In An Age Before – Part 38
The month of Nínui had ended and Gwaeron had come with intermittent rains and a warming of the air. Helluin had made her way down Bruinen and through the rough lands to Mitheithel, then passing through the rolling country to the west, had come 'nigh the row of uplands that would be later known as the Weather Hills. Despite the presence of Sauron's eastern forces she had traveled fast, and indeed not since she had raced from the Ered Wethrin to Avernien had she kept such a pace. Along the way, by the arts of the Laiquendi that she had learnt from Beinvír, she had remained undetected and had slain but three dozens in the haste of her passage. Save those 'nigh Bruinen, few of the enemy now lingered so far east. Those that she slew, Yrch and a handful of Easterlings, she deemed but deserters from Sauron's eastern army. It earned them no mercy from her sword. Now though, unlike she had in the past, she left them where they fell.
In the second week of Gwaeron, (March), Sauron ordered his western forces to prepare for battle and the encampments east of the River Lune came alive. Troops moved up to the bank and set afloat the myriad craft that would bring them against Lindon.
'Cross the water Gil-galad rallied his dwindling forces, and oft did he look to the southwest, whither his Elven eyes could discern the sparkle on the waters of the gulf. E'er he hoped to see the great ships of Númenor riding up from Belegaer, but they did not come. The high king had 12,000 soldiers and knights 'neath his command. 'Cross the Lune 49,000 foes awaited their master's order to attack. Two furlongs from his position on the western bank, he could easily see the rafts and barges, the troop carriers of his enemies, waiting along the shore. The east bank was black with them, and at night, the lands 'cross the river were speckled with campfires, numerous as stars and red as a spray of blood.
The eastern precincts of Mithlond and all of Harlindon had been evacuated the previous fall, but so far the enemy hadn't bothered with them. They had congregated further north where the river was narrower and easier for their troops to cross. Sauron would try to trap the high king's host against the Ered Luin, crossing and coming against him from the east and the north. And eventually, even if the Eldar succeeded in retreating south, t'would be a rout. The king's front was too wide to be defended with the numbers he had, whilst his enemy had the numbers to strike at him on at least two battlefronts.
Helluin had reached the fair and rolling country of central Eriador by 8 Gwaeron, and passed up the Baranduin towards Lake Nenuial. Now the land lay hushed, trampled by many iron-shod feet, and the waters of the gentle stream were fetid. Henceforth she moved with even greater caution, for she was within 50 leagues of the River Lune. Every day it seemed she encountered more of Sauron's support troops; hunters, gatherers, errand riders, scouts, and rear guard. She slew any she could on principle, deeming every blow struck against the enemy to be an aid to her king's cause.
As Helluin moved further west, the deployment of the enemy gave her clues to their battle plans. She managed to discern much of Sauron's strategy and found it posed an immense threat to the high king. Somehow it had to be thwarted, yet what could one warrior do, no matter how deadly, against the numbers she believed would attack?
On 11 Gwaeron Helluin came to the lakeshore and saw the waters ripe with the floating corpses of Yrch, black, bloated, and reeking. They had been slain by the arrows of the Green Elves. Her hope rose at the sight; perhaps she could find a way.
Now Helluin warily followed the shore to the north, coming to the Emyn Uial on the 13th, and in stealth she moved amongst the highlands, continuing northwest. Thither, on the morning of the 14th, she found an encampment of the Laiquendi, a couple dozen only, and she took two of their sentries. Coming into their camp, holding the Green Elves at swordpoint, she demanded to speak with their commander. At their campfire sat none other than Tórferedir, the King's Hunter. She shook her head in amazement, not sure whether she was more surprised that he was still in command, or that he was still alive.
"Helluin en Mórgolodh,¹" he groaned, obviously displeased to see her again, "leitho daugin nín!²" ¹(Helluin en Mórgolodh, Helluin the Black Exile, Sindarin) ²(leitho daugin nín!, Release my warriors!, =leitho- (v. release) + -o (imp) + daug (warrior) + -in(pl) + nín (my) Sindarin)
In a heartbeat two-dozen archers had knocked arrows and taken aim at Helluin.
"Conno daugin cin echádad tovon ping huin!¹" Helluin demanded as she nudged the two sentries forward with her sword. ¹(Conno daugin cin echádad tovon ping huin!, Order thy warriors to lower (make low) their bows! = conno (v. imp, order) + daug (warrior) + -in(pl) + cin (your) + echád (make) + -ad (inf, to) + tovon (low) + ping (pl, bows for shooting) + huin (their) Sindarin)
Tórferedir watched her warily as she advanced. After their previous meeting five years aforetime he had learnt every story about her that was told amongst his people.
"Echád tovon ping lin,¹" he finally ordered. "Angol bera hen.²" ¹(Echád tovon ping lin, Lower your bows, = echád (make) + tovon (low) + ping (pl, bows for shooting) + lin (pl, your) Sindarin) ²(Angol bera hen, Some sorcery protects her = angol(ar.) (indef art, some sorcery) + bera (pres ind v, protects) + hen (dir obj, her) Sindarin)
The archers slowly and reluctantly lowered their bows and relaxed the tension on their strings. Helluin withdrew a step and sheathed her sword. The two sentries breathed sighs of relief and stepped further away from her, then bowed to their general.
"What dost thou want with us, Helluin?" Tórferedir asked.
"I need thy help on behalf of my king. Within days he shalt be o'erwhelmed. Upon the hither shore of the Lune is gathered the Host of Sauron. When they cross, Gil-galad shalt be assailed from both the north and the east. He cannot fight both fronts, and either he shalt be forced against the Ered Luin and destroyed, or driven south in a rout with many afoot left behind. Gorthaur takes no prisoners who would not prefer death. I need thy aid to assail and counter his forces."
Tórferedir could only stare at her in horror. She spoke of open warfare, a thing not done by the Laiquendi since their disastrous victory at Amon Ereb, in the twilight 'neath the stars two Ages ago, long years ere the Noldor returned to Middle Earth. Assailing the Host of Sauron was a terrifying idea, but little more terrifying than Helluin herself. At least the Yrch could be slain. 'Twas said the Black Exile bore some enchantment to ward off arrows and darts, the thrusts of spears and the blades of swords. They bit not upon her flesh.
"Thou would lead us all to our deaths," he groaned.
"Nay! Harken to me! Thou shalt surely die if thou dost not attack when the advantage is with thee," she said forcefully, "for thou shalt be taken hither after the battle if thou dost heed me not."
She saw their fear, but also that their eyes were all turned to her, even the general's. Now she continued in a more reasonable tone, cajoling them and presenting them with a plan. They knew the lands to the west better than any, certainly better than Sauron.
"If we cross the River Lune, we can come upon the rear of such of the Host of Sauron as seek to drive against Gil-galad from the north. We can draw off much of the foe and leave the king to fight those coming against him from the east. Should our gambit fail, then to the Ered Luin can we withdraw, and safer thither shalt thou be than in the Emyn Uial. The Blue Mountains were once thy homelands, and even the eastern faces of the mountains did thy people once roam."
She saw some amongst them some nodding in agreement. The Ered Luin had once been the Ered Lindon and beyond still lay the last remnants of Ossiriand. Even Tórferedir was weighing her words with deep concentration, staring out to the west at the distant heights 'cross the water.
"Tell me," she asked, "how many art thou?"
The general looked back up at her and for some moments made no reply. Then with a deep sigh he answered, "eight thousands art mustered."
A grin curled his lips as he saw the amazement on Helluin's face.
"How soon can they be moved 'cross the Lune?"
"By the end of two days," he said with certainty, "most art within 50 miles."
"Tórferedir, I know thou neither like, nor trust me," Helluin said, "but thou can see the workings of my plan and thou know thy warriors. Can we make this come to pass?"
He took a deep breath and looked to the sky. Silently he calculated and realized that 'twas possible indeed, but yet more, he felt a lightness of heart that had been absent for too many years. 'Twas nothing less than the return of hope.
"Even if we find not victory, still shalt we inflict such slaughter upon our foes that long shalt they rue their coming to our lands. 'Tis a better alternative than any we have aforetime discerned," he admitted. After a pause he added, "and I should like to stand again, and perhaps die, upon the lands I once walked in peace 'neath the stars. We shalt make it happen." For the first time in years it seemed, he smiled.
Helluin nodded and sat down where she stood, breathing a great sigh of relief. Then Tórferedir stood and gave instructions to two of his archers. One immediately came to the fire and kindled an arrow that he shot into the western sky. The arrow streaked upwards, leaving a trail of black as it rose high into the heavens. The other hastened west on foot.
Then all 'round them in the hills there was movement. Figures rose from concealment and stood, and all began moving west. Somewhere to the east another arrow took flight, and then in the far distance yet another. From the Emyn Uial and the lands of northern Eriador to the east and west, the Host of the Laiquendi began marching to the River Lune. Helluin watched in amazement. Though she could make no accurate count, it seemed as if hundreds moved within the circle of her sight. 'Cross the camp, the King's Hunter stood and shouldered his bow, quiver, and a travel bag. There were no tents, no wagons, no camp furnishings, and no pack animals. In a few minutes all evidence of the campsite had been obliterated and he and the others she had found were walking away towards the river that lay 75 miles to their west.
"Come as thou can, Helluin," he called back o'er his shoulder, "and we shalt meet thee upon the thither shore. We muster at noon in two days."
Here again was called a muster at a place and time prearranged. She could only nod in agreement. In forty-eight hours an invisible army would lie in wait for the Yrch and Easterlings when they crossed. Helluin waved to him, then lay down looking up at the clouds and breathed a sigh of relief. Her hope had grown to a possibility.
The early evening of 16 Gwaeron found Helluin on the western bank of the River Lune, about 100 miles south of its lower western tributary. This spot lay 'cross the Lune from the mouth of the river that flowed down from the Emyn Uial to the east.
Helluin and the Green Elves had crossed the Lune to the north of that eastern tributary, whilst to the south of it Sauron's Northern Host waited for the command to cross and march to begin their attack. South of the Laiquendi's position on the western shore lay the rolling fields 'twixt the Lune and the Ered Luin, and perhaps 20 miles beyond, the northernmost companies of Gil-galad.
The Laiquendi had deployed themselves in a line that ran southwest as it moved inland, and had formed a battlefront extending from the riverbank to about two miles inland. Their archers maintained no formal ranks or files, but they were of sufficient numbers to maintain a deadly and continuous fire. Here they waited in silence, undetectable even from a dozen yards, and completely unsuspected by their foes 'cross the river. They had arrived with but hours to spare.
In the early morning of 17 Gwaeron, Sauron's forces began their crossing in the darkness. 'Twas just after midnight and the light of a half-moon shone down as flecks of silver tossed upon the choppy waters. Amidst that reflected beauty it seemed as if the surface was covered with an evil flotsam of well 'nigh a thousand rafts and barges bearing the Glamhoth west 'cross the river. They came in silence and without torches, hoping to maintain the secrecy of their presence for as long as possible, the better to fall unexpected upon the Elven Host to the south. Soon the first of them had landed and the Laiquendi could hear the hated speech of the Yrch.
It took four hours for the enemy to mass on the western shore. There they milled about in a disorganized gaggle, ill-tempered as was their nature, cursing and shoving their fellows. During that time, the Green Elves moved silently forward, bringing themselves to within twenty yards of their foes. And when at last all the Yrch had debarked, Tórferedir himself fired the first arrow, taking a captain of the Glam in the eye.
Then from the bows of the Laiquendi came a rain of shafts out of the dark, and these slammed into the squealing masses of the Glamhoth, dropping them by the score. The Yrch drew back, some even trying to reboard their craft, but these their own captains slew as an example ere they could flee, for they would tolerate no desertion. In the darkness of the early morning, bows sang and arrows whistled in a constant hissing flight, dense as sleet and cold as death. The Yrch retreated south and the Laiquendi followed in silence. In the tall grasses 'nigh the riverbank, Tórferedir's warriors advanced after their enemy, maintaining the engagement. They were so close that they aimed not at bodies, but at the fear brightened eyes of their foes.
In desperation a company of two hundred Yrch charged forward, driven on by the guttural cursing of their captain. They broke through the lines of the Laiquendi ere they even knew it, but the Green Elves fell back before them, letting them advance without resistance 'til they were surrounded in a pocket of archers. Then they felled the Yrch one by one, shooting 'til all were slain. The lines of bowmen reformed, and save for the screams in the night, 'naught was heard from the doomed sortie. There had come no clash of weapons, no screams, no battle cries. The troops had simply disappeared. The captains of the Glamhoth ordered their march to the south quickened. 'Twas thus that an unruly mob fled from the archers towards the coming day's battle.
As the night progressed to the second hour of the engagement, the Yrch hastened south and the Glamhoth became stretched into a thick line as the most terrified fled outright and those most cowed by their leaders lingered in jostling companies. Tórferedir ordered his archers to draw their lines inwards toward the river so that they paralleled the bank, lengthening somewhat the front, the better to take advantage of their foes' extended right flank. Now more targets were revealed and the Yrch fell more quickly. All through the waning hours of darkness the killing continued as the battle moved south, and when at last the sun rose, the long shadows of the Yrch, gangling and black, revealed their flight along the river.
16,000 had crossed, and by dawn well 'nigh half had fallen. Now with Anor's light the Elven archers saw their targets yet the clearer, and having denied them any chance of movement inland, found them strung out o'er almost a mile. Into this rout they poured arrows, sending into flight bloody shafts torn from the bodies of the dead that they had o'ertaken as they advanced. They maintained their stealth, firing at the silhouettes the low sun revealed, ne'er rising to shoot, and providing no certain targets for the enemy to counterattack against. Of the Yrch who bore bows, most had shot their arrows into the darkness, but so few had struck targets that the Laiquendi hadn't even bothered targeting the archers. Instead they shot any sure target, making their arrows count and trusting in their numbers to hold at bay any more sorties against them. The killing continued without respite as Anor rose higher.
In the third hour of the morning, after a running battle of seven hours, Sauron's Northern Host was reduced to a few hundreds fleeing south in terror. Then the foremost companies of the Green Elves sprinted to outpace their enemy's loping strides and finally their circle was completed. The last of the Yrch found arrows coming at them from the fore and well as their right flank and rear, and they drew to a halt, screaming and cursing as they brandished their weapons. To their left lay the river, and the wide waters of the Lune offered no escape.
At the last the Laiquendi rose to their feet, standing for a moment ere their final volley filled the air with hissing shafts. For a few final moments the Yrch were shocked at how close their enemies actually were. Then the song of bowstrings releasing sounded a harmonic that reverberated, as the hum from a thousand hives, which could be felt in the ground as much as heard in the air. In those moments it seemed that a black and rushing haze darkened the space 'twixt the enemies, as if all the bees of the fields raced upon a stand of quavering flowers. The thud of arrows striking flesh sounded as a rolling of drums, and finally there came silence.
The Laiquendi looked about themselves. Not a single Orch moved. Of their own host, 'twas later found that not even two hundreds had been harmed. And so, after well 'nigh 2,500 years, their losses upon Amon Ereb were avenged. Tórferedir raised his voice in a song of victory and his warriors added their voices so that the eastern slopes of the Ered Lindon, the westernmost lands in Eriador, recalled the green forests of Ossiriand, the easternmost lands in Beleriand of old, Lindon, the Land of Singing.
When their song of rejoicing and triumph was done they sought Helluin, for now they had come to respect her at last. But they found her not, for even as that final deadly hail of arrows had exterminated the last of their foes, she had taken her way south in haste. Four leagues downstream waited the northernmost companies of the king.
To be Continued