Movement IV:
Lament
Tears poured down her face as she savagely flung
herself at the orcs, almost hoping that someone would cut her down and
end her
unbearable grief. Everyone stared at her with a mixture of pity,
amazement, and
revulsion: pity for her sorrow, amazement at her skill, and revulsion
for her
mindless hewing at the orcs. But even as she carelessly attacked every
orc in
sight, it was as if she were Valar-touched, for none landed a blow upon
her,
much less kill her and take away her anguish.
You trained
me too well, Malron, curse you into the Void, she thought dully,
her heart
a chaotic maelstrom of emotions but her mind covered with a gray fog. You trained me so well that I cannot die
when I want to. For one instant, she thought about turning her
deadly sword
upon herself, but her instincts clamored at her to live—as well as her
own
nagging sense of responsibility. Once, she had told Haldar that she
served her
people before all else. Which included her own needs and desires.
Curse you
sevenfold, Malron, for you’ve made this sense of responsibility part of
me.
She knew that it was not her blood-brother’s fault, but she longed to
wallow in
self-pity and anger for it took away her own sense of guilt. Why had she not acted sooner? If she
had, Haldad might yet be alive. Her thoughts ran thus as she reveled in
the
spilling of orcs’ blood, taking an unwholesome glee as dozens of orcs
fell to
her blade. Yet somehow, she pulled herself together and fought with
control,
even if she slaughtered her enemies with a little more savagery than
necessary.
Then the next thought struck her.
Oh Eru… was
Haldar armored? Her mind raced back to when she had first spoken
with
Haldar, and her heart sank with foreboding. He had been wearing his
sword and
dagger, but not any armor, and she didn’t think that he had stopped to
put some
on when their father had fallen.
“Haldar!” she cried. “Haldar!”
She saw him standing over Haldad’s
body, beating away the orcs as they
tried to desecrate it. Her own blood boiled at the thought; Haldad
deserved
honorable burial rather than mutilation at the hands of the orcs.
“Haleth!” someone called, and she
felt a flash of anger and joy to hear
Malron. At least he was not yet dead. He had been separated from Haldar
in the
chaos that followed his shout.
But father is dead, why
couldn’t he have
fallen in place of father, then father would still live—
She shook herself from those
thoughts. To wish her blood-brother ill was
despicable, but she could not help herself.
She gestured with her sword at the
unarmored Haldar, and he nodded before beginning
to fight his way towards Haldar. But the orcs recognized Haldar as
another
leader of the Haladin, and they descended down upon him in a wave,
shrieking
curses in their foul tongue.
She opened her mouth to scream again
when he was bowled over by the sheer
numbers, but she saw him fighting and standing up again, although he
was
bloodied. His left arm was hanging limp at his side, and he was
wielding his
sword with his right hand alone. Haldar looked like some demon,
streaked with
blood and howling like a madman, and the orcs fell back at the very
sight of
him.
By then, almost everyone had noticed
the women on the field, and husbands
and brothers were making their way towards wives and sisters. No one
had heard
Haldar’s shout; it seemed as if that when he had shouted his news, only
Haleth
had heard. It was Kellan who first noticed that Haldad had fallen, and
he
cried, “Haldad has fallen!” Everyone heard, and everyone faltered, save
for
Haldar, Malron, and Haleth.
As Haleth cursed Kellan under her
breath, Cullan roared, “Haldar Haldad’s
son stands with us this day! Do not falter, Haladin! Fight against the
orcs and
avenge his death!” The Haladin shouted warcries once more, deep male
mingling
with the higher tones of women, but all fought with the same ferocity
if not
skill.
Both Haleth and Malron fought their
way to Haldar’s side about the same
time, and the three of them stood together against the orcs. Yet they
were
separated when another wave rushed into them. Haleth had only one
glimpse of
Haldar as a hulking orc assaulted him and then she was engulfed in her
own
desperate battle for survival.
The orcs were wary enough of her—and
interested in their own survival—that
they did not swamp her in sheer numbers. If they had, she would have
died. But
most valued their own skin enough that they hung back, letting smaller,
weaker
orcs wear her down before trying to kill her.
Another might have been horrified
that these thinking beings needed, hungered to kill to
sate their
unwholesome appetites, and frozen at a critical moment. Although Haleth
felt
the first touch of fear when she saw flickers of intelligence in
hateful eyes,
she thrust it aside. The battle calm that fell on her in practice came
to her
aid now, and she drove the orcs back, step by step.
Malron, too, was holding his own, but
Haldar was in serious trouble. The
orcs had recognized him for the leader’s successor, and twice the
number that
had attacked Haleth were streaming towards him.
As she cut down the last few orcs in
front of her, she ran towards Haldar,
hoping she could make it before he was overwhelmed. The orcs saw her
attempted
rescue and others jumped in front of her, slowing her progress even
more. She
screamed in frustration and dread as Haldar was ringed.
And then she saw it, knew
what
would happen as two orcs attacked Haldar at once and two more,
unnoticed, crept
behind him.
“Haldar!” she shrieked as he dealt
with the first two and moved on. “Behind
you!”
She broke free at last of her own
enemies and raced towards Haldar as he
turned to face the orcs behind him and yet more circled around.
And then his death came from the back
as an orc behind him drove his sword
into Haldar and she dashed away tears.
Haldar!
It was an ignoble death for a
warrior, but more than that, Haldad’s line
had ended just like that. No one remained—
I remain! she
reminded herself
fiercely as she reached Haldar at last. I
remain to take up Haldad’s sword!
Father and son lay close together,
but Haldar was just alive. She dropped
her sword heedlessly, ignoring the sounds of battle about her to
provide
comfort in her brother’s last moments. She fell to her knees and
cradled her
brother’s body in her arms.
“Take care of our people, Haleth,” he
whispered. “Take care of Janya.” He
grasped her hand, and she ignored the blood that stained it as she
leaned down
and kissed him on the cheek.
“I will, brother,” she said softly, but he was not
yet done.
“Love you, Haleth… always have.”
“I love you, Haldar, dearest
brother.” Her eyes filled with tears as his
breathing grew shallower and shallower, then stopped at last.
“Farewell, Haldar,” she whispered as
his spirit fled his body to some new
existence.
Then she rose, sword in hand and the
orcs backed away immediately at the
cold rage in her eyes. There was no hint of the tears that had covered
her face
a moment before, only hatred and the desire for vengeance.
She fought, killing all emotion in
herself until there was nothing but the
singing of her sword and the presence of death.
Orcs die as easily as men do.
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