The Lastborn: A Middle Earth Story(Book 1)(EDITING)

Chapter 11: Flight or Fight

   "Why haven't you gone back to relatives in Bree?" Gerithor asked. "It's far from safe in these lands."

   "I was afraid to. Bree's a long way from here, and I was very young at the time. I got used to living here eventually and by the time I was old enough to travel alone I decided I was happy here."

   "It must get lonely, being out here with no companions but the beasts," Gerithor said, feeling pity for the girl. He knew what a life of solitude was like, as he himself had spent many days far away from the rest of the Dunedain on long hunts and journeys.

   "It is, but I have a friend who used to visit me. He taught me how to use a sword." She looked over at the rusty sword propped in the corner. "I'm not a warrior by any means but it's helped me defend myself a time or two."

"A useful skill to have," Gerithor said approvingly. He looked out the window and saw that the sun was just now beginning to peek through the tree branches, and realized he had to leave soon. Part of him wanted to stay and talk to this kind young woman who had saved his life, but the rest of him was still in fear for his life and Alif's, and knew he needed to leave before the enemy found him here.

   "I'm afraid I must depart now, milady. I thank you very much for saving mine, and my nephew's, lives. But I'm being hunted."

   "I'll grab my things," she said, collecting the rusty sword from the corner as well as a few other odds and ends.

   Gerithor looked at her in confusion. "If I'm leaving, why are you packing?"

   "I'm coming with you of course! I've got a horse, and I saved your life. I think you owe me an adventure." She smiled at him roguishly.

   "No, you can't! It's too dangerous!" He looked at her in concern. She couldn't be any older than him, and he was sure she'd probably never even seen an Orc before.

   "Says who?" She raised an eyebrow challengingly.

   "Says me! There's orcs and who knows what else chasing me! I can't put you at risk. You can't come, you don't realize the evil that pursues us." He turned and grabbed Alif, putting him into his pack. Picking up his bow from the corner of the room, he walked quickly to the door. To his surprise, he looked behind him and saw the young woman following.

   "I.. Don't think I know your name." He said, looking back at her.

   "My name's Sarina."

   "Sarina, it's been a great pleasure meeting you, but I really have to go. Thank you for everything." He smiled politely and walked out the door. He began trudging down the road, but stopped when he heard footsteps behind him. Sarina was standing there, looking at him with an eyebrow raised.

    Gerithor sighed and walked back to her.
   "Look, I'm not sure you know what you're getting yourself into lass, but I'll let you make your own choice. You're your own person after all. But if you do decide to come, can we at least take your horse? It's a long way to Rivendell, and the enemy will be right on our tails as it is."

   She smiled. "I knew you'd see reason," she said, going back to the stable and saddling her horse. She led it over to Gerithor and handed him the reins, looking at him expectantly. "He's all yours."

   Gerithor took the reins gratefully and swung himself and Alif onto the horse, adjusting the child to sit comfortably in front of him. He put out his hand and Sarina took it, getting onto the horse behind him. The young ranger spurred the horse on, and they took off down the road.

   They had just crossed the ford when an arrow whizzed by, barely missing Gerithor's head. He looked in the direction it came from and saw a man wearing an iron mask, stringing another arrow to his bow.  To his left he saw another man as well as about ten orcs running to cut him off. He spurred the horse to greater speed, and bowled over an Orc that was unfortunate enough to get in their way.

  No sooner had they cleared the group of orca than they heard a chilling howl ring out behind them. Gerithor quickly looked over his shoulder and saw two orcs on wargs, slowly gaining on them. He leaned forward and the horse sped up, going now as fast as he could go.

Despite this the wargs were still gaining; Sarina's horse was clearly made for hauling a wagon, not outrunning spawn of Mordor. Gerithor pulled the reins to the side and the horse leapt from the road into the trees. The warg riders struggled to maneuver their mounts to pursue, but eventually were behind them again. They continued to slowly gain on them until one rider was only a few feet behind them, his mount nipping at the horse's legs. Sarina gripped Gerithor tightly in fear, her eyes wide as she watched. Gerithor drew his sword, ready to fight if necessary.

   Just then, another warg rider jumped out in front of them, causing the horse to rear up in fright, knocking all three of them off and onto the leafy forest floor. Gerithor quickly recovered and rolled into a crouching position, immediately looking for Sarina. She was pulling herself off the ground, and looked at Gerithor in terror. He ran to her quickly and pulled his pack off, handing Alif to her.

   "You have to get out of here! Take him to Rivendell! I'll hold them off!" He looked at her desperately, hoping she'd listen to him. She seemed to be frozen in fear. After a few seconds his words seemed to register, and she nodded at him and ran off into the forest as quickly as she could, the baby in her arms. Gerithor yelled at the top of his lungs and the three warg riders surrounded him. They suddenly parted, making way for an armored man atop a massive warg.

   It was the man who had almost killed him at Esteldin.

   The hulking brute of a man growled, and looked at Gerithor with a crazed expression. His bearskin blew wildly in the wind.

   "Ah, Ranger-child. I killed you once, I can do it again." He signaled to the other warg riders, and they backed away, but watched the scene unfolding with glee.

   "You should have finished me off then," Gerithor said menacingly, glaring at the man.

   "You're but a boy. Do you think you can defeat me??" He beat his muscle-bound chest, letting out a deep laugh from his core.

   "I've changed since we last met, scum." Gerithor's voice dripped with venom. He began to circle the brute.

   "You won't stop us. None of you will. You're all that's left of a pathetic race, doomed to die. You all think you're so noble, but you're not. You are but a shadow of what your ancestors were. And soon, you will fade into darkness just like them. At my master Arnakhor's hand." He bared his teeth.

   "Enough of this, fight me!" Gerithor ran headlong towards the huge man. He swung his sword as he rolled past, but the man blocked it with his axe. The young ranger swiftly turned and began a series of quick, powerful attacks that drove the man back. This is the man who kept me from saving my mother. The thought filled him with fury, and his blows grew stronger. The man was taken by surprise, and clearly wasn't expecting such a furious attack. He fell to one knee as he blocked Gerithor's strikes. But Gerithor knew he couldn't keep it up for long. His injuries, though momentarily dulled, would start to affect him again soon if he continued to fight with such aggression.

After the ranger's flurry of attacks ended, the brute swung his axe with full force. Gerithor ducked and sliced with his own sword, cutting deep into the man's leg. He howled out in pain, and began swinging his axe wildly. Gerithor deftly jumped out of the way of each attack. When he saw an opening, he attacked with renewed fury. He locked his blade against the man's axe and both men pushed. Gerithor looked at the man and narrowed his eyes, pushing harder. He saw something in the brute's eyes then that had probably never been there before. Fear. Gerithor grabbed the man's axe, and forcefully yanked it from his hands, forcing the man to fall forward. Gerithor swung down with it, embedding it in the man's back. The hulking man roared and pulled it out, ignoring the pain as he prepared to strike again. But he was too late. The last thing he saw when he looked up was the ranger's sword swinging towards his head.

   Gerithor let the momentum of his blade do the work, and the brute's head fell to the ground with a thump. His body fell soon after slumping onto the once-dry forest floor, now wet with the brute's blood. Gerithor looked at the two watching warg riders with hate, and they fled in fear, having witnessed their leader's death. Gerithor walked over to the body of his enemy, which lay twitching on the ground. He put a foot firmly down on it and it stopped. He had killed the monster. But there was still one man he wished to kill. The one who had killed his mother. The one whose name he now knew. Arnakhor.