One week later, north of the Misty Mountains.
Thrain led the Dwarf coalition from the Blue Mountains in a mighty march. Thrain stood on a ridge, his steel war boots crushing snow.
Behind him, the battle banners of the Blue Mountains Dwarf coalition rolled like red lava in the cold wind.
Though the Dwarves had suffered greatly after the Battle of Azanulbizar a century ago, they now answered the call of Durin's royal house once more under Thrain's summons, gathering here.
In the Dwarf coalition, light infantry marched nimbly at the front. They wore light chainmail covered by bright silver scale armor, short-hafted axes and round shields clanging at their waists.
Heavy infantry phalanxes followed close behind, moving like fortresses clad in thick plate armor, wielding massive war axes and long-handled hammers. These plate-armored veterans had the upper portions of their hammer and axe handles wrapped with oil-soaked hemp cloth, ready to be ignited and thrown to create makeshift fire walls.
Eight hundred war-goat riders clustered around Thrain as they advanced. These war goats, like those from Dain's Iron Hills, had sharp horns and wore heavy iron armor. Their Dwarf riders sang war songs in Khuzdul with high spirits, their voices interweaving with the dull sounds of iron hooves striking stone like a grand symphony.
Dwarf war chariots rumbled in the center of the formation, sharp spear points protruding between bronze-covered wheels. Dwarf archers stood on the chariots, ready to support teammates and strike enemies with arrow rain.
Each chariot was pulled by six war goats, their wheels rolling over mountain rock sounding like giant beasts grinding teeth.
The rear siege corps pushed disassemblable catapults and ballistas, gifts Thrain had prepared for the Lonely Mountain's thick gates and rock walls.
Thrain gazed with stirring heart at the Dwarf army that had answered his call, raising his battle axe. The cold light reflected from its blade pierced the thick fog as he occasionally shouted: "Let Azog see that the fury of Durin's bloodline has never been extinguished!"
The Dwarves responded to their king by striking shields with hammers, their roar shaking the heavens.
Dain's distress letter crashed into the Dwarf camp at dawn the next day.
This carrier pigeon's right wing had been nearly torn apart by Orc arrows. It fell beside Thrain's campfire, blood from its beak staining the sheepskin letter brownish-red.
When Thrain cut the binding cord with his battle axe, a drop of murky blood slid down the blade, creating a dark red pit in the snow.
Other Dwarf lords rushed over upon hearing the news. After Thrain finished reading the letter, he tossed it to the lords.
Thrain's healed eyes were bloodshot in the firelight, his iron gauntlet crushing the tin cup in his hand as he spoke the letter's contents: "Dain is trapped at Lake-town... Azog's bastard ambushed him, then bit at his army's heels."
A hot-tempered Dwarf lord directly grabbed his war hammer, his red beard bristling with rage as he roared: "For every drop of Dain's blood spilled, Orcs will pay with a lake of blood!"
Another Dwarf lord who had experienced Azanulbizar also shouted loudly: "Dain's wounds are shame upon Durin's clan! Let those Orc bastards taste Dwarf fury!"
"Right! Exactly!"
"We can't keep trudging along slowly!"
"What are we waiting for? Drop the baggage! Chariots lead the way! If we don't break through this cursed misty pass in three days, I'll feed my beard to wargs!"
After reading Dain's distress letter, the other Dwarf lords were equally roused, their voices filled with anger and concern for Dain echoing through the camp.
Thrain stepped into the bonfire, his war boot crushing firewood: "Pass the order. Light infantry remove armor, heavy infantry abandon shields, feed war goats double sulfur beans! Reach the pass before sunset. Anyone who dares slow us down..."
The most hot-tempered Dwarf lord finished Thrain's sentence: "I'll personally hammer them into hot copper on an anvil!"
"Enough! All of you calm down!" A level-headed lord gripped his axe handle and struck his shield forcefully, the noise drowning out the Dwarf lords' arguments.
Then he came to Thrain's side, pressing his shoulder armor and shouting: "Calm down, Thrain! Trust Dain! He'll hold at Lake-town. After all, molten iron of our ancestors flows in his veins, not Orc pus! We should worry about ourselves! You're being too hasty! Making our warriors abandon armor and shields! That's Azog we're facing! If Dain was attacked by him, we might be too!"
Thrain was briefly stunned by the shouting, then calmed down, showing shame on his face: "You're right, brother. I worry Dain might be captured by Azog, suffering the same inhuman treatment I did. My eagerness for revenge made me lose composure."
Only then did this Dwarf lord nod, pressing Thrain's shoulder again and apologizing for his rudeness before stepping back.
"So we just give up? Watch Dain in crisis while doing nothing?" the hot-tempered Dwarf lord said dissatisfiedly.
"Impossible." Thrain shook his head without hesitation. After thinking briefly, he issued his orders: "The siege engines are essential for taking Lonely Mountain. We cannot abandon the chariots, ballistas, and catapults. But this terrain slows our main force to a crawl. Only the war-goat riders can move quickly through these mountains. Take all the mounted troops, use the shortcut paths, and ride hard for Lake-town to reinforce Dain."
Thrain was pointing to that hot-tempered Dwarf lord.
The other didn't hesitate, simply saluting Thrain before taking his token and war hammer to find the war-goat riders' commander.
Thrain withdrew his gaze, looking toward the mist-shrouded mountain pass: "We depart too. Beware Azog's ambush. We'll let this damned Orc scum know that Dwarf war songs will take his skull!"
Several days ago.
Azog hunched over his spine, eyes pressed close to a map of the Misty Mountains.
His severed hand's iron hook scratched across the parchment, puncturing a hole at the pass: "After receiving Dain's distress letter, Thrain's army will charge into here like rutting mountain goats... and I want their blood to soak every grain of sand."
Thirty Olog-hai trolls were chained deep in the cavern, their skin like acid-cast metal, gray-black wrinkles embedded with iron armor forged by Orc craftsmen.
These five-fathom-tall monsters were war machines specially bred by the Dark Lord Sauron, and also Azog's gift for Thrain.
Not just these Olog-hai trolls. Azog had brought many normal-sized trolls for Thrain too.
When ambushing Dain earlier, Azog hadn't deployed these trolls because the environment around the Lonely Mountain wasn't suitable for trolls.
Because trolls cannot see sunlight. Exposure to sunlight would turn them to stone.
The Misty Mountains were perpetually shrouded in thick mist, preventing sunlight from reaching the ground, making them natural nests for trolls.
Back to the present, the trolls currently crouched in natural rock caves on both sides of the pass, while Orc archers squatted in higher caverns. Their arrowheads were soaked in poison. This toxin wouldn't kill immediately but would make victims rot and wail for three days, affecting morale.
When the first wisps of mist drifted over the mountain pass, Orcs controlling the Olog-hai trolls used hot irons to burn their eyelids.
The Olog-hai trolls awakened in agony, their iron armor clashing like hellish morning bells.
The Orcs controlling them pointed to the gray mist rolling outside the cave, roaring in Black Speech: "The sun is your death god! But now, here, you are death gods!"
As Thrain's Dwarf coalition guarded against ambush and was about to encounter Orcs and trolls, Azog was elsewhere in the Misty Mountains.
He was in that underground Goblin kingdom, originally intending to hire these Goblins to cause trouble for Thrain, only to discover their king, that fat Goblin, was already dead.
Azog himself was on the other side of the Misty Mountains, in the underground Goblin kingdom that Thorin's company had passed through when crossing the Misty Mountains.
Azog's iron hook scraped moss from the Goblin kingdom's cave walls, bringing up strings of dark green slime. This nest hidden deep in the Misty Mountains' belly now reeked of rotting flesh and mold.
Countless Goblin corpses were slowly rotting in this vast cavern, while the Goblin king's remains lay below the throne, head pierced by arrows, face frozen in terror, another of Igon's arrowheads stuck between yellow teeth.
A cunning smile appeared on Azog's lips as he used his hook tip to lift the king's broken crown without disgust, his pale face ghostly in the lightless underground void.
Since these Goblins had no king, he could use this well, making Goblins obey his commands.
Azog deliberately lowered his voice, yet it stirred layer upon layer of echoes in living Goblins' hearts. "Look, your king died like a crushed booger bug. And the killer, Thorin Oakenshield, is somewhere laughing with his kinsmen right now!"
Thousands of Goblins cowered in shadows sobbing, their green eyes flickering in darkness like frightened fireflies.
After losing their king, these wretched creatures' intelligence was only sufficient to distinguish whether mushrooms were poisonous. The throne hall's carnage and Azog's arrival had completely thrown them into chaos.
One bold Goblin guard crawled forward, claws pointing to the dark space below the throne: "It... it was that human who knows sorcery! He used evil magic to collapse the exit... we couldn't catch up... otherwise we would have avenged our king!"
Azog's eyes suddenly narrowed. He certainly knew "the human who knows sorcery" referred to Tarnes.
That wizard who had suddenly appeared beside the Dwarves, causing him to lose an entire elite warg rider unit.
Azog's cunning expression unchanged, his iron hook suddenly pierced the guard's shoulder blade, lifting him into the air: "Want revenge? Want to use Thorin's guts as a noose?"
"Yes! We'd love to eat those Dwarf scum alive!"
Pain became the best catalyst as this Goblin guard struggled and shouted.
Azog flung aside the wounded guard, strode onto the throne, and made a show of mourning the dead Goblin king for several seconds before shouting to the Goblins: "Then take your poison arrows and blades, follow me to the Lonely Mountain! I'll let you pluck every hair from Dwarf beards and stuff them up their nostrils!"
The cavern erupted in frenzy. Goblins' brains were simpler than mushrooms, and they swallowed Azog's promises whole.
They waved rusty knives and short bows, foul saliva dripping from their fangs.
Azog raised his iron hook again, roaring: "Go to Ravenhill and Dale! The Dwarf scum who killed your king will definitely go to these places! Occupy every brick, every crack!"
Incited by his words, thousands of Goblins began following Azog's instructions, surging like a tide of cockroaches into underground voids toward Ravenhill and Dale.
Azog watched the Goblins he had deceived, grinning viciously at the void: "Thorin Oakenshield, you think you can reclaim the Lonely Mountain? No, the Lonely Mountain is a furnace, and you Dwarves are kindling!"
Meanwhile, elsewhere.
Thrain's army stepped into the pass where Orcs had set their ambush. Cliff walls on both sides soared into clouds, mist thick as a wall.
Light infantry suffered first.
Despite maintaining vigilance under Thrain's orders, the fog provided Orcs too much convenience.
Orc poison arrows poured from the mist, their toxins making those struck wail in agony.
But the wounded Dwarves didn't wail. Front-line casualties directly lit torches, dispersing the fog, using their last strength to charge toward rock crevices where Orcs hid.
Amid the stench of burning flesh, heavy infantry stepped over their heroically fallen comrades' corpses, skewering Orcs whose positions were exposed in the rock crevices.
"Ballista volley! Clear both cliff tops!"
Thrain's battle-axe pointed skyward as he shouted.
After flames dispersed part of the fog, he immediately noticed Orc archer ambushes on both mountain cliffs.
Thirty ballistas fired simultaneously, launching not conventional bolts but iron net chains wrapped in burning pitch that rose skyward, sticking cliff-wall Orc shooters into falling fireballs.
When Thrain's battle-axe split the third Orc's skull, Dwarf soldiers' war cries reached their peak.
Light infantry's torches and oil jars traced crimson arcs through the mist, turning Orc hiding places into furnaces.
Heavy infantry shield walls moved like anvils, working together to cut down charging warg cavalry.
Several war chariots even rolled over enemy formations, their ramming spikes strung with seven Orc corpses, spear-decorated wheels continuously crushing Orcs with sticky grinding sounds.
After an initial brief panic from the attack, Dwarves gradually gained an advantage through their coordination and combat abilities.
Victory seemed within reach until the earth began trembling.
When the first Olog-hai troll burst through the fog wall, Dwarves thought it was an avalanche.
The five-fathom-tall black iron giant's club swept horizontally, the front-line heavy infantry scattering like dead leaves.
Refined iron plate armor was like paper before absolute power. One Dwarf's upper half remained embedded in his shield, while his lower half had been trampled to paste.
"It's trolls!"
Forward Dwarf soldiers screamed again as normal-sized trolls also charged from hidden caverns, wielding crude clubs and using their size advantage to brutalize the Dwarves.