In An Age Before – Part 172
In early Ivanneth, Tindomul had dispatched a cavalry of twelve thousand Easterlings to ride 'cross Eriador in haste and blockade Lindon. So as not to give away the presence of the host in Angmar, they rode north of the North Downs, and then turned south 'twixt the River Lune and the Hills of Evendim. In that way, they came to the precincts of Mithlond on 5 Narbeleth. There they waylaid the roads leading inland from the Grey Havens, and then awaited the Sindar.
Now as they passed west of the Emyn Uial, they were espied by a small company of Laiquendi. These knew 'naught concerning the mass of cavalry, but deemed that no good would come of it, for they were strangers girded for war and riding in the king's lands. Ere they could do 'aught, the Easterlings had galloped south into the distance. The Green Elves were left with a settling cloud of dust, the dying sounds of hoof beats, and the impression that evil would follow.
On 7 Narbeleth, the Host of Lindon made to depart the Havens, but scouts reported suspicious activity not three leagues to the northeast. Desiring more information, Círdan sent forth a second party of scouts. These were taken and slain, and did not return. Now feeling that he had no choice, the Ship Wright released Cón Huor and Cón Thoronhen to lead their cavalry and infantry forth to the aid of King Arvedui. The mixed force of Sindar, numbering five thousand seven hundred had come but a league when they were met by a host of twelve thousand cavalry that charged them on first sight. Scarcely had they time to raise shields and draw swords ere the foe was upon them.
In the initial onslaught, many fell, and ere the Sindar could withdraw from the ensuing battle in a hasty retreat, they had lost 'nigh one thousand horse and two thousand foot. The diminished host of two thousand seven hundred returned to the Havens in defeat and the gates were shut. Both of Círdan's commanders had been slain, and shortly later, a host of bodies floated down the River Lhûn to the Gulf where they were collected with many tears. They had been despoiled of their weapons and armor, but no worse.
If there was 'aught for which to give thanks, 'twas that the opposing host had been composed of Men rather than Yrch. The bodies bore their fatal wounds, but none had been defiled and none had been eaten. But one further thing there was to give the Elves a measure of relief. The enemy cavalry had ridden to Lindon in haste, and they had not the resources to mount a siege. They contained the Sindar inside their walls, but could not assail them so long as they remained within the Havens.
And within the Havens they remained, nursing their wounded and pondering the possibility of attempting to land their remaining forces 'cross the gulf, and then make their way north on the west bank of the River Lhûn. Yet the Havens were o'erlooked by high ground, and there scouts of the enemy kept watch, and any such maneuver would be easily marked. If they eventually tried to reach the east bank of the Lhûn far upriver, they would again be met by the vastly more numerous cavalry, and there slaughtered without hope of withdrawal to safety. So Círdan could not but keep his forces home, and though it broke his heart, he knew he could not come to Arvedui so long as his city was invested.
Now the situation in Imladris developed in much the same way. The mixed force of six thousands that the Ringwraith had sent to the Hidden Valley arrived several days ere the Noldor were prepared to depart. There they took up concealed positions a couple furlongs back from the entrance to the narrow, red sandstone cutting that led down to that groomed meadow ere the Ford of Bruinen, and there they kept watch for the riding of the knights.
The sentries atop the cliffs of the cutting reported only having seen a wolf. 'Twas unusual, yet not without precedent, for such did occasionally come down from the foothills of the Hithaeglir, and so they paid it little heed, for what did five hundred knights have to fear from a wolf?
The dawn of 30 Ivanneth came, and the Knights of Imladris mounted, and at Elrond's command, they rode to the ford, and they passed o'er the water in a shining column, two by two with the Peredhel and the Lord Glorfindel at their head. Now they crossed the meadow, and the sentries saluted their departure as they entered the narrow way. The hoof beats of their horses echoed up the walls of that slot canyon, and the sound was broadcast out of the far end. From beyond the cutting a wolf howled, and in the woods, six thousands prepared for battle.
From the exit rode the Lords Elrond and Glorfindel, and their knights followed close behind in tight formation. So many were they that the last had yet to even enter the canyon from the meadow. They came onto the Great East Road and had made some hundred yards, when from the forested verge to both sides, and from the fore came arrows and a charge of riders, whilst Wargs and wolves joined in from the flanks. There too were hundreds of Yrch with their bows and their scimitars. Elrond shouted for the knights to retreat, but as the cutting was still choked with horses and riders, there was no place for them to go save forward.
Elrond wheeled his horse off the road to the north, and with lowered spears, he and those who followed forced a way through the lines of their foes. Though they soon left any afoot behind, the Easterling cavalry followed, and so too did the Wargs, though the wolves gave up the pursuit in favor of feasting on horses felled by arrow, sword, or spear. Left behind by the mounted Men and Elves, the Yrch too stayed their chase, and they carried off the fallen knights for to enjoy a feast deeper in the woods.
The surviving Noldor kept riding hard on paths they knew well, but that were treacherous for all unfamiliar with those uplands. Deep ravines and gullies abruptly opened 'cross their path, boggy patches threatened to mire foot or hoof, treacherous scree could twist an ankle or break a cannon, and potholes could wrench a knee. The high moors were criss-crossed with swift streams and scattered with outcroppings and boulders. The Noldor had coaxed their horses to a gallop. The Easterlings tried to follow and soon came to grief. No few fell to their deaths, and more were unhorsed, their mounts kicking in pain upon the ground ere they were put down. And finally, the pursuit fell behind and eventually the Easterlings gave it up. One hundred-odd knights had escaped.
Elrond and Glorfindel led them down the north path into the Hidden Valley, and their first deed was to return to the meadow and discover how bad the ambush had been. There they learnt that o'er sixty had been slain. T'would have been more had not the sentries gathered atop the cliffs fired on the attackers to hold them at bay. Those still in the cutting had halted, and with difficulty, turned their mounts in that narrow space and then retreated back to the meadow. Several dozens, trapped outside the canyon and cut off from joining Elrond's charge had formed a shield wall bristling with spears and held the exit of the pass 'til they too could withdraw. They had not been pursued.
The Peredhel wrung his hands and then ordered companies of archers onto the cliff tops, to shoot any who approached, Man, Orch, Warg, or wolf. If there had been any grace in the day's events, 'twas that they had indeed taken place in daylight. The Tor had not taken part.
Thereafter, the sentries marked the presence of numerous forces beyond bowshot, roaming the woods and the road. They seemed unwilling to attack through the canyon, but equally unwilling to depart. 'Twas obviously a blocking force, meant only to constrain the Eldar, and they made sure to be visible so their presence was known. The Elves could make no clear count of their foes, but a sortie or counterattack through the cutting was folly. They could ne'er amass a sufficient force quickly enough to make a valid challenge. Likewise, they could not bring sufficient numbers o'er the moors by the northern path.
Elrond shook his head. There was 'naught that he could do to force the way from the Hidden Valley. He was besieged, trapped in Imladris with all his remaining knights, and none could come with aid to his far-cousin Arvedui.
Not 'til they take Fornost or are defeated shall they depart, he thought, and I know not how desperate stand the Dúnedain. And there is 'naught that I can do, for all roads west are held in force against me. But what of the roads leading east? What of the High Pass? What gain could be made there?
To the captain of his sentries, Elrond ordered, "with stealth and guile we must take an Orch. I have questions."
It took a full day to recover the corpse of an Easterling from one of the ravines on the north moors, but when that corpse was heaved down from the cliffs above the cutting, it proved irresistible. The sentries lying in wait in the dark shadows of the canyon captured not one, but three Yrch, whom they dragged kicking and screaming through the canyon to the meadow. There they were bound with Elvish rope and marched 'cross the ford and up the path to the broad north deck before the Last Homely House. Shortly later, they were confronted there by the Lords Elrond and Glorfindel.
"Whence came ye?" The Peredhel demanded.
At first the three said 'naught, being wholly cowed in the presence of their great enemy and the one beside him who glowed with a fell Light.
"If ye speak not, ye shall be valued not, and ye shall join he whom ye found 'neath the cliff," Glorfindel told them.
The Yrch shivered at that, for none wanted to be eaten. Finally, they answered. Two naming Gundabad and one the Hithaeglir.
"Good, so ye do have value," Glorfindel said, offering them a smile.
"Why have ye come?" Elrond asked.
More willing to answer now, the two from Gundabad said, "Nazgûl," but the third said, "Ghâshgûl," then hugged himself and shivered. Elrond and Glorfindel looked at each other in confusion. They had ne'er heard of a Fire Wraith.
"Ghâshgûl?" Elrond asked.
Eventually the Orch pointed at Glorfindel, held his hands half a foot apart, then spread his arms wide and said, "Ghâshgûl."
It took a while for the two ellyn to make any sense of the Orch's mime, but at last, to test their hypothesis, Glorfindel brightened his aura by projecting the Light he had accrued o'er millennia in Aman. The trembling Orch squinted against the ril, but held his hands up a foot apart, then spread his arms wide again and repeated, "Ghâshgûl."
And now Elrond and Glorfindel understood.
"This one we seek. Thou shalt lead us hence," the Peredhel commanded the Orch.
All three of the Yrch shrank back from the Elves with abject terror in their eyes, vigorously shaking their heads 'nay' in refusal. Elrond's expression remained adamant. Then they looked to each other. Not one of their calculating minds could see a way free. With a subtle nod they decided their fates together, and ere any could stay them, they charged as one to the end of the deck and leapt o'er the balustrade to their deaths, plunging into the deep ravine below where their broken bodies tumbled into the Bruinen.
Elrond shook his head and threw up his hands in exasperation.
"That could have gone better," Glorfindel observed.
"She has resumed her old ways, I fear," the Peredhel said later, as the two sat in his study sipping from goblets of wine. "The terror of her lay heavy upon those Yrch."
Glorfindel sat recalling recent memories. After the events at Fornost in 1851, he was hardly surprised. At their first meeting following his return from Aman, she had told him what would happen should Beinvír be slain and she remain. That had been 3,740 years ago. If anything, the bond 'twixt the two ellith had only grown stronger since, and the loss the more deeply felt for it. The last to see Helluin had been the Lady Galadriel, when the dark Noldo came to Lórinand in 1851, seeking clues. She had taken her leave in a rage, none the wiser.
"Aye," Glorfindel finally agreed. "Rather would they march to war for the Nazgûl than return home seeking Helluin. Forced onto that path, they chose death instead."
"We must find her, as much for our own good as for hers," Elrond said. Helluin's aid at arms had won two wars of defense at Fornost in the past four hundred and fifty years. He was hoping there hadn't been a repeat of the atrocities she'd committed during the War of the Elves and Sauron. Could she face Angmar in her current state of mind and not horrify friend and foe alike?
Again the Lord Glorfindel sat silent, thinking. I have known her longer than any save perhaps Artanis, and in the Blessed Realm, they were not friends as we were. I doubt any know and understand her darkness better than I. 'Tis I who should seek for her. Elrond should remain here to govern his realm.
"Thou art needed here, my lord," he said, "for thy duty lies with thy people. I knew Helluin from the Blessed Realm, and later, in Gondolin. I shall seek for her in the Hithaeglir. I wish thee good fortune in the war and victory o'er Angmar."
Now 'twas Elrond who said 'naught, but sat silent in thought. What Glorfindel says is true. My people depended on my leadership, especially in time of war. Sooner or later, the hostile blocking force beyond our valley shall depart or attack, and in either case, I must lead the response. Finally he nodded to his friend.
"Take with thee whosoe'er thou will, my friend. I wish thee success."
Unsaid was the fact that should danger arise on the mission, whether from Yrch or even a Ringwraith, Glorfindel was far better equipped to prevail. And if worst came to worst, Glorfindel was the only one he knew who might withstand Helluin.
The once Lord of the House of the Golden Flower of Gondolin took his leave the following morn, accompanied by three on horseback, all true Calaquendi who had lived in the Blessed Realm. Elrond and others of his household farewelled them from the foot of the climbing path that wound up the steep eastern end of the valley towards the High Pass. T'would be a year ere the Peredhel would see him again. 'Twas 3 Narbeleth, T.A. 1973.
In Eregion, some wandering companies of Laiquendi returned in haste to Hollin Ridge and reported the investiture of the Hidden Valley. The land of Eriador had been at peace for o'er a century, and so the Green Elves wandered the lands in small bands, going wheresoe'er they pleased, as they had e'er been wont to do. They were shocked when, coming 'nigh Imladris, they had found the woods filled with foes of all the most despicable kinds. They had tarried only long enough be reach a rough count of the enemies and discern their intent, and then they had withdrawn, for as six against six thousands, they could have inflicted no significant damage, only revealed their own presence.
To these accounts must be added one further note, that singular detail remembered by historians in the Shire, and that is the appearance in Fornost of a company of Halfling archers. T'would seem that much as they valued accuracy in their genealogies, the Perianin of that time tended to exaggerate 'aught else related to more general history. The entry in their annals regarding the Fall of Fornost tells only that some archers of unspecified number marched to the king's aid. The fanciful account of the deployment of five hundred archers is acknowledged as 'naught but folklore, the offspring of wishful thinking and local pride as loyal subjects of the realm. 'Tis doubtful that there were even five hundred bows in all of the Shire.
There are other factors that make the claim of five hundred archers being sent to Fornost absurd. The Halflings had always detested fighting, preferring peace, regular meals, the growing of crops, and predictable lives. War was to be avoided, for 'twas less desirable than adventures. The Perianin were an agrarian community with low population density, and with decentralized authority residing in the heads of influential families who were acknowledged as local chieftains. In those days whilst the kings still reigned, there was no universally accepted office or figure empowered to deploy armed forces on behalf of the community at large. 'Twas only later that the Shire chose a Thain to represent royal authority 'until the king should come again'. Regarding war as a concept, the Halflings were fearful, disorganized, ill equipped, and unprepared.
The Periannath ne'er had a standing army. In later years, they had volunteer militias at times, (more like short-lived mobs, really), mustered only to answer specific external threats and then disbanded immediately after. There were also varying numbers of 'Bounders' who patrolled the bounds, (the boundaries or borders), of the Shire at times when the outside world intruded. These were as likely to dissuade the entry of rats as rascals. For internal security, the Periannath had a dozen Sherriffs who functioned as a combination of hay wards and dogcatchers.
The likelihood is that if any archers had represented Sûza at the Fall of Fornost, they probably would have come from the Fallohide clan, who were the least populous of the three Hobbit clans, the largest in stature, and the only clan given at any point in their history to hunting, (just as the Stoors were the only clan with a penchant for boating). Despite claims that all Hobbits could shoot, 'twas the Fallohides who were most likely to own a bow and know how to use it. Likewise, whilst there were indeed some heirloom bladed weapons, these were kept primarily for decorative purposes. There were no sword masters in the Shire.
All this is not to say that the Periannath were incapable of self-defense. As individuals they partook of a fortitude unexpected by outsiders. As a group they were resilient and resistant in the face of threat. They weathered natural challenges as do all who live on the land. Being a people of small stature, they had endured their share of bullying and had survived. Hobbits were known to be stealthy at need, able to slip away and take cover with greater ease and success than most mortals. In this, their combination of small size and close association with the land stood them in good stead. Light was their tread, as if they preserved an ingrained and unconscious respect for the earth at all times. 'Tis also known that they were accurate and forceful with thrown stones, a fairly universal skill probably derived from childhood games and adult irritation, for what farmer hasn't flung away many a stone whilst plowing his fields?
As to the presence of Halfling archers at the Fall of Fornost, 'tis more likely that whatsoe'er hunters had been afield in the Shire at that time, they had become collateral damage in the fighting. Their fates were unknown, reflected in the historical accounts of them having ne'er returned. 'Tis most likely that they were accorded the status of fallen warriors when the Shire's history of the times was written afterwards, no doubt including many a rumor and conjecture, for the Halflings had hidden from the fighting. In any case, extant Dúnedain sources make no mention of archers from The Shire.
Now the last week of Narwain, (January), and the first week of Nínui passed with Tindomul's host crossing the Plains of Angmar. The Easterling cavalry, the Hillmen, the Yrch with their Wargs, and the pack of wolves that shadowed them, walked during the daylight ere camping for the night. The Yrch in particular were thankful for the shortness of the winter days. During the night, the Tor, with the thousand Yrch assigned as their daytime guardians, hastened south following in their tracks, eventually leapfrogging the main host in the early hours after midnight, and continuing 'til the Tor dug in ere dawn. Their march took them due south 'cross fifty leagues in the frigid winter cold. A fast marching pace heated their bodies as much as their hatred sustained their hearts, and though some indeed froze to death, the weather grew warmer as they came east of the North Downs. The thousand Yrch regarded the frozen corpses left in their path as rations, and praised their master for his generosity.
Having spent o'er three months in organizing and preparing his host, Tindomul had allowed time for the Green Elves to muster and conduct their scouting. They saw the sieges that withheld the aid of Lindon and Imladris from King Arvedui in Fornost. They saw the Host of Angmar entering the northern precincts of Arthedain. They had a difficult choice to make, for they could not clear the threats on three such widely distant fronts at the same time. The numbers of their foes were simply too great. Dálindir, Tórferedir, and Gwilolrán took counsel together. They found sufficient pros and cons to birth headaches such as would torment a mortal.
Imladris was home to the son of Eärendil and Elwing. Elrond was the scion of Lúthien, Dior, Elu Thingol, and Melian. They owed him their support for all the long years of his ancestors' succor 'neath the stars, and they had pledged just such to him in Beleriand two Ages ago. In Lindon, Círdan guarded the last remnant of their old home, Ossiriand, but more than this, by his craft and from his havens, they would someday set sail into the promised West. Lindon could not fall. Arthedain was a kingdom of Men, but the Green Elves had not forgotten that of old, those kings and their people had done what the Laiquendi would not do. They had gone down to the Black Land and worsted the Lieutenant of Morgoth. All the years of freedom since had been won by Elendil and Isildur with their defeat of Sauron, and after, their descendants had held back the evil of Angmar. Long aforetime, the Númenóreans had brought aid and driven Sauron from Eriador. The Men of the West were the foes of every creature allied with the darkness. And like Elrond, they too were the descendants of Eärendil, and the Green Elves had promised their aid equally to Elros.
"Three months, and as yet the forces investing Lindon and Imladris have not pressed their position," Gwilolrán said. "Our scouts report that they encamp and waylay the roads, but foment no battles."
"Aye, we deem them blocking forces only," the general of the Laiquendi agreed.
"So then the only force overtly moving to attack is the main host that marches on Fornost?" Dálindir asked, just to make sure.
"T'would seem so," Tórferedir said. After a moment's thought, he added, "yet that could swiftly change should Fornost fall."
"And the hosts of Imladris and Lindon together number some six and one half thousands?" The King asked.
"Nay, no longer," Gwilolrán said. "We deem that two to three thousands fell when Lindon was first engaged. I would make their combined count perhaps three and one half thousands now."
Dálindir shook his head. The loss was great and he rued it deeply. Yet even should his people somehow liberate both Imladris and Lindon, the strategic gain of three and one half thousand warriors would not be o'erwhelming against the main host of their enemies.
"Our scouts 'nigh Imladris and Lindon are to maintain their positions and observe only," Dálindir decided. "We shall not chance them inciting battle whilst our friends are so badly outnumbered."
To this, Tórferedir and Gwilolrán nodded their agreement.
"Muster our people," Dálindir said. "We march to the aid of Fornost."
In the third week of their march, the Host of Angmar began to turn west, and they spread out into a broad front. Now they had reached the populated lands northeast of the Weather Hills, a rolling, green, land of pastures and meadows, and lazy streams that formed ponds in hollows, a land dotted with small hamlets, estates, shepherd's cottages, and isolated farms. Being the dead of winter, few went abroad save at need, and so few marked the advance of the host ere they arrived.
Those few of the Dúnedain who survived this initial onslaught had fled, oft with but an hour to spare, and made their way south with great toil and hardship. Few marked that at times, their pursuit had faltered and they had won free by the grace of hidden archers. Elsewhere, Easterling Men, Hillmen, and Yrch fell, shot by those they could not see. 'Twas as old stories told, they said, that Eriador held some ghostly foe whose rage was visited upon them. E'er it had been the same, as in the long vanished years of myth when even their great master had been turned away from these lands.
Still, companies of Men and Yrch took their delight in looting towns and homes, burning farmhouses with families inside, barns and stables with livestock inside, and pillaging 'aught of value to which they took a fancy. They slaughtered Man, beast, and bird, raped not just the women, flung hives of hibernating bees into frozen lakes, and chopped down orchards of fruit trees for spite. What few armed retainers the landed gentry employed were no match for the horde of Angmar and were swiftly slain. So too were such scouting parties and outposts of the Army of Arthedain as were encountered. Whatsoe'er acts of malice Tindomul's troops chose to commit, they saw none to stay them, and so they rampaged 'cross the countryside, exercising their master's order to, "leave none alive!"
Through those northern lands of Arthedain, roving bands of Green Elves slew all they could, yet this time the foe was dispersed, not marching together in an ordered column, and this made their work both less rewarding and more hazardous. E'er they had to keep sharp watch, for if they went to assail one band, another on horseback might pass 'nigh. Likewise, they ne'er encountered so many together that they could shoot from one position. They had to seek for foes and then shoot, and always their targets were few and fast moving. The Green Elves also did what they could to aid those in flight from the enemy, and that too took time. For three weeks they fought a battle of myriad small skirmishes, slaying a few here and a few there, and they came to suspect that the sum made little dint in the whole of Angmar's host.
The wave of destruction continued unabated for three weeks as the Host of Angmar made their way west. Finally, with the end of Nínui, the host approached Fornost, a rime of ice and a dusting of snow still coating the ground. Behind lay the devastation of a broad swath of northern Arthedain, littered with burnt buildings and partially eaten corpses. So thorough had the Men and Yrch been that not even the rumor of their actions had come to the king. They were only a league from the gates when they were finally marked at dawn and alarms were rung in the fortress.
On the morn of 28 Nínui, Arvedui looked out from the tower of Fornost and saw a host of fifty-eight thousands arrayed out of catapult range on the lands bracketing the North Road. 'Twas a shock to see, despite the forewarning of Malbeth's prediction. And no allies had come. The king was faced with defending his city with barely ten thousand Men. This time, there would be no actions upon the field. Fornost was already invested and the siege would begin at the Witch King's whim. All the Dúnedain could do was man the walls and prepare to defend them. O'erhead, a murder of crows circled repeatedly, memorizing the arrangement of the walls and avenues, the turrets and the towers, ere they flew off to make their report to the Nazgûl.
Upon the field, Tindomul awaited nightfall when the Tor would arise and he could begin his bombardment of the walls. Through the hours of daylight, his troops relaxed in their companies, a sea of tents interspersed with horse pickets and supply wagons. He made sure to park the ram dead center on the road, its ominous presence a promise of things to come. The Ringwraith would let the defenders stand watch in the cold all day long ere assailing them in the dark.
Nightfall came to the North Downs. The Tor dug themselves out of the freezing pits wherein they had sought sanctuary from Anor. Soon they had armed themselves for battle as the rest of the camp came to life. Easterlings mounted their horses. Hillmen took up their swords. Yrch clambered onto the backs of Wargs, or readied their shields, spears, bows, and scimitars. Wagons carrying roundish stones rolled forward into range, and the Tor accompanied them with their slings and clubs. At the rear, wolves howled. Somewhere above the o'ercast, stars blazed in the black night sky.
Forward rode the Nazgûl to the head of his vast army, and he stood in the stirrups and drew his sword. With a shriek, a pale phosphorescence swept up the blade and leapt into the night sky, and from the clouds, lightning answered. The air rocked with claps of thunder. From the wagons, Tor selected stones and fitted them to the pockets of their slings, and then set them into motion, building speed in whistling o'erhead circles from which the other troops shied away.
"Flakasi, hodh!¹" The Witch King cried out. ¹(Flakasi, hodh! Slings, throw! Orkish)
Two hundred stones flew through the air as ten of the twelve score Tor released their shot and then went to choose the next. Though a few fell short, most struck the fortress. Some crashed against the walls, doing little damage. A few flew high enough to slam onto the wall walks, scattering archers and shield bearers, and threatening the artillery. The Tor moved somewhat with each shot, making targeting them with the catapults more difficult. The huge creatures reloaded their slings faster than the artillery crews could reload their catapults, and the sheer count of shot they sent airborne set the Men on the wall at a distinct disadvantage.
As they had aforetime, the odd numbered batteries fired burning shot to light the field, but now, to the dismay of the Dúnedain, no sooner had a fiery missile landed than a team of Yrch smothered it with a tarp of rawhides, soaked during the day in water. O'er and o'er this was done, and as the teams outnumbered the catapults, the field remained dark. The King's Archers would not have the benefit of clear targets when the enemy finally approached.
'Twas with the second round of shot cast from the slings that a Torog got lucky. His stone flew high and far, and it smashed the pivot and boom of the seventh battery on the southern wall, striking it out of the defense. A great cheer came from the Host of Angmar. From the field, more shot came at the walls. One stone swept away a half-dozen archers and their shield bearers, sending their broken bodies tumbling off the wall and onto the avenue behind. The catapult crews returned fire, but their targets were dark, barely visible, moving, widely separated, and numerous. Soon enough, another group of archers were slain. Then a second and a third catapult were damaged further towards the western end of the wall.
Tindomul sent a score of slingers east, to assail the southeastern corner of the wall. There the Tor slung their stones in hopes of hitting the wall walk and bouncing down its length, wrecking havoc as a raking shot. Though 'twas a narrow target requiring both luck and skill, eventually the Tor succeeded, destroying the twenty-fourth eastern battery and damaging the first and second southern batteries. Other shots took a toll on the archers 'nigh the corner turret.
Now the range of the Tor with their slings was much less than the Dúnedain with their catapults, but to hit one of them with a cast from a catapult would be a matter of pure luck, for though they were large of body, they were in constant motion and made for relatively small targets in the dark and at a distance. Even when they were in range of the Númenórean steel war bows, a shot would have to be guided by luck or the Valar to be fatal. Finally, the Dúnedain abandoned trying to hit them with solid shot, and instead began to lob liquid shot.
The liquid shot had been highly effective in 1851, and it had the benefit of being impossible to extinguish, for the splash and smear of the incendiary mixture was larger than what the rawhide tarps could cover. Once a number of such fires were burning, they provided light for the archers upon the wall, and they began to take a toll on the Host of Angmar.
By that time, a fourth battery on the south wall had been destroyed, leaving only twenty catapults sound and able to fire. There commenced a duel 'twixt the Dúnedain and the far more numerous Tor, and o'er the course of the next two hours, five more batteries were stilled, whilst but three Tor were turned into great torches, covered with a clinging fire that drove them mad with pain so that they charged blindly into the ranks of the host, crushing a couple hundred Men and Yrch underfoot. Still, the duel had been lopsided ere its start, and by attrition, the Men of Fornost's artillery were worsted.
At the same time, a secondary duel was underway 'twixt the Dúnedain archers upon the wall and their counterparts upon the field, the Yrch with their shorter bows and crossbows. Again, the advantages of power and range were held by the King's Archers, but the Yrch were far more numerous. Again, 'twas a battle of attrition in which each Man who fell was mourned, whilst each Orch who fell was ignored or trampled as his replacement took up his weapon. The shooting continued without respite, and the count of defenders fell. King Arvedui could ill afford such a mode of battle, for his Men were outnumbered almost six to one.
On the field, the Nazgûl had marked the fall of some of his host on his left flank. Arrows had come from the west, from the wooded verge beyond the road where trees gave cover. Yet for centuries, the Dúnedain had cut back all growth for a full two furlongs on either side of the road as a defense against brigands and archers. Tindomul knew the capabilities of the Laiquendi. He had seen their work oft enough aforetime. Their weapons had not the range of the Númenórean steel war bows. And so the Ringwraith simply moved his troops east, three hundred yards from the forested verge. The killing slowed to a trickle as his host moved out of range of the Green Elves' bows.
Eventually the killing resumed though, as Laiquendi moved out of the forest, still remaining unmarked in the darkness by virtue of their vaunted stealth. Tindomul would not waste effort on trying to engage them in an archery battle. Instead, he sent companies of Easterling cavalry galloping west to the forest bearing torches. These they cast into the deadfall 'neath the trees to fire the woods, and so the Green Elves were driven back for a time.
Now midnight came and the siege had raged for five hours. Upon the south wall, but a dozen batteries remained intact. O'er five hundred archers and shield bearers had lost their lives. On the field, a half-dozen Tor had fallen, and 'nigh a thousand Men and Yrch had been slain. Tindomul ordered his Trolls to close on the fortress, and accompanied by his archers, they moved inside the range of the catapults, rendering the Dúnedain artillery impotent. The Tor slung their stones and the Yrch fired their arrows, but of the defenders, only the King's Archers could do 'aught to repel them. The closer range aided the Tor and all who bore bows. Accuracy improved, the stones and arrows took a greater toll, so that Men and Yrch died at an increased pace.
By the first hour past midnight, another thousand Yrch had fallen, but on the wall, another five hundred archers and their shield bearers had died. Having numbered just o'er four thousands ere the battle commenced, the King's Archers were reduced to three-quarters of their strength. The hail of arrows from the field was ceaseless, and time after time, stones cast by the Tor would impact on the wall walk and kill a handful more. Against the forty pound sling stones, no shield would serve as protection.
Another hour passed and the second hour after midnight opened. Though the King's Archers managed to slay yet another thousand Yrch, these still numbered 'nigh thirty-two thousands, of whom some twelve thousands bore bows or crossbows. During that same hour, another eight hundred Dúnedain fell, for they were being outshot by o'er four arrows to one. Two thousand two hundred of the King's Archers remained, and the killing accelerated as their numbers dropped. Towards the end of that hour, the count of casualties reached parity, with equal numbers dying upon wall and field. The Ringwraith nodded in approval. In another hour the fortress would have so little defensive potential remaining that he would call forth the ram and break the gates.
Now the third hour past midnight came, and still nine score Tor slung their stones at the fortress. They concentrated all their efforts on clearing the wall walks, as did the Yrch archers. The King's Archers chanced their lives with each shot they took, exposed whilst the drew, aimed, and released ere ducking back behind their shields. In the time it took for them to send one arrow to flight, four or five sped towards them, and sooner or later, one would find its mark. And in that fearful environment, all could end if a sling cast found its target, sending the broken bodies of archers and shield bearers flying off the wall walk and down into the avenue below.
The third hour past midnight ended, and now the Ringwraith ordered the battering ram forward. Slowly it crept up the road towards the gate, and for the Men of Arthedain, it couldn't move slow enough. The ram was a pillar of black basalt, heavy and dense, carved from the heart of Mt. Gundabad, and it measured a fathom in diameter and five fathoms in length. On its front end was a cap of steel in the shape of a demon's face. Behind the cap, the shaft was banded with heavy rings of iron. It hung in a cradle of great chains attached to a wheeled chassis of massive timbers. Eight Tor pushed it from behind, and its bulk shielded them from the frantic arrow fire of the Dúnedain. As the King's Archers desperately tried to slow its progress, they made of themselves easier targets, and the Yrch and Tor took advantage. Ere the ram came to the gates, but eight hundred of the King's Archers still lived, and they were driven behind their shields by hails of arrows sent against them by the nine thousand surviving Orkish archers.
Now the Yrch and the Tor concentrated all their fire at the wall walk above the gate, driving the defenders behind their shields. Scarcely could they lunge forth to chance a shot ere they were answered by the sling cast stones of the Tor and a multitude of arrows. The nearest artillery crew tried to ignite and drop liquid shot by hand o'er the parapet of the wall, and the first of these fell alongside the ram as its wheels were being chocked. But the ram was immune to flames, for its wooden chassis had been soaked with water and would take much heat ere it caught fire and burned. The second attempt to drop liquid shot by hand resulted in a catastrophe, for as the fuse was lit and two Men carried it to the parapet, a volley of hundreds of arrows came at them, and they were slain, and the shot fell and shattered upon the wall walk. Then the space above the gate was engulfed in flames, and the Host of Angmar cheered whilst Men burned to death above, or leapt in desperation to the pavement below.
After the ram had been secured in place, the Tor hauled on the chains and the great column of basalt began to swing. Six times it swung back and forth building momentum, and on the seventh swing, the steel cap touched the gates of Fornost with a heavy thud that could be felt through the masonry of the gate towers and the barbican.
High in the tower, King Arvedui watched the siege of his city, and he saw the attrition of his soldiers. He had known the defense was doomed ere it began, for the fall of Fornost had been foretold. When he saw the explosion of fire above the gate, he knew the time had come. Swiftly he descended from the council chamber to the royal residence, and there he met his wife and children. The Knight Commander of the special cavalry detail was already waiting in the hallway.
Then King Arvedui gathered his queen in his arms, for she was fraught with fear and tears fell as she watched her hopes fail. Thirty years aforetime she had lost her father and brothers to war, and now it seemed that she would lose her husband as well. For what would be the last time, he spoke to ease her heartbreak.
"Beloved, of our life together I have no regrets, only bliss to last beyond the world," he said as he held her. "'Naught could I want for than what we have shared. You have my heart and my love fore'er, sweet Fíriel¹. No greater boon could the South Kingdom have ceded to the north than you, my Lúthien." ¹(Fíriel, Mortal Maiden Among the Elves, the name has literary associations with Míriel, wife of Finwë, whose spirit was so diminished by the fire she gifted to her son Fëanor that she passed away, and with Lúthien, who became mortal for love of Beren Erchamion, and died.)
The queen clung tight to her husband, but his words had helped to sooth her heart. Her breathing hitched, but her tears slowed and finally she blinked and took a deep breath. Whether in Gondor or in Arthedain, she was a queen.
"Long we have known this day would come, and yet I would trade not a day we have spent together, my king. I wish only that our people could live in peace and we with them," she said. "Alas, 'tis not to be. Though I am indeed a mortal woman, I know enough of war. Arthedain shall fall as was foretold."
Arvedui nodded to her. The fall of his city was but hours away, and yet he felt worse leaving her. He turned then to his son and heir, and he looked him o'er. Aranarth was strong of body and spirit. He would be a king in heart even if he had no kingdom.
"My son, the time has come for thee to take thy leave, and with thee, your mother, brother, and sister. I bid thee guard them and see them safe to the Lord Círdan. Of what lies beyond that, we have already spoken."
"I shall do all I can, father," the young Man said, "though I am still willing to stay and aid in the defense."
But Arvedui just smiled and said, "I know, son, but that many others shall do. Thou shalt be needed by our people after. Now I bid thee look to the welfare of our queen, and the younger prince and princess. Our people shall need thy protection. Thou art the Heir of Elendil and thou hast no higher calling."
Aranarth bowed his head to his father, who saw that he already carried the case bearing the heirlooms of state. Then the king hugged his younger son Artamir¹, named for Fíriel's eldest brother, and his daughter Artanis²,who tried to smile at her father through her tears. ¹(Artamir, Noble Jewel Quenya) ²(Artanis, Noble Woman Quenya)
"I love you both more than words can tell," Arvedui said, "and by the grace of the One, perhaps we shall meet again. Yet for now, I wish ye to live and to support each other. The times are dark, but with hope, there is always Light. Go now, and be safe, my noble children."
Then he turned to the Knight Commander and said, "ride in haste and stop for none. As we have planned, take the pass north of Nenuial and cross the river's west branch at the old north ford. The west bank is Elvish country, free of the enemy."
The commander nodded, somber. He knew well the way, but 'twas a long ride, easily four hundred miles, ten days at least. "My lord, thou hast my sworn word that thy family shall arrive in Lindon unharmed."
With a nod from the king, who stayed only a moment to give his wife a last kiss, the knight led the royal family down into the bowels of Fornost, below the level of the arsenal where a broad, lamp lit way led northwest. There a coach and four waited, and they boarded and the coachman dove his team forward at a canter. Now after half a mile, they came to a cavernous space hewn from the rock of the downs. There were gathered many carts and wagons, and many of the folk of Fornost, and to one side, a barracks where a company of the Cavalry of Arthedain waited. There too were located the stables and mess of the company, and there they mounted horses for their flight. A short walk up a ramp led to a postern door forged of heavy steel and faced with a stone slab hewn from the rock of the downs. It opened at the bottom of the steep north face, directly into the bottomlands. The royal family and the knights rode out and the door closed behind them, barely showing a seam.
They met the night's chill, the land dim 'round them 'neath the o'ercast sky. Behind, the slope of the down rose in a steep hundred feet of chalk. At its crest, the north wall of Fornost rose another fifty feet, crowned with battlements where sentries paced. In the distance they heard the impacts of stones slung by the Tor and the shouting of Men. From the south, the undersides of the clouds were lit by the orange light of fires.
"Your Grace, Your Highnesses, I am Belegon, Knight Commander of this detail of the Cavalry of Arthedain. I will be your guide, and I am sworn to see ye safely to the Lord Círdan. Once we are away, the people of Fornost shall follow, and ere the fortress falls, most of the cavalry and infantry too will attempt to flee. With the Grace of the One we shall meet them in Lindon. We shall ride so hard as the horses may allow. Tonight, we make for Foron¹, six leagues west." ¹(Foron, North Hall Sindarin)
At a nod from the queen, the commander's lieutenant opened the shroud on one side of a lamp and swung it side to side. His signal was replied in kind from the wall walk high above. Then the Knight Commander led them west through the bottomland at a full gallop. After a few moments they passed from behind the walls of the fortress. The downs failed and flat land spread 'round them, south, west, and north. For harrowing moments they could look out to the south, and in the distance see the host of Angmar, the flames of the battle, and the figures of the Tor whipping their slings 'round their heads. A great boom rolled through the air as the ram struck the gates. Then they were past the breadth of the cleared verge 'round the fortress and trees surrounded them, black boles and barren limbs in the winter night.
To Be Continued