[LOTR] Ch 2: Gathering in the Midst of Battle

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Night had fallen, and Desson burned beneath columns of fire. Beyond the lord's keep, every street and alley blazed with combat.

The people of Desson were skilled weapon-smiths, and the northern folk were fierce by nature. Many of the town's men had not chosen to hide — they had taken up whatever weapons they could and fought back against the invaders.

As soon as Raine and his two companions saw this, they didn't hesitate. Their blades were out in an instant as they plunged straight into the fray.

Before the forces of darkness, they never faltered. To stand against the dark was the duty of every free man — even more so for the Dúnedain Rangers, sworn guardians of the North.

They rode into the town without a word of wasted breath and crashed into the orc ranks like a storm.

The orcs, poorly armored and wielding nothing but rusted blades and crude spears, were no threat to warriors like Raine's trio. They had fought too many battles, slain too many creatures of darkness for this to be anything but a routine slaughter.

Where their horses passed, orcs fell like wheat before the scythe.

"Rangers!"

"The Rangers are here to help!"

The townsfolk who had nearly died stared after the three shadowy figures darting through the firelight. Hope flickered back to life in their eyes.

To the northern people of the Westlands, the Rangers in their dark green cloaks, long swords and bows at their backs, were mysterious and mighty — bane of orcs and all foul things. Their arrival meant salvation.

"Kill! Fight with the Rangers!"

"Damn these orcs! I'll drink from their skulls!"

"For our homes — kill them!"

Men rallied, some with spears, some with swords, others drawing back bows. They surged behind Raine and his companions, and in that moment the orcs — outnumbering them many times over — were driven back in disarray.

Then, without warning, a stone wall to Raine's left exploded outward. Rubble and dust blasted into the air.

The three reacted instantly, abandoning their horses. Rolling and leaping away, they avoided the falling debris by a hair's breadth.

Through the smoke, a hulking shape emerged — hide like stone, gray and thick, pointed ears and burning red eyes. 

"Stone Troll!" Alaina shouted from her new vantage point on a rooftop. Raine and Ishus immediately widened their formation, eyes locked on the approaching beast.

A moment later, a massive wooden club swung from the smoke, smashing into the street where they had just stood. The cobblestones cracked under the impact.

The troll roared in frustration and charged straight for Raine and Ishus.

The two darted through the narrow street with fluid precision, evading each heavy strike while probing for openings.

Their blades flashed again and again, but each strike only left shallow white lines on its rocky hide.

Stone Trolls were almost impervious to steel. Only the sun — and their eyes — were true weaknesses.

On the rooftop, Alaina stayed focused. She waited — just a heartbeat — until the troll began to turn.

Then she leapt.

Her elven-forged dagger gleamed in the firelight as she dropped onto the troll's shoulder and drove the blade straight into its left eye.

GWAAAAH

The beast let out a piercing, agonized scream. Its massive arm swung up, hand slamming down toward her like a falling boulder.

"Look out!" Raine shouted. He lunged without hesitation, tackling Alaina out of the way just as the troll's hand struck the ground. The two rolled across the dirt, coming to a stop — right at the creature's feet.

They looked up just in time to see a monstrous foot descending.

"No!" Ishus roared. He snatched up a fallen spear and charged, reckless with fury.

But before the huge foot could reach them, an arrow whistled through the air.

It struck cleanly into the troll's right eye.

The troll howled again, stumbling back several steps in blind agony.

"GRAAAH!" A powerful roar cut through the din.

A massive figure burst out from behind the troll, leaping high with a long-handled war axe gripped in both hands.

The axe came down like a thunderbolt.

It split the troll's neck in a single brutal strike. Blood fountained. The monster's head sailed through the air, its body shuddering for a moment before crashing to the ground like a felled tower.

"My lord!" a familiar voice called out.

Raine and Alaina got to their feet. When they turned, their faces broke into genuine smiles.

Through the firelit street, familiar figures were approaching.

— A towering, broad-shouldered, bald giant of a man with a beard like iron wire — Kalev, 128 years old, a top-tier Legendary warrior whose war axe had never missed its mark.

— Beside him, the bow-wielding siblings Eljer and Aelin.

Eljer, aged 72, a master archer whose skill rivaled Legendary warriors.

Aelin, 55, both a healer of great talent and a top elite-level archer.

— And Talos, weathered of face and steady of presence, a 140-year-old Dúnedain, a top-level Legendary warrior and Raine's most trusted strategist.

— Behind them, eighteen Dúnedain Rangers, every one of them an elite forged through years of blood and fire. Raine's loyal men.

"My lord!"

They all knelt their heads slightly in respect.

Aelin hurried forward. "Are you hurt? Are you injured anywhere?"

"I'm fine." Raine shook his head, then gave Eljer a wry smile. "Your arrow was perfect. If not for that, we would've ended up troll paste."

Eljer lowered his head in humility. "Every arrow I loose is for you, my lord."

Talos stepped forward, grave and composed. "We cleared the scattered orcs on our way in. Judging from their bodies and gear, they came from the Trollshaws to the east. Only there would you find Stone Trolls nearby."

"Good assessment, Talos." Raine nodded.

Then he turned his gaze toward the distant keep. Even from here, they could see the orc mass pressing against its gates like a dark tide.

"But now isn't the time to analyze. Our battle isn't over."

Talos understood at once. "What are your orders?"

Raine frowned slightly, weighing the situation. All together, they numbered only twenty-five Dúnedain Rangers.

By his ranking, from lowest to highest — Militia, Soldier, Elite, High Elite, and Battle-Forged Elite.

His men stood firmly at the highest tier. But they were few. Far too few.

There were at least two to three hundred orcs at the keep. A direct charge would be suicide.

Just then, a hoarse voice called from a nearby alley. "Ranger lord… let us fight with you!"

A group of blood-soaked men stumbled out, armed with anything they could find — spears, swords, even a blacksmith's hammer.

They were what remained of Desson's men — and their rage, their grief, had burned away all fear.

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