The
Tale
They run through the night, their pace slackening only when they enter the stony hills of the Emyn Muil. The sky is clear with a waxing moon in the West, but it is still hard traveling through this ‘bony land’, up hills and down valleys. In the hour before dawn, they pause. The orc-trail has vanished into the valley. Making a good guess, they head northward.
After
going for only a mile, they run across the bodies of five dead Orcs. Aragorn
guesses that it was not the Rohirrim (the men of Rohan) who did this, but a
quarrel amongst themselves: these are all Misty Mountain Orcs and not the large
ones with Saruman’s badge. A little further North they come to a fold in which
a little stream runs. Here at last they find a clear trail. Just as the sun
rises, Aragorn can see the White Mountains, border of the realm of Gondor. But
they must turn west and north.
As
they stop on ridge of the Emyn Muil, they can see twenty fathoms below them the
green land of Rohan. From there Legolas can see the eagle again, flying North.
But below them on the plain there is movement, so far that even the elf’s eyes
cannot make out what sort of folk they are, except they are on foot. But it is
doubtless their enemies. They follow the path along the ridge.
In
the clear light of day this is easier. The Orcs seem to be making all possible
speed, dropping things carelessly in their haste: food-bags, the rinds and
crusts of hard grey bread, a torn black cloak, a heavy iron-nailed shoe broken
on the stones.’ The trail leads to where a stream descends into the valley, and
they follow it down into the green plains below.
‘Legolas took a deep breath, like one that drinks a great draught after long thirst in barren places…’A! The green smell,’ he said. ‘It is better than much sleep. Let us run!’
They
find the trampled and bruised path of the Orcs through the grass and follow it
eagerly, hoping to overtake them now that the way is clear. After a while
Aragorn stops the others and examines a trail leading a little away. They are
the footprints of a hobbit (Pippin by the size) and there he finds the dropped
brooch of an elven-cloak. ‘Not idly do the leaves of Lorien fall.’ This has
been left deliberately for any who might follow. One hobbit is at least alive,
if he did not pay for his break-out. They run on.
As
night begins to fall, they stop and consider what to do. It has been a day
since Boromir fell, and they have run twelve leagues (36 miles) with little
rest. Shall they follow the Orcs by night, trusting that they will not deviate
from their path but possibly missing any further clues like the brooch (which
Legolas thinks unlikely after that last attempt), or, as Gimli proposes, they ‘must
rest a little to run the better.’ Aragorn
decides that they will rest through the night. He casts himself down and falls
fast asleep.
Before it is dawn, he wakes up. Legolas is keeping watch, but he feels in his heart that the Orcs have journeyed through the night and are far, far away. Aragorn rouses Gimli. Since the sun is not up yet, Aragorn lies down and puts his ear to the earth. When dawn arises, he gets up, looking troubled. Faint and far are the sounds of the Orcs, but loud and clear are the hoofs of horses, though they are moving away from them. The Three Hunters continue their pursuit.
It
is the third day of their hunt. Their elven-cloaks fade into the grey-green of
the fields, and the lembas bread sustains them even as they run. The day wears
on and the track remains clear, bending a little as it heads northward. The
ground grows harder and the grass shorter. They see and hear neither bird or
beast or man, which Aragorn finds strange. At dusk they halt again.
‘Now
twice twelve leagues they had passed over the plains of Rohan.’ Legolas does
not want to stop; ‘the Orcs have run before us, as if the very whips of Sauron
were behind them.’ He fears that they have already escaped into the shadows of the
forest before them. Aragorn says there is something strange at work in the land:
he is more weary than a Ranger should be with a clear trail to follow. There is
a will set against them that helps their foes go faster. Saruman.
The
next morning Legolas is again first afoot in the red dawn, and he wakes the
others. They spring up and immediately set off. An hour before noon they reach
the green slopes rising to bare ridges running towards the north. Just to the
West of the southernmost slope is a great ring of trampled earth where the Orcs
had their camp. Aragorn estimates from the outward tracks that they left there
already almost thirty-six hours ago. If they held their pace, they had reached
Fangorn Forest by sundown yesterday. Another 23 miles away. ‘Well let us go on,’
said Gimli. ‘My legs must forget the miles. They would be more willing, if my
heart were less heavy.’
They
come near the end of the downs as the sun is sinking. They have marched without
rest, and they are beginning to slow down. ‘Stone-hard are the Dwarves in labor
or journey’, but Gimli’s back is bent. Aragorn
walks behind him, silent and grim. ‘Only Legolas still stepped as lightly as
ever, his feet hardly seeming to press the grass, leaving no footprints as he
passed; but in the waybread of the Elves he found all the sustenance that he
needed, and he could sleep, if sleep it could be called by Men, resting his
mind in the strange paths of elvish dreams, even as he walked open-eyed in the
light of this world.’
They
climb to the top of a green hill but can see nothing but a grey formless world
of mist and the distant black wall of the Misty Mountains and the forest around
their feet. They must camp again and it is growing cold, the wind from the
North. Legolas says ‘Yet do not cast all hope away. Tomorrow is unknown. Rede
[counsel] is oft found at the rising of the Sun.’ Gimli points out that three suns have passed
without them finding any guidance.
They
sleep fitfully through the night and by dawn the East wind has driven the mist
away. They see wide lands lying bleak around them. North-westward is the dark
forest of Fangorn, still ten leagues away, and Methedras, the last peak of the
Misty Mountains. Winding toward them is the Entwash, a water now swift and
narrow. The orc-trail is turning that way.
Looking
that way, Aragorn sees a swift-moving blur. But to Legolas, with his
elven-eyes, he sees not a blur but the small clear figures of many horsemen,
bearing spears. Aragorn can tell from listening to the ground that they are
horsemen, but Legolas can see that they are one hundred and five riders, and
even that they have yellow hair. Aragorn says that since they are heading their
way, back from where the Orcs were heading. No doubt the Riders will have news
of them. Legolas can see three empty saddles but no hobbits with them.
The
three leave the hilltop and walk down the northward slope. They stop a little
above the hill’s foot and sit, their cloaks blending into the faded grass. They
have a while to wait. Gimli rather uneasily asks Aragorn about the Riders.
Aragorn
lived among them for a while. ‘They are proud and wilful, but they are
true-hearted in thought and deed; bold but not cruel; wise but unlearned.’ They
are not related to the Men of Gondor but have long been their allies. There’s
no telling what their relationship is with the traitor Saruman, but they
certainly will not love the Orcs. Gimli reminds him that Gandalf mentioned a
rumor that the Rohirrim are paying a tribute to Mordor, but Aragorn does not
believe it.
‘You
will soon learn the truth,’ said Legolas. ‘Already they approach.’
[End
Part One]
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