[Fordim Hedgethistle]

From where he lay in the cart, Ambarturion watched as the orc fell with an arrow jutting from his shoulder. The Elf scowled darkly to himself: whatever plans his distant kinsman had hoped to lay, they had been badly disturbed by the sudden capture of one of their number. Ambarturion strained to see if any were coming to his and his companions’ succour, but he had only a limited view of the lands about and could not tell fully what was happening. There was no more time for debate and doubt, he had to act. With one last mighty shrug he broke the bonds that held his hands and reached for those binding his ankles. Coromswyth whispered to him urgently, “My knives, quickly!” She rolled onto her stomach and held out her arms, and Ambarturion knew instantly what she was suggesting. Reaching into her long sleeves he withdrew the hidden weapons and slashed at the cords at his ankles.

He turned then to Megilaes, but a sudden cry of warning from Coromswyth drew his attention. Ambarturion barely had time to parry the orc’s blow. Three of the creatures had come scampering back to the cart at the sight of their captain’s fall and were now clearly intent on slaying the prisoners. They were enraged and in full furor, while Ambarturion was flat on his back, armed only with short knives and stiff from having been bound for nearly a full day. But he was in his wrath and as he rose up, his eyes blazed with the light of his age and those who looked upon him quailed.

Leaping upon the orcs, the Elf slashed the throat out of the first. The other two came at him, but he swirled below their attacks and spinning about on the ground like a striking adder he sliced through the leg of one, before coming up and burying a knife in the gorge of the third. He then coolly stooped and dispatched with his bare hands the orc he had hamstrung. He looked about for more enemies, but for the moment at least the only living orc was the wounded captain. In mere moments, Ambarturion had freed the other Elves. As he cut the bonds of the wounded stranger, there appeared at the side of the wagon an Elf dressed in the garb of a Mirkwood scout. “Come,” he was saying hurriedly, “come with me! We must be away before they discover your escape.”

Ambarturion drew himself up to his full height and looked upon the Elf with thinly veiled contempt. Ambarturion was unused to taking orders, and did not like the peremptory tone of this person. “Your companion cannot flee in his condition, nor will I run away from orcs. Coromswyth, you remain here with the wounded and see what you can do for him. If it is safe to move him, find shelter in the trees. Megilaes and you…”

“Thorvel,” the newcomer replied, stunned by the manner of this tall Elf with eyes like blazing stars.

“Thorvel, you will accompany my student and I in pursuit of the orcs.”

“Ambarturion!” Coromswyth’s tone spoke in equal measure of caution and resentment – resentment at being ordered once more to avoid battle, and caution for Ambarturion not to presume to lead where he was in debt to a rescuer. Ambarturion noted her meaning, but there was no time for such matters.

“No,” he said coolly. “You must stay here and see to his wounds. If the orcs return they will slay him.” Coromswyth merely nodded in mute acquiescence, but he could tell that she was unhappy with his manner.

Thorvel, having recovered from his initial shock, was the next to protest. “We should not pursue the orcs, they are too many. Let us seek shelter and come upon them in secrecy.”

Ambarturion paid little attention to the other Elf, not even deigning to look at him as he replied. “The orcs are many, your companions are but two. Would you allow them to be overcome by these monsters while we seek shelter for ourselves? Come, we are enough to lend your kin aid – if not, we are enough to die with them.” Not waiting for a reply he returned the knives to Coromswyth before stooping for an orc’s sword, and racing off in pursuit of the enemy.