(Author's Notes: I humbly apologize for taking so long to post this. The usual disclaimers apply.)
Review Responses:
Dragon-of-the-north: Thank you for comparing my fiction to history. Maybe there's hope for me after all. If you think Othcyr is a Proto-Eowyn now… Glad that the complicated consequences of events came through clearly. During this third act, the distinction between cause and effect is becoming quite blurred. And yes, events are getting beyond Caldrion's control as they move toward catastrophe.
Lady LeBeau: For some reason, "evil little pre-ringwraith" cracks me up every time I read it. "Between me and my space" is a line stolen from my brother (though, as far as I know, he's never used it for the purposes that the young Araturians do). A therapist in Middle-earth? That could be pretty amusing- something to write in your copious free time :-)
TreeHugger: You're right about consequences being inescapable- and Caldrion certainly hasn't yet faced all the consequences of that action. Glad that I've succeeded in making time pass quickly :-) I suspect that he was a fairly good father, though I somehow doubt that anyone could overcome the problematic nature and nurture that conspire against his charges. Thank you for your complimentary statements.
Wings of the Storm, Chapter XII- A Sane Kind of Madness
Two nights later, Graldor held a long-planned council meeting. He was intending to discuss what plans, if any, should be made for the summer. However, the big news among the people of Aratur remained the shockingly brutal fight between Caldrion's daughter and his nephew. In short order, that had become the first issue to be addressed.
Over Caldrion's vehement protests that he could handle his daughter, Graldor had insisted that Othcyr be kept in one of the cells in the palace, usually used only by soldiers too drunk to be allowed to roam the town. Her hand and wrist had been bandaged, and it was hoped that she would be able to use it again once it healed cleanly. She had not talked to anyone since Caldrion had found her, and, despite visits from both her parents, she alternated between stony silence and incoherent crying.
Teorand, on the other hand, was in fairly bad shape physically as well as mentally. Caldrion's sacrifice of most of his garments had kept his nephew from bleeding to death before help could come, but he had still lost huge amounts of blood. Though he had regained consciousness, he had shown no real signs of life; he either could not or would not move, even to nod his head, without extensive prodding. He could now swallow liquids without bringing up blood shortly afterwards, but the incision on his arm was still oozing and the healer was concerned about it becoming infected.
As soon as Sirgo had returned so he could be present for the council, he had gone to see Othcyr and managed, through whatever abilities he had, to coax the entire story from her lips. Having related this to the council, which consisted of himself, Graldor, the military leaders (Caldrion, Frealine, Halin, and Smosur), and the noble farmers (Melgras, Betlin, Dunev, and Gripler), they now had to debate what should be done with Caldrion's out-of-control and possibly insane daughter.
Graldor straightforwardly admitted that he had no real idea how to handle the situation. On the one hand, Othcyr had committed a terrible crime against her own kin that, were he to disseminate justice based solely on the act, would be punished by losing her own tongue, being incarcerated until she was undoubtedly sane again, and being kept away from weapons for the rest of her life. On the other hand, if her story were true, the victim was guilty of an unnecessary and vicious provocation that only exacerbated his natural sympathy for the daughter of his good friend. He thus decided to open the floor to discussion.
Caldrion, as he had before, pled that this was a matter of family discipline and that he would punish her severely but not do her permanent harm because this was a childish fight and a childish mistake. Smosur protested this aggressively. "No father, no matter how fair, could discipline his child as well as the King would. Further, the savagery of her assault argues against this being a simple fight between children. Based solely on the injuries the poor man sustained, I would argue that this was the kind of torturous beating more typical of orcs than men. And I dispute the assertion that she is merely a child to be disciplined by her parents when her age, bearing, and actions all indicate that she is an adult and fully responsible for what she does. And why should we even believe all that she told Sirgo?"
Several heads around the table nodded, including that of Gripler, about whose background Caldrion knew little beyond the rumor that he was the bastard of Melgras. Sirgo stood to answer Smosur. "I can offer only that I saw no lie in her eyes when she spoke to me and that what she said makes sense given what Caldrion saw and the nature of Teorand's injuries. I for one wonder if her actions were driven by more than simple insanity, given that her attack demonstrated the same brutality that has, upon occasion, distinguished her father in battle."
The discussion continued along the same lines, during the process of which Caldrion admitted that his plan was to deprive her of weapons and horse training for some time and instead restrict her to helping look after her cousin and doing the domestic duties that she abhorred.
Despite the opposition of Smosur and Gripler, coupled with the ambivalence of Melgras, Graldor, and Dunev (who as Caldrion's squire had learned that his discipline was not particularly harsh), the general consensus seemed to be moving toward releasing Othcyr to Caldrion's custody. Betlin, with an apologetic shrug to Caldrion, had pointed out that, had Caldrion been supervising the practice as closely as Neblis used to, the fight would certainly not have reached the point it did and thus he should bear at least some of the responsibility. With that admonition, Graldor agreed to leave the issue of Othcyr in Caldrion's hands and moved on to the original question of what Aratur should undertake over the summer.
Graldor, as was the case historically, strongly favored organizing another orc campaign. He had an empire to build, after all, and he was itching to slake the lust of his sword in orc blood once more. As might have been expected, however, his enthusiasm was not widely shared. As Frealine once again pointed out, there were no known targets against which Aratur could campaign. Halin also wanted more time in which his horse archers could practice and needed to develop and test tactics that would maximize their effectiveness in battle. Though Caldrion definitely did not wish to go back to battle any time soon, fearing that he might again lose control of himself or, worse, might not live to return to his family, he was not going to say anything out of gratitude to Graldor for sparing his daughter. Only Smosur was enthusiastic about the possibility, and even he conceded that the lack of a known orc encampment posed a problem.
The farmers, as might be expected, wanted to steal some manpower from the army to broaden their experiment in irrigation. It had taken a good deal of trial and error, but they had finally found a way to dig trenches such that some of the stream flowed into the fields and significantly increased the water available to the crops (at least if height was any indication). Having finally succeeded at that the previous year, they now intended to expand the effort.
At this point, Sirgo stood up and, to no one's surprise, proposed a third possibility that, upon consideration, was probably superior to either. "I am concerned about expanding the irrigation that draws on that one stream, since we do not know if heavy irrigation now will adversely affect the flow of the river or the health of the soil. We are not the ones that the earth itself should fear, given that there is One who already shows no mercy to the land itself. Neither should we go in search of more orcs, for our wanderings may attract his unwanted attention.
"Rather, we should focus on defense, completing another fort to protect Aratur from the east. I should have said something sooner, but now the winds of change are blowing and the events are set in motion. For whatever reason, Graldor is made an enemy of the Dark Lord, that personification of evil. Not a foe at the top of his list, I think, but one that he will come after again before too many more years pass, and we should be ready."
Interestingly enough, it was Graldor's face that showed the least surprise at this pronouncement. Others showed shock, fear, outrage, or disbelief. It was Smosur who finally cut through the chaos. "Assuming you are correct, which I am not saying you are, how would constructing Hillguard East make us any safer from the overwhelming hordes of orcs that a Dark Lord would presumably have at his disposal?"
Sirgo's response was fairly nonchalant given the skeptical belligerence of Smosur's question. "As I said, I think Graldor is a fairly low priority for him. We should not underestimate the threat, but neither should we assume that it is so great that we could not resist it."
Halin looked thoughtful. "And is it safe to assume that you have already picked a location? Whether for defensive purposes or not, another town would give us more room to spread out. If we do not do that this summer, we will have to spend much of the winter constructing new housing in one of the towns, neither of which have much space left within the walls.
Sirgo nodded. "The new location is situated on a ridge where…"
Graldor interrupted. "I fail to see why this is an important enough reason to delay our operations. We must deal with the orcs." He turned suddenly toward Caldrion, urgency in his voice that seemed ill-suited to a planning meeting. "Was not your wife's family eradicated by those monsters? Does she not have a fairly good idea of where they might be?" Startled by the forcefulness of the interrogation, and knowing that Graldor already knew of Catrilas' rather vague assumption about the base of the orc marauders, Caldrion only nodded.
"While they remain at large, they are a threat to my kingdom, indeed, to the whole of Middle-earth." Graldor punctuated his statement by reaching out with his hand, in a gesture of seizure. "We must annihilate them, and take what is theirs for our own. We should not delay any longer, for if we do the problem may grow out of our control." He stopped, staring straight ahead, his hand upraised, the surprisingly thin fingers making it seem like the claw of a bird, and the entire room was left sitting in stunned silence.
Frealine, thankfully, broke the moment. "Forgive me for saying so, my King, but might I suggest that you have one of your… girlfriends trim your fingernails?" Some had more success stifling their laughter than others. Graldor glared at Frealine with a look that might have killed a younger man, but Frealine met it, forcing Graldor to blink. Before the King could say anything else, Sirgo spoke. "My King, I understand how eager you are to fight again, but if we leave to fight now we will probably come back to find all our hard work has been reduced to ashes and rubble. I do not know how soon, but our Foe is coming and will strike us before the weather turns cooler. We would do best to make sure that we are here to meet them."
Sirgo's pronouncement sobered everyone and even Graldor agreed that the construction effort should begin. At Caldrion's suggestion, they decided to call it Fort Neblis, in honor of the first great leader of the Grand Army to fall in battle.
-
(This next episode is one of those that leads me to question the veracity of this tale. It seems to be a composite of two much-celebrated events to which my father was a witness. While it is not beyond the realm of possibility that such an event may have happened, it is also possible that my father or, more likely, given his well known honesty, his source for the story (about whom, regrettably, I never thought to ask) chose to replace a more mundane version of events or add an entirely new incident. The problem with writing this off as a later addition borrowing from more recent happenings is that the manner in which the event occurs, the manner which is of questionable originality, is as critical to the subsequent progression of the story as the event itself.)
A few weeks later, Sirgo was leading Graldor, Caldrion, Betlin, and Rickens and Aeschen, two of the best fighters among the younger generation and officially members of Graldor's personal guard, along one of the deer tracks leading into the White Mountains. Officially, Graldor was touring the territory surrounding his towns to obtain a better feel for the land over which he nominally ruled and survey the natural resources at his disposal. Unofficially, Sirgo feared that if Graldor just sat in the palace doing nothing while Fort Neblis was erected, his boredom might lead him into another extended bout of depression as had happened after the first orc campaign.
Which reminded Caldrion of something he had never mentioned to anyone else. He knew that Graldor had been afflicted with obsession, not depression. An obsession with a certain ring that was still in the King's possession. A possession that led him to murderous transgression. A transgression that had left quite an impression.
Caldrion shook his head. This was getting silly, and he knew it was not a good sign when even his own thoughts were bored enough to produce such rhymes. As he ducked to avoid yet another low hanging branch, he wondered what had prompted him to suddenly remember that ring, and the power it had over people. Here he was, riding through a forest untouched by human incursion. Well, almost untouched. In addition to their presence, they had seen a few signs that solitary bipeds may have come through before, but nothing that indicated systematic or frequent intrusion. Based on what he had seen on the earlier trips, during which he had learned these tracks fairly well, Sirgo was fairly certain that there were a few primitive, disorganized hunting and gathering clans in the mountains, but nothing that should concern Aratur.
While trying to decide whether or not he should seek out Sirgo and relate the scene that had taken place in Graldor's bedchamber so many years ago, the prophet in question took the decision out of Caldrion's hands by dropping back next to him. "We are fairly close to where this track intersects a stream that flows into the river that eventually flows past Aratur. Among the nomads, it is rumored that there is a pass that goes south, beneath the mountains, which I believe to be located near the source of that river, though I have not yet had the opportunity to verify that guess. If Aratur should be attacked such that the way north is shut, this path from Aratur to that river might provide an alternative escape."
Caldrion nodded. Though Sirgo had seemed fairly confident when he first disclosed his concerns, he had been covertly laying contingency plans: making sure that there were enough horses that every adult would have one on which to escape (so only children would have to ride double), encouraging families to keep non-perishable rations in easily accessible locations, prepare packs of such rations, supplemented with blankets, knives, and other items necessary for survival, and place them in the stables of both towns, and scouting and showing Caldrion the most likely routes by which the people might flee should the towns fall.
Caldrion was about to change the subject when the path suddenly took a steep drop and, before he was aware of doing anything other than keeping his horse from slipping, all six horses were standing in the bed of a V-channeled stream, running only a few inches deep. It was wide enough for the six of them to ride abreast, but to either side of that width it rose steeply, back up into the woods. "As you might have surmised," Sirgo said, "this stream feeds the one that goes past Aratur and Hillguard. While it might have been easier to simply follow that from Aratur and then turn east up this tributary, the track on which I just led you would allow those from Aratur or Fort Neblis to bypass Hillguard and gain access to the ample hunting in the vicinity of this stream as well as the larger river it feeds. I have not explored that river too far beyond the point where this stream intersects it, but the easiest way to complete this particular excursion will be to follow this down to the river and then follow that valley back out of the mountains."
As they rode down, with Aeschen taking particular care to point out potential hiding places for hunters to Graldor, Caldrion spoke softly to Sirgo. "I don't know why I was reminded of this now, but I probably ought to mention that I think Graldor's unresponsiveness after executing Deol was attributable to the influence of the ring."
"How so?"
"I'm not certain, except that when I found him that morning before you came to announce the second orc campaign, he was sitting on a chair rocking back and forth while staring at and pawing the ring, and he did not come to his senses until I swatted it away from him and kept him from going after it."
"And this is the ring he was given by a lone elf passing through the year before my arrival?"
Caldrion nodded. Sirgo had heard about the ring before, but he had dismissed it as a thing of little consequence, though one that should not be used recklessly. Elves made much jewelry, including rings of a magical nature, and it would not be surprising if a traveling elf, whether a trader taking such goods to sale or otherwise, bore a collection of them. His assumption about Annatar was that he was, as his name ('Lord of Gifts') implied, a traveling jeweler taking his wares from the east to the west. He had probably discovered that whatever spells he put on that ring failed to make the bearer invisible to Numenoreans and so he decided to jettison it before reaching his major customers, unaware that said customers were either dead or had fled to safer refuges.
At the moment, however, his facial expression made it apparent that he was reconsidering that assumption. "I wonder… When we return, I should take some time to examine this ring more closely. It may have more powers than mere invisibility."
"Graldor says that he feels stronger when he's wearing it, and also suspects that he is…"
Sirgo cut him off. "Shhh…" Caldrion paused, but then he heard it too. From around the bend, the sound of many footsteps disturbing the pebbles of the streambed grew louder. Sirgo's command for silence had degenerated into a curse and a series of quiet observations that Caldrion barely caught. "Shhhit. Orcs. A few hundred of them. From the north. I was wrong." Caldrion looked at him. "Orcs in these mountains? Are they crazy or just lost? What could they be planning to attack?" "Us," Sirgo hissed.
Pulling his horse out in front of the others, which were growing nervous at the strange scents wafting toward them, Sirgo turned and pointed to one side. "Climb. There is a track that will lead you to the river and back out of the mountains." They paused, hesitating. "Do as I say! There are too many." Aeschen complied, with Graldor, Betlin, and Rickens following, as Caldrion brought up the rear, wondering how crazy the prophet must be to attempt to take on all these orcs at once, even with whatever magic he had at his disposal.
Once he was safely within the cover of the trees, Caldrion stopped and looked back. The orcs were now in view, and while most were focused on Sirgo, some were pointing in the Caldrion's general direction. Their flight had not gone unnoticed.
Sirgo sighed visibly, dismounted, and raised his arms in entreaty. He stood motionless for a few seconds and then suddenly buckled, dropping heavily to his knees. Once in that position, his arms dropped to touch the water flowing beneath him. As the orcs came closer, he knelt motionless and then buckled again. Caldrion was suddenly aware of him saying resignedly, "If that is what is required." Drawing his arms back over his head, he pitched forward, face down in the water.
Reflecting back on the situation, Caldrion was thoroughly surprised that he had not screamed at this point. Sirgo's skin shriveled and his body shrank, melting as though all the liquid in his body was joining the flow of the stream. In only a few seconds, the river took him.
From somewhere in front of him, he heard Rickens telling him to keep moving. Numb at seeing another trusted friend die before his eyes, and in such a strange fashion, he followed.
As his horse climbed, he heard the crescendo of rolling thunder behind him, which suddenly became the roar of a flash flood. He heard squeals as the water overwhelmed the orcs and lapped against the steep sides of the channel, but his grief was so overpowering that he could not exult at the orcs' destruction and could do little besides follow Rickens.
-
Caldrion lagged behind them the entire way to the river. He was having a terrible time trying to process what he had just witnessed. Sirgo, the strange prophet who had all the answers and was always ready with advice, had sacrificed himself to save Graldor. No, Caldrion corrected himself, to destroy the orcs. Being mounted, they probably could have outpaced the orcs, but Sirgo had elected not to even attempt that, and Caldrion was left wondering why.
Unlike when Neblis had died at the hands of orc archers, Sirgo had apparently made the decisions that led to his death for himself. Caldrion could not blame the orcs for Sirgo's death, and he could not take out his anger on the orcs either. He now understood the strong desire the King had expressed for spilling more orc blood, albeit for different reasons, but he was also aware of the waves of grief that threatened to consume him. This was how he was supposed to feel after losing a close friend, quickly alternating between wanting to curl up and cry and wanting to scream and mutilate something.
Instead, he settled on maintaining his silence and taking advantage of the flat stretch of river valley to let his horse run ahead of the others. He guessed, based on the way that the river seemed to be getting louder, that they were probably fairly close to the place where they would have encountered it had their journey gone according to plan.
He paused. Underneath the sound of the river he thought he had heard… There it was again. A rough voice, no, voices, sounding frightened and angry. Using orcish expletives.
Biting back a few choice expletives of his own, Caldrion signaled for the others to stop, dismounted, and carefully proceeded forward. He counted about fifteen of them. Whether they had begun as a rear guard or an ambush waiting in case their targets should escape, they were now in a state of shock, pulling out the bodies deposited on the edge of the flood in the vain hope that there had been some survivors. Spread out and focused on the water as they were, dispatching them would not be terribly difficult, but it was necessary given that the orcs were between them and home.
Returning to the others, Caldrion suggested that Aeschen take his bow and start picking off the orcs beginning at the top and working his way downstream. Caldrion would accompany him so that a swordsman could address any orcs who got too close. The remaining three would lead the horses as close as possible and not attack until Aeschen was discovered.
Graldor vocally objected, protesting that it would be easier and better for him to simply slip on the ring and kill them all himself, but both Aeschen and Rickens backed up Caldrion, surmising that the King was probably the target of the attackers and as such should not be exposed any more than necessary. The former even had the audacity to suggest that he probably should not use the ring at all in this fight. "Are you mad, to deprive your best warrior of his weapon?" Graldor responded to that suggestion. Under his breath, Aeschen muttered "Who said you are our best warrior?" Caldrion shook his head but did not speak. "Why shouldn't I use it? It's mine!" Graldor continued in a voice higher and raspier than normal. The other four looked at him strangely. "Is it not?"
Caldrion just shook his head. "Leave it off," he said resignedly, not really expecting to be obeyed. Graldor did not speak against him again, though, and Rickens added, with seemingly feigned cheerfulness, "Besides, what's the fun of killing an orc who doesn't even have the chance to fight back?" "Well, I enjoy it," Graldor answered petulantly, but made no move to follow Aeschen and Caldrion.
As the two of them moved, Caldrion refined his count. Twenty one orcs. He really was lousy at estimating crowds. At the far end, two of them stood together, looking at one body. Aeschen picked his spot and managed to drop both of them dead into the water. Nineteen. Ducking behind four different tree trunks, Aeschen hit four orcs standing individually. Fifteen. Caldrion was amazed, both by Aeschen's prowess with a bow and the fact that one archer had eradicated a quarter of the enemy force without even being noticed. He made a mental note to do a better job of encouraging his son Hrethere's skills with a bow. Thinking of his family, however, reminded him of the empty feeling within him and the reason he was fighting. Sirgo was gone, and his sacrifice would be in vain if they could not kill these orcs who stood between them and their homes. His hand clinched the hilt of his sword more tightly.
The next group was three orcs huddled together. As Aeschen took up position behind a high shrub, several things happened at once. One of the orcs turned casually upstream, pausing as he failed to see any of his colleagues. Aeschen shot him. The second orc turned to the third and observed that an orc body had just surfaced with an arrow protruding from its back. The third, noticing the fall of the first in his peripheral vision, correctly assumed that the original bearer of the arrow was actively targeting them and yelled "Attack!" Caldrion yelled "Attack!" and stepped forward to interpose his sword between the irate orcs and the exposed archer.
Aeschen calmly slew the observant orc, leaving the screaming one to advance alone, when two more stepped out of the bushes and advanced. Caldrion had not noticed them before, and would later thank the Valar for the screaming orc, given that the orcs were hidden roughly where Aeschen would have moved to target the next pair. The count remained at fifteen.
Aeschen whirled and took out one of the new orcs as Caldrion engaged the other. Its swing was too powerful for its own good, as Caldrion merely ducked and ran it through while its weapon was unable to defend it. To Caldrion's surprise, Aeschen had nocked another arrow. Caldrion expected him to hit one of the four or five orcs advancing toward them rather than the other three humans, since engaging the closest two without a shield was not something Caldrion was looking forward to, but Aeschen instead aimed at and hit an orc further away. It had been sneaking up behind Graldor, unnoticed by anyone else.
Both orcs were now almost on top of Caldrion, coming at opposite flanks with weapons held as though they intended to thrust into his side. Deciding to use one of the acrobatic moves he had taught himself during the years of peace, Caldrion dropped and rolled forward at the last second and, pulling his sword back toward him as he came to one knee, hamstrung one of the orcs. He need not have bothered. The orcs, not seeing each other and not expecting Caldrion's sudden move, had skewered each other. If it were not for the fact that Caldrion now had to turn and deal with two others, he would have laughed out loud at the ridiculousness of it. Ten.
Aeschen by now had his sword out and the two of them made short work of the other two orcs before hastening to help the others. Eight.
Or, more precisely, help Rickens. He stood in front of Betlin and Graldor, with an orc at his feet and another by Betlin. Six, arrayed in a semicircle around a bleeding Rickens. Betlin had never been much of a warrior, but his sword was bloodied and he was panting as though the orc lying beside him was his own work. Graldor, on the other hand, was as useless as one might have expected Betlin to be. Never one to drill, the King was fighting as though he had forgotten how to do so without the advantage of invisibility. His defenses were sluggish, often barely protecting himself, and his attacks consisted of wild, easily-blocked strokes aiming at orc necks. Now, even in a battle during which it was not being used, the ring was causing concern.
As Caldrion and Aeschen got close, Rickens and three orcs turned to see who was coming. It was all the opening a fourth orc needed. Caldrion screamed at him to get down, and Betlin just screamed, but Rickens was not fast enough to save his own head, not even living long enough to have the satisfaction of seeing his own sword thrust gut his killer. Betlin's mouth now hung open in wordless horror as the decapitated body collapsed and even Graldor's previously expressionless face looked startled. As though by reflex, the King lashed out and sent the orc opposite him sprawling. Four against four.
Or rather one on one four times. Even Betlin, whose lunch would obviously be changing its location as soon as the fight was over, managed to kill one. With all of them dead, Caldrion and Graldor just looked at each other as Betlin retched and Aeschen went to grab the horses. As they had no implement with which to dig, Caldrion started to move Rickens' body up on his horse, but Aeschen stopped him. "No one else should have to see that. We'll give him to the river."
-
As the four of them rode, Caldrion's mourning redoubled. Both Sirgo and Rickens were gone, and for what purpose? What could he tell Rickens' wife and little son that would make his loss seem worthwhile? A whole bunch of orcs were dead, orcs none of them had wanted to confront. Four men were still alive who would not have been otherwise. They now knew of another possible escape route should their homes fall and a potential hunting ground while their homes stood.
Why? Caldrion asked himself again and again. Why did they die? And through his weariness, Caldrion could only generate one answer: the Dark Lord. It all came back to him. Caldrion shuddered. Could Aratur resist him? Was there any hope?
And somewhere in the recesses of his mind, a cold voice answered "No."