Homeward Bound Part One: An Unexpected Journey

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Bilba wasn't so delusional as to believe she actually had a chance in a fight with Azog. The orc was more than twice her size, better trained and more experienced. Even if she could block a blow from him, which she doubted given her current level of training, the sheer power his body could generate in a swing would undoubtedly knock her sword from her hands at best and shatter her arms at worst.

Fortunately he was an orc and, as such, she felt zero compunction to fight fair.

Azog was still wasting time mocking her while the other orcs were laughing. Bilba grinned at him.

"What's wrong? Scared to get down and face me? Are you trying to play for time while you think of a way to get out of fighting me?"

Several of the other orcs stopped laughing and gave Azog an appraising look. In orc culture the name of the game was very much survival of the fittest. If those who followed him thought Azog was scared to fight he wouldn't last long in his current position.

Azog went silent, his eyes narrowing in rage. He swung a leg over the warg and dropped to the ground with a thunk.

Bilba felt her heart speed up. Her hands shook lightly as they clutched her sword and she struggled to keep the fear from showing on her face.

Now would be an exceptionally good time for Thorin to wake up and take over but she already knew that wouldn't be happening. The form behind her was still and at least a part of her worried over that. Was he even still breathing?

Please let him still be breathing.

Azog stepped forward, lifting the giant mace. Was it really necessary to have a weapon that large? A mace half the size would be just as effective and far less intimidating.

Memory flashed through her mind of the weapon connecting with Thorin, of his body sailing through the air to hit the ground with a heavy thud.

Bilba took a deep, steadying breath.

She shifted her hands, moving the ring tucked in her palm to her fingers.

She slid it onto the finger of her left hand.

Immediately the world faded to a dull, feathery gray.

Azog paused, his arm still raised, a look of confusion crossing his face. The other orcs all erupted in a chorus of shouts and equal befuddlement.

Bilba knew it would only last a second.

She crouched and darted forward.

Azog's arm was still raised and she ducked under it, raised her sword....and drove it straight into his stomach.

Blood sprayed in her face and the orc screamed in rage and pain. Even invisible he knew there was a blade in his stomach and, as such, had a general idea of where she was. Before she could move, a hand fisted in her hair and the back of her clothing.

A moment later she was flying through the air. She barely managed to keep hold of her sword, ripping it from his stomach as he threw her.

She slammed into his warg, the impact jarring her. She hit the ground with a thud and twisted onto her back, driving her sword up and into the creature's throat. It roared and went down, next to where Azog now lay on the ground roaring in pain and holding the wound in his stomach.

Bilba struggled to her feet, still gripping her sword. Heat rushed through her, sweat gathering on her brow and her breath came in great heaving gasps. Blood stained her arms and chest, splattered in a fine mist over her face. Her hand, where it grasped the hilt of her sword, trembled.