Ch 11 Dance of death

The four remaining wraiths converged on Aragorn. He fought them, knowing only he stood between them and his friends and family. He was determined not to fail.

He concentrated on the wraiths, watching as they slowly came towards him. He noticed one was slightly ahead. He remembered Glorfindel telling him, “Force your enemy to come to you. In doing so, you have the advantage of meeting him on your terms. He will then be forced to react to what you are doing. In the dance of death, you must lead, not follow.”

He was calm, waiting for the moment to start his dance of death. The wraith was now in front, and Aragorn went on the offensive. He brought his sword up, saluting his enemy, then thrust with lightning reflexes. The wraith was unable to move quickly enough, and received a sword thrust in the chest. He then disappeared, leaving three against one.

The three were pressing forward, forcing Aragorn to defend himself. The floor was slick with blood, and he felt himself slide. He managed to right himself, but not before receiving a blow from a sword. The blow landed on his wrist. He came close to losing his sword, but managed, barely, to hang onto it.

Slowly Aragorn felt his strength being drained. He had been fighting for what seemed like hours.

“Do you yield, human?” rasped a voice, as though the wraith found the word foul on his tongue.

“I yield to no one, neither to you nor to your master,” responded Aragorn.

“It will be the death of you,” growled the second wraith.

“Then let it be so. I am not afraid to face my death, if you go with me,” said the future king of Gondor.

Just then, the third wraith, which had managed to get behind Aragorn, brought his sword towards Aragorn’s unprotected back. As Aragorn felt a whisper of air and spun around, he saw Gil-galad throw a knife. He saw the wraith evaporate in a puff of smoke, then redirected his gaze to the two remaining beings.

Aragorn knew he must use caution and not become overconfident for that would be his downfall.

The wraiths started to press forward, trying to force Aragorn go on the defensive. Suddenly, one wraith darted forward, only to be met by a sword thrust, which caught it in the chest. He, too, disappeared.

It was now one-on-one. The two remaining combatants knew only one would survive. Both were determined it would be them.

Elrond watched with pride as his foster son fought. He fought the encroaching darkness. “Do not worry. Aragorn has been trained by the best. He will be victorious.” Elrond then noticed Arathorn had made his way, slowly and painfully, to the elven lord’s side. “You have trained him well, my friend.” Elrond smiled at the human, and turned back to the battle.

Aragorn was slowly being forced to retreat. As he stepped to the side to avoid a sword thrust, his foot slipped on the wet floor and he went to his knees. He saw the sword descending, and managed to lift his own sword to partially block it. Instead of entering his chest, it skidded along the ribcage, bringing with it fire and pain.

Aragorn lunged with his sword, catching the wraith in the chest. There was an ear-splitting shriek as the wraith disappeared.

As Aragorn fell forward into darkness, he heard Elrond and Arathorn call his name. He tried to answer, but the blackness claimed him.