Night settled over Lake-town.
The walkways grew quiet as lanterns dimmed and the last voices faded. Most of the town had gone to sleep, still excited from the celebration earlier that evening.
Inside the Great Hall, the Dwarves rested as well, their spirits high. Tomorrow they would begin the final part of their journey.
The Lonely Mountain was finally within reach.
Luke, however, wasn't inside.
He sat on the slanted roof of a house near the water, looking up at the moon reflected across the dark surface of the lake.
"Hmm," he murmured to himself. "I like peaceful nights like this. Water, quiet air…"
He leaned back slightly, resting his hands behind him.
"…though it would be more peaceful if something wasn't ruining the night."
His gaze slowly shifted toward the entrance of Lake-town.
Dark shapes were moving along the distant walkway.
Orcs.
They were slipping into the town quietly, spreading along the wooden bridges with weapons in their hands.
Luke watched them approach without moving.
"Well," he sighed softly, "there goes the peaceful part."
At the edge of Lake-town, the Orcs moved quietly along the wooden walkways, their boots thudding softly against the planks as they spread through the shadows.
At their front rode the pale Orc commander on a snarling Warg, the beast lowering its head and sniffing the air for a scent.
The creature growled.
It had found the trail.
Dwarves.
The Orc commander's scarred face twisted into a satisfied grin as he raised his blade slightly.
"Good," he muttered. "They are here."
He turned toward the others behind him.
"Spread out. Find them. Kill every Dwarf."
The Orcs chuckled darkly as they began moving deeper into the sleeping town, their weapons already in their hands.
Then a voice spoke.
"That would ruin the story."
The Orcs stopped and looked at the figure.
A man stood a short distance in front of them on the bridge.
Luke.
He looked completely at ease, standing with his hands loosely at his sides as if he had simply wandered into the wrong place.
"Do you really think I'm going to let you run around killing people tonight?" he asked calmly.
The Orc commander studied him for a moment before letting out a harsh laugh.
"Another man of this town," he growled.
Luke tilted his head slightly, as if considering something.
"I'll make this simple," he said. "You can fight me."
Several Orcs began laughing loudly.
Luke lifted his right hand lazily.
"To make it fair, I'll only use one hand," he continued. "If you manage to force me to use the other one, then I'll stop interfering and go back to minding my own business. After that you can hunt the Dwarves however you want."
The Orcs exchanged glances, amused by what they were hearing.
"Kill him," one of them snarled.
A group of Orcs rushed forward at once. One of them ran past Luke, trying to ignore him and push deeper into the town.
The Orc barely took three steps before his body crumbled into dust.
The others stopped immediately.
Luke had not moved.
He slowly looked at them again, his expression unchanged.
"Do you think I'm joking?" he asked quietly.
His gaze moved across the group, settling on the Orc commander.
"If you want the Dwarves, defeat me first."
He raised one hand slightly, almost lazily.
"Face me directly in close combat and you might even have a chance," he said. "But if any of you tries to walk past me again…"
The faint dust from the first Orc drifted across the wooden bridge.
"…then that will be the end of you."
The Orc commander glared at Luke and lifted his blade.
"Kill this man," he snarled.
The Orcs answered with savage grins, their yellow teeth showing as they tightened their grips on their weapons. The smell of blood and wet fur from their Wargs filled the cold night air.
"Kill the human," one of them barked. "Then we eat him."
They rushed him all at once.
Several Orcs leapt from the rooftops while others charged straight down the bridge, blades raised to split the human's skull.
Luke did not move his feet.
He simply lifted one hand.
The first Orc came screaming toward him, axe swinging down toward his neck. Luke's hand moved in a short chopping motion.
The strike was so fast the Orc's body ran two more steps before its head slid from its shoulders and bounced across the wooden planks.
Hot blood sprayed across the railing.
Another Orc lunged from the side, jaws open wide as if he truly intended to bite through Luke's throat. Luke's hand flicked sideways.
The Orc's body tore open across the waist. The upper half slid away from the legs and crashed against the bridge with a wet thud.
A third Orc leapt from behind, raising a jagged sword.
Luke didn't even look back.
His arm shot backward in a straight punch that sank deep into the creature's chest. Bone cracked under the impact as his fist drove through ribs and into the heart. When Luke pulled his hand back out, the Orc collapsed instantly.
The remaining Orcs hesitated for half a second before charging again.
Luke still used only one hand.
A backhand smashed one Orc's jaw sideways, teeth and blood spraying across the planks as the creature spun and fell. His fingers closed around another Orc's throat and he twisted slightly; the neck snapped with a dull crack before the body dropped limp.
One tried to slip past him toward the town.
Luke's hand moved again.
The Orc's body split open across the spine and collapsed in pieces across the bridge.
Within seconds the wooden walkway was covered in blood and broken bodies. Wargs snarled and tried to lunge forward, but a single strike crushed the skull of the first beast while another had its throat torn open by Luke's bare hand.
Silence returned to the bridge.
Luke stood exactly where he had been when the fight began. His hand hung loosely at his side, stained dark with Orc blood.
Only one remained.
The Orc commander.
Luke slowly lifted his gaze toward him.
"So," he said calmly.
"Are you coming?"
"Are you coming?"
The Orc commander turned and ran Away. At least now he knew the dwarves were close to the Lonely Mountain—better to reach Azog than die here.
*****
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