In An Age Before – Part 174
Now as has been told in the lore of the North Kingdom, Prince Aranarth, last heir of a King of Arthedain and later, first Chieftain of the Dúnedain of the North did indeed make good his escape from Fornost. Following the fall of the North Fortress, the prince made his way to Lindon and came to the realm of Círdan the Shipwright bearing tidings of woe. He informed the Lord of the Havens of the Fall of Fornost, the flight of his people, and his father's intent to maintain a defense of the kingdom of Elendil. 'Neath the protection of Knight Commander Belegon and his cavalry company, Aranarth had ridden to Mithlond via the west bank of the River Lhûn, and as his father had foreseen, thereby circumvented the blockade of the Witch King's host. 'Twas 10 Gwaeron, T.A. 1974, and the flight of the royal family had taken eleven days.
To Mithlond with Prince Aranarth came his mother, Queen Fíriel, his younger brother, Prince Artamir, and his sister, Princess Artanis. The succession of the Heirs of Elendil was assured, and the royal house maintained. With him, the prince carried a case containing the heirlooms of the North Kingdom, the Scepter of Annúminas, the shards of Narsil, and the Second Elendilmir, which in later days would be given o'er to the stewardship of the Lord Elrond. Alas that he had not also brought with him the Palantíri of Amon Sûl and Annúminas, howe'er the Seeing Stones his father had retained, and they traveled with him into exile in his saddlebags. King Arvedui also bore one other ancient heirloom of his house, the Ring of Barahir. Yet unlike the palantíri, the ring of Finrod Felagund was not lost to the Dúnedain in the end.
Sorrowful and fraught with worry were Queen Fíriel and her children, for their city had been taken by the Witch King and her husband's fate was unknown. With the princes and the princess, she took counsel with the Lord Círdan, beseeching the Ship Wright for aid, for her people too had fled Fornost, and she expected them to arrive o'er the following fortnight.
"Lady Fíriel, my lords and lady, ye have the welcome of Mithlond and the people of Lindon. Please, be settled and take some rest, for I know ye are weary and your hearts troubled by what has come to pass. 'Tis my great regret that we were unable to come to the aid of King Arvedui and the people of Arthedain, yet ye have seen how we are laid 'neath a siege and constrained hither," the ancient Sinda said. He shook his head in sorrow and sympathy for the plight of the Dúnedain.
"My lord, my family fled in haste, first to leave the fortress whilst the gates still stood, yet I doubt not that they fell shortly after, for we heard the blows of the ram as we rode west," she said. "After us shall come a great part of the people of Fornost, desperate and in grief, driven forth in wagons and carts and even afoot. 'Tis still winter, and though warmer here 'nigh the water, they shall be needy of shelter and food. I pray thee allow us to set a camp upon thy western shore, to hunt amidst the foothills of the Ered Luin, and to fish in the gulf."
"Of course, m'lady. The bounty of water and field come of the One, gifted to all His children," Círdan said. "My people have long worked with wood," he added with a grin, "and we shall aid thee in the construction of shelters for thy folk when they arrive. Thou art amongst friends."
The queen smiled and dipped her head in thanks. Of course they work with wood.
"Lord Círdan, guarding our peoples' march from Fornost shall come the greater part of the surviving Army of Arthedain. Upon the northern border of thy western lands we shall hold back whatsoe'er foes should come against thy folk, whilst at the same time guarding a temporary encampment of our own," Prince Aranarth pledged. "Thy forces would need only look to guarding the southern shore after, and we shall join thee to repel those who blockade thy gates when that day comes."
And now 'twas the Lord of the Havens who dipped his head in thanks to the prince.
"I know thy history recalls the last time Eriador was occupied by the Dark Lord's servants, but I remember those days, when Ciryatur and the Men of Númenor came and broke the might of Sauron. Thy aid at arms is e'er welcome, Prince Aranarth. Yet more, we all acknowledge the debt we owe to thy ancestors. The Dúnedain have long been staunch allies and friends. We shall be honored to have thy folk amongst us."
O'er the next ten days, the people of Fornost arrived, common born and noble alike, dispossessed of their treasure and now homeless. With them came the remaining cavalry, the infantry, artillery crews, and most of the surviving archers. A great count of support staff had also escaped, cooks, surgeons, armorers, ferriers, smiths, wagon drivers, wheel wrights, bowyers, fletchers, scouts, and quartermasters, to name a few. And they had not come empty handed. 'Twas to the credit of King Arvedui's foresight that he had ordered his soldiers to ransack the armory, and so their carts had rolled from the fortress bearing hundreds of steel war bows and bows of yew that could be used for hunting, thousands of arrows, bundles of spears, crates of swords, stacks of shields, and suits of armor. Even the spare horses had been ridden to Lindon by the infantry, for they would not be abandoned to the Yrch. Well 'nigh the only weapons wholly left behind had been the artillery pieces and their shot.
So it came to pass that as the people of Fornost arrived in Mithlond, they were settled in a growing city, first in tents made from sailcloth, or 'neath canvas stretched o'er wooden ribs to cover wagon beds, and later in barracks of planks built during the following months. Fields were marked out and the soil prepared for spring planting, wells were dug, and latrine pits excavated. Parties for hunting and fishing were formed. As their shock and depression faded with the passing weeks and they came to accept their new state, the displaced city folk did their best to adopt the ways of their country kin. And if they had doubts, the people could look o'er and see the royal family leading by example, getting their hands dirty and laboring just as they did, for though the formal pressures of rule had diminished, still they were determined to do 'aught that they could in service to their subjects. Slowly, the refugees adapted to the necessities of their new lives and a new community evolved, just as communities had done since the earliest days of Men. There were precedents stretching back to Hildórien, and later, the first camp of Men who had immigrated to Beleriand. Perhaps Círdan alone recalled that some three thousand seven hundred years aforetime, the same land northeast of Mithlond that now hosted this latter day Estolad had hosted the tents of the army that Tar-Minastir had sent to Eriador in S.A. 1701.
Meanwhile, back in Fornost, the gates had fallen and the Easterling cavalry had charged into the city itching for slaughter. Instead, they had been met with fire and died in the flames, immolated by the king as the last of his people escaped. They were still dying in E-Nbelthed Tal when Arvedui, Celegon, and a mixed company of four dozen archers, shield bearers, sentries, and infantry fled west into the forest. It took a full half-hour for the flames to subside enough that a party of Tindomul's Yrch could enter the broken gates to report on what had come to pass.
When the destruction of his cavalry was confirmed, the Ringwraith was furious. He shrieked and ranted, uttered curses and threats, wrung his vaporous hands and stamped his nonexistent feet. All his host were cowed and shied away from his tantrum. Ere he mastered himself, most of the host had heard rumors of what had come to pass in the city.
Those detailed to scout within Fornost had found mountains of dead horses and Men strewn down the full length of a long avenue that led to a blind courtyard, and all were roasted to perfection. The bodies had been well charred without, and remained juicy red within. The Yrch had sampled the meat and found it quite tasty, for the Easterlings and their horses had died in terror and their fear had seasoned the flesh. So elated had they been with this boon that they had not sought for a second gate, nor marked the lack of a way into the inner city. Such considerations had completely slipped their minds. Tindomul of course was furious with them. He deemed them incapable of prioritizing.
The crows had reported on the layout of the city, so far as they could from a bird's eye view. The route that the cavalry had ridden indeed led to a dead end. 'Twas a cunning trap, a subterfuge designed into the city in its first building. The true way into Fornost lay somewhere 'twixt the outer gate and the dead end courtyard, but in finding its location, the crows were of little help. Like all birds, they perceived motion acutely, but all the walls and gates of Fornost had been still during their fly by. Birds can perceive colors not visible to Men, but this too was of no aid to them, for one slab of stone looked much like any other. And finally, birds have no capacity to recognize engineering in masonry even if they seek for nesting sites on a cliff face. They would have had to observe the gate in motion, repeatedly most likely, ere they understood its purpose. Instead, they had o'erflown the secret entrance and recognized it not.
The Nazgûl had questioned them closely of course, and he had learnt the positions of the markets where food scraps might be had, the locations of the coops of messenger pigeons from the accumulation of their highly visible guano, and the placement of tavern kitchens and smithies revealed by their heat signatures. Eventually, he groaned and gave up, sending them back aloft to seek for any movement, and any trace of survivors remaining in the city.
Morning finally arrived and the Tor had gone to ground, literally, hiding in pits they'd dug during the last hour ere dawn. The Yrch grew restless and quarrelsome, forced to remain on duty in the daylight. Wargs were irritable, having not feasted on Dúnedain children as had been promised, whilst the wolves worried bones and then napped.
Finally, the Ringwraith sent Hillmen into Fornost. They were familiar with martial architecture, for the Plain of Angmar where they had been recruited was littered with petty holdings, small castles, and fortifications from of old. They at least knew a gate from a wall, and their hatred of the Dúnedain drove them to do 'aught that they could to further encompass their ruin. Aside from this, they had the motivation of plunder, which after the massacre of the Easterlings, would be divided into fewer shares once 'twas found. They did their master's bidding and eagerly sought for a 'hidden gate'.
Now though they had lived for generations amidst the tumbled down and ramshackle remains of small castles and crumbling walls, the Hillmen were out of their depth within the massive fortifications of Fornost. The blocks of stone and the scale of the gates and avenues was far beyond anything they had experienced aforetime. Only tales of the prior defeat in 1851 had come down to them from their grandfathers, and those accounts had only described the outer walls, seen from a few furlongs away at night. So they walked from the outer gate, through the courtyard within it, down the twisting avenue 'neath the four open gates, and finally into E-Nbelthed Tal. Tall and silent, the walls looked down upon them, streaked and blackened by fire, yet forbidding still, and nowhere did they mark a closed gate or a door, or even a seam 'twixt the blocks of stone that hinted at a secret way inwards. Finally, they gave up and took their leave.
Tindomul was gravely disappointed with them and laid heavy fear upon them, but it did no good. He deemed them 'nigh as dense as the stone of the fortress. 'Twas finally from the returning crows that he learnt 'aught of value. By scratching a diagram in the dirt with their beaks, they presented the positions of walls and spaces, and the Wraith marked the presence of a courtyard that was neither a market, nor a garden. 'Twas hemmed in by defensive walls atop which stood battlements and wall walks. It lay halfway 'twixt the outer gate and the next inner gate, upon the avenue leading to the blind courtyard. This time, the Ringwraith himself entered the city, pacing to the section of the avenue in which he was certain a hidden gate stood.
For Tindomul, entering Fornost was as a mortal walking amidst a field of ragweed, goldenrod, Queen's lace, and hay. Within the gardens and along the city streets stood many species of trees and shrubs, herbs and vines, and myriad kinds of grasses and flowers, all come of the accursed Isle of Westernesse, and all a cause for a reaction that irritated his incorporeal spirit. 'Twas a subtle reflection of the Light of Aman that lingered in their flowers, leaves, bark, stems, and trunks even after thousands of years' remove, for those plants had arisen in Aman and had been blessed in their first sprouting by Yavanna herself. Through countless generations of cuttings, rooted suckers, and sprouted seeds, that blessing had persisted even on the Mortal Shores, but for the Nazgûl, 'twas a distracting torment, for spiritually, he was allergic.
I shall have this festering trap stripped of 'aught that grows! What a horrible place! I yearn to burn it again myself! And yet somewhere within him, Tindomul recalled those scents, and memory reminded him of the shapes of those plants as he had once seen them in Númenor, in the king's gardens in Armenelos when he was young. He barely remembered those times now.
Even for him it took long, yet finally the wraith marked the wear upon the paving stones 'neath the heaps of burnt bodies. It seemed that centuries of traffic had worn somewhat that hard surface, and now, a monolithic block of stone stood blocking that spot in the inner wall of the avenue through which many had once passed. He examined the seams and found no tell tale that this place was any different than any other, and yet he was fully persuaded of it. The Ringwraith then eyed the breadth of the avenue and discerned that 'twas too narrow for his ram. And that too is no coincidence.
When night fell, the Nazgûl ordered his Tor to heft the fallen outer gates and lean them at an angle against the inner walls of the courtyard. Next, he ordered his Yrch to form a living ladder, leaning against the gates one atop the shoulders of the one below 'til the last reached the top of the gate. There an Orch affixed a rope ladder so that thereafter many could climb up with little effort. From the top of the gate to the top of the inner walls was but fifteen feet, and this was easily reached with a rickety wooden ladder. Finally, Yrch and Hillmen climbed atop the wall, and they stalked the wall walks seeking for any remaining defenders and for the ways down into the fortress.
Far to the south lay the lands of Gondor, the realm of Eärnil II, the thirty-second king. On 10 Gwaeron, as Queen Fíriel and Prince Aranarth arrived in Mithlond, he was hearing the reports of his captains. Oft and deeply had he brooded on Arvedui's call for aid since he had received the messenger from the North Kingdom 'nigh five months past. During that time, he had taken counsel with his captains and the requirements of a campaign for the relief of Arthedain had taken shape. Yet he had more pressing concerns, or so he deemed them.
Not once in the past thirty years had the border incursions and probing assaults in the north and south ceased for more than a couple fortnights. He rightly believed that the Wainriders south of Greenwood, and the Haradrim who had reoccupied, (and by now largely rebuilt), the ruins that Telumehtar had reduced Umbar to in 1810, were seeking for weaknesses in his defenses as they sought to redress their losses in The Battle of the Camp in 1944. To these foes, Gondor could show no weakness lest they encourage a wider war.
On a daily basis, reports came to Minas Anor of suspected enemy troop movements and predictions of where the next assault would take place. Eärnil shifted his assets so as to meet Gondor's foes with o'erwhelming strength at each engagement, thereby maintaining the illusion of a far vaster army than actually existed. 'Twas an endless and tiresome process that consumed much of his time, and yet what else could he do?
His son and heir Prince Eärnur had long argued for a major offensive. The now forty-six year old captain yearned for a glorious set piece battle, much like the one his father had won in 1944, back when Eärnur had been an impressionable sixteen year old aspiring to become a knight. Since those days, his son had proven his prowess at arms. He had joined the army at the tender age of eighteen, become a knight at twenty-one, a lieutenant at thirty, and a captain at thirty-seven. Few in his generation had risen so high and so fast. Yet for the past five years, the prince had become increasingly impatient, a sentiment shared by no few junior officers in his company. Eärnil judged that his son still had to acquire the moderation and patience to augment his martial abilities, for he was skilled, though more so in tactics than strategy. Even so, the king had faith that his son would become a great general, and one day, a strong king. He just needed the time and experience to balance his heavy hand and inspiring leadership on the field.
Though the notion of prosecuting a massive preemptive strike against the north or the south was attractive to some, the king knew he had not the numbers to ensure victory. Were he to assail either with sufficient forces, he would not be able to defend the other. And should he fail in such a campaign, his remaining foes would fall upon his kingdom with their full force. Nay, he could not strike with surety in either the north or the south, for he could not be certain of success on two such widely separated fronts. The failure of his predecessor King Ondoher proved his point.
With a sigh he reread the latest reports of troop strengths and deployments. The accounts of his scouts suggested that a new attack east of the South Road through Harondor could be expected from foes in Near Harad. He drafted orders to shift two thousands eastward from the garrison one hundred miles north of the River Harnen. Then he wondered how he would e'er find the Men and resources to spare for an expedition north, for his campaign requirements included fifty thousands sent to Arthedain aboard ship. As the situation now stood, 'twas no way he could spare the quarter part of his armies, probably for a months long deployment far beyond easy recall in case of emergency. Again he forced the problem from his mind. Perhaps the morrow would offer a new solution.
The months of Narbeleth, Hithui, Girithron, Narwain, and Nínui passed as Helluin made her way north through the Hithaeglir. As the old Eldarin season of quellë, or fading, turned to hrívë, or winter, she was quite glad to be the sole inhabitant of those Yrch warrens that she had emptied on her earlier journey south. 'Twas peaceful, the solitude, and winter in the Misty Mountains was no season to be walking the high trails. On those occasions when she did venture forth, 'twas on sunny days, still and silent, with the snow sparkling like a dusting of diamonds on the peaks above. Those days she trekked from one lair to the next closest north that her memory recalled.
Only twice in that time did she find tracks, both trails leading to small dens of Yrch, a few dozens shivering and starving in their depressing caves. As aforetime, she asked her questions, received no answers, and killed them all. The dark Noldo vacated those fresh tombs as quickly as the weather allowed.
Now some might remark on Helluin's contentment, alone save for her foes during the past hundred and twenty-three years, and yet she was not alone. Aside from the limited conversations she endured with the Yrch, she had the e'er agreeable personages of her weapons for company. Anguirél and the Sarchram both gave voice to their enthusiastic pursuit of Helluin's campaign, for slaughter was well 'nigh the only thing they looked forward to. They complimented, and in the Grave Wing's case, directly shared the most warlike aspects of her own psyche. Even so, the campaign had become routine after 'nigh a century and a quarter, and if 'twas Helluin's own sentiments that the Black Sword and the Sarchram gave voice to, t'would not have been surprising.
As e'er I thank thee for the anointment of blood, O Helluin, Anguirél said following the final death in the last cave, and as e'er, I crave more.
I too am grateful for the regularity of our dining this past century, O Helluin, the Sarchram said as the Noldo cleaned the ring blade of Orc blood, though a bit of variety would not be unwelcome. Could we not slay next a Troll, perchance?
Yes! Yes! A Torog, the Black Sword exclaimed with obvious anticipation, t'would be a welcome change.
Helluin groaned. Her allies had become satiated, and yes, she had marked Anguirél's muttered comment of, Orch again…, the last few times she'd pulled the blade from a foe's chest.
"Oh, alright," the elleth finally said as she sheathed her weapons. "Through all these years I have learnt 'naught of Beinvír's disappearance, and I deem I shall learn 'naught from what few Yrch may yet remain in the Hithaeglir. We shall make our way to Khazad-dûm when the weather turns warmer, and then return to Eriador for a while."
The Black Sword and the Ring made no further comments at that time, yet Helluin suspected that they were well satisfied and anticipating a change in diet. Having made the decision to break from her campaign of slaughter, Helluin found herself awaiting the month of Gwaeron with increasing eagerness. She looked 'round. The current cave was dark, dusty, and bleak. Down a short passage lay the desiccated and rat gnawed bodies of several dozen Yrch that she had slain early the past summer. Helluin was actually only some three score miles north of Methedras, for the year had already grown late in the mountains when she'd left, and she had been in no hurry.
Yes, she thought, t'will be good to see Eriador again. I wonder if I have missed 'aught?
The month of Gwaeron came, and though Helluin had not a calendar, she had marked that Anor's path 'cross the sky had moved noticeably southward. The days had lengthened a bit, but if the air was also warmer, 'twas not greatly so, and yet rivulets of snowmelt trickled down channels from the upper slopes. On the twelveth, she decided 'twas time to make her way to Khazad-dûm, for having decided a new course, she was eager to begin. Nanduhirion lay some eight score miles north.
Now Glorfindel and his party had made their way south from Khazad-dûm on 30 Nínui. At first, they followed Barkûn's directions and viewed the place where the party of traders had been slaughtered, the last place where any evidence of Beinvír had been found. They traced her path back to the branching in the road, and then down the way that led past Lórinand to Anduin. They could all imagine the sequence of events, and they all found that they had many questions. The foremost was who were the allies that had aided the Green Elf in her battle against the Yrch.
Having viewed the scenes, but having learnt 'naught unknown aforetime, Glorfindel, Thórá, Gwingion, and Galadhon climbed back up into Nanduhirion and found an ascending path heading south. The company encamped that night a league from the Azanulbizar Gate, and continued on their way on 1 Gwaeron.
For the next three weeks they continued, checking such Yrch lairs as they found and discovering them uninhabited. They had been the scenes of Helluin's slaughters, the evidence long grown familiar. Of the four companions, only Galadhon had bothered to keep a running tally, knowing 'twas certainly far lower than the actual count of deaths, for surely they had not found all the lairs and all the victims. Still, the number was staggering, and after half a year's search, during which time they had found fewer than a dozen occupied dens, the ex-warrior of Gondolin's House of the Tree was truly impressed. His old friend had slain twelve and one-half thousands that he knew of and well 'nigh purged the eastern face of the central and southern Misty Mountains.
On 22 Gwaeron, the four ellyn were rounding a hairpin turn on a path where a cliff face on their right leapt up vertically a hundred fathoms and a precipice dropped a furlong on their left, when three hundred yards ahead they saw a ril of Light explode from a tunnel entrance, followed by a body flung o'er the path and into the gorge. They stopped dead in their tracks.
For a while there was silence, and then from the tunnel came a figure blazing bright, in black armor, a sword in her right hand and a Ring of mithril in her left. Those details were barely perceptible for the brilliance that surrounded her. She marked their presence immediately, raised the sword in salute, and then dimmed her aura 'til t'would only be apparent to another Calaquende. Then she took a seat with her legs dangling o'er the edge of the cliff, and began cleaning her weapons. Glorfindel led his three companions forward as they hastened to meet her. When they came 'nigh, she greeted them by name and offered an apology of sorts.
"Glorfindel, Galadhon, Thórá, Gwingion. Well met, my old friends, ye are late come to the Hithaeglir. Alas, I have already slain well 'nigh all and left ye but few. Had I known aforetime that I would meet allies, I should certainly have left more."
Glorfindel regarded Helluin's words with a troubled expression, but Galadhon smiled broadly and offered congratulations.
"Well met indeed, Helluin. We have examined thy trail for the past half-year. Would that we could have come to thee a few decades past and aided in thy count."
The dark Noldo grinned at her old friend, for though he did not know her best, they shared much the same attitude towards enemies and combat.
"Would that thou had, for then I should not have been forced to slay these sixteen thousands alone. Still, fear not. All the Hithaeglir north of the High Pass remains. Hast thou heard tell of Kapul Utot?" When Galadhon shook his head 'nay', Helluin continued with a conspiratorial grin, "'tis rumored six to eight thousands lurk in that massive warren. Come, my friend, we shall worst them all ere turning north to Gundabad."
Yrch again, Anguirél carped, the fare grows o'er familiar.
And the Sarchram asked, pray hast thou any salt?
To Be Continued