Rise (Lord of the Rings)

54 - When the Smoke Clears

The king, atop his steed, looked infinitesimal compared to the faceless rider and his mount. In that moment, I feared for the king's life.

There had been only a momentary staring contest between the two, before the enemy's mount pounced, snatching the king's horse—and the king—in its jaws. I watched in terror as the beast tossed the king and his steed into the air. I jumped as the pair smacked the ground.

King Théoden was trapped under his horse, and he didn't look to have any intentions on hastily getting out from under the animal.

My feet were frozen to the ground as the enemy's beast stalked towards its prey. I felt like I should do something, but everything in me seemed to freeze up, telling me that it was suicide to intervene.

It seemed, though, that I didn't have to intervene after all—someone else took up that job for me.

A soldier stepped between the enemy and King Théoden. Only armed with a sword, the soldier stared down the enemy. If they were engaging in argument, I couldn't hear over the sounds of war. My heart thumped in anxiety, my body tensed.

Hair on the nape of my neck prickled a second later, alerting me to danger. I reacted, twirling around to meet my blade with another's. The Orc shoved me away, making me almost have a pratfall. I gritted my teeth, trying to figure out my next move, but the Orc wouldn't give me enough time to be a few steps ahead.

I tried to keep tabs on the nearby fight where a soldier was challenging the faceless rider with a winged steed from Hell, but it was hard to do so. I had to pour my focus onto the battle I was caught in.

I lost my concentration for a fraction of second. It was enough to let the Orc score a hit, even if it was a small one. I hissed as it swiped for my collarbone. I felt the cold metal of its blade skim across my exposed skin. Luckily, I had jumped away, because it would have been much worse if I hadn't.

Feeling a small amount of blood trickle down my collarbone, I grunted, feeling anger bubble within me. I retaliated, coming at the Orc with renewed energy. I almost cut off his sword arm, my blade cut deep into his ugly flesh. He roared in pain, trying to grab me. I took his stupidity and used it to my advantage. I shoved my sword through the Orc's throat.

I ripped my weapon out, seeing it gleam with black blood.

I tried to relocate the king's losing battle with the faceless rider. I found the scene quick enough. It was a sight that hurt my heart.

The faceless rider's steed had been beheaded—that was about the only positive thing I saw in the situation. The rider had dismounted, armed with a spiked mace in one hand, a sword in the other. The soldier who dared to take on the rider had a sword and a wooden shield.

The faceless rider swung his mace at the soldier, the soldier ducked. This went on a few times until the mace hit shield. The soldier stumbled back a step. Realizing where this was going to go, avoiding all the traffic, I made a beeline for the losing battle for the soldier.

I urged my legs to go faster when the soldier cried out, his shield demolished by the faceless rider's mace. The soldier grabbed his right arm, having fallen back against the king's dead steed.

The faceless rider headed for the soldier, an armored hand ready to latch around the latter's throat.

Without thinking, I took a slight detour around the dead horse and slashed at the armored arm in front of me. The faceless rider had to have his attention on me now; I would not let him harm this soldier anymore.