In An Age Before – Part 110

Chapter Seventy-six

Fornost Erain – The Third Age of the Sun

In the darkness came the hiss of an arrow and the following thud of its impact, then the crunching roll of an armored body falling upon the short, dry grass of the slope. 'Twas a sound repeated again and again at close quarters on the western incline of the Weather Hills. The shooters were hidden and stationary, with a steep drop at their backs, but their targets were advancing en mass in a disorganized charge characteristic of the Yrch. They came on recklessly despite the fall of their comrades, for they were some two hundreds and their numbers gave them courage. 'Twas fewer than a score of fleeing soldiers of Cardolan they pursued. Already they had cut down an equal number, hewing their bodies as they fell. Had they not felt such a great dread of their master, they would have tarried to feast upon the slain.

Now they came to the last ground ere the land fell away to the flats north of the Midgewater Marshes, and they thought to finally slaughter the last of their defeated foes.

"We've got 'em now, boys," cried out the Orch captain Kûgash, a hideous creature, man high, but with warty skin, an ape's arms, and fangs that dripped reeking yellowish spittle. "Slay these last and it's feast time for us all!" And with that encouragement his troops gave hooting cries and surged into the narrow field whither their quarry had fled.

They had come halfway 'cross that land when a horrifying Light rose up to meet them. It seemed to take shape from the very soil itself. 'Twas the figure of a tall elleth that stood forth, clad in antique black armor, and shrouded in a painful brilliance of mingled silver and gold. Her eyes blazed sapphire blue whilst she brandished a black longsword. In a whirl of sudden motion, she hewed the nearest three Yrch with inhuman assurance and speed, and then she cried out, "Beltho Huiniath!" at the top of her lungs.

At that blood curdling battle cry the better part of the Yrch slammed to a halt. Those words were dark legend amongst their folk, passed down from generation to generation in fearful tales of death and defeat going back to the First Age of the accursed Sun. Many had the brief intention to flee, for though they were 'nigh two hundreds, this enemy was unkillable, and possessed of a wrath that made their own cruelty pale. She had slain thousands of their kind o'er the years, and 'twas even whispered that in the last Great War she had defeated the precious Nine of their ultimate master.

Yet all their thoughts and fears were short-lived indeed. Focused entirely upon that one blazing figure, none of them marked the hundred others who rose all 'round them, hooded and cloaked in a patchwork of mixed greens, silent as shadows, and bearing deadly bows. Many didn't even see the shooters as their arrows slammed home. The shafts tore through their crude armor of leather and steel plate, pitching their bodies aside on impact; a testimony to the hatred of the shooters. The firing was directed with inhuman accuracy, the arrows oft finding either heart or eye despite the darkness and the movement of the targets. Indeed some arrows passed so close to the bright warrior that they ruffled her obsidian hair in their passing. Ne'er did she flinch, for she had complete faith in the shooting craft of these archers. A few heartbeats only and the slaughter was full wrought. Upon the field not a single Orch still lived. In the silence that followed, a grim voice could be heard.

"A brief taste only, yet welcome, O Helluin. I thank thee for anointing again my blade with blood."

"E'er welcome art thou to spill the blood of the enemy, O Anguirél," the elleth replied ere she wiped the blade clean on a fallen enemy's ragged tunic and slipped the deadly, sentient weapon back into her sheath.

Into the killing ground moved a pair of archers, whilst the rest slipped away in silence, disappearing completely in a handful of heartbeats. The score of terrified Cardolanath had continued their flight pell-mell down the steep side of the hill and not yet had they even realized their deliverance. The lack of pursuit past the Weather Hills they would eventually ascribe to having escaped the holdings of the enemy.

"Fair shooting as always, Tórferedir," Helluin said to the leader whilst offering a short bow in greeting.

"E'er art thou given to drama, Helluin," the ellon replied with a grin. "Just as easily could we have slain them in silence and none would have seen 'aught of us."

A smile graced the chiseled features of the Noldo.

"I have long known the unsurpassed stealth of thy people, yet whensoe'er hast thou known me not to desire the sight of dismay upon the faces of the enemy?"

"Indeed not since I first fought beside thee in battle," the general of the Laiquendi mused, and that, 3,150 years ago.

It had been in the final days of the War of the Elves and Sauron, when upon the banks of the River Lune, Helluin had joined forces with the Green Elves to destroy Sauron's northern army, thereby allowing the combined forces of Lindon and Númenor to turn the tide and retake Eriador from the Dark Lord's invaders. Desperate need had allied them, for Helluin and Tórferedir had despised each other at first. Since that time they had become good friends, seeing each other off and on o'er the centuries.

"I pray thee hold them, Tórferedir," Helluin beseeched him now, "allow them not to move beyond the borders of Cardolan."

"Fear not," he told her with a chuckle, "indeed t'will be harder to restrain my warriors from driving them back to Rhudaur. We have slain already well 'nigh eight thousands."

He then looked to the third figure, shorter and more slender, standing 'nigh and asked, "art ye two now to take your leave, Beinvír?"

"Indeed so, for Arthedain awaits us," the second elleth answered, casting back her hood. Waves of deep chestnut hair framed a beautifully modeled face with gracefully arching brows, full lips, and mischievous eyes of grey flecked with gold. She turned to the tall warrior and asked, "shalt we be away, beloved?"

"Aye, meldanya," Helluin answered with a nod, "to Fornost we go."

"Safe journey 'til next we meet," Tórferedir wished them as they departed.

Amongst his wandering people no further farewell was customary though it might be a century ere they met again. In a few short heartbeats the twain had disappeared into the night. With a sigh the veteran general surveyed the battlefield. And so now again blood flows upon the lands of our home, he thought, remembering darker times long past, and then he too took his leave.

At dawn some four days later, a watchman upon the walls 'nigh the first gate of Fornost Erain did a double-take ere crying out in chagrin, "strangers, stand and declare thyselves!"

He'd had to rub his eyes, for they had simply appeared upon the road, indeed they had well 'nigh reached the gate unseen…easily within range of the bow slung 'cross the back of the shorter figure. Yet he marked that they were Elvish folk, and little did he know of Elves save for old tales and the sight of the allies who had arrived but a half-day earlier.

Unlike those Noldor and Sindar and Galadrim, these two wore hooded cloaks of mixed greens, and aside from their weapons, they carried only traveler's bags slung o'er their shoulders. They came to a halt as commanded and threw back their hoods.

One figure was notably tall, with jet black hair falling halfway to her waist. Full battle armor she wore, and a longsword was girt at her side. Upon that belt hung also a bright Ring of mithril. She looked up at the guard with sapphire eyes that seemed to glow. The second figure stood barely to her shoulder and a breeze ruffled her waves of deep brown hair. In addition to the bow and quiver of arrows at her back, she bore paired fighting knives in scabbards flanking the quiver. She too looked up to meet the eyes of the guardsman, fairly stopping his heart with her beauty.

"I am Helluin Maeg-mórmenel, long a friend of the Dúnedain, and with me is Beinvír Laiquende, known upon a time to Elendil himself," called out the taller elleth.

For some moments the guard remained silent, uncertain of what to reply. A second Dúnadan joined him at his post, this one an officer.

"If thou art truly the Noldo called Helluin, then we have had some word of thee from the Lord Elrond," the officer called down. "He bade us ask thee to show forth a token made in Khazad-dûm by the hand of Celebrimbor."

To answer his request, Helluin reached down and took from her belt the Sarchram, the first Ring of Power to be forged by the Elves. 'Twas the only Elvish Ring e'er created to be a weapon. This she held up so that it gleamed in the morning sunlight, blazing silver bright, and then she cast her thought upon it, calling to that measure of her own fëa with which she'd once infused it. Upon the face of the Ring, letters of fire blazed in the ancient cirth of Khazad-dûm. In that Dwarvish script was engraved a fell incantation for the bane of her enemies, but the language was the High Elven tongue called Quenya.

"Open the gates," ordered the officer to the gatekeepers below, and shortly there came a clanking of chains and the massive, outermost doors of Fornost swung open.

"About damn time," groused the Sarchram as Helluin set her back upon her belt.

Now the plan of Fornost Erain had been conceived by the Dúnedain in the days of their first strength, when those martial architects and masons, smiths and woodworkers still recalled the grandeur of their sunken homeland of Númenor. So the entrance was not one gate, but a series of five, each guarded by stout towers and barring a narrowing, twisting way that was hedged upon either side by massive walls. To win this passage, a besieging army would become a target for companies of archers and artillerymen, their approach harried by withering fire, 'til they came at last to a blind courtyard, a killing ground wherein their hopes would perish in shot and flame. 'Twas a cunning deception and a deadly trap.

The true way into Fornost led not through all five gates, but only through the first two, and thither, 'twixt the second and third was set in the wall a cunning gate of stone, heavy beyond the ability of even a company of Tor to budge. 'Twas a sliding block which rose upwards, counterbalanced upon tracks set into the tall and massive towers to either side. So the true gates were opened to Helluin and Beinvír, one after another, whilst their progress was o'erseen by the soldiery of Fornost Erain.

Now when finally they came to that last gate and it slid upwards to allow their passage, a delegation stood awaiting them in the courtyard beyond. Thither was King Araphor, the young and new-crowned Lord of Arthedain, surrounded by his guards, and with him also was the Lord Elrond. Helluin and Beinvír bowed low in greeting.

"Helluin and Beinvír, friends and allies of old. As did King Elendil in days of yore, I welcome ye to Fornost," declared King Araphor.

"To honor a friendship that has stood since long ere Elendil's time, we come to offer our aid," the dark Noldo said, "and as aforetime to the hand of Meneldil in the South Kingdom do I return the king's property from a holding fallen to the enemy."

Thence from her soiled and worn travel bag of mixed greens, Helluin withdrew a parcel wrapped in a cloth bearing the coat of arms of Cardolan's royal house, and this she unbound for all to see, for within its shrouds lay the Palantír of Amon Sûl.

'Twas with great rejoicing that the king received the Seeing Stone, and later he broke his own fast with his guests in the great hall. Thither he heard their account of the battle, and how they had come to rescue the treasure of the fallen Tower of the Wind.

"…and so we came upon the battle in its sixth hour and 'twas dire indeed," said Beinvír after swallowing a mouthful of spiced eggs, "and save for our allies we should not have won through the enemy line to come to the Lord Mallar in time."

"Aye, for the Lord Mallar was already wounded, and few of his knights still stood able to do battle," Helluin agreed as she speared a chunk of bacon, "whilst the enemy gained e'er in numbers, and many of these fresh troops held in reserve 'til after the lines of defense were breached. We met, and the lord had no doubt of the day's ending."

"He knew he would die and his realm would fall," Beinvír added. "Ere dusk t'would be finished, for most of his soldiers lay either slain or scattered, and he was ordering the last defense."

"So he met us and gave into our hands the palantír, even tearing a strip from his own surcoat to wrap it in and saying, 'tis long past the time for flight, for I am wounded and death shalt come upon me soon enough. Already my son is slain and my line ended. Yet I would have not that this treasure of Númenor fall into the hands of the enemy, and if by some means thou can'st do what I cannot, then deliver it to Araphor in Arthedain. May the Valar protect thee and watch o'er our brothers."

'Twas a brave act at a desperate time. No sooner had he handed the palantír to Helluin than he drew again his sword and rejoined the fray," said Beinvír sadly. "He fell, not as the Lord of Cardolan only, but as a Man of the West."

"Long sundered in thought and passions we were," Araphor mused, "yet one still in blood at the end. Mayhaps there is yet some hope for our people."Then after a thoughtful pause he asked, "how won ye free of the battle if 'twas indeed so dire?"

"From the tower we fought our way beyond the slopes of Amon Sûl, though 'twas rife with Yrch," Helluin said with distaste as she poured herself another goblet of wine. She had personally slain 'nigh on five score of the foul creatures. "Ere reaching the slopes of the Weather Hills we rejoined our allies and retreated hither."

"Pray tell, what allies art these that thou hast twice mentioned?" King Araphor asked. "Were they Dúnedain of Cardolan?"

To this question the two ellith looked briefly at each other ere they answered.

"Nay, O King. They art Elvish warriors," said Helluin, "and they have called Eriador home through all this Age and the last. They had dwelt hither o'er 3,300 years ere Elendil set foot upon this land. Bitterly do they hate the minions of the Witch King, for they knew his master and his master's master long ago."

'Twas with shock and amazement that King Araphor received these tidings.

"Save for our allies in Lindon and some wandering Sindar, my people report little contact with any of thy folk in this land," he said. "Surely they must be few."

"Cities they disdain and city dwellers they avoid, O King," Beinvír told him gently, "yet they art many and watchful, and e'er 'nigh. I believe they have slain some eight to ten thousands of the enemy in Cardolan of late, and even now they hold that border against Angmar."

"Thou shalt not see these warriors, my lord, nor any of their people," Elrond told him from experience, "neither thou nor I, yet they safeguarded this realm whilst Elendil went down to his doom in the War of the Last Alliance, and they won a field in the War of the Elves and Sauron that allowed Númenor's aid to Gil-galad to free Eriador from the Dark Lord."

"Then I am thankful to them, though I know them not."

"As art we all," Elrond said.

Now in the days that followed there was battle by day and night. The forces of Angmar surged through what had been the realm of Rhudaur, crossing the flatlands west of the Ettenmoors and north of the Weather Hills to march on the fortress of Fornost. Great were the numbers that the Witch King committed to the siege, yet for a time these were held back by the Dúnedain and their allies, who, after receiving the palantír from Amon Sûl, knew indeed that their counsels were secure.

So too did none come in assault from the southeast, for upon the borders of fallen Cardolan were unseen sentries whose arrows slew any that trespassed thither. Amongst the Yrch were old tales of battle retold…of invisible hunters who had slaughtered their ancestors and mutilated their corpses in these same lands long ago, 'til by agreement they avoided the border for the duration of the campaign.

Now the months of summer, Nórui, Cerveth, and Urui, (June, July, and August) had passed, and the days of Ivanneth, (September), too had fled. Narbeleth, (October), was in and little more than the latter half of that month remained to the campaigning season for that year. Either the enemy would take Fornost and drive out its people into the coming winter's cold, or they would be forced to withdraw to their city of Carn Dûm ere they froze. For a week there was mostly peace as the lines resolved. Both sides reformed their companies and prepared for the final engagements of the season.

'Twas upon 12 Narbeleth that the Elves of Imladris and Lórinand took their leave of Fornost, and with them went Helluin and Beinvír after being long in counsel with the king. The Elves from Lindon remained upon the walls, taking the places of the Dúnedain who also marched out to meet the enemy.

Now the Elvish forces took up a position some half-dozen leagues due south of Fornost, upon that major throughway later called the Greenway, but known to them as the Great North Road. This they waylaid in strength against the passage of the enemy, for it led straight to the gates of the fortress. Helluin and Beinvír resumed the stealth of the Laiquendi and passed unseen amongst the encampments of the enemy, doing such damage as they could. Behind them the armies of Arthedain marched from their gates to meet the foes amassed upon the fields to the east. Upon 14 Narbeleth the battle began.

'Twas at dusk when the horns of Angmar brayed their harsh notes sounding the attack. Evil Men of the barbaric east and those of the closer mountain tribes marched beside tens of thousands of Yrch, whilst both desperately strove to avoid being trampled by the Tor. Through the night they made scant progress after they engaged the Dúnedain, and by morning the lines had held.

Bitter had the fighting been and very great was the bloodshed and loss of life. With steel and fire, spears and falling bombs, each side wrought slaughter upon the other. Bodies fell whilst blood ran in rivulets 'cross the grassland of northern Eriador. Amongst the Dúnedain of Arthedain now fought the survivors of Cardolan, a few hundred grudging and hardened soldiers, and no Men fought with such bitter hatred of the enemy. And from no source that either friend or foe could see came flights of deadly arrows, hissing past the Men of the West to find their marks in the soldiery of the Witch King.

With morning 'nigh, the Tor hastily fled to holes they'd dug to hide themselves from the accursed sun, whilst weary Yrch, and Men upon both sides laid down their arms in exhaustion to seek food and rest. When darkness fell the battle resumed, and through the night a slow shifting of the lines came as a result of the numerical advantage of the enemy. Despite their superior warcraft, the Dúnedain were pushed back some two miles.

The next night they were forced to fall back five miles, and upon the fourth night some ten miles were ceded in a quickening retreat. When the sun rose, the Men of the West were exhausted. Another such night would find them with their backs to their own walls, and then the siege of Fornost Erain itself would begin. Word was sent to the king and to the Elves stationed along the road to the south. Now a decision needed to be made.

The cavalry and infantry of Imladris and Lórinand could abandon their station upon the road and join in a counter attack upon the forces of Angmar. Or they could retreat directly to Fornost to bolster its garrison. On the one hand they would be abandoning the main approach route to the enemy whilst placing themselves in jeopardy of being trapped outside the fortress. On the other hand they could retreat and be trapped within the fortress, having not even raised their arms against the enemy. Within the walls was such safety as could be found within a citadel besieged, yet in such a battle cavalry was well 'nigh useless. Upon the field they were o'ermatched, for even in joining their numbers to the Dúnedain, still the allied forces stood outnumbered by o'er four to one. Some 12,000 Elves and Men faced almost 50,000 invaders from Angmar.

Now in the last of the afternoon a messenger was sent from the fortress to Elrond with words from Araphor the king.

"My Lord, thou must do as thou will, for thou knows't thy strength and the situation upon the road better than I. If thou choose to fight upon the field, still I would bid thee come hither ere the gates art forced closed. Within Fornost have we great store of provisions to last through the winter. Good fortune in battle, and may the Valar watch o'er thee."

Elrond read the message twice and then dismissed the rider.

"Prepare to ride," he told the Noldor of Imladris. "We move to attack the enemy from the east." And to the infantry of Lórinand he ordered, "make thy way east to join the battle, yet come upon it from due south, which shalt be to the west of my cavalry, such that we shalt engage the enemy from 3 sides, west, south, and east."

Haldir nodded and moved to ready his troops for their march.

So, they were not to join with the Dúnedain as many had suspected, reinforcing their front, but rather woulds't assail their foes from the south, at a right angle to the defenders' line. Elrond intended to attack the enemy lines from the rear with his riders, in hopes of confusing their officers and disordering their lines. Into that chaos, Haldir's troops were to charge in hopes of routing and sweeping the enemy away to the north. 'Twas a good plan, yet Haldir's heart had doubts.

Too few, we art too few for such a plan, he thought. Were our numbers doubled, even still t'would be a chancy thing. And who's to say that no reinforcements shalt come to the enemy from the east or the north? Ahhh well, as e'er we shalt do as we can, and may the Valar protect us.

Indeed 'twas just as Haldir had feared, for the Witch King had ordered his citadel at Carn Dûm emptied, and had joined his forces to lead the final assault. Their march would bring them to the battle at midnight of that very night, and by joining with his existing armies, completely o'erwhelm the resisting Dúnedain forces. The enemy would then crash against Fornost far sooner than expected, perhaps even so soon as to take it at unawares and save themselves from a protracted winter siege.

Already he knew the fighting went well. The Dúnedain were in retreat, and soon his master's desire for the destruction of the hated North Kingdom of Isildur, he who had once dared to take 'aught from Him, would be at hand. Great reward would he hath for carrying out his mission, and so he gloated, and with a bully's confidence, the Lord of the Nazgûl rode to battle.

To Be Continued