Chapter 12: The Council of Galadriel

                                    

                                          
Caledorn took a massive leap from one balcony to another, drawing his ebony daggers in midair as his cloak billowed behind him. He could hear fighting away to the east, but it soon began to fade away. It sounded as though the enemy was being driven back, though why they would attack only to retreat so soon was anyone's guess. 

                          
As he gripped onto the side of a large mallorn tree, his sensitive ears heard the sound of footsteps beneath him. They were light, like the steps of one well-versed in the art of stealth, but Caledorn could tell from the slightly uneven patter that whoever it was was tired. 
                          
Like a squirrel he silently crawled down the side of the tree, headfirst and eyes scanning the ground below. His breathing was silenced by his mask, and he made no sound aside from the slight brush of his clothing. 
                          
Suddenly an orc emerged from the underbrush nearby, moving slowly and looking around furtively as he carefully made his way closer. He was clad in black robes, which was unusual for an orc, and instead of a sword he held a twisted oaken staff. He was completely oblivious to the elven warrior, who watched the orc approach with silent patience. 
                          
As soon as the orc was close enough, Caledorn released his grip and fell from the sky, landing atop the orc like a leopard ambushing his prey. His dagger quickly went to the orc's neck, and with his other hand he cast the pathetic creature's staff away. 
                          
"Don't kill me! Please!" The orc shrieked. His cry was cut short by Caledorn's gloved hand cupping against his fanged mouth. 
                          
"Silence! Are there more of you nearby?" Caledorn asked, pressing the blade a little harder against the orc's neck. The orc gulped and drew a shallow breath, his eyes bulging as he squirmed. 
                          
"Yes! I mean no! They all fled! The paleskin elves chased them off!" 
                          
Caledorn's eyes narrowed and he briefly looked around before glaring back down at the orc. "Why did you attack? And how?" 
                          
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"So it would seem that Sauron's power, and that of his servants, is waxing," Caledorn said as he pushed the orc to his knees in front of Galadriel and several of her warriors. "He said that a sorcerer aided them in entering the forest." 
                          
Galadriel looked upon the orc, her expression one of revulsion and anger. Her icy blue eyes burned with a cold fire, and she took a step closer. 
                          
"Tell me, yrch. Who was this sorcerer?" 
                          
The orc looked terrified, but he held his chin higher and let out a snarl. "I'm not telling you a thing, elf witch!" 
                          
Caledorn kicked the orc in the small of the back, causing him to howl in pain. "Show some respect, orc filth! Or I will show you a world of pain." 
                          
The orc bared his rotting teeth, sneering as he looked from elf to elf. "Your time is long over. You do not know what is coming. Leave now while you still have a chance." 
                          
"You are strangely articulate for one of your kind, orc. What is your name, and whom do you serve?" Galadriel seemed genuinely interested, though Caledorn knew that she would analyze every word the orc spoke for information. 
                          
The orc looked as if he was about to refuse, but Caledorn twirled his blade around close to the orc's ear and he immediately reconsidered. 
                          
"I am called Maugash. I serve the Lady of the Dead Tree. This will be her forest, and she will tread upon your bones. Mark my words, elf filth." He spat on the ground, and Caledorn slapped him across the face with a gloved hand. 
                          
"Interesting," Galadriel said thoughtfully as she began to slowly circle the orc. Her bare feet softly slapped the ground as she glided past Caledorn. "The Lady of the Dead Tree. She is the sorcerer... Or sorceress, as it were. Is she not?"