[Nerindel]

Dúlrain

After entering the lone lands Dúlrain and Rauthain made good time, both being familiar with the undulating scrub lands they easily followed the tracks of those before them. Patrolling the lone lands had been his prior charge and for six months he had patrolled every inch of these desolate lands, his confidence showed as he took to scouting ahead, even leaving the trail to check that none of their quarry had diverted or doubled back, but never staying away long enough to leave his companion unaided.

It was on one of these scouting's, late in the afternoon when Dúlrain found something that made his blood burn, "Orcs!" he cursed seeing the familiar heavy prints of the creatures that were the bane of his life, first stealing his fathers life then carrying away his friend and brother into the throws of the very one he now followed . The careless trampling of the orcs drew a course northeast. "The Ettenmoors!" he spat remembering the orc chief who had dared to wear his fathers sword, a mighty blade of Arthedain, that now hung at his side. Dúlrain curbed his hatred and the strong urge to follow to see what mischief they were and forced himself to turn to study the tracks before him.

Dulrain sighed at the irony as he failed to untangle the mass off trampled prints. Tracking and patience had always been Kaldir’s strong suits, although he was ever the cautious one. He lacked the patience of his friend, ‘you will never decipher the tracks if you cannot hold your patience long enough to take the time to unlock the secrets they hold?’ Laughing at the memory of Kaldir's ever-exasperated words he pulled himself back into the saddle of his mount, "Come on boy, time to go back and see if the old man can't decipher this maze of prints."

But just as they were turning the horse banked and turned it's head eastward, the stallions ears pricked listening to something he could not hear, a short snort and a stamping of the horses front hoofs indicating the direction of the sound, then turning into the east wind he heard it a faint but gentle note carried on the breeze. "The whistle!" Dulrain gasped and Dir shook his dark head. Without any further thought, Dúlrain kicked the dark brown stallion into a gallop letting it lead the way.

A short time later, the same easterly wind bore a foul smell and the distant ring of weapons clashing, with added haste he spurred Dir on. "Argh! Orcs!" he cursed, as they mounted the peak of the next hill. Four, all clad in the inky dark armour of their kind, Kaldir was not in sight only the southern woman and her friend, both tiring from the assault. Dropping his reigns and pressing his knees tighter to the stallions sides he drew his bow, Dir slowed slightly anticipating his rider’s action, then taking an arrow from the quiver that swung at his side, he quickly knocked it pulling the tension on the bow. From were he was and the distance between them, he figured he could get at least, two shots, before the bow would be of no use.

Allowing for his rhythmic bounce in the saddle, he trained his bow on the first of the pike bearing orcs. At the sound of the charging horse, the creatures spun round their pikes in hand, as Dúlrain had anticipated. He loosed the arrow before even the first orc was fully rounded and without waiting to see the arrow strike the stunned creature through its left eye, he was knocking another. Dir banked right to take him across the path of the second pike wielding orc, who was now charging towards him, he let the second arrow fly. "Damn!" he cursed as a sudden gust knocked the arrow off course, embedding it into the creatures right forearm, but it slowed the creatures advance long enough for him to drop the bow, and draw Kaldir's sword.

"Gurth gothrim Tel' talant!" (Death to the foes of the fallen!) He cried swinging the sword as Dir charged toward the now injured orc. The gleaming weapon rang as it connected with the raised pike, the force of his blow ripping the heavy weapon from the creatures injured arm. As the stallion swung round to charge again, he swung his left leg over the animal and leaped down from his saddle. Advanced on the wounded orc he saw that the creature now held a dark and vicious looking serrated blade. He matched blow for blow with the creature ignoring its sneering taunts, until he caught sight of Benia out of the corner of his eye. The woman’s sword arm was wavering, and he saw that it took her slightly longer to dodge the axe swings of the lead orc. As he parried another blow and dodged left, he saw that the hobbit woman had lost her weapon and was doing her best to keep out of the other orcs reach.

His eyes narrowed and his hatred of these creatures focused, he thrust hard, the ancient sword piercing through the orcs armour to it's abdomen, "I can no longer play with you!" he growled at the surprised orc, pushing the dying creature from his blade. He turned to see Benia defiantly holding up her wavering sword in both hands to in an attempt to fend of the two orcs menacingly advancing on her, the hobbit woman was now standing aside her just as defiantly her dagger somehow retrieved and held high. He raised Kaldir's sword and sprinted the distance, "Noooo…!" he cried as the lead orcs axe knocked the woman's sword from her hands.

The orc turned just in time to block his thrust, the heavy axe blow batting the sword easily from his hands, using his agility to his advantage he ducked avoiding the back swing and rolled out of reach, pulling his fathers blade from his belt, gripping it firmly in both hands as he rose. "In the name of the king I order you to halt and desist!" he commanded.

"Grr, a filthy ranger" the second orc sneered, but the first just laughed mockingly "Lugburz serves no filthy ranger king!" it growled swinging its axe towards him. "Good then I break no laws in killing you as an outlaw of the crown!" he sneered back, blocking the axe blow with the Arthedain broad sword and pulling upwards to expose the orcs torso. However, as he moved in to strike he felt a sharp blow to his right side. He had no time to discern what had happened as the lead orcs axe arched high above his head. Nor did he hear the women’s cries, or see the hobbit woman rush forward burying her dagger deep into the second orcs side as it rounded its axe for a second strike, earning her the back of its black hand across her face. Gritting his teeth he managed to raise his sword in time, but it now felt like stone in his hands, another wave of pain shot through his side as the heavy axe blade connected, but defiantly he fought through it struggling to hold off the powerful downward thrust of the axe. Gritting his teeth he pushed off the axe and managed to kick the orc backwards, breathing heavy, sweat now stinging his eyes he held of against the orcs blows each one growing less heavy as the orc also tired.

The orcs axe arched again and this time although he blocked the blow the force brought him to his knees and the back swing caught him under the chin throwing him backwards and causing him to loss the grip of his sword. As he struggled to his knees, thinking he had again failed in his duties, his gaze drifted to the southern woman as she crouched over her bruised hobbit friend, but their eyes meet for a fleeting second, soft and fearful, glistening like jewels....Jewels! He thought remembering the small companion sword at his waist, bringing a satisfied smile to his face. Still crouched his hand tightened about the jewelled hilt; slowly he drew it holding it out of sight, as the orc leader stood above him. "Is that it? Is that all you have ranger?" it jeered at him. However, Dúlrain kept his head bent feigning defeat. All the while listening, but not to the orc sneers and boasts. But for the rush of air as its axe rose into the air. When it did, Dúlrain struck, thrusting the jewelled companion sword upward through the chinck in the overconfident orc’s armour. Letting go he watched as the orc stared in disbelief at the offending weapon, the axe slipping from its hands as it fell.

Ignoring the pain, his hands searched for a sword. Finding a hilt, he tightened his grip and forced himself to rise. as the last orc charged towards him shouting something in its guttural tongue, dark foul smelling blood spilling from its wounded side, Dulrain raised the sword and cried “For Dalrin and Kaldir!” and with the last of his strength he thrust the sword into his enemies abdomen. Breathing heavily he pulled out the sword, nodded to the two women then fell to his knees, no longer able to suppress the pain.