There was smoke in the air, and the night sky glowed orange - not with the promise of sunrise, but rather with the fires that still smoldered in the ruined plain. The ground was charred, and the wind carried with it the foul stench of blood and burned bodies. All was not quiet, as Wargs bayed in the distance, and the sound of many voices, dreadful voices, speaking in a terrible tongue drifted to her ears.
She peered around the trunk of the blackened tree which concealed her. Three camps she could see, one close and two nearer the horizon, each with the glow of a fire at its center. She scanned the closest. A dozen yrch1, four of them archers. Two were posted as sentries, while the others sat around the fire. Her eyes flickered to the tents, between which sat a chest marked with the imprint of a hand, in white. The reason for her coming. She would find out what stirred them to crawl forth from their accursed dwelling, if she may.
The archers would be a problem. She had to forego her plate so she could move about silently, but with no company but her blades to keep her safe, she couldn't risk being pierced by an arrow while engaging the other brutes. She scanned the environment again, her eyes settling on a large boulder, a short distance from the camp, an idea coming to her.
Celossiel unslung a simple hunting bow from her back and creeped forward, staying low to the ground. Drawing three arrows from the quiver so they were near at hand, she nocked the first and drew her arm back in a fluid motion, letting loose not a breath later.
The arrow flew, landing in the neck of one of the sentries with a thwack. The creature gargled and fell, and the camp stirred immediately, still unaware of the direction of the assault, buzzing like a disturbed beehive. Yet not a breath passed before the other brutes were moving out, spreading out in different directions. She nocked again, and loosed. Another orch1 went down, this time one of the heavier brutes that was closest to her, apparently barking orders at the others. An arrow flew past her ear with a swoosh. She nocked her final arrow and let it fly squarely between the eyes of the spindly foe who nearly shot her. They could all see her now.
Three down, nine to go, she thought, quickly putting back her bow and sprinting towards the boulder. But one foe was nearly upon her, and she snatched a slender blade from her hip-belt, slicing the his neck just as the creature was lifting a great axe to bring down on her. The orch let out a howl and dropped the weapon, one hand moving to the wound and the other snatching her neck, squeezing with an angry growl. Foul dark blood sprouted from between his fingers and sprayed her, but she paid it no heed and reached to plunge the dagger deep in his belly and tore down, spilling his guts.
Thunk. Another arrow shot past her to land in the trunk of the tree just beyond. Too close. She shoved the dying orch away from her and dashed forward, hearing his body thump to the ground behind her.
Glancing to her right, she saw three brutes not far from her, but it was the two remaining archers that concerned her. She saw them there, a fair distance behind the others. But with the three almost upon her, she couldn't risk trying to shoot them in the open.
Celossiel reached the boulder and immediately retreated behind it, keeping it between her and the camp. She unsheathed two twin blades and pressed her back to the rock, the steel glowing in the dark with a cold light. A breath later the heavy footsteps were almost upon her, and then they were, three great brutes with sharp-toothed snarls, a white hand marking each of their faces. They quickly surrounded her, and began their attack.
She blocked the first, coming at her with a mace, and her steel glowed brighter. The yrch hissed and drew back. Using their distraction, she spun, the twin swords slicing through the belly of the orch behind her. The mace-wielding one roared and swung the weapon a her, but she ducked and it smashed against the rock, debris falling. Still crouched, she plunged one of the blades up between his ribs, stood, and used the second to drive it deep in the remaining creature's chest. They fell.
Five, she thought, sheathing one of the blades and climbing lithely up the boulder.
"Come!" she roared then, lifting the sword high in the air so the yrch might see the faint blue glow. "Come and taste the bite of Lothengriol2 of old!"
She sheathed this blade too, then, and crouching down, quickly unslung her bow once more, nocked an arrow, and let it fly at one of the two remaining archers, who emerged from his cover to take aim. His arrow missed but hers found its mark, but she did not have time for another, for another three yrch were at the base of the boulder now. Her eyes fell briefly on the final archer, who was charging forward to join the three.
She dropped her bow and in a flash, her swords were out again, and she leapt from the rock with a fierce cry, landing amidst her foes. The blades shone and rung as steel met steel, blocking, parrying, slashing as the yrch grew more and more enraged with bloodlust. She fell one, then the second, and finally the third, and the night was suddenly silent.
She emerged slowly from behind the boulder then, covered in their gore, their dark blood dripping from the tip of each sword - dimmer now. The sentry who abandoned his post to try and reach her stopped in his tracks and looked wildly about. Seeing nought else stir, he drew back, snarling something in his foul tongue and turned to run. There was a whish and a thud, for not three steps later he was on the ground, an Elven dagger lodged between his shoulder blades.
She strode forward and planted her foot on his back as he tried to stir, lifting his head up and slicing open his throat. She put away her dagger and walked into the camp, making straight for the iron-bound chest she had spotted earlier. She knelt, and lifted the lid.
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1 orch, pl. yrch, S. 'orc'
2Lothengriol, 'Flower of the Vale', one of the Seven Names of Gondolin.
