Chapter Thirty-seven
Descent into Eriador. The Golden Horde.
The way down from the Redhorn Pass was perilous, and they chose their way carefully. The climb down was filled with craggy outcroppings of rock, some that were stable and others that broke off and crashed down, flattening trees on the way, so that each step must be tested before it was taken.
As they neared the end of the descent, the vista of the plains opened out before them, and they saw a vast army gathered in wait. Bain plucked the massive war hammer from his belt and held it ready.
Edric was not at all unhappy when they were off the pass and solid ground was beneath their feet again.
"Well, well," he muttered to himself. "So the legends are based in fact after all." Before him stood a Woman, primitive, and beautiful. A striking headdress, gauntleted wrists, with all manner of weapons within easy reach.
"So it is true. The Golden Horde does exist."
"As we have done for many years, Wise One. Speak now for your company or be struck down. Are you friend or foe, and what is your purpose in Eriador?"
Vanya's spear was already in her hand, her personal guard flanking her and Elodin, the Horde moving in to surround the strangers.
"Of the Wanderer, we know, the rest of you we do not. Speak, Wizard, or die." She lifted the spear, taking aim. She would not miss. She never missed. She had held a spear before she could walk. It was as much an extension of her as her own arm. It would hit him in the throat, before he could speak any words of magic.
"Take care who you threaten, Woman, for this is Edric the Golden of the Council of the Wise, and Bain Warhammer, King under the Mountain," Larz shouted. He would not be bullied by a bunch of Women, however well armed they were. He noticed there were Dwarves in this army, and Elves, and he thought he saw a Halfling but could not be sure.
Tension was rising rapidly between the Fellowship and the Golden Horde. If something was not done, there would be an unneeded battle between the two groups.
"Hold! All of you," exclaimed the Wanderer as he stepped in front of Edric, shielding the Wizard from the spear of the Horde's leader. "For one who claims to know of me, though I know you not, save the reputation of your group, you should know that I would not travel with servants of Mordor," he said to the leader of the Horde.
"The Dwarf speaks correctly. The one behind me is Edric the Golden; Wizard and member of the Council of the Wise . . . Though I shield him not for his sake, but for yours," he said to the Golden Horde. "It is not wise to threaten a Wizard with death. If he were truly evil, he could have destroyed you all in an instant."
"You all are also in the presence of royalty," he said motioning towards Bain. "This is Bain Warhammer, King Under the Mountain, as was said by his companion Larz Oakenshield. The last of us is Morrolan, a traveler from another realm, who will not cause any harm unless one of you tries to touch or take his sword."
"We are on a quest which I do not think we would be at liberty to speak of at the present moment. This quest is what has brought us here today, and it is pure coincidence that we encountered you."
There was a momentary silence. Nobody spoke, and both parties merely stared at each other. "Is this explanation to your satisfaction," asked the Wanderer . . .
Vanya nodded slightly, her eyes steely. She lowered the spear but still held it.
"I bid you welcome." She lifted her arm in a sweeping gesture. "This is the Golden Horde, whom you call myth, legend. We bid you welcome. No disrespect was meant. You received a far less harsh welcome than most would have. We are warriors, it is our way, first, to determine with whom we deal." She moved forward by one footstep toward the Wanderer. "You, we hold in great reverence. Of the rest, their actions must determine. Respect is not given, it is earned. On both sides. I invite you to sup with us. And I ask for news of Mordor, and more of this quest, if you will speak of it. And perhaps in the end, the Horde can offer something in return. You look upon the most skilled of warriors."
She waited for their answer. It was not often she offered this sort of welcome. Had it not been for the presence of the Wanderer, she would have taken them prisoner first before asking questions. Wizards did not frighten her, nor the dark, nor death. What warriors fear other men do not, for their fears are not the ordinary fears.
There was no break in the formation of the troops as she waited, and they stood as one, still encircling the newcomers.
"We would be delighted to sup with you, and share what news we are able," Edric responded in the calmest of all possible ways, not wishing to be spitted on the lance Vanya carried.
They were herded towards a large tent, and ducked inside. It was surprisingly spacious, and multicolored pillows littered the floor, around a large rug which covered most of the ground. Vanya gestured for them to sit, and poured into golden goblets an amber liquid from a tall, slender golden pitcher.
"As the Wanderer said," Edric began, "we are on a quest. We cannot divulge the nature of the quest, to do so would bring your people into danger. Not that you couldn't handle the danger," he added quickly. "Still it is not our task to involve many in what a few have undertaken. You ask of Mordor. There is a Lord in Barad-Dur again, and his powers grow daily. He is far seeing, and seeks a thing of power, one part of which already lies with him, two parts of which, we, as representatives of the free races, seek to hide from him. A Fellowship travels to Mordor even as we speak, in hopes of retrieving what the Dark Lord has taken, for this thing of power carries with it destruction if it is made whole."
He took the goblet Vanya offered and drank. The liquor was sweet and burned his throat, warming him inside.
The Wizard spoke fairly, still there were many questions. Vanya understood the nature of a quest better than most.
"I understand why you cannot tell me what it is you seek to hide, and why. The less who know the better, if you are to succeed. We have been too long alone here, out of the flow of events in this realm, for we value our solitude. The time has come to abandon that way of life, and take another path, for we are warriors, and if war is coming, we will fight in the front lines. So from you I ask, not for details of your quest, unless we may aid you somehow against the dark one. Military details, I want. Who are the forces in play, and what are their numbers?"
A small, Hobbit girl came towards the group. She was slightly thinner than a normal Hobbit, with rosy cheeks and long brown hair. What was extremely odd was her eyes, though. They were purple and she wore clothes to match. Vanya looked down at her.
"Hello, Lady Vanya. Remember when you first let me stay here and I said I would explain to you who I am? Now, I believe, is the time." The girl turned to the rest of the party. "My name is Momo, Mage of Metal," said the Hobbit seriously. She broke out into a wide smile. "But you may call me Chibi-Momo! I have fought the Dark Lord with my friends for a long time, and the Joining of the Circle will come soon . . ."
Morrolan looked at the Hobbit girl with curiosity. A Mage, he thought. Like Lunea . . .
"When the Circle comes together, then the Dark Lord will certainly be fearful. Still . . . it's quite a bit off."
"But you said this Circle shall be joined soon," said someone.
"Well . . . yes. To me it is soon. To you, it isn't. Well, you know I really don't like to just blab, so go ahead and ask me anything. I should be able to answer."
"Perhaps we shall go sit somewhere comfortable to listen and ask questions," suggested someone to Vanya.
"I certainly have some questions to ask you, Momo," said Morrolan.
"Chibi-Momo!" said the Hobbit.
Morrolan sighed irritably. Why does she remind me of Lunea?
Edric smiled a hearty welcome at this most unusual Halfling. With his staff, her drew a map which glowed silver on the floor. Vanya watched. She was a formidable presence and Edric wanted to answer her questions quickly, in order to gain her support, which would be a great boon to their cause.
"Here was Rivendell, now destroyed, by the Dark Hand. And here, the Fellowship of Arwen moves toward Lorien, there to complete their part of the quest to hide this thing of power from the Dark Lord. Homeless, the Elves of Rivendell will now take up residence here in Lorien, and make of it a stronghold for their forces, for the Dark Lord cannot reach there yet." The tip of his staff moved, trailing silver.
"Here, goes the Fellowship to Mordor, to steal back what was taken by the Dark Lord, their quest is most perilous. Syntoc the White rides with them, and a Circle of Mages come from another realm, and a young prentice Mage, and a Halfling burglar, and an Elf of great heart."
His staff moved once again. "And here you find our Fellowship, which moves northward, towards the Wastes, seeking to hide from the Dark Lord another portion of this thing of power, in the Lands of Dragons where he may not come . . . yet. With the Elves in one place, they are now vulnerable, for Lorien is not impenetrable, though strongest of all places, as yet. I fear Gondor will be next laid waste, the stronghold of Men." He drew a circle where Minas Tirith lay. "Defense will be most needed here, for if Gondor falls, so shall other lands, as it was during the War of the Ring.
Elrond has returned, bringing a great army of Elves, and together as they are, a great fighting force. Gondor is strong. But the Dark Lord has raised a great army of Orcs, and the Nazgul have been seen again, flying like winged death over Mordor. Other terrors, he has likely invoked, that will be met in time. If you pledge your forces, you will be a mighty asset in turning back His hand."
"Aye," Vanya answered after a long, thoughtful pause. "Northward, you may escape his view for a time. There, are the great Wyrms, Lords of Fire, and their magic is deep and old, older than the Lord of Mordor, older than Sauron, older even than Elvenkind." Her hand caught that of Elodin, her husband.
"Your request for aid is answered, Edric. For we know the lands of the North, and the ways of the Dragons, as no other races do. I will send with you my daughter, Aidan, who is called friend to the Wyrm Orm, elder among his kind. Your biggest threat is the Dragons, as you bear north. With their friendship, you may yet live, and succeed. The blood guard I shall send, and Aidan, who is fierce, dragon-hearted, and well trained. And the Horde shall go to Gondor and Rohan, and our forces disperse where needed, and when war comes we shall be at the fore, ready to defend."
Vanya went to the door of the tent, pulling back the flap and calling for Aidan, so that Edric and his company could meet and approve of her.
Momo walked up to Vanya.
"And where shall I go, Lady?" she asked quietly. "You do not know yet, but I may be some help. There are always inventions to make . . ."
Aidan presented herself next, standing before the Fellowship, and her mother and father, in gleaming armor, helmeted, her sword in hand, her expression steely.
~*~
As Edric explained the nature of the quest to Vanya, and as Vanya offered assistance, the Wanderer excused himself to get a breath of fresh air.
He looked towards the South, towards Mordor, thinking of the impending battle. Thinking of when he would meet the Dark Lord on the field of battle.
Wanting to know of the progress of the other Fellowships, he let out a low whistle, but nothing happened. Frustrated, he let out another whistle, but still nothing happened.
He was about to return to the others when a Wolf appeared. It was a strange Wolf with pure white fur and bright blue eyes. It walked up to the Wanderer and sat, and the Wanderer placed his hand on the Wolf's head. "It's about time, old friend," said the Wanderer. "What news have you?"
Through telepathy, the Wolf told the Wanderer of all of the happenings in the other Fellowships, more notably the capture of Geharion and the situation of Legolas and Emer. "It appears that the Dark Lord was too powerful for those two to resist His will."
"You say there is another Mage which can speak to animals?"
The Wolf nodded.
"Tell this Mage of Geharion's capture, for I fear for that Eagle's life if he stays in Mordor much longer. You might as well inform the other Fellowships of our progress as well, and tell them to relay messages through you and your brethren because communication between the fellowships will become important."
He was about to send the Wolf away when his thought returned to Legolas and Emer. "Keep an eye on those two," he said, "Guard them from enemies as secretively as you can, and directly interfere only if they get too close to Mordor. You must do everything within your power to keep them from entering the Black Land . . . I do not know what the Dark Lord has planned for them . . . You and your brethren are my eyes and my ears. Keep me informed and deliver my message as fast as you can . . ."
The Wolf ran off with great speed, and the Wanderer returned to the others as Vanya's daughter introduced herself.
Aidan bowed before the Wanderer. Aidan did not possess the exotic beauty of her mother or the Elven grace of her father, she was plain of face but exuded a quiet strength and confidence and the taut energy of youth and long training.
"I am honored to guide you further North, and pledge the lives of myself and the blood guard of my mother in your defense."
She waited for some sign of approval, for the Wanderer was esteemed among the Horde, and protocol must be observed.
The Wanderer bowed in return to Aidan. "If you are willing to guide us through the North, aware of the peril we face, then you honor us by being our guide, Aidan," said the Wanderer. "Though I would not ask you to pledge something as precious as your life at such a young age . . . But, one could say that almost everyone is young when compared to a person older than the Sun and Moon."
The Wanderer could not help but notice the beauty of Aidan. Not the pronounced and extreme beauty of an Elf, nor the beauty of her mother. But beauty nonetheless, whether she knew it or not, accentuated by the great store of inner strength the Wanderer sensed. Seeing someone so young, yet so strong and willing to lay down her life for a cause, made the Wanderer remember his own youth. Since he led a solitary life, being around so many so much younger than him made the Wanderer recall the years of his youth. But the memories brought pain, not happiness. They reminded the Wanderer of the sins that had he committed so long ago, and that he could not rest until the Dark Lord was defeated.