(PTII)Defenders of Middle Earth: A Middle Earth Story(Book 4)

Chapter 19: Fall of Esgaroth

Boom. Boom. Boom. The steady beat of the massive war drums continued as orcs and newly arrived Easterlings swarmed into the burning city. Zaskia watched from a nearby hill, Khanar at her side. The deathly general breathed harshly, every inhale a loud rasp that made it apparent that his injuries had never really healed. He watched the battle expressionlessly, his horned helmet betraying no emotions. 

Suddenly a gust of foul-smelling wind hit the pair from behind, and Zaskia turned to see Khamul landing his dragonlike steed on the hill. Its serpentine head roved around watchfully, and its narrow tongue flicked out from between its sharp teeth. Khamul slid down from its back carefully, his iron boots thumping ominously as he hit the ground. He strode slowly to Zaskia and Khanar's side, his faceless hood looking back and forth over the burning city. The flames reflected on his iron mask, giving the wraith an utterly infernal appearance. 

"They offered little resistance," He hissed. "Even now they flee to Dale."

"Let them," Zaskia suggested. "It shall lull them into a feeling of false safety."

"Then," Khanar rasped, his head turning slowly to the other two. "We shall strike them, swift as an adder."

Khamul made a sound that was a cross between a hiss and a growl. "The cursed bright elf has arrived, along with the Lastborn and his ilk. They shall put up a fight. But I will end the bright elf, for the dark lord wills it." 

"This Lastborn... Who is he?" Khanar growled. 

"A great warrior from the north, one of the greatest among those called the Dunedain," Zaskia explained, her voice dripping with disgust. "He commands a host of his kinsmen, and has unified a force of Blue Mountain dwarves under his banner."

"Why do they call him Lastborn?" Khanar asked.

"He is allegedly the last of his people. The blood of Numenor flows strongly through him, and he uses the gift of foresight to make clear his path. He smote the Black Numenorean Arnakhor down in his own fortress, and he faced Khamul in open combat and lived to tell the tale." 

Khamul let out an angry shriek, causing Zaskia to flinch and cover her ears. "He barely lived. The bright elf saved him once, but he will not deliver him this time."

Khanar exhaled, his breath hitching several times. His eyes glowed flaming orange between the slits of his helmet, and he clenched a gauntleted fist in determination. "This ranger... He... Is... Mine." 

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"Hurry! Cover them!" Gerithor shouted as a flaming catapult round hit the wall near him. He covered his face and ducked as fragments of it sailed overhead. Gilian ran to his side and checked to make sure he was uninjured before firing her bow at an advancing orc. 

"Make sure the people are protected," Gerithor said breathlessly. "We need to cover their retreat." 

Gilian nodded and pointed toward the front of the retreating line. "Kalan and his warriors are carving a path through the enemy for them, but they won't last long. We need a distraction." 

Gerithor looked around, his mind racing to think of a plan. Suddenly his eyes landed on a large produce wagon, and his lips turned up in a grin.

"Gilian, see that?" He pointed to it after felling another orc with a well-placed arrow. "This whole path goes downhill toward the main advancing orc force. Knock the chocks out from under the wheels and get clear of it." 

Gilian let out a laugh and began to run. "Good idea, I like how you think!" 

Gerithor readied his bow, covering her as she knelt down beside the wagon. It was filled with cabbage and carrots and looked as though it was quite heavy. The chocks were wedged solidly under the wheels, and despite her best efforts, Gilian was unable to make them budge.