Part 15

Haldir flew down the steps, whistling for the horses and, gaining on Sighard, who was encumbered as much by his armour as by carrying Ayleth, took his beloved into his own arms.

“We don’t stand a chance,” said Sighard, throwing away his helmet and turning back towards the reivers’ stronghold, his feet firmly planted, his sword ready.

“No, Master Sighard,” cried Haldir, “this is not the place to make a stand!” The horses had broken the crest of the hill, and were galloping down the slope to meet their masters. “Legolas will hold them back for as long as he can; we must get away!” He lifted Ayleth onto his horse, and leaped up behind her. “We must go back into the mist. At least, in there, we have a chance!”

Sighard sheathed his sword and, clumsy in his haste, climbed up onto his mount, and the trio fled, leaving Arod and Brightstar to conceal themselves as best they could, and wait for their own master and mistress to escape.

...

For almost half an hour, they made steady progress.

Then Haldir heard the distant pounding of hooves and, as he listened, the sound grew louder, and he knew that the reivers were closing in. “They are coming,” he said. “We must get off the road. Quickly.”

They released the horses—Haldir telling them to run swiftly on—and the elf and the man carried Ayleth between them, lifting her over the cliff edge and passing her down into a shallow alcove, well-hidden from the trail above.

There they waited, listening anxiously, until Haldir, sensing the reivers’ approach, raised a warning hand, and the humans virtually stopped breathing.

They heard the warriors pass overhead, halt, and exchange a few growls, and then heard one of them pad back. They heard his horse, stamping and pawing the ground, but the man himself made no sound and, after a few long, heart-pounding moments, they heard him ride on.

“We will stay down here,” said Haldir, quietly. “We will keep to this ledge, for as long as we can.”

“It will be difficult,” said Sighard, quickly shrugging off his cumbersome armour.

“But safer,” said Haldir. He lifted Ayleth into his arms. “Follow me, Master Sighard. I shall move slowly. Keep me in sight.”

...

“This is all my fault,” said Ayleth, sadly.

Haldir, still a novice at reading volatile human emotions, did not know how seriously he should take her confession. “Why do you say that?”

“I would not give him what he wanted.”

The elf felt a surge of possessive anger. “What did he want?”

“To be more like you.”

“I do not understand.”

“He cannot die, Haldir, and nor can any of his men. But they don’t live. They’re cursed to exist forever, never eating, never sleeping, never feeling warmth, nor comfort and, though they have desires, never,”—she lowered her voice still further—“enjoying a woman.”

“Could you give them what they want?”

“I don’t know—I don’t think so. But there may be a way for them to win it for themselves. And I refused to look.”

“Why?” asked Haldir, imagining the courage that must have taken.

“Because they’re wicked men, Haldir,” said Ayleth. “Their misery is a kind of prison. And if I free them, there’s no telling what they might do.”