Alfýkin: The Last of the Elves

In the Darkest of Places

Zaharias scrabbled at the ground while the fire-liquid burned through him. The heat seemed to spread from his middle outward, lending strength to his limbs and easing the pain of past unhealed injuries. He took a shaky breath and discovered that it no longer pained him to do so. He breathed deeply, deeper than he had in a long time. He pushed himself to his hands and knees, marvelling in the ability to move freely. His whole body tingled with warmth and energy, such as he had not known in a long time.

The goblins watched with great enthusiasm as the elf stood, roaring when he tossed his head back in defiance. They would have their sport. Their king held up a meaty hand for silence.

"I said I would give you one more chance to kill me, elf," he said when the cavern fell silent. Zaharias clenched his hands at his side. The longer he stood still the more energy seemed to build up inside him. He needed to move or else lose control. Slurgoc grinned when he saw him bounce impatiently on the balls of his feet. It was working, he'd finally found something strong enough to rouse the elf from his stupor. Three years of experiments had led to this. Now he would see how it performed.

"Bring the Uruk-hai We will have a fight!" he leaned forward and spoke only to Zaharias, though he was still heard by many of the goblins. "Get past them and you may have a chance at killing me," he sneered. Zaharias didn't hear him over the blood roaring in his ears. He did not need to hear him though, if the smallest opportunity presented itself he would kill without hesitation. He was hot, uncomfortably so. Whatever they had given him was strong indeed, and he feared it. Feared the anger that filled him, feared the strength it gave him.

Suddenly seven large and hideous chained Uruk-hai, creations of Saruman that had yet to be purged of the Earth, pounded into the room. Zaharias turned to face the hideous manifestations, struggling to restrain himself. Above all creatures, even goblins, elves hated orcs, like a spirit hates bondage. Uruk-hai were no different. The ones before him were taller than he, and stronger, for Slurgoc nurtured them as prized possessions. They wore ragged loinclothes about their waist, leaving the rest of their bodies naked and gleaming with sweat and oil. Each one bore an identical mark on the right side of his chest, painted in blood, a crude depiction of some foul beast. They snarled at Zaharias, making rude gestures. Zaharias' shoulder twitched with desire to kill them all.

Slurgoc settled more comfortably into his throne and flicked his hand lazily. At once goblins freed the orcs from their chains and stepped back to enjoy the spectacle. The Uruk-hai surrounded Zaharias in a wide circle but made no move to attack. Instead they waited, looking expectantly at Slurgoc.

"No weapons. Bring the elf down but do not kill him. Make him squeal!" he shouted. The Uruk-hai charged Zaharias, shouting savage insults in their own tongue. Zaharias, free at last to move, slipped between two of the spawn and they all crashed into each other, squalling and arguing. Remembering the goblin king, Zaharias made a mad dash toward the throne but one of the Uruk-hai spotted him and barked an order. Zaharias quickly found himself surrounded by large, reeking bodies. He desperately dodged the blows that rained down upon him. A knife flashed in the torchlight.

The drink was slowly wearing off and he could feel his strength flagging. Desperation filled him and he took a flying leap at one of the uruks, landing heavily the beast's chest. Quickly he snapped its neck and leapt free of the carcass. Something tugged at his side as he landed. He needed to break free to kill the king. If he could just get the knife he had seen one of the orcs with. He dodged a punch to his face and returned the favor by bringing his elbow down hard on the Uruk-hai's arm and snapping the bone. The uruk howled and staggered back.