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

Chapter 33: The Last Battle Part 2

The elven host saw the firebomb explode, turning the dark sky into day for a brief moment. Galadriel raised her sword aloft, and the army began to advance across the dead plain. 

Glorfindel could barely make out the shape of Hadar waving a torch to and fro atop the ramparts, before he disappeared amongst a horde of orc warriors. His heart quickened in anticipation of the battle to come... The battle that would end the war, one way or another. 

He rushed through the gates with his elven brethren, cutting down any orc who stood in his way. His bright blade soon became stained with the black ochre of the enemy, but he did not falter as the bodies of the dead orcs began to pile up all around them. 

Through the chaos of battle, he could clearly see the keep of the dark fortress, stark and menacing now that they were close to it, and knew that they must reach it if this battle were to end. 

"To me! To me elves of Rivendell and Lorien! To me!" He cried, prying a banner from the hands of a dead elven warrior and rallying his allies with it. They gathered about him, strengthened in their resolve at the sight of the legendary hero who, to them, had stepped right out of myth and onto the battlefield. They let out a cry that froze the hearts of the orcs with fear, and as one they rushed headlong into the fray once more. 

======================

The rangers' footsteps pounded on the pavestones as they fled the flaming monstrosities, intent only on escaping. Gerithor quickly beheaded one of the creatures that had caught up to them, not slowing his pace as he continued after his companions. 

Suddenly, one of the creatures leapt down from a nearby wall, landing atop the other ranger. He cried out in pain as the burning hands of the beast clawed at him, rending his flesh from his bones. 

Gerithor dropped his bow and fumbled for his sword, his hands shaking with fear. Just as he drew it, an arrow pierced the creature's head and it fell to the ranger's side, dead. Gilian fitted another arrow to her bowstring and ran over to the ranger. 

"Dead," she said solemnly, her voice quivering in fear. Gerithor grabbed her arm and they began to run again. 

"Quickly, there's no time!" He exclaimed. He looked over his shoulder to see several more of the burning creatures following them. He could now clearly see that they were goblins, but they had been drenched in oil or some other sort of fuel and then were lit aflame. The thought caused him to shudder with revulsion. 

As they ran, they quickly gained distance from the creatures, some of which plummeted from the walls behind them as the flames consumed them. Over time, the screams slowly faded until they were alone once more. They looked around nervously, certain that another ambush was only seconds away. The sound of their heavy breathing was the only thing to pierce the silence that now seemed to surround them like a thick veil. 

"Did we lose them?" Gilian asked uncertainly, casting a fearful glance at Gerithor. 

He nodded slowly, adjusting his grip on the sweat-saturated hilt of his sword. "I think we lost them." 

"You lost them, perhaps," A seductive voice called out, echoing on the empty walls of the hallway. "But you found me." 

Zaskia emerged from an alcove in the wall, clad in black armor and wearing a crowned helm of black steel. She looked like a spider who had caught her prey in her web. 

"Your time has come, witch," Gerithor said, his voice resolved. "The end is near." 

"Oh yes," she purred. "The end has indeed come. But it is you who near your end, and all your ilk. For as we speak, the Dark Lord is reclaiming what was once his."