A distant light 8/?

[valandhir]

Chapter 7: To make a stand

The wargs came swooping down at them; the loud war cries of their riders ripped the silence of the autumn day apart. Before they came close they showered a dozen arrows down on them. Boromir ducked, the black feathered arrows missing him. Kili’s blade whirled in a shining circle knocking several arrows out of their path. When the full attack began, it was Orcs on foot at first storming from the woods uphill at them. Three at once attacked Boromir. He moved aside, let one run into the wrong direction, attacking the other swiftly, while the third one landed a hit that was caught by Boromir’s chain mail. With a deadly grace Boromir evaded the next attack, turning fast and slashing the Goblin’s head from the bone-deformed shoulders. The quick turn had given what strength was needed to cut clear through the heavy armor. Hardly did he have the time to bring up his blade when the two next came at him; he blocked the first one’s attack. The other fell from a strike from side, Kili had gotten him. With a nod Boromir acknowledged the help. The human warrior fought like an angry lion, his blade dealing death and pain to those daring to come close. His attacks came down like a hailstorm on the Orcs, he did not count how many there were. Moving so fast the Goblins had a hard time keeping up with him, nearly any new strike of his sword found its target. He knew Kili had his back and that there were as many Orcs falling from the dwarf’s ever angry blade.

Kili was the one to kill the last Goblin who tried to run from the fighting field, the last who thought it wise to run back to the circle of warg riders. Over his shoulder the dwarf checked on Boromir. The human warrior was still standing, sword ready in his hands; before him lay a number of dead orcs strewn all over yellow grass.

It was the warg riders that came next, their huge beasts did not easily lend themselves for group attacks but they too come in groups of four or five at once. Boromir did not need to know them well to know he had to keep their fangs at a distance. The first that made the mistake to try and bite him, found several of its ugly teeth shattered. The beast roared and broke off, ending with Boromir’s blade buried in its thick neck. He did not stop but attacked the next one, not counting how many more there might be. Boromir fights, one after the next, one beast and rider and more. The warrior hardly felt the injuries, the cuts and bruises he sustained. He knew that any moment they tied those wolves down, each moment those monsters have to waste on killing them, Thorongil and the halflings get closer to Rivendell. It’s all he needs to find his strength time and again, to hold out no matter what – others rely on him to stand. And thus the Captain of Gondor stands and fights. He knows a friend at his back, one to hold off whatever tries to get in Boromir’s back and they hold out.

The shadows were growing longer as the sun wandered more and more west. The hill had long become a dark morass of dark corpses, mud and blood. The yellow autumn grass tainted red and black. The attack ceased for the moment, but still the warg riders held the ring around their two adversaries.

Boromir leant back and tried to catch his breath. Judging by the leaden feeling in his arms and his muscles the skirmish must have lasted for hours. His arms were numb and his left leg was bleeding from a surface wound. He felt warm by now, but he knew that his was the heat of fighting and would be gone soon to be replaced by cold. His eyes surveyed the enemy ranks. The wolf circles had grown thin, but not yet thin enough for them to try and break it. He glanced over his shoulder. “Kili?”

“Still standing,” The dwarf’s face was marred with a bloody smear where he had made hard contact with a warg snout. His sword was dark with blood, the blade gory but the hilt seemed eerily clean still. Kili too had turned his head, the same checking glance like Boromir had employed. “you alright?” he asked.

“Never better,” Boromir joked grimly. His eyes went back the ring of Orcs surrounding them. “what are they waiting for?” Orcs only stopped like this when waiting for their Harad or Easterling captains to issue new orders. And that only worked if their commander was well feared and cruel enough to make them obey him. But these pale goblin creatures would have neither the discipline nor an Easterling commander.

“Their leader most likely,” Kili pointed out, surveying their ranks for the appearance of that one. “he’ll want a go at us just for himself.”

Boromir heard the tension in Kili’s voice, the dwarf hid it well but it was there. He knew something of what was coming, maybe knew something of this Orc leader. Having long lived in his land he was probably as familiar with their kind as Boromir was with the different garrison commanders along Gondor’s eastern borders. “Then we’ll kill him too.”

“Will you?” A deep, hard voice answered his statement. There was unrest rising the in the Orc ranks as they moved aside making room.

Boromir looked south from whence the voice had come. A single huge warg with thick grey fur had appeared there, mounted by a tall, heavily armoured Orc. He seemed bigger than most of his kind, who made room for him.

“Bolg,” Kili’s voice had fallen to only a whisper. Of course he remembered this creature – Bolg, son of Azog, who fought at the battle of the five armies. It had been decades that Kili had run into the Orc leader and he did not need to guess that the huge warg Bolg is riding on is actually the much rumoured great wolf of the wargs.

The Orc growled with something like a cruel grin on his face. “Dwarf-scum. I have long waited for this, little coward. I remember you… Kili unda Thorin.” He pointed his blade down at them in challenge.

There was an enmity in the air that could not be denied. Boromir could not even begin to guess what kind of history was between his dwarven companion and the huge Orc. There was something in the way Kili spoke the name of the Orc that told Boromir more than any explanation. Even while he tried to hide it there is a wealth of hate and pain in that one word. Strangely the Orc also had used Kili’s name incorrect. Kili unda Thorin instead of Kili unda Dari, but who knew what that stupid beast was thinking? “Maybe you should come here and find out, Mountain-Maggot!” he shouted the challenge to the enemy. He did not speak that much Orcish but enough to understand their orders when happening to overhear them – excepting a few choice expletives and insults he had learned in dark places and he was liberal to add them. Boromir could not know that he had chosen the worst insult the Orcs used for the Goblins of the mountains.

Bolg angrily growled and raised his sabre. “I’ll gut you, scum. Your dwarfling has not seen a friend die in too long.” He spurned his warg, it raced down the hill and at them, huge paws clawing the slippery ground.

Boromir saw the huge warg rush at him and he advanced at the creature, facing the beast without fear – without any anger or eagerness either. All those emotions had burned to ash inside him; he faced this new adversary with an icy, unflinching cold. A few paces away from him the warg jumps at him. Boromir had seen that coming, few warg riders have dared to do it in these uneven grounds but it did come as no surprise that the largest of them would try. Boromir waited him out until the huge wolf was up in the air then he deftly dropped to his knee and brought up his sword, the blade fully hitting the warg’s belly.

The wolf howled in pain as its jump broke and the beast crashed to the ground. The sword was nearly ripped from Boromir’s hand by the powerful movement. He managed to keep it and swiftly was back at his feet. Not one moment too soon – Bolg had dismounted and raced at him with a howl as the angry screams of his dying warg.

The parry in their encounter Boromir does know that he can’t keep this up for very long. The huge Orc was stronger than nearly any of their ugly kind he had ever encountered and his weapon was heavy. So Boromir went for the one thing that beast lacked – speed. He began to make the Orc run, evading attacks and never standing in one place. It is a dangerous tactic because either way this fight is eating up more strength than he could afford.

One glance to the side told Boromir that Kili was surrounded by several Orcs, having to fight them off.  They must have rushed him the moment Bolg attacked. The dwarf was surrounded, having no one to cover his back he was at a disadvantage but he fought with a fierce determination.

Another pass, longsword and orcblade colliding, steel was shrieking under the heavy impact. Boromir pushed off the bladelock and advanced again at his foe. Valar, that creature was powerful. A graze hit his leg but what armor he had still held off the worst. Boromir brought down two heavy attacks on Bolg but found both easily parried. He got thrown backwards again and just so parried a fierce hit. He’d never win this conventionally. A grim grin lit up Boromir’s eyes. He pretended to stumble, letting the next attack purposefully hit him, a searing pain rose from his shoulder but for a moment Bolg’s blade was at an odd angle. Boromir brought up his sword and in one thrust made use of the Orc’s open cover. His blade hit home straight into the exposed throat, black blood spluttered from the throat wound. The huge orc fell to the ground, Boromir ripped his sword from the wound, making the few steps uphill to reach Kili again. The dwarf had disposed of his attackers but he too was exhausted.

“You did it – you killed him.” There was a fierce grin on his face at these words. “you destroyed Bolg.”

“Aye,” They turned again standing back to back. Both were tired, injury and exhaustion draining at what was left of their strength. For a moment there was silence, the Orcs seemed stunned by the fall of their leader and only for this one moment Boromir hoped they might retreat. But then did a shrill shriek rip through the silence and one of the Warg riders raised his spear. Bolg’s whole force began to move, driven by sheer anger all that remained of the Orc troop attacked at once.

A horn sounded somewhere from afar.

Author’s notes

Bolg: I decided to keep movie canon where it came to Azog – he was the one who fought at Moria and the battle of the Five Armies. But I decided to at least use the idea of his son Bolg (whom we meet in the book) and move it ahead in time.