Wild Monster

by Matthew Harrington

  Lusis sucked air through her mouth as she ran around the flank of the amphitheater.

  Then they all slammed to a halt.

  Legolas Thranduilion, his long and buttery hair spinning out from his shoulders in the rising wind, stood up from the remains of a dragon. His blue eyes, the cheerful colour of hydrangea, twinkled in the declining sun. "Adar was here. One can tell." The warrior elf gestured at the dead dragon, "Anyone else lucky enough to put steel in a dragon… they always use a bow."

  He hopped down from the stones beside the dragon, and padded toward them. Lusis blinked because, by hopped, she knew her brain meant to say he effortlessly leapt down from a four-storey height and landed with flawless accuracy on the one outcropping of stone that looked steady in the rubble that surrounded them all.

  All the elves ringing Lusis bowed. Belatedly, she tried the same, but the Elfprince made a soft negating sound.

  "Ah-ah-ah, Lady of the Greenwood."

  She looked up at him, ashamed. "My Prince, it is a gamble of your father's."

  His head tipped slightly, and the slight merriment was erased by care. "Is… is it?"

  She would have thought he would prefer to hear this, but, in fact, he looked no less concerned than the elves around her, who now looked at her and could not conceal their disappointment. The Elfprince said, "Lady… perhaps you do not understand," he averted his glance at the ruins, "how hard it is for me… to watch him long for someone to trust and bring close for so many years." His pale blue eyes jumped up to hold her gaze. "I cannot be his everything and yet retain for myself, anything at all… but I have tried, Lusis Buckmaster. Adar is a powerful and beautiful vessel – the finest at sea – but, below the surface, he is hung upon rocks and taking on water. What will become of him?"

  "I don't mean what you think, to him," Lusis said gravely.

  "You don't know what you mean," Legolas sighed and turned toward the amphitheater. "I hardly know what I mean to him, and it's been an Age. Eithahawn is the same."

  That was funny only because Lusis knew. She knew with a pure and burning certainty, as surely as she could see the wall of butter-bright flame inside the Elfprince, that Thranduil loved his boys more than he loved his own life.

  "He's in there," she took out her steel. "This is the central point, it turns out, in a large lozenge of Sauron's fallen house, drawn above the city by the enemy. Drawn… with light. The King has gone inside, all but alone."

  Legolas put his head down and exhaled as he absorbed this. He looked up at the sunset and said a gritted, "Of course he has…. Doom's Fires, adar…. Do we know what we face?"

  "Well," Amathon noted aloud. "There are dragons-" he gestured at the dead one in the stones.

  "So helpful," said Legolas in response.

  But Amathon continued, "Orcs, goblins, werewolves, witches, dark Men, and, quite possibly, hungry vampire bats."

  "Oh," Legolas' chin dropped a fraction. "Is there anyone he left out?" Amathon thought a moment, pulled in a breath, and Legolas raised a restraining hand. "Rhetorical. Not a literal question. Merely thinking aloud."

  "Yes, certainly," bowed Amathon with the utmost respect. "The Elfprince can comprise a list and does not need my assistance."

  Legolas turned from him and huffed a laugh. He hefted a discarded quiver from the stones a few steps ahead. "Do we know what we face, Lady Istari?"

  "Yes," she said as she fell in beside him. "Dead… who don't know they're dead yet."

  Now Legolas' chin rose. "Very well."

  Gone were the familiar songs of the winter birds that flocked so thickly along the lake, and the croaking of the unseasonable frogs who persisted in the warm light of the King's Beech. Gone was the whispering of wind through the tall pines. Fires burned in the West of the Township. Cries and rallies roared. But inside the stone walls all sound was blocked as night fell.

  Within the amphitheater it was cool, quiet, and still, like setting foot inside a tomb.

  And it remained that way until halfway along the stone stands. Then, on the broad stairs that climbed down to the player's stage, a final dragon lay gravely wounded. She was close to death, her head twisted around on her neck so that her eyes could look but down at stone. Her throat was imperfectly struck.

  "It can't even see the stars as it fades," Telfeth said softly, mustering pity for a dragon.

  "He was busy as soon as he came in here," Legolas said. "He would never leave a creature in such a state. Not even an evil creature. Cruelty is not his nature." Legolas pulled an arrow from his quiver and shot the worm-head through the sword strike, meaning the arrow shot up its neck and slammed into its head. The great body shuddered and went still.

  Telfeth exhaled a pent breath.

  "They won't show you even that much mercy," Legolas disclosed to her. "What is evil is selfish. What is selfish is cruel."

  The light was going, which put Lusis in a near panic. Her eyes couldn't see in the dark. They were running out of time to find her King and have her be of actual use to them. "Where is he?"

  "You tell us," Legolas prompted her. "You are bound to him."

  She glanced at that, "You're not? You're his son. His own blood."

  When he didn't offer an answer, Lusis coasted down the steps toward the stage. She picked up speed as if she were a leaf carried on the wind. As she closed on the flat white surface, she could see a large crack had opened up much of the stage. Down inside it was dark. Cold air breathed out on her.

  "In here?" Legolas asked her.

  Lusis concentrated on the darkness and… saw a tiny pinpoint of blue-silver light that she feared she was imagining. Cold swept her, worry that it was all that was left of his fire, and she clambered into the broken stage, down over rock and onto… the stone flags of a long hallway. Ahead, she could see firelight, she could hear motion.

  "Oh," Legolas' lips curled in undisguised reaction. "I smell dragon's blood in the air."

  Crouching in the dark, Lusis glanced around her. "This route is direct. It will lead us into trouble."

  "Perhaps they have become complacent," said the blond elf of the Fellowship, "these many hours without sound and without interference, in the heart of their conspiracy."

  The heart of the symbol of Sauron the Dishonorable.

  And look who came in without as much as a guard of his own. Lusis nipped her bottom lip and glanced at Telfeth and Amathon, and once she had their attention she tipped her head toward Legolas. She hoped she didn't have to say aloud that he was their priority. But they easily understood her.

  There was rubble in the passage to the left. She drifted over that way to hunker out of sight, as louder voices fell through the jagged downward path. Legolas and Telfeth flattened to a bend in the wall opposite.

  A shadow appeared from what had seemed to be a fissure in stone just ahead of her. She laid a hand on one of her precious remaining throwing knives and watched the figure slide into the half-light. That light glided along long hair, a high cheekbone, and the tall curve of an ear. The elf raised a hand and touched his first two fingertips to his lips in an unmistakable plea for silence.

  The voices drew louder still. Lusis shifted fractionally, and Amathon squeezed into the rugged shadow of the wall and rolled up to incredible compactness. Maybe his joints were made of putty. There were men striding up the crumbling path that led outside.

  "-and not much trouble, after all."

  "You haven't been out in the city, Drivenn."

  Gurn Drivenn continued to sound pompous. "I said it to you before, the elves are leaving these shores for the next world – their so-called Undying Lands. There are going to be far fewer than you expect as a result, and the Men of Lake Township are sheep – flaccid and domestic. My soldiers are hidden within the Forces. We will win the day."

  "If they are so inadequate, why is the news from your men so mixed?" asked the towering man. Lusis squeezed a hand over her mouth to keep from gasping. She knew not only the voice of the man who spoke to Drivenn, but the tall
, broad look of him. That hawk-nosed, dark-blond wall of a man was Kirnor Buckmaster. "It is not a good sign, Drivenn. She needs to take those gilded dolls of hers into Erebor."

  "Dolls." Drivenn scoffed. "What a waste. They are ruthless. They are siege-engines. That fool woman will have them trussed in those fool dwarf-forged cages, dotted with gemstones."

  "They are prized possessions." Drivenn rolled his shoulders. "It is a time to look to Men, Kir."

  "And I do," mused Lusis' uncle. "If only my lost and wandering kin could do the same. It's a matter of time, before we take the North. The Fell family may be headed up by a young fool… but the elder-Fells see the way."

  They passed out of earshot.

  Lusis crumpled around terrific pain. It lanced through her, physically, even though it wasn't a blow that had been delivered by any weapon. She felt her eyes bead up and overflow. Amathon clasped her shoulder. She didn't respond to him, and he quickly darted away.

  It was unbelievable.

  For some reason, her memory played out for her, the first time her father had set her on the back of a horse that Kirnor held for her. She'd clawed away and clung to her uncle, because she was afraid, and, even that long ago, Lonnan had driven away the three oldest Buckmaster boys with a switch, because they wouldn't leave her in peace. On the boards, Remee had crossed his fingers. Elsenord had watched this seven-year-old project of his father's, unconvinced. But Kirnor had held her carefully, even if he had scoffed 'This is not a Buckmaster-maid, Nev, this is… a mop, a terrified and sodden mop'. But her father hadn't given in. Even after everyone had left them. He'd cajoled, encouraged, tried to make a game of it, tried to talk her through. The pony had looked on all this curiously. Walking around the enclosure, holding her hand, Nevrmen had realized aloud, 'But then… you're not afraid of the horse, are you, little light? You're afraid of the bridle. The bit.'

  Lusis didn't know when her family had fragmented, had stopped loving one another, and started betraying the firm, kind light that was Nevrmen Buckmaster, she only knew that the penalty for it would be death.

  She opened her eyes and stood slowly up from behind the stones in which she'd hidden.

  "Lady Lusis." Dorondir bent across the stones. He saw, in her battle-smeared face, emotions so raw that he recoiled from her. "Stars."

  All the elves fell back. Legolas turned his golden head to the stone wall.

  Bess breathed, "You are terrible to behold, Lady Greenwood. What possesses you?"

  "That man… is marked," she panted with fury.

  "The traitor, Gurn Drivenn?" Amathon asked quietly.

  "No, friend-Amathon," she shook her head, "The traitor, Kirnor Buckmaster."

  The shock made Amathon's pale eyes go wide. He reached to steady himself against his wife. And she wasn't there. He looked to Dorondir, and the half-Noldor's chin rose, his green eyes were hard. He quickly shut away the thoughts he feared she could see in his gaze. "Oh, Lusis." The inexplicable death of Nevrmen Buckmaster of which he had heard, was unravelling. When he had recovered enough, Dorondir Hastion bowed his head to her. "Lady, he is yours."

  "Where is the King?" Lusis asked.

  He glanced down the dark tunnel, "I am a harbinger of the Raiment." He glided forward and stepped back into the shadowy fissure from which he'd come.

  "What does that mean?" Lusis followed him, full of a rage that numbed her to fear. "The battle has leaked into the Township, Dorondir, fires burn, and war can be heard. If the Raiment were doing well enough to be this close, there would be no such noise and confusion in the streets."

  "Some fire. Some noise." Agreed Dorondir as the procession crept along with him. "They hear and see what is meant to be heard and seen."

  Now Amathon breathed, "Meant to be?"

  "The Aglareb – the Special Forces of the King." His green eyes found her in the darkness, vaguely chatoyant. "They are trained Elites, it is true. But they are also his foremost spies, some of them schooled in cunning by his own hand – you must tell none of this."

  Lusis was so stunned by this that her rage stumbled over itself. "Is he staging… the advance of Drivenn's Forces through Lake Township?"

  "Perhaps some. The plan was to mislead." The elf nodded quietly, clearly an elf of the Aglareb.

  Now Bess glanced up at him, "But your numbers are too thin to repel the army of the enemy, you elves, we heard."

  He turned her way. "My friends, the Elfking knew that trouble was coming. What, I ask you, do you suppose he did?" Dorondir seemed amazed by their assessment. "Wait? Fail to plan? Is that him?"

  Legolas made a soft puff of amusement. "He plans, adar. He plans schemes around his strategies."

  Bess shook her curling head, "He plans… plans around his plans?"

  "Yes. If I could broach how bright he truly is…." Legolas averted his smile down at the broken stone to hide the great warmth he felt. "Long has adar foretold a need for Elite spies. Now he has his Aglareb – his glorious ones. They will be as bright and deadly, as he is, himself. And they will be keen. Perhaps… the coming of the new Age forced his hand?" Now the Elfprince glanced at Lusis. "Enemies among elves and Maiar are, in some ways, easier for us. They are known quantities with which elves share some common comportment. Enemies among Men are not so easy to understand… but our spies are trained to do so."

  "An army of spies," Bess said quietly. She shut her eyes and exhaled. "Do… do we have hope, yet? Is that what you're trying to tell us, good elf?"

  "There is hope yet."

  Lusis suddenly realized there could only be one way for Dorondir to be here. She felt her eyes widen. "Where is Lord Elrond?"

  The spy shut his eyes and went still.

  "He's in here." Lusis squeezed the hand she laid over her chest.

  He didn't open his eyes as he told her, "They have him."

  Lusis had held her breath so long that the world did a slow loop. She set her hands on her knees and breathed deeply. "Oh gods. Where is Glorfindel? Where is the King with Ewon, do you know?"

  "I do not know where my King and Ewon may be." Dorondir said quietly. He seemed slightly sickened by having to say so. "But… Glorfindel."

  She chose to believe that great blond Noldorian was yet alive. "Take me to him."

  Dorondir bowed his head to her. "Yes, my Lady, but it will be a difficult path."

  He led them to the fissure he'd emerged from and squeezed his body into it, gracefully. Elves were very flexible. Human children were as close as one could come to their ability to fit into places. Lusis was very glad that she had always made conscious efforts at doing the stretching and flexibility training which was handed down to her from the Women's Way her mother had passed to her. Women warriors had somewhat different skills, and the training leaned to perfecting their bodies for leaping, dodging, and great elasticity. Bess also had had some of the same training, it was clear from how she insisted on helping Lusis cut away the lengths of long skirt on her breezy elven scout's dress.

  Even with that, both women were stretched to the end of their tolerance getting through the tightness of stone.

  And Lusis hated the feeling of being trapped more than anything in life.

  She was shaking when they emerged from their climb through, and then down, into the dark, close fissure. Her heart was hammering with fear she fought to contain. In fact, she stumbled out.

  "Lady," Telfeth hurried to her as Lusis dropped to her knees in an open cavern. She was still closed in on all sides, but the space was larger than the hall at Kasia's. She felt powerless to move, closed in this stone crate.

  Bess passed from the deep crack, dropped to her knees, and closed her arms around Lusis' shoulders. This was automatic.

  "We did it," she shuddered. "I wasn't sure I could."

  Lusis wrapped her arms around the quaking girl while the elves stood by. Her voice was strained as she panted, "Any extremity… for my King and my people."

  It took a few minutes, but young Bess Bowman gathered herself in the darkness. Sh
e clasped hands with Lusis. "Lady… let's deliver them."

  They rose and Bess turned to checking her weapons. Lusis made to do the same, except Dorondir extended a pale hand and pushed her hair out of her eyes. He set his warm hand on her cheek. She looked up at him. His green eyes, in the low light of the fire Amathon had struck, were rueful.

  Lusis took a step forward and he folded her in an embrace. She leaned against him and said to him, "Friend-Dorondir, tell me we won't come back this way."

  "I cannot tell you so." He sounded so sorry.

  She exhaled into the curves of the leather armour at the base of his throat, sure she couldn't make it through that again. Everything in her shaken spirit rebelled. She couldn't face that fissure alone, "Stay close to me."

  "Yes," he told her. His hands seemed to be tidying her hair.

  "Then," she pulled away from him and turned to her weapons, "I will find a way to kill the fear."

  She looked up into the averted gazes of Elites, whose behaviour Bess modelled. It was Legolas Thranduilion, the Greenleaf of Greenwood, who stared at her. He shut his eyes a moment. His motionless expression had shifted by the time he opened them again. "Spy of Rivendell, where is Glorfindel?"

  The spy backed away. Pointedly, he did not look at Lusis. Instead, he bowed, deeply, to the Elfprince and he said, "We are close. Please follow me."

  Legolas passed Lusis and followed the half-Noldorian. They hurried down the face of the cavern and found a gap into which they easily fit. Lusis held her breath going in. It was roomy, compared to where they'd been. She pressed the stone with her hands. Dorondir glanced back to her. He, too, was no fan of tight spaces.

  "At least this crack in the earth could fit Steed through… if not Redd." She breathed evenly.

  Amathon laid a hand on her shoulder. "Find your inmost serenity, Lady. Accept this tomb of stone for what it is and you will be able to move through it in harmony. We are close, recall."