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Chapter 4: On the War Path
The iron grate in the cell door slid open with a scraping clang and the gobin guard peered in at the captives. It chuckled, "Feeling a little peckish are we? Never mind, we have a few scraps in the kitchens just for you." Gimli hurled a clump of filth with deadly accuracy through the hole. The head disappeared and gagging punctuated by snarls burst out from the other side. "Chew on that," he muttered. Legolas chuckled from his corner, "Well thrown, master dwarf!" Gimli looked up at him grimly, "It's all right for you, but I considered it a waste of good food. What does that tell you?" The elf answered him bluntly, "It tells me that you are being over fearful, my friend. If they had wanted us dead, we would be dead. You need not be afraid for your stomach."
Gimli returned to his side of the cell. "We've been here for days. If they don't want us dead, what possible use could they have for us alive?"
* * * * * *
The elven host had been on the march for two whole days and nights. Ever at their head rode Gandalf, the end of his staff lighting their way by night and dispelling the shadows that clung to them. Steadily they made their way south towards the citadel of Saruman, deeper into enemy territory. On the third day they ran into a roving band of Orcs but these broke and fled before they could be dealt with. A dark pall of dense smoke was visible on the horizon and they headed straight for it. Day four dawned greyly and camp was pitched until such a time as the fog lifted. It was the first rest they had had in many long hours, but they needed it not, for the Elven-kind are enduring beyond the meagre strengths of mortal Men. In the largest tent, the lords of the army were closeted, discussing such things as would have to be prepared for in the coming battle. Despite her protests, Arwen was forbidden from entering the tent, and had at last retired sulking to her own. Polishing her sword thoughtfully she wondered about what use she would be in the coming battle. Naturally she had had training but that was hundreds of years ago and although she could still shoot as well as any other Elf, her swordplay probably left a lot to be desired. Holding the blade in front of her face she admired her reflection in the bright steel - time to test the swing. She walked over to the central pole and took an experimental swipe at it...
"Sharp enough for you?" Elrohir asked sarcasticly as he helped her out of the wreckage. She said nothing, but stalked grandly away with her chin up, ignoring his amused stare. The fog had now lifted, and the host broke camp and continued on its way. Dominating the skyline was the imposing bulk of the tower of Orthanc and they steered in a wide circle around it to the East past Fangorn to avoid it. The plan was simple, to meet up with Celeborn and Galadriel at the Fords, and then proceed towards the Ring of Isengard. From there, it was not yet decided. If Frodo and the Ring were among the captives then it was absolutely imperative that a rescue attempt was made. Even if not, the details of the Quest could still be taken from the prisoners by torture, and the outcome would be grim then indeed, even more so if the rumours of an alliance between the Two Towers were true. Scouts were dispatched to search for possible ambushes - it would have been naive to suppose that Saruman had missed the arrival of two war-hosts before his very gates - and also to make contact with the Sylvan elves who would have reached the river first.
As the day wore on, their path turned southwards. The scouts had returned and reported that their allies had arrived and were holding the crossings, but that there was no sign of enemies anywhere. At this, Gandalf looked worried and muttered something to Elrond, who nodded gravely. After a hurried consultation, it was agreed that Glorfindel and Arwen along with a company of archers would take up rearguard position in case of surprise attack. The lack of a response from the fortress was disturbing to say the least.
* * * * * *
Saruman raised his hand and signalled to the closest orc captain. In accordance with some prearranged plan, the companies of Uruk-hai began to break up and head down the various shafts and tunnels. The wizard turned and left the balcony to continue to ascend the stairs. Aragorn, unsure of the purpose of the display, followed him until he reached the throne room where they had first met. Saruman sat down in his enormous carven seat and stared keenly at the man facing him. Aragorn felt very uncomfortable under that gaze, it felt as if layers of his mind were being searched through and discarded callously.
"You may not wish to share your vision with me, but I can clarify it for you. Observe."
The wizard lifted his staff and muttered something. A curious sensation enveloped the Ranger, a feeling of falling endlessly as the room he was in and everything within in faded to white. The brightness dazzled him and he closed his eyes to be rid of the pain of it. When at long last he dared to look again, he found himself to be at the summit of the Tower, standing on the black, carven roof, yet there was a feeling of emptiness and no sound was to be heard.
"Walk forwards."
The voice echoed in his mind and he obeyed unthinkingly, until he was standing at the very brink and could look straight down five hundred feet to the ground below.
"Very good. Now, look towards the River, and you will see something that may be of interest to you."
Aragorn did as he was bidden and found that he could suddenly see with amazing clarity. He beheld a large camp on the far side of the river, with two large groups of figures clad in bright mail moving towards it. The Sun flashed off their weapons and he was unable to see who they were. As he strained harder, the strange sensation returned and he came to himself lying on the stone floor again as he was after the first vision with the palantir. Sitting up suddenly, he turned to the wizard who was regarding him mockingly.
"Yes, they were Elves. Your friends, come to rescue you at long last. No doubt the songs of their heroic attempt will be sung in the distant future, the song of the end of the Firstborn, as they were annihilated by the glorious army of Saruman. No doubt the lady Evenstar is among them, hoping to rescue her King of Gondor." Aragorn started at the mentioning of Arwen, obviously he had not kept that thought as secret as he had hoped.
"Ah, so it was as I thought. You need not have any doubts about the matter, I have forseen my triumphant victory, smiting my enemies from the pinnacle of Orthanc. For I too have used the Stone, and it does not lie. Your friends will all be killed." Without pause for thought, the Ranger rose and hurled himself at his nemesis only to be met by a blast of light and heat that knocked him sideways to land on the stone with crushing force. Echoing laughter followed him into the blackness.
* * * * * *
Arwen shuddered involutarily as a sudden chill passed over her. Glorfindel, who was riding next to her at the head of the rearguard, looked at her concernedly. "Are you not well, my lady?" She composed herself with difficulty and shook her head. "No, I am quite well, thank you." She avoided his keen glance and kept her eyes straight ahead and her thoughts to herself. They had met up with Celeborn and Galadriel at their camp by the Fords and after a brief rest were now heading straight for their target. The Sun's rays flashed off the smooth black stone of the Tower making it shine white. The stone wall encircling the stronghold was looming up ahead, the road they were following passed through it under an arch which contained a great set of double gates, forged of thick steel like to dragonscale in toughness. They were obviously barred and defended heavily.
The impressive barricade was only a few hundred yards away now. In front of them in the midst of the Road was a pedestal with a huge carven white hand on it. As it caught the light it seemed to glow orange-red, a twisting fire - a warning of things to come. The Sun vanished behind black clouds from the East. Thunder growled in the distance.
The iron grate in the cell door slid open with a scraping clang and the gobin guard peered in at the captives. It chuckled, "Feeling a little peckish are we? Never mind, we have a few scraps in the kitchens just for you." Gimli hurled a clump of filth with deadly accuracy through the hole. The head disappeared and gagging punctuated by snarls burst out from the other side. "Chew on that," he muttered. Legolas chuckled from his corner, "Well thrown, master dwarf!" Gimli looked up at him grimly, "It's all right for you, but I considered it a waste of good food. What does that tell you?" The elf answered him bluntly, "It tells me that you are being over fearful, my friend. If they had wanted us dead, we would be dead. You need not be afraid for your stomach."
Gimli returned to his side of the cell. "We've been here for days. If they don't want us dead, what possible use could they have for us alive?"
* * * * * *
The elven host had been on the march for two whole days and nights. Ever at their head rode Gandalf, the end of his staff lighting their way by night and dispelling the shadows that clung to them. Steadily they made their way south towards the citadel of Saruman, deeper into enemy territory. On the third day they ran into a roving band of Orcs but these broke and fled before they could be dealt with. A dark pall of dense smoke was visible on the horizon and they headed straight for it. Day four dawned greyly and camp was pitched until such a time as the fog lifted. It was the first rest they had had in many long hours, but they needed it not, for the Elven-kind are enduring beyond the meagre strengths of mortal Men. In the largest tent, the lords of the army were closeted, discussing such things as would have to be prepared for in the coming battle. Despite her protests, Arwen was forbidden from entering the tent, and had at last retired sulking to her own. Polishing her sword thoughtfully she wondered about what use she would be in the coming battle. Naturally she had had training but that was hundreds of years ago and although she could still shoot as well as any other Elf, her swordplay probably left a lot to be desired. Holding the blade in front of her face she admired her reflection in the bright steel - time to test the swing. She walked over to the central pole and took an experimental swipe at it...
"Sharp enough for you?" Elrohir asked sarcasticly as he helped her out of the wreckage. She said nothing, but stalked grandly away with her chin up, ignoring his amused stare. The fog had now lifted, and the host broke camp and continued on its way. Dominating the skyline was the imposing bulk of the tower of Orthanc and they steered in a wide circle around it to the East past Fangorn to avoid it. The plan was simple, to meet up with Celeborn and Galadriel at the Fords, and then proceed towards the Ring of Isengard. From there, it was not yet decided. If Frodo and the Ring were among the captives then it was absolutely imperative that a rescue attempt was made. Even if not, the details of the Quest could still be taken from the prisoners by torture, and the outcome would be grim then indeed, even more so if the rumours of an alliance between the Two Towers were true. Scouts were dispatched to search for possible ambushes - it would have been naive to suppose that Saruman had missed the arrival of two war-hosts before his very gates - and also to make contact with the Sylvan elves who would have reached the river first.
As the day wore on, their path turned southwards. The scouts had returned and reported that their allies had arrived and were holding the crossings, but that there was no sign of enemies anywhere. At this, Gandalf looked worried and muttered something to Elrond, who nodded gravely. After a hurried consultation, it was agreed that Glorfindel and Arwen along with a company of archers would take up rearguard position in case of surprise attack. The lack of a response from the fortress was disturbing to say the least.
* * * * * *
Saruman raised his hand and signalled to the closest orc captain. In accordance with some prearranged plan, the companies of Uruk-hai began to break up and head down the various shafts and tunnels. The wizard turned and left the balcony to continue to ascend the stairs. Aragorn, unsure of the purpose of the display, followed him until he reached the throne room where they had first met. Saruman sat down in his enormous carven seat and stared keenly at the man facing him. Aragorn felt very uncomfortable under that gaze, it felt as if layers of his mind were being searched through and discarded callously.
"You may not wish to share your vision with me, but I can clarify it for you. Observe."
The wizard lifted his staff and muttered something. A curious sensation enveloped the Ranger, a feeling of falling endlessly as the room he was in and everything within in faded to white. The brightness dazzled him and he closed his eyes to be rid of the pain of it. When at long last he dared to look again, he found himself to be at the summit of the Tower, standing on the black, carven roof, yet there was a feeling of emptiness and no sound was to be heard.
"Walk forwards."
The voice echoed in his mind and he obeyed unthinkingly, until he was standing at the very brink and could look straight down five hundred feet to the ground below.
"Very good. Now, look towards the River, and you will see something that may be of interest to you."
Aragorn did as he was bidden and found that he could suddenly see with amazing clarity. He beheld a large camp on the far side of the river, with two large groups of figures clad in bright mail moving towards it. The Sun flashed off their weapons and he was unable to see who they were. As he strained harder, the strange sensation returned and he came to himself lying on the stone floor again as he was after the first vision with the palantir. Sitting up suddenly, he turned to the wizard who was regarding him mockingly.
"Yes, they were Elves. Your friends, come to rescue you at long last. No doubt the songs of their heroic attempt will be sung in the distant future, the song of the end of the Firstborn, as they were annihilated by the glorious army of Saruman. No doubt the lady Evenstar is among them, hoping to rescue her King of Gondor." Aragorn started at the mentioning of Arwen, obviously he had not kept that thought as secret as he had hoped.
"Ah, so it was as I thought. You need not have any doubts about the matter, I have forseen my triumphant victory, smiting my enemies from the pinnacle of Orthanc. For I too have used the Stone, and it does not lie. Your friends will all be killed." Without pause for thought, the Ranger rose and hurled himself at his nemesis only to be met by a blast of light and heat that knocked him sideways to land on the stone with crushing force. Echoing laughter followed him into the blackness.
* * * * * *
Arwen shuddered involutarily as a sudden chill passed over her. Glorfindel, who was riding next to her at the head of the rearguard, looked at her concernedly. "Are you not well, my lady?" She composed herself with difficulty and shook her head. "No, I am quite well, thank you." She avoided his keen glance and kept her eyes straight ahead and her thoughts to herself. They had met up with Celeborn and Galadriel at their camp by the Fords and after a brief rest were now heading straight for their target. The Sun's rays flashed off the smooth black stone of the Tower making it shine white. The stone wall encircling the stronghold was looming up ahead, the road they were following passed through it under an arch which contained a great set of double gates, forged of thick steel like to dragonscale in toughness. They were obviously barred and defended heavily.
The impressive barricade was only a few hundred yards away now. In front of them in the midst of the Road was a pedestal with a huge carven white hand on it. As it caught the light it seemed to glow orange-red, a twisting fire - a warning of things to come. The Sun vanished behind black clouds from the East. Thunder growled in the distance.