[Folwren]

The heat of battle blazed about Bror and his companions. At their feet lay the orcs that had fallen, most were quite still, others still twitched, but no one noticed them. Their bodies were trampled as more orcs came and the dwarves found proper footing to wield their weapons. The vile creatures had redoubled their attack after attempting to retreat. Why they didn’t retreat, Bror wasn’t aware, but they seemed to have pulled together and their assault was stronger and he and his friends were pushed back.

About him fought the Ironfoot brothers with Kerrin and Geln, the others he had recruited. Close with them was Orin and his dwarves. Bror smiled grimly, as another orc fell at his feet and he jerked his spike from its skull. The foe seemed to lessen where they fought and he paused to look up in the direction of his brothers, to his right.

His heart sank and his courage weakened. Brand stood behind the wall made by Riv and a couple others, raising his bow towards the sky. The sunlight flashed off the shaft of his arrow as it was released and shot upward like a silver flame.

‘Well, no wonder they thought we needed to do that,’ he said to himself, glancing about him. ‘We have most of the dwarves.’ And instantly acting upon that thought he began to forge his way towards Riv and his companions.

They was only a few paces away, really, but with so many orcs in between and all trying to kill him, it seemed like a lot farther to Bror. He hewed right and left with his axe, cutting their legs out from under them, and then finishing them off with a second blow.

He looked up again when he thought he had almost reached Riv’s side. He almost had, but almost carries no weight, and he was still out of reach, and his axe would be of no help. Riv was bleeding, the blood coursed down his right side from somewhere beneath his arm, Afi lay beside him, stretched out on his face and one side of his head apparently crushed, and two more orcs were surging on, almost on top of Riv.

Bror saw it all in a flash. A lumbering orc stumbled in his way, with a furious roar, he knocked him to the side and lunged forward.

‘I’m too late! I can’t get to him!’ He dropped his axe and groped at his belt, pulling out his favorite weapon. He didn’t think of it now, nor did he consider the training he’d given himself, the hours spent figuring out the angles and the strength needed in the twist of the wrist. The throwing axe spun from his hand and the orc that had just knocked Riv to the ground stumbled backwards and fell. The second orc lifted a club and Bror bit back a terrified cry, snatched at a second axe, and let this one go faster than the first.

His aim was true. The hideous beast fell back. After staring for scarcely a second, Bror stooped and picked up his battle axe again and ran to Riv. Forgetting everything else instantly, he fell to his knees by his brother’s side, dropping his weapon for a second time to support Riv as he appeared to be losing consciousness.

The battle still raged on about him. He heard Dwarven voices above him, shouting in some confusion. A movement uncomfortably near from the orcs’ side caught his eye and he turned his head in time to see a small, wiry orc taking a swing at his neck with his sword. Bror threw himself back out of its path, dragging Riv down with him, and then struggled to his feet.

His hands were empty and his mind was black with fury. He cursed himself and the orcs viciously, searching with his eyes for his axe. He dove under the second swing of the orc, and having caught sight of the desired weapon, snatched at it, turned again and lifted it in a desperate attempt to block the next attack.

It turned it partially and the sword glanced off the haft and struck his right shoulder. His armor turned it and he could almost have laughed. His mirth was cut short by a violent shock from his left. The wind was expelled from him and his body flung back into the midst of his fellow dwarves. His senses reeled, and lights flashed in his eyes. For only a moment, and then all went black and still.