Chapter 4: Fighting back

Legolas's entire world had narrowed to the rope binding his wrists behind him, securing him to the tent pole. He clenched his jaw, breathing sharply through his nose to try to stifle any sound, as he twisted his right arm while holding the rope in place with his left hand. His wrists and arms were already raw from being pulled, and more than once, dragged, behind the man's horse for an entire day, but he ignored the pain and continued twisting, back and forth, until the rope was slick with blood. Then he tried again to pull his right hand up and free. Still too tight! He simply could not pull loose. He slumped forward, releasing a long breath. Just a moment to rest and he would try again. He glanced at the man snoring on the cot just steps away and his stomach clenched. One day's exposure to this man made the importance of escape before they arrived at a whole city of this type of men perfectly clear. And now was the best opportunity. Even injured and fairly exhausted, Legolas was certain he and Anastor could manage three men, and all the easier if they could eliminate one of them in his sleep.

He straightened up and tried again to leverage his hands against one another in an effort to widen the loop of rope around his wrists.  The knot gave just a little! He twisted his fingers to feel along the rope and make sure it was still slippery. Then he pulled his hand up again.

"I am almost free!" Anastor whispered excitedly.

Legolas turned towards him. He was blatantly wriggling his arms. Before daring to shush Anastor, Legolas flashed a look at the man and his heart stopped.

Balchthor's eyes were open and his face was quickly contorting in fury.

He loosed an incoherent growl as he rolled out of his cot and lurched at Anastor, hand drawn back. He struck Anastor full across the face, knocking his head against the tent pole he was tied to and stunning Anastor so badly that his only reaction was a quiet grunt.

Legolas loosed one of the curses he had heard the swords master use, frustration overwhelming the good sense to stay quiet. They had both been nearly free! Now Balchthor was awake and had surely noticed what Anastor was so gleeful about.

At the sound of Legolas's voice, Balchthor spun around, bringing the back of his hand across Legolas's jaw.

He shouted something in his own language and then he yelled at them in Westron. "I told you! I do not want to hear you speaking that Elvish garbage. I do not want you speaking at all...plotting with each other." He stood over Anastor, hands on his hips. Then he bent down and grabbed Anastor's jaw, squeezing it hard enough to make his mouth pop open and a squeak of pain to come out of it. He bored filthy fingers between Anastor's lips until he seized his tongue. "If you cannot control it, I'll remove it and that will be the end of that!"

Anastor jerked his face to the side and pulled free of the man's grasp.

Legolas tensed, debating which was the greatest danger: speaking Sindarin to translate the man's threat, so that Anastor understood what he wanted, or remaining silent, as the man wanted, and leaving Anastor with no idea what was angering him.

Balchthor stood and stalked over to his cot. He lit an oil lantern next to it and retrieved a large knife from his pack. At the sight of it, both Legolas and Anastor froze. The man squatted in front of Anastor again and caught his jaw. He pressed the knife's edge against Anastor's lips until they began to trickle blood.

"I am going to teach you a lesson you will not forget. Slaves do not need to be able to speak."

The man thrust the knife into the ground next to Anastor. Then he stood and strode over to the tent flap, loosed its ties and flung it open. He yelled an order at the men outside and turned back to face Anastor.

Anastor's eyes were cold and angry as he glared up at the man, but he drew his knees against his chest, creating as much of a barrier between them as he could.
 
Balchthor settled on his haunches in front of Anastor and leaned into his face, smiling at him a long moment. It was an evil smile that made Anastor whimper involuntarily in fear. Then the man slowly reached for Anastor's jaw again. Anastor turned his head and drew back against the tent pole, but he could not escape. His skin turn white as Balchthor squeezed his jaw, but he still resisted, so the man gave up on that tactic. He grabbed the knife from where it was stuck in the ground and pressed it between Anastor's lips, twisting it up and down against his teeth, cutting his gums and lips. Anastor opened his mouth with a pained cry and the man thrust the blade flat against his tongue to force his lower jaw further open. Then he held his mouth open by wedging the blade against Anastor's upper and lower molars. With a satisfied gleam, Balchthor fished about until he again seized Anastor's tongue between two grimy fingers. Anastor cried out in fear, but was unable to pull away.

One of the men from outside the tent pushed open the flap and entered the tent with a large iron rod--it appeared to be a cooking spit. One end of it was red hot. He smirked at the sight that greeted him upon entering the tent and thrust the spit, cool end down, into the dirt where the man pointed. At another barked order, he left, still laughing, and closed the tent flap behind him.

"I don't want to kill you--you cost too much for that--so I'll make sure this doesn't bleed too much," Balchthor said, reaching for the hot iron with his free hand, "but make me angrier and we will decide how many eyes you can live without as well, while this iron is nice and hot." He held it close enough to Anastor's cheek that he struggled to move away from it. "Pity to have to ruin your looks now, when soon we were to show you off a bit, but maybe you will be more obedient after this."

Legolas pulled as hard as he could against his bonds, ignoring how the rope tore his skin. Anastor was doing the same.

Balchthor pulled Anastor's tongue out of his mouth as far as he could. Then he drew it upward, against the edge of the knife wedged in Anastor's mouth.

Anastor raised his knees, pulling them even closer to his chest. He planted his feet against the man's groin and kicked as hard as he could.

With a loud scream, the man sprawled onto his back and rolled onto his side, curling in upon himself, moaning. The hot iron fell to the ground beside him.

At the same moment, Legolas pulled his right arm free. He twisted, reached for the iron, fumbled at it and finally managed to seize it. He thrust it, like a sword, as hard as he could into Balchthor's gut. The man roared in pain.

As the man writhed, Anastor opened his mouth as wide as he could and pushed with his tongue until the knife fell away. Pulling hard, he yanked free of the tent pole, grabbed up the knife and leaned over the man, knees on his chest. He placed the knife against his throat and slashed it ear to ear. The man stopped screaming and the tent was silent save for the sounds of Legolas and Anastor's heavy breathing and faint laughter outside the tent.

Anastor looked over at Legolas with wide eyes.

"Cut this," Legolas whispered, tugging at his still bound left hand.

Anastor sliced the rope tying him to the tent pole and gave him a hand up.

"They think that was you screaming," Legolas said, gesturing to the laughing men outside the tent.

"They will figure out fast enough that it was not," Anastor whispered back.

Legolas nodded. "Watch the door while I find the man's bow and sword," he said, diving on the man's pack, driven by urgency to ignore his screaming ribs. Balchthor's sheathed sword was bound to its side and Legolas fumbled to loosen the knotted leather straps with trembling fingers. When it pulled free, he hefted it, giving it a swing to evaluate its weight and balance--it was poorer quality than he was accustomed to. He scooped up the bow, quiver and water skin next to the pack and leapt up, closing the distance between himself and Anastor in two long strides.

"You all right?" he asked, studying the blood and cuts on his face.

Anastor only nodded. "You?"

Legolas also nodded. "Do you think you can draw the bow?" he asked, offering it to him. "I do not think I can," he explained, touching his ribs.

Anastor took the bow. "I can do it." He looked at Legolas questioningly. "Shoot them, steal the horses and head back to the forest?"

Legolas nodded again. "Can you see them?" he asked sidling up to the tent flap cautiously. "We need to do this quickly, before they get suspicious of why it got quiet, but he has not come out," he said, gesturing to the dead man.

Legolas and Anastor stood back from the flap and crouched down, peeking through a small gap near its bottom. The two remaining men were standing a dozen or so paces away, directly in front of the tent, with their backs to it, facing east. Legolas loosed the breath he was holding. Lucky.

Anastor fit an arrow against the bow and drew it partially, familiarizing himself with it before raising it and aiming at the closest man.

Just as he did, that man raised his hand and waved it in an apparent greeting. Then he turned around and walked back towards the fire in front of the tent. Legolas realized what was happening and grabbed the shaft of Anastor's arrow.

"More men," he mouthed as the sound of hoofbeats reached them in the camp.

A good number of hoofbeats.

Anastor peeked out the tent flap again and then turned to stare at Legolas, eyes wide. "Two men, yes, I can shoot that many before they come after us. Three or four, probably. But that," he cocked his thumb towards the tent flap, "is more like...eight or maybe even ten. I cannot shoot that fast. What do we do now?" His voice sounded a little panicked.

Legolas stepped back into the middle of the tent. Anastor was justifiably panicked. If those men found them in the tent with the dead man....

"We will have to make a run for it and hope we can get far enough ahead of them without horses before they notice we are gone. If we can put some distance between us, you will have time enough to shoot them before they catch us. Maybe we can catch a couple horses then. If not, we are walking back to the forest. At least we are respectably armed and have water."

While saying that, Legolas moved to the back side of the tent. He poked his stolen sword at the canvas, creating a small hole. Then he peeked through it. Nothing. He widened the hole. He still saw nothing. He thrust the sword fully through the hole and dragged it down, cutting a slit in the canvas from chest height to the ground. "Come on," he said. And leaving the sword unsheathed, he stepped through the slit. Arrow nocked against the bow, Anastor followed him.

The back side of the tent was facing due west, the direction they wanted to go, towards the forest. And it provided some cover, blocking view of their escape to some degree. Nevertheless, they still struggled, despite their aching ribs, to run crouched as low as they could, moving through the grass as smoothly as possible.

They had made it nearly a hundred paces when Legolas stopped and looked northward.

"Move along, Legolas," Anastor demanded, nearly running into him.

Legolas grabbed Anastor's arm as he dodged around him. "Listen to the birds."

Anastor frowned, but listened. A good many birds called, one after the other, marking their territories with their two note song--one low, short note, one louder and rising note. Legolas had been listening to those birds the entire time they had been on the plain. One bird in the north sang two low notes and one rising one.

Anastor's eyes flew open and Legolas could see the hope rising in them like the sunrise. "All the other birds sing two notes only," Anastor said.

Legolas nodded and glanced over his shoulder. From what he could see, the men were busy greeting each other and settling their horses. He called a single rising note.

From the same clump of grass where they heard the odd bird moments before, came an answering call, the same note, falling in pitch. Legolas drew a long breath. "Tulus," he whispered, heading directly towards the call.

Now it was Anastor's turn to grab his arm. "Are you certain? What if it is those elves? Or more men?"

Legolas shook his head. "It is not. It is definitely Tulus. That is how we signal each other if we are separated." He hurried forward without another pause and within another hundred or so paces, Tulus and Dannenion came into view amongst the tall grass.

Uttering a prayer of thanks, Dannenion rushed to gather Anastor in his arms.

Legolas ignored his painful ribs to greet Tulus with a relieved embrace. When they stepped back, both inspected the other for injuries, just as Dannenion held Anastor by his shoulders, at arm's length, studying him. Legolas looked first at the injury he knew Tulus bore--the arrow wound to his arm. Then his gaze fell on the blood on his tunic.

Tulus frowned. "An arrow wound. Not deep. And it is my place to worry over your injuries, not the other way around, so your turn," he said, eyeing Legolas's wrists, upper arm and various bruises.

"He cut my arm to have my blood to send to adar," Legolas said with a scornful tone. "And they bound our wrists. Neither injury is bad. But I think I have a broken rib," he admitted more quietly.

Tulus frowned.

"Where is the king?" Anastor was asking his father.

Legolas glanced over at him. Anastor's question was a good one. "Where is adar?" he echoed him.

"A day behind us, I would guess," Dannenion answered. He turned west. "We should get out of here before your escape is discovered."

Anastor moved to follow him, but pursued his line of questioning. "How do you come to be a day ahead of the king?" he asked.

"Another good question," Legolas said quietly. He did not follow Dannenion. Instead, he shifted his grip on the stolen sword to one that was more appropriate for fighting. His gaze shifted to Tulus.

"Once I was found and released from where Demil bound me, I sent a messenger to the king and came straight after you, so I am ahead of the king the amount of time it took the messenger to travel to the stronghold and the king to travel to the border," Tulus explained.

Legolas nodded silently and looked at Dannenion.

Dannenion loosed a frustrated sigh. "When I heard Anastor was taken too, I told Thranduil that I wanted to help him find you, but naturally he forbade me to come. Told me to stay in the stronghold. There was no possibility that I would stay there while Anastor was in danger and I do not care if Manwe himself had ordered it."

Legolas could not blame him for that. Still...

"But how did you come to be a day ahead of the king?" Anastor repeated. "You should have left about the same time as him."

Dannenion shook his head and marched west, pushing Anastor in front of him.

"Dannenion and I are both familiar with that settlement where Demil took you," Tulus answered softly. "We both went straight there--Dannenion directly from the stronghold, on horseback, and I following your trail from the border on foot. We met following your trail from the settlement to here and we have been watching their camp for a few hours."

"How are you and Tulus familiar with that settlement, adar?" Anastor asked.

Dannenion did not answer. He kept marching his son westward.

Legolas started after them, satisfied. "Were Fuilin and Demil still at the settlement when you got there?" he asked. He was speaking to Tulus, but it was Dannenion that answered.

"They shot at me," he said, bitterly.

Legolas stopped walking and looked at Tulus. "They will attack adar," he began.

Tulus immediately shook his head. "The king will follow the trail there and he will be with an appropriate number of guards. He will decide how to handle them. My responsibility is to get you back to the forest and that is all I am doing." He raised a hand when Legolas drew a breath to protest. "Your adar is an experienced warrior--far more so than you and he knows what he is facing. I am too injured to draw a bow and I am fighting with my off hand. If your rib is truly broken, you will not draw a bow either. You will be hard pressed to defend yourself with a sword. Anastor has next to no training with a sword yet. Dannenion is the only one of us fully capable of fighting. We are in no position to fight four elves. It is out of the question. The king must defend himself. Move," he concluded, pointing west.

With a sigh, Legolas continued after Dannenion and Anastor.

At that moment, they heard the faint sounds of shouting from the mannish camp. Everyone turned and looked towards it. Men were  streaming out of the tent, some out the flap and others out of the slit Legolas made in the back. They all rushed to grab the reins of their horses.

"Your escape has been discovered," Tulus said, grasping Legolas's arm and pulling him forward.

"We will not out run them on foot," Dannenion said.

"We can try to hide," Anastor suggested. "Men will not easily track elves." That was something they learned in one of their training classes. Anastor did not sound as if he wanted to bet his life on it.

Several men had managed to mount their horses. They spread out, riding west and searching the grasses, swords drawn.

"We cannot hide," Tulus said. He pulled Legolas to face him. "Dannenion had a horse." He pointed northwest. "It is grazing a few hundred paces in that direction. Get on it and ride as fast as you can. Northwest, else you will pass Fuilin's settlement again. We will stop as many of them that we can."

Legolas looked from Tulus to Dannenion, scowling. Dannenion, to his amazement, had already pushed Anastor northward and was nocking his bow and aiming at one of the men. Legolas looked back at Tulus, shaking his head. "Anastor and I will stay with you. Anastor can use a bow. I can try. There are too many for you to face alone, injured."

Anastor was also not having the idea of abandoning his father. He stumbled to a stop after the shove Dannenion gave him, turned and nocked an arrow.

Tulus grasped Legolas's arm and pulled him next to Anastor, just as Anastor got off a shot that knocked one of the approaching men off his horse. The others galloped straight at them.

Tulus grabbed Anastor as well, spun both he and Legolas around and gave them a hard shove. "Move," he ordered. "Legolas, I speak with the king's own authority in matters of your safety and I am ordering you to get out of here. Now!"

Legolas hesitated a moment longer and then, with a glance at Anastor, they turned and ran in the direction Tulus and Dannenion had indicated.

As soon as they departed, Legolas heard Dannenion loose an arrow. It hit its target with a thud. A glance over his shoulder showed Dannenion targeting another man and Tulus standing with his sword raised in his left hand. Legolas clenched his jaw and kept running.

Moments later, he saw a horse munching idly on several long blades of grass hanging from its mouth. He and Anastor turned slightly towards it and slowed their pace, not wanting to scare it off.

It raised its head and pricked its ears, swiveling them towards the approaching elves.

"Easy," Legolas said soothingly, holding out his hand.

Something moved in the grass behind the horse.

Legolas froze and held his hand out to stop Anastor. Something glinted in the grass behind the horse.

Demil, sword in his hand, stepped into full view.

Legolas's heart pounded as Demil took a step towards them, swinging his sword in a wide arc as he did. "So Dannenion did manage to free you from the Men," he said casually, looking over Legolas's shoulder.

Behind them, swords clanged together. Tulus and Dannenion had obviously engaged the men. Legolas raised his stolen sword into a mid guard, stepped between Demil and Anastor and took a step back for his step forward.

"And is that Tulus with him?" Demil asked, gaze still focused over Legolas's shoulder. "How perfect." He faced Legolas. "Fuilin thought I should follow Dannenion, to make sure he did not manage to cause us trouble. We do not want him to free you and inspire Balchthor to come asking for his gold back, do we?"

"Balchthor is not going to be asking for anything ever again," Anastor spat.

Demil's eyebrows shot up. "Dannenion killed him, did he?"

"I killed him," Anastor shot back.

In his peripheral vision, Legolas saw Anastor brandishing the knife he had taken from the man.

Demil nodded once with an impressed expression. "That might actually serve us well. I am certain we can find another man to sell you to. Another bag of coins would be so useful."

"You cannot sell what you do not posses," Anastor answered.

Demil nodded and his gaze shifted to Legolas, smiling. "I hear you have had several years training with that sword, Legolas. Unlike your fellow First Years," he nodded at Anastor, "who have had several months of training. Did you know that I first fought with a sword in Alqualonde?" He leaned forward as if he intended to whisper a secret to Legolas. "I think my experience exceeds yours. Do you agree?"

Legolas focused on keeping his breathing even. He knew that Demil's experience killing elves far exceeded his own, but he was not that easily goaded or cowed.

"How are your ribs feeling, Legolas?" Demil taunted him, laughing lightly. "Shall we find out?"

With that he launched a dramatic, wide arching attack at Legolas's head, intending to force him to execute a high block, which truly would have made Legolas's ribs scream, had he done so, but it had been a long time since Legolas was so inexperienced to block when he could void. He pivoted back and to the side, pushing Anastor behind him and allowing Demil to rush past him.

"Anastor, get on the horse and get out of here," Legolas ordered.

"Not a chance," Anastor answered back. He took a step forward to stand next to Legolas.

Demil smiled, turning his sword in a mid guard to remain faced off with Legolas. He thrust forward, aiming for the back of Legolas's sword hand. Legolas lowered his arm and Demil's sword missed its target. Both of them stepped back, out of each other's range, facing off with mid guards again.

"Anastor, at least get where I can see you," Legolas said angrily. "I cannot tell if Demil is going to go through me, right into you."

Anastor came around from behind Legolas, still brandishing the knife and circling Demil.

Demil shifted his stance to allow him to react to an attack from Anastor too, but his focus remained on Legolas. He made several feints to other points on Legolas's arm, presumably to disarm him, but Legolas knew Demil was toying with him, while seeking his most exploitable weaknesses. He voided each attack, trying to be conscious to not use the same void every time.

"You can keep your head, Legolas. I will give you that," Demil said, still smiling, though the smile was now more serious. "But you are forgetting one thing: I am not Langon and this is not a lesson. This fight will not end until one of us ends it, which means, you are going to have to fight back."

With that, Demil feinted towards his arm again, and as before, Legolas lowered his arm and pivoted onto his back foot, avoiding the blow. Instead of returning to a guard position, Demil followed through with another attack, placing his full weight on his forward leg and taking advantage of the fact that Legolas's blade was lowered to turn a cutting blow straight at his shoulder.

Legolas could not void this attack--he was off balance, his weight already on his back leg, making it difficult for him to swiftly step back again. He also could not block the attack--his sword was below Demil's and cutting it upward would not be forceful enough to turn Demil's sword. His only option was to attack. Demil had left nearly his entire body open, since he had no offhand weapon, so Legolas turned his sword further downward, cutting Demil's forward thigh and forcing him to jump back, pulling his attack back with him, to take weight off that leg.

Demil turned and danced on and off his wounded leg, adjusting to the injury.

Legolas pivoted with him, but took several steps back, increasing their distance.

Demil shook his head. "You should have killed me. You could have killed me." He lifted his sword and pointed it at Legolas, level with his throat, testing the distance between them. "Your mercy is...amusing, but I warn you: do not expect the same from me. I would prefer to disable you. You are more valuable as a live hostage, but even if I kill you, I still have Anastor to sell. You, Legolas, are not going back to Eryn Galen today. One way or another. You had better get that through your head."  

Without giving Legolas time to consider that comment, Demil came at him again, this time with a committed attack--he thrust with full force and speed at Legolas's shoulder. Legolas voided while aiming a cutting blow at Demil's inner arm. Demil turned his blade down and blocked, their swords clashing together. Instead of stepping back, Demil immediately launched another attack, swinging his sword up at Legolas's neck. Legolas was forced to block this blow as well. He stepped back, trying to increase the distance between them, but Demil followed him, aiming a hacking blow at his shoulder again. Legolas managed to void, stepping back several paces, but Demil still pursued him, refusing to allow Legolas to back out of fighting range.

Legolas felt panic rising. He was shocked when Demil cursed and turned sharply, swinging his sword away from Legolas, behind himself.

Anastor jumped back, blood on the blade of his knife.

Legolas took advantage of the distraction Anastor created to put some distance between himself and Demil, while scanning him. Blood flowed down his left arm. Anastor had cut him fairly badly.

Demil charged Legolas again, hacking at his body once, twice, a third time, forcing Legolas to back out of range with each blow until he could pivot sufficiently to return the attack with a slice to Demil's midsection. Demil turned his blade down in a block, which he then swung into an attack at Legolas's neck, this time faster than Legolas could block. Legolas stumbled back, in an effort to avoid the blow, losing balance.

Demil raised his sword to finish the fight, but jerked in pain when Anastor attacked him from behind again, this time driving the knife into his calf. Demil swung his sword down, cutting Anastor's forearm deeply enough to force him to drop the knife. Then he stooped to snatch it up and spun to face Legolas, now wielding the sword and knife, but heavily favoring his injured calf.

Legolas righted himself, and studied Demil's posture while taking a deep breath. If he could injure Demil's other leg badly enough, it would end this fight. And doing so should not be terribly difficult. Demil would have to lead with his uninjured leg. His injured calf would obviously not bear his full weight.

Demil leapt forward, indeed leading with his uninjured leg, swinging a high attack at Legolas's head. Legolas pivoted out of line with that attack and thrust his sword at Demil's leg, which was apparently planted firmly in place and offering a solid target.

Unfortunately, that was not the case.

Demil guessed that Legolas would not take the fatal blow his open body offered--that, instead, Legolas would expose himself in a low attack to Demil's leg--and Demil was ready. He shifted his own weight back onto his injured leg, grimacing as he did, and used the upswing of his sword to slice at Legolas's body.

Legolas barely had time to step back. Demil's sword sliced through his tunic and the skin underneath, cutting him from just below his ribs to his collarbone. For a brief moment, Legolas felt nothing. He only saw blood well out of the cut. Then, pain, hot as fire, spread the length of the wound. He staggered back another step, off balance and unfocused. It was only from the corner of his eye that Legolas saw Demil's downswing, and he struggled, through a haze, to determine where it was aimed.