[Thenamir]

<font face="Verdana"><table><TR><TD><FONT SIZE="1" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">Pile o' Bones
Posts: 15</TD><TD></TD></TR></TABLE>
No Way Out

Thenamir was only dimly aware that Taradan had fallen – his mind was fixed on selling the lives of himself and his comrades as dearly as he could, and trying to get one of them -– anyone -- away safely to get word back to Dernwine and the others. The attention they fixed on Taradan slowed the Dunlendings just a heartbeat – long enough for Thenamir to hastily assess the grim situation. He whistled for Gurthden and Baranthôl to rally their horses to him, being closest to the center of the quickly-tightening circle of attackers. In a single movement Thenamir again pulled out his knife and sliced Ulfwine’s bonds, then handed him the knife as the ropes fell away. There was no time to prepare any other plan, for the dark men were upon them.

There seemed to be over twenty of them, all the men in the camp they had been following. Thenamir’s mind tried to stay clear of the careless and vengeful anger that betrayed him before he left Gondor, and just hoped that there were no hidden reinforcements. Their horses had been well trained for this kind of battle – almost instinctively they each turned their hind hooves to the attackers. Quickly the four powerful beasts caught as many unsuspecting Dunlenders, kicking their hearts out through their spines and shattering their ribs. Their suddenly limp bodies sailed several feet thru the air and knocked down the attackers immediately behind them. There was a beat of stunned pause in their advance. Reflexively the Rohirrim, the turncoat Dunlending and the Gondorian took the tiny advantage, each raising a terrifying battle cry in his own tongue as they charged the dark warriors.

Ulfwine ducked under the heavy blow of a swung club and stabbed upwards with Thenamir’s longknife, piercing and opening the gut of one of his former comrades who fell to the ground with a thud, desperately trying to keep his innards from gushing out. Thenamir’s sword Aranbold sang with the bloodlust, taking opportunity wherever he could find it in the melee, dodging a club or a sword here, pricking a shoulder there, parrying a swordthrust with one hand and punching a jaw with the other. He felt a club come down on his helm, but it glanced off the rounded surface leaving a dent near his right ear. Even before his ears began ringing Aranbold swept round in the only clear shot he’d had since the battle began and severed a dark head which splattered red over friend and foe alike. Still, the blow staggered Thenamir, and he was unable to completely parry the next sword blow, which opened a nasty gash in his forearm.

As far as Thenamir could see, Gurthden and Baranthôl were back-to-back, both wounded and bloody, battling the enemy in Rohirrim fashion. One dead Dunlending lay nearby. That still left fourteen or fifteen attackers against the four of them, and the attackers were no longer rushing headlong at them but beginning to coordinate. The horses had now escaped, each with an arrow or two in the flanks – they would perhaps survive if tended soon enough. Thenamir mentally bid the mounts all speed, especially Windwight, who bore a hastily carved scrawl in the saddle that if found would identify their attackers. The Two Rohirrim roared anew at the craven attackers for the loss of their beloved horses, but Thenamir knew that no amount of valor on their part could save them now – it was just a matter of time before they too were caught or killed…


</p>