Chapter 37: Gibbets & Crows

The Horse King (V)

The aid of the Sky-People had been decisive. The storm of light and water that had descended upon the Army Of The White Hand from above had decimated their ranks and deprived them the use of their fire-arms and their cannons. Forced to fall back on their spears and melee weapons, they had still put up a fierce struggle, but the outcome of this battle was by now a foregone conclusion.

On the right flank, disciplined ranks of volley fire were provided by the Gondorian allies under the command of the Steward's own second son. The Uruks evidently had trained in the use of fire-arms but had not prepared for coming under fire themselves. To their credit, it had still taken several volleys before at last they had broken and retreated, and Éomer and Faramir had remounted their forces to pursue them. On the left flank, Éowyn had proven herself a true shieldmaiden of Rohan if ever there was one. Here, determined not to be undone by their Gondorian allies, the horse archers under her command had done their part in making the oncoming ranks of Uruks pay dearly for every step forward they took.

Right now, however, King Théodred's focus was entirely on the center, where he commanded the main bulk of the mustering of Rohan. This was perhaps the trickiest part of the battlefield and a true test for the Young King; the battles on the flanks were by no means a simple feat, but at least these were areas where the swift and mounted Rohirrim had the advantage. Here in the center however, there was far less space to maneuver, and even decimated and demoralized as they were, a solid schiltron of Uruk Hai was still a formidable barrier to assail.

King Théodred was there, right in the thick of it, swinging his sword left and right, hacking his way through the ranks of the foe. By now, the archers had expended all their arrows (including the reserves brought in from camp), and it was now up to the swords and spears to take advantage of the gaps opened up in the line and try to tear this army apart from the inside out. The young King never looked back, but knew that the morning sun behind him had cast its rays into the eyes of those hateful creatures of the dark, greatly aiding in their charge upon the line.

And he was joined on the battlefield by one other: Lady Vidyë. She wore no armor, only her white dress, and she rode no horse. And yet there she was, able to sprint and keep pace with the Rohirrim as they charged, and with a grace and agility that in all Middle Earth only the Elves could have possessed, she danced and darted and weaved her way through the melee, tearing through the horde like the equivalent of a hundred men...

All of a sudden, his horse reared up and screamed out in pain; a couple of Uruks had managed to get close enough to start hacking away at the poor creature. Théodred was thrown from his horse, and down onto the mud of the battlefield. He landed hard on his back, but managed to roll out of the way as his mount collapsed onto the ground; another second, and he would have been pinned under the dying beast.

He struggled to his feet, but he was too late. One of the Uruk swordsmen was already converging on him, dirty grey sword only weakly glinting in the morning light. The King raised his sword arm, ready to try to block the coming blow. It never came. His attacker stopped all of a sudden, and without warning, a steel blade covered in black blood and pus erupted from his throat. The Uruk looked stupefied, gagged, and then collapsed forward, landing in the mud right next to the King.

He looked up and saw the Lady standing above him, a blooded sword being grasped in each hand. She looked down upon him for a second... and then, in a single motion, she threw down the sword in her left hand, and then held it out to him. "The Kingdom Of Rohan has lost enough monarchs to this war already," she remarked. Théodred stared at her for a second, unsure of what to make of this. And then, he grabbed her hand, and pulled himself up.

In the distance, a trumpet sounded. Théodred looked around him. The left and right flanks of the enemy host were completely shattered. Riders of Rohan were now folding inwards toward the center from both the left and the right. The battle may have been a foregone conclusion from the start, but only now was it truly the time to deliver the final killing blow.

"THÉODRED!" roared the men several minutes later, "THÉODRED, KING!"

He couldn't help but smile inside as he remounted himself on a new horse brought to him, and rode out before the rest of the army. Éomer and Faramir had ridden to join him, though Éowyn was still out on the far left flank, mopping up whatever resistance there remained out there. The men all around him were cheering ecstatically, raising their swords and shields to the sky. Oh Father, he thought to himself, wherever you are, I hope I have done you proudly today...

"Monarch Théodred," interrupted the Lady, who was walking beside him, "I have just been informed that Mr. Saruman has been killed, and his remaining forces at Isengard are fleeing. Mr. Gandalf's mission has been a tactical success."

"Good riddance to bad rubbish!" sneered Éomer, approving of the news. He turned to face his King. "My liege! What orders have you?"

Théodred turned to survey the battlefield whilst he thought carefully on this. "Éomer, brother: take six éoreds and pursue what remains of the enemy, 'til the banks of the Isen if necessary. Grant them no respite. Saruman or not, I will not tolerate that any of these survivors turn to brigandry and continue to harass my people."

"Yes, my king," replied Éomer, bowing his head respectfully.

"The rest of you?" he continued, "search the field. Gather our wounded for healing, and our dead for burial. Salvage whatever useful weaponry and armor we may from the enemy, and burn the rest. And when we are done here, we shall return to Edoras, and at once make ready." He paused briefly, and looked to Faramir. "The battle for Rohan is over. But the battle for Gondor rages on as we speak."

Fortress of Isengard
"Misty Mountains" Sector
Continent of "Middle Earth"
Northern Hemisphere, Planet EE-L5

It was heartbreaking to see the first of the prisoners emerge from underground. Those who could stand were brought up first, but even the strongest among them were a pitiful sight to behold: weak, sickly, their heads shaved by their captors, skin pale from having been kept underground for months or perhaps even years, many malnourished, some unable to speak at all. These were the most fortunate ones.

The sicker and weaker ones were still down in the pit, waiting to be rescued, and yet even they could be considered fortunate: the less fortunate ones were those whose bodies now formed that mass grave that Kyra had seen earlier. It sent a chill down her spine to realize that it was likely that most of the women ever held by Saruman had already died in his custody and nothing more could be done to help them.

Sgt. Rico had led the way; he and the rest of Fireteam Bravo had been assigned to evacuate all of the prisoners to the surface – all of them except for Pvt. Lau. His left shoulder was injured from the firefight down in the tunnels, but he was still on his feet and so had been able to make it back up to the surface. Meanwhile, Sgt. Harris and Fireteam Charlie had been assigned first to disarm the charges they had planted at the dam, and then now to slowly sweep the entire area and mop up whatever remained of the wizard's forces. Strangely enough, it seemed it was that bastard's will alone that was propping up most of his army's fighting resolve. According to Lt. Fisher, who had been flying Falcon02 for the entire battle, she had earlier seen hundreds of the ugly critters fleeing the area to the mountains north of here.

That didn't make her feel any better about what she had seen down in the pits. Not at all.

She... she just didn't know what to say. She was ashamed of herself, certainly. Keeping your head under the most trying of circumstances is something that the Corps drills into you from day one of boot camp. And yet nothing in training can quite prepare you for the hell that awaits you on the battlefield. She'd been in several firefights against insurgent forces on Mars or against hostile natives on Alpha Centauri, had seen for herself the aftermath of the infamous Schiaparelli Colony Massacre back on Mars, where terrorists had gunned down some hundred unarmed civilians in cold blood. But this? This was a new level of awful altogether. The discovery of the true nature and extent of Saruman's crimes had hit everyone like a brick but Kyra was taking it worse than the others – partly because she was the first one to find it... and she was a little ashamed to admit it, because she was the only woman on the squad.

She knew she should have conducted herself better. She should not have run off like she did in the middle of the battle, gone running off to pursue some personal vendetta against that bastard Saruman. But at that moment, she had just snapped. And she knew sooner or later, she would have to answer to her superiors over what she had done. But for the moment, the Sarge and Steve too had said nothing, except simply to order her back down to help with the rescue operation.

No sooner had the terrible truth been revealed to all, when Steve immediately radioed back to the colony and ordered the mobilization of emergency supplies. Falcon01 and 02, as well as the Valk, had all returned to the colony and loaded up on medicine, tents, food, and then had flown back out here. At that moment, Dr. Sadhwani and his team from The Company™'s medical center at the colony, including several of the local laborers they had hired from Gondor, could be seen scurrying about frantically, rushing to examine and treat each new victim as she was brought up from down in the pits.

Meanwhile, a couple dozen of the native laborers flown in from the colony were at work under the supervision of several Company™ managers, either pitching tents or else offloading boxes of supplies from the shuttle. They were assisted by a couple HULK units that had been flown in to help with the heavy lifting. Even Steve himself, to his credit, had decided to try to lend a hand as best he could (though it was apparent perhaps he was better off staying behind a desk). Everyone busied themselves committing to the task at hand, but nothing could hide the fact that everyone, Terran and native alike, were all equally aghast at the task set before them. And the worst part was that there was no end in sight: there were more and more of the prisoners being brought up every few minutes, and there wasn't enough medicine or supplies to go around.

It was at least a couple hours before she finally took her first break. Kyra found a spot on the ground away from the field triage center, out of the way, and sat down, exhausted and drained. She took off her helmet, wiped the pouring sweat (and some tears too) from her brow, and sighed. This day just couldn't end fast enough.

Her thoughts drifted back to that first girl. She could not have been more than 15; possibly even younger. She couldn't even begin to imagine what it must have been like: to be kidnapped from your home at a young age, dragged out here, and then kept in chains and squalor in the dark, listening to the agonized wails and cries of those around her as they were so monstrously violated, and fearfully awaiting the day that it would be her turn...

"May I join you?" asked a voice from behind her. She said nothing, but nodded slowly. The wizard calmly laid down his staff upon the ground and took a seat on the ground next to her.

"If you're gonna try to spew some mystic wise old man mumbo jumbo to me like something out of some damn fantasy novel, no thanks," muttered Kyra at last, irritably, "my only regret is that I didn't make that fucker suffer long enough." She knew of course deep down Gandalf was only trying to console her, but she just couldn't help herself.

The old man sighed and shook his head. "I will not try to claim that I fully understand how you feel at this moment. But I hope that it gives you some small measure of comfort to know that these people would not have lived without you. Saruman's punishment will be long and severe, of that much I am certain."

Wait, isn't Saruman already dead? Kyra was puzzled by his statement, but decided not to pursue this any further. Instead, she looked back at what was already starting to look like a small refugee camp springing up right here in the shadow of the tower. "What's... what's going to happen to them now?" she asked, quietly, "we can save all of them, right? At least those still... still alive?"

Gandalf sighed. "Many of them are weak. The medicine your brothers-in-arms have brought will save many lives here today, but it may not be enough. And still many among them bear a dark taint upon them that your medicines may not yet be able to cure."

Before she could think of anything to say, she noticed there was a sudden commotion in the camp. "Shit," remarked Kyra. She turned on her radio: "this is Corporal Lynn here; what's going on?"

"Movement to the northeast!" came the voice of Steve in response, "Satcom has just informed us there's a large group heading our way, about 300 or so individuals. They could be hostiles. Harris and I are heading there to investigate."

The wizard, however, remained calm and composed. "Tell your lord cousin that there is nothing to fear. I shall handle this matter." Kyra didn't know whether to trust the old man or not, so she still followed him close behind as he rose to his feet and strode off towards the northeastern gate of the compound.

A few minutes later, Kyra and Gandalf arrived at the section of the perimeter wall of Isengard that faced northeast. Steve was already there, along with Sgt. Harris and the rest of Fireteam Charlie who were taking up positions just in case things went south.

Kyra blinked at the sight that met her eyes. It was an army alright that was now approaching the walls, but it was completely unlike the one they had just vanquished. Ranks of hundreds of warriors marched in disciplined lines, four abreast, all clad in clean blue and green hooded cloaks. Some of them, the officers among them she figured, wore resplendent golden-colored armor, magnificent crested helmets demarcating their rank, while other carried blue and gold banners gently fluttering in the wind. At the head of this force rode two figures, one mounted upon a beautiful white mare, the other upon a brown stallion. It was then that she realized these weren't Orcs or Uruks or even humans; these were Elves.

"Halt!" boomed Steve's voice over the megaphone he was holding, "please identify yourselves."

The Elf who rode in front, who appeared to be their commander, seemed to be confused by whatever "sorcery" Steve was using to amplify his voice, but he complied and drew his mount to a halt. The rest of the small army following him immediately followed suit, the whole army disciplined and trained to move almost as a single living entity. He spoke: "I am Haldir, Northern Marchwarden of Lórien. I understand your fears and concern, but I assure you that we come in peace."

Gandalf stepped forward and addressed him: "thank you for having come to our aid in this hour of dire need. The battle is over and the enemy dispatched, but there is still much to be done. We have urgent need of your healers. Some of Curunir's victims bear the taint both upon them and within them as well; Elven medicine will be needed to make them whole again."

Haldir nodded and replied: "my lady anticipated this, and ordered that we equip ourselves accordingly. We are prepared to help in whatever capacity we can. An alliance once existed between Elves and Men; we are proud to honor that."

Steve and Kyra exchanged puzzled looks. Steve then turned back to address the new arrivals: "uh... sure, thank you very much. Yes, we can use all the help we can get right now." He lowered his voice and quickly whispered to Gandalf: "so we trust these guys, right? I know they look different and much better than those orcs..."

"Now, now, you are an intelligent lad," muttered Gandalf back, "figure it out yourself."

Steve sighed. He then turned to face Sgt. Harris: "Sergeant, show Mr. Haldir here and his men to the triage center. I don't want any conflicts though between the Elven healers and our own doctors, so make sure they're treating separate patients." Harris nodded, and immediately ordered the rest of Fireteam Charlie to stand down and open the gates to let these unexpected allies enter the grounds of Isengard.

Kyra sat on the battlements for a few moments, watching the ranks of Elves march solemnly through the gates. It was then that she noticed that the second rider, the one who had been riding the white mare, did not follow the rest of the Elvenkind, but instead had remained at the gatehouse, dismounted, and was now approaching her. The figure wore a cloak and hood that covered its head, and Kyra wasn't able to figure out from the way it moved whether it was a man or a woman (though to be fair, from what little she'd seen of the Elves over these last few minutes, it seemed almost like the males behaved and walked and perhaps even looked similar to the females).

"You are Kyra, Daughter of Lynn, the one who found these prisoners of Saruman's?" spoke the hooded Elf with a soft and gentle, almost golden voice that betrayed the identity of its owner as female (or else a male with a really high-pitched voice. Regardless, it was a pleasing voice on the ears).

"Yes, ma'am," replied Kyra, curtly.

"I can only imagine this burden you are bearing upon your shoulders, child," said the Elf. Kyra winced. She was not a child, she was 29 and a hardened Marine who'd seen action across four planets by now! But, then again, if it was true that Elves could live thousands of years, then she probably would appear a child by comparison, and who knows how many wars this Elven lady must have lived through.

The Elf continued: "know this: I can read it in your face, the helplessness, the despair, the guilt you feel inside – perhaps for those you feel you have let down. But I can see too the fierce strength and courage burning within those eyes. You have a good heart; stay strong, and remember these words when doubt descends upon you... for there will yet be many trials yet ahead of us all."

"Um... sure, thanks," muttered Kyra, not knowing what to make of this but appreciative all the same.