Chapter 9 - Pursuit

Quindin rode Tellison’s horse, Blaze, unsteadily.  The mount was larger than the one he had lost in the battle and did not ride as lightly, but it had been the only spare mount available to him after he had helped his wounded comrade into Bree. He wasn’t about to pass up the chance to hunt down the fleeing orc army.

                The mounted portion of the Dunedain had merged with the foot soldiers that had struck the orcs from the south.  A few dozen men had been left behind to carry the wounded to Bree and help defend the town in case orcs made another appearance there but the majority of the army, only having suffered light casualties in their surprising strikes against the orcs, had marched on.  With Rangers scouting ahead and to the sides, they slowly followed the trail left by the orcish army as it withdrew.  The trail was easy enough to follow, but the leaders of the Dunedain were wary of ambushes in the darkness.

                An hour later, they had reached the heart of the forest north of Bree.  Here the tracks led into a dense stand of trees, their massive trunks limiting their vision to only a few feet in the deep darkness.  The mounted soldiers were forced to dismount and lead their horses to avoid the low-hanging branches.

                Quindin, like many of the other men, was eager to clash with the orcs again.  The army was euphoric over their stunning victory earlier and wanted to finish the job.  However, Quindin also knew that the orcs were far from defeated, and the despite the orcs’ losses in the first battle the men barely outnumbered them.

                Occasionally men screamed out and fell to the ground, felled by arrows shot from the darkness.  Men rushed out after the archers, but usually had little luck finding the orcs.  Nearly all of the Rangers not already being used as scouts and outriders were set to screening for such ambushes, and the army marched on.

                The clash of metal striking metal rang out in the still night, and commanders barked out orders to their troops.  Quindin quickly lashed his horse to a tree and rushed to join the battle, pulling his sword free as he ran.

                The orcs had left a small delaying force behind, hidden among the trees.  They had struck viciously and effectively, and ten men had fallen already.  The men were well trained, though, and formed ranks efficiently and quickly, minimizing their losses.  However, these formations were not very mobile within the dense forest, and the orcs were able to break off their attack and disappear back into the trees.

                Minutes later, the orcs struck again, this time from another direction, and more men fell.  There were only a few dozen orcs, but they would be able to significantly sap the strength of the Dunedain army if they were not stopped.

                During the third such hit and run attack, Quindin and a few other men emerged from the darkness on one flank of the orcs.  Swinging his enormous sword was difficult in the thick forest, but nonetheless Quindin managed to bring a few of the orcs down.  This time the orcs had limited avenues for escape and most of them were slain before they could vanish again into the darkness.  The handful that did manage to get free could be heard crashing through the undergrowth as they ran.

****

                Shakash was angry.  First he had been ordered away from the main force to attack Bree, and instead had been assigned to attack a supposedly weak portion of Bree’s defenses that was in truth well-maintained and defended.  Then, even as his troops had finally constructed enough crude ladders and gathered enough ropes for scaling the walls, he had been ordered to retreat.  Retreat!  And not a single loss among his soldiers!  Now he and his orcs were marching along with the rest of Agosh’s army, pushing their way through heavy undergrowth.

                Still, Agosh had given the orders, and Shakash knew that his commander was likely the most skillful tactician an orcish army had seen in generations.  Agosh had already led his troops in successful battles against rival clans, the hated Zaugurz tribe, and even contingents of dwarves.  This was not the first time a battle hadn’t gone completely as planned, and Shakash had no doubt that Agosh would find a way to turn things around and gain some level of victory against the whitepukes.

                As they marched through the most dense portion of the forest to the immediate north of Bree, a messenger jogged up to him.  “I bring orders, Shakash.”

                Shakash looked the scrawny little orc over carefully.  It wore only thin linen clothing, filthy and ragged.  Its size and quickness showed that it must be a scout, but Shakash wondered why the orc wasn’t wearing any armor.  “What orders, snaga?”

                The messenger drew in a hissing breath at the insult but, sensing Shakash’s mood, made no other outward response.  A poorly chosen word here, or even the wrong posture, would cost him his head and he knew it.  “You are to go with a human.  He has a place near.  Take fifty of your best warriors.”

                “Why?” Shakash growled out, his anger threatening to explode into violence.

                “I don’t know.  Agosh said the man would tell you.”  The little scout bent himself over in supplication, doing his best not to provoke Shakash.

                Shakash growled wordlessly.  What now?  “Where is this man?”

                “Agosh said to wait here and the man will come to you.”

                Shakash waved the orc away.  “Fine.”

                The messenger sprinted off into the woods, his speed more from his desire to get far from Shakash than to return quickly to Agosh.

                Shakash called over a pair of his own messengers and told them to gather several of his best squads.  The orcs nodded respectfully at his command and ran to do his bidding.  Shakash also requested the scout Ghun and the Numenorean man Tenor to stay by his side and placed the half-mad shaman in charge of those orcs staying with the main force.

                A few minutes after the last of the army vanished into the trees, Shakash and the warriors waiting with him were approached by a human.  The man was dressed in soft leathers and wore only a short sword at his side.  He glanced nervously at the gathered orcs, then asked, “Shakash?”

                Shakash strode toward the man.  “You’re supposed to take me somewhere, human?”

                The man nodded uncomfortably.  “It’s not far.  There’s room for all your warriors, but it will be a little crowded.  Follow me, please.”  He set off into the trees.

                True to the man’s words, their destination was only a hundred feet or so away.  Carefully hidden under a fallen tree was a hole dug into the earth.  The man motioned at it with one hand.  “My boss will give your orders when you are inside.”

                Shakash climbed down the ladder built into the side of the narrow shaft.  At the foot of the ladder a small cave opened up, lit by torches.  The walls were made of dirt, and roots poked through the ceiling in places.  Against one wall stacks of trade goods revealed this to be the den of a gang of bandits or thieves.  Openings revealed that the cave had multiple sections.  A man dressed in rags, eating a small stale loaf of bread, stopped mid-bite and stared openly at the orcs climbing down the ladder.

                The human guide led Shakash through one of the openings in the cave wall.  Even though the walls of the cave were made of earth rather than stone, it felt good to be below ground once more.  At the end of the passage, a thin man with a scarred face stood from his seat made from a log.

                “You are Shakash?” the man asked.  “I have orders for you, from Agosh.”

                Shakash was getting tired of only being fed information a bit at a time.  Maybe if Agosh had given more information to begin with, the attack on Bree wouldn’t have gone so poorly.  “What orders?”

                “Agosh said you are to wait here until the Dunedain army passes by.  When they are past, you are to attack them from the rear.  I have a man hidden outside, he will tell us when it is time.”  Shakash questioned the man further, but no further details about his orders were forthcoming.  Apparently the human was a local rogue that sought to capitalize on the chaos that an orcish raid would bring.  He had been selling information to Agosh’s agents and hoped to get wealthy robbing travelers after the destruction of Bree.  After fleeing from the Dunedain, Agosh had sent a messenger here with orders to pass along to Shakash.

                The orders were somewhat confusing to Shakash.  He would finally get to kill some humans.  Striking from the rear, he would be able to avoid whatever scouts the men had sent out, and could surprise the enemies.  However, he knew that he didn’t have enough warriors to defeat the men, and after his attack the humans would be between his force and the rest of the orc army.

                Was Agosh sacrificing him in order to weaken the human army?  Or did his leader have some grander scheme in mind?  Once again, Shakash felt that important details were being withheld from him.

                An hour later, as Shakash sat in the main chamber of the cave, a human came scrambling down the ladder.  The man hurried to the back of the cave where the scarred human waited and spoke to the leader quietly.  After a moment, the leader of the ruffians walked over to the corner where Shakash sat with his officers.

                “The Dunedain have just passed along the trail your army left,” the man spoke.  “It’s time for you to attack.”  The man’s ruined face seemed to show a hint of humor.  No doubt the man believed that Shakash and his orcs had been given a suicide mission.

                Shakash scowled up at the man.  There definitely was a trace of a grin.

                “And don’t try to come back here after, either.  I don’t want anyone to know about our little hideout here.”  The man’s tone of voice made it clear that he didn’t expect any of the orcs to be alive long enough to even try to return.

                Shakash stood quickly, and the man gasped softly before stumbling backwards.  “You should have watched your manners, little human.”  He watched as the insolent man slumped forward onto his hands and knees, then collapsed entirely.  A blossom of red flowered in the man’s midsection.

                Behind him, Ghun giggled cheerfully.  Soon many of the other orcs in the room joined him in laughter.  The scarred man’s companions scrambled up the ladder and into the darkness above.

                Shakash licked the blood from his short blade, briefly savoring the taste.  A contented growl rumbled out of his throat.

                He brought his momentary enjoyment to an end and ordered his warriors up the ladder.

                As the last of them disappeared from view, Tenor approached Shakash.

                “Agosh won’t like that,” he stated, gesturing at the still form of the bandit leader.  “It sure was funny though.  Did you see the look on his face?  It was priceless!”

                Shakash grinned at the magician.  If the man had been born an orc instead, he might have actually enjoyed his company.

                Twenty minutes later, Shakash and his warriors were approaching the rear elements of the Dunedain army.  The humans were making enough noise that the orcs had little trouble keeping their own progress unheard, but their surprise was nearly ruined when a Ranger rose from his hiding place in the bushes ahead and brought a horn to his lips.  Ghun, however, rose from the same patch of brush and stabbed his long fang into the man’s back, killing him silently.  Ghun had been moving ahead of the warriors for some time, and Shakash had no doubt that the scout had found the Ranger earlier and had simply waited until the other orcs could witness his talents before killing him.

                Finally, when the orcs were but a few dozen feet behind the marching humans, one of the men glanced over his shoulder and cried out in alarm.

                Shakash barked out a command and his orcs charged as one, wielding their weapons with great skill and slaying dozens of the pukeskins.  The Dunedain were quick to regroup and turn to face the threat at their rear, but just as the men were beginning to gain the upper hand on the attacking orcs more cries sounded through the trees.  Shakash realized at once that Agosh had struck at the other end of the column, forcing the men to fight two forces at once.

                Shakash and his warriors pressed their attack, but gained no further progress into the ranks of men facing them.  The sounds of the other battle came to an end, and Shakash realized that the other orcs had broken off the attack.  Noticing that some of the humans were working their way through the trees in an effort to surround the orcs, he ordered his troops to retreat as well.  Nearly half of his orcs had fell in the battle before they broke free.

                A group of men tried to chase them, but the orcs easily outpaced them in the darkness and evaded the pursuit.  They paused to rest in a small clearing, the warriors breathing hard but exhilarated by the battle.

                “Now what?”  Ghun squatted at Shakash’s side. 

                The commander grunted in response.  “I have no idea.  I want to know why Agosh didn’t press the attack on the pukes.  We would have crushed them.  I swear I saw one of them swing at a Ranger!  If they see that poorly they wouldn’t have had a chance.”

                Ghun nodded.  “We must have brought down near fifty of them, and we were outnumbered.  Agosh would have had better odds on his end.”

                Tenor sat silently, watching the two orcs speak.  At least some men knew when to keep their opinions to themselves.

                “We’ll try to rejoin the rest of the army.  We’ll follow the pukes until we get close again, and then try to circle around.  We’ll have to be careful though.  I’m sure the pukes will be watching every direction now.”

                Ghun voiced his approval.  “Sounds good.”

                After a few more minutes’ rest, Shakash and his warriors began backtracking their way through the trees.  They quickly reached the site of their battle with the Dunedain and surveyed the area.  They had indeed dealt a strong blow to the humans, as forty-odd corpses littered the trees along the smaller number of orcish bodies.

                However, when they reached the point where the second front of the battle had been, there were only a few dozen corpses, split equally between orcs and men.

                Shakash hissed in anger.  There had never been a true attack on this side.  Apparently, a small group of skirmishers had struck to cause confusion among the humans before being overwhelmed.  Obviously, he and his warriors had not been intended to succeed in the battle except to inflict casualties upon the human army.  For the first time, his thoughts went beyond questioning Agosh’s motives to distrusting them.  He urged his warriors to move faster, wanting to catch up with the one person who could give him answers.

****

                Agosh’s new plan was going well.  He had slowed down the human army by using small groups of warriors to ambush the opposing force and force it to move more cautiously through the trees.  He had placed Shakash to their rear to attack them from that direction, which meant they would have to detail more men as scouts. 

                It was a pity use Shakash in such a manner, considering how well the young orc had done as a warrior and a leader.  However, Agosh knew he could count on him to do as he was ordered, and knew that a strike from behind might throw the whole pursuit into disarray.  Shakash was too popular among the troops for his own good, anyway:  the underling was liked almost as well as Agosh himself.  Among orcs, such a threat to leadership could not be ignored.

                Now it was time for the next part of his plan.  He ordered the remainder of Shakash’s force, as well as the remnants of his reserve force, to stand and face the human army, which by now was nearly two hours behind.  He and the rest of the army, he told them, would strike from the west after they were engaged with the enemy.  The orcs detailed to stay behind took advantage of the wait to settle down for some needed rest.

                Agosh led his force westward through the trees.  He had no intention of engaging the human army with his own.  Certainly they would be able to defeat them, especially in the darkness and thick vegetation that favored his troops, but what would be the point?  They had come down from the mountains for loot and slaves, not military victories.

                By leaving the better part of two hundred orcish warriors behind, however, he would gain hours during which he could raid several outlying villages.  That would provide him with plenty of slaves, and even though the loot would be less than what he had hoped to gain by pillaging the city of Bree, it would suffice to placate his army.  Following that, he would still have time to lead his army back to the safety of the east. 

                He felt no discomfort at sacrificing so many orcs to reach his goal.  The warriors he was deceiving had shown too much loyalty to Shakash, which is why he had split that orc’s force before sending Shakash on a hopeless attack.  In his army, Agosh would only tolerate loyalty to himself.  Those orcs from the original reserve force deserved their fate as well, for their failure to stop the humans near Bree.

****

                The orc known only as “the shaman” knew something was amiss.  As he and the rest of the orcs that had been placed under Shakash’s command waited, he had ordered scouts out in all directions.  Although most thought him half-mad, he was in reality a methodical thinker and planner.  He did not want to be caught unaware by some previously unseen threat.

                The scouts did not bring back any news of approaching enemies.  However, there was one bit of information that was particularly troubling nonetheless.  The scouts that he had sent to the southwest reported no sign of Agosh and the rest of the army, and those sent west noted that the trail left by that force continued with no sign of turning aside to attack the enemy.

                Agosh intended to dupe them into fighting the entire human army alone.  It would be a difficult fight for the enemy, but an impossible conflict for the orcs.  Apparently Agosh wanted to hurt and delay the enemy, but not destroy it.  But what could he do about it?

                He had not wanted to join Agosh’s army or the raid in the first place, but he knew that to resist meant that Agosh would have destroyed his small clan.  He had advised his chieftain accordingly, then found himself in the company of Shakash and his warriors.

                Shakash had turned out to be a surprise.  The warrior was amazing when wielding his axe, and few could stand against him in combat.  The young orc also had earned the respect and admiration of his troops through his exploits in the field and his harsh yet fair sense of discipline.  He inspired loyalty unmatched by many of the greater chieftains in the Misty Mountains.

                Considering the position he was now in, he realized that whatever mission Shakash had been sent off on was likely intended to fail.  Otherwise, what would be the point in letting Shakash’s warriors be destroyed?  No, the most likely possibility was that Agosh was dealing with two problems at once: an enemy army at his heels, and a large group of warriors with split loyalties within his own ranks.

                The shaman made a quick decision, one that he hoped he would not live to regret.  He commanded all of the warriors to move to the east, away from Agosh’s heading.  After half a mile in that direction, he turned the group south.

                If Shakash was still alive, he would find him.

****

                When Jerolas awoke, he was still fatigued but somewhat recovered from the strain of using so much magic in such a short time.  Finglorn was nearby, munching on a block of cheese and a small loaf of bread.  Somehow, the warrior had even procured a mug of chilled ale up on the palisade!

                “Feel better?” the man asked.

                “A little.  Any news?”

                “Not much.  A few wounded have come in from the forest to the north.  They say they’re tracking the orcs, but are having trouble in the dark.  However, the orcs don’t seem to want to fight them that badly and appear to only want to slow them down.”

                “Odd.  The orcs’ best chance would be among those trees,” Jerolas considered aloud.

                Finglorn grunted in agreement.  The pair had fought orcs in many different types of terrain, and the warrior knew how difficult it could be to fight an orc in a forest at night.  “Well, get some more rest.  There’s not much we can do right now.”  He tossed a hunk of bread to Jerolas.  “Eat this.  It’s not lembas, but it tastes like it has some honey in it.”

                The elf grimaced at the rough taste of human food, but ate the bread nonetheless.  “We aren’t needed here any longer.  We should meet up with the army and help.  But first, I need some more sleep.”  Jerolas closed his eyes again and quickly willed himself to sleep.

                “Magicians.  They point a finger and say ‘blah blah blah’, then claim to be so exhausted that they have to sleep for half a day to recover.  They should try wielding a sword and finding out what tired really means!”

****

                Jesper led his men through the unrelenting darkness.  The normal cries of night birds and insects were absent, and even the rustling of leaves in the breeze seemed muted.  In places, dry leaves crunched beneath the hooves of their horses but thankfully most of the fall foliage had not yet fallen to the earth.

                After the battle near Bree, they had been busy rounding up and slaying stragglers from the army of orcs.  Since most of these orcs were alone and lost, seeking to rejoin their comrades, they were easy prey for the Rangers.  Jesper’s men had suffered no casualties.

                Jesper had offered to join his men with the Dunedain army that was following the orcs through the forest, but that offer had been rejected.  Someone had to ensure that stray orcs weren’t left to roam the countryside and cause mischief, and Jesper and the Rangers with him were best suited for that task.  However, they had only found one orc in the last hour, a wounded warrior trying to hide in a stand of evergreen trees.  The thing would probably have bled to death anyway, but one of Jesper’s men finished it with a thrust of his sword regardless.

                Jesper, content that the vast majority of wayward orcs had either been slain or had fled the area entirely, decided to follow the path made by the marching armies.  Wounded or exhausted orcs were often left behind to fend for themselves, so there was a strong probability that they would find more orcs by following the armies than by wandering the woods randomly.

                Sure enough, they began finding evidence to that effect almost immediately.  Even in the darkness, the experienced woodsmen with Jesper found broken branches, blood trails, and other signs that someone had left the main column.  Each time they found such traces of passage, Jesper detailed two Rangers to follow the trail and deal with its creator.

                With many of his Rangers often tracking these errant enemies, the size of his main party fluctuated.  At one point only a half dozen men were still at his side before their numbers were bolstered again by Rangers returning from chasing down orcs.   Often the Rangers found only a corpse at the end of a trail: orcs that had succumbed to their wounds.  Occasionally the tracks doubled back and rejoined the main force of orcs.  Still others seemed to head due east, probably in an attempt to escape the lands of men entirely.

                At irregular intervals, Jesper saw evidence of battle among the trees.  Here and there the bodies of men and orcs lay where they had fallen.  Usually there were only small numbers of bodies, no more than a dozen, but once they found a site where dozens of men had fallen.  The fact that not nearly as many orc corpses were present showed that it had been a successful engagement by the orcs.  At this same spot a large number of orc tracks led southward into the trees, and a similarly sized group reentered the area from a slightly different angle.  He was fairly certain that a group of orcs had somehow struck the men from behind, then retreated into the trees.  Later they had returned, and were now trailing behind the Dunedain.

                To be sure, though, he sent four men to follow the trail and make certain none of the orcs had taken a different route.  With the eight men not otherwise assigned, he set off down the path of torn earth once more.

****

                Quindin waited patiently as the leaders of the Dunedain decided what to do.  At this point the trail of torn earth created by the orcs had split.  A large group of orcs had detached from the main force and left east through the trees, but the larger of the two forces went west, directly opposite the smaller band.  Rangers had been sent down both trails to check whether either group doubled back, but they had not yet returned.

                The Ranger fed Blaze with grain from his hand and patted the horse’s neck absently.   The horse seemed to enjoy Quindin’s company, probably because the Ranger was far lighter than his usual, heavily armored, rider.  Quindin had become somewhat accustomed to the large horse’s powerful movement, but he still would have preferred to ride a more agile steed.

                After long minutes of waiting, the scouts finally returned.  The smaller group had traveled east then turned south, but apparently they had no intention of doubling back to strike the Dunedain from the rear.  The remaining orcs, and a few trolls judging by the tracks, had headed directly west toward the Fornost Road.

                The commanders of the Dunedain debated briefly.  Quindin could understand the difficulty of the decision.  If they doubled back to chase the smaller group of orcs, they would have no way to stop the larger band to the west.  However, if they tried to catch the greater of the two forces, they would be leaving a significant number of orcs to their rear.

                The lead elements of the army began marching westward as a half dozen Rangers set off down the eastern path made by the smaller of the two bands of orcs.  Quindin had figured that they would chase down the larger force of orcs first, since they could do far more damage if left unchecked.  He mounted Blaze and joined the column heading west.

                Their progress was slow at first, as the numerous ambushes earlier had forced them into moving cautiously and with large numbers of scouts.  However, it soon became apparent from the scouts sent further afield that the orcs were making great haste as they moved, and additional surprises were unlikely.  Therefore, the Dunedain picked up their pace and hurried to catch the orcs.

                Hours later they reached the road to Fornost at about the same time the sun should have been cresting the horizon.  However, due to the eerie black clouds overhead, the only noticeable difference was that the sky lightened to the level of a dim twilight rather than the nearly total darkness of the preceding night.  Most of the men carrying torches and lanterns did not extinguish them in the gloom.

                The orcs had turned south on the road, roughly an hour ahead of them.  After a brief rest for the weary soldiers, they set off at a brisk pace down the road, hoping to gain time on the hard-packed dirt lane.

****

                Agosh was untroubled by the increase in light that signaled the coming day.  With the arcane darkness covering the land, the day would have little effect on his troops, and the trolls remaining with his army could still travel safely.

                A small farming village lay just to the west of the road, half a mile ahead.  He commanded that as many captives be taken as possible, then ordered the charge.  The residents of the village didn’t stand a chance.  Orcs were breaking in their doors before many of them had even risen from bed, making them easy to capture.  Of course, a few of them tried to resist and died horribly for their foolishness, but the majority of the humans were taken alive.  The prisoners were crowded into the small village square with guards posted around them while his warriors ransacked the homes and small businesses for valuables.

                It took only minutes, then the army marched southward again seeking the next settlement.  Behind them, thin plumes of smoke rose from the burning structures of the village.

                The lane upon which they marched was hardened by years of heavy travel, and Agosh’s army made excellent progress along its straight path.  Now and then small groups of orcs would break away to attack solitary homesteads visible from the road, catching up again after enjoying their sport. 

                Another village came into view, slightly larger than the first.  Once again orcish warriors tore through the settlement and a fresh batch of captives joined the first.  His orcs had already gathered a fair amount of spoils, and there should be time to raid at least a few more towns and villages before they had to move east to avoid the human army once again.  With luck, Shakash’s band of orcs had fought well enough that Agosh would be many hours ahead before they were able to resume pursuit. 

                The third settlement they struck was larger than the first two combined, with more than a hundred residents.  The morning was wearing on, however, and even though the humans seemed reluctant to leave their homes without the sun overhead, most of them were awake by this time.  When the orcs set out to the south again the corpses of men and women who had tried to resist or flee littered the ground.  His warriors now had enough wealth to keep them happy for years, and Agosh figured there was time to loot at least one more village before they departed for their homes.  They also possessed more than a hundred captives that would be put to work in the mines of the Misty Mountains upon their return.

                The next village was completely deserted.  The humans had probably evacuated all the villages near Bree after learning of the pending attack on the city.  They must have overestimated their ability to stop his army, though, or the settlements further north would have been emptied as well.  His army quickly looted and burned this village as well.  The inhabitants had escaped with their lives, but most of their belongings had been left behind.

                As they were preparing to set off down the road once more, some time after noon, Agosh noticed a murmur among his surrounding army.  A troll howled out uncertainly, quickly joined by its fellows.  One of the Numenoreans approached Agosh.

                “The clouds,” the man spoke calmly.

                Agosh looked up at the sky.  The roiling clouds above seemed slightly thinner, less ominous.  The sky even seemed a little brighter.  “What’s happening?”

                “The darkness is failing.  In an hour, the sun will be out again.”

                That explained the trolls’ concern.  It would be several hours yet until nightfall, and the trolls would be destroyed long before then without shelter.  Sunlight would also hinder the movement of the orcs in his army.  “I thought it would last for another day at least.”

                “Sauron’s shroud can be unpredictable.  We expected it to last longer, ourselves.”

                “Bring me the maps,” Agosh muttered.

                The Numenorean nodded and ran to find the snaga charged with carrying Agosh’s supply of maps created from the reports of last year’s extensive scouting of the area.  The scrawny little orc approached, several rolled scrolls in his thin arms.

                Agosh snatched the map of Bree’s surroundings from the little orc.  He unrolled the map, inked onto the skin of some unfortunate humanoid.  He quickly located their current position on the map, then jabbed a spot with his finger.  The pointed nail left a hole in the map.  “There’s a cave here.  That’s where we’ll go until night, then we’ll head east.”

                The trolls hurried ahead, eager to reach the cave’s dark protection before the cruel sun broke through the clouds.  Several of the Numenoreans accompanied them, using their magic to speed their progress and reduce their fatigue.  Trolls were useful tools, and he didn’t want to lose them.

                The rest of the army marched behind at a slower pace.  They too were somewhat concerned with the return of sunlight, but burdened as they were with captives and loot they couldn’t maintain as fast a pace.

                An hour later the sun broke through the clouds and lit the land with its harsh light.  A collective moan rose from the marching orcs, and within minutes their pace had slowed considerably under the gaze of the yellow eye.  Thankfully it was already the middle of the afternoon, or they may have been entirely unable to continue.  The proximity of their destination and the blunted angle of the sun’s rays motivated them just enough to keep marching.

                As Agosh’s army had finally begun leaving the road for the short journey through open plains to the cave, shouts rose up from the rear of the column.  Squinting through the sunlight, he couldn’t see the source of the commotion, but he could hear it.  The thudding sound of many horses approaching at a gallop rolled through the air.

                Agosh couldn’t begin to understand how the pukeskins had managed to catch up with him.  Had the army chasing him somehow evaded the orcs he had left to engage it?  Was this a new force, fresh from Fornost?

                He didn’t have time to consider how or why this new threat had emerged.  Already the horsemen were within view, a little more than a hundred strong.  Ordinarily they would have been easily destroyed, but with the sun glaring down at them his warriors were too weakened to fight well.  He called over a messenger riding a warg and sent the orc to the back of the column with orders for the warriors there to form a rearguard to delay the horsemen.

                He ordered the rest of his army to continue on toward the cave, then hurried to the front with his contingent of officers and Numenorean advisors.  On the way, another wargrider galloped up with news that the horsemen were followed by a large group of foot soldiers.  Fuming, Agosh quickened his steps.

                Reaching the small hill under which the cave system sprawled, he talked quickly with his officers, who began barking out orders.  Agosh’s army was split as it arrived.  Most of the orcs went down into the caves while a smaller segment headed south along a narrow path that wound through the hills, all of the human captives in tow.

                He called his officers over once again, and called for the Numenoreans to join him.  Speaking rapidly, he explained that he would take some of the orcs out of view to the south.  There weren’t enough mounted Dunedain to assault the cave, and it would be dusk before the human infantry arrived.  At nightfall, the orcs inside the cave were to attack the Dunedain.  Simultaneously, he would lead his orcs and strike at their flank.  Faced with two fronts, the outnumbered humans wouldn’t last long.  He was also taking the prisoners with his group, to keep them out of the way during the fight.

                He told the Numenoreans to wait in the cave, explaining that their magic would be more useful in defense and that it would also keep the Dunedain distracted from his approach.  He also claimed that the trolls would need the Numenoreans to communicate with them to avoid confusion in the coming battle. 

                The sound of fighting carried over the plain to the east as the Dunedain engaged Agosh’s rearguard.  Leading his officers, he hastened down the path to escape view by the humans.

****

                Despite their fatigue, the Dunedain had increased their pace even further once they had come upon the first burning village.  Their desire to catch up with the orcs increased each time they saw another burning home, and their anger swelled with each mutilated human body seen lying on the ground.  Though they had been on their feet fighting and chasing orcs for nearly a complete day, their weariness was somewhat forgotten.

                Their hearts grew lighter as well when, in the afternoon, the evil clouds began to dissipate.  The light steadily increased, and when the sun finally broke through, the orcs were less than an hour ahead.  All of the mounted Dunedain had been ordered forward with hope that they could attack the orcs in the brief time left before nightfall.  In daylight, the Dunedain would finally have a strong advantage in combat.

                The orc army came into view in late afternoon as it left the road ahead.  The riders galloped forward, their prey at last in sight.  Cries sounded from the orcs at their approach, and a small rearguard was formed in their path while the rest of the orcs continued across the plain to the west.  Quindin, unable to use his greatsword from horseback, instead unsheathed a more manageable longsword that he had taken from a Dunedain soldier killed in the forest.  Screaming war cries, he urged Blaze ahead.

                Quindin and the rest of the mounted Dunedain easily overran the rearguard of orcs, leaving not a single one alive.  They quickly rode through the open field after the rest of the orcs, but only managed to kill a few stragglers.  The rest managed to reach an opening in the top of a small hill and disappeared inside.  The riders quickly formed a ring around the hill to prevent escape and waited for the infantry to arrive.

****

                A scout sent out by the shaman found Shakash and the warriors accompanying him.  Within minutes, the two groups of orcs had been reunited, and the shaman had described Agosh’s actions.

                Shakash was not unappreciative of the tribal magic-user’s actions, especially since rejoining his band meant that his odds of survival were greatly increased.  “You know that Agosh will kill you for disobeying his command, right?” he questioned.

                The shaman nodded.  “If I had followed his command I’d already be dead, so I think I made the right decision.  Besides,” he continued, “there’s no guarantee Agosh will be around much longer himself.  All the pukes chased after him, not us.”

                Shakash spoke again.  “I would like to have a talk with Agosh about his recent orders.  I don’t really care for being told to go kill myself on a puke’s sword.”

                “There’s two hundred orcs here that would agree with you.”  The shaman had not kept secret his reason for ignoring his orders.  Without an explanation, most of the warriors would have refused to follow him; however, after explaining the deception they had been more than willing to seek out Shakash’s leadership.  “But what are we going to do about it?”

                “I didn’t come this far just to run back east to hide in some rat hole for the rest of my life hoping Agosh doesn’t find me.  And I was promised slaves and plunder, not tricks and death.  The pukescum should have been destroyed easily, but instead he has us all running through the woods and killing ourselves at his command.  All we had to do was beat the humans’ little army, then we could have taken whatever we wanted and left.”

                The shaman sat silently, waiting for Shakash to finish.

                “Let’s go have a chat with Agosh.”

                With that, the two hundred orcs under Shakash’s command began working their way west toward the road between Fornost and Bree.  After only a few hours’ march, the forest brightened considerably and shafts of sunlight broke through the canopy in places.  The darkness that had hovered in the sky blocking the sun from view had vanished.

                When the trees began to thin close to the road, allowing painful sunlight to easily reach their eyes, Shakash ordered his warriors to rest until nightfall.  The respite, despite lasting for only a few short hours, reenergized the orcs.  When they renewed their march after sundown, they moved swiftly through the sparse forest.

                They immediately found signs that many men and orcs had recently passed along the road.  Frustrated by the fact that the Dunedain were between him and Agosh, Shakash nonetheless followed the track south.

                Less than a mile down the lane, sounds of battle could be heard from the southwest.  Taking advantage of the flat terrain, he led his troops off the road and onto the flat grasslands.  Soon, the site of the battle came into view: a low round hill rising above the surrounding plains.  Drawing nearer, formations of orcs could be seen atop the hill, with trolls moving among them in places.  Occasionally magical flames and lightnings would streak through the night air at the attacking humans. 

                The orcs seemed disorganized and were being slowly driven back up the slope of the hill.  At the base of the hill’s southeastern edge was a great pile of bodies where a concentrated battle had been fought.  There was no sign of Agosh and the ring of officers that usually surrounded him. 

                The noose of humans around the hill grew slowly tighter, and the defending orcs died by the dozen.  Although the orcs were fighting fiercely, they were obviously demoralized and resigned to their fate.

                Deciding impulsively, Shakash led his warriors in a charge at the encircling Dunedain.  Wielding his axe skillfully, he cut down numerous men as his warriors struck deep into the enemy’s ranks.  Spread thin from their effort to form a ring around the hill and prevent the orcs within from escaping, the Dunedain were unable to withstand an assault from another direction.  The men on an entire side of the hill began fleeing from the battle, and soon Shakash’s force had broken through to the besieged orcs on the hill.

                All around him, orcs chanted his name.  “Shakash!  Shakash!  Shakash!”

                Shakash motioned for a minor officer to approach.  “Where’s Agosh?”

                The warrior shrugged his humped shoulders.  Blood dripped from a wound that slashed down his arm.  “He left before the battle.  He was supposed to attack the pukes from behind, like you did.”

                Shakash wondered if Agosh had any limit to his treachery.  This time he had been willing to sacrifice most of his army while he made an escape!  “We’re leaving,” he told the officer, motioning to his warriors as he did so.  “You’re all welcome to come with us.”

                The officer grinned at Shakash, then ran to spread the word.  Barking out orders, Shakash led his warriors back through the hole they had created in the Dunedain lines, followed by all of the orcs, trolls, and Numenorean men he had just saved from destruction.

                The going was not easy, however.  The Dunedain had regrouped, and they struck repeatedly at the retreating orcs.  Some of these assaults were beaten back easily with little loss, but others managed to split groups of orcs from the main force.  These isolated warriors were quickly overcome by the surrounding men.

                Shakash led his warriors in another strike at the Dunedain, changing direction and meeting a charging group of foot soldiers head-on.  The counterattack sent the Dunedain reeling once more, and Shakash pressed the advantage until the men were in full retreat.  He then had his warriors change direction once more, striking east for the road.

                Shocked by the ferocity of his warriors, the Dunedain were forced to regroup, and were no longer within sight when the orcs crossed over the dirt lane and into the woods on the other side.

****

                More than two dozen Rangers on horseback approached the hill from the east.  The place was well known to the Rangers.  At the crest of the hill was a narrow opening that allowed access to a system of tunnels and caverns carved by water over many years.  It was named Golden Cave due to the fact that in one chamber of the cave the walls actually glowed with some strange light.  It was a favorite resting place for Rangers passing by Bree that didn’t want to be bothered with the boisterous atmosphere of the city’s only decent inn.  It was a beautiful place, cherished for its tranquility and usefulness.

                Now, however, the bodies of men and orcs were strewn both on the hill itself and the grassy field that surrounded it.  A few dozen healers and stretcher bearers were searching the battlefield by torchlight for wounded Dunedain, while a smaller number of soldiers dealt with any orcs that still breathed.

                Jesper reigned in his horse next to one of the soldiers as the man stooped to slit the throat of a badly injured orc.  “What happened?”

                The man wiped the blood from his dagger on the orc’s filthy cloak.  “We had them trapped in the cave.  At nightfall they came out and charged us, and nearly broke through.  We held, though, and after a bit the orcs seemed to give up a little.  We must have killed a hundred of them, and the rest were running back to the cave, when another orc army came out of nowhere.  They hit us from behind and broke all the trapped orcs out.”

                Undoubtedly, the second orc army was the one he had been tracking through the forest.   Jesper surveyed the scene more carefully.  He could trace the path the orcs had used to approach and leave the hill by the trail of bodies.  In some places the grass was scorched black in long straight lines and rough circles.  “They used magic?”

                “Yeah.  Only they weren’t orcs that were doing it.  There were men with them.  Oh, and they have some trolls still, too.  We killed some of them.”  He pointed to the body of a plainly dressed man to prove his point.

                From his saddle Jesper examined the body.  He didn’t look at all different from most men he knew, though perhaps this one was a bit taller than average.

                “How many were there in all?”

                “I heard one of the officers talking before they left again.  They got a pretty good count of three hundred, plus the surviving men and trolls.”

                “And our side?”

                “More than a hundred mounted if you count the Rangers, two hundred and a half on foot.”

                Jesper was glad that the Dunedain apparently had suffered less in the battle than had the orcs.  Their numbers now nearly equal, the men would hopefully be able to drive off the remaining orcs.  He was about to gather his men so they could attempt to catch up with the army when a Ranger named Tilon called out.

                “Jesper!  Over here!”  The man had ridden halfway around the hill, and had dismounted on the southern side.

                Spurring his horse into motion, Jesper galloped over to the Ranger and slid from his saddle.  Immediately he noticed what had caught the man’s eye.  Many feet had stomped along a thin grassy path that wound through the little hills stretching away to the south.  Oddly though, many of the footprints appeared to have been made by humans rather than orcs.

                He walked carefully back and forth across the path.  “More than a hundred I think.  The soldier up there said the orcs had men with them, magicians.”

                “Did he say whether these magicians have really small feet?”  Tilon questioned as he pushed aside some long grass and pulled a tiny shoe from beneath it.

                “A child.  Then these aren’t magicians: they’re captives.  And a lot of them.”

                Tilon stared at Jesper blankly.  Every Ranger knew the fate of captives in the hands of orcs.  They had all heard stories like the one Gorin had told Jesper in an attempt to deter him from becoming a Ranger. 

                The other Rangers had gathered around, their gazes switching from the child’s shoe in Tilon’s hand to Jesper’s face.  They knew that they would be expected to join the army to help chase down the larger of the two groups of orcs, since it was the larger threat by far.  And though no one spoke a word, they knew exactly what that would mean for the prisoners.

                Jesper gazed eastward toward the dark line of trees barely visible in the moonlight.  His duty lie there.  But he could not push from his mind the mental painting of the captives’ fate that Gorin had described.

                Wheeling his horse, he whispered, “We ride south.”

                Wordlessly, the Rangers followed him, the potential burden of leaving the villagers to their doom lifted from their hearts.  They were pleased with Jesper’s decision, one that many of them knew they would not have been able to make themselves.  A few of the Rangers even smiled grimly as they rode.

****

                Agosh paused long enough to order his officers to pass small flasks of liquid out to the warriors.  Contained in these flasks was his favorite drink: a powerful mixture of blood and other unsavory ingredients that instantly revitalized the imbiber’s strength and endurance.  Used sparingly, there were enough of these draughts for all of his warriors to take a sip.

                The warriors still at his side had been personally selected by his officers for one reason only:  they carried the best plunder.  Knowing that time was working against him, he had sacrificed the majority of his army to ensure his own escape, and the fact that he was still able to bring along the best of the spoils they had gained - as well as all the captives! - meant that he would have to share only an insignificant portion of the loot when they reached their caves again.  He could even afford to give each of his remaining officers a slave of their own!

                It was a shame to leave the Numenoreans behind, but they wouldn’t have tolerated abandoning the trolls.  It would have been quite a burden to find suitable places for them to hide during the daylight hours, and he frankly wanted to put as much distance between him and the Dunedain as he could manage.

                Within minutes, all of his warriors had been energized by the flasks of draught, and they were on their way again, loaded with wealth and pulling, shoving, and whipping along a hundred tired slaves.

****

                Quindin rode along the East rode, so tired that he would have slept in Blaze’s saddle if the ride were a little smoother.  Night was nearly over, and there had been no fighting in the last few hours.  The orcs had cut to the southeast through the forest north of Bree until they had reached the road, at which point they had begun following it due east.

                The commanders of the army had made the decision that they wouldn’t attempt to engage the orcs again unless they moved away from the road, content to shepherd them back to the east instead.  Quindin considered this a wise decision, knowing that he and the other men were in no condition for more combat.

                So they trailed a few miles behind the orcs, far enough away to avoid any surprises they might attempt, but close enough that they would know quickly if they altered their route.  Finally, with the sun rising into their eyes, they were ordered to halt for a rest.  Quindin rode to a grassy hollow at the side of the road that would allow Blaze to nibble the foliage, dismounted, and promptly fell asleep at the horse’s feet.

****

                Even though they had been riding hard, they had not yet been able to catch up with the marching orcs.  On foot and with numerous captives, their prey should have been overtaken by now, but instead they came across occasional human bodies lying in the road.  These were mostly elderly and infirm, prisoners unable to maintain the grueling pace set by their captors.  All of the bodies had been hacked at repeatedly by the orcs.

                Finally, with day breaking ahead of them, they caught sight of the orcs.  There seemed to be as many captives as orcs, but they were moving swiftly nonetheless.  As the Rangers watched, a limping man at the rear of the column was struck down by a pair of sword-wielding orcs.

                Even though the Rangers had been riding for more than two days with only a few brief stops to rest the horses, their weariness faded at the sight of the orcs ahead, and vanished completely after witnessing the man’s death.  Somehow, even the horses seemed to gain a boost of  energy as the Rangers charged down the road toward the orcs.

                Twenty three men should have been no match for the hundred or so orcs, but the sunlight combined with the Rangers’ white-hot rage lended strength to their attack.  They charged along both sides of the column, lashing out at the orcs with their swords.

                A dozen orcs lay dead before they regrouped and managed to drive the Rangers back.  Two Rangers had fallen in the battle as well, but they had rescued nearly twenty prisoners in the melee.

                As the Rangers regrouped, the orcs set off again, at an even harsher pace.  Jesper looked his men over.  A few of them were wounded to varying degrees, so he detailed these men and one more to care for the prisoners and lead them to safety.  If the other orcs were retreating as well they would likely use the road to make the best speed, so he sent the group off to the north to find one of the many hidden shelters used by the Rangers during their patrols.

                Jesper and the remaining Rangers rested briefly, then rode to catch up with the orcs.

                Throughout the morning and into the afternoon, the Rangers struck at the orcs, wearing down their numbers.  They worked to cut off groups of orcs from the column, then kill them piecemeal.  A trail of orc corpses was left behind, and many more captives were freed.

                However, the Rangers’ own numbers were dwindling.  Several more had died in the fighting, and each group of prisoners rescued meant that he had to assign a man to guide them away.  Slightly more than thirty orcs remained, dragging along a score of prisoners.

                In late afternoon the orcs entered a narrow ravine that sheltered them from the effects of the sun.  With only nine men left, Jesper was reluctant to follow them into the defile.  He and his men rested outside the entrance, knowing that there was no other way out.

                At nightfall, the orcs attempted to break free.  Using the darkness to their advantage much as the Rangers had used the sun to theirs, the struck quickly.  Outnumbered, the Rangers were barely able to force them back into the ravine.  Another fourteen orcs were dead, but four more men had fallen as well.

                Jesper gathered the five men around him and spoke.  “If they charge again, we’re done for.  There’s around twenty orcs left in there.  Any suggestions?”

                Tilon spoke up.  “Why don’t we attack them first?”

                Jesper chuckled, but Tilon’s thought was affirmed by the other Rangers.

                “All right then.  Kill anything that smells bad in there.”

                “Let’s hope the villagers bathed this week, then!”  joked Tilon.

                Drawing his blade and moving to the entrance of the ravine, Jesper chuckled again.

                Six men charging twenty orcs in the dark was understandably a surprise to the orcs, and seven of them died quickly.  The battle soon became a chaotic dance of blades.  One of the Rangers fell to a huge orc with a jagged-edged sword, and another was swarmed over by orcs after tripping on a rock in the darkness.  More orcs died as well, the Ranger’s finely honed blades biting deeply into poorly maintained orcish armor.

                The large orc threw a large stone that hit one of Jesper’s men in the temple, then took the Ranger’s head off with his sword before the man could regain his bearings.

                Jesper stabbed his sword through the throat of an orc as it tried to cut downward with a sword it wielded in two hands.  Tilon gutted another with a slash across its midsection. 

                The other remaining Ranger parried a blow from an orc, then counterthrust with a strike that pierced the heart of the enemy.  Another orc landed a blow across the man’s back before he could withdraw his blade.  Tilon, in turn, swung his blade at the orc, killing it and leaving its face a bloody ruin.

                Only a few orcs remained now.  Tilon engaged the orc with the jagged sword, and Jesper approached the other two. 

                One orc wounded, so Jesper feinted at the healthy one and finished the injured one as he changed the direction of his stroke.  Jesper heard the ring of blades clashing to his side as Tilon dueled the other orc.  Jesper’s remaining foe charged furiously, beating Jesper backward with a rain of blows.  The orc’s superior strength was wearing him down, so Jesper pretended to trip and fall backwards.  As the orc immediately swung at him with what it undoubtedly believed was a killing blow, Jesper rolled to the side while simultaneously stretching his sword arm forward.  The charging orc impaled itself on his blade and fell to the ground, dead.

                The final orc dodged a blow from Tilon and knocked the Ranger’s blade from his hand with a swing of the small buckler strapped to one arm.  Tilon had just enough time to gasp before the sword cut deeply into his side.

                Jesper rushed to Tilon’s side before the orc could land another blow on his fallen comrade and landed a glancing blow to an unarmored portion of its leg.  Howling with rage, the orc swung its own sword at Jesper, who barely managed to duck out of the way.  The orc pressed forward, a flurry of blows keeping Jesper on the defensive.

                After a mighty cut from the orc that would have removed his head if he hadn’t avoided it, Jesper dove inside the orc’s reach and threw all his weight at the orc, who stumbled backward.  A swing of his blade knocked the orc’s curved sword from its grasp.

                Footsteps behind him halted the blow that would have killed the orc, and Jesper turned to see that a trio of orcs had entered the ravine behind him.  He moved to a defensive position against the wall of the ravine.

                The huge orc snickered as it bent to retrieve its sword; the sound of laughter coming from the cruel being was a hideous sound that was anything but cheerful.  “It seems Agosh won’t be dying today.”  It spoke in the orkish tongue, a language that Jesper had learned as part of his Ranger training.  “Shakash, help me kill this Ranger.”

                The smaller of the three newly arrived orcs began chanting under its breath.  Jesper realized at once that it was some type of spell, but was too far away to interrupt it.

                “Pare.”  The single word echoed off the stone walls.  Jesper could not detect any effect of the spell.  Apparently it had somehow failed.

                One of the other orcs, a leather-clad scout wearing a long dagger at its side, giggled.  The sound was reminiscent of a forest cat’s hissing threat.

                The last orc, the one which Agosh had addressed, spoke.  “Why don’t you attack it, then we’ll hit it from the flank, ok?” 

                Confused, Jesper again turned to face his remaining foe.  Oddly, the orc called Agosh hadn’t moved since the other orcs had spoken.  He realized with sudden clarity that he hadn’t been the target of the spell at all: it had been cast on the huge orc.

                Fear was clear in the orc’s eyes as the blade Jesper’s father had once wielded passed through its neck with a spray of blood.

                The scout was still giggling as the three orcs turned and exited the ravine.

                Outside, the tramp of hundreds of marching orcs passed outside the ravine.  Jesper moved to the back of the ravine where the remaining prisoners were huddled and positioned himself to offer them as much protection as he could manage, but none of the orcs entered the gorge.

****

                Shakash led his army away from the ravine and along the East Road.  For the last few hours the Dunedain had seemed content to trail from a distance.  He guessed that they were hoping the orcs would leave without any additional fighting.  Knowing his troops were in no shape for battle, he planned to do exactly that.

                He was now reasonably satisfied with the raid.  They had slain many men in combat.  They also had a fair amount of plunder, thanks in part to looting the orc corpses along the road.  He found it humorous that the Rangers had actually helped them recover the loot from Agosh.

                He had even been able to watch Agosh die.  It was particularly sweet knowing that it had been a mere human that had accomplished the task, and that Agosh had first gotten a taste of betrayal himself.

                The only thing that could make it better would be a fair supply of slaves, but he was unwilling to push his luck by taking the ones Agosh had herded into the ravine.  That might have been all it took to provoke the Dunedain into attacking once again.

                Shakash had one other thing to take back to the Misty Mountains: the knowledge that all of the orcs marching with him would be eternally loyal to him.  Many of them would have died to the Dunedain without his help, and the loot they carried would erase any doubts they might have had about his leadership.  Thanks to Ghun, word had already spread among the army of what happened to anyone who betrayed Shakash as well.

                The trolls also owed their lives to him.  They would have been trapped in the cave without his aid, and without his efforts at finding them shelter during the day as they ran from the Dunedain they would have been turned to stone.

                Even the Numenoreans showed him a level of respect.  They too had been rescued by his actions at the hill.  They weren’t openly friendly, but he knew he could count on them for assistance if he should ever request it.  Tenor had even offered to stay with him for a while and act as an advisor.

                With his army behind him and the wealth they carried on their backs, it would be an easy task to lay claim to all that Agosh had conquered.

                A new chief was returning to the Misty Mountains.

****

                At daybreak three riders from the Dunedain army approached the ravine outside of which Jesper rested with the rescued captives.  Two were tall and muscular, one of these dressed in leather and the other in chain mail.  The third person was tall and slender.  He recognized the leather-clad man immediately, and the other two seemed strangely familiar.

                “Good morning Quindin.”  Jesper called to his friend.

                “You’re still alive?  I was hoping to steal your boots.  Mine got ruined the other day, and I haven’t had a chance to change them.”

                Jesper awkwardly stood, his body still tired from the ordeal he had been through.  “I doubt they’d fit your feet anyway.  Maybe you should try a cobbler instead?”

                Quindin grinned as Jesper looked more carefully at his two companions.  Recognition dawned in his mind.  “Finglorn? Jerolas?”  It felt like a lifetime since the two adventurers had rescued him from an orc and taken him safely to Fornost.  They had visited occasionally to make sure he was getting along well, but it had been more than a year since he had last seen them.

                “Looks like you’ve become quite a warrior, Jesper,” Finglorn rumbled out.  “Maybe someday you’ll be as good as me.”

                Jesper smiled warmly at his old friends.  Behind him, a shadow moved unnoticed in the still-dark ravine.  He bent to pick up his sword.

                The cheerful reunion was interrupted by a sudden flurry of movement.  An orc, wounded in the night’s battle, dove out of the ravine, a dagger aimed at Jesper’s back.

                Sensing the motion behind him, Jesper rolled to the side and the orc ran past him.  Finglorn and Quindin both raised their swords to strike it down, but Jerolas was quicker.

                Speaking rapidly under his breath, the elf reached out a hand and touched the orc.  The already injured creature screamed out in fresh agony until blows from three swords landed simultaneously, ending its life.

                “Damn it elf,” Finglorn muttered.  “You know I hate that smell!”