The Trollshaws
Rain poured from the dark, starless skies above. A chorus of howling wind and rustling leaves were all that could be heard, breaking the night's silence within The Trollshaws. Autumn had come at long last, turning the foliage and issuing a seasonal chill in the air. This, however, did not bother the small group nestled within the bracken; for they were Elf-kind, and could withstand the most adverse of weather conditions. There were four in number, all of whom were well camouflaged, hooded and masked. They lay in wait, their keen eyes patiently watching the main road.
“Anything?” asked the Elf situation in the middle.
“Nothing” said another, furthest away from the group squinting into the distance. Based upon the dampness of their clothing they had been here for quite some time. Fangion, the leader of the group, grew impatient.
“We have waited long enough, I suggest that we-” Fangion halted, as he heard the hoot of an owl in the distance. This particular hoot however had no business in these parts, a fact which only those with a knowledge of local birds and beasts would know.
“There!” he continued, drawing an arrow from his bow and loosely nocking it. “The signal has been given, they are coming.”
This placed the Elves in a sense of high alert. Each of them silently drew their weapons. Fangion with his longbow and the others with their daggers, swords and spears. It was not long before the sound of talking could be heard, followed by footsteps and trotting within the mud. A convoy approached, guided by two dark figures holding flaming torches aloft. They walked in formation, in the centre a wagon was being pulled by two horses which were closely guarded.
“On my mark” whispered Fangion to the other Elves, who had risen from their prone position ready to pounce onto the road. “We shall use the element of surprise to our advantage. Identify their leader, if you can. We need them alive for information.”
The group of Elves edged closer as the convoy advanced. At that moment, a second foreign hoot sounded which roused the group.
“Now!” said Fangion, leaping up and firing his first arrow.
As he did, his comrades advanced, stepping out onto the road and attacking the convoy from the side. A wet thud of a body hitting the mud signified that Fangion had found his mark. Caught by surprise, the convoy retaliated by drawing their own weapons. As the Elves advanced steel kissed and commands were bellowed within the chaos. “We’re under attack!” shouted a hooded man, leaping down from the wagon wielding a great-axe. “Repel the invaders!”
Fangion put aside his bow and advanced with his sword drawn. He engaged the man issuing commands in single combat. His opponent was skilled indeed, causing Fangion to demonstrate his agility and skill in evasion as he dodged the oncoming flurry of attacks, attempting to counter them.
Shouting and screaming echoed about the road, one of the four Elves fell wounded, whilst several of the convoy guards littered the ground. The wounded Elf called out, but all were engaged. One of the hooded men advanced, a scimitar shaped blade at the ready. Without a word, he lifted his blade high into the air but paused. The attacker fell to his knees and flopped onto one side. As the wounded Elf stared at her would-be killer in shock and curiosity, she noticed an arrow embedded in the mans back.
“Cadhrion!” she shouted, wincing slightly with her hand pressed against her side. From the other side of the road another Elf entered the fray. He too was masked and hooded, nocking another arrow and firing it at the nearest enemy.
On the other side of the road, Fangion had bested his opponent by running his elvish blade through their leg. He spared no time acknowledging his victory, but instead advanced towards the wagon where Cadhrion and the others were doing battle. It did not last long, as amidst the chaos the enemy’s formation was shattered. Eventually the few who remained threw down their weapons and surrendered.
“Mercy!” one of the men shouted, kneeling down in the mud with his hands raised.
Cadhrion advanced, his bow raised and an arrow aimed at the now prisoner's chest. “We accept your surrender" he said, stepping back and allowing Fangion to approach.
“Cadhrion, see to Faeleth. She is wounded” said Fangion, abruptly.
Cadhrion nodded, placing his arrow back into his quiver and returning the wounded elf. Faeleth had lowered her hood and mask, breathing heavily and wincing against the pain. She had been cut in her right side, but the wound was not fatal.
“Seems I arrived just in time” Cadhrion said, with a smile.
Faeleth scowled at him, clearly unamused. “One would think that you would save your gloating for later.”
“Well” said Cadhrion, examining the wound. “I am not known for my patience.”
“Evidently” said Faeleth, a flicker of a smile upon her face. “A second later and I would have been slain.”
Fangion and the others had gathered the remaining survivors, all of whom were robed and hooded in dark garbs. There were three survivors from the fifteen counted, men with a wicked demeanour and fouler tongue.
“That’s enough!” said Fangion, whose authoritative voice brought silence. “Now, we know you to be Angmarim; that much is obvious. But you will tell me what you are doing in these parts.”
There was a silence, to which one of the survivors spat at Fangion’s feet. This encouraged two of the elves in Fangion’s service to draw their daggers and place it at their necks.
“Alright! Alright, we were charged to ferry this cargo. Fetch and deliver, nothing more!”
“What is your cargo?” asked Fangion.
“See for yourself!” answered the Angmarim.
Fangion looked over his shoulder and called for Cadhrion. “See what is beneath the tarp!”
Cadhrion turned his attention away from Faeleth and approached the wagon. He drew his dagger, cut into the material and ripped open a hole to see. A foul smell came forth, causing the young Elf to recoil slightly. Within, to his horror, he saw a stone coffin. In the coffin lay a half-decomposed corpse surrounded by various stones with runes scratched upon them. Writing was also inscribed upon the outer side of the box, written in a speech Cadhrion could identify but could not translate.
“Black speech…” he whispered to himself.
Fangion came to Cadhrion’s side and pulled the tarp further open to reveal the entirety of the corpse. “What is the meaning of this?” he asked, turning back to the Angmarim captives.
“You dabble in matters that are greater than yourself, Elf!” the leader spat, glaring at them. “The dead will rise and will take you, this has been promised!”
Faeleth had risen and arrived at their side. A look of horror and disgust flashed upon her fair features as she too examined the contents.
“We dare not take this to Imladris, who knows what dark power it may possess” said Cadhrion.
Fangion nodded. “Agreed, we shall take… this thing, to an outpost. The prisoners may yet yield some further information. We shall take them with us.”
“You’ll get nothing more out of us, Elf!” said the leader of the Angmarim.
“We shall soon see” Fangion responded, coolly.
