(A/N: My apologies for taking so long to get this chapter out. Signing up for sixteen credits was decidedly not the most intelligent thing I've ever done. As promised, this is the battle chapter, though I apologize for its lack of length. The general setting, orcs, and the Enemy are Tolkien's. The original characters are mine.)
Responses to my very patient reviewers:
Dragon-of-the-north: If you thought Caldrion was interesting in the last chapter… Yes, my obsessiveness with detail probably stems from my historical background. You are definitely right about only the people's superficial perceptions of Graldor changing. Isn't it ironic that, in combating the one who accused him of being evil, Graldor took upon himself basically the same traits of what he was accused of? Just how many contingency plans does Annatar (or whatever other Powers are manipulating the situation) have?
Greetings from Mordor: Behold, the battle (for what it's worth). Glad you liked the ironic phrasing- it's fun to write like that. And I'm glad that I've succeeded in my goal of making the soon-to-be Nazgul an understandable character.
TreeHugger: If you liked the dream last chapter, you'll definitely like the free rein you can take with this chapter. LOL at your analysis of Graldor's choice of Sirgo- I was actually thinking the opposite (that Graldor decided to keep the yes-man close by instead of the guy who would question him). Thank you for the compliment. I will return it by noting that your review was wonderfully insightful and just as well written as your tales.
Daw the minstrel- Thank you for the compliments. I'm glad that I am succeeding in my goals for this story.
Lady LeBeau- Thanks for all the reviews. All that foreboding at once is more than most people can take, yet you somehow survived it all :-) Have a junior mint. And whether or not the dream is a prophecy is up to your imagination…
Wings of the Storm, Chapter VIII- The Jaws of Defeat
Caldrion had not seen this many orcs in one place since the great invasion, now fifteen years past. This group could not rival that one, but it easily had more than the two hundred that marched or rode with Graldor (by how much, Caldrion could not be sure. He was a man of many talents, but estimating crowds was not one of them). The good news, at least, was that they seemed utterly lacking in organization and discipline, though some of that might be the result of having no torches in the pre-dawn dark.
As Sirgo had predicted, the orcs, responding to the presence of the invaders, had left the settlement where they had congregated during the night and assembled for battle on the plain, between the town and the humans. Sirgo recommended basically the same ruse they had used at Rivertown. The infantry would set up camp across from the ridge on which the settlement sat, with the cavalry waiting further back. During the night, the infantry would shift to the left, to outflank the attacking foe. Graldor and Caldrion were in command of the left; the former was carrying his ring but, at a suggestion from Caldrion that would have been a command had he the authority to enforce it, would only put it on if they were completely defeated and he could use it to escape back to Aratur. Frealine led what was now the center, which would bear the brunt of the initial charge. Sirgo and a few chosen others remained in what had once been Frealine's camp, so the orc left could not outflank Frealine before Neblis rode up with the cavalry.
For all their apparent disorganization, there was no loud command that told the orcs to advance. Despite his confidence in Sirgo's vision, Caldrion was still exceedingly nervous. He and Graldor were not to attack until the orcs were engaged with Frealine's men. Neblis, in turn, was waiting until he saw the first pale rays of morning to begin his charge. Caldrion's sword was at the ready as he watched the orcs march through the gloom. When they heard the first clashing of swords below, Graldor, Caldrion, and the men behind them ran forward in silence.
As was always the case in surprise attacks, the first kills were the easiest. Graldor had gone directly into the orc ranks, while Caldrion was moving behind them, thrusting his sword in their backs. It did not take long, though, before they began turning to face the threat behind them. Caldrion dodged the sword of the first one and put his own weapon through the orc's belly, but for the next he needed to block with his shield before that orc too fell to his sword. Two tried to fight him at once, but he skewered one and took the other under the chin with his shield. The next was extremely strong and might have taken his arm off had Halin not intervened. And so on and so on, Caldrion fought, unaware that he was outpacing the rest of the attackers and moving further and further away from Frealine's men.
What had been a fairly quiet battlefield but for the clanging of weapons and shields was now filled with the yells of men, the deeper roars of orcs, the screams of the wounded, and the moans of the dying. Was Neblis coming? Caldrion was not sure he could precisely identify the 'first pale rays of morning,' but he thought that might be them in the east.
A huge orc interrupted Caldrion's view of the horizon. He moved his sword to meet the orc's thrust, but it was so powerful that it drove his own sword to the ground. Before he could bring his sword back up, the orc was slashing down toward his head. His shield went up to block. It groaned under the impact. The orc tried again. The wood cracked. The orc's third blow splintered the shield into worthless kindling.
At that moment, Caldrion heard the distant thunder of hooves, but it was the orcs, not the men, whose yells sounded triumphant. Caldrion looked to his left and saw a second line of orcs moving over the ridge toward them. Among the new assailants were several- Caldrion's heart fluttered and his mouth formed an expletive- archers.
Out of the corner of his eye, Caldrion saw the orc's sword descending again. He ducked, but not enough to spare himself the blow.
[When telling this tale, my father would pause here, to go get another mug of ale or handful of pipeweed. Once, he even sent us to bed at this point, making us wait until the next day to continue the story. While it is highly tempting to subject those reading this to a similar pause, I will not do so.]
The orcs swarmed over the field. What few men remained alive were running as fast as their legs would carry them, which, in most cases, was simply not fast enough. The entire formation had broken. The riderless horses were running around, some joining the flight, some continuing the charge of their fallen masters, some just milling around as though awaiting orders. It was one of these, a ruddy brown creature, that suddenly buckled and, driven by a new sense of purpose, began running at top speed away from the orcs. Two of the archers saw it and began firing. The arrows suddenly stopped before they could strike the horse and hung in midair above the saddle as the horse came to a stop. On the wind, a somehow familiar voice expressed its disappointment. "He was weaker than I thought."
"No!" Caldrion screamed as he sat up. The orc must have moved on, thinking him dead. His sword was still in his hand, but his helm lay where he had fallen. It was cloven in two. In front of him, the cavalry was cutting through the orc left with deadly efficiency. Neblis, at the fore, burst through the orc rear and immediately began gathering speed to charge the slowly advancing second line. Most of the rest of the cavalry followed, but Neblis was well ahead.
Caldrion was not aware of standing up; indeed he was unaware of anything else going on around him besides the charge of his mentor and friend.
Caldrion did not see the arrow coming, but he did notice when it protruded from Neblis' throat. Perhaps sensing the departure of its rider's spirit, the horse came to a sudden stop, sending the limp body flying.
Caldrion's eyes flashed. He saw the sudden shock and horror in Neblis' face as the arrow pierced his windpipe, Sirgo surrounded by four or five orcs, a huge orc striking a man's head. It was his own. Then, in front of him, he saw an ethereal figure, cloaked in shadowy fog as Graldor was when wearing the ring, looking at them through a darkened window. His lips were parted in a half-smile, but he was so relaxed and content that he seemed defenseless. Caldrion could not say how he knew, but he realized that he needed to break the window. He struck out with his fist, and the glass shattered. The face looked surprised but was too late to react. Caldrion again saw the brown horse, its unseen rider pierced with arrows, but it immediately became Neblis' white horse, standing in the middle of the field as though waiting for direction. The orcs were continuing their slow advance, but the cavalry had pulled up short when its leader fell. And Caldrion realized what he must do.
He ran with all the speed his legs could muster across to the white horse. He leapt on and, turning to the riders with his sword held high, screamed "Come on! For Aratur!" before turning and charging. There was a yell behind him, and the rumble of hooves resumed, but Caldrion barely heard. He saw Neblis' sword quivering upright in the ground where it had landed after dropping from Neblis' hand during his flight. Leaning over, Caldrion grabbed it in his left hand without breaking stride.
Caldrion would later recall nothing of the next several minutes except tens and hundreds of orc faces falling before the whirling, inescapable dance of his swords. Man and beast had fought with one mind, and the blood lust was heavy on both.
The men swarmed over the field. What few orcs remained alive were running as fast as their legs would carry them, which, in most cases, was simply not fast enough. The entire formation had broken. Caldrion looked at the heaps of black bodies and the black blood coating his swords and the red blood clotting on his shoulder and leg where the arrows had nicked him and knew that this victory was no dream.
Across the field, near the place where they had camped, the men appeared to be gathering. Caldrion turned the horse in a slow trot toward them. He had no trouble identifying the front of the second line; suddenly there were no more orc corpses thickly littering the ground, and the grass grew unperturbed, excepting the occasional arrow or hoofprint.
The first person Caldrion recognized was the cavalryman Lenniol, who sat on his horse, gaping at Caldrion as he approached. Some of the men said that Lenniol's mind had never fully recovered from falling off his horse when struck by that decapitated orc head, but Caldrion was of the opinion that the man was just naturally dense to begin with. "Well fought, Captain," Lenniol said as he fell in behind Caldrion.
Caldrion didn't bother to correct him. The real captain was before them, and it was probably a good thing that the arrow had killed him quickly, because his neck looked like it had rather disgustingly snapped upon landing. He was surprised that he didn't have the urge to retch, but then again this battle had definitely changed something in him, so perhaps he shouldn't be surprised. What worried him more was how little grief he felt now for Neblis. He had never lost a really good friend before, so he had no way of knowing what emotions he should have felt, but somehow he didn't think he would take it this calmly. He put that thought from his head and moved on, Lenniol riding obliviously behind him.
Graldor had by this time seen Caldrion coming and was gesturing for him to come, but something else arrested his attention: an old man on his knees, in the middle of a circle of orcs, all of which looked as though they had been burned. Sirgo. As Caldrion dismounted and came towards him, he flinched like he was trying to hide, reminding Caldrion of how he himself had acted when he saw Sirgo on that night they had heard the voice. He dropped to one knee. "Are you all right?"
Sirgo's breathing was heavy but steady. "I think so… I should have known that I could not hold the Dark Lord at bay and fight his minions at the same time. But you could, apparently."
"No. I don't know what I did, but I saw how the fight was going to end. Graldor was going to die. And as Neblis died, I saw the Enemy watching us. I don't know what I did, but he could no longer see us. At that point I just knew what must be done to secure a victory today, and I did it. The orcs, not the men, are slaughtered, and Graldor is alive and well. Not quite what our unknown Dark Lord intended, I should think."
"So he wants to see Graldor dead… well, we just have to keep that from happening."
"Who is he?"
A slight grin appeared on Sirgo's face. "I am far from being old enough to even guess who he once was, but now he is little more than the personification of pure Evil. And if he wants to kill Graldor to further his evil, we must not let him. I suppose I am not the match for him that I thought I was, but it is easier to fight a foe whose goals you are aware of."
Sirgo was finally beginning to stand, and Caldrion helped him up. They took a few steps in silence, and then Caldrion asked what had happened to him.
"I was putting so much energy into trying, unsuccessfully, to keep the Enemy from watching us that I was fighting the orcs purely on instinct without putting any thought or energy into it- a very good way to get an old man killed. It must have been whatever you did to him that brought me back to the present. I was surrounded by probably half-a-dozen orcs, with more coming in behind them. There was no way I could hold them off, so, using some ancient magic, I summoned the power of this land in the form of a ring of fire. It killed the orcs, but I was already so drained that the effort nearly killed me. I was lucky the cavalry was around, because any orc in the vicinity could have slain me at that point. But then again, having called upon that power, I cannot stay among you any longer."
Caldrion uttered a foul expletive that he had probably picked up from the orcs. "Oh yes you can. You aren't going anywhere. And I'll shout down every man in the Army who objects. You've saved us all on more than one occasion, and I expect you will continue to do so." Sirgo flinched as Caldrion clapped him on the shoulder, but otherwise made no response to the comradely gesture except to venture a slight smile.
They had begun to enter the crowd assembled around Graldor, and his voice drew Caldrion's attention. "And here's our hero of the day!" Sirgo had stopped walking, but when Caldrion did so Sirgo just pushed him forward. "I don't know how he did it, but without his initiative, today would have seen far more of our blood spilled. Today might not have ended in victory. To the Grand Army of Aratur, I present my friend and your new Captain of Cavalry, Caldrion of Numenor!"
Caldrion was so pleasantly surprised that he forgot to be flustered. Instead he exulted in the sense of pride he felt, closing his eyes and drinking in the cheers and applause. They energized him in a way he had never felt energized before.
As it got quiet, Graldor continued. "While he leads you, which will be longer than my lifetime, I do not believe you will be defeated." Some small part of Caldrion's brain wanted to deny it, but that part was overwhelmed by his swelling ego.
Graldor had paused before speaking again. "I was once told that I could be a god in combat, but I tell you now, this man is truly a god in combat."