(PTII)Defenders of Middle Earth: A Middle Earth Story(Book 4)

Chapter 3: Open War

Astrid burst through the door of her house, tears streaming freely down her face. Sig spun around to face her, startled by her abrupt entry.

"Astrid! What's wrong?" He asked, immediately running to her and embracing her. As a ten year old boy, he rarely hugged her, thinking hugs were 'girly'. But having seen how distraught she was, he momentarily lifted his sanction on them.

Astrid didn't speak, instead only returning the embrace. After a few moments she had regained her composure slightly, and pulled away from Sig.

"Where's father?" She asked breathlessly.

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"I think they made their intentions pretty darned clear, lad!" Dain paced back and forth, his grey-flecked beard wagging with his movement.

"We cannot risk taking the offensive," Brand replied, his tone measured. His expression, however, made it clear that he was quickly losing patience with the dwarven king.

"Why not? I have a thousand battle-ready dwarves at my call! They're ten times better than Easterlings!" Dain's eyes bulged wildly from their sockets, and he had the look of a madman. Brand and Kell both were used to this however, for it was merely Dain's personality.

"Aye, but they outnumber us greatly," Dwalin shook his tattooed head. "If we make them attack us, we gain the defensive advantage. I have to agree with the Dalemen on this one, yer highness."

"Psh-Grrr!" Dain sputtered in anger as he slammed an armored fist on the table. "You all are pansies! That's what you are! Runnin' away from a perfectly good battle!"

"We are not running, King Dain," Kell said, carefully choosing his words. "We are merely forcing the battle to be on our terms."

Dain looked like he was about to make another outburst, but just before he opened his mouth his expression turned thoughtful. "When you put it that way..."

Just then two guards burst into the room.

"Harald, Vesker, I trust you have a good reason for interrupting," Brand said as he turned to face them.

"Aye, sire!" One of them exclaimed breathlessly.

"There was an... altercation in town. Between the Easterlings and one of our men," the other guard explained.

"Go on," Brand replied, waving for the man to continue.

"One of our guards got into an argument with their captain and... and the captain killed him."

"What??" Kell exclaimed, rising from his seat quickly before wincing in pain from his wound. "We can't let them get away with that!"

"Which of our men was it?" Brand asked. He went to extremes to make sure that he got to know each of his guards, for not only did it help relations between them and him but he also cared about them.

"It was Speer, m'lord." The guard shifted nervously, as if somehow guilty.

"Were you there?" Brand asked.

"Aye, m'lord..." The guard hung his head in shame.

Kell's eyes widened, and Brand drew his sword angrily. "Are the Easterlings still in the city?"

"No, m'lord,' the guard replied, looking down at his feet.

"Why didn't you stop them??" Kell exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at the guard.

"There- There were too many of them m'lord," The guard said, knowing that his excuse would be far from adequate.

"What were the words you spoke when you first took the cloak of the Guard?" Kell asked. The guard looked back at the grizzled veteren, his eyes begging for Kell to show mercy.