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Look just like ants, don’t they?’ whispered Broga, watching the Orcs pour in to battle the men and Elves. Grimm grunted and rose to his feet, motioning for his brother to follow along. He had spotted a likely looking target – two men on a horse and one looked wounded, from the way the man behind him held him upright with one arm.
The wounded man’s companion spoke a few words in the other’s ear. The wounded man, bending low over his horse’s neck wrapped his fists tightly in the mane. The other man had gotten down from the horse and given the beast a whack on the hindquarters, sending it flying through the melee of blades and clubs, toward the water. On foot, now, the man had drawn his blade and now stood back to back with one of the Elves. Orcs ran, tripping over the fallen of their own number, after the wounded man on the horse.
‘That’s our prize!’ cried Broga. ‘I want that horsey for supper, I do!’ He galumphed after the Orcs, scattering them right and left as he swung his club.
Grimm left his brother to the crunching and crushing of Orc bones and ran after the escaping horse and rider . . .
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