[Nilpaurion Felagund]

This time, his arrow did not fail. As soon as he saw the natives, his hands reached for an arrow and fitted it in the bow in one smooth manoeuvre. The same arrow planted itself below a native's eye socket moments later. Narvi smiled. He was once again that warrior who stood before Erebor's gates, defiantly standing between his home and his enemies.

As he refitted an arrow to his bow, a man lunged towards him. Too close for an arrow, he dropped the loaded bow and drew his axe. Too fast! The man's poisoned knife threatened Narvi's throat, and would have found its way had he not stepped to the left.

This time, his enemy's speed worked to his advantage. Narvi turned, and the enemy's back was before him, undefended. He raised his axe for the kill. The man caught the act in a sideward glance. As Narvi struck, his left hand shot up.

The Dwarf uttered a curse. His blow was held back by the man's knife, long enough for him to twist out of the axehead's way. Now the two adversaries stood face to face, barely a yard between them. Time slowed as they both raised their weapons to kill.

Narvi had long ago developed a trick to increase the strength delivered by his two-handed strike. He stepped forward as he raised the axe, and its iron head came down at a terrifying speed, its force provided by the momentum gained from his step. The enemy used the sword on his right hand in an attempt to block the blow, but realised too late that it was not enough. The axehead swept the sword aside, then found its way to the mans chest.

He removed the axe, and looked for another opponent. But the wound on his right thigh opened again, and the blood loss weakened Narvi.

Three men came after him.