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The eastern bank. There are tracks. Gaeredhel’s message was brief, the tone guarded.
‘Make haste, Faerim.’ Rôsgollo turned his horse northward, urging it along the river’s bank. ‘They have found where the Orcs left the water.’ Unconcerned any longer that they might be seen, the two riders bent over their mounts’ necks, using their heels to drive them on to a gallop. The lengthening stride of the horses brought the man and Elf very near the area where Angóre and Gaeredhel had stopped.
There is danger here! Gaeredhel’s warning was loud in his brother’s mind. Faerim and Rôsgollo were yet to clear a small cluster of trees that hid the others from them. They are waiting! came the even more urgent message.
‘Your weapon!’ cried Rôsgollo as the two elves came in view. Angóre’s horse had been hit and was running off, leaving his rider to face the approaching Orcs on foot. Gaeredhel had nocked an arrow to his bow and was firing into the running Orcs. There were nine of the creatures – two with bows, the others with blades or clubs.
Rôsgollo drew his bow and hit one of the Orcs in the shoulder. The creature screamed, dropping his bow, and pulled out his own sword. At a dead run he charged the Elf. An arrow from Gaeredhel’s bow brought down the Orc, inches from his brother’s horse.
The mass of Orcs was close enough that Rôsgollo drew his own blade and charged in among the three nearest him, bringing one of them to his knees with slicing blow. He had just turned his horse, readying himself for another pass through when a cry from Garedhel brought him up short. The lone Orc bowman had let fly a cursed missile as his Gaeredhel raised his right arm to let fall a blow from his blade. The intended Orc target was battering at Gaeredhel’s mount with his club, causing the horse to rear and strike out with his forelegs. The arrow pierced the Elf’s unprotected armpit, driving itself through his chest muscle until the chainmail shirt stopped its exit.
Rôsgollo flew to his brother’s side as Gaeredhel fell from his horse . . .
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