For disclaimer, see first chapter.
Right Side of Justice
Chapter 10 - Run
Finally, the cover of night had descended – time for their day to begin.
Yes, and there were the potential marauders, headed straight for the Acker's farm. Just like clockwork.
A bit too much like clockwork.
If it had been more in his breeding to 'swear under his breath', Legolas would. It wasn't that he didn't know how to swear, but the use of foul words for relieving of anxiety seemed a misuse of language – why not put that pent-up frustration to use by doing something productive?
Killing orcs for example.
Unfortunately, most sentient beings didn't follow this elvish logic. No matter how much he had tried, he'd never been able to break Gimli of that obnoxious habit - even when he did suggest "hewing orc necks" in place of a stream of profanity.
Ah, the good old days, with a sword, an axe, and a bow.
"Off we go, Cap'n?" Scott whispered next to him, dragging him back from his reminiscence.
He didn't answer right away, thinking, going through a mental checklist. There'd been an eye on Acker's farm all day, an eye on Harris - nothing out of the ordinary traffic. He looked around - all outlaws present and accounted for. He counted the black shapes riding nearer - ten, more than usual, but not bad odds.
But proverbial what were the bright lights and sirens blaring in his head? Intuition?
Couldn't one farm go unsaved?
"Mat—Legolas, we need to move." Scott persisted, urgent.
No, he couldn't desert the people of Harris now, not if he had a chance to prevent the death of one, or the ruin of a family.
He took a deep breath, the fresh air chilling his lungs. "Go…but if anything happens – don't spare the bullet."
They dispersed, each horse performing to the utmost. I think Toril has had a chat with his fellow equines.
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The posse of ten wasn't supposed to stop, turn, and hold their ground. They weren't supposed to have time to fire at the riders fast approaching.
But they did – and Legolas was not surprised. Toril drove forward, sparing a breath for a warning scream to those of his fellow race. Legolas locked his knees against the pinto's sides and took aim. The man targeted never got a second shot off.
Scott shared the alarm of his non-elven fellows. His mare flinched, her whole body quivering beneath him as hostile gunfire seared towards them. Jerking the reins, Scott instinctively searched for Legolas' silhouette. He and Toril had melded into a black lethal beast of one mind. Together they functioned as only a single body can, each part serving its purpose.
His mare suddenly froze, swung her head toward the gunfire and answered an equine cry. Her hoof struck the ground, and with a warning snort, she bolted after Toril. Scott wasn't the only one at that moment struggling to stay mounted. The horses were doing their part, following the command of their leader; it was up to the men to do theirs.
The horses formed a single line behind Toril, snake-like. Their adversaries had a single horse and rider to aim at, the others effectively obscured. Legolas rode a complicated course, from his lead position inevitably drawing all enemy fire. Toril dodged invisible obstacles randomly.
Legolas' mind played through his old battles. Toril, with more intelligence than even Legolas accredited him, had laid the foundation for a risky attack that Legolas had used a handful of times – each time with success. It began with a single-file line, the commander at the head of the formation. The line would advance toward the enemy, weaving haphazardly, but always in a tight line, never exposing their flank. The faster one advanced, the greater the odds to turn the tide favorably. Right before collision with the enemy, the snake would break apart, swinging out either side of its head – finally opening fire, or engaging the opposition in whatever fashion appropriate at the time.
To get from point A to point B with in a timely manner with as few casualties as possible – that was the attack's essence. There was great risk to the leader at the head of the line – therefore leading to the dissolve of command – but as one wise tactician once told him, "In times of great peril, great risks must be taken". That was a mantra he had held to ever since.
His success rate with this particular maneuver was 100 thus far. However, the dangerous variable remained: whenever he had used it, he had always had fellow elves and their elvish mounts under his command.
Scott, Bryne, Braden, the rest, they were all were familiar with the trade of breaking horses – breaking and riding. Early in Legolas' life, he'd learned the difference between breaking and training, a sharp contrast between someone who taught, and someone who broke. There were those who rode their horses, and those who traveled with their horses.
In this time and place, horses were broke, and then men rode them. Horses were the cheapest and quickest form of transportation. Riding seemed to have lost its art.
Once upon a lifetime, Legolas would have paused longer, worried more, and been more unsure of his actions. In a sense, aging had worked backwards on Legolas.
However, he did wish he had a way of verbal communication with his men so that they weren't so in dark as to his impromptu plans. Maybe some day in the future – the inventors were always coming up with new, wild contraptions in their respective caves.
As expected, after a brief, confused lull, all fire was drawn toward the leading rider, Legolas. Toril guided the horses, Legolas did his best to lead the men.
They rode right up into their faces, and broke either direction, guns firing. Controlled mayhem described it best. The men, ally and enemy alike, looked at each other in confusion. As was so common in this life – the slowest to shoot were the losers.
It all happened so fast – the attack, the mad charge, the final firefight, and then…silence. Even the horses stood silent. None were unscathed, but those still breathing would rather their pain over the nothingness of those strewn on the ground.
"We'll be leaving these parts."
Braden looked away from the bloody scene first, "You mean we're gonna run?"
"Yes." The darkness didn't impede Legolas' vision. How he wish it did. Corpses were nothing new to him. This was sterile death compared to what he'd witnessed in lifetimes past. A chilling voice whispered that he would see worse in lifetimes to come.
He didn't even feel the need to look away anymore. It wasn't the blood that made him sick, it his own numbness that turned his stomach.
"Legolas, we can't…" Bryne said, his voice surprisingly soft.
"This territory will make itself our graves. There's no where to hide."
Scott backed his horse, turning away from the scene. "We're in to deep, Mateo, there's no way we can desert this now."
"We're not deserting anyone," he surprised even himself at how quickly he corrected Scott. "We'll come back – but hopefully only after all this is through."
"What do you mean – "
"I think we've riled Mr. Godard enough that he won't let us make a clean slate of things in any town or country on this continent. He will be following shortly."
"Well," said Scott after a moments thought, "we could always try going to live with the China-men."
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A/N: Took a while. At least I'm no years older than the last chapter…I suppose I shouldn't mention that I've had this chapter written for some handful of months…
I think I'll make my handy exit now. No need for fruit or vegetables – really! Haha…