[Encaitare]

"Go on, lads!" Kharn cried as the Orcs swarmed past him into the streets of the city. "This is what we've been waiting for since winter last; let's make it well worth our trouble!" The last few soldiers passed, and he followed them into the fray, sword at the ready. The smell of blood was hardly more than a faint twinge in the air at this point, but that of the smoke of buildings already ablaze was nearly as pleasing. Eagerly, Kharn looked about for an Elven quarry -- there wasn't much fun in a battle if you didn't do your fair share of Elf-sticking.

Just to his left, he heard the bellow of an orc in pain. An Elf had to be near, he realized. He immediately turned towards the sound, and saw an Elf bearing a bloody blade, a largish Orc on the ground before him.

The Elf looked at Kharn with stern eyes, and seemed to recognize him as an officer. "Order your troops out of our city, beast!" he demanded.

Kharn snarled, drawing his knife so he was doubly armed. "This city is ours."

"Then you shall leave in death!" the Elf cried, charging.

Their swords clashed as Kharn blocked the Elf's blow. He moved to strike the Elf with his knife, but the warrior swung his blade around with such force that the knife was knocked from Kharn's hand to the stony street. Kharn growled in frustration, preparing for another attack. He aimed lower than before, but the Elf managed to block it in time. The Elf then faked a low attack but deftly moved for a high strike instead, and it was sheer instinct that got Kharn out of the way.

The Elf, clearly growing more furious, attacked again, relentlessly. This time, Kharn met the blade with a force that took the Elf by surprise, knocking the Elven sword back. Before the Elf could regain control of his weapon, Kharn snatched up his knife from the ground and hurled it at the him; it punched a neat hole through the Elf's armor. The lieutenant grinned as his foe collapsed. He retrieved the blade and searched for some more of the scum he might have some fun with.

The sudden, unmistakable sound of an Elvish voice giving a command alerted Kharn to danger. He heard the pull of many bowstrings, and did not have to look up to know that an Elvish volley was coming. He threw himself under a small overhang; an instant later, white-feathered arrows came diving down like birds of prey upon the heads of the Orkish soldiers.

After a few moments, he ducked out and down a side street. At the other end of the narrow way, he could hear the clash of battle. And he could see a lone Orc running towards him...

Is that...? he thought. And it was: the would-be deserter.

"Nar! You! The knife-work's that way, you yellow-bellied slug!" Kharn shouted. But the Orc kept coming, his sword raised. "I said, get back there!" Still, the soldier did not heed him.

Kharn slowly raised his own blade as it dawned on him that the soldier might not be bent on deserting anymore, but on murder...