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| Neithawen's Deception |
| 12. Yrch! |
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The trees on either side of the troupe were thick, making the wide path shady and dark. Even to the eyes of the elves, it was hard to see through the thicket. One thin shred of light pierced its way through the canopy to touch the ground before them, illuminating the leaves, dirt, and other debris littering the pathway. It had been two hours of travel since the company had left Melindin’s house. Their stay with the woman had been too brief for Neithawen’s liking. Melindin was a good woman, if a bit strange. Then again, Neithawen had only had contact with human men one other time. She supposed that Melindin’s manner was like that of any human. Neithawen felt heavy hearted, and she could tell that Rochroval felt it too. She was going forward at a very slow pace, as if reluctant to go on. She looked to Legolas at her left, and saw his eyes narrowed, and his hands were moving restlessly on his reins, as if itching to reach back to his bow. Neithawen knew Legolas could feel what she felt; a strange sensation filled her body and mind. Suddenly, a second ray of light pierced the treetops, and Neithawen’s eyes shot forward as the sun reflected off of a metal surface. She narrowed her eyes into the darkness, but there was no more need to see. Her ears were filled with the horrendous sound of an orc horn and battle cries. Her hand went immediately to the pommel of her sword, and she slipped it quickly from its scabbard. She felt, rather than saw, Legolas’ hands shoot over his head to his twin white knives. “Yrch! Yrch! Draw your weapons!” There was no time for them to use arrows. The orcs were on them so quickly that only the rear half of the company could shoot. Neithawen kneed Rochroval forward, and her blade sliced neatly through an orc’s neck. The orcs came around them thickly; there were at least five hundred of them, and the elves only numbered two hundred. Yet the battle lay with skill and resilience. The elves were the better fighters, and the orcs’ numbers were dwindling quickly. Legolas dismounted from Araroh, taking orcs with him as he sliced a channel around himself. Neithawen followed suit, dismounting from Rochroval. Her horse immediately dashed away frantically, following Araroh into the woods to the right of the path. Orcs closed in upon Neithawen, surrounding her on all sides. Their marred faces laughed at her, their chants and jeers clouded her ears to the pointed tips. The nearest orc began to advance; the others hung back, seeming to think that this was more of a game than a fight. Neithawen crouched slightly, preparing to attack. Her opponent scowled and lunged forward. Swift as a shadow departing from light, Neithawen ran her elven blade through the orc. He fell, and she kicked him off with her foot. The others, now angry at the swift killing of their comrade, attacked her full force. She was overwhelmed. There was no where for her to go, and she could not defend from all sides at once. Neithawen jolted as she felt a sharp, searing pain through her right thigh, and then, almost immediately after, her side was split open by another crude orc blade. Time seemed to cease. She stared at the orc that had opened her side, eyes wide in disbelief. As she began to fall to the forest floor, she saw Legolas and two other elves break through the circle, pushing the orcs back and killing them. “Teleadan! No!” Legolas shouted. He ran to her, his face contorted with fear and rage. His face was what she remembered as the darkness took her. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Legolas watched as Neithawen’s eyes rolled back into her head. Her breathing was hoarse and labored. Blood spilled over Legolas’ hands as he tried to compress the wound on Neithawen’s stomach. His eyes darted to the pack at her hip. He had asked Neithawen what was in there once before. There were medicinal supplies and bandages. Still putting pressure on the wound with one hand, his fingers fumbled with the string closure. He yanked it open and pulled out a long white strip of cloth. He wrapped it firmly around Neithawen’s stomach several times and tied the ends together. Quickly he rummaged through it again to find more long strips to bind Neithawen’s side. He pulled one out and unwound it. Rolled inside was a shimmering cloth of midnight blue. Legolas took it in his hands. Running his fingers along the fabric, he tried to remember where he had seen it before. Neithawen moaned at his side. Legolas hurriedly pushed the fabric into the neck of his tunic and covered her wound. Legolas examined Neithawen further and found a less substantial wound on her thigh. He dressed this one quickly and pulled her into a sitting position, supporting her from behind. Neithawen’s eyes opened slightly, but were unfocused. “Legolas,” she said breathily, “Melindin…” Her voice trailed off, and she slipped back into unconsciousness. A shrill whistle pierced the air. Araroh and Rochroval galloped back to Legolas with lightning speed. He addressed the other elves around him. “We must get Teleadan back to the cottage. He will ride with me; someone get his horse.” Legolas mounted Araroh, and with the help of another elf, pulled Neithawen gently up in front of him. She sagged to the side, and Legolas put his arms around her to grip the reins. Legolas’ knees depressed slightly, and Araroh shot off back to Melindin’s house. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
To the west of the battle, another whistle was heard. Melindin stood up slowly from her garden chair, putting her hand to her back as she grimaced. She hobbled into the house and, picking up a towel, pulled the kettle from the hook above the fire. “These whistling kettles are brilliant,” she said to herself. “That peddler doesn’t know what he’s missing, the old fool.” As she set the kettle down on the roughly hewn wooden table, a strange wave of feeling swept over her. She listened intently and could hear the sound of hooves coming up the path to her house. Moving fast for a woman of her age, she ran to the door and flung it open. The two elves that had been there just hours earlier rode with great speed up the path and stopped in front of her house. Melindin could see that the girl was injured. She rushed to the horse, and the male elf spoke. “You must help. You can heal him, I know it.” “Give him to me.” Legolas eased Neithawen down to Melindin and dismounted, taking her in his arms. He followed Melindin into the house. “Put him here,” Melindin ordered, pointing to the small wooden bed. Legolas complied and laid Neithawen down. “Go tend to your horse; you cannot help here.” Her tone was kind and gentle. “I will save him.” Legolas knelt by Neithawen and took her hand in his. “Do not fear, friend Teleadan. You will live.” He kissed her hand and left the cottage. As soon as he was out the door, Melindin set to work, undressing and cleaning Neithawen’s wounds. She used herbs known only to a few, herbs that would heal a wound of even this degree without even leaving a scar. When all the wounds were clean she deftly redressed them in a soft white cloth. Melindin laid a blanket over Neithawen and kissed her forehead. “Rest well, sweet elf, rest well.” *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Legolas walked from Melindin’s cottage, a thin sheen of sweat shining on his face. His breathing declined slowly as he ran his hands along Araroh’s flanks. There was no doubt in his mind that Teleadan would live; somehow he knew that Melindin was not a normal medicine woman. She would not let Teleadan die. Legolas’ thoughts strayed back to the blue cloth he had found in Teleadan’s pouch. It was immensely familiar to him, but he couldn’t place where. He pulled it from his tunic and felt it with his fingertips. His eyes closed, and he leaned back upon Araroh. Trying to recall an image, he placed it to his nose. The smell was sweet and overwhelming. He had only once smelled something as sweet, but his mind was elsewhere, and he just couldn’t remember where or when. Glancing back up at Melindin’s cottage, Legolas quickly put the cloth back into his tunic and moved toward the door to check on his friend. |
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