WARNING! This chapter is violent. I believe it is still within the parameters of the T rating, but do consider yourself forewarned.
And reviews are welcome and VERY much appreciated! Even a simple "I like it so far" is better than your silence...
Chapter 6: Ambush!
Back somewhere around the Shire...
Tobin stopped his horse and stared up ahead. The dark grey clouds blotted out the sun. He turned his horse to meet with the other scouts. "Thunderstorm up ahead," he grumbled. "The air is foul. I do not like it."
"You have always been pessimistic about storms, Tobin," one of the scouts drawled. He elbowed the new scout, Erumeldir, in the side. "This old man frets every time a cloud covers the sun." he whispered.
"This old man," Tobin warned, "has seen more orc battles than you have seen winters, boy."
Erumeldir glared at his companion and whispered back, "I think we should listen to him! He is the oldest one here..." Then he turned to the older man, "Tobin, do you think it means orcs are coming?"
"Orcs are always here, boy. It is when the sun goes dark that you feel for your sword."
Those cryptic words sent a shiver through the young man, both from excitement and a touch of fear.
In another portion of the trees outside the Shire, the scouts found evidence of a small band of orcs who appeared to be planning some sort of attack. The group leader, Coulter, stood after examining some prominent prints. "We need to warn the others at once! Prepare for attack!" He barked out orders for the various members to get the warning to the other groups. "Keep your sword handy and avoid combat unless necessary!"
An arrow, long and straight, made for an excellent back scratcher, Dírhael decided. He was stuck with the patrol while his brother learned some things from the scouts. Suddenly the lookouts burst down upon them. "Orcs!" they cried.
"To arms!" Coulter yelled to his men, joining the other captains as the troupes quickly rallied together. Harsh, guttural shouts assaulted the twins' ears as the ground trembled slightly beneath their feet. Making eye contact, as one they drew their swords as they made their way to each other's sides, the metallic clang sounding with the other blades being freed from their scabbards.
They had always planned to fight their first battle next to each other and Erumeldir was not about to disappoint himself or his twin. Besides, Dírhael was the better swordsman of the two; hopefully his skill would make up for Erumeldir's own incompetency. Unfortunately the darkness made it unsafe to use his bow, forcing him to engage in hand-to-hand combat. His heart pounded beneath the Dúnedain star around his neck and he briefly thought of his Astiwen and her loyal devotion to him. What was she doing now? Did she miss him as much as he missed her?
The ground trembled harder as the thick feet pounded closer and the goblins burst out of the trees towards the men, growling.
Dírhael paled as the orcs rushed their troop, but raised his sword and took a deep breath. His blade snaked out, catching an orc in its arm. Black blood spewed from the creature's chest as Dírhael's next stroke fell true.
Erumeldir had no more time to pine over his beloved as an orc charged at him. Sword held in front of him, he circled his foe and tried to calm the fears that threatened to wash over him. This was a real battle and one wrong move could mean he would not being going back to Astiwen's side like he promised. As the beast drew near, he lunged and neatly decapitated him in one fell swoop. He scooted close to his twin again, both watching out for each other like only brothers can.
A large beast approached while Erumeldir crossed blades with another. The giant, dark orc raised his sword to run the man through. Turning, Dírhael plunged his weapon into the orc's throat. His twin gave a small smile of thanks for a brief moment before more of their enemies swarmed forth.
Metal clanged again as a goblin fought Dírhael. The man's blade slashed a gaping wound into the creature's thigh, which doubled over in pain as black blood spurted out into a congealing, sticky mess on the ground. Watching with wide eyes, the man witnessed the light fade from the nasty black depths, emitting pure evil and hatred until he fell down dead.
They noticed the leaders and more seasoned Rangers combating a small party of orcs. Erumeldir wished he could fight as well as they; it looked easy, orcs falling left and right while his own people barely received a scratch. Doing his best to imitate his brother, he set back to fighting the orcs nearest him, wincing as a head flew from a body and rolled across the ground, the cadaver twitching before fully dying. Dírhael took the time to briefly punch his shoulder, giving a small grin.
The brothers now stood back-to-back after dispatching quite a few of their foes. Orcs dwindled in numbers and were soon gone, fleeing once they realized the Rangers would not allow them to win. Dírhael grimaced as he cleaned his sword of the slimy entrails and clotting blood. He sheathed his weapon before staggering a few paces and retching horribly.
Erumeldir followed his brother's lead and wiped his sword thoroughly on a clump of tall grass. Then he noticed Dírhael and ran over to him. Silently, he rubbed his back as he vomited. While he also felt sick, taking care of his brother was more important and he tried to be strong for his sake. Who knew Dírhael would be the one to react so much to a battle?
Dírhael wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and straightened. "I'm alright," he groaned.
"Pile the bodies up and burn them," Coulter spat. "Are there any wounded or dead in the patrol?"
"Dírhael, you rest. I will help..." Erumeldir did not want to mention anything for fear of upsetting his twin even more. After giving Dírhael a quick hug, he strode to the decimation that lay before him and grabbed the leg of a corpse. He dragged the foul creature to the pile and returned for another one. His companions made short work of the task and soon a nasty stench rose in the air as the bodies burned.
"Are you alright?" he asked as came up to his brother.
"I'm fine," Dírhael grumped. He mounted Lightning and joined the patrol, who had survived the skirmish unscathed.
Sighing, Erumeldir swung himself onto Blaze's back and followed the group to await further orders. Being a Ranger was much tougher than he expected!
Several days later upon completing their week of Shire patrol, the twins headed back to their home in Evendim. "So, Dírhael, what is your take on our first mission? I for one feel like an utter failure!" Erumeldir moaned.
"At least you did not get sick on the battlefield," Dírhael bemoaned. Just ahead lay home, still peaceful and inviting. "Race you back!" he challenged.
Erumeldir grinned as he spurred Blaze forward, eager to get back home first for more than one reason! The horses galloped neck to neck, equally matched in both stride and strength, enjoying the race as much as their riders. They sped down the path and straight to the barn, where they had to slow and walk in. Dismounting, he slugged his twin and grinned. "We're home! It is good to be back!" Inhaling the pleasant scent of hay and manure, he jumped off Blaze and proceeded to take the saddle off, rub him down, and place him in a stall with fresh hay. His mind was only half on his brother's reply; he could hardly wait to see Astiwen again!
