"In over our heads? More than we bargained for? Why this is nothing... what we need is a few hundred more of this rabble to make things interesting!" Melcildir replied in a sarcastic tone as he thrust his dagger into an Orc's throat.
The brighter Orcs and Easterlings had realized their danger and quit fighting among themselves while a few were still killing each other. Melcildir had just finished off another Easterling when he heard the clatter of falling crates behind him.
He turned to see two Orcs with long, bloodied knives. Melcildir tried to dodge the blade, but as he leaped to one side, the Orc slashed at his already injured left arm. Insane with anger, the Elf dove at the Orc and knocked it to the floor. In a second the Orc was dead and Lofinnaes had killed the other. Blood was dripping from Melcildir's arm, but he had no time to do more than wrap a bit of cloth around it to help slow the blood flow.
With his arm bandaged the best he could, Melcildir charged once more into the fray, a deadly force. His sword that at one time hung useless by his side was now his main weapon. He continued fighting, dealing and sometimes recieving blows. But so far there had been no casualties in his small group of companions. For that he was glad. But it appeared as if no matter how many foes the rescue party killed, their number never decreased.
But judging from the bodies that littered the floor, the Elves were making great progress. Maybe he would not die after all. Maybe the fear was for other's deaths. Even though he hadn't known these Elves for very long, they felt like close friends and he was sad just thinking about losing them...
Shaking his thoughts from those of dispair, he concentrated only on the battle and killing the enemys that surrounded them...
|