Chapter 14
The slippery tunnel made their descent a treacherous one. Blood and alien mucus clung thickly to the Men’s boots. Even the Elves occasionally slipped on the gore-covered rocks. The glow from Mithrandir’s staff provided little cheer in the claustrophobic space. Finally, the mouth of the narrow chute opened wide and deposited the Gondorian’s and the Elven warriors onto a rocky projection.
They found themselves on a stone bridge and soon realized it overlooked a vast circular arena. Deep in the bowels of the earth, molten lava bubbled up out of a narrow fissure that ran the length of the amphitheater floor several yards below them. Occasionally a molten hissing stream of liquid flame shot angrily into the air.
Shimmering waves of heat assaulted their faces as the disheveled troop slowly edged their way out onto the bridge. The cavern below them glowed with a red eerie light and black shadows dotted the ground.
Gandalf surveyed the hellish scene in amazement. Bodies lay unmoving on the cave floor. The remains of aliens and armored warriors littered the ground. Greenish blood mingled with the acid that poured from the slain creatures to create a pungent hissing brew. As the smoke cleared, Gandalf spied dark ominous shapes standing still in the shadows.
Like a nightmare conjured out of the flames of Mordor, an ancient drama unfolded before them. A final battle was about to commence and the natives of Middle Earth were but mere spectators. Gandalf motioned the Men and Elves to press themselves back against the wall.
“Back, back,” Gandalf whispered urgently to Faramir, “least we draw attention to ourselves. I fear we are of no use here.”
Faramir nodded frantically. He couldn’t have agreed more as he looked at the deadly things slithering about on the cavern floor. Sweat poured down his brow as he motioned the men back. “Keep all eyes open for the King,” he whispered. Gondorians and Elves clung to the shadows and to each other as they edged out of the tunnel.
“By the gods,” whispered someone nervously. Beneath them the black shadows began to move.
Warriors covered in heavy metallic armor materialized seemingly out of the air. Gandalf recognized them and motioned to Elrond.
“So, the Predators we thought extinct have returned!” whispered the Wizard in amazement. “Just as depicted in the ancient scroll. They have come to the aid of the Mirkwood King!”
Elrond nodded mutely as he took in the hellish scene. Where was Arwen? His eyes scanned the arena for signs of his child. If she were down there…
The Elf Lord groaned at the thought of losing his daughter. Indeed, he wondered if any of them would escape this day alive. The army of Predators continued to materialize out of the shadows below them. They were heavily armed and each stood eight feet tall. Black mantles of dread locks braided in an eerie imitation of the Mirkwood Elves adorned their huge heads.
Elrond shook his head in astonishment. Mirkwood’s relationship with this alien race stretched back into the mists of time. Not for the first time, Elrond wondered at the alien-ness of the Wood Elves themselves. How different they had always seemed from the rest of the Elven realms. Their unique almost psychic link to their forest; their secretiveness; their seclusion and suspiciousness. Yes, even, at least historically, their brutality. Was this why? Were the Wood Elves kin to these creatures?
As if reading his thoughts, Gandalf whispered quietly, “I wonder, Lord Elrond, if our old friend Thranduil might be persuaded one day to educate us on the history of his House.”
The Elf Lord smirked. Thranduil would more likely hack off his own hand than tell anyone anything about the secrets that lie buried in his forest. Well, here was one secret that had slipped out of the bag, thought Elrond grimly, as he watched the Predators assemble their forces.
Clad in smooth metallic armor that, by some unknown magic, emitted a strange humming glow, the sky warriors marched to the center of the hippodrome floor. Standing tall and proud, stoic and arrogant, the Predators waited as the horde of insect-like alien creatures slithered into the arena with snapping jaws and gnashing razor sharp teeth. It was some prearranged challenge, apparently.
Impressive as these unearthly warriors were, Gandalf realized quickly that they were out numbered. Across the rock stadium, dozens of black slithering bodies sprang through apertures in the wall face. Like locusts, the black stream emerged into the subterranean stadium. They sprang from ledge to ledge with ease, their dragon like tails smashing rocks into dust as they went along. The Predators raised their armaments and prepared for the final Hunt to begin.
The sudden blasts from the Predators’ weapons reverberated against the walls of the stone chamber. Lightening flashed, as well, and the men of Gondor shielded their eyes and ears against the deafening assault. The Elves followed the battle with greater keenness however, for surely even these monsters of snarling teeth and acidic blood could not survive such advanced warfare.
Surprisingly, even against sophisticated arms of war the resilient creatures dispatched several of the hulking Predators with disturbing ease. Razor sharp teeth crunched into metal covered limbs severing arms and legs with relish. Spiked tails speared through armored chests and claws ripped off faceplates to reveal the hideous unearthly visages of their opponents.
The Predators were not of this earth. Had there been any doubt in Elrond’s mind it was rapidly fading. Spider like faces flared their prongs angrily at the alien creatures as they pounded each other in unarmed combat. Saruman himself would have marveled at their savagery. They were incomparable warriors, brutal and well matched in strength for the great black lizards.
“By Eru,” whispered Elrond, who gripped Gandalf’s arm.
“Nay, my friend,” said the Wizard in hushed tones of wonder. “Eru has nothing to do with these two foes. I dare say I am hard pressed to tell which, if any, could be found to fight on the side of good.”
The Lord of Imladris nodded dismally as he took in the sight of two Predators hacking the body of an alien creature in half. Acid sprayed from its dying body and hissed as it seared into the armor of one of the Hunters. His recent partner walked away from the dying warrior with indifference.
“My Lord Elrond!” cried Faramir, who was suddenly at his elbow. The Gondorian pointed a shaking finger mutely toward the floor of the arena below them.
“No,” whispered Elrond in terror.
Mithrandir grabbed Elrond’s arm to hold him back. Beneath them Arwen staggered aimlessly, it seemed, among the bloodied bodies of Predators. Aliens leapt around her, miraculously ignoring the presence of the She-Elf, at least for the moment.
“You cannot help her, Elrond!” cried the Wizard above the din of the battle.
“Release me! I have to get to her!” shouted the Elf Lord. He tore out of the Wizard’s grip and began to climb down from their balcony.
The Elves moved to follow him but stopped in their tracks when Elrond shrieked as if stunned by a jolt of lightening. The force sent the Elf Lord flying into the air. He landed on a narrow projection that immediately began to crumble beneath his weight. Gandalf was closest and made a surprisingly agile leap for one of such advanced age. The Wizard made it to a narrow ledge above the Elf Lord.
“Take my hand, Elrond!” he cried.
Elrond managed to grip the Mage’s weathered hand just as his little ledge finally disintegrated beneath him. Gandalf hauled the Elf Lord onto the sanctuary of his own narrow outcropping.
“What happened, Elrond?” he shouted over the noise. He looked out over the fray trying to find the form of the Queen of Gondor. Arwen walked as if in a daze around a large formation of rocks. Soon she was out of sight.
“I don’t know. I hit something, an invisible wall or rather it hit me. It went right through me,” said the Elf Lord as he climbed shakily to his feet.
Mithrandir turned and walked cautiously with a hand extended in front of him towards the area encountered by Elrond. Reaching out over the edge of his stone bridge his fingers brushed against something stinging. He pulled his hand back with a gasp. Turning he raised his eyebrows at Elrond in amazement.
“Arwen!” cried Elrond as he peered out over the Arena. “Where did she go, Gandalf? I can’t see her.”
“There,” cried Gandalf as he pointed over the large boulder formation. “If we follow this narrow shelf, I think we may be able to see her, Elrond.”
They slowly inched their way around the semi circular stadium beneath them, with their backs pressed against the wall. The ledge widened slightly giving them a little more maneuverability. Elrond carefully stepped past Gandalf as he caught sight of Arwen. But he halted in his tracks as he saw what it was that had drawn her to the place. Beside him, Gandalf gasped in horror.
A fearsome sight to rival any Balrog rose ferociously into view. This was the Queen, Gandalf realized in awe. It was the Mother Beast who had spawned the aliens. Her black insectoid body held erect, she towered like a gargantuan over the golden body of the Mirkwood King.
It could be none other, for despite the tattooed lines of leopard stripes across the pale skin and the magnificent lion like mask, the blond hair strewn about the porcelain face was unmistakable. Legolas lay motionless as the Creature’s razor sharp teeth bared in a ferocious imitation of a grin, mere inches above his prone body.
The Creature stomped her feet triumphantly, shaking the ground as she did so. Cracks in the cave floor widened under her massive bulk.
“Legolas!” cried an anguished voice from several feet away, near the flaming aperture in the earth.
It was Aragorn! The King of Gondor was barred from his lover by the same transparent barrier that Elrond had run into only moments ago. Pressed up against the invisible wall, Aragorn pounded stinging fists against its impenetrable electric surface, ignoring the faint smell of his own sizzling flesh.
They found themselves on a stone bridge and soon realized it overlooked a vast circular arena. Deep in the bowels of the earth, molten lava bubbled up out of a narrow fissure that ran the length of the amphitheater floor several yards below them. Occasionally a molten hissing stream of liquid flame shot angrily into the air.
Shimmering waves of heat assaulted their faces as the disheveled troop slowly edged their way out onto the bridge. The cavern below them glowed with a red eerie light and black shadows dotted the ground.
Gandalf surveyed the hellish scene in amazement. Bodies lay unmoving on the cave floor. The remains of aliens and armored warriors littered the ground. Greenish blood mingled with the acid that poured from the slain creatures to create a pungent hissing brew. As the smoke cleared, Gandalf spied dark ominous shapes standing still in the shadows.
Like a nightmare conjured out of the flames of Mordor, an ancient drama unfolded before them. A final battle was about to commence and the natives of Middle Earth were but mere spectators. Gandalf motioned the Men and Elves to press themselves back against the wall.
“Back, back,” Gandalf whispered urgently to Faramir, “least we draw attention to ourselves. I fear we are of no use here.”
Faramir nodded frantically. He couldn’t have agreed more as he looked at the deadly things slithering about on the cavern floor. Sweat poured down his brow as he motioned the men back. “Keep all eyes open for the King,” he whispered. Gondorians and Elves clung to the shadows and to each other as they edged out of the tunnel.
“By the gods,” whispered someone nervously. Beneath them the black shadows began to move.
Warriors covered in heavy metallic armor materialized seemingly out of the air. Gandalf recognized them and motioned to Elrond.
“So, the Predators we thought extinct have returned!” whispered the Wizard in amazement. “Just as depicted in the ancient scroll. They have come to the aid of the Mirkwood King!”
Elrond nodded mutely as he took in the hellish scene. Where was Arwen? His eyes scanned the arena for signs of his child. If she were down there…
The Elf Lord groaned at the thought of losing his daughter. Indeed, he wondered if any of them would escape this day alive. The army of Predators continued to materialize out of the shadows below them. They were heavily armed and each stood eight feet tall. Black mantles of dread locks braided in an eerie imitation of the Mirkwood Elves adorned their huge heads.
Elrond shook his head in astonishment. Mirkwood’s relationship with this alien race stretched back into the mists of time. Not for the first time, Elrond wondered at the alien-ness of the Wood Elves themselves. How different they had always seemed from the rest of the Elven realms. Their unique almost psychic link to their forest; their secretiveness; their seclusion and suspiciousness. Yes, even, at least historically, their brutality. Was this why? Were the Wood Elves kin to these creatures?
As if reading his thoughts, Gandalf whispered quietly, “I wonder, Lord Elrond, if our old friend Thranduil might be persuaded one day to educate us on the history of his House.”
The Elf Lord smirked. Thranduil would more likely hack off his own hand than tell anyone anything about the secrets that lie buried in his forest. Well, here was one secret that had slipped out of the bag, thought Elrond grimly, as he watched the Predators assemble their forces.
Clad in smooth metallic armor that, by some unknown magic, emitted a strange humming glow, the sky warriors marched to the center of the hippodrome floor. Standing tall and proud, stoic and arrogant, the Predators waited as the horde of insect-like alien creatures slithered into the arena with snapping jaws and gnashing razor sharp teeth. It was some prearranged challenge, apparently.
Impressive as these unearthly warriors were, Gandalf realized quickly that they were out numbered. Across the rock stadium, dozens of black slithering bodies sprang through apertures in the wall face. Like locusts, the black stream emerged into the subterranean stadium. They sprang from ledge to ledge with ease, their dragon like tails smashing rocks into dust as they went along. The Predators raised their armaments and prepared for the final Hunt to begin.
The sudden blasts from the Predators’ weapons reverberated against the walls of the stone chamber. Lightening flashed, as well, and the men of Gondor shielded their eyes and ears against the deafening assault. The Elves followed the battle with greater keenness however, for surely even these monsters of snarling teeth and acidic blood could not survive such advanced warfare.
Surprisingly, even against sophisticated arms of war the resilient creatures dispatched several of the hulking Predators with disturbing ease. Razor sharp teeth crunched into metal covered limbs severing arms and legs with relish. Spiked tails speared through armored chests and claws ripped off faceplates to reveal the hideous unearthly visages of their opponents.
The Predators were not of this earth. Had there been any doubt in Elrond’s mind it was rapidly fading. Spider like faces flared their prongs angrily at the alien creatures as they pounded each other in unarmed combat. Saruman himself would have marveled at their savagery. They were incomparable warriors, brutal and well matched in strength for the great black lizards.
“By Eru,” whispered Elrond, who gripped Gandalf’s arm.
“Nay, my friend,” said the Wizard in hushed tones of wonder. “Eru has nothing to do with these two foes. I dare say I am hard pressed to tell which, if any, could be found to fight on the side of good.”
The Lord of Imladris nodded dismally as he took in the sight of two Predators hacking the body of an alien creature in half. Acid sprayed from its dying body and hissed as it seared into the armor of one of the Hunters. His recent partner walked away from the dying warrior with indifference.
“My Lord Elrond!” cried Faramir, who was suddenly at his elbow. The Gondorian pointed a shaking finger mutely toward the floor of the arena below them.
“No,” whispered Elrond in terror.
Mithrandir grabbed Elrond’s arm to hold him back. Beneath them Arwen staggered aimlessly, it seemed, among the bloodied bodies of Predators. Aliens leapt around her, miraculously ignoring the presence of the She-Elf, at least for the moment.
“You cannot help her, Elrond!” cried the Wizard above the din of the battle.
“Release me! I have to get to her!” shouted the Elf Lord. He tore out of the Wizard’s grip and began to climb down from their balcony.
The Elves moved to follow him but stopped in their tracks when Elrond shrieked as if stunned by a jolt of lightening. The force sent the Elf Lord flying into the air. He landed on a narrow projection that immediately began to crumble beneath his weight. Gandalf was closest and made a surprisingly agile leap for one of such advanced age. The Wizard made it to a narrow ledge above the Elf Lord.
“Take my hand, Elrond!” he cried.
Elrond managed to grip the Mage’s weathered hand just as his little ledge finally disintegrated beneath him. Gandalf hauled the Elf Lord onto the sanctuary of his own narrow outcropping.
“What happened, Elrond?” he shouted over the noise. He looked out over the fray trying to find the form of the Queen of Gondor. Arwen walked as if in a daze around a large formation of rocks. Soon she was out of sight.
“I don’t know. I hit something, an invisible wall or rather it hit me. It went right through me,” said the Elf Lord as he climbed shakily to his feet.
Mithrandir turned and walked cautiously with a hand extended in front of him towards the area encountered by Elrond. Reaching out over the edge of his stone bridge his fingers brushed against something stinging. He pulled his hand back with a gasp. Turning he raised his eyebrows at Elrond in amazement.
“Arwen!” cried Elrond as he peered out over the Arena. “Where did she go, Gandalf? I can’t see her.”
“There,” cried Gandalf as he pointed over the large boulder formation. “If we follow this narrow shelf, I think we may be able to see her, Elrond.”
They slowly inched their way around the semi circular stadium beneath them, with their backs pressed against the wall. The ledge widened slightly giving them a little more maneuverability. Elrond carefully stepped past Gandalf as he caught sight of Arwen. But he halted in his tracks as he saw what it was that had drawn her to the place. Beside him, Gandalf gasped in horror.
A fearsome sight to rival any Balrog rose ferociously into view. This was the Queen, Gandalf realized in awe. It was the Mother Beast who had spawned the aliens. Her black insectoid body held erect, she towered like a gargantuan over the golden body of the Mirkwood King.
It could be none other, for despite the tattooed lines of leopard stripes across the pale skin and the magnificent lion like mask, the blond hair strewn about the porcelain face was unmistakable. Legolas lay motionless as the Creature’s razor sharp teeth bared in a ferocious imitation of a grin, mere inches above his prone body.
The Creature stomped her feet triumphantly, shaking the ground as she did so. Cracks in the cave floor widened under her massive bulk.
“Legolas!” cried an anguished voice from several feet away, near the flaming aperture in the earth.
It was Aragorn! The King of Gondor was barred from his lover by the same transparent barrier that Elrond had run into only moments ago. Pressed up against the invisible wall, Aragorn pounded stinging fists against its impenetrable electric surface, ignoring the faint smell of his own sizzling flesh.
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