Something is wrong. It is not just the bodies we came across on the edge of the trail, nor the two men - something is wrong, different, with me. It was not that I thought traversing any part of Mirkwood would be easy, what I had not thought was we would run into something so terrible, so soon.
As we led the horses ever nearer to Felegoth, and the hope of encountering a patrol, my hands were still trembling slightly at what I had done. I was following Parnard and Swan-Hoof, leading my horse Pelorian with the cloak-bound body of a nis tied to her saddle. Behind me was Estarfin, Norlome bearing the dismembered body of the ner. I did not want Estarfin to notice I trembled. I did not want him asking if aught were wrong at that moment. Normally I would not have been shaken so at the sight we came across: two Wood Elves slain without sign of bow or other common weapon, though both bearing wounds that suggested something had tried to tear them apart. That image made me feel great sorrow, that any elf lost their life, but also a rising anger that such could have happened. But the heart of my distress came from the men by the upturned wagon. Two of them there were, of the large and strongly built Valeman type rather than Laketown. Estarfin tried to question them, but both seemed out of their minds with fear. Both shook uncontrollably. Their glazed eyes suggested a sight they wanted to unsee. There were no clear tracks or trails, no other signs of enemies about. There were faint hoof marks where the horse that drew the cart had broken free, and bolted into the trees. There was some crushed vegetation near the site, perhaps some of the mangy wolves had passed that way, though they were small in size and numbers? Only the few cobwebs that covered the elves gave any insight that they had lain there at least a short time.
Who or what could have slain the elves? We tried to question the men, Estarfin in Quenya, his usual choice for interrogation. I had spoken more softly, first in Westron, then in Sindarin. The men looked at me with large unseeing eyes. Afraid at being caught there, I wondered. Afraid because they were the killers?
“Speak!” Estarfin said to them in Quenya. “You did this? SPEAK!”
Not a sound in reply. Just glazed eyes and shaking heads.
And my fingers had twitched with an urge to take up Sarphir and end the men’s miserable existence. How had they lived when two of my own kind had perished?
Something was very wrong.
The journey from Imladris had been straightforward enough. The Hithaegir, though cold and wintery as expected, had been mercifully free of roaming Goblins, and only a small number of wargs came anywhere near us. They must have recently brought down prey, as they were not sufficiently hungry to risk threatening us. Crossing into the Vale of Andune was a relief, as always. The air became warmer, and more fragrant as we descended. The only issue was a few of the deer seemed to take an interest in Parnard, with one even charging him while he was walking and knocking him to the ground. None of us had expected such behaviour from normally shy creatures. As it was, it took but moments for Estarfin to slay the strange beast. Nor would he let Parnard take any of its meat for future use. Such behaviour was ‘tainted.' What if the meat was also tainted, if some vileness of the Necromancer was involved? We had enough provisions to reach Felegoth. We need not take any risk.
We made camp for a few hours, only a short ride from the Forest Gate, knowing we would rather not rest once in Mirkwood, but press on to our destination. Estarfin kept guard. He said he could not sleep knowing Woodsmen had a settlement not far off. And I thought he had hardly slept the day before, because we were otherwise guarded by Dwarves and there was the possibility a Man or two would also seek refuge at Vindurhal. And then I thought back to the last few days in Imladris, and him not sleeping well. It bothered me that I was determined to speak with him about it when we reached Felegoth. Strong though he was, he was not indestructible. Something was wrong for him to be such a stranger to rest.
Yet the vale itself was beautiful. While it was still winter, the hint of approaching spring was already abundant. Small white flowers dotted the landscape, with many different flowers already in bud. The trees were greening. From a distance I could hear the faint sound of what I believed to be bees. I knew we would be going into a much darker world very soon, and wanted to enjoy the sunlight, winter-feint though it was. I wanted Estarfin to enjoy it.
At least Parnard and I awoke refreshed. Our Wood-Elf friend was understandably excited as we approached his home, and eager to be underway. In a short time we were nigh the Forest Gate itself. We dismounted, intending to lead our horses through the dark wood rather than risk them tripping over anything. As it transpired, Estarfin was the one who tripped slightly on a hidden root and that as we approached the guards.
Now Parnard had already cautioned us not to draw attention to ourselves, as if we would do such a thing! He also said we should let him do the talking. We both happily complied with his wishes, remaining silent until the guards gestured we could pass. Estarfin nodded a brief greeting to them but even though they were elves, he watched them closely. I smiled at them in a disarming manner. Within moments they were waving us through, though one added he would need to report our arrival to his captain.
We had not journeyed far into the dark wood when we began to hear movement in the depths of the trees. The horse's ears began to flick back and forth, trying to locate the source of the sounds. Estarfin and I instinctively drew our swords.
Something was wrong. It felt different from the previous year. Yes, there had been darkness and decay, and eyes watching where we walked, wolves most likely. But this time I could sense such malignancy. I wondered if the others felt it?
Parnard was explaining that if we followed the trail of stone pillars, we could not get lost.
“Things are already moving out there,” Estarfin observed.
The Wood-Elf nodded his agreement. “I like not what is lurking under the trees…” and I could sense his cheerfulness fading. It would be but a few mangy wolves trailing us from a distance. Pelorian shook her head and snorted softly. “I see them, “ I reassured her. “There are but a few and we could take them down alone. Fret not.”
“Do the trees ever move,” asked Estarfin. “I have heard of such things.”
I found myself shivering. I had seen such things on a few occasions on my Second Age wanderings. “The trees hereabouts are not happy,” I said. It did not take much to sense that.
Estarfin shrugged.
“When they are at unrest they do move. They may be on the move now, like wandering cattle,” Parnard said. “Like wandering packs of wild cattle. It is the Necromancer’s doing, Cousin.”
The Necromancer. I knew more than I liked about him, more than possibly the others knew? I turned to look back questioningly at Estarfin, leading Norlome at the rear of our party.
“Perhaps they have hidden the path before, and created a new path that leads travellers astray?” he suggested.
“At least a few may be corrupted, may they not?” The air seemed more oppressive, almost as if the trees were trying to crowd or herd us, or the wolves skulking under the trees. “The air is unwholesome,” I added the obvious.
“We must move on.” Parnard was looking into the darkness lurking a few yards back from both sides of the path. Then he stopped, and looked up to admire a moonbeam that had managed to pierce the canopy of trees. He turned for a moment to smile at us. “See, is it not a wondrous place?”
Estarfin had been watching the movement of a few deer, who now stood in the moonlight. He raised his head to look for sight of the stars.
And to my own joy I could see half a dozen lights sparkling down upon us. A clear and pure light from above it was, not the cruel light of eyes in the forest. “There are glimpses of great beauty,” I replied to Parnard, “and in places the air is both rich and cool.”
Parnard nodded.
“But it is not our land.”
I watched as Parnard looked around in the pool of light, at the moonlit mosses and ferns. It seemed to me he was remembering? But the darkness surrounding us still bothered me.
“I feel uncomfortable,” I said in Quenya, “We three are watched from the dark.”
“By what? There are eyes in the dark,” Estarfin replied, also in Quenya.
“Wolves at the least,” I continued addressing Estarfin alone. “Wolves and spiders, and the trees. And something else, heading south, with a heart of darkness.” I indicated the direction of the latter with a movement of my head. “Just now…it heads through the darkest parts of the Forest."
Parnard turned, seemingly recognising the word ‘Raca,’ “Where there are stars there are wolves, here in the Greenwood,” he said. “They cluster ‘round these parts. Their sense of smell is keen.”
“So is mine,” I replied, wrinkling my nose, as a foul smell of something rotting assaulted me.
Both Estarfin and I looked up. “The stars are out,” he said. And indeed of a sudden, half the sky was star-filled that much of the cloud was blown away.
Swan-Hoof made the softest of whinnies as Parnard began to run along the now starlit path, looking at each tree in turn as if it might be an old friend, or as if he would climb it.
“He runs aimlessly, he needs to be careful,” I commented. “And now he is out of our sight.”
“He is home,” replied Estarfin, with a poignancy we both felt. “Would you not be the same by Lake Helevorn?”
Looking up at Estarfin, I thought for a moment how wonderful that would be. Then I shook my head. “Parnard’s actions are understandable, but there were no unchecked wolf packs of spiders there, until there were. The Greenwood untainted is a different matter to what we find now.”
Then Parnard was back. He looked pale and drawn.
“All is well, Cousin?” I asked hopefully, but seeing it was not quite so.
“Is it as you remember?” Estarfin asked.
“Not exactly, Estarfin friend.”
“What is wrong?”
Pointing down the road he had just travelled, the Wood-Elf said, “There is a wrecked wagon, and bodies strewn across the road.”
I started at the shock of his discovery, and took a firm grip on Sarphir. Estarfin had also drawn his sword. ”Anyone alive?” I asked with urgency.
“Are they your forest kin?“ Estarfin asked.
The three horses came to a halt behind us, knowing from our change of mood something was wrong.
Parnard shook his head. “I do not know. They were partially covered in spider webs. I saw no spiders though. And why would spiders just leave them? They usually take the bodies to hang.”
“We need to see.”
And we were off, all three running down the path with the horses trotting behind.
“There,” indicated Parnard as we turned the corner in the road. What a sight greeted us!
There was a small glade, fortunately lit by the moon still. To the right side was a small, two wheeled cart, the shafts split and broken, possibly from overturning, though it looked as if a horse had kicked its way out. Four large barrels were on it, though not the sort that usually carried wine or ale. From the insects gathering round them they had likely contained something sweet. On the road side of the cart lay two bodies, contorted as if in a struggle with something much stronger and larger. They had a fine layer of spider webbing over them, showing this had not happened moments ago. There were also what appeared to be two large men on the near side of the cart. Both were lying on their backs, but both were moving…trembling.
I halted momentarily, looking down at the mass of red hair and pointed ears of the elf under the nearest webbing. Estarfin knelt beside her, checking for any sign of life. I held a hand up to the horses, “Hauta, stop,” I said. Then I momentarily bowed my head in respect.
Rising to his feet again, Estarfin stared at the body. He seemed unable to move.
I moved away, checking the area for any others, but there were only the two dead elves and two just about alive men. A piece of downtrodden undergrowth showed the direction the horse had fled in, but apart from that there were no tracks on the dry earth. There were a few other places where the grass and bushes seemed to have been trampled on, but nothing else.
Meanwhile, Parnard stood near the men. He cleared his throat, then said in what I assumed was his best Westron, “What happened here?”
“Estarfin, these are men,” I whispered back to the still figure.
“Who are you?” said Parnard to the men. Then he tried a different tactic and, pointing to himself, said “Parnard.” Then he pointed at the man, raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth in a silent question.
There was no attempt at an answer, just a near vacant stare.
I stood close by, in case either man threatened Parnard while he tried to communicate.
One of the men moved to support himself on his elbows. He looked at us. He blinked rapidly, but he said not a word.
My first thought was he was in shock. They had both witnessed the elves death. Then I wondered if the shock was because they were the killers, and had swiftly been found out in the midst of the Forest?
“They must have landed on their heads when the cart overturned,” said Parnard, coming to an entirely different conclusion. “I think their brains are addled.”
“The elves at least were attacked. And these men have cuts and bruises.” I was trying to make sense of things.
“Attacked, yes. But by what? Spiders who kill and leave their supper warm on the ground? It seems unlikely.”
I walked over and knelt down beside the nis, carefully brushing away cobwebs to see a pale face and a shock of long red hair falling about her shoulders. I took a deep breath. For an instant it was like looking in a blurred mirror. Then, as I looked more closely, I could see most of that effect was from her hair, which in truth was a shade or two darker red than mine. Her features were also a touch sharper than mine.
Estarfin knelt beside me and passed his hand lightly over her face to close her sightless eyes. “They are now just a memory in these lands,” he murmured. He stood again, crossing to the second body, and closed the ner’s eyes also. “These are dressed in the armour of your people?” he said to Parnard. The Wood-Elf did not seem to hear him, and stood away a short distance, seemingly lost in thought.
If only matters had not progressed further the way they had.
