Bolg's Death

By the time Allen spotted the Warg Riders in the distance, it was already the afternoon two days later.

The weather was poor that day. The sun flickered in and out of the clouds, and by now it should already have sunk beyond the other side of the Misty Mountains.

That made the dense woods along Mirkwood's eastern edge seem even darker.

As the light gradually faded, the distance between Allen and Bolg steadily shrank.

Even while galloping through the dense forest, Allen immediately picked out his target: the Warg Riders' leader, the pale-skinned Bolg.

At last, Allen was certain he had caught up with the target he meant to kill.

As Allen drew closer, the Warg Riders heard the commotion. They stopped and turned to look at him, going on alert.

But by the time the Warg Riders turned around, they were already well within range of Allen and his personal guards.

Allen and his guards swiftly reined in their horses, drew their Noldor Rune Bows, and unleashed a hail of Noldor Arrows at the Warg Riders.

Fourteen men, fourteen bows, fourteen arrows-with the advantage of surprise, they could hardly miss.

The Half-orcs' armor might as well have been paper. It could not stop those rune-inscribed arrows at all, and everyone struck tumbled from his Warg.

Driven by the tremendous power of the Noldor Rune Bows, some Noldor Arrows punched straight through the Half-orcs' bellies, killing their Wargs as well.

Allen paid particular attention to Bolg. Bolg managed to dodge the first arrow, which Allen had aimed at his heart, by sheer luck, but it pierced his unarmored left shoulder. Allen's second arrow killed the Warg beneath him just as it began to turn.

With his shoulder wounded and his body sprawled on the ground, Bolg was deeply frustrated. He had never expected enemies to pursue them from behind. All along, he had been watching for the woodland Elves ahead.

By the time he reacted, the enemy had already loosed two volleys, killing more than a quarter of his men.

He had no choice but to scramble up, call over a Warg, and mount it, then begin organizing his men for a counterattack.

The humiliating encounter made his face twist into an even fiercer grimace.

And when Bolg had finally rallied his forces and charged toward Allen's group,

the human and the Elves sent a third volley sweeping over them.

Now on their guard, the Wargs began deliberately dodging the arrows, and this time few of their riders fell.

Bolg reacted particularly quickly, twisting sideways to evade an arrow from Allen. Then he got a clear look at Allen's face.

Even after all these years, Bolg had not forgotten that face-the audacious human who had dared to ambush him in the Misty Mountains.

In that instant, Bolg remembered the other Half-orcs' mockery, Azog's punishment, and his cutting remarks.

Rage surged straight to his head, stripping away his reason and making his hideous face uglier still.

Allen paid no mind to what Bolg was thinking. Watching the Warg Riders charge, he gave a sharp whistle and led his guards back the way they had come.

Yes, Allen intended to exploit the Elves Horses' vastly superior speed and endurance to kite these bastards to death.

And so a running battle began, with Allen leading his personal guards in an endless gallop ahead.

They deliberately maintained their distance from the Warg Riders, neither shaking them off nor letting them catch up, giving them the illusion that they could close the gap.

As they rode, they kept drawing their bows and shooting behind them, taking every opportunity to kill their pursuers.

The Wargs were cunning and treacherous. Whenever they saw an enemy aiming at them, they slowed down and darted left and right to evade the shot.

But they could not escape concentrated fire from several archers, and one after another they toppled to the ground.

Soon, fewer and fewer Warg Riders remained in pursuit of Allen, while the sky grew darker and darker.

Bolg truly lived up to his reputation as a fighter capable of making Legolas's nose bleed. He survived Allen's relentless attention.

He dodged repeated shots from Allen and Hollimion, and once even blocked an arrow with his weapon.

In the end, he slipped into the tightly packed ranks of Warg Riders, making himself difficult to target.

By then, he had also calmed down. He recognized Allen's plan, but now he could neither advance nor retreat.

He could already tell that the Elves' horses were far faster than their Wargs. Escape was impossible. They would only be caught during their flight and die shamefully beneath the Elves' arrows.

Besides, he believed he still had a chance in the situation before him.

Most of the men he had brought were Azog's elite guards, far stronger fighters than ordinary Half-orcs.

Their Wargs were also stronger and more vicious.

Night had already fallen, and soon they would not be able to see a hand in front of their faces.

Even though more than half his men were dead or wounded, they still outnumbered Allen's group by more than two to one.

Bolg did not believe that the human's and the Elves' warhorses could outrun his Wargs in the dark.

Even if they could, their riders would not be able to shoot accurately at night.

Then the hunter and the hunted would switch places in an instant. At worst, he would have a chance to escape.

Of course, Allen could not let this battle drag on into complete darkness. His disadvantage at night was simply too great.

He was ready for a final showdown with Bolg, but he still needed a suitable location. Charging Warg Riders in a forest was hardly wise.

His guards were also becoming increasingly spread out from him among the trees. He needed somewhere to regroup.

He had already chosen the spot during his pursuit: the bank of the Running River.

There were almost no trees nearby, and fighting the decisive battle there would give Allen a greater advantage.

Soon, the two cavalry forces burst out of the forest one after the other and reached the bank of the Running River.

Allen stopped leading his guards onward. Instead, he shouted, "Prepare for close combat!" and turned his horse around.

At the same time, he hung his bow on his horse, called out to rally his men, and charged toward the Warg Riders.

At his command, Allen's personal guards, the Twilight Knights, drew their Noldorin Rune-swords, wheeled their horses around, and followed him.

Beneath the now completely dark sky, streaks of White Light flashed across the Rune Longswords raised by the Twilight Knights.

On their galloping horses, they streaked toward the Half-orcs' ranks like bolts of lightning.

Seeing Allen's force turn around and prepare for a decisive clash, Bolg grew excited. He grinned, his face even more hideous than it had been in his rage.

This was the moment he had been waiting for, the opportunity he believed would let him win.

He loudly ordered the Warg Riders around him to charge, while he himself rushed straight toward Allen.

He would kill this human with his own hands and wash away his disgrace.

As he raced forward, Bolg saw a flash of White Light in Allen's right hand, and a disposable lance more than two meters long suddenly appeared.

By then, the distance between them was rapidly shrinking.

Allen swiftly settled into a charging stance in the saddle, leveling his lance at Bolg.

He was not confident he could kill Bolg in close combat, so he made full use of his ancestors' wisdom: every extra inch of reach was an extra inch of strength.

That was cavalry combat-bloody, direct, and brutal.

Allen kept making tiny adjustments to the lance's tip, aiming at Bolg as he raced toward him.

Yet at that very moment, Bolg fell into a daze.

Even at night, a Half-orc's vision was exceptionally clear. Bolg simply could not understand where the lance in the human's hand had come from.

By the time Bolg snapped out of it two seconds later, Allen was already upon him. Startled, he threw himself sideways and rolled off his Warg's back.

The instant Bolg dropped, Allen's lance pierced the Warg's neck and drove toward the spot the Pale Orc had just occupied.

Had Bolg not reacted quickly and jumped off, he would already have been skewered along with it.

Just then, a riderless Warg following behind Bolg lunged at Allen's Elves Horse.

Allen released the enormous lance and steered his Elves Horse aside in time to avoid most of the force of the Warg's pounce. What little remained did not even scratch the horse's scales.

Like bolts of lightning, the Twilight Knights also burst through the Warg Riders' ranks unscathed and gathered around Allen.

The Warg Riders' formation, meanwhile, had been shattered by the Twilight Knights' charge.

The surviving Warg Riders began to panic. They had realized that these opponents were nothing like the human or Elven cavalry they had faced before.

These Elves' horses showed no fear of the Wargs beneath them, or even of the sharp blades in their hands.

When their scimitars struck the Elves Horses, it was like striking human chain mail. They could leave only shallow marks on the horses' bodies.

The Elves in the saddle were also exceptionally skilled fighters. In that brief clash, they had killed most of the Warg Riders' companions.

Their swords were simply too sharp. Some Warg Riders had even been cleaved in two as they passed.

Faced with such enemies, they were terrified. They all looked toward Bolg in the middle of the battlefield, hoping he would order a retreat.

Of course, Bolg could not give that order. He knew retreat meant certain death. There was no escaping enemies like these.

He whistled, summoned a Warg, and climbed onto its back, intending to charge Allen again.

Before he could get moving, fourteen Noldor Arrows swept toward him, followed immediately by a second volley, pinning both him and his Warg to the riverbank.

At that, the remaining Warg Riders finally scattered in a frantic flight.

At Allen's signal, Hollimion led the Twilight Knights after the fleeing Warg Riders.

Allen dismounted and approached Bolg, who was still twitching. He had to admit that Half-orcs were remarkably hard to kill.

Even with arrows sticking out all over his body, Bolg had not died immediately. He lay on the ground, fixing a dead, fishlike eye on Allen as he approached.

Allen had not come over to mutilate Bolg's corpse. Bolg was clearly beyond saving-how could anyone survive with his upper body full of arrows?

Allen was very interested in his armor. In the film, the equipment Bolg wore had looked like scrap metal, yet it had blocked a slash from Legolas's Beast-Biter. That had left a deep impression on Allen.

Now, that same scrap metal had stopped many of the Noldor Arrows shot at him, which puzzled Allen greatly. Those arrows were enchanted.

Looking at the gleaming silver-gray armor on the bastard's body, Allen could not help wondering whether mithril had been mixed into it. After all, Azog controlled Moria. Even if they dared not mine there, they must have acquired plenty of its existing stock.

Allen found a Half-orc's scimitar on the battlefield, sent the dying Bolg to the afterlife with a single stroke, and began dismantling his armor.

As he worked, Allen kept furiously cursing Bolg's madness. This fucking armor had grown into his flesh! Did this bastard not feel pain?

After a great deal of effort, Allen finally removed all of Bolg's armor by the time darkness had fully settled. He bound it together with strips of cloth taken from the Half-orcs and tied it to his horse. As for Bolg's corpse-well, best not to mention it.

Allen merely cut off Bolg's head and took it with him. He intended to give it to Thorin as a gift. After all, there was far too much bad blood between their two families.

The Twilight Knights gradually returned to Allen's side. They were Elves; their night vision might not rival that of Half-orcs, but it was far better than a human's.

Each carried several heads, some more than others. Then Hollimion told Allen that all the fleeing Warg Riders were accounted for, though a few Wargs had escaped.

Allen nodded, judging the pursuit a fairly flawless success, and offered his personal guards a few words of praise.

Then he led them toward Lake-town.