The Last Battle of Arwen Hawken

THE LAST BATTLE OF ARWEN HAWKEN

By

David McClain

Arwen Hawken emptied the bucket of slop over into the hog trough and walked hurriedly away from the pen and back to his ramshackle cottage. He had much to do before he left this place.

Entering the house, Arwen strode over to a large trunk in the far corner. Kneeling down before it, he opened the lid and began to pull out the things he would need in the coming days. First came his old breast plate and a battered helmet, both of which bore many nicks and dings from countless battles. Any self-respecting junk dealer would have turned up his nose at the dilapidated armor. Next he carefully lifted out his great sword.

Unlike the armor and the helmet, the sword was gleaming brightly as though it had been tended by loving hands, which of course it had. Laying it aside, Hawken brought out an astounding array of knives, daggers, maces and cross-bows one after the other and lay them all out on the floor for closer inspection.

With the exception of the sword, which he cleaned daily, it had been sixteen years since he had freed all this equipment from its resting place in the old trunk. He began to slowly dress himself for battle and muse wryly that the last time he did this, he had had the assistance of two young pages to help him. Well, he thought, things do have a way of changing.

Just like that very morning when the solitary rider interrupted Arwen’s breakfast by clattering to a stop at his front door, demanding water for his well lathered horse. The rider, a retainer of the Queen, had been sent by her to find Duke Ledos and his army. The Duke's army was off to the East searching out the stronghold of the largest Orc Clan in the kingdom. Their mission, to destroy them once and for all.

Unfortunately, the Orc army was not in the east but came upon the castle at night laying in hiding until the Queen’s army departed. Now the castle, defended by only a small contingent of the Queen’s own guard was surrounded, about to be overrun. The Queen smuggled the young retainer out via a secret passage in the castle and sent him to find her army.

Arwen listened to the young man’s story delivered in a breathless, high pitched voice of a boy who had not yet had his first shave. He merely nodded his head as the boy finished his tale. Arwen watered the boy’s horse and sent him on his way knowing that the errand was doomed.

There was no way the boy would be able to reach the army in time for them to return to do anything more than to bury the bodies of the dead.

Without giving it much conscious thought, Arwen knew what he had to do. He watched the boy and horse disappear over the rise of the land behind his farm and began to make silent preparations.

Feeding his animals and leaving their pens open so they could make their way to freedom, he gathered his provisions and weapons, packed them on his horse and was ready.

Arwen sat on his horse for a long moment staring at the old farm house that had been his home for the past sixteen years. He knew in his heart he would never see the place again. That thought alone buoyed his spirits. With a grin, he wheeled his horse about, booting him to a gallop as he headed toward his Queen and her besieged castle.

******************************************************

Legan Nostan was riding his fiery white war horse at a steady ground eating trot. Legan cut a fine figure dressed out in brand new shiny plated armor that gleamed in the afternoon sun. A long blue plume adorned the young knights helmet. The helmet itself sported side sheaths that completely covered Legan's face. He was the picture of youth and power. Anyone the young knight came upon made way for him to pass.

Up ahead, the open ground ended and the forest loomed. Legan decided it was about time to make camp for the night. He thought it best to stop on the edge of the river which he knew was just beyond the first hedge of trees before him.

As he entered the tree line Legan saw the river as it wound its way through the forest. He also spotted something else. There, on the edge of the river was a man sitting beside a small campfire.

Legan dismounted his horse quietly and stood watching. The other man was sitting on a log facing the fire with his back to the spot where Legan stood. Legan could see that the stranger was in his middle years, his hair was mostly gray and reached his shoulders. He was wearing a worn chain mail shirt that looked twice the age of the man wearing it. The old man looked to be tall, even sitting as he was. His shoulders were broad and not yet stooped with age.

Probably some retired old man-at-arms who still insisted on wearing his armor when abroad. Kind of pathetic, Legan thought. He had seen many of this type in the village inns he stayed at while on the road. Men who loved to sit around and tell stories about the good old days, harmless and kind of sad.

Legan, deciding the old man was of no threat, was about to lead his horse into the mans camp when the man spoke. Without rising or turning to face Legan, the old mans voice reached him and froze him in his tracks.

“You may approach my fire but keep your hands away from the sword.” As he spoke, the old man rose slowly to his feet and turned to face the startled young man.

Legan found himself held fast by the eyes of the old man. They were light blue and cold as a winter storm and as hard as the gaze of a war-hawk on the hunt!

“Well don’t just stand there gawking.” The stranger’s laugh held no mirth, nor did he smile. “Come over and rest. I have some dinner left if you be hungry.”

The sound of the man’s voice broke the spell of his gaze and Legan moved forward slowly, leading his horse behind him. The young knight stopped as he reached within a few paces of the stranger and finally found his voice.

“Thank you for your hospitality old father.” Legan's voice held an edge of irritation. “ But you should really learn to show more respect for a Knight of the Realm.”

The old man let out a loud laugh, reached out and slapped Legan on the shoulder so hard it almost staggered the younger man. “Please forgive an old man’s lack of manners milord.” He smiled broadly as he turned back to the fire leaving Legan to make his way to another log on the other side and find his seat.

“What is your name oaf?” Legan said roughly as he took his seat.

“Arwen Hawken,” the old man said softly as he resumed his seat and took out a wicked looking knife. He began to cut meat from a haunch that was roasting on a spit over the fire.

Legan was at first shocked at the name then angry. “I would advise you not to bandy about the name of such a hero of the realm old one. It is well known that Hawken died in exile years ago, though why he was in disfavor with the Queen no one knows.”

“Believe what you will pup.” Arwen waved his hand in dismissal. “I was never exiled. I took up farming!” He chuckled once more, though Legan failed to see the joke of his words. The old man was obviously touched in the head, he thought, it is probably better just to let him have his delusions for the time being.

“ Where are you bound for?” Legan thought it was time to change the subject. “Myself, I am headed for the castle to volunteer my sword to Duke Ledos in his great war with the Orc tribes that infest the kingdom.”

Hawken tossed a strip of meat across the fire to Legan who caught it in mid air. “Well my young friend you are just a tad late. The great Duke Ledos is blundering around in the east about two days ride from here. The Orc’s are only about a day from here to the west if you are interested. As usual, they caught the Duke with his pants down and are now threatening the castle itself.” Arwen’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

Legan was stunned. “How do you know this old man?” He demanded.

“Because early this morning a messenger from the Queen rode into my farm on his way to find the good Duke.” Arwen said simply.

“So, where do you now travel?” Legan asked

“To the castle to see if I can help out a bit.” Arwen answered flatly.

Legan let out a loud laugh. “Oh that is too funny old man. What on earth can you do against this Orc army that is supposed to be besieging the castle?” He laughed again as he thought of this man riding to the rescue against an entire Orc army.

Arwen fixed Legan with his cold blue eyes. No emotion showed on his grizzled face nor was evident in his voice when he spoke. “How many men have you killed in battle boy?”

Legan stiffened at the question. “Well, none yet. I have just recently finished my training with a Master of Arms.”

Hawken nodded knowingly and stirred the fire with a small limb. “And how many Orcs have you seen up close?” He asked quietly.

“None yet, but I have been trained to fight them none the less!”

Rising from his seat, Arwen went over to his pack and began retrieving his armor, putting it on over the chain mail. When he was finished he took his great sword in hand and turned to the young knight. “I think it’s time for your first REAL lesson in fighting.”

Legan jumped up, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “Stay old man,” he yelled out. “I do not care to harm you needlessly.”

Hawken smiled mirthlessly. “You can try kid, you can try.”

Legan stared unbelievingly as the older man advanced on him, his sword drawn. The young knight drew his sword and prepared to defend himself against this madman.

The two men circled each other warily, swords at the ready. Then Legan, thinking to end this silliness quickly, stepped in and swung his sword in a broad arc at the other man’s head, meaning to turn the blade at the last moment striking the other with the flat of the blade. He never got the chance. As quick as lightning Hawken parried the blow with his own blade, moved in close to Legan and drove his mailed fist directly into the younger mans face. Legan Nostan wilted to the ground like a sack of potatoes and lay still, knocked out cold.

********************************************************


The young knight came to with a start. Struggling to his feet, Legan looked around wildly for the old man. He was gone! Not only was he gone but the fire was nothing but cold ashes and the land was lit by the full moon. This meant that he had been knocked out for quiet some time.

Angrily Legan stomped around the camp gathering up his gear. Saddling his horse, he was intent upon finding the old madman and getting even with that sucker punch. His nose throbbed so badly he was afraid it was broken.

Legan left the cold camp and crossed the river. Spurring his horse to a gallop, he quickly followed the easy trail the old man had left.

He didn’t have far to travel. No more than three miles into the forest Legan pulled to a halt at the edge of a clearing. There, out in the open was a fire burning low. Around the fire was at least twenty sleeping forms. The first thing he noticed was the stench. The smell was almost overpowering. He had heard of this smell all his life but it was the first time he ever experienced it first hand. Those sleeping figures were Orcs!

Dismounting quickly, Legan dropped to the ground behind the base of a great oak tree, his heart pounding like a runaway horse. Slowly he worked his sword free and watched the camp closely as he tried to figure what to do next. He had never been so scared in all his short time on earth. What if they woke up? What if they found him hiding here? All these things were going through his mind. He never heard the soft footsteps behind him. Suddenly a rock hard hand clamped over his mouth and the sharp point of a knife touched his throat!

Arwen bent close to the young knight prone on the ground and whispered softly in his ear. “It took you long enough lad, and I left a trail a blind man could follow. Now I am going to remove my hand so try not to yell or wet yourself, Orcs have a really acute sense of smell.”

As soon as the hand was removed from his mouth Legan twisted around so that he could see who was kneeling beside him. “Damn you old man!” He whispered fiercely. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Just stay here and be very quiet.” Hawken said softly. “When I’m ready, I will call to you.” Having said that, Hawken slipped noiselessly away from Legan and toward the sleeping camp.

Legan could not believe what he was witnessing. The old man was going into the Orc camp alone! He lay down next to the tree waiting for the alarm to be raised by the sleeping Orc camp, not knowing what he would do then.

Almost a half hour passed with no sound coming from the camp. Legan was beginning to believe that maybe the old man had come to his senses and fled the forest. Then he heard the strangled cry and the loud crash of a body hitting the ground.

Legan was about to spring up and run when a voice called out from the camp. “Come on in here brave knight, its all safe now.” Legan could not believe his ears. It was the old man! He could just barely make him out now standing in the middle of the camp.

With a start he jumped up and ran down into the camp, his sword drawn. “Put that thing away,” Arwen sighed, “before you cut yourself.”

Hawken stood with one foot on the chest of an Orc who was tied hand and foot. All around them lay the bodies of the other Orcs, each had their throat slit. It looked to Legan as if the old man had slipped up to each one and quietly slit their throat until he had killed them all. All except for the one he had tied up like a pig waiting for slaughter.

This was the first time Legan had ever seen Orcs up close and what he saw awed him. The smallest was at least a foot taller than any man he had ever seen. Their black hard bodies were covered by a scaly skin. The Orcs were vaguely man like in form with two arms and two legs but their heads were like the heads of animals. Misshapen things that might have been wolves or pigs or any of a dozen types of wild beast. Slowly he dropped his sword in the dirt beside him. His mouth hung open in disbelief.

“Wake up lad. We have work to do!” Hawken’s voice brought the young man out of his daze and he looked to the older man with wonder. “How did you accomplish this?” Legan gestured about him at the dead Orcs.

“I thought that little lesson back at the camp would have answered that question.” Hawken said with a smile. “Boy, real combat is never a fair fight. Did ya think I was going to ride in here and issue challenges?” He threw back his head and laughed. “Hell no. I snuck into their camp and slit their throats one by one. Damned hard work too if you want to know!”

Legan shook his head in disbelief. “So what happens next?”

As if in answer to the question, Hawken reached down and pulled the bound Orc to his feet. With a quick twist of his knife he freed the Orc’s hands. Legan reached down and grabbed his sword, ready to skewer the Orc if he moved but the effort was wasted. The Orc stood very still, his beady little eyes staring at Hawken in fear.

Hawken turned to the Orc and waved his hand in dismissal. “Go you beast, run to the castle and report to your commander. Tell him ‘Orc Killer’ is on his way! If the Queen or her daughter have been harmed I will kill each and every one of you.” His voice was as hard as steel and Legan could, at that moment, believe that the old man was capable of carrying out that threat. So too did the Orc who stood towering over both men. He took a step back and turned as if to run but he was stopped when Hawken spoke again.

“Wait.” He yelled at the Orc. “Who is your commander?”

The Orc frozen in his tracks, turned back to Hawken. When he spoke Legan could tell that human speech was hard for the beast, his voice was low and guttural, “Oneck is leader, but One-eye be Chief of Clan and he with us.”

Hawken laughed at this information from the frightened Orc. “Tell One Eye his old enemy is near.” He reached up and traced the line of an old scar that ran from his cheek, down his jaw to his neck. “Tell him you saw this, he will know who I am.” Cutting his eyes to Legan, he spoke in a whisper the Orc couldn’t hear. “The old bastard is the one who gave me this and I am the one who changed his name to One Eye.” He chuckled as he watched the Orc nod quickly then turn and scurry out of sight.

“Now what do we do?” Lagan wanted to know.

“That’s the easy part.” Hawken replied. “We go to the castle.”

Legan swallowed hard. What the hell had he gotten himself into? He thought. The old man walked away from the dead in the Orc camp, whistling a nameless tune and moved to his horse as if he had not a care in the world.

“Gods protect me.” Legan muttered as he hurried to catch up to the old man. “What the hell am I doing following this maniac!”


*********************************************************

They tarried for some time in the area of the river before starting out toward the castle at a sedate walk, their horses moving side by side. Arwen explained to the younger man that he wanted to give the Orc plenty of time to make it to the castle ahead of them and deliver their message to the Orc leader, One Eye.

Legan was still confused and could not understand what the other man hoped to accomplish by forewarning the enemy of their approach. Arwen merely nodded and assured the young knight that what he had in mind was the only slim hope they had of helping the Queen, if in fact she was still alive to help at all.

It was mid-morning when they at last reached the cleared expanse that lay in front of the castle. They stopped their horses just inside the tree line and stared at the castle which lay upon a slight rise in the middle of the great open plain.

“Now what?” Legan asked the older man, half afraid of whatever answer he might get at this point.

“Simple, you go cut me a pole about seven feet long and sharpen one end will you.” Arwen waited for an argument but received none. Legan merely shook his head, dismounted and stalked back deeper into the forest in search of a suitable sapling to cut for the pole. Arwen smiled at this and shrugged, maybe the lad would be of some help after all he thought.

In no time at all Legan returned carrying a freshly cut sapling, about seven feet long and straight as a spear with one end sharpened as Hawken had requested. Arwen took the pole from Legan and inspected it closely.

“Perfect.” He dismounted and began to rummage in his saddle bag. “Now for the finishing touch.”

With that Hawken pulled out a packet wrapped in oil skin to protect it from the weather. Carefully he unwrapped the package and brought out it’s contents. A bright blue battle banner emblazoned with a lion and crown. Legan stared in disbelief, this was the battle standard of the Queen’s Guard! Hawken caught the young knight staring at the standard and smiled. “What?” He asked. “I was the captain of her guard you know.”

Legan just shook his head. He was beyond arguing with the man. Silently he followed Hawken out to the middle of the field where the older man busied himself attaching the standard to the pole Legan had cut for him. Once it was attached he drove the sharpened end into the ground. Then he stepped back and stared quietly as the standard caught the wind and straightened out displaying the great lion of the crest.

“Now we wait.” He told Legan simply. And they didn’t have to wait long. Just a few minutes after the standard begin to whip in the breeze the gate of the great castle opened and a group of Orc warriors came out.

In the center of the group Hawken could see the Queen walking flanked on either side by a huge Orc that held tightly to each arm. She was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and his heart did a quick flip as he took in her figure, tall and stately. She proceeded as if on a solitary stroll completely ignoring the surrounding hulks of the huge Orcs who held her captive, her chin up and her green eyes locked to his even at a distance.

Legan too, was struck by the beauty of the Queen. Her long red hair reached to her waist and though he knew she had to be twenty years his senior, to him she looked like a young maiden. As the group drew closer, Legan could make out thin streaks of gray in the Queen’s hair but nothing else to dispel the illusion of youth. He had never seen a woman so brave, for even though she was surrounded by enemies and her castle taken, she was as calm as a mountain lake.

Legan was still staring at the Queen when the group came to a halt ten feet from he and Hawken. Looking over at the old man, Legan was surprised at the transformation in Hawken. He was standing tall and straight, his eyes gleaming with an inner fire as he scanned the Orcs as if he was memorizing each face as grotesque as they were. Hawken’s right hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword and he stood with his feet apart and his body perfectly balanced. To Legan he looked all the world like a leopard poised to spring. He was about to speak to Hawken when there was a shuffle among the Orcs and one of their number stepped forward.

Legan thought that he had never seen such an ugly creature in his life. Even among Orcs this one had to be judged terrible to look upon. The Orc was old, the scraggly hair on his head was white and he walked with a pronounced limp. Though he was at least a foot taller than either of the men he faced, the Orc looked shrunken, maybe with age or infirmity, Legan could not tell. The old Orc had an empty socket where his left eye should have been. His right arm was shriveled and useless from an old wound whose scar was visible from the shoulder to the forearm.

The Orc stared with his one good eye at Hawken, totally ignoring Legan. “Hawken.” The Orc spoke in a loud guttural voice. “It is true. You live. I am glad to see this. Now I can kill you myself you cowardly bog slime!”

Hawken threw back his head and laughed as if he had just heard a funny joke. “Oh thank the Gods you too still live, One Eye.” He spoke so all could hear him. “Now you may once again dance at the end of my sword and this time there will be no escape for you.”

One Eye’s head, pig shaped and ugly, tilted to one side and his hand tightened on the ax hanging from his belt. Then he relaxed and he too barked a laugh that grated on Legan’s ears. Before the Orc could retort Hawken spoke again.

“One Eye I challenge you in the custom of the Orc Blood Feud - to single combat. Do you accept or will you die the coward you have always lived?”

There were murmurs within the ranks of Orcs and curses as the Orcs realized their chieftain had been insulted and challenged in the same breath. The old Orc nodded almost as if he had expected the challenge. “So you want fight One Eye.” He rasped out, spittle flying. “Me thought that you would do this. Why Queen not dead yet. She will see you die then me take her for mate!”

Hawken rolled his eyes. “Of course she will One Eye.” He sighed. “Shall we do this now or talk each other to death?”

Before One Eye could answer the queen broke free of her captives and ran to Hawken. She stopped in front of the old man and stared into his eyes as if trying to read some hidden message there. Hawken dropped quickly to one knee, his sword out and placed before him, the tip stuck into the hard earth of the plain. His head was bowed and touching the handle of the sword.

“M’lady” He murmured.

The Queen reached out and placed her slim hand lightly upon Hawken’s head and softly caressed his gray hair. “My Captain.” She whispered so low that Legan, standing right next to Hawken had trouble hearing her. “You’ve come back to me at last.”

Hawken looked up at his Queen and his face softened. “Just for a little while it seems m’lady. But do not fear I will do what needs to be done. One thing I ask of you now. May I wear your favor this one last time?”

The Queen smiled and removed a kerchief from the sleeve of her dress and, taking hold of Hawken’s shoulder she urged him up until he stood looking down at her. Then she gently tied the cloth around his right arm. “You have always had my favor my captain.” She whispered in his ear.

The Queen turned and walked slowly back to where the Orcs stood watching. Hawken turned and motioned Legan to follow him. They walked a few steps away from the ranks of Orcs then stopped. Hawken turned to the younger man and put one hand on his shoulder.

“Listen close lad.” He spoke low so as not to be overheard by the enemy. “Here is what is about to happen. I have challenged One Eye to a duel and he has accepted. Now in the time honored tradition of the Orc clans, he will send out ten or twelve warriors first to face me starting with the weakest and building up to the strongest. If I beat them all then, and only then, will I be judged worthy of facing One Eye.”

Legan was dumfounded. “You can not possibly face ten or twelve Orcs in single combat. What were you thinking? They will kill you then the Queen, not to mention me!”

Hawken smiled grimly. “Likely you are right lad, but I still have a surprise or two. The last thing I did before I left the farm was to release a carrier bird to the Duke. That bird, gods willing, has reached the Duke already. Now all I have to do is keep the Orcs occupied until the Duke gets here with his army. Our only hope is that he is not too late. What I need for you to do is not interfere with the fight. Unless of course old One Eye decides to renege on the deal and send all his troop at me at once.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because that is what I would do.” Hawken laughed. “I told you that being fair has nothing to do with a real fight lad.”

Legan could do nothing but nod his head in acceptance.

Hawken turned back to the crowd of Orcs and shouted. “Well One Eye, shall we dance the dance?”

For an answer One Eye waved to an Orc who detached himself from the group and advanced upon Hawken with his war club raised high over his head.

Hawken removed his covered shield from the back of his horse and quickly yanked off the cloth that had covered it during the trip to the castle. Legan’s eyes widened when he saw the crest emblazoned on the shield, it was the lion and the crown on a blue background. The battle shield of the Captain of the Queen’s Guard!

Arwen Hawken came out to meet the Orc who attacked with a wild yell and a broad swing of his club. Hawken merely side stepped the swing and buried his sword in the side of the Orc who crumpled to the ground.

As quickly as the first had fallen, a second one took his place and this time Hawken stretched out the battle, toying with the Orc, parrying blows and retreating and dancing around his foe. Legan knew at once what he was doing, he was playing for time, stalling to give the Duke more time to arrive.

And so it went. One after another the Orcs came against Arwen Hawken, Orc Killer, and one by one he struck them down. As Legan watched, he was enthralled at the grace of the old man who seemed to be engaged in an intricate dance with his enemies and each lived only as long as Arwen Hawken LET them live.

On and on the battle went until at last day was failing and there was a pile of almost twenty dead Orcs on the field. Orcs scurried about during a break in the action to place torches in a large circle in case light failed them completely. When this was done, a giant Orc, bigger than all the rest stepped forward and hefted his great two handed ax. This was Oneck war leader of the Orc clan and their greatest warrior.

Hawken stood leaning on his bloody sword taking in great gasps of air. Because he had toyed with all his foes and drew out the fight he was almost exhausted and had been hit a half dozen times by sharp blades. He was bleeding and looked like he had reached his limit of strength.

Oneck too had seen Hawken’s weakened condition. He advanced with great confidence, ready to finish this old man and gain the honor of being the Orc who killed the great Orc Killer.

Hawken barely looked up as the Orc closed in on him. His head hung in fatigue. Just as the Orc swung his great ax, Hawken threw up his shield and deflected the blow. The ax met the shield with a resounding crash and, though the shield deflected the killing blow, the force of it broke Hawken’s arm and he fell to the ground letting out a scream of pain.

Oneck yelled in victory and dropped his ax and grabbed for his stabbing knife, intent on cutting Hawken’s throat while he still breathed. Oneck was so sure of himself he didn’t notice that even though Hawken fell, the old knight had retained his sword as he rolled head over heels. Before Oneck knew what was happening he found Hawken once more facing him, on his knees. Oneck looked down just in time to watch in horror as Hawken’s blade buried itself in his belly!

“See lad.” Hawken yelled through teeth gritted in pain. “Never play fair!” As if to punctuate this remark, Oneck’s body crashed to the ground and lay quivering for a minute before death finally claimed him.

This was too much for One Eye to bear and like Hawken had feared, the old Orc screamed an order and the horde of Orcs surged toward Hawken!

Legan had been watching for this to happen and sprang at once to the side of his companion. Together, back to back they faced the milling Orcs who were packed together so tightly it was hard for them to get a good swing at the knights.

Slowly the two men, Hawken advancing forward, and Legan walking backward keeping his back against the other warrior, began to make way through the mass of Orcs leaving dead bodies in their wake.

They had almost reached the inner circle of the Orcs where One Eye stood with the Queen and her two guards.

Suddenly a war club made it through unchecked, and crashed into Legan’s head sending him to the ground.

The Orcs behind them quickly closed in and one stabbed down at the young man. Legan saw the blade coming through the blood that streamed down his face. He could do nothing but wait for death. But death did not come. Instead, there was Hawken who parried the Orc blade and whose own blade had taken the enemy’s head from his shoulders. Hawken reached down to help Legan to his feet and stiffened.

Legan regained his balance as Hawken slumped against him. Looking over the old man’s shoulder, Legan saw with horror One Eye holding a bloody sword that he had just withdrawn from Arwen Hawken’s back! Hawken sank to his knees then tumbled face forward into the dirt that was stained with Orc blood and now his.

Everything became a disjointed nightmare for the young knight as he lost all sense with the blood lust of battle. He saw a flash of the Queen sinking a small hidden dagger into the chest of one of her guards then she was out of sight.

Faces, arms, legs and flashes of torsos flew here and there within his field of vision as Legan stood astride the body of Arwen Hawken screaming his rage. Legan swung his great sword that ran red. Gore covered his hands and arms but he could not stop.

Through the red haze of blood and battle, Legan was suddenly aware of a different timbre of the cries around him. Orcs were backing away and some were turning and running. He saw a few pointing behind him but could not turn to look because he spotted One Eye trying to grab hold of the Queen. She was backing away from him brandishing her small knife.

With a wild yell, Legan finally left Hawken. He charged forward desregarding the other Orcs who seemed, at any rate to be largely ignoring him at the moment. They were pointing at the horizon behind him. Legan charged to where One Eye stood with his back to the young knight.

Legan did not hesitate, he swung his sword with all his strength and One Eye, chieftain of the Orc clan felt one sharp bite as his head flew from his shoulders. Then his body flopped on the ground lifeless.

All around Legan and the Queen, Orcs began to run in all directions, throwing away weapons as they fled. Legan stood winded and bleeding from dozens of cuts and stared at the Queen in bewilderment. The Queen looked over Legan’s head and gestured with one hand. “The Duke.” She said simply.

Legan turned and saw a huge dust cloud rising from the ground a few miles away. They were saved! He sank to his knees, unable to stand a moment longer. He could see Orcs streaming out of the castle and the few survivors who had not been slain outright were running out as well. A young girl, no more than fifteen or sixteen came running to the Queen and embraced her. The likeness was undeniable, this was the daughter of the Queen and shared her mother’s beauty.

The Queen pulled away from the young Princess and suddenly ran to where Arwen Hawken lay. Sinking to her knees she took Hawken’s head and held it in her lap. Her tears fell freely as she gently brushed the dirt from his worn face and beard.

“Oh you old fool.” she muttered between sobs. “Why did you leave me all those years ago?”

Hawken stirred and opened his eyes and stared up into the face of the queen. Blood trickled from his mouth and he struggled to speak.

“Is the Duke here my love? Did he make it in time?” A cough racked his body and the Queen held him tightly as she cried.

“Yes Arwen, the Duke made it. He is within a mile but that is enough to take the fight out of the Orcs it seems. Someone else is here Arwen.”

She moved slightly so that Hawken could see the Princess standing beside Legan trying to help the young knight to his feet. “Please Arwen, release me from my vow and let me tell her who her father really is.” she whispered fiercely.

Hawken shook his head weakly. “No my Queen. She is the daughter of the Queen’s consort, the Duke and that is the way it should be.”

He reached up with one hand and brushed a tear from her cheek. “I told you the day I left that I would always be here for you did I not? Well my love, I am afraid that after today you must find a new knight to watch over you and the child.” Hawken closed his eyes and for a moment. The Queen thought he had died but then he opened them again and looked at her lovingly.

“I think the young lad will make a good champion for our daughter. Please see to it my darling and do not cry. I will await you in a better place.” Arwen Hawken smiled, closed his eyes and breathed his last breath.

The Queen got slowly to her feet and made her way back to where Legan Nostan stood supported by the princess who couldn’t seem to keep her eyes off his face.

“Welcome young knight.” She said gravely. “You have been vouched for by the great Arwen Hawken and I gladly take you into my service if you still wish it.”

Legan dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “I want that more than anything, your Highness” He mumbled, stunned. “He really was Arwen Hawken wasn’t he.”

“He was, he is, and he shall forever be Arwen Hawken, First Captain of the Queens Guard.” The Queens voice rang with love and pride, and loss.