Robert Salvatore - The Thousand Orcs

Pwent had proposed a possible scenario to them that morning. The battlerager figured that the orc worg-riders would flank and circle in front of the dwarves, trying to slow their run, thus giving the pursuing main force time to catch up and overwhelm them. The dwarves had decided that if such a blockade had been formed, they would lower their heads and blast straight through it.

Wulfgar could only hope that it didn't come to that. They barely had enough to take turns pulling the wagon of wounded, and Pwent and his boys were reaching the end of their tolerance. Pikel's berries were amazing indeed, but they did not provide magical strength. They merely allowed the body to draw on its deeper resources. After the run to the north, the desperate fight, and the beginning of the run back to the south, Wulfgar could plainly see that those reserves were reaching their end. Even worse, those who had come from the prolonged defense of Shallows, himself included, were all carrying grievous wounds.

Another fight would likely be the end of all of them and at the least would eliminate any hope Wulfgar had of getting his beloved father back to Mithral Hall alive.

And so that afternoon, when scouts reported a growing cloud of dust to the west, the barbarian moved to the wagon to join Catti-brie, Regis, and Bruenor.

"That'll mark the end of it," Catti-brie remarked, staring out at the cloud.

Her demeanor, so removed from the ever-optimistic presence that Wulfgar had always known, caught him off guard and surprised Regis as well.

"We'll fight them and beat them!" Regis replied. "And if more catch us, we'll fight them, too!"

"Indeed," Wulfgar agreed. "I would not see Aegis-fang in the hands of an orc, even if that means I must kill every orc in all the North. And I will see Bruenor back to Mithral Hall, where he will find his strength anew and resume the throne that is so rightfully his."

The words were empowering to both Regis and Catti-brie, and their appreciative looks to Wulfgar became grins and even laughter when Pikel Bouldershoulder chimed in with an enthusiastic "Oo oi!"

The dwarves closed ranks around the wagons, though they maintained their swift pace. Pwent began directing his charges, moving his most seasoned fighters to the delicate areas of defense, and calling out to his boys to be ready. At one point, he moved beside the wagon.

"There'll be a few hunnerd of 'em, judging by what me scouts're seeing," the battlerager explained. He added with an exaggerated wink, "Nothing me and me boys can't handle."

Wulfgar nodded, as did the others, but they all knew the truth of the matter. Being intercepted by several hundred orcs would be bad enough, but even if they could indeed win out against such odds, they would find themselves caught by an equal or larger group from behind because of the inevitable delay.

"Take up your bow," Wulfgar bade Catti-brie as he handed her Taulmaril. "Shoot well."

"Perhaps T could go out under a flag of truce and speak with them," Regis offered, pointedly pulling the enchanted ruby pendant over his shirt collar.

Wulfgar shook his head.

"They'd have ye dead even if ye managed to snare a few o' them with yer lies," Catti-brie remarked.

"Promises, not lies," Regis corrected.

He shrugged helplessly and looked down at the ruby then tucked it away.

The dwarven ranks tightened. It was obvious that they had been spotted by the intercepting force, and their choices were few. A turn to the east would likely put them into another group of orcs, and to stop and try to form some semblance of defense might bring the pursuing orcs upon them as well.

They plowed ahead, gripping weapons in one hand, wagon yokes in the other.

"We gotta make that ridge afore 'em!" Thibbledorf Pwent cried to his fellows, pointing ahead to some higher ground.

The dwarves responded by lowering their aching shoulders even more and charging on. They reached the base of the ridge and started up the slope, hardly slowing.

But they didn't get there first.

"The wing is not broken, but it is bruised badly and will not carry Sunset for any distance," Innovindil told Tarathiel when he and Sunrise returned to her in the mountain cave, some miles north east of the place where they had battled the giants.

Even with the glancing hit by the thrown rock, they had managed to outdistance the pursuing giants and had been fortunate to find a cave where they could put up for the time being.

"The giants have given up the chase, I believe," Tarathiel replied. "They will not find us."

"But neither will we get back to the Moonwood anytime soon," Innovindil reasoned, "or at least, not both of us."

Her expression as she finished was as clear a signal to Tarathiel that she wanted him to climb onto Sunrise and fly off for home as if she had spoken the words directly.

"I am not certain that our report to our people would be complete enough to properly prepare them for what is to come," he replied somberly.

"What have you seen?"

Tarathiel's expression held a grim edge.

"They are crawling out of their holes," he told her, "all to the north and the west. The orcs and goblins are rising as one, and we have seen that the giants, too, are with them. I fear that the force that sacked the town of Shallows is but a small portion of what we will discover."

"Then all the more reason for you to fly to our people."

Tarathiel looked to his mount and seemed, for just a moment, to be leaning that way, but then he looked back at his companion and stood resolute.

"I'll not leave you," he said. "The elves of the Moonwood will not be caught off their guard, whether I fly there or not."

Innovindil started to argue but changed her mind almost immediately. She did not want to be left out there alone, however brave she might sound. She did not know the region as did Tarathiel, and she truly feared for Sunrise. Though the pegasus would survive the wound, it had been so valiant in holding its position above the giants through the pain and shock that the elf had no intention of allowing Sunrise to do anything but heal, even if protecting the pegasus was at the cost of her own life. She knew that Tarathiel felt the same way.

"And we have something else to learn, and now may be our only chance to do so," Tarathiel added after a short pause.

"You believe that the dark elf escaped the fight with the giants," Innovindil reasoned.

"It is possible that Ellifain is out there, as well."

"It is probable that Ellifain is dead," said Innovindil, and Tarathiel could only nod.

Initial shock, the adrenaline of an approaching, desperate battle, fast shifted to confusion among the ranks of the battleragers and the others in the fleeing caravan, for there, on the ridge before them, stood dwarves— a host of dwarves—and arrayed with the colors not of Mithral Hall, but with the axe symbol of Mirabar.

"Who are ye, and what're ye about?" the lead dwarf cried, and he lifted his helm back off his face.

"Torgar!" Regis cried, surely recognizing the dwarf.

A perplexed expression came over the dwarf's face, and he motioned to his fellows to spread wide, left and right. He, along with several others, came down to the ragtag group.

"Well, yer King Bruenor's got our weapons, and so's Mithral Hall, whatever his fate," Torgar proclaimed when Wulfgar and the others filled him in on the desperate battle and the retreat to Mithral Hall. "We come out to ask King Bruenor for his friendship, and now I'm thinking we can prove our own to him and his. Ye just keep on yer run and me and mine'll follow ye close."

"Ye let me and me own run with ye, Torgar o' Mirabar," Thibbledorf Pwent cut in as he stepped forward, showing his ridged, bloodstained armor in all its gory glory. "We give them orcs a reason to run!"