mithril

XXXIII.

— XXXIII —

Angolain whistles through the air as I bring it down on the head of an Orc. Zunsh wheels immediately beneath me, the lithe Mearas twisting to avoid the downward blow of an axe as it drops towards his exposed flank. The intelligent move allows my sword to pass through the attacker's body cleanly, ripping through the Orc and sending him crashing to the ground.

Zunsh moves towards the other riders of my company, tossing his head as he easily side-steps the fallen Orcs. The last of the large pack is falling to the quick blades and arrows of the mixed company.

"They've been growing bolder," the closest man bites as he spurs his chestnut horse to my side. The frustration is obvious in Bain's strong features. I frown, sliding from Zunsh to kneel beside the dismembered Orcs.

"These are not the Gundabad Orcs we've been dealing with. These are different. Smaller. More like the ones of the South than of the Misty Mountains." I nudge the closest Orc with Angolain, rolling the helmet off of its head. Not the near-Elflike features of the Gundabad Orcs. These were broader, but shorter.

"What was their purpose, do you think?" The captain of my Dwarf guard asks me. I look up at him quickly. The red-haired figure sits astride a dark grey pony, his axe held aloft. Gimli, son of Glóin. Recently appointed by Thorin to be a captain under me. Though, between Thorin and I, the captains often went through me to get training and to be humbled. In Gimli's case, he had come from a pampered background as a son of one of the great Dwarf lords. He had needed the experience before he was tasked with anything serious.

Not that this wasn't serious. It was worrying, actually. "Testing us," I answer stiffly. I glance at Bain, the prince of Dale, a severe figure on his chestnut mare. "They want to see if we have become lapse over the years. Bain, tell your father of this. It's about time we double the border patrols on both ends. Gimli, return to Dale and see that your men are prepared for anything. We cannot risk any more packs slipping through our borders like this. Look how far they broke through." I gesture at the proximity of the dead Orcs to the lake.

Too close for my comfort. The outskirts of Dale aren't far from here. Farms and villages with innocents that would not be able to fight off fifty Orcs like this. I rise into Zunsh's saddle, surveying the group of Dwarven and human soldiers.

"My Queen," Gimli nods curtly. Zunsh, sensing my path, turns his head towards Erebor. I pause, stopping the horse with a light touch against his neck.

"And Gimli?"

"My Lady?"

"Ensure that this mess is cleaned up. It will be best if our strengths are not immediately conveyed to the Enemy." The soldiers, Dwarf and Man alike, stiffen at my words.

"What Enemy?" Bain asks. My face darkens.

"One I hope we can squash beneath our heels before he rises to his full power. We start by keeping our borders tight and our friends close. Be on your guard."

Zunsh wheels, rising back slightly before he breaks into a thunderous gallop towards the mountain.

It has been a great many days since I left the gates of Erebor with my party of Dwarven soldiers. We dispatched to deal with the whispers of the Orc party that had been spotted sneaking around the lake, and had ultimately run into Bain's company on our way. We tracked the group until it was the right moment to strike, which happened to be daylight when they hated to travel so openly.

We had made quick, effective work of the Orcs, but it was still a worrisome presence.

I was spending more and more days away from the darkness of Erebor. Days I know I shouldn't look forward to like I have been, but recent quarrels like this have stirred my blood. Those were not the first Orcs in these lands over the past year, but it had been the largest group. Something was stirring, and my blade itched to fight again.