We have gone too far. For a moment the struggle seems to hang in the balance – we press forwards, they hurl themselves at us in unending, terrible rage. Then, as inevitably slow as the shifting of scales, the fight turns against us. We have been forced away from the company to our right – as we band tighter together, I realise that I cannot see them at all – the only sign that they fight on are their shouts, carrying in the clear air. There are a company of archers behind us, but I cannot see them, cannot hear them. I throw a glance over my shoulder to see only turmoil. Somehow, we have been cut off from those we fight with, and even now, our losses are mounting. The captain shouts in fury as two young recruits fall together, and we reform against the overwhelming mass of the enemy – forcing them back, away from our fallen. This morning, they had talked of spending their coming leave in the city. Together, they had made plans to visit friends and run as wild as time constraints would allow. Now, lost in a single moment of confusion, they lie peacefully side by side, all plans silenced. For some time now we have been employing these strategies against the camps on the hillside. Now, it seems, they have learnt how to defeat us.
I step up to the line, long sword darting in and out, weaving past failed blocks and cutting anything that gets too close. The blade, remade and finished by Estarfin's strength and skill, glistens already with black blood. I know better than to pit my strength against these overbearing monsters – but where they are heavy, forceful, I am quick, quietly dangerous. Together, we make up a unit, some protecting, others damaging – even now my partner stands ready on my left, holding his heavy shield, turning away blows that come too close or breaking up fixed opposition to give me space to move. In the confusion and noise of the battle, I can hear the thud of bodies against his shield, hear his rough, determined panting for breath. We are pushed too hard in this throng – twice I have to step back into the quick cover of his shield to avoid devastating attacks. By now, we should have received support from the archers, but there is not even the sound of them at a distance. We are alone here, fighting desperately, unable to claw our way forward, too unprotected to try and risk a retreat. If we turn now, their fury will overwhelm us.
To my left, there is a sudden hoarse cry of pain, and I spin to watch with horror as my companion stumbles back, expression one of mingled pain and despair. His heavy shield thuds slowly into the dust, standing for a moment on its rim before it keels over, ringing its finality. He casts one agonised look at me, hand clutching his side, falling back to one knee as he struggles to rise. Without even thinking about what I am doing, I turn away, back into the fight, slipping sideways so that I am standing between him and the huge creature which has toppled my valiant guardian. I hear his anguished rejection of my offer, muffled by the pain and blood which fills his voice, but I refuse it, turning the orc's blade aside with a hasty thrust that is more desperate than well-timed. I stand, holding the ground before him as he has so often held before me. The orc roars in anger, bringing up his enormous sword once more and sending it hurtling through the air as if he would swat a fly. Like the others, he is slow, and I avoid two furious blows before he has time to react to me, each time lashing out frantically with my own blade, but finding only armour. With each moment that his kill is delayed, I see his anger mounting, and I know that there is no chance I can stand for long. As if he knows it too, he redoubles his attack, pressing forward with such great swings that I am forced to take one step back, then another. At last, he throws his blade forward with another roar, and I am forced to deflect it with my own sword, only the thin edge of metal between his enormous weapon and my life.
Forged in starlight and fire, imbued with friendship and the strength of its remaker, my sword holds, sending the shock of the blow down through my arms. But my strength does not match that of my weapon – I cannot hold the blow, only divert it. The orc misses his target, but only a split second later I feel the hot bite of metal at my shoulder, then the rushing warmth that tells me my armour is pierced, and the orc has found blood. I stagger back, away from the blow, although I am brought up short by the realisation that there is nowhere to go. Behind me, there is silence – I cannot even tell if the guardian still breathes. But if so, then I cannot fall back now, and leave him to the anger I have aroused. Even if I could, it would be too late. I cannot escape now – the strange burning pain in my shoulder makes it hard to think. I pass my left hand over my face, trying to brush away the pain and confusion as if it were rain, and try and raise my sword once more. The bright point barely moves at all before the agony in my shoulder doubles, and redoubles, sending shrieking warnings down my arm and across my chest. I stumble back another step, falling to one knee, dazedly dropping to the ground, half stupified by pain. As I glance up, I can see the orc standing above me, haloed in the golden sunlight. My blood runs down my sword arm, joining that of fallen enemies to stain my gleaming sword a darker red, soaking down into the ground as if to somehow feed these parched, ruined borderlands. I cannot move.
We are finished.
