"That is, at least, fifty orcs." Meldor muttered underneath his breath.
After half a day in the road, their caravan halted when a large band of scourges was spotted further along the road, blocking their route. If it were only them, they would've forced their way past the scourges, but they were burdened by the heavy chests and sacks they had on their horses.
They could not make a detour, there were no other roads. And the field of grass was too tall and thick for their heavy caravan to go through.
"We are not far from Chaeld, where did this come from?" Orlem remarked.
"We have long ceased patrols in these parts, it is inevitable that the scourges return. These creatures reproduce like rats." the elf prince leaned in to rub the mane of his mount. The horse grunted in appreciation.
"We will have to drive them away, and deal with them far from the road." Orlem imitated the prince, but his horse neighed in annoyance. It was a Chaeldean stallion, he had lost his Atherdaine mount in Chaeld.
"How many will you need?"
"At least ten my lord, I could do with fewer, but it would take time "
Orlem briefly glanced back at the other elves who had been idle, awaiting the result of their discussion.
"You have them." replied the prince without much thought.
The elf turned around, and called for volunteers. As usual, his lieutenant Tholpiel, and his friends Cirdan, and Elendiel, were the first to answer. But they were only three, and he needed seven more.
"Sauldor, you are coming with me." Orlem called out another elf to join.
"I am guarding the grain, Orlem." the fearful elf reasoned, reacting as if he were being wronged. He pivoted his head to the prince for sympathy, but Meldor was looking the other way.
Elendiel creeped behind the elf and spanked his horse. The frightened beasts rode out of the file, bringing his rider with him. Cirdan received him and stilled his horse and spread his arms around Sauldor.
"If I die, I would curse you even beyond the grave." the inexperienced elf spatted at the duo.
"There, there… Bring that ferocity in the battle, and you'd be more than fine." the elf responded playfully thumping his chest.
Before long, the volunteers had been gathered, and under Orlem's leadership, rode out towards the scourges. They left behind a cloud of dust that made its way to the prince and the remainder of the riders.
After Orlem's group had gone a distance, Meldor ordered the rest of the caravan to slowly move forward. As their horses trotted, they watched the attack squadron approach nearer to the scourges.
Just moments later, the first of the orcs had noticed the riders. The scourge shrilled and alarmed his rubble, and in a drove swarmed to the elves. The elves unsheathed their swords, but did not give battle yet. Some led the taunted orcs away from the road, others scattered to the stragglers that had not joined the rest.
The orcs of the east were purplish in color and short in stature. They were ferocious and brutal and physically superior to men. However, being lesser scourges, they were elementary in their thinking. Intelligent enough to craft crude weapons such as staves, spears and axes, but impossible to reason with. They attack at first sight of foe, like mad dogs.
The elven efficiency made quick results, and the road was rid of the orcs. Orlem and his group had made them gather in one big cluster further into the field, and had started slowly reducing their numbers.
Like wolves shepherding their prey, the elves circled the scourges, slaying those that come near to their swords. Orlem the captain, looked the most capable of them all, being able to accurately land his strikes without slowing his horse. Tholpiel the lieutenant, displayed the same prowess, but his swordsmanship was not as aggressive. Their friends, Cirdan and Elendiel, were not so far behind, being superb swordsmen themselves. So were the rest, being in the prince's guards, meant they were the finest in the Kingdom, in the way of the sword. Except for one.
Sauldor, coming from the line of scholars, was a skilled poet and orator, but lacking in his swordsmanship. And this was displayed as he struggled to synchronize his swings and his mount's speed. The look of frustration told he was trying his hardest.
Meldor grinned and sighed, it was something to be expected. The elf did not join his retinue willingly, his father, who worried his son was too tame, made him enter the prince's service.
Then the prince's expression changed, to that of surprise and worry. He saw an orc wound Sauldor's mount, making it fall, and with it Sauldor.
The prince reached for his bow, which he had kept in his saddlebag, as well as a few arrows from his quiver. The orcs had noticed that Sauldor had been dismounted, and ran towards him. The other elven riders had noticed his predicament, but they wouldn't be able to aid him on time.
Thus, Meldor swiftly aimed. As he stretched the string, the veins on his hand glowed and flowing out the tips of his finger, an emerald flame enveloped the arrow. When the load was released, it ripped the air and so much so that it left smoke on its trail and produced a piercing whistling sound.
The first orcen head on its path exploded at the power, and the arrow went through. It would slay another until it was halted.
Meldor would fire the remaining arrows, an arrow each second. Like lightning strikes, it wrought havoc among the orcen ranks, and brought time for Saulder to stand up to his feet and for the riders to come to his aide.
The prince sighed a sigh of relief, not a sweat on his brow. His grand power was a common sight to his retainers, but they couldn't help but be in awe every single time. They have elvish powers themselves, but none as mighty as their prince's. And fittingly so, the blood of the elven kings flow through him.
Meldor returned his bow, and as if nothing happened, returned to his usual calm.
No other difficulties happened after that, and with Sauldor resting on the sidelines, Orlem and the others finished the orcs to the last man. Fifty orcs lay dead, at the cost of a wounded horse and a petrified elf.
With the threat taken care of, Meldor commanded the caravan to resume to its normal speed. The bloodied elven riders rode out of the fields to rejoin their prince, and they halted again to receive them.
"Thank you for saving me, your highness." Sauldor bowed before Meldor, paler than when he had left, "But I must request that I be exempted from these activities."
"We are in a time of war, you should learn to fight Sauldor. Not for me, but to at least save yourself." Meldor words were stern, but they were softly spoken.
Sauldor accepted his advice with grace, but he could not hide his displeasure. Elendiel spoke to him words of encouragement, but it worked to the contrary.
"The Orchgonds, Orlem" the prince blurted out, as if he suddenly remembered something, referring to the heart of the scourges that crystallizes upon death.
"What of them, my lord?"
"You should retrieve them."
"I don't understand… may I ask why?" Orlem questioned, partly because he genuinely failed to comprehend the purpose behind retrieving such lowly artifacts, and partly because he was not exactly thrilled to return to the fields when they had just arrived.
"We are no longer in possession of the vaults of the Atherdaine, we need all the resources we could get." he moved his eyes around to address everyone, as he gave them a solemn reminder. The mood changed, but to Meldor, it was for the better.
Heeding the prince, Orlem and the rest rode back to the fields. Fortunately, the elves were skilled extractors. Even when they had ceased from collecting gonds from lesser scourges thousands of years ago, they still valued and harvested artifacts from the greater scourges and great beasts. It was dirty and bloody work, but the fair-skinned elves were no strangers to dirt and blood.
All in all, they were able to retrieve forty-nine Orchgonds, out of the fifty orcen corpses. One of the orcs hit by Meldor's arrow was hit in the chest, piercing the heart, making crystallization not possible. But it was barely a loss.
"They are really small… but these stones still fetch silver." Meldor commented as he held one in his hand, it was only as large as a toddler's clenched fist.
The green stone shone radiantly against the sun. Within it, something magical was confined, the glow flickered like a beating heart. And in each flicker, the holder could feel the crystal throb.
It was a proper gem, beautiful and of value. But it wouldn't hold a candle against even the least of the stones in the treasure hold of the Atherdaine.