"I don't understand why you insist on leading your people into such danger. You knew there were countless enemies entrenched here, and I still needed time to prepare. Thorin, I need an explanation."
Although his words were reproachful, Allen's tone remained fairly calm. He gently set his now-empty soup bowl on the battered stone table beside him.
Only his tightly clenched left hand betrayed that he was not nearly as calm as he appeared.
Just moments earlier, Allen had received the battle report from his subordinates. Even without counting the summoned Lion Hunters, more than a hundred of his men had been killed outright, all of them elite soldiers in full armor.
Most had died from blunt weapons striking vital areas through their armor. They had lost their lives shortly after being wounded, beyond any hope of saving.
Dozens more had survived, but their severe injuries meant they would never take to the battlefield again.
Allen's ability could only accelerate recovery and save as many of his men's lives as possible. It was still far from being able to regrow flesh on bare bones or bring back the dead.
Neither in the Battle of Five Armies nor in the campaign to drive out the Easterlings had Allen lost so many elite troops. Moreover, replacing those hundreds of Lion Hunters would likely require an enormous amount of Denars and renown. That would take a very, very long time-years, at the very least.
Saving Thorin and keeping an important ally from falling in the Grey Mountains was something Allen had to do, but he still found these casualties hard to accept.
"Explain what? The situation on a battlefield changes from moment to moment. The enemy was retreating before our fury. Shouldn't I have seized the chance to pursue them? Should I have