(Story Contest Entry 2010) The Tale of Two Axes

[Eric C]

The men of Bree and the surrounding area had been hard at work plowing fields and planting seeds. Now, with a week’s worth of work behind them, it was time to unwind. The air at night was still cool. On the pegs beside the door were hung the many cloaks of the patrons of the inn. A warm fire crackled in the fireplace, casting light and shadow all about the walls and ceiling. Stories were told, songs sung and ale and beer drank. Things were beginning to settle down a bit. All of the news that was worth telling had been told. And retold. A couple of times.
The innkeeper knew that the men would be setting out for home soon, if there was nothing else worth hearing. While he was ready to get off of his aching feet, his purse was not quite fat enough from the night’s sales. His eyes scanned the room. They fell once more on two cloaked figures in a corner near the fireplace. He was frightened of them and did not want to look long upon the rangers. One of them was somewhat taller than the other. The taller was but a youth, still in training. The shorter must be his father; the few fleeting glances the innkeeper had gained of his face revealed that he looked much like the younger. He was about to avert his eyes when suddenly an idea struck him. “Um.” He stammered then, gaining his tongue, he shouted, “Who’s got another story?” There was a silence as folks looked blankly at him. Their minds churned for something that had not already been told. “Come on!” Cunningly, he turned his eyes to the rangers. “How about you, Master Ranger? Have you a name? What about a strange tale of your distant wanderings?” The shorter of the two rangers gave no acknowledgement. The innkeeper turned away, disappointed, “No? I guess not.”
The patrons turned back to finishing their drinks and meals. Some rose to leave. Then a voice, strong and smooth was heard, “Have you heard the tale of the two axes?” Heads swiveled around to see where the voice came from, for the rangers had not spoken above hushed tones since they entered a couple of hours earlier.
“W-what?” asked the innkeeper. The shorter ranger stood, tankard in hand and walked slowly toward a table near the center of the room. He let the heels of his leather boots strike against the wooden floor, the sound of it echoed through the great room of the inn. “I said, ‘have you heard the tale of the two axes?’” The Ranger drew a chair from under the table and sat where his eyes scanned every man before him. He could sense the movements of those behind. They were all anxious to hear this tale. “No? I thought not.” He threw back his hood revealing his dark hair and beard. His stern face, though weathered, bespoke of royalty long buried. He drew a long draught from his tankard and set it on the table. Catching a barmaid’s eye, he looked hard at the vessel. The barmaid fetched a jug from the bar and quickly refilled the tankard. The ranger took a sip then cleared his throat.
“My name?” began the ranger. “I am called many things. Some of them not so nice.” He gave a knowing grin that dropped a few eyes in shame. “But my proper name is Angarth.” Pausing, he sipped from the tankard. All eyes were on him, some already enthralled, many skeptical. Angarth set the tankard down and slid it away a few inches. He began again:
About four years back, our chieftain sent the Lad and myself over the Misty Mountains and through the dark forest of Mirkwood to the land of the wood-elves and men of Dale. But more specifically we had gone to seek out Dain, the new King Under the Mountain. We arrived in Esgaroth to find that it was no more, burned by the Dragon Smaug in the rampage that cost him his life. But new building was already begun. We also noted that the town was nearly devoid of all fighting age men. After a fine feast, the people told us that Orcs had descended upon the Lonely Mountain hoping to catch them all unawares after their defeat in the Battle of Five Armies. The men of Esgaroth had gone to help the Dwarves fend off the assault. We would find them to the north of the Lonely Mountain. The next morning, refreshed by their hospitality, we set out upon the trails the Dwarves themselves had taken toward the Mountain.

Scouts guided us to our destination. There amidst a vast army of Men and Dwarves, we found Bard and Dain in a pavilioned tent discussing an urgent matter. The guard announced us to the kings and they admitted us at once. I noted that the man and dwarf passed knowing glances between the two as we introduced ourselves.
“It appears we have arrived at a very bad time for the two of you.” I said.
Dain said, “Not at all. We could use a couple of men with your abilities about now.”
“Oh? What is the trouble?” I asked.
“We’ve a scoutin’ party of Dwarves that has gone missin’.” Dain told us. “Would you be so kind as to find them or news of them for us? I mean since you’re in the area, we could certainly use your help. You would be greatly rewarded.”
I said, “We did not come to do the work of mercenaries. But we will help however we can.”
We ate a meal with the warriors and asked questions about where the scouts were lost. At dark, we strapped on our sword belts and quivers and braced our bows. Then we slipped into the woods and left the war camp behind.
We moved a couple of miles into the woods and struck a north-south path. Following this path, it was not long before we found tracks visible to our keen eyes even in the dark. It was obvious there was a brief battle here. Elyon, the lad, found blood a few feet up the path, dwarf’s blood. We searched and found the war gear of five dwarves thrown away into the underbrush beside the path. We took time to divide their essential gear, their belts and axes – fine axes they were – their knives and small bows and quivers, between the two of us and we set out. There were two types of tracks to follow, both moving together. One type was the tracks of the Dwarves with their heavy boots. The other was that of the steel-shod Orcs. Together the lad and I estimated that there was a large raiding party of Orcs escorting our lost Dwarves to their camp.
With arrows on the string, we moved swiftly and silently along the path. About midnight, a sound brought us to a sudden halt. There was a bend to the left in the path. The sound was the harsh voice of an Orc warrior. The stench of Orc was strong on the air that met us. I peered carefully around the bend and saw a force of Orcs surrounding a group of five Dwarves. With a signal, Elyon and I moved off the path and into the trees. Quietly we made our way to a position alongside the party of captors. With silent signals I directed the boy where to shoot his arrows. He was well trained, but still untried in battle. I did not wish to try him now, but it was time.
We drew our bows and together let arrows fly. Mine struck the Orc Captain through the throat while Elyon’s slipped through his armour between the shoulder blades. Without a noise, the orc slumped to the ground. The others made plenty of noise for him. In an instant two more arrows found their marks. Two more orcs fell dead. The Orcs were in complete confusion with their leader laying dead. When our third volley found their marks, the Orcs knew which way to counter. With a shove of my hand, Elyon ran silently back the way we had come.
Slinging my bow across my back, I drew my keen sword, Autheg. I cried, “Arnor!” and broke through the treeline. The closest Orc was surprised and my blade split iron helm and skull. He fell away but others took his place. I fought and many of them fell. I quickly lost count of the vile creatures that lay slain by my blade. I briefly wondered where the lad was, if he had made it to a better vantage point to continue the battle. There was a huge orc before me. He fought me bravely. He too fell. But as he fell, there were two sharp pains as though the fangs of a wild beast sunk through the hand and wrist of my sword hand. My sword fell to the ground. I staggered. Looking, I saw two orc arrows, one behind the little finger and the other behind my wrist. They bit deep.
I did not realize, but the boy had not been idle. He quickly set about cutting the Dwarves’ bonds and rearming as many of them as he could. He then continued sending deadly arrows into the ranks of Orcs. Many fell to his skillful aim. The Dwarves stood to fight as well.
Over me stood a yellow fanged orc, his scimitar ready to take my life. He raised it high over his head. I fumbled for my knife, but it would be too late. Then there was a battle cry. With a ferocity unmatched by any Dunedan to date, a sword took off the arm of the orc. In an instant, the orc’s head rolled and the body fell dead. Over me stood Elyon, a fell look in his young eye. Another orc charged, hoping to catch us off guard. Elyon was aware of him and sent a Dwarven throwing axe to assail the charging orc. I saw the pleasure in the eyes of the Dwarves that quickly formed a wall about myself and the lad. With a cry in their strange tongue, the Dwarves charged into the remaining Orcs. Many of the foul servants of Sauron fell, but some fled.
One Dwarf, evidently the leader, stepped toward me. “We must hurry.” He said in his gruff voice, “I heard ‘em sayin’ there’s a large company of Orcs not far away.” I watched as two Dwarves with axes held ready moved down the path and out of site. The leader poked me in the shoulder to get my attention. “I am Baraz. We must get those arrows out of you. I assume you were sent from Dain?”
“We were. Elyon, get me something to bite down on. This won’t be pleasant.
I took a solid stick between my teeth. Baraz grasped one of the arrow points. I bit hard as he snapped the head off. He removed the shaft and set his dark Dwarvish eyes on mine. “Are ye ready?”
“Do your worst, Master Dwarf.” I bit the stick once more and he broke off and removed the second shaft.
I retrieved bandages and a leaf of athelas from a pouch while we discussed possible plans. I chewed up the athelas and applied it to the wounds. As we talked, Elyon wrapped the wounds with the bandages. Baraz and his Dwarves were carrying detailed information about the Orc battle lines. I knew this information must get back to the Men and Dwarves. Elyon retrieved my sword. I grasped it with the bandaged hand and tested my swing. My control of the blade was acceptable. I sheathed the sword.
“Well,” I said with a sigh, “Elyon, you make certain these fine Dwarves get back to their base. I’ll draw off as many of the foul folk as I can.” Elyon nodded his ascent and turned to walk away, but then he stopped.
“What do you mean you will draw them away, Father?
“Just what I said. Orcs move fast when they have a mind to. It is likely we will not make it out without a diversion. The wind is coming from the east. I will go into the east. That will pull my scent to them and off of you if you will go south-west.”
“But Father!” Elyon protested.
“Now is not the time to argue!” I rebuked him. I looked hard into Baraz’s eyes. He nodded, understanding my intent to get the boy out of harm’s way. “We each have a duty to perform. These Dwarves have important information that can win the battle. They must get through. It falls to you, Lad, to get them home.”
Elyon hung his head low. I cupped his cheek with my good hand. He looked at me, a tear in his eye. “It is important that you do this. If I do not return, make sure the tale of Angarth and Elyon is told among our people.” Elyon’s breath caught at my words. “Be brave and strong, Lad.” I encouraged. He wrapped his arms tight around my waist. I embraced my son. He pulled away, plucking up his courage and stepping back. A tear streamed down his cheek.
“I am proud of you, Father.” His voice was a hoarse whisper filled with emotion.
“And I you, Elyon.” Then I looked once more to Baraz. Soon he and his people had departed with Elyon in their midst. I watched them disappear up the path. I knew they would leave the path soon because it would be too easy to catch up to them if they remained on it. I swallowed hard, putting aside my own emotion and thinking of the task at hand.
Quickly I gleaned a few arrows from the previous fight. I tested my hand on the bow. It hurt, but it would perhaps be serviceable. Checking my gear to make certain everything was secure, I dashed into the woods heading east. The thick foliage seemed to give way as I came on.
It was not long before I was rewarded; behind me I could hear the sound of Orcs crashing into the undergrowth. I ran hard for a while, making plenty of noise to be heard as well as smelled by the foul folk. They moved fast. I could hear them closing. I only hoped they could not see me. Still moving quickly, I fell silent. The Orcs slowed their pursuit, uncertain of their direction. I crouched in a thicket and waited with arrow to string. On the Orcs came. They were off track. I waited for half their company to pass by. They were only a few yards away, hunched black figures moving in the starlit woods. Rising silently, I took aim and let fly with the arrow. An Orc fell. The others barked orders for him to get up, but by the time they found the arrow in his neck, I was long gone. In this way, I harassed them, all night, keeping them angered enough to stay interested in the pursuit.
But as dawn neared, I was out of arrows. I came to a glade of tall grass. After some thought, I skirted it and took up a position across from where I had just come. Lovingly I lay aside my bow and quiver. I would need these no more. I applied new bandages to my hand as best I could in the dark and one-handed. Then I waited. I thought of the Dwarves and hoped they had made it back safely. As for myself, I knew not the land and knew not another route out of this wood and back to friendly ground. So I prepared to make a valiant end.
Soon a dark figure appeared through the trees opposite me. It had seen me standing, a dark silhouette against the tree line to my back. The figure stopped but was joined by many more. I saw Orcs with bows among them and thought they would simply kill me from a distance.
“Come you filth, if you dare stand against me. For I am Angarth and I fear no Orc or other foul creature of Sauron.” I drew my sword, the blade flashing in the moonlight. “Come, gird up your courage and feel the bite of Autheg!”
“You will die human!” A harsh voice bellowed back. The laughter of the Orcs floated after the voice.
“Will you kill me?” I challenged. “Come! We will see who stands at the dawning of the sun.”
“I bring friends!” cried the Orc. Suddenly he bolted into the glade, sword drawn. Behind him Orcs poured from the woods. I raised my war horn to my lips and blew such a blast the Orcs shuddered. Some turned to run but were forced to stand firm by their comrades. With the cry, “Arnor!” I charged forth. I drew my knife with my left hand.
Thus I joined the deadly dance of battle. They felt the bite of Autheg all around. I clove my way deep into their ranks. Before such fury, some of the foul folk forsook combat and bolted into the woods. Desperately I fought on. Steel rang on steel. Shields were cloven and black blood flowed.
But I was tiring. I knew the fight, no matter how valiant, would soon end. And I would not like the end of it. I only hoped now to infuriate the Orcs enough that they would kill me quickly without the torture they were known to inflict upon their victims at times. Again my battle cry rent the air. I hewed down two Orcs that stood against me, stepping over their bodies to unleash death upon my next target.
There was a sudden sharp pain in my right hand. Autheg fell harmless to the ground. I cried out in pain. Before me stood the Orc Captain. With the flat of his scimitar, he had slapped the bandaged wounds. Instantly firm hands grasped me. The knife was wrenched from my grip. I struggled against vise-like hands. In a moment, I was lifted from my feet and slammed hard onto the ground. I gasped for air. Horrid faces snarled down at me. They kicked me and spat upon me. I felt my ribs cracking. They raised their swords but I would not close my eyes, anticipating death. I would stare my death in its ugly face.
A throaty war horn blasted in the air. A flock of arrows tore into my attackers. Orcs screamed in dismay and forgot their prey that lay breathless on the ground. Gruff Dwarvish voices hollered a battle cry and I heard feet stomping heavily into the glade. The Orcs turned to flee. An Orc body fell dead on top of me, an arrow through its throat, its black, blood soaked tongue dangling from its mouth.
Hands wrested the dead Orc off of me. Someone looked down upon me. My eyes focused. The blood besmirched face that I looked into was that of Elyon, my son.
“I’ve come for you, Father!” He shouted over the din of battle. Another face joined his. It was Baraz, his red beard tucked into his belt.
“Elyon?” I was confused.
“Do not fault the boy, friend Angarth.” Baraz said, “He would not stay behind in the camp as long as another Dunedan was lost somewhere in a foreign wood.” They helped me to my feet. “He has distinguished himself well in battle this day. Ye should be proud.” I took Autheg from Elyon, who had retrieved the weapon from the tall grass.
“Let’s get ye to the rear so ye can be seen to.”
**********

We stayed among the Dwarves a few days to celebrate the victory and to let me heal from my wounds. The tales they told of Elyon’s exploits in the battle amazed me. But the time of our departure drew nigh. We said our good byes and prepared to go. It was a sad parting for we had grown fond of the Dwarves.
The morning came for us to go. Elyon and I secured our belongings on our mounts. Baraz and his Dwarves- the ones we rescued- hailed us before we could mount and ride away. In his hands were two packages. Studying each in turn, he handed one to Elyon and one to me. We found inside two axes of Dwarvish make. Their hafts were of a dark hard wood carved with intricate knot work. Their blades were etched with the image of a dragon. Baraz said it was in honor of our fighting spirits.
“I have nothing to give in return, friend.” I said, perplexed.
“Ye ‘ave given us two things already beyond compare.” Baraz assured us.
“Oh?” Said I.
“Ye ‘ave given us our lives. And ye ‘ave given us yer friendship.” He wiped a tear from his cheek. “With these we’ll be satisfied.”

**********
The occupants of the inn stared blankly for a moment at Angarth.
“Hogwash!” declared one of them.
“Hogwash you say?” the ranger’s eyes were on the man.
Nervously the Innkeeper stepped forward. “I think he means yer tale is a bit hard to swallow if you catch my meanin’.”
“I catch it.” The ranger showed no sign of agitation.
“I-if perhaps you could show us some proof of this adventure you speak of?”
Angarth slowly leaned back in his chair, making certain that his tunic sleeve slipped up past the scars on his right hand and wrist where arrows had once pierced his skin. All eyes were on the scars. They were filled with wonder.
“If that is not enough.” Angarth turned his head to the side. “Elyon!” He called. The younger, taller ranger stood, throwing off his cloak. In a few long strides, he was at the table. Upon its smooth wooden top, he laid two axes, hafts crossed near the heads. They were exactly as Angarth had described in his tale.
“Behold the two axes.” Elyon declared.

[Mirimaran]

*Applause!*

Great story, lots of action! Just a couple of things, it's Sauron, and Tolkien never used the term human, he always used Man or Men. Again, a great story overall, loved the dwarves!

[Eric C]

Corrected the spelling but will leave "human" where it is. I like it better than "You gonna die man!"

[Cleddyf]

its really good, i like it

[Ernildir]

Well written! I agree with Mirimaran; it's nice to see some Dwarves.

Corrected the spelling but will leave "human" where it is. I like it better than "You gonna die man!"

We get a lot of that in LotRO with the automatic text. "Die, [insert race here]!" It's not so bad with Hobbits, Elves, and Dwarves, but there can be some amusing sentences if you play as a Man.

[Greg]

Liked it very much, Eric. Always a sucker for stories with Dwarves!

[Eric C]

Greg: I've played with this story for a long time in an attempt to explain the axes I'm doing a makeover on. One of them is of course my "ugly axe" that I featured in another post. The other is an axe that I am working on for my son. When this competition came up, I thought it would be a great time to get the story down. Also, Rangers always have interaction with the Elves. But just maybe they would have sent an envoy to the new King under the Mountain.

Ken: I did toy with that sentence when I wrote it. I knew that Tolkein's works were full of phrases where Men were called "man," "men," or 'Man Flesh!" But that sentence just didn't sound right with "man" inserted. It sounded a bit '70's ghetto.

[kaelln]

Awesome job, Eric! I like the father and son theme.

[Eruant]

Very nice work, I applaud your skills.

[Ranger of Arthedain]

I finally got around to reading it, and might I say very nicely done, Eric!

Hmm..

that would be an interesting story to do...a story about a 70's ghetto Ranger.

[Eric C]

I finally got around to reading it, and might I say very nicely done, Eric!

Hmm..

that would be an interesting story to do...a story about a 70's ghetto Ranger.

Owww! My side hurts!

[Mirimaran]

Now that would be fun, as some of us actually remember the 70's LOL

[kaelln]

I always thought if you remembered the 70's you weren't there. I wouldn't know, because I remember it, therefore, I wasn't there! (Wait! Ummm, hmmm, paradox!)

[Eric C]

How would we model our ranger? With an afro that makes him look like a Q-Tip and platform boots or would he be like Fonzy from Happy Days, able to snap his fingers and orc hosts flee while beautiful women come running?

[Eric C]

Okayyyy, don't know how I managed a double post. That's what I get for posting before I've had my coffee.