Part 12

Legolas and Haldir drew their knives and waited, still but intensely alert.

Eowyn adjusted her helmet—trying to move the slits to somewhere near her eyes—and, positioning herself between the two elves, silently drew her orcan sword. It was shaped like a farm implement, and badly balanced, But fine, she thought, for hacking...

She was preternaturally aware of everything around her—of the door, and of the Orcs beyond it; of the elves, ready to unleash their fury; of her sword, heavy in her hand; of the man behind her, waiting to rush Mistress Ayleth to safety...

And of the ring at her breast.

But she tried to ignore that.

...

The door opened. “’Is Lordship wantssss—”

The Orc’s sentence ended in a voiceless hiss. Legolas freed his knife and, spinning it into position as he advanced, dispatched the Orc’s companion.

Haldir moved ahead, and the two elves ran silently up the stairs, with Eowyn following two paces ahead of Master Sighard and intent on clearing his path to the outside.

But when she reached the top, everything changed.

The elves were battling four beings—once men, no doubt, but now no longer, for when the knives passed through their bodies, though blood flowed, their wounds immediately knitted back together, and their attack continued unabated.

Eowyn skirted the melee, and approached the warrior’s leader, who hung back, shielded by his men.

He was clad in outlandish black armour, its rerebraces and vambraces embellished with strange spikes and cruel hooked blades, its breastplate enamelled with an heraldic device that seemed very familiar...

Eowyn’s hand rose to her chest.