Day broke and with it another freezing rain. We joined the ranks of soldiers on the battlements. Gimli eyed my robes and Legolas's newly indigo clothing, curiosity written upon his face, but did not ask. I sent a young boy to fetch Hellebore from the stables before he took his place on the walls; she stamped nervously as I clung to her reins. I would release her before the battle so that she could fight also.
Archers took their places along the walls. I rocked nervously on my feet, splitting my attention between each horizon. I turned away, mentally tallying the numbers inside the keep. Three hundred, including the Western men. Fear seized at my heart and stomach. I closed my eyes and prayed to the Mother for aid.
We could hear the approaching army, a great din of voices and horns and horses. The warriors along the wall tensed, shifted, muttered amongst themselves. Suddenly, Aragorn shouted and pointed toward the sky, at a winged form swooping low over the walls. I saw Legolas's longbow arc upward, intending to shoot, just before I saw the gold flash of eagle wings. I screamed at him to hold and raised my arm.
A massive eagle plummeted from the sky, screaming and bridling. It reared on my wrist, talons digging into my arms, wings spread in a fierce challenge. I spun to look again at the eastern shore. A host of riders was pouring along the causeway toward the keep. I saw familiar banners snapping in the breeze. I sprinted from my post at the rear tower toward the front walls.
"Prepare to open the gates! Open the gates!" I screamed at the guards. From the corner of my eye I saw Aragorn and Varyar pointing over the walls, Elven archers readying themselves. I dashed up the short staircase to Aragorn's side.
"Do not shoot. Look!" I pointed. "That is the banner of the Plainsfolk, a full hundred horsemen and near forty Shadow Warriors. My mother's people, all."
The air teemed with hunting birds of every description. The Plains force flooded into the keep and clattered to a halt. The lead rider bowed his head to us. "The People of the Grasslands have come." He gestured toward the back, a group traveling under several different banners. "We bring Mages from the Five Schools, thirty in all, both warriors and Healers. They are yours to command."
A Plainsman rode forward and slid off his horse. He removed his travel cloak and faced me; I nearly wept to see my cousin Fallingleaf. "Greetings, cousin. The Plains archers will stand with you." He studied me closely. "You have been too long away from your mother's people. You have no hunting bird-- what sort of Clansibling are you?" His voice was teasing, but undershot with a current of worry. "My own bird's mate will be hatching soon- I will speak with them about a fledgling for you."
I laughed and embraced him as a Twilight Chosen swordswoman, another relation, approached me. She dismounted and extended her hand. "Kelara Shadow Warrior. We were commanded by the Twilight Mother herself. Tell us what to do, and we will do it." She grasped my arm, grinning wolfishly. "When you don't like the fight, change the rules, eh, cousin?" Warriors continued to stream into the small enclosure; they were scrambling up the staircases past bewildered Rohirrim and Gondorian fighters. More and more of my family crowded around me, babbling and hugging and laughing. I struggled free of them and caught Legolas watching us, a bemused smile on his face.
I waved and mouthed to him, "Family. This isn't all, by half." I savored the startled face, the slightly horrified expression as he mentally counted the relatives present and doubled it. Aragorn, having caught the exchange, grinned broadly and clapped him on the shoulder. Gimli's laughter boomed over the courtyard.
I motioned Aragorn to take command of the newly-arrived troops. I left my cousins' sides to introduce the unit commanders to the appropriate members of our company, then introduced myself to the new Mages, none of whom I knew. Those of us who could fight, sixty in full, took up positions along the highest rear battlement, reasoning that we would be well out of reach of normal weapons while still being able to see to fight. I saw Legolas talking to a tall Grasslands Bowbrother; the Brother pulled an arrow from his quiver for Legolas to examine and they fell into an animated conversation.
I turned to the slender, raven-haired Adept by my side; her crimson robes labeled her a Easterling Mage, one who followed the path of power and destruction. I had heard of their prowess in battle, but I had also heard that they were brutal and sadistic amateurs that needed the deaths of living things to create magic. She turned flat black eyes to me.
"Do not worry, Mornië Shadowwalker. Or should I call you Morna...no, that is his private name for you. Fitting." She gazed at me, still reading my thoughts. "Some of us do have our own Talent, and we do not turn on our compatriots. I am Sala Ironeyes." I nodded, accepting her statement as a vow. She scanned the oncoming army, just visible beyond the wall. She raised her voices so that all the assembled Mages could hear.
"They have Mages, thirty in all, trained for combat in the great wars. We must strike at them while we have surprise to our advantage. Once they know we have Mages, they will surely target us. Hit them hard, strike to kill, and guard yourselves. Keep an eye on the non-Mages-- they have volunteered their aid, but we cannot expect them to match us. If anyone falls, leave them for the Healers. Do not try to assist them yourself- we need all attention on the battle. If you are wounded and cannot continue, remove yourself from the field. Ready yourselves. We face a long day."
We watched over the defensive wall as the approaching army surged across the causeway. Aragorn pointed and shouted; small bands were launching raiding crafts from the far shore. I was horrified. The Keep was well defended from foot soldiers, but the outer walls would be easily scaled from ships. This was a threat we had not faced before
I touched Rage at my side, assuring myself that she was in reach. The Mages spaced themselves along the wall and began to chant, a deep, throbbing rhythm that drew power up from the ground and the river behind us. I could feel the power tingling in my fingertips as I joined them. I could feel a wall of power, surging like a blocked river, building around us. I shook with the desire to release it, to fight.
The archers at the battlements sighted and drew, waiting. I saw Legolas's pale head, motionless at his bow. I could sense their nerviness, a fine edge of fear that shot through the human company. A single bow twanged, a single arrow flew, a single Easterling fell. A long moment of silence, then the roar of charging Easterlings and Orcs.
Arrows flew like deadly wind, cutting a wide swath in the advancing line. As one, the Mage line flung spell after spell, mowing through the soldiers like a scythe. Together we managed to destroy perhaps two dozen before their Mages spotted us. An Orc arrow struck down the Mage to my left; she was borne away by the Healers. The dark Adept shouted above the din of battle.
"Guard yourselves! Their eyes are upon us!" We threw up shields but too late to save several of our companions. I felt them fall, felt some die. Arrows thudded against my own shields, rebounding into the enclosure below.
"Mornië!" Aragorn roared at me from the front walls. "How stands the Mage line?" I scanned the line in each direction, counting.
"Three wounded, sixteen dead. We still stand. Can you buy us some breathing space?" He signaled assent, ordering the archers to fire at their bowmen. The hail of arrows slowed.
Ladders swung toward the great walls bearing hundreds of enemy soldiers. We caught as many as we could, but our attention was badly divided between the ladders, the foot soldiers, and the raiding crafts. I felt more Mages fall, struck down by dark magic. I heard Aragorn screaming at the archers to redirect; I saw Legolas's bow swing toward the water, an arrow shriek from his bow. I had only begun to wonder when the section of wall beneath them collapsed. The approaching ships were using great hooks to pull down the defensive walls ad create breaches in our defenses. Men plummeted from the walls onto the stone floors and into the freezing sea.
I shouted down the Mage line and pointed toward the ships. I grabbed a Healer as she rushed by and shoved her toward the staircase.
"Go forward and help the survivors. Get them away from that gap, and find some way to go after those in the water. Hurry, before they freeze."
Sala grabbed me as I started to move out of the line; I ached to find Legolas, to see if he lived. She shook me viciously.
"Get back in line or don't come back! You are still needed here!" We glared at each other, then she shook me again and pointed. "There are your friends. They live, but will not do so without help. Get to work!"
The battle raged, on and on. More Mages fell; eventually, ten of us held the line. The defenders were forced back into the keep as the enemy swarmed the through gap in our the walls. Positioned as we were atop the rear wall, we were protected from siege by the bulk of the keep itself; once inside, the invaders would have to fight through the defenders within the building to get to us. Sala's compatriots whipped the other Mages into a frenzy, magic swelling like the ocean itself, but it wasn't enough to stem the tide of soldiers.
I heard a clatter of hooves on the cobblestone courtyard; Aragorn and Varyar burst out of the keep onto the long causeway surrounded by mounted warriors. I saw Legolas's fair hair flashing in the fading light, his twin blades flashing and biting. Shadow Warriors on Plains battlesteeds darted through the lines, their horses lashing out in every direction. My attention was wrenched away from the riders as a score of Easterlings and Orcs burst out of the stairway less than a yard from me. Sala shrieked at us to fall back; the Mages sprinted out of sword reach. I was yanked up short by a surge of anger flooding up from Rage. I heard Sala yelling something at me, something I couldn't hear over Rage's battlesong in my head.
I whipped the long Blade from the scabbard, connecting solidly with a pig-tusked Orc. He dropped to the ground and was quickly replaced by another. Rage snaked and twisted, dragging me with her in an intricate dancing pattern. We tore into the wall of Orcs, backed by the chants of the mages.
I spun and slashed at them for eternities. Unfortunately, the one thing Rage could not do was bolster my already flagging strength. My arm felt like lead, my head was throbbing from the earlier exertion of casting, my feet slowed despite Rage's insistence. There seemed to be no end to the enemy. I slipped on a puddle of blood and crashed to one knee, barely raising the Blade in time to block the next Orc. We struggled together, straining.
A great shout went up among the Mages. Sala roared out news of the battle even as she cast against the Orcs pressing in around us.
"A host approaches, Elves in golden armor!" The Mirkwood Elves had come. I breathed a sigh of relief moments too early. I lunged away from the Orc bearing down on me; as I dodged out of another's grasp, I slipped again. I tottered on the edge of the battlement, balanced precariously above the courtyard. Sala leaped toward me, forming a restraining spell. As I tried to regain my balance, I heard a high pitched whistling, then felt an unbelievable burst of pain just below my shoulderblade.
Time seemed to slow and stop. I gasped, suddenly unable to breathe. I stared down at the Orc arrow protruding from my chest. I stared beyond the courtyard at the lone archer perched on the front battlements. Azak, wielding an Orcish longbow with another arrow already nocked. I heard Sala scream, calling for an archer to take him down, her voice echoing from a great distance as another arrow thudded into my hip. I overbalanced, and plummeted off the battlement. I had just enough time to whisper a prayer for my friends' safety before I hit the ground.
~***~