Zigserat- names for Laersul. Sorcerer of Death

Thrakagâsh- and Thalos. Fire-bringer.

Unbeta'd so please let me know any glaring mistakes. This is just unfinished business from Sons of Thunder and Songs of Rohan/Deeper than Breathing.

Chapter 3. Fire and Smoke

'Find the King!'

"He was there, near that ditch. Quick!'

'Orcs coming. Circle! Archers, cover Aerglin and Silaros! They were close to where Thranduil fell!' Galadhon ordered frantically. Flames roared through the forest and the Elves should have fled back to the fort as the King had intended, where Gilvaren waited with his fresh troops. Except Thranduil had disappeared. The King had been fighting the oncoming slough of Orcs when he had slipped. Instantly Galadhon had given a call and arrows rained down on the Orcs, leaving the Elves' left flank unprotected only for a moment but it was enough and now a new attack had come from the gap at their left whilst some of Galadhon's men were on the ground amongst the flames and searching for the King.

Galadhon drew his own twin blades and slashed left right up, killing three Orcs in quick succession. Aerglin was at his side and fighting a huge Uruk, its little yellow eyes like a pig's, malicious and intelligent. It brought its heavy sabre upwards so Aerglin had to step back and the Uruk smiled nastily and slashed downwards with a killing blow that would have taken Aerglin's head off had not Dameron been there with a knife that he plunged into the beast's neck.

From the ditch where Thranduil had fallen, Silaros whistled three times and as one, Galadhon's archers were up into the trees and rushing through the branches towards the call.

'Has he found him?' Aerglin asked breathlessly as he came up beside Galadhon. Flames roared through the trees and smoke drifted, choking yellow with sulphurous fumes. 'We cannot stay here.'

Galadhon did not answer but fired arrow after arrow at any Orc that came close to Silaros. Dameron joined him.

'Dameron, cover Silaros and me,' Galadhon instructed and turned to Brethil. 'Sound the Rally! Keep at it until Gilvaren comes.' He did not wait to hear the horn but leapt down to Silaros, sheathing one of his knives and keeping the other loose in his hand.

'Where did you see him last?' he shouted frantically to Silaros. His lieutenant glanced up at him and then gestured hopelessly to the ground near their feet. Galadhon joined him to rake through the detritus on the ground, the dead wood and branches even as sparks leapt and caught on the dead leaves, flared into life. He kicked a dead Orc out of his way. Another not quite dead Orc crawled away whimpering in fear and agony. With his unsheathed knife, Galadhon slit its throat and continued searching. Finding nothing, he leapt into the next brake and began searching, kicking through brambles and dead white wood whilst overhead, his archers fired and fired, volley after volley into the swarm of Orcs that struggled with the wall of Elves that were desperately trying to stop their advance..

'Here!' Silaros shouted and Galadhon leapt to his side. His lips formed a desperate prayer to Elbereth.

Thranduil lay amongst the dry leaves, his eyes were closed and half of his face was covered in blood. Already the flames were devouring the dry leaves and wood, sparks leapt into the dry grass near Thranduil and there was a roar from the throats of a horde of Orcs who had spotted the Elves crouching in the ditch.

0o0o

In the Northern Wood, flames raced with horrid inevitability. Roared like dragons. Shadows of the Orc hordes lurched black against the wall of fire, crouching, scampering, jagged, awkward. Orcs and goblins always looked like they moved wrongly, thought Thalos as he slashed downwards through the throat of a Warg. Its tough hide slid apart and red gore spilled put over his hands but he did not stop, dragging his bloody blade back and slicing it over the Warg's gnashing snout. The noise of battle, clanging of blades, the swoosh of arrows, shouting, yammering of orcs, and the terrible crash of trees as they burned.

Suddenly a searing pain zipped along his cheek and he whirled, throwing up his long white knife to ward off attack. Behind him, Laegrist stood, sword bloody and an Orc crashed to the ground between them.

'Be ware Thalos. They surround us.' The counsellor who had accompanied Oropher over the mountains from Doriath, was breathing hard. 'We must go, flee. Try to regroup back towards the stronghold.'

'Retreat?' Thalos licked his lips for his mouth was dry, and wiped his brow with the wrist of his sword hand. In the other was a long knife. 'Lagorúthon will say we give them our backs. 'He gave the slightest smile, and continued more seriously. 'Does that not draw them back home? To our families?'

'Retreat to the other side of the river, then release the river into the channel. After all, that is why we dug these leats and gullies over the years; to let the river flood them so they brake the fires, and stop our enemies from coming closer.'

'While the Wood burns down around us?' Thalos was aware that his men had drawn a little around them, fighting and keeping the enemy from them. Protecting him while he took counsel.

'We must decide swiftly,' Laegrist said. 'There is no help coming. We are beset and overrun.' He bent and wiped his sword on a dead orc at his feet.

Thalos looked away eastwards towards the Lonely Mountain. 'This is planned - Sauron has taken the war to all fronts; Erebor, Imladris, Gondor.' He was quiet for a moment and hoped with all his heart that Legolas was not even now creeping into Mordor like a shadow. But this fire and blood, defeat on his lips? Was this any worse?

Wearily, feeling that he abandoned the Wood, he grabbed one of his own heralds as he passed and leaned towards him, shouting over the battle din. 'Lossar, send messages, more than one, to Laersul and my father.' He sighed. 'We are retreating to the Eryn Tyren.' He blinked for sweat and blood and ash were clouding his vision. 'Send another to Radagast. I know not if he is safe, or at home or in the Wood. Tell him we need him. The Wood needs him. I hope that Beorn is helping my brother.'

Lossar looked at him briefly but he was too well trained to question the order and he put the silver horn to his lips and blew. The horn sounded a blast of purity over the battle din. Immediately the elvish forces reformed. The rearguard formed a reversed phalanx that stepped slowly back towards the edge of the channel. Arrows swarmed over their heads to give them cover and when they reached the edge of the gulley, there was a mad scramble into the ditch.

Thalos tugged at Laegrist's sleeve, pulling him down into the gulley. They covered each other as they slid and scrambled down the smooth sides and then dashed across the open ground. Arrows flew over their heads as they pelted along the bottom and through the thicket of stakes that crowded along the gulley. A Warg leapt stupidly after them into the ditch and the impetus of its heavy muscular body sank down on the tall stakes. Impaled, it squirmed and squealed, yowling in anguish. The others stopped then and stared, then paced up and down the bank, watching the elves retreat.

A spear swished past Thalos' shoulder and he took more notice, weaving and ducking between the stakes. He looked up to see the fringe of his own men scrambling up the other side of the dyke using the subtle and hidden hand holds, being hauled up by their comrades. Archers sheltered upon the ramparts that had been raised and their arrows flew thickly into the Orcs crowding on the other side, looking for the way down.

Thalos was hauled up onto the bank and made his way quickly up the ramparts. His men nodded to him in brief acknowledgment but no one stopped him. He strode to the pinnacle of the ramparts so he could see across the ditch. The last men were scrambling up onto the banks, hauled up by anything they could get hold of.

Lagorúthon appeared at his shoulder. His face was smudged with dirt, soot, blood, but Thalos thought they all looked like that. 'Retreat?' he asked angrily, his eyes blazed with fury. 'You have given them our backs! I hope you have a plan, Thranduillion! Because we are outnumbered and will be slaughtered.'

0o0

Laersul wiped sweat from his brow and his hand came away bloody. He had been hit hard by a goblin's curved scimitar across the pauldron but nevertheless, it had sent him reeling and the goblin had then leapt upon him and tried to saw through Laersul's neck. The same goblin's head was no longer on its shoulders but was being kicked between the iron-shod feet of its comrades with no more regard than if it had been a cabbage. He had Sulis to thank for that.

He wiped his eyes with the bit of fabric that peeked from a tear in his chain mail. He could not remember that tear happening. He could not remember how his helm had become so dented that he felt the dents press against his skull. but he thought it was probably from the cave troll that had so persistently thumped him around the head and shoulders with its spiked club. The same troll was lying across the clearing and the Elves were using it as cover.

He ached from fighting, the battle lust had drained away and now he was simply exhausted. It seemed the crush of Goblins and Orcs and Wargs was endless and above him, bats harried and flew at the faces of his own men. The forces from Dol Guldur had brought the bats with them in a huge black cloud that had reminded Laersul of the Battle of Erebor, the Five Armies, whatever. He did not care what it was called now and he thought no one would even remember this battle when all was done, here at the edge of the Wood. Here where I let my men die, he thought as he plunged his sword inelegantly into the chest of a Warg that had leapt onto the cave troll's carcass. He shoved it back down to the other side.

'My Lord, what next?' Sulis asked. His face was a mask of blood, black and red. He looked like some demon.

Laersul thought for a moment. They could not keep this up. 'Sound the retreat, up into the trees and fall back.' It felt like a defeat but they needed to regroup. 'We will make our stand the Arthad Brethil.'

Sulis' eyes were dull. It told Laersul everything; they were exhausted, on the verge of defeat. It was just a matter of time.

As the bugle sounded retreat and regroup into the trees, and he heard and felt his Elves slip away, vanishing into the trees, and he thought of Theliel and wished he could see her one last time, hoped that Thalos had her safe.

For the slightest moment, he let his guard down as he turned to follow his men. Suddenly, there was a piercing, shocking pain and his hand flew to his neck. Warmth seeped through his fingers. Pulsed through his hand. Gasping he tried to press his hands against the gush of blood as his life pumped over his neck, his hands, his chest.

Elbereth, he thought. I am going to die.

He fell back against a tree, blinking as his eyesight went dim. 'I am sorry, Adar.'

He was aware of shapes lurching towards him. He blinked, and looked up into the grinning face of an ugly goblin captain. 'We bin lookin for you a long time,' it said with satisfaction.

' 'Oo is it then?' asked another even uglier goblin.

'This,' said the first triumphantly, 'is Zigserat.' The second stared with round, gleeful eyes. There was a ululation of triumph, it was taken up by the hordes of Orcs that swarmed into the clearing.

There was the glitter of a spear and unbearable agony.

ooooOOOOOooooo

Thranduil knew he was lying amongst the fallen leaves, that they had swept about him like a cloak, but there was yellow smoke creeping across the forest floor, it fingered its way through the Wood as if it searched for him.

It crept over him, through the leaves, curled up over him like a living thing and coiled about him. The smoke grew denser, coalesced and grew tinged with yellow. He thought he put his hand over his mouth as smoke filled his lungs. He tried to look about him, but he could barely move. There was a roaring in his ears that he realised was fire raging, and then he realised he could hear the sound of trees crashing…

…Where are your sons, it hissed as it raised above him. It seemed like there were diamond hard eyes, bitter like beads of blood. A serpent. Where….are…. your… ssssssonssss

He stared at it, his mouth a hard line. Khamul you coward, hiding behind your sorcery, he spat.

The yellow smoke was sinuous, pored over him, coil after coil, squeezing so he could not breath. It forced its way into his mouth, suffocating him and he choked.

A battle field he did not recognize. Suddenly a black shadow fell across him and a thin wailing cry pierced the din of battle. Men covered their ears and it seemed to give new hope to the Orcs. They surged forwards, snarling, and the shrieking wail terrified the warriors around him

'Nazgul! Nazgul!' came a cry and he glanced around to see a Dwarf glaring upwards as if he would incinerate the accursed creature with his gaze alone.

'Shoot it, Legolas!'

Legolas. His sweetest youngest child stood tall and drew an unfamiliar bow. High above, a winged creature sped across the grey, rain-soaked sky. But as he watched, the shadow wheeled and turned and swooped low over the battlefield, shrieking as it came like a storm upon them. Suddenly a thin flame shot out from Legolas' bow as he stood amongst the seething mass of Orcs and Men. The flaming arrow merely glanced off the tail of the creature and it wheeled again suddenly, thrashing its singed tail.

This time, the creature approached more slowly, its flight undulating and its blunt head searching. The Nazgul screamed again and in the distance came answering calls, two more winged creatures were speeding to the aid of the first one.

From his left, more arrows flew but the three Nazgul now began to converge on one spot and he saw with pride and despair that Legolas stood tall, the great bow bent back and flaming arrows fitted against the bowstring. He aimed upwards and waited. The beat of the leathery wings sounded over the battle and the Nazgul screamed overheard, circling. The winged creature swooped low, the raking talons outstretched towards his bright child. Suddenly Legolas fired, straight into its belly. Shrieking horribly, the winged creature writhed and flapped away, jerking and lurching in the sky. Thranduil watched it as it plunged down into a mass of Orcs, smoke billowed out from where it fell and a piercing, furious shrieking marked the Nazgul's landing.

Instantly he was aware of Legolas' danger now for the other two enraged Nazgul had arrived and swooped and harried him from overhead. In the talons of each of the creatures were many rocks and they let these fall now where Legolas stood below. Thranduil cried out as the bright gold head ducked and then Legolas was running for cover beside a huge dead creature. Rocks showered around him and mud flew up as boulders pounded the ground.

Thranduil saw him hold his hands up over his head and then he fell. No! he cried out. He scrabbled at the dirt, at the stones and hard ground, trying to stand, to reach his child but a pressure was on his chest and the yellow smoke curled upon him, pinned his limbs and he could not move.

'All is lost.' The smoke densified until it was a repulsive muscular body of a serpent. The flat head and eyes of beads of blood regarded him triumphantly. 'Your sonsssss are dead.'

He blinked and felt the hard ground and dry leaves under him. He was here, in the Wood. Through the yellow smoke Orcs poured through the trees, black silhouettes against the infernal backdrop of the burning forest. Their grotesque shapes leapt over flames and suddenly a group of warriors appeared, running for their lives. Thalos? He thought.

No! Thalos is not here in the East Bight, he thought. This is a dream. This is the stronghold. Have I been outwitted? Have they gone there and left only a remnant here to deceive us, to engage me here only to attack the stronghold?

Flames filled the glade with a stench of death, of burning meat. There was the unmistakable sound of a terrified horse screaming somewhere not far away.

Light from the fires caught a glint of steel, made it bloody and red.

Then the smoke walls parted and a tall powerful warrior in shining armour charged into the clearing, he raised his gleaming sword and struck down the Orcs who ran from his fury. His blond hair was in tight braids, his grey-blue eyes fierce with battle.

Laersul! Thranduil shouted a warning, but there was no sound. He tried to fight his way to Laersul's side but his limbs were so heavy and something, someone was holding him.

There was a hiss and whine of arrows but he could not tell if they were in the dream or in the battle he was really fighting here in the Bight. Laersul, magnificent and deadly, wielded his sword and the light glanced off the blade, arrows falling away as he did so. He turned, his face fierce, towards his foes but one stray arrow hissed past and between the gorget and pauldron. Laersul stumbled slowly, unbelieving. His sword fell heavily to the ground and he sank to his knees, raising his hands to his neck. A slow red stain seeped out between his fingers, spreading over his hands. He raised his eyes and looked straight at Thranduil agony and despair on his face. His lips moved briefly and then suddenly, Orcs swarmed over him.

O0o0o0o0o