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Revolution  by Laikwalâssę

Revolution

 
 

Chapter 22:  hope against hope

Followed by the warriors, Saeron run down the corridor. He knew these tunnels well. He had often played here while still an elfling and frequently had been scolded by his father for doing this. This tunnel ended directly at the underground river. The river ran swiftly in a deep channel and it could be very dangerous for an elfling to fall into, possibly resulting in drowning.

With Galion still on his heels, Saeron no longer cared if they made any noise. It was high time to confront Thoran and his henchman. Saeron did still not understand why his father’s political opponent had not already shown himself. Maybe Thoran had accepted his defeat, recognized his miscalculation and run off? Saeron snorted. No, this was not like Thoran. Even if he had seen his disadvantage he would fight this off until his last breath.

Saeron had no doubt that he was down here. The missing children and King indicated this clearly. And here he would meet his fate; Saeron would make sure of that.

When they could hear the rushing of the river Saeron increased his speed to finally reach the spot where the tunnel widened into a great hall. There the elves had built a wooden platform where they loaded goods into the barrels they wanted to send towards Esgaroth.

Saeron did not know why this place called to him so urgently all of a sudden but he did not care. If their fate should be decided there it would be so. Saeron did not know what he had expected when rounding the last corner obscuring his view of the river, but the sight that greeted him now froze him in his tracks.

Thoran was standing there with a sneer on his face but what shocked him most was the sight of his father. The King was standing not an arms length away from Thoran, barely able to hold himself upright. He had one arm braced against the stone wall while the other arm was clutched tightly around his torso.

Saeron noted one other detail. His father was not bound nor did Thoran display any weapons, at least none that Saeron could see on at first glance. After a quick look around Saeron saw no other elves save Thoran and his father. Where had Thoran´s fellows disappeared to?

This situation seemed so highly unreal that it made Saeron hesitate. The warriors behind him had also stopped in stunned silence. Like he, they had expected a fight or confrontation of some sort.

But it was not the situation that made Saeron narrow his eyes. Rather it was the words his father uttered as soon as he and the warriors had rounded the corner.

“Saeron stop and turn around. Take your men and leave this place immediately. That is an order!”

Saeron stepped back involuntarily. He knew an order when he heard one, yet the look from his father’s eyes betrayed the hard words.

His brain denied accepting the order. Why should they turn? He had fifteen warriors here, Thoran was alone – why should they not arrest him?

Confused, Saeron looked back at his father and the King’s pleading eyes struck his heart. What charade was Thoran playing? Saeron had the bad feeling that he was overlooking something important.

And then many things happened at once. Thranduil lost his precarious balance and crumbled to the floor. Out of reflex two warriors hastened over to help their King back on his feet.

Saeron stood transfixed, as Thoran’s shrill laughter grew louder, grating on everyone’s nerves. Only now did Saeron recognize that Thoran was holding a thick rope. The prince’s eyes followed the rope and he saw at least ten barrels bound to one another, bobbing on the surface of the water.

“As I have predicted, my King, they will not listen to you. Now you all will pay for not accepting the sensible course,” Thoran cried and raised his hand.

Saeron shook his head. He was not willing to listen any longer to the absurd babble of this mad elf. Even when Thoran released the rope and the barrels were swept away by the river he only ordered two of the warriors to capture Thoran and make sure that he did not escape.

Now he had time to go to his father but the angry voice of Thranduil again stopped him. The King had untangled himself from the many helping hands and was again standing unaided. While Saeron had only eyes for the quickly spreading red stain on his father’s tunic the King’s eyes were fixed on the barrels which were quickly drifting out of sight.

The warriors looked confused their eyes moving between their King and the prince. Saeron took a deep breath. His father was wounded and confused, yes, but why were the barrels so important to him? The lost goods, whatever the barrels were holding could be replaced.

“Adar, what?” was the only thing he was able to say when the glare from the green eyes of the King hit him.

“Saeron! The children!” the King cried. “The children are in the barrels!”

The air around him in the underground cavern suddenly seemed solid. Saeron gasped at his father’s words and then found himself unable to inhale.

His consciousness needed precious moments to register what his ears had heard. The children were in the barrels? Why would…? An angry shout from one of the warriors returned his slow-motion responses to their normal levels.

While some warriors were still standing, supporting the King, the two guards that had secured Thoran were pressing the elf face first into the dirt drowning out the sound of his unbearable laughter.

Saeron did not lose any more time. He turned and with a mighty leap he sprang onto the wooden platform in a desperate attempt to catch the cut rope as it slithered over the planks. Yet it was already too late. The rope smacked into the river and the barrels were swiftly borne away.

With an angry cry Saeron leaped after the barrels into the river. All his attempts to reach the rope were proving futile, the river was too swift and the distance already too great.

He swam, following the river until it cleared the rock and came back to open space. Before he was out of sight he had seen the warriors, except those making sure that Thoran was secured, turn and run back up the corridor. At his first chance he climbed back onto shore. He looked toward the gate entrance expecting his fellows to appear there any minute.

When they did, he intercepted them on the way to the stables. With only a glance at one another Saeron and ten warriors ran into the stables and into the first boxes they could reach. Speed was now of the essence. It did not matter who owned the horses they borrowed.

Barely mounted they thundered at top speed out of the stables straight down toward the river. Saeron nearly choked on his anguish. How could Thoran be so cruel? The space in the barrels was cramped and sticky and they were by no means waterproof. If the children did not suffocate they might drown. He could not even think of how frightened they had to be.

Tree branches lashed into his face while he raced between the tall trees along the river in a mad dash. He could already see the bound barrels bouncing up and down in the swift running current.

While the river was simply following its natural course, the elves fought against the uneven terrain. Some of the warriors had already crossed the river at the palace’s bridge and now were racing along the opposite bank hoping to get ahead of the barrels until……

Saeron blanched. The waterfall!

A few miles from the palace the river discharged into a waterfall, not a high one, rather one consisting of many terraces, but surely enough to possibly kill the children. Well packed goods could survive the hard ride but never the children, if they even were still alive.

Saeron urged his horse onward. He had to get even with the barrels to have at least a minor chance to dive into the water and grab them, yet he had no idea how he would be able to achieve this. How could he manage to secure the rope if he even would be able to catch the wet string?

While he tormented his mind about the right course of action he heard one of the warriors whistle and looked across. Galion was more than twenty feet ahead of him and was already swinging a rope over his head.

Saeron dug his heels into the side of the already panting and sweating beast. The big horse made a mighty leap almost throwing him from its back. After finding his balance again the prince was now even with Galion, Saeron gave the signal and his friend cast the rope across to him.

Saeron leaped from the horse and skidded down to the river. He grabbed the rope and dug his heels into the mud trying to create a rope fence, yet it was already too late. The barrels rushed onwards and missed his rope entirely.

Saeron cried out in frustration. He flung the rope away and dived into the water. Galion collected the rope and swung back onto his beast. He swore loudly under his breath, yet he sent a worried gaze at the river. What chance did Saeron have to reach the barrels and stop them before they reached the rocks?

While Galion spurred his horse on to again get ahead of the barrels Saeron came back to the surface and swam with all his strength, getting closer to the barrels. Yet they lurched from one point to the other, thrown uncontrollably to and fro. Worried, Saeron eyed the many protruding rocks. It was a miracle that no barrel had already been hit.

Just at this moment his shin connected hard with a submerged rock. He cried out and his gaze momentarily blurred with pain, yet the coldness of the river quickly brought his senses back. The impact however had changed his direction, throwing him atop of one barrel.

Quickly he grabbed the rope tying the barrels together and placed his flushed face for one second against the wooden surface. He could hear nothing from the inside, yet the river’s noise was drowning out all other sounds, or so he hoped.

Just as he had found some sense of balance he heard another whistle and one of the warriors frantically pointed ahead. Saeron turned his head and swallowed. The waterfall was only seconds away.

With a desperate gaze he directed his eyes back to the shore and saw Galion again swinging his rope. Saeron grabbed the rope he was clinging to with one hand and while he stretched out the other hand he instructed Galion to throw the rope.

The rope flew true and landed in the water just next to his fingers. He grabbed the end and quickly tried to tie it to the barrels. He only hoped that Galion would be able to keep his speed otherwise the rope would be ripped from his grasp along with his arm.

He swallowed when his wet and cold fingers were not able to form a knot. He fumbled desperately, his lungs burning and his leg throbbing from hip to toe.

Just then the first barrel connected hard with a big rock at the brink of the waterfall. Suddenly the rope Galion had thrown was drawn taut. Saeron was first thrown against the barrel and then smacked in the face with full force from the strained cord. Instantly his world went black.

To be continued…………………………..

 





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