Chapter XII: Fight to the Fords
The cavalry group raced north for an hour, firing the occasional arrow over their shoulder at the incessant lychens that never abandoned their chase.
Mordae rode with Glorfindel in the front of the group, alongside Aragorn and Celebdraug. The larger of the two elves cast a glance over his shoulder at Celebdraug.
"Do those guys have something personal against us or something?" the giant groaned.
His cousin shrugged, "I don't know. We killed all their friends, but other than that, we've done nothing to them."
"I hate people that hold grudges. I always have. I always will," Mordae commented in a deadpan voice.
"Me too," Glorfindel added, still looking straight ahead as he rode, "Almost as much as I hate people who hate people who hold grudges."
"Almost," Celebdraug continued, "As much as I hate people who hate people who hate people who hold grudges."
"But not nearly as much," Aragorn interjected, "As I hate people who are incredibly annoying; like you three."
Celebdraug poked Aragorn in the side, "Still in a bad mood?"
"I'm currently trying to figure out a way for us to get away from the hundred-some-odd lychens chasing us," Aragorn snapped, "You three would do well to be a bit more serious in times like this."
"Bah," Celebdraug responded.
Mordae cocked his head to the side, then turned the upper half of his body, unslinging his bow as he did so. He drew an arrow with dizzying speed and fired it into a lychen as it tore around the corner of the path they had just gone by. The creature let out a yelp and collapsed in the path, becoming a stumbling block for its comrades behind.
Grishnákh rode atop Garulf in the larger group of lychens a league south. He shook his head as another rider-less lychen bolted away from the group, eager to attack the fleeing men and elves. They would be passing his body soon, Grishnákh knew.
"Stay in formation!" Garulf finally roared as they passed yet another felled lychen. "Alone we cannot defeat them!"
There was much growling amongst the soldiers, but all knew better than to defy Garulf, who was known for having the most respect but the strictest discipline rules in the four species that made up the Remnant.
"We will have caught up to them soon," Garulf growled to Grishnákh, "They will be slowed in the preparation to cross Anduin, and there we shall catch them."
Grishnákh licked his black tongue over his teeth in anticipation of the upcoming vengeance.
Aragorn held up a hand as he and his army reached the shores of Anduin.
"What's your plan, genius-boy?" Glorfindel wise-cracked, still mounted atop his horse.
Aragorn leaped from his steed and strode to the edge of the water, where he stopped and craned his neck to look across to the other side.
He looked upstream, then back at Glorfindel, and slowly a smile spread on his face.
"Onward!" the Ranger shouted as he rushed back to his horse where Celebdraug waited.
"What?" Glorfindel questioned in surprise.
"Ride, Captain!"
Glorfindel looked over his shoulder at Mordae, who shrugged. With a click of his tongue, Glorfindel urged his horse into the waters, and the cavalry followed him.
Aragorn waited on the side of the path, watching his army thunder past.
"You do know that the lychens are going to catch us now, right?" Celebdraug asked tentatively.
Aragorn nodded slightly, gazing down the path toward the final turn they had rounded.
The barks of the lychens grew louder and as the final soldier entered the river, the wolfmen and their orc riders burst around the corner.
Celebdraug looked around in a slight panic as Aragorn held his ground. She put her hand over his shoulder and released a ball of fire into the lead two lychens, incinerating them, but not slowing their fellows.
At the last possible moment, or so it seemed to Celebdraug, Aragorn turned their horse and drove through the waters of Anduin, the lychens drawing ever closer.
Garulf growled in satisfaction as he watched the man and elf-woman rise from the waters on the other shore. The fastest lychens in his group had long broken free and were already in the water. There was no escape for the infidels now.
Suddenly, as the front of the main group hit the water, Garulf slid to a stop. He could see the man mouthing words, and his mind shot back to stories of great floods called by elven warriors down the Anduin, and how even the Nazgul had been defeated by such waters.
A rumbling sound began to grow in pitch as the lychens neared the man and elf.
"Retreat!" Garulf bellowed, hurling Grishnákh from his back and rising to his hind legs. "Retreat!"
A few of his soldiers obeyed, but most did not. The lead lychen burst from the water, fangs bared, and received the girl's flaming sword through its skull. Before Garulf could see another attack, a gushing torrent of water swept down the river, carrying away over a third of his army.
The flood lasted for nearly a minute, and when the waters finally cleared, they revealed an empty shore on the side where the men and elves had escaped into the forest.
With a dark flash, Garulf switched to his humanoid form and dropped to his knees, bellowing with rage. He held his bearded face in his hands, anger coursing through his veins.
Behind him, Grishnákh picked himself up from the ground and stalked to stand beside Garulf.
"I will enjoy feasting on the infidel's flesh," the orc growled as he put a hand on his comrade's shoulder. "They will know our might before the end."
"Indeed they shall," Garulf snarled in agreement. "Indeed they shall."
