Trollshaws, TA 245
"Onwards, Amloth, onwards!"
The young rider urged his steed forward through the night, deftly dodging the occasional branch overhanging the narrow path. Crouching low in the saddle, he glanced at the stars above. Two hours until midnight. He was thankful that there was no moon tonight, for his departure from Imladris would be concealed from watchful eyes, and if he was missed the next morning, he would be half a day's journey ahead.
Tancamir reined in his horse as the ground began to slope more steeply downwards. At a careful trot, they came to the edge of the Gorge of Bruinen, where a narrow path slithered downwards in the gloom. Far below, the waters of the Bruinen glimmered faintly in the starlight, foaming and bubbling over the rocky shallows of the Ford. Noiselessly horse and rider descended the path until they came to the riverbank. Sandy brown hair spilled over his shoulders as he tossed back his hood. He bent low to whisper in his horse's ear.
Amloth sprang forwards, hooves thundering over the rocks of the Ford as sprays of water flew up about his feet. Wind whipped Amloth's mane into his face but Tancamir spurred his mount on, revelling in the rush of speed and the thrill of freedom. Every step took him further from the Valley of Imladris, further from the hateful life forced upon him. Let his father and sister prate of books and letters in the gilded cage which they called Imladris - all the wilds of Arda lay open before him, and none could hold him back. Tancamir threw back his head and laughed defiantly, exhilaration coursing through his veins. He would be free to forge his own path, to wander the Wild as he chose best. What could his father do now to bar his way? As if sensing his rider's joy, Amloth whinnied and tossed his mane, and the foam of the Bruinen sprang upwards like sparks struck from the pounding of his hooves.
They gained the far bank, drenched but unaware of it in their excitement, and Tancamir eased Amloth into a slow canter. The road wound ever westward through great stands of oak and poplar, which cast a welcome shadow over their path. Horse and rider seemed to melt into the shifting shadows as one, and the murmur of wind in the branches covered the sounds of their passing. They rode west for what seemed to be hours, with only the wheeling stars above as company. It was shortly after midnight when Tancamir guided Amloth off the path, taking a narrow trail that wound north and west over rocky slopes overgrown with brambles and ferns. A year before, he had discovered an old hunting lodge in disrepair on the borders of the wood. There were supplies there, hidden for the next phase of his journey. If all went well, they would reach the lodge an hour before dawn. The trees grew closer here, and at times Tancamir had to dismount and lead Amloth through dense thickets, or around fallen trees which barred the way.
It was slow going, but Tancamir whispered urgently to Amloth, gripping the reins firmly and keeping a hand on his bow. They must reach the lodge before dawn, for now they drew close to lands where trolls were said to lurk. Few had seen them in the woods around Imladris, but there had been reports of several skirmishes with trolls in the northern borders of the land, where they came down from their haunts in the Ettenmoors. Tancamir scanned the wood for signs of the beasts, one hand resting on his bow. So far he had seen nothing but a stray wolf-track on the ground here and there, and trampled underbrush where deer had passed through.
As they passed over the crest of a low hill, he came sharply to a halt. Far ahead, in a little hollow partly hidden by trees, a small fire cast its sickly glow on a great misshapen form squatting beside it. Tancamir sucked in a breath. Trolls. Amloth champed nervously at the bit, but Tancamir laid a soothing hand on his neck and whispered softly in his ear.
"Still now, mellon nîn. Wait here for me."
He tied Amloth by the reins to a sturdy oak with spreading branches. Hefting his bow in one hand, he swung himself onto the lowest branch and began to climb upwards. From his vantage point in the tree, he could see that there was only one troll beside the fire. Since childhood he had loved nothing more than the thrill of bringing down a stag or even a bear - surely a troll was only a larger sort of beast, to be hunted and felled like any other. He had left home seeking adventure, and here one had practically fallen in his path. Deftly he ran along the length of the oak bough and leapt forwards onto an overhanging branch from a nearby tree. Passing from tree to tree, he stalked toward his prey noiselessly, a silent blur of green and dun amid the spring leaves. Now he halted, bracing himself against the bole of an elm tree, and nocked an arrow to his bow. Fifty paces away, the troll sat staring into the fire. Tancamir watched the beast with hawk-like precision, and finally loosed an arrow when it looked in his direction.
The soft twang of his bowstring was followed by a monstrous bellow as the arrow pierced the beast's left eye. The troll thrashed about, holding its head in its hands. Without thinking, Tancamir fitted another arrow to his bow and shot at its open mouth. Swiftly he loosed several more arrows at its throat, smiling with grim satisfaction as the beast toppled to the ground. Leaping to the ground, he slung his bow over one shoulder and drew his sword, running towards the fallen troll with blade upraised.
"Crist faronath! Blade of the hunters! "
With a loud cry he fell upon the beast, slashing at its throat. But his sword glanced off its thick hide and he reeled backwards as the troll staggered to its feet. With one clumsy wave of its arm it flung him across the clearing, his sword clattering to the ground. Furiously Tancamir leapt to his feet and drew his bow, firing quickly at its eyes again. He cursed as all the arrows missed their mark and snatched up his sword. Blinded by the arrow in its eye, the troll swung aimlessly at him, bellowing with rage. Dodging the troll's blows, he whirled around its ponderous frame, stabbing when he could and hoping that his foe would tire and relax its guard. Already his breath came short, and his sword-arm faltered. Pausing for breath, he ducked a second too late and felt a crushing pain in his right shoulder as the troll's club hit its mark. Falling to the ground, he realised with a sinking heart that a troll was a different kind of quarry altogether than the beasts he was accustomed to hunt. Desperately he drew his bow, and as the creature bore down on him he shot two arrows into its yawning maw. The troll's limbs went limp, and it wavered for a minute before crashing to the ground, dust billowing around its corpse.
Tancamir scrambled back from the body, wincing as he felt blood trickle from his right shoulder. He rose to his feet, breathing unsteadily, and staggered over to lean against a tree. He had felled the troll - but at what cost? The glory of conquest and the thrill of the hunt paled against the fact that he had wasted valuable time here - far too much time. By now he would have been at the lodge, arranging his provisions for the next leg of his journey, if not for this accursed foolishness. And where was Amloth?
He whipped his head around as a rumbling sound in the brush drew nearer. Trolls seldom appeared alone, but were always in the company of one or two others. How had he forgotten? He fled into the forest, desperately hoping that he would not be sighted and that he could find Amloth in time. But he was too late. A roar sounded behind him, and a great crashing through the underbrush meant another troll was in pursuit. He grabbed an overhanging branch, attempting to swing himself up onto it, but gasped at a sharp pain in his shoulder. Brambles tore at his tunic as he sped onwards, attempting to lose the troll by running in confusing paths. As the sounds behind him grew fainter, Tancamir halted for a moment and looked around in desperation. If he had eluded the troll, he had also lost sense of direction completely, and the trees grew too thickly here for him to see the stars. Slowly, he began to grope forwards, hoping to find a clearing where the sky was visible.
A sharp whinny pierced the air. Tancamir froze. Had the beasts found Amloth? He stumbled forwards, half running, half stooping under the branches. If his horse was gone, so was any hope for out-running any searchers from the Valley. Gritting his teeth, he felt at his shoulder. All the bones were in place, though it was bruised and bleeding. Another neigh sounded closer ahead, and as Tancamir passed a clump of brambles he saw Amloth struggling against a thick rope which a troll had cast around his neck. His horse reared and struck the troll with his hooves, but to no avail. With fumbling hands Tancamir nocked and shot an arrow at the troll, hoping to distract it. The arrow flew wide, and the bow recoiled into his shoulder. With a cry of pain and fury he leapt forwards at the troll, sword hanging limply from his right arm. The creature turned its vile yellow eyes on him and charged. Tancamir stood as if frozen for a long moment, then dashed aside just in time, as the troll crashed into the tree behind him. He gave a sharp whistle, and cried urgently,
"To me, Amloth! Swiftly!"
Amloth burst from his captor's grasp and wheeled towards his master. Tancamir took hold of the saddle, but cursed as his right shoulder gave way under him. He grit his teeth and swung into the saddle. Amloth's chestnut hide was flecked with sweat, and his ears lay flat against his skull. Tancamir bent low to whisper soothing words in his ear, but Amloth would not heed, and tossed his head wildly. Behind them, the troll rose to its feet and lumbered towards them. It roared and brandished its club above its head, and Amloth reared in fright, forelegs pawing the air. With a sickening crunch Tancamir slid to the ground, looking up for one dazed moment as his horse sprang away into the night. He drew a dagger with his left hand and launched it at the troll as it bore down on him. The blade glanced harmlessly off its hide, only infuriating it more. Tancamir took up his bow, but his hand met only air as he reached for another arrow. Arrows lay strewn about him, but too far away to reach in time. Pain washed over him as he attempted to move his right arm. With one last cry he drew his sword and hacked at the troll's arm with his left hand. Black blood spilled from the wound, and the creature bellowed in anger before swinging its mace at his head. Searing pain lanced through him for an instant before darkness took him, and he knew no more.
He awoke to a sharp pain in his right shoulder, and a dim figure looming over him in the half-light before dawn. All around hung the smell of smoke, and another acrid scent he could not place. He seemed to be lying on the ground, upon rough cloth of some sort. In an instant he was alert, and groped with his left hand for the dagger hidden in his right gauntlet. A strong blow to his chest knocked him back, and the shadow above him pinned him to the ground. A weight settled over him as the figure began to pry at his right shoulder, causing a fresh spike of pain. He lashed out with all the strength he could muster. His teeth bit down on a leathery hand reaching towards his neck. Suddenly the weight on his chest lifted. Through a haze of pain, Tancamir saw the dark figure recoil for a moment. He seized a dagger and hurled himself forwards, grunting in satisfaction as the blade met flesh. His foe choked once and stilled underneath him.
Slowly Tancamir propped himself upright using his good arm, biting back a cry of pain as he felt his right arm hanging at an unnatural angle. He felt over it gingerly, but drew back his hand as he felt smooth cloth where he had expected the leather of his hauberk to be. His right arm was encased in linen bandages, supported by a crude sling tied over his neck. Horror dawned on him as the strong scent of herbs and dried blood issued from the wound on his shoulder. What had he done?
Before him lay the body of a man, garbed in the rough clothes of a woodsman and hunter. His head lolled to one side, and blood trickled from a wound in his chest. At his belt hung a pouch of herbs, and a greatsword covered in dark blood - trolls' blood. Tancamir choked for a moment, shuddering in revulsion. He had repaid this man with death, who had evidently saved him from being slain by trolls. Staggering to his feet, he looked around wildly for his bow and quiver. They lay by the embers of a dying fire, and the steel of his sword gleamed underneath them. Haltingly he armed himself, hands shaking with fear and self-loathing. Was this what he had become - a murderer, slaying the innocent instead of defending them?
A soft whicker greeted him as he moved towards the fire. He looked up to see Amloth tied to a tree, munching grass contentedly. Guilt overcame him anew as he realised that the man had not only saved his life, but that of his horse as well. He fumbled with one hand at the knot before hoisting himself up onto the saddle. At the sight of two empty bedrolls laid out by the fire, he tugged on the reins and urged Amloth forwards. As if sensing his master's haste, Amloth shot forwards like a hunted beast, away from the bloodstained hollow where the woodsman's corpse lay. Tancamir breathed raggedly, each jolt of the saddle causing his arm to throb sharply. They must flee before the man's companions returned, and the light of day made pursuit easy. He glanced upwards. Already the stars were fading. He turned Amloth north and west, and swiftly horse and rider vanished into the gloaming.
