."

Varan picked up the ranger's body and unceremoniously dumped it next to the elf. Syrill lashed the ranger's feet to the chain on the opposite side of the cart.

Syrill barked to Varan, "Secure his arms as you did with the elf."

"But Syrill, his shoulder is dislocated."

With sadistic satisfaction, Syrill ordered, "Do it Varan. Fixing it for our young friend when we make camp will give me something to look forward to."

With an air of command, the third, and obvious leader, settled onto the driver's side of the cart and took the reins, throwing back at the two bickering minions, "Shut up, both of you. Your dithering earlier would have cost us a hefty payment for the elf if I had not come along."

More afraid of his leader than Syrill, Varan pulled the ranger's arms together and fastened them above the man's head, drawing a groan of pain as his tortured joint was moved once again.

Legolas eyed his friend. Sweat beaded the man's face that was gray with pain. Legolas was relieved that his friend had regained his senses.

"What did you think you were doing?"

"I didn't have much of a choice, Legolas...I had a plan." Aragorn took in his friend's many injuries and prayed for them both.

For the first time this day, Legolas felt a smile part his lips. "You call this a plan? You've been captured, and your shoulder is dislocated."

"Well, it will lull them into a false sense of security." The elf snorted ungracefully at that, as Aragorn added with much less bravado, "And, at least, my friend, you are not alone."

"Indeed. And now I have something to live for," the elf added with a crooked grin as Aragorn looked at him quizzically. "Once we are free, I cannot wait to tell the twins that you were felled by a woman!"

TBC...