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It took most of the night and the last of his strength, but eventually Ambarturion was able to once again loosen the bonds that held his hands. There was nothing he could do about the leather binding his feet, but should an opportunity arise he could deal with those much more quickly with the use of his hands.
He lay upon his back and felt the sun rise over the horizon, and listened as the birds tried in vain to overcome the loathsome cries of the orcs. Most of those that had been set to guard himself, Megilaes and Coromswyth were asleep or inattentive, and Ambarturion considered snapping his bonds immediately, but he thought better of it. Most of the beasts that had been sent to bear them to Dol Guldur were stupid and slow, but there were some that possessed some keenness. The leader, for one, seemed more capable, and that other orc that had spoken with him was more than usually alert.
The sun climbed above the trees that lay to the east and filled the Vale with welcome light, and the orcs set about their morning meal, but nothing was offered to the prisoners. It did not matter to them, for none of them relished the thought of what orcs might give them to eat. When they were sure that none of the orcs were nearby they spoke quietly, taking counsel for the dangerous trial that lay before them. “Will they attack soon do you think?” Coromswyth asked.
“I think not,” replied Ambarturion, “for they are few in number and will want to ambush the orcs when they are on the move and scattered. We should watch for them around midday, when the Sun is at her highest and the orcs are subdued by her brightness.”
“What shall we do when they attack Master?” Ambarturion noted that his student’s voice was tinged with an iron now that it had lacked before. The death of his brother had done something irrevocable to the youth.
“We will do what we can,” he replied. “I have freed my hands, but I dare not undo my other bonds. When our kindred of the greenwood comes I will break my remaining bonds and attempt to arm myself. The orcs will undoubtedly try to slay us rather than let us be rescued. I will attempt to deny them that pleasure.”
“Ambarturion,” Coromswyth whispered, “I may be able to help you…” but she was cut of by a sudden outburst of orcish glee from all corners of the ragged camp. Rolling onto his side, Ambarturion looked out through the uneven slats of the cart and saw the orcs, waving their weapons above their heads in triumph, converging upon a small copse of trees. Through their huddled black forms he beheld them leading forth from the trees a wounded Silvan Elf. Ambarturion cursed beneath his breath.
“What is it?” asked Megilaes.
Ambarturion’s voice was as steel through long grass as he replied. “It would appear that we will not be the only Elves in need of rescuing this day.”
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