Shadow of the Moon: Chapter 17

*Be warned for those who don’t like violence, this is a fight filled chapter*

Chapter Ten

The Battlement

 “Moon Trance” Lindsey Stirling

The elves were sprinting down the corridor after the Orcess. Ithildae came to a twisting stone staircase, leading straight up. She took several steps a stride, turning around the central pillar as the elves stormed up behind her. The scent of outside air carried to her nose, the outer gate was near.

She rounded on the oncoming elf, planting a firm kick on the armored chest of the leading guard. The momentum sent him sprawling back onto his companion. They tumbled down with cries of surprise. Ithildae did not stay to gloat. She was sprinting to the door, pulling up the mask on her hood.

Light peaked its way through the edges of the large wooden gate, the Orcess yanked open the iron handle and burst out onto the rocky outcropping. A tree grew at the tip of the outcrop, standing far higher than the forest which expanded out below. To her left was the raging river. Ithildae scanned the water and saw the barrels moving along with the rapid water, almost to the guarded battlement.

Shouts sounded from the open door, Legolas’ angry tone was easily recognizable over the other elves. The Orcess ran in full strides and leaped from the ledge, catching herself on the branch of a nearby tree. Legolas stormed out and surveyed the vast scene before him. Ithildae dropped from the tree to the shaded ground below. Her movement did not escape the Prince’s eye. He glared darkly at the Orcess’s retreating form, she moved quickly through the sparse forest.

“Close the gate!” He ordered to the guard behind him.

The elf took a curved horn at his side and blew a long, piercing, note which carried down to the water gate. Ithildae's pupils were narrowed into almost slits. Anger, tension, and the need for success drove her into a merciless state. Her feet and the ground were blurred below her as she tore down the side of the river.

Through the trees she saw the gate’s light stone formation. Six guards were stationed there, their weapons drawn. The dwarves in the barrels pooled at the base where the river came through the structure, the iron portcullis keeping them from further journey. Ithildae pulled the bow off her back and took an arrow to the string.

She slid to a stop right under the shade of the trees, parallel to the battlement, catching her breath and readying the shot. It would be no trouble for her to knock out the guards in rapid succession and open the gate. Ithildae's eyes narrowed as she lined the string up to her target, about to release. But a smell arrived on a gentle breeze, freezing her in place, unwashed male Orc and metallic iron.

Panic seized her, the Orcs. Her kin finally caught their prey. The Orcess lowered the arrow, keeping it at the ready she strode forward to the water’s edge. With a resonating thwack a dark feathered arrow pierced the back of a guard, falling forward as an Orc leaped up behind him.

They came over the battlement like a wave. The elven guards stood no chance against their sudden onslaught. Some of the hunters threw themselves at the water, hoping to kill the defenseless dwarves. Ithildae saw a male trying to get at Bilbo. An arrow was in his throat before he could touch the frightened hobbit.

Several dwarves turned and saw her there, stepping out of the shadows with a bow readied. Her gaze went to the large lever sticking out of the stone wall. Ithildae narrowed her eyes and strode forward, more Orcs came forth, yelling and snarling in Black Speech. Ithildae clutched the bow tighter, there were so many.

She was almost to the wall when a force knocked her down and brought her into the low lying shrubs by the gate. A Snaga male was snarling and holding a jagged knife up above her. Ithildae scoffed and grasped his neck, pinning him down on the ground and leaning over him.

Unhidden fear shown in his beady eyes, he squawked and snarled, thrashing as she pulled the sword off her back. He looked to the pale, gleaming blade, knowing he made a mistake. This was Gundulbûrz.

Ithildae felt little remorse when she slit his throat, knowing he was trying to kill her. She had a job to complete and would obliterate whoever got in her way. The Orcess stood up, looming over the corpse. Her blade spattered black with the blood of her kill.

A loud roar rang out above the chaos. She snapped her head up to the rocky hill on the left side of the battlement. Orcs were pouring down over the rocky ground, and striding up to the edge with a massive iron mace in hand, came a tall, pale male. He was built like a mountain, towering over the others. His skin was bone white and covered from the dirt of travel. Metal plates lined his chest in a painful looking armor. Strips of metal ran over his skull, as if keeping it together. In a voice like thunder he bellowed to the Orcs:

“Slay them all!”

A gritty tone clung to his words, it was familiar, even after so long. Something in Ithildae's mind refused to acknowledge it. Horror like no other grew in her heart, it could not be. The Orcess came forward, sounds of distant horns blowing was nothing but a blur of noise to her.

The Orc leader stared at the bridge predatorily, taking a large, black bow off of his back and placing a nasty looking black arrow to the thick cord. Ithildae followed his gaze as he drew back the arrow. Kili was out of his barrel, dodging and stabbing at the Orcs who attacked him in an attempt to open the gate. She could do nothing before he released the arrow and it whipped forward, sinking into the flesh above Kili’s knee.

He stopped, mouth agape in pain as he sank to the ground, crying out. Ithildae's brow furrowed, that was an easy kill shot. A cold realization fell upon her, unless the archer only had half of his sight. Not that it really mattered where he was hit – in truth the arrow was likely poisoned.

The leader seemed agitated that the dwarf still moved. He loaded another arrow to the bow. He was about to release when Tauriel burst out of the trees, her auburn hair flowing in the breeze, an angry grimace on her fair face. She loosed arrows into the necks of surrounding Orcs, proving herself far more elite than the others. Elves arrived into the fray. Their skills outmatched the Orcs, but the velocity of bloodlust stricken Orcs was a fair equal.

The leader’s attention was immediately locked on the Captain of the Guard.

“Kill her, kill the she-elf!” He snarled to a group of nearby Orcs, their skin was coal black, a trait known in Gundabadian Orcs, the warriors Ithildae’s father preferred.

Reality set in, jerking Ithildae into action. She would not let them kill Tauriel, no matter what place their relationship was currently in. With her sword clenched tightly, the Orcess came forward into the conflict. Orcs saw her blade, eyes glinting wearily they did not attack the black garbed figure.

A crackling came from beside her, Legolas slid into battle, downing Orcs like lightening. His electric eyes landed on Ithildae, decades of anger shown through, hate was eminent, glimmering to the surface.

“You,” he spat, “you did this!” He waved his bow to the chaos around them.

“I did nothing!” She snarled back.

“My father should have killed you while you were young!” He said, turning with a savage look to his warriors.

“Kill Ithildae, do not let her escape!”

The Orcess growled fiercely as two arrows came at her. She dodged them narrowly, adrenaline pulsing through her veins.

“So be it, Legolas Thranduilion!” She called to him, flicking her wrist, letting a small blade fly out from her bracers and into the neck of an elf. “You give me permission to kill.” Beneath the hood her eyes darkened, filling with bloodlust.

A flicker of dismay passed over his eyes. Perhaps he thought she would not kill an elf. He was wrong.

The Orcess lunged forward, blade reaching and stabbing through an opposing elf. Legolas shouted in elvish and several warriors sprinted towards her, Ithildae backed away, judging their speeds and likely moves. The first came at her with two daggers drawn, Ithildae blocked both with the blade of her sword, pushing back with greater strength and knocking the warrior elleth into a tree with a snap.

She rolled as the others reached her, pulling up and slamming her fist into the weak spot of one’s chest armor; he lost his breath from the blow and could not block her sword’s edge. As he fell, the remaining warriors sprung upon her in sync. The Orcess ducked their first swings, the air whistling from the aggression. She lifted her sword and repelled the furious knife swings. Unsheathing the dagger on her thigh she sank it into the chest of one, withdrawing in a spray of blood. The last elf had panic in his eyes, he raised a loaded bow. Ithildae smirked and swung her leg in a high kick, knocking the bow entirely out of his grasp.

The Orcess caught the bow, spinning around him and pulling out and arrow from his own quiver and landing a shot into his back. She tossed down the bow and strode forward, rolling her shoulders and adjusting the blades in her hands. The metal was stained with blood, red and black intertwined on the pale surface like gruesome paint.

Ithildae felt eyes on her back, she rotated and looked up. The Orc leader watched her with a dark expression. His eyes froze her, one gleaming icy eye and one milky and clouded – remnants of a past injury. The warg claw around her neck became cold and heavy. It was him, her brother whom with she shared the womb. It was Bolg, back after all these years, trying to kill the company which she attempted to save.

-xXx-

Ninkhont's advice proved its worth. The water gate was free for attack and their prey was caught in the rapids, as if waiting for them. Bolg sent his warriors forward; they broke over the battlement like a wave, killing the guards. Orcs threw themselves at the water and stabbed for the dwarves.

One of the creatures clambered out of his barrel and attempted to open the portcullis. The Morgul shaft sent hurling from Bolg’s bow stopped the young dwarf in his tracks. He growled. His eye gave him trouble with accuracy. The Orc leader was unable to fire another arrow before elves poured out of the trees, their well placed arrows finding marks in the bodies of his warriors.

Bolg's massive form spun and faced a particular elf, a she-elf with flowing red hair. A pained memory stung him of his mother and sister at the sight of such red tresses. Though, this she-elf was nothing compared to them. She had to die; her appearance pained him and she robbed him of a kill.

“Kill her! Kill the she-elf!” He bellowed out to the nearest warriors.

Narzug hissed and they slithered after the elf female. Bolg grinned and hefted his mace, prepared to follow them. Then a shout rent the air, one more angry and directed than any other noise on the battlefield.

“Kill Ithildae! She cannot escape!”

Bolg rounded to see a light haired elf ordering a total of six elves at a solitary figure in black. He narrowed his eye at the figure, they held a long sword. Its blade was onyx metal clashing against iridescent white. He knew this sword, long ago Ninkhont brought it from the ruins. This was Gundulbûrz.

Faint words caught on the breeze, she was angry, her hand clenching the hilt of her sword viciously. Elven warriors descended upon her in full strength. Gundulbûrz was prepared, catching them on her sword and dodging their blows. She went offensive and attacked the elves like a demon, all movements calculated and executed with strength. Her skills no doubt were honed from many years of training under Ninkhont's guidance.

She stood with her chest heaving and her sword dripping blood. As if sensing his gaze, the Dark Guard rotated towards him, meeting his half dead gaze with a hidden glare of her own. Bolg snarled under his breath, this elf rogue was odd, much like her master.

 An arrow shot past her, thudding into a tree. Without hesitation she bolted down the treacherous river side, ignoring anyone she past. Apparently the injured dwarf was still able to pull the lever and let the dwarves free. The Orc leader narrowed his eyes. She seemed to be following the dwarves.

Narzug slid up to his side, the attack on the she-elf futile against her skills.

“Gundulbûrz…” He hissed, beady golden eyes squinting at the mysterious apprentice.

“Don’t kill her. Ninkhont would kill us.” Bolg snarled.

“What if she attacks?” Narzug tilted his head, holding onto his bow.

Bolg watched her disappear into the trees along the bank, her dark arrows speeding out into a mix of elves and the Orcs who edged too close.

“Let her kill you,” he muttered, Narzug looked panicked. “She does not matter, kill the dwarf scum. Bring Oakenshield’s head to my father!” Bolg bellowed out his command, his powerful legs carrying him forward in pursuit.

Narzug did not nod or give any acknowledgment of his leader’s command, never before had one of the Pale Orcs given him permission to be killed by one who they called their enemy. They always fought till the last breath, till the blood in their veins was too depleted to land another blow. But the Orc knew his reasons. This rogue elf female was not like their females, she was trained to kill.

-xXx-

 The dwarves’ barrels were speeding down the rapids, escaping the Orcs little by little. Ithildae watched as her kinsmen threw themselves into the water, completely ignoring the fact that they could not swim. The Orcess felt repulsion at their stupidity, she never remembered the warriors being so careless. Perhaps that was why her father was king, he did not casually throw himself at the water and hope for a successful outcome. He was cunning and calculated. Ithildae remembered he often made other Orcs do the more daring tasks; they would comply to please their king, but it often came with the loss of their lives.

Shouts of guttural Black Speech tore her back to the present. She flicked her gaze up and saw her brother and a numerous amount of other Orcs running along the bank. The dwarves were doing fine defending themselves while being tossed amongst the freezing rapids. Ithildae was thankful dwarves were so resilient against things such as cold. A human would have frozen solid in minutes.

Legolas suddenly bounded into the fray, his seemingly endless supply of arrows finding secure places in the skulls of attacking Orcs. He glanced at the moving shadow in the trees, glaring, but deciding his father’s prisoners were of more importance. The Prince launched off the bank and landed on the heads of two passing dwarves, Dwalin was one. Ithildae heard his indignant shout of protest over the roar of the rapids.

A faint smirk tipped bitterly onto her lips as she breathed in the cold air, it was numbing her lungs. This was the longest she had to run in a long time, her legs were beginning to burn. The Orcess steeled her mind against the uncomfort. She had to persevere.

Ahead, lying across the river, a log loomed up. At least a dozen peachy colored Orc warriors were wobbling along its slick surface. Ithildae snarled to herself, what were they trying to accomplish? Thorin and Dwalin tossed axes down the line and with three precise strikes, cut the log in two, sending the squealing Orcs into the turbulent water. The Orcess curled her lip, what Orcesses saw in these brainless males baffled her.

Her attention was caught by a yelp of pain and the creaking of wood. She looked to see Bombur bouncing down the river bank, crushing groups of Orcs. Ithildae watched in surprise, how he was able to even accomplish such a feat was at question. He bounced down the river a few more places till he stooped, his arms shooting out, holding axes, and began twirling blindly.

One darker hided Orc missed the assault and backed away, watching crossly as the dwarf escaped and leaped into an empty barrel. The Orc warrior turned and looked up, catching sight of her. Ithildae sent him a glare she knew he could not see, his beady yellow eyes flickered and he turned away as if he had seen nothing. She looked down at the quickly passing ground beneath her pounding feet, he did not attack her.

Shaking off her thoughts, she observed the river. It would soon come to a very rapid current, losing anyone on foot along the twisting bends. She thought quickly, she needed to stay with them but could not enter the water at such a dangerous place. Looking up at the trees, she made her choice, swerving off into the dark shadows and scaling the nearest trunk. Ithildae would take a shortcut to the river’s delta, using the trees.

Sure enough, the dwarves cascaded down a section of powerful waterfalls and spun out into the river. The elves had taken a number of Orcs down, but they still pursued in a vast amount. Legolas was standing on the edge of a rock outcrop above the waterfalls. Ithildae came up on the bank to his right, watching the scene unfold from behind. Two Orcs were closing in on both sides of him. One held a wicked scimitar over his head, about to cut the oblivious Prince down. Legolas was focused on the escaping dwarves and not his surroundings.

An axe came flying from the river and hit the Orc in the chest, knocking him backwards from force. Ithildae identified the savior to be Thorin, giving the prince a disgusted look as he disappeared over the edge of a waterfall. The Orcess was shocked, to say the least. Thorin saved the son of Thranduil, though; she doubted the dwarf knew whom he had saved.

Ithildae stopped short, her chest heaving, ears pricked. Someone, or something, moved through the underbrush below her. She drew her sword, searching the thick brush. A dark figure crept through them, bow training on the standing elf prince ahead. The Orcess growled. She despised the elf prince but his death would be unfortunate.

The Orc came silently from the foliage, pulling back his bow with a soft creak. It was the same warrior who had seen her in the trees. Ithildae was frozen, surly Legolas heard it? He fired the arrow, only to have it tipped off course by another shot. Ithildae dropped out of her hidden place. Tauriel came flying towards the Orc with her daggers readied for a kill. The Orcess met her with sword drawn, surprising the elleth with her sudden dark presence.

Tauriel lunged back, raising her daggers. At this point, Legolas realized what was occurring and jumped to the aid of his comrade. Ithildae ducked his attack and stepped away, holding her sword aloft.

“Ithildae, please, enough!” Tauriel said angrily, desperate. 

The Orcess was silent, watching the expressions of the elves, flicking back to the Orc cowered in the shade. A deep growl rose in her chest.

“You would imprison or even kill me.”

Legolas tightened his grip on his twin knives, fighting Ithildae Orquwen while she was angry was not an experience he wished to earn.

“Lay down your weapons and submit.” The Prince said.

Ithildae surprised them with a mirthless chuckle.

“I have a duty, and it seems you are in my way.”

Tauriel's eyes widened, the Orcess moved like a bolt of lightning, slamming her elbow into the elleth’s ribs and then retracting and hitting the hilt of her knife across her brow, sending her to the ground in a daze. Legolas charged forward and swung a careful blow which skimmed the Orcess’s torso, she hissed in pain at the small laceration. A snarl left her and she spun at the male elf, wielding her sword as if it was an extension of her arm. He was pushed back under the severity of her blows, the edge of the outcrop appearing sooner than he expected.

Legolas kept his balance on the crumbling ledge, shielding and deflecting her sword with his daggers. The river was roaring, his eye scanned the ground. It was a drop but not a deadly one down to the boulder below.

“I wish I could kill you,” Ithildae hissed, the Prince met her cold eyes, they glittered angrily.

He grunted when she flicked her sword across his ribs, opening a similar laceration to her own inflicted by him. The pain stung a little, and would not have caused him to drop if she had not placed a solid nudge on his chest. Legolas looked down and braced himself for the landing. He bent his knees and absorbed some of the impact. The solid and slick rock still knocked his breath away. Craning his head up, he saw Ithildae’s form slide away from the edge. Legolas gasped and stood, glaring at the ground and cursing his father for ever training the Orcess.

-xXx-

Ithildae spun away from the edge, her blood boiling and her cut stinging, she felt the warmth of her blood oozing down the black tunic. Tauriel was lying on the ground, the elleth groaned and blinked, trying to clear her head. The Orcess took a shuddered breath to ignore the she-elf's pain; Tauriel would be fine in a few moments. Another set of eyes bored into her from the trees, she looked up to see the Orc watching with reverent fear.

Narzug ground his teeth together, willing himself not to run. Gundulbûrz was more powerful than he assumed. He backed away when he saw her approaching, dark clad and sword gleaming. Soon, she was hardly a step away from him, she was taller than he, straight backed and controlled. No scent came from her, just like Ninkhont. Fully expecting death and to meet the same white gaze of her master, the Orc looked up.

Her face was entirely hidden by dark cloth and shadow, in the dull light two orbs shown out. They were not white, but a cold blue, very icy and vivid. He felt pinned to the ground unable to move. Something was so familiar about them, yet they were entirely different.

“Go to you pack, be glad you have your life.” she said, her voice deep and smooth.