[General POV]
Shadowstar advanced like a rising tide, the thrown spears and arrows nothing more than an annoyance. His tough skin, hardened by the bond with Aldril, gave him abilities far beyond those of his kind. His dark coat formed a fine contrast with the warm rays of the morning sun, and the unsuspecting orcs could only watch in horror as their arrows and spears missed.
Even the hard metal of those trolls, emboldened by the task of stopping such a fierce steed, cracked and broke like mere branches beneath Shadowstar's powerful steps. Aldril didn't even need to swing his swords; his elegant and captivating steed took care of everything.
For the elves and men, such a sight was nothing short of magnificent, inspiring them even more than they already were. In the years to come, they would sing of the rider who fearlessly rode with valor before the orcish host: "And I saw him, like a shadow reflected by the rays of the sun; wherever he rode, terror devoured the orcs, and their arrows were useless. The black steed, the harbinger of death, left a trail of bodies with faces frozen in fear."
"Quickly, don't waste time with the orcs," Thorin urged his men, his determined eyes focused on the figure ahead, clearing the path for them. 'How strong has he become since then?' he wondered.
He remembered that Aldril hadn't been so strong when his journey began. He knew that over time, that young half-elf human had grown far stronger in an exaggerated way. 'A monster blessed by the Valar,' he thought to himself.
His battle goats were in no danger. That path of death carved by Aldril gave them the security that they wouldn't need to worry about the orcs. Even if that were the case, Thorin doubted the orcs would approach this path. The sight of bodies piled in a straight line would be enough of a deterrent.
"Damn it, that bastard is getting ahead of me!" Glóin roared, his face red with fury as he tightened the straps of his goat. "I'm going to lose if I don't kill some orcs!"
Balin sighed, shaking his head with exasperation.
"Sometimes I wonder if you're younger than Kíli and Fíli," he muttered, urging his goat to speed up.
----
Aldril cleared a nearby encirclement at the base of the eastern arm of the mountain, any orc foolish enough to challenge him, poor fools! Only death awaited them. Aldril's swordsmanship, like a dancing blade, made him appear as a thorny leaf spinning amidst a storm.
His steed, Shadowstar, didn't lag behind. With its robust body and strong hooves, it struck at the orcs that dared to attack, delivering blows so precise and powerful that they deformed the metal of their helmets. Many of them lay around, heads or bodies crushed by the fine mark of a hoof.
"Pathetically weak," Aldril murmured arrogantly, cleaning his sword with a slow, deliberate motion, as if the spilled blood were nothing more than a minor inconvenience. His gesture was a blatant provocation, and it had its effect. An orc, unable to bear the disdainful gaze from Aldril despite its evident fear, let out a furious growl.
Without hesitation, the orc charged at him, weapon raised. But it wasn't alone. At its side, a warg, foam and saliva spewing with every growl, joined the attack. The beast's jaws opened wide, displaying sharp, deadly teeth, as it leaped with the lethal grace of a predator directly at Aldril.
Aldril's draconic eyes fixed on these pitiful creatures daring to challenge him. With a smooth movement, he dodged the warg's attack, while his right hand seized the orc's head, the exertion of force making the metal of its helmet tremble and screech.
A deafening roar, full of fear and pain, echoed across the battlefield. The warg, which until then had shown reckless ferocity, pulled back, ears flattened, its eyes wide in terror. It felt something it had never felt before: death personified before it. Its instincts pushed it to flee, and with a powerful surge, it turned and ran desperately.
But its escape was cut short when a throwing axe lodged in its skull with a dull, final thud.
"Yes! That counts as four!" Glóin exclaimed joyfully, almost dancing on the spot, raising his fist into the air proudly.
The dwarves had arrived to the rescue, and Glóin, who had lagged behind in the kill count competition with Aldril, didn't miss the chance to increase his score. Determined to keep the advantage, he took advantage of Aldril's distraction to bury his axe in the corpse of a nearby orc.
"Here's another! I've got forty points!" he shouted, laughing with satisfaction as his voice echoed through the sounds of battle.
Aldril's keen senses didn't miss Glóin's sneaky move, but he ignored it, shrugging as he crushed the orc's skull in his grip, its blood spilling onto his hand. With a simple gesture of disdain, he shook off the blood, dismissing the filth.
"The path is clear," Aldril said, turning around, his draconic eyes fixing on Thorin, who took a cautious step back in surprise, pointing.
"Your eyes, Aldril! Since when do they look like a dragon's?"
Thorin's exclamation drew the attention of the other dwarves, who, horror etched on their faces, witnessed the anomaly. It slowly faded until Aldril's honey-colored eyes returned to normal.
"Dragon's eyes?" Aldril muttered. "Probably because Smaug's blood entered me," he said, dismissing the dwarves' concerns with a wave of his hand. 'But certainly, perhaps my mood swings are due to not fully absorbing the magic and blood of the dragon,' he thought, aware of his constant changes.
"It doesn't matter now," Thorin said as his dark eyes focused on the high hill. There, as though taunting him, Azog stood looking down at him with contempt, his personal guard behind him, like loyal guard dogs.
There were six well-armored trolls, their armor different from the others. It seemed to be forged with better materials, after all, they were Azog's personal guard, assigned by him. He didn't want a repeat of what happened that time in the Misty Mountains, where he was nearly killed by that son of that damn elf.
At the thought of that elf, Azog looked at Thorin's companions. There's that bastard! With a defiant smile, he pointed his prosthetic at Aldril, daring him to climb up, trusting his personal guard. He had the vague belief that Aldril couldn't fight against all six trolls.
Even that thought persisted despite seeing Aldril massacre orcs as though they were mere children fighting a predator. His thirst for revenge had clouded his judgment. Adding to that, the arrival of the eagles had completely ruined his strategy. Now, he had nowhere to run, so the last thing that occurred to him was to kill Thorin, at least then he would be satisfied.
"Well, it looks like that bastard is taunting us," Bofur said, his axe tightly gripped.
"I'll take care of those trolls, you all go after Azog," Aldril urged calmly. That provocation from a mere insect didn't work on him.
"No, I'll help you with the trolls," Glóin added, a greedy look in his eyes for the trolls' heads.
"Then it's settled. Aldril and Glóin will deal with those trolls, Balin and Bofur will come with me to kill that filthy orc once and for all," Thorin intervened, his face emotionless as he focused his gaze on Azog.
"This time, his head will be mine."
***
Filthy orcs! what books do you recommend?
Advance chapters in "p@treon.com/Mrnevercry"