Wanderer

44 - Of Fires and Men

Jade

This is really not going well, from many angles.

I'm on the edge of the cliff, watching the frenzy going on below. All my fatigue and cold are quite forgotten. I'm riveted in place, unable to accept the inevitable outcome of the battle.

It was going alright while the gate held. Lindon could keep most of the nemy out, with minor casualties. I could see Erenion fighting brilliantly, catch sight of his crown in the harsh torchlight, and watch Daeron commanding the archers along the wall. 

Then Valthalion brought out a massive battering ram from among the ranks of marauders, and began hammering on the main door. It was over in a matter of minutes. Now soldiers swarm unhindered thourgh the streets of Lindon.

Erenion disappears udner a mass of soldiers, only to reappear bloodier than ever, stabbing, lunging, fighting desperately now.

A harsh sound, like a cross between a grunt and a cat's sneeze, nearly sends me over the cliff with fright. I whirl, notch an arrow to my bow, and resist the overpowering urge to scream my head off.

It's a burly brute that shows his ugly face over the edge of the cliff, wheezing heavily. In the gloom, I can just see his size, which is so massive that I find it hard to believe that he made it up the ladder without it giving way. 

The sight paralyzes me just for a second, then I regain my head and send an arrow whipping ...

...harmlessly past his head.

I imagine his backup squad holding my arrow and casting upward glances, saying, "Raining arrows? What's the world coming to?"

The near-miss doesn't seem to faze the brute, who heaves himself up onto land and pulls a blunt sword from his belt.

I swear quietly, shaken beyond description, and prepare to let fly another arrow.

Before I can release, the soldier closes the distance between us with two quick strides and bashes my bow into two pieces.

Up until that point, I had been more miffed that I had missed than afraid for my life. Needless to say, all that changes.

I duck into a forward roll that will, in theory, gain me some distance and let me gather my scattered wits. What happens in reality is that as I go, my attacker swings wildly with his weapon and cathces my ankle with it.

The pain is immediate and intense. I gasp for breath and collapse out of my somersault into the short, hard grass.  I don't hear a snap, which means I probably didn't break it, but I cannot find my footing.

Now I'm in a state: weaponless, involuntary tears running down my face, backed up against the cliff's edge, the soldier preparing for another charge.

I think of the backup squad picking up my battered body. "Elves now?"

Amusement to somebody.

A single clear hornblast rents the night.

The Edain.

In the middle of the charge, the orc cowers, pressing his hands to his head with the sheer volume of it. He rolls a good three feet, shrieking all the way.

I don't know how much time I have, so I lash out with my good foot at the denfenseless orc from the ground and then remember the dagger in my boot. It's out, and my throw is true. I bury the dagger in his skull with a throw that Talath would have been proud of. To be sure, I shove his body over the edge of the cliff.

I can almost hear the cheering of the backup squad below.

Then the beacon. In immense pain, I drag myslef back to where the lantern is patiently burning. I take it up, and pitch it as hard as I can, collapsing. From the grass, there's a soft whompf like someone getting decked. The beacon explodes into flame, the blast of heat forcing me to the very edge of the cliff.