"Lord Egarond:
"Your refusal to remove your power to the defense of Minas Anor is very troubling. The renegade Elagor has taken his rebel army into Rómenondor along with his Rohirrim allies. There is no threat to your lands in Anfalas. Instead, your levies are to cross into Rohirrim territory and take tribute from the villages in Adorn. You will comply immediately or face a warrant of treason and execution.
(signed)
High King Mithrim I of the Reunited Kingdom"
---
---
The plan was to have Prince Éohelm lead many of his Riders to the south and Tinsereg to patrol the northern flanks with the Arnorian cavalry. The plan was to corral the Easterlings and Wainriders into an ever smaller front, concentrating them into one bloated host that the infantry could then destroy. The plan was for Elagor to make a predictable and slow going, staying at each roadside holdfast for a night to allow Tinsereg and Éohelm to coordinate their maneuvers and keep the enemy in front of the main host. The plan was to have Crown Prince Turgor accompany Tinsereg in order to get valuable cavalry experience—something he lacked and was emphatic that he get. Tinsereg believed that, somehow, the plan was also to have the Crown Prince look over his shoulder. I'm probably getting paranoid, Tinsereg thought.
Things didn't go as planned.
"You think they're enemies," asked Turgor.
"Mayhaps," answered Tinsereg. "Though they don't have the look of it."
There was a caravan moving slowly as if a mournful lethargy held them in an unforgiving grip. Their wains were of the same manner as the Easterlings but the armor of their warriors was completely different.
"Ambush," ventured Herumor.
Tinsereg didn't have an answer. They could be disguising themselves; there were enough of them to be a hostile army. He counted three hundred horsemen and at least two legions of footmen. Yet their weapons weren't Easterling, but looked more akin to their own Gondorian style. Ambush, Tinsereg repeated in his mind.
"I say we charge," said Turgor. "Their reaction will determine if they're our enemies or not."
"That's an excellent idea, nephew. How many knights shall we use? Enough to guarantee victory? But then, most to all bands will retreat in face of such power, friend or foe."
"They have the look of Rhovanion peoples," observed Herumor.
Crown Prince Turgor was growing tired of his uncle's snide comments. "If they are free of sin," said Turgor. "Then we needn't worry over their fate. Ilúvatar will look mercifully upon them in the afterworld."
Tinsereg gave his nephew a long hard look. "Now that's a charming thought."
"What shall we do then, my Prince," asked Herumor.
"We'll approach them en masse at an oblique angle," decided Tinsereg. "But slowly and in peace. Have the reserves form up to surround them." He looked square at Turgor. "There will be no unnecessary bloodshed; their fates in the afterworld notwithstanding."
As the Arnorian cavalry sauntered forward, an emissary from the caravan approached.
"I am King Ainuvilial of Theaulflan," the heavyset bearded man said.
"I am Tinsereg, Prince, Elaldarsson of the Reunited Kingdom."
"Well met to be sure," the vagabond king said. "I lead what remains of my people. We are refugees, and must beg your succor."
Tinsereg held out his hand with a friendly smile. King Ainuvilial seemed overjoyed as he accepted it.
"Easterlings and Wainriders pressed the borders of our kingdom," began the King at night around the campfire. "Ours is a small territory in a fertile valley of the Carnen flood. My daughter I sent to Rómendacilbar for safe keeping in these troubled times, as we are a friend of your noble brother. For long we held out the Easterling invaders, and kept the northern frontier of Rómenondor secure."
"How, noble King," asked Herumor. The others listened with rapt attention.
"Adaptation. The enemy tries to outflank our right, I outflank his left. He attacks with bows, I engage from within trees. He attacks with horse, I fight with spears. He attacks with fire, I take his kindling. By the end of that, the enemy is arrowless, horseless, spiritless, and witless."
There were laughs around the fire.
"But..." the old man continued in a voice that now seemed from afar. "A traitor's heart in one of our own blood did undo me and all my labors. My sister's son—how can one of such strong mind and body be of such crooked and inconstant heart! I know not. And so my kingdom fell, my forces split in half—the greater part to my nephew—and I cast out; or rather fled like a coward in vain hope of renewed resistance one day.
"News of Rómendacilbar's fall did but add to my sorrow. A kingdom and a daughter lost. Yet I would trade ten times my kingdom's worth, TEN KINGDOMS, if but to see my daughter unharmed. For what is land and title, if true value lay not in family and blood?"
Everyone was silent. For a long time they allowed the memory of King Ainuvilial's sad words to sink into their minds.
Suddenly, out of the fire crackled night: "I call for volunteers." It was Prince Tinsereg. "To swear a holy oath... that they shall not rest, nor take up any other burden than in direct course to find and secure in health the King's daughter... and to liberate his kingdom, and all who dwell therein now in tyranny breath free air once more. If the daughter be not of the living, then I task you return her bones to her native soil, to thereafter forever dwell, hopefully, with malice towards none. I call for volunteers."
All paused and looked at one another, waiting for the first man to call out his name. None dared speak, for their current mission was to a higher King and thus a higher calling.
"Sûlamrath!" Tinsereg shouted. "You shall go. I charge you with this task; and only in its completion shall you find your salvation."
The disgraced Citadel Guard bowed low and thanked the Black Prince with the utmost of his heart.
In the end, four Arnorian knights of little consequence and two mounted lancers swore to uptake the venture with Sûlamrath. Tinsereg sent them on their way with King Ainuvilial's small caravan in the morning.
---
Elagor stood at the head of his legions. He wanted a decisive battle and, being King, that's what he got. He had to hand it to his brother Sereg, a kingly gift on his birthday. I only wish these were the legions of Gondor before me now, he thought. I could then be winning my crown.
Éohelm and his brother had done remarkably well, the Easterling host was massive. On the hill his army occupied Elagor saw six hundred wains in three large circles. Ax-men on foot held the center line of the front. Their massive ranks of mounted archers stood confidently at the wings, they had destroyed nearly every Gondorian army sent against them.
Tinsereg sat ahorsed in the rear. He had for the past three weeks ranged to the north with a powerful force of Arnorian chivalry and mounted lancers. By avoiding direct confrontation with the Wainriders and attacking their scouts with overwhelming force he forced the northern flanks of the invaders closer to the center where Elagor marched. Sometimes all that was needed was to display a preponderance of power in order to chase the smaller wains into larger groups. Tinsereg then outmaneuvered and raided their rearguards brilliantly, always outflanking to the north and thus moving them further south.
Prince Éohelm had had similar success in the south. Except that he had avoided the larger wains to concentrate on the smaller bands, destroying them and scattering the survivors. Naturally the clumped into larger groups that he consistently harassed until they linked with their central front that Elagor was relentlessly pushing farther and farther east.
Elagor altered his infantry tactics to take advantage of the longer range yew longbows carried by his Arnorian archers. Three lines of legionnaires in front of six rows of peasant archers marched down the hill.
Easterling mounted archers began their charge. They spread out in a horns-of-the-bull formation, a flowing blot of horse and humanity, to surround the advancing troops. The ax-men began marching forward as well, shouting brutal chants in their guttural tongue. Their front line of skirmishers consisted mainly of orcs.
Tinsereg ordered the Arnorian chivalry and mounted lancers to their forward holding positions. There they kept the infantry from being outflanked.
Lord Redbarad, in charge of the van, ordered the archers to fire against the Wainriders. Under a barrage or arrows the horsemen retreated. When the ax-men got in range the legionnaires and archers stopped. Redbarad then had the archers let loose on the ax-men. The Easterlings then broke out into a sprint to close the gap between the armies as quick as possible, screeching all the way.
Elagor ordered the legionnaires forward, knowing that peasant levies and another legion will filter in behind him. Two more legions moved at diagonals from the main army to keep the Wainriders at bay. The omnipresent threat of a pincer cavalry charge kept the flanks secure.
"Javelins," Elagor shouted.
The rear ranks passed the javelins to the front and prepared to throw their own. At twenty paces the legionnaires threw their javelins towards the enemy. The points pierced their shields and flesh. Then came another wave of javelins with the same effect.
"Swords!"
The tooth unnerving metal sigh of unsheathing short swords sang through the air.
"Archers! Fire at will!" Lord Redbarad drew his sword as well. He ordered more reinforcements behind Elagor. It was his job to watch the Wainriders and use his archers to keep them out of range.
Seeds from the last crop of wildflowers lilted through the air like snow.
The two armies met in a titanic crash. The Easterlings smashed their axes into the legionnaires' shields before putting their shoulders to the Arnorian line. The men of Arnor held true and slid their swords like liquid fire into the hearts and vitals of the enemy.
Bodies pressed against the shield wall and the pushing game began. The undisciplined ranks of Easterlings hacked and grabbed and shoved their way, trying to break the Arnorian line.
The line held.
Clods of dirt, grime, blood, and sweat flew through the air. The screams of dying and mutilated men overpowered centurion orders and soldier curses. Elagor blocked a hard swung ax with his shield, went to one knee and sliced his attacker's knee open. The Easterlings were backpedaling.
Elagor looked down to see the Easterling he'd just cut screaming in pain. He stomped on his mouth, breaking all his teeth. The Easterling's screams were choked in his own blood, and Elagor then drove his heel into the man's nose before stepping over him.
The Wainriders were feinting left and right, charging in till they were within bowshot and getting a few arrows off before retreating beyond the Arnorian archers. Then all of a sudden they drew their scimitars and charged headlong at the flanks of the Arnorian line. Arrows, swords, and javelins didn't keep them back and they broke through the first line on the Arnorian flanks.
The peasant levies shoved pikes in their faces, groins, and horses but were largely ineffective. The Wainriders then turned towards the center as if oblivious to the threat to their sides. Although the legions on the flanks were penetrated, they were not broken. Many Wainriders and their horses fell to Arnorian swords.
Tinsereg shifted uneasily in his saddle, watching the battle progress. Lord Redbarad tried to reinforce the center with more legions and ordered the archers to retreat to the safety of the rear. It was no good. Elagor was now assailed from three sides. The center was being squeezed to death and the second line was quickly becoming the primary front. Without the cover of the archers the full force of the Easterlings and Wainriders descended onto the Arnorian army.
"Pel," Tinsereg shouted. "Take the cavalry down onto the flanks of the enemy. I'll get the Rohirrim to assail the rear."
"No," Pelatur said. "The Rohirrim are not needed here."
"We need to destroy this army as quickly as possible," Tinsereg argued.
"The Rohirrim are to be held back until the uttermost end of need," responded Pelatur.
"The need is now!"
"Stand fast, brother. The second legion will soon merge with High King Elagor. You will not steal any glory for this fight from our brother King."
What the hell is he talking about, wondered Tinsereg. Something didn't sit right, and his brother's mischievous smile was disconcerting in the extreme.
"This is by the King's own command," Pelatur continued. "The infantry under our brother will prevail here, much like it will at the gates of Minas Anor. Not the cavalry or the Rohirrim will be engaged until the battle is already effectively won. You will not defy the true High King of the West, will you?"
Sereg glanced behind Pelatur towards Crown Prince Turgor and Prince Barahir, Elagor's sons. This is not going to happen, Tinsereg thought. Elagor is not going to die today. Fie upon his command.
"You," he pointed at Turgor. "Follow me."
Turgor was taken aback by the intensity of his uncle's stare. It took him a minute to do anything. Finally, in happy defiance of Pelatur's unspoken objection, Turgor rode off behind Tinsereg and his ten Citadel Guardsmen accompanied by a hundred Guardsmen of his own.
Pelatur grimaced. I'm the one that should be making the decisions here while Elagor is up at the front, he thought. I'm the elder brother. Little fool will ruin everything. He turned to his aide-de-camp and said, "Spread the news throughout the cavalry. When the Rohirrim come over the hill, sound the charge." Sereg will have to be dealt with.
Tinsereg rode up the Prince Éohelm. "Riders of Rohan! The hour is dire and your strength is needed! The time is now! Go forth yonder quickly there, and show the enemy your metal!" He stopped his horse in front of Éohelm, Turgor at his side.
"My scouts have kept me informed as to the progress of the battle," Prince Éohelm said watching the Citadel Guardsmen form a line in front of his Riders as if to lead the charge. Acrimony mixed with amusement at the gall of these Citadel Guardsmen. "What do you say Eorlingas," he called out to his men. "Shall we show these Arnorians how to do a real cavalry charge?"
"Charge!" all the Riders cried out as one.
Prince Éohelm then turned his gaze back to Tinsereg as he changed the grip on his spear. "Lead the way Black Prince of Harondor, if you able. If not, just try to keep up. I promise not to stomp right over you."
Tinsereg just smiled. His horse snorted defiantly as he turned to face the enemy, drawing Hinruin from its scabbard.
---
Elagor took a blow from an Easterling ax that near split his shield in half. He lunged towards the enemy, grabbing his ax before it could be swung again and shoved his short sword into the Easterling's neck.
The line had disintegrated into a chaotic melee. He stepped over bodies of fallen Easterlings and legionnaires. The pits in the beat up ground were filled with small pools of blood and offered many places for a twisted or broken ankle by one unwary step.
White seeds still fluttered through the battle soaked air. The hacking and slashing game had begun.
His short sword was no longer viable. He sheathed it and pulled out Nár. The blade shone with a blue glare like hot fire as he swung it through the air. He shouted orders with his thunderous voice, like a mariner in a storm, to the surrounding legionnaires. Many of them had formed into clusters of three, back to back to back, in order to defend themselves from all sides.
Elagor cut down two Easterlings with one stroke. Another tried to attack him from behind. He chopped the ax in half and then severed the Easterling's head from his body. A Wainrider arrow bounced off his pauldron. Elagor turned just in time to catch the horseman charging in. He cut a huge gash in the rider's leg in the motion to block the scimitar. The wainrider fell from his horse a few seconds later.
Inside his head, Elagor heard trumpets sounding. He turned to face the music. His Arnorian knights came charging in; Pelatur's coolly green hued Calanarien leading the way. With lances held firm in their hands, they smashed into the flank of the enemy. Skewered Wainriders screeched and withered.
Wavering white horses on green fields came over the hill to the north. The Rohirrim Riders flooded onto the battlefield. There were Citadel Guard standards intermixed as well. At the head of the charge rode his brother Tinsereg, the hungry red glow of Hinruin raised above his head.
"What the hell is he doing here," Elagor shouted to no-one and everyone. Pelatur warned me Tinsereg would disobey my orders. Damn you, Sereg! Now I owe Pel five hundred gold.
Tinsereg's horse remained in front. The Crown Princes of the Reunited Kingdom and Rohan fast behind. Like a bolt from a scorpion he plunged into the ranks of Easterlings and Wainriders. Spears followed, and then the Riders themselves. The Wainriders were no match for the fury and horsemanship of the Rohirrim.
Tinsereg found his brother on the battlefield. He dismounted and came up to his brother. Elagor did not seem happy to see him. "A king should have a horse," Tinsereg said. Elagor smiled at that and mounted the horse.
"We'll need to have a discussion as to what your role in this affair actually is," Elagor said to his brother. He then looked around and saw that the enemy was in full retreat.
"To the wains!" he shouted, waving the blue tinged fury of Nár above his head. "To the wains my brethren! To the wains! Victory is nigh! To the wains!"
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