In An Age Before – Part 277
Now the Army of Gondor had marched on 12 Víressë and they had made another twenty-five miles, whilst to their north, the Balchoth had advanced to meet them, but more importantly, they had spread north to south through the downs and into the Wold.
The Rangers began to report in the mid-morn of the 12th that they had seen the campfires of what they reckoned to be o'er six thousands amidst the steep folds of the Wold and the rolling downs leading from the South Undeep. The enemy held wide a front o'er a league in breadth and seemed intent on extending that yet further. The Rangers deemed that the enemy needed to reassure themselves that no strong places of the Dúnedain remained that could threaten their flanks.
Cirion deemed them both prudent and wary, but he was also thankful that they had given up the advantage of surprise. Had they charged south into Calenardhon immediately upon crossing Anduin, they would have spread by now 'cross so broad a front that he would ne'er have been able to engage them all with his numbers. Perhaps, having found none to challenge them, they had felt little need of haste and reckoned that they had secrecy still.
On the morn of 13 Víressë, the steward led his army forward. 'Round mid-morn they entered the rolling terrain of the downs with the higher, more folded lands of the Wold on their left flank to the north. Cirion immediately ordered his cavalry to divide and take the high ground on the flanks whilst the infantry advanced through the trough-like bottomland that led directly from the South Undeep. There they marched alongside a shallow stream that drained the higher ground and flowed east towards the river. Though the Rangers had reported that their march would be flanked on both sides by enemy elements, his intention was to secure the easiest passage into Calenardhon first, and then move to eradicate the foes to the south in the gentler rolling downs. These represented the most immediate threat to Gondor. Once they were suppressed, he would pursue the remained of the Balchoth amongst the rougher lands of the Wold.
Though the plan risked much, he was as confident as he could be 'neath the circumstances, for the Rangers had estimated that the enemy's cavalry was outnumbered three to one by his knights. Alas, his almost four thousand five hundred infantry, including the Rangers, were outnumbered 'nigh two to one. He could only hope that they would be able to cleave the Balchoth host north from south and even the disparity by claiming a swift victory o'er their southern companies without taking excessive losses in the process. They would then be able to turn against the Balchoth's northern companies and drive them into the river.
The steward's plan was for the two thousand knights commanded by Sir Echdór on the heights of the south down to o'ercome their mounted Balchoth counterparts and rout their footmen. The remaining thousand knights 'neath the command of Sir Áarsúl, and reinforced by his Ranger archers, would hold the northern flank against any counterattack whilst Sir Echdór prosecuted the battle in the south. Cirion felt that the greatest imperative of his plan was that the knights and Rangers hold the northern high ground, and with the infantry holding the low ground, protect the rear of the knights fighting to their south. If the steward could divide and conquer his more numerous foes, Gondor would be saved and a strong message sent to potential invaders to fear the South Kingdom.
Now the Northern Army advanced towards the South Undeeps through that morn and they came three leagues closer to Anduin. The knights of Gondor engaged small parties of Scoloti on both flanks and won easy, encouraging victories. The steward's plan seemed to be going well. At noon, he called a halt. The army would take their midday meal in formation, and after that rest, press on.
Yet the very aspect of the Balchoth that Cirion counted on to bring his victory well 'nigh proved to be his undoing. In Gondor, the Scoloti were deemed wildmen, a vicious mob of Easterling barbarians with little discipline or capacity for strategic thinking. This was true of Scoliosis and all his people, and perhaps the cultured steward and the noble Dúnedain had little understanding of them for just that reason. The Balchoth had ferocity, but no subtlety. They saw an enemy; they attacked an enemy.
As the knights and soldiers of Gondor took their rations, a host of several thousand Balchoth footmen and a couple hundred mounted savages assailed the knights from o'er the ridge of the next down to the south. They charged down the steep further slope towards Sir Echdór's knights in a disordered mob, screaming war cries, and brandishing their weapons. The knights saw them coming in plenty of time, dropped their rations, took up their weapons, and formed in a line to meet them. When they began to cross the bottomland, the knights found them too tempting a target, and at their commander's order, charged to meet them.
The clash of infantry with cavalry had the expected outcome. The knights clove their way clear through the Balchoth host, leaving broken bodies in their wake and slaying a quarter of their count. They wheeled their steeds and prepared to charge again from the opposite direction, fully expecting the Balchoth to turn and face them, but they did no such thing. Instead, they continued racing on, up the shallower southern slope of the down that the knights had charged from, cresting the top to threaten the steward and his infantry's southern flank. 'Twas only after they disappeared o'er the ridge that Sir Echdór realized his mistake, and then he gave the order for a desperate pursuit.
In the lowland, Steward Cirion and his infantry had heard the clash of arms on their southern flank and had watched as the knights charged from the high ground. For a while, there was only bare sky on the heights of the southern down, and then they heard hoof beats.
Though at first they reckoned the horses to be Sir Echdór's knights reclaiming their southern flank, 'twas only a moment ere they marked the charge of 'nigh a thousand mounted Balchoth from o'er the top of the northern slope, racing diagonally down from the Wold towards them. After a moment of shock, Sir Áarsúl turned his knights to intercept them and both companies of horsemen galloped on a collision course that intersected at the front of the infantry column. Then the Rangers on the north down were firing arrows in desperation, for they had been left behind when Sir Áarsúl charged and from the folded lands of the Wold, five thousand Scoloti were charging towards them afoot.
'Twas at that time that the top of the southern down was suddenly lined with a shrieking mob of 'nigh three thousand Scoloti, and these raced down the steep slope and into the southern flank of the steward's infantry. The Dúnedain were 'neath attack from three sides.
Now the battle could have turned into a complete disaster, but Sir Áarsúl and his thousand knights had a shorter distance to ride to reinforce the infantry of Gondor than Scoliosis and his mounted Balchoth had to ride to attack. They slammed into their foes but a hundred feet in front of the infantry line, and because they were assailing the Balchoth's right flank, diverted them towards their own infantry that were attacking from the south. Soon, both cavalry companies were engaged from horseback against mounted and unmounted foes. 'Twas a frenzied and bloody melee of o'er seven thousand fighters in roughly equal companies, all compressed into the bottomlands 'twixt the steep face of the southern down and the northern slope that rose to the Wold. In their midst, the small stream was ground to mud 'neath their boots.
Now the fighting raged, but then to the south, Sir Echdór's knights appeared on the crest of the down, and seeing the steward and their comrades embattled, charged downslope onto the rear of the Scoloti infantry. Yet the knights could not run down or drive through these foes, for they were backed against the battle line 'cross which stood their own foot soldiers.
Still, the addition of the two thousand knights began to force the entire battle towards the northern slope of the bottomlands, yet on that quarter, the Rangers were being forced downslope. They were expending arrows at a furious pace and dropping hundreds of charging Balchoth footmen, but these were so numerous as to weather the Dúnedain archers and continue their advance. Step by step, the Rangers were being forced back, ceding the high ground on their northern flank and retreating downhill towards the battle.
All these things Steward Cirion saw, and of them all, he deemed the retreat of the Rangers the direst threat. With the arrival of Sir Echdór's knights, the battle was already slowly moving northward, and he could not afford to have his army compressed and forced to fight uphill against numerically superior enemies. Desperately he cried out to Sir Áarsúl, and when finally the knight commander's eyes met his, he swept his arm to the north, bidding him reinforce the Rangers. His old friend from Pelargir nodded once and then stood in his stirrups and swept his sword uphill towards the Wold, gathering his knights and cutting their way out of the battle.
Sir Áarsúl led his cavalry uphill and rode diagonally 'cross the slope to meet the charging Balchoth footmen. The Rangers cheered them on as they stayed their retreat halfway downhill from the crest, and the knights left a swath of corpses in their wake. Pengferedir, Gilgon, and Dúnamrod shouted encouragement to their warriors as they prepared for volley fire with their remaining arrows. 'Twas a form of warfare they sought to avoid, fighting as regular infantry on open ground, but there was 'naught to be done for it. As soon as the knights had passed west and begun to wheel their mounts for another pass, they loosed a volley into the renewed front of the Balchoth charge and several hundreds fell, shot at point blank range.
In the lowland behind them, the steward's infantry pressed against the Scoloti infantry, even as they gave way and retreated north towards the Rangers. The enemy footmen were pressed 'twixt their lines and Sir Echdór's knights and many fell, assailed from their fore and rear, yet they were many and fought with savage prowess. And still at the front of their column, Scoliosis and his remaining cavalry slew soldiers of Gondor from horseback. Grim was the state of Cirion's forces as they backed away, uphill to the north.
By the end of the first hour of the battle, the lowland was littered with fallen soldiers of Gondor and Balchoth footmen. Some Easterling cavalry and some knights lay amongst them. On the northern flank, the fighting was now heaviest. There the Rangers had shouldered their bows and drawn swords, and they closed with the enemy, ripping arrows from the bodies of the fallen foes they passed and replacing them, still bloody, back into their quivers. Behind them came the infantry of Gondor, resisting the Balchoth that advanced from the south to continue the fighting. The Easterlings were contesting with the Gondorim rearguard there, forcing the Dúnedain to continue retreating uphill. Sir Echdór's knights rode now to the east where they opposed the mounted Scoloti and succeeded in forcing them a short distance beyond the battle and relieving their pressure on the infantry.
Led by charges of Sir Áarsúl's knights and the hand to hand fighting of the Rangers, the Army of Gondor finally reached the high ground at the southernmost edge of the Wold. Ahead lay 'nigh fifty miles of uneven, eroded ground, dead-end canyons, the rocky hillocks and dry ghylls that encompassed some of the realm's worst terrain for an army. Once amidst that folded landscape, the combat would devolve into companies pitted against companies in small group actions of seeking, ambushing, and destroying foes at close quarters. There was no room for massed ranks or cavalry charges. T'would hath been good terrain for the Rangers, had they still their full compliments of arrows, but those had already mostly been spent. In anticipation though, the archers culled what shafts they could from the bodies of their fallen foes.
Now once the Dúnedain reached the crest of the ridge, Scoliosis and his mounted warriors disengaged from Sir Echdór's knights and withdrew east. Likewise, the Balchoth footmen to the north retreated from Sir Áarsúl's knights and the Rangers. All too quickly, they seemed to disappear amongst the ridges and ghylls. Those remaining to the south backed away from the battle line, returning o'er the crest of the down to the south and leaving the Army of Gondor unassailed.
Valuing the offered respite, Steward Cirion deigned to pursue any of them. Instead, he ordered his host to hold position, keep watch, and take water and rations. The wounded were tended and the horses rested. Ere pursuing the invaders further, Gondor's army would recover from the fighting just past whilst new battle plans were drawn.
"Sir Áarsúl, Sir Echdór, pray water the horses by companies of one hundred," the steward ordered the knights.
The Knight Commanders began sending companies down to the small stream running through the center of the bottomland, upstream of the battle where it had been trodden into a mud wallow. There were twenty-seven such companies and it took hours. Ere they were finished, the sun was westering and Steward Cirion deemed it too dangerous to pursue the enemy into the Wold with only a couple hours of daylight remaining. Instead, he ordered watches set and bid the commanders arrange that night's camp. Then, a careful head count was done to assess their losses and the losses of the enemy.
Of the original three thousand and twenty Knights of Gondor, two thousand six hundred and eighty had survived. Three hundred and forty lay dead, sprawled 'cross the battlefield 'neath the camp. Of the three thousand three hundred and sixty infantry, three hundred and ninety had met their ends by Easterling swords. And of the Rangers, one hundred seventy-five had been cut down and nine hundred forty-five remained. Additionally, there were now two hundred horses without riders, and these were reassigned to the Rangers to mount scout archers.
A quick head count of the fallen Balchoth revealed three hundred seventy-five riders and five hundred thirty footmen slain. The day's engagement had ended in the Dúnedain's favor, but not by enough to satisfy anyone. The now riderless Easterling horses had followed the Balchoth cavalry when they had withdrawn, and whether reassigned for warriors, relegated to a baggage train, or slaughtered and eaten, the Dúnedain had no clue.
A league to the northeast, Scoliosis stood at the fore of his host. They had gathered behind a large head of land after quitting the battle. There they rested, eating and drinking, and out of sight from the edge of the Wold, but whence their scouts atop the head could mark the glints of sunlight reflecting off the plate armor of the Knights of Gondor.
"Half of ye go four miles west, but stay hidden and camp cold this night," he told his allied chieftains. "When evening comes, send out parties to start campfires that can be seen by the Westmen. Make it look like we divided into many small companies and are spread throughout the Wold. Here, we shall do the same."
"Whyfor?" asked one of the dimmer chieftains.
"So that they think us a few here and a few there rather than many gathered together," Scoliosis explained. "I reckon that on the morrow, they shall split into groups to hunt down small parties, but we shall be two large parties and we shall slaughter them one group at a time."
"They shall divide themselves and we shall conquer," agreed one of the brighter chieftains.
"Aye," Scoliosis agreed. "The morrow shall be a good day."
'Twas a simple plan, and if not brilliant, at least functional, for it showed the steward a lie of weakness whilst maintaining the truth of strength and 'twas just what he wanted to see.
When darkness began to fall, the Men of Gondor marked dozens of campfires, some as close as a mile and others a couple leagues off. They stretched 'cross three leagues from east to west and two leagues north to south. Cirion, Sir Áarsúl, Sir Echdór, Pengferedir, Dúnamrod and Gilgon all agreed that the Balchoth had divided their host to hold a broad swath of land. It made good sense in the broken terrain of the Wold.
"I count sixty-four campfires fires, my lord steward," Gilgon reported. "'Tis likely there are as many more hidden in the landscape."
Beside him, Pengferedir nodded in agreement.
"They could be 'round seventy-five per camp, my lord," Sir Echdór calculated, subtracting the dead from ten thousands and then dividing by one hundred twenty-five campfires.
Steward Cirion gave this a moment's thought, but it seemed reasonable from what he could see in the darkened landscape.
"Then on the morrow, we shall send forth twenty-seven companies of a hundred knights and one hundred ten infantry each," he said. "The Rangers shall form nine companies with their hunters both mounted and afoot. Your mission is to seek and destroy such companies as ye can find."
"Though our companies shall be fewer in number, each shall be stronger than those of the enemy, so we should prevail in many battles," Sir Áarsúl said.
"At nightfall next, we shall kindle a bonfire to call our companies to gather at our camp," Cirion told them. "I deem it safe, for the Balchoth shall not dare to assail a massed army. I leave ye now to assign your warriors to their hunting companies."
So 'twas that the crafty Steward of Gondor fell into the trap set by the barbarian of the east. With the dawn of the 14th, the Army of Gondor broke into their companies and rode into the Wold. By noon, they had realized their mistake. Company after company had encountered massed hordes of Balchoth numbering four thousand five hundred foot soldiers and three hundred cavalry. Company after company were slaughtered or driven to flight
By nightfall, the third part of the Gondorim had been slain and the survivors were fleeing in rout towards the north with the Balchoth on their heels. There was no bonfire that night, nor was there a camp for a massed army. There were only bands of exhausted, terrified soldiers trying to hide in the landscape and escape their pursuers. Having divided their forces throughout a broken landscape, they had no communication 'twixt their companies and no way for the steward to rally his troops. They had no appointed meeting place in which to regroup.
Amidst the labyrinth of narrow valleys, steep hillsides, interrupted higher ground, and blind canyons, the infantry were largely restricted to the low ground. The knights were unable to make good use of their mobility without abandoning the foot soldiers. For the Rangers, ambushing hosts of thousands inflicted little damage, whilst the danger of being o'errun and left behind the enemy's lines forced them to continue retreating at a pace that did not allow them to hunt their foes. Though companies of Gondor's armies were occasionally able to employ hit and run tactics, they did not know the land well enough to plan escape routes after making swift attacks. This oft left the infantry scrambling up steep slopes and the cavalry leading their horses up pathless canyon sides. No few became trapped within canyons too steep to climb, and there they were slaughtered by mobs of Balchoth.
Scoliosis and the Easterlings were well 'nigh manic, pursuing their foes through the Wold with gleeful abandon. They came on at a run, shrieking war cries and pounding their shields with spear shafts or sword hilts like beaters flushing game on a hunt. If some fell behind, they rested and then caught up. So fervent were they in their hatred and so invigorated by their bloodlust that they carried on through the night, offering their prey no respite. For most of them, 'twas the best day of their lives.
15 Víressë came and the bulk of Gondor's troops had been chased a score and five miles north. By 'naught more than dumb luck, some companies had found each other amidst the confusing terrain and held together in their retreat. The steward rode amidst a group comprised of the remnants of three companies, two hundred thirty knights, two hundred fifty infantry, and sixty-five Rangers, a dozen of them mounted. He had no knowledge of where the rest of his forces were and no way to know that barely more than half of his army had survived the night. Unknown too was the position of his enemies, though their battle cries could be heard in the near distance. As his company continued north in the dim first light of dawn, he wondered how it had all gone so bad. 'Twas the worst day of his life.
All 'cross the Wold, Men of Gondor marked Anor's rising, and as e'er, the sun brought them hope, though on that morn 'twas tempered with foreboding. In token of that hope and for the sake of morale, Cirion raised the Horn of Gondor and blew a mighty note that carried o'er the rough, folded land, declaring to his troops that their steward had survived the night and that they should come to him if they could. Then he led his company on towards the north and the river Limlight 'cross which lay flat, open ground where at last his army could regroup. For a moment, it had seemed to his ears that he heard the answering calls of many horns, but he had no allies in these lands and he shook his head, reckoning 'twas but wishful thinking, or perhaps the ghosts of hosts from the Elder Days ringing from the lore that he carried in his blood.
All 'cross the Wold, Balchoth marked that horn's call, and though they knew not that 'twas the steward himself, they deemed it the rallying call of their enemies and they turned north in pursuit. Wheresoe'er the Westmen went, they would follow 'til the last lay dead in the dirt so that their master in Dol Guldur would be satisfied.
All through that day, both the Gondorim and Balchoth marched north. There were some isolated skirmishes, but now the Dúnedain made haste to rejoin their comrades rather than sought battle with their enemies 'neath such unfavorable conditions. As the sun fell through the afternoon, the soldiers of the South Kingdom approached the downs that edged the Wold and drew 'nigh the river Limlight, and those versed in lore turned their companies east, for the fords of that river lay 'nigh its confluence with Anduin.
'Twas in the first hour past sunset that Scoliosis and his host caught up with the fleeing soldiers of Gondor. There, as the ground sloped from the northernmost down to the lowland bordering the Limlight, was renewed battle. Men afoot and mounted contested and much blood was shed, its darkening red staining the rocky ground 'neath the ruddy light of the setting sun. The warriors of both hosts could see horsemen and infantry crossing the river onto the Field of Celebrant. As the rearguard of the Sir Echdór's knights tried to hold back the Easterlings, the steward's foot soldiers fled 'cross the water to make a last stand beside the pennant of the House of Húrin that Cirion had planted as a rallying point for the remains of his army.
Now in the morn of the 15th, Felaróf had borne Eorl King 'cross Anduin at the North Undeep with Prince Weardearn, Borondir, and Helluin following in his wake. Behind them rode Captain Éomund and the Host of the Éothéod, eager for battle.
The Éoherë came to the west bank and found a long, narrow valley lying ahead, hedged on the south by the northernmost folds of the Wold, and on the north by the steep southern face of a down. At a distance, the intermittent sounds of clashing steel came to their ears, along with the shouts of fighters and the neighing of horses. Yet the land confounded their hearing for the valley funneled the sounds, making it seem that all they heard came from the west. Indeed, this was true as they stood upon Anduin's bank that morn, though much of the fighting was then also to the south where the Gondorim fled from the Balchoth amidst the twisting valleys and broken highlands.
"Advance," Eorl called out. "Seek paths north and south and find tracks."
Captain Éomund dispatched companies to ride ahead and scout the land as the host rode forward at a quick walk.
"Convoluted are these lands, Eorl King," said Helluin, "and with ease may the ear be deceived. I mark that the clashes start and stop, so 'tis not a prolonged battle of hosts that we hear, but rather the isolated encounters of smaller parties."
"I have not ridden here, but I have seen maps in Minas Tirith," Borondir said. "The Wold is a land of complex hills and valleys that twist and turn, or dead end in steep-walled bays. We shall be best served if we can find tracks."
"Would mounting to the heights offer better views?" asked the king.
After some moments consideration, Helluin said, "'Tis uncertain, for though a higher vantage may extend one's sight, if the action follows the bottoms of valleys, then 'naught more shall be seen and yet the ear still deceived."
"This is a place ill-suited for battle and for mounted companies save if they know well the land," said Weardearn, and Eorl, Borondir, and Helluin nodded in agreement.
"Of a certainty, I know only that this valley runs west with a slight northerly curve for thirty-three leagues ere ending on the borders of Fangorn Forest," Helluin said. "In all my years, I have had no cause to explore it more fully, yet I recall seeing no well-traveled branches leading north or south."
"Not since ere the Great Plague have soldiers of Gondor manned the outposts in these lands," Borondir added, "and such knowledge of the landforms as they once held is now regarded as old lore."
"Then we must rediscover it for ourselves," said Eorl, "and I pray it takes no great time, for the steward called for aid and he hath not called since."
At his words, Borondir looked stricken for his lord's sake, but Helluin saw and said, "Keep hope, my friend. Lord Cirion may have winded his horn to rally his forces and give them hope. Blowing it again would only serve to reveal his position to his enemies."
And Eorl said, "That too may be and I for one shall keep hope. We shall deliver the steward and our allies, or at the least, we shall avenge them."
Alas, those words did little to bolster the errand rider's heart.
During that morn, the Éoherë advanced six leagues west down the valley. At whiles they heard the sounds of combat and a few times the beat of horses' hooves, yet the direction was e'er uncertain save that they could not see it ahead or behind. By the trickery of the landscape, the fighting at times seemed so close by that the riders tightened their grip on their spears and arrows were set to bowstrings, yet each time, they saw 'naught. Men eager for battle sought for foes in the uplands to either side. Sensing their mood, their mounts snorted and pranced. By noon, all were frustrated and irritable.
Variations on the theme of, "I shall slay them all slowly for wasting my time," were uttered by more than one rider, and no few wondered, "Does some curse lie upon these lands that they are haunted by the phantoms of battles long past?"
Eorl finally called a halt and bid his warriors break for their noon meal. Captain Éomund sent archers up onto the flanking highlands to keep watch and then in disgust, joined his Men to sup. 'Twas only then after they had quit the search for foes that their foes finally appeared.
'Round a curve some two furlongs ahead, a host of Balchoth infantry strode into view. They saw the Northmen and their horses at the same time the Northmen saw them. The Easterlings mistook them for Gondorim knights and charged forward. The Northmen stuffed their food back into their saddlebags and leapt onto their mounts. Spears were shaken and shields raised. Arrows were knocked and bows bent.
Eorl scarcely had time to order the charge ere the Éoherë kicked their horses to a gallop and exploded towards their foes whilst shouting insults and curses, or sounding their horns. At one hundred yards, the archers loosed a volley and then shouldered their bows. Swords were drawn and axe hafts grasped. Spears were lowered as the riders rejoiced to meet their foes at last. Some laughed and some sang as they attacked.
Then the horses slammed into the mob of footmen. Spears were planted in bodies and heads hewn with swords. Axes swept down and helms were cloven. The sheer inertia of the horses at a gallop carried the Northmen through several hundred of the Scoloti footmen ere the rest turned tail and fled back the way they had come. Eorl's riders shouted words of ridicule as they gave chase and slew them as they ran.
By then 'twas obvious to the Scoloti that these were not Knights of Gondor. They looked all wrong. They were e'ery bit as gleeful in battle as themselves, they seemed just as violent and crazed with bloodlust, and there were far more of them than they had expected. They could not outrun these horsemen whilst afoot, and finally they had no choice but to struggle up the steep side walls of the canyon 'neath a hail of arrows 'til the survivors topped the high ground where horses could not follow. The Balchoth were pursued only by jeers and catcalls, curses and threats.
When 'twas apparent that the Balchoth were not going to regroup and counterattack, the Northmen rode back through the battle zone, repossessing their spears and arrows from the dead. Helluin joined them.
"Feeling better now?" she asked of the rider closest to her.
He grinned and nodded vigorously, saying, "'Naught like mayhem to settle the stale bread and rancid cheese I ate ere they appeared, þās æfþuncan afligde¹. ¹(þās æfþuncan afligde, those repugnant things put to flight Old English)
Helluin laughed and nodded in agreement, adding, "We shall find more and treat them worse."
"Yes! Yes!" he agreed with great enthusiasm, then looked to the arrow she was pulling from a pair of Balchoth whose heads were pinned together by the shaft. "A great shot that, to take two foes with one draw."
"So close together were they that t'would be harder to shoot them one at a time," she said.
"Verily, and well deserved," he said, "to treat them as half-men worthy of half a death. They stood not, nor fought, but ran affrighted as children from a barking hund¹." ¹(hund, dog Old English)
The noon meal was resumed, but quickly consumed amidst boasts and the denigration of their enemies. The Northmen were eager to seek battle again, having had a taste of combat and driven their foes to flight.
They set out soon after, riding westward down the valley. As aforetime, they heard the sounds of distant clashes from time to time, but not 'til another hour had passed did they find a passage open to horses. This led south at first rather than north, but having discovered no other gaps in the walls of the valley; they took it in hope of finding either allies or enemies.
Onward the Éoherë rode and it soon became apparent that the canyon they were riding through curved back on itself to head north. After an hour, they found themselves crossing the same valley they had traveled through since crossing Anduin at the North Undeep. They were no more than three furlongs beyond where they had turned south, but by the shapes of the land, they could not have seen this crossing 'til they were well 'nigh upon it. Eorl groaned at the waste of time and a hum of disparaging comments rose from the host.
"In one day I am come to despise this land," the king muttered to himself, though those riding beside him heard his words. Ahead, the path took a sharp right hand turn.
"Pray pause a moment ere we turn, my lord," Helluin said, and Eorl raised a fisted hand to order the host to halt.
Helluin dismounted and slipped forward to the turn. Slowly she shifted so her right eye could look 'round the corner into the valley beyond. There she marked a sight that she knew would bring the king joy. She slipped back and returned to Beadurof, and after mounting the stallion, gave her report.
"T'would seem that fortune offers thee advantage, Eorl King," she said. "Just o'er a furlong ahead 'round the corner are the Balchoth and I wager them the same as we chased up onto the high ground aforetime. During the past hour's pause, they have descended again and are now taking a respite and a meal."
"Béma favors us at last!" he said, and his eyes brightened at the prospect of battle. He turned Felaróf to face the Éoherë and stood in his stirrups.
All of the host hearkened to their king. With silent gestures, he indicated the turn and the presence of their foes, and then he bid them ride their mounts forward quietly at a walk 'til they had massed just ere the turn.
Helluin could feel that the horses were as eager for battle and as careful to remain silent as their riders were. With each step, they placed their hooves down carefully. None snorted or whinnied, and none jostled or shook their harness. Yet all their ears were pricked forward in anticipation of the charge that they could feel was coming. The air in the canyon fairly crackled with the emotional intensity.
Eorl led the Éoherë 'round the corner with Borondir at his right hand and Prince Weardearn at his left. Helluin and Captain Éomund followed, and behind them came the riders of the Éothéod. The thunder of their hooves grew as they gained speed and more of their thousands poured 'round the turn into the canyon. Then, as the Balchoth began to look towards their sudden onslaught, the riders saw the horror on their faces. The Northmen gave great shouts and voiced their battle cries as they brandished their weapons. They crossed half the furlong and their archers loosed arrows towards their foes who had only barely begun to react.
After just o'er ten seconds, the charging Éoherë slammed into the host of the Balchoth. The Easterlings had scarcely time to o'ercome their shock and lurch to their feet ere the horses ran down their front ranks.
As Beadurof knocked bodies flying, Helluin loosed a second arrow into the massed fighters standing before her. It passed through the open mouth of the shrieking Easterling as he raised his sword to come at the prince who was riding just ahead of her, then burst from the back of his neck after shattering his spine and lodged in the chest of the Man just behind him. She shouldered her bow and drew Anguirél and the Sarchram, and screamed, "Beltho Huiniath!" at the top of her lungs.
The momentum of the charge carried the king and those riding with him deep into the Balchoth host. There they hewed their foes with swords and axes, striking downward at those unlucky enough to be within reach. Behind them, the eager riders forced their way forward, surrounding their lord and then passing him as they drove onward in a maniacal frenzy of bloodletting. Horrified, the Easterlings again chose to flee rather than continue the battle. They climbed the steep slopes both north and south whilst Northman archers shot them like fish in a barrel. Even so, hundreds escaped the carnage.
Whether possessed of a fey courage or simply too tired to climb the canyon walls, some few dozen Scoloti remained on the valley floor and engaged their enemies hand to hand. These few earnt the grudging respect of the Northmen and some dismounted to face them with shield, and sword or axe. Soon, that combat was encircled by mounted riders who shouted advice, placed wagers, and slung insults. The duels were conducted in a festive atmosphere, and whilst all attention was directed thither, few amongst the Éoherë bothered to keep watch on the high ground whence their foes had fled. Aforetime, those that escaped had not lingered 'nigh.
Soon bored watching the combat, Helluin scanned the land atop the canyon walls, trusting the Balchoth not at all, and so she was the only one to mark a single archer who dared return to look down into the canyon. She watched his eyes sweep the host of his enemies and finally fix on the king sitting astride his white horse Felaróf. Then he knocked a shaft and bent his bow, intent on assassination, though in this he was little different from a Ranger save that he had been marked.
The Noldo allowed him to proceed without acting to foil him 'til she marked the gritting of his teeth as he held his breath and prepared to loose his shaft. She clutched the Sarchram in her left hand as she waited, just long enough to know he was committed, and then she leapt upward to crouch on Beadurof's back.
The arrow crossed the distance in a fraction of a heartbeat. Eorl, along with his host, marked it not. 'Twas only after he heard the sharp 'ping' of the impact of its steel head on Helluin's mithril cuirass that he whipped his head 'round and took note. The arrow had deflected harmlessly and it struck the rocky wall of the canyon with a clatter, high up on the side opposite the archer.
Helluin's eyes had ne'er left the Easterling. Her left hand whipped forward in a sidearm cast that finished with her fingers pointing directly at him. There came a brief warbling whistle and then the Sarchram clove his head from his shoulders. A moment later, his bow and both body parts tumbled down the slope. The Grave Wing sailed high into the sky past the target, reached the apex of its arc where it hung motionless for a heartbeat, and then reversed its course to return to her outstretched hand.
Would that I could have done the like and saved Boromir the Hunter, she thought, but both she and Beinvír had been watching Eldacar's duel with Castamir. Sir Boromir of Osgiliath had leapt in front of the arrow meant for his king, and it had been the Green Elf who had shot the treacherous Lord Captain Gwing in the eye.
For another moment, the host was silent, just long enough for them to understand what had come to pass. Then, as many eyes scanned the high ground for further threats, the dueling fighters fell upon the remaining Scoloti and slew them in a few heartbeats of fey and savage strokes too fast and too violent to repel.
Now the host was enraged, for an attempt had been made upon the life of their king. From hiding, one of the Balchoth had attempted to slay Eorl, with treachery and cowardice they deemed it, and whatsoe'er respect they had felt aforetime for those who had remained to fight withered before the fire of their rage. When next they met, they would slay these foes, not with joy in battle and the search for renown, but in a wrathful fury of vengeance. They could barely contain themselves through the recovery of their spears and spent arrows ere they continued on to hunt down their enemies.
"Thou hast my thanks for delivering my life this day, Helluin," Eorl said quietly as they sat their horses side by side. "'Tis some fine armor thou bear to turn such a dart."
The Noldo dipped her head to acknowledge the king's gratitude and said, "'Tis the work of Khazad-dûm, wrought long ago. I know thy people have differences with Durin's Folk, but to me they were allies and friends long ere Fram slew Scatha."
"I shall esteem their metal craft the more hereafter, though to be honest, I have ne'er met any of that people," he said. "Now we must continue on ere the wrath of my Men boils o'er, for already, half the afternoon is fled."
Having no other real choices, they continued eastward through the canyon they had turned in to for their last attack. They found it took a winding path, but at least there were other valleys branching off. At each of these, scouts were sent forward and those found to dead end were passed by, whilst those leading north were taken. In this way, o'er the course of the afternoon, they had come by roundabout paths some dozen miles north and were faced with a steep slope that stretched east to west so far as their eyes could see.
"My lord, I deem that we have reached the steep face of the first northern down," Borondir told the king, "and there was of old a path leading by switchbacks to its crest. Another down lies beyond it, and then a gentle northern slope that leads to the fords o'er the river Limlight."
"Hast thou any guess as to whether such a switchback trail lies east or west?" Prince Weardearn asked, looking in both directions.
"Alas, I do not," Borondir confessed, "for I am unsure of how far west of Anduin we are."
The king eyed the westering sun and reckoned nightfall would be upon them in another hour. He shook his head, frustrated with the notion of camping in unknown lands with known enemies 'nigh, especially at the foot of a steep slope that his horses could not climb.
"Alas, I reckon there is 'naught to be done for it save to send scouting parties east and west in hope of marking this path," he said. "Let us hope 'tis still to be seen after nine centuries."
The words were scarcely out of his mouth when they heard distant hoof beats and the faint sounds of battle to their west. Then they saw reflections glinting in the lowering sunlight as from polished plate armor. 'Twas barely a mile off.
"Knights of Gondor!" Borondir exclaimed, pointing thither to the bright horsemen.
Although they saw no pennants and were too far off to make out any personal heraldry, they had seen none of the Balchoth wearing plate armor. Yet whether or not those riding up the slope to their west were friends or foes, they were leaving the lowland and climbing the down's steep face on horseback. That alone was cause enough to follow.
"Again, Béma favors us!" Eorl declared. Then he turned Felaróf and swung an arm to the west, crying out to the host, "Ride! Ride, Men of the Éothéod!"
And again, even as the words left his mouth, a horde of Easterling footmen charged after the bright horsemen, crossing the lowland ahead of the Éoherë to begin ascending the path. Eorl, Weardearn, Borondir, and even Helluin had to shake their heads in amazement at the timing.
Eorl held up a fisted hand to pause the Northmen's charge. They watched for a full ten minutes 'til the last of the Balchoth had followed the suspected Gondorim up the slope and o'er the crest of the down. Silence returned to the valley and 'naught moved in the land ahead.
"Now I suppose that at least there shall be none left at our backs," Prince Weardearn muttered.
The king chuckled at his uncle's jibe and then signaled the Éoherë forward. Soon, the thunder of horses galloping filled the valley as the Northmen made their way to the switchback trail leading up the steep slope.
They topped the first or inner down as the sun set behind them and they followed a trampled trail north down the long, easy slope towards the steep face of the outer down. 'Twas a ride of a league and along the way they found more bodies, both of Easterlings and soldiers of Gondor including a couple knights. For the first time, they had proof that they followed in the footsteps of the steward's soldiers, and that these were pursued by the Balchoth.
Full dark had fallen as they followed the switchbacks up to the crest of the outer down. From the land above, they heard renewed fighting and they hastened up the trail. At the crest, they looked down 'cross the outer slope and in the distance, glittering 'neath starlight, they marked the rippled surface of the shallow river Limlight, now but two miles off. There tiny figures fled 'cross the fords, whilst in the nearer distance, the host of the Balchoth raced in pursuit.
To Helluin's eyes, sharper than any of the mortal riders, it seemed the steward's soldiers were outnumbered easily two to one, though he had far more knights than she could count of mounted Scoloti. She could see the tiny figures clustered 'round the white standard of the House of Húrin, but more worrisome was the dark movement to the west, a block of charging figures that she guessed numbered a couple thousands. In the dim light of the stars, 'twas only by their gangly loping gait that she could identify them. Yrch!
"Haste now, my lord," she said urgently to Eorl, "for the steward is outnumbered two to one by the Balchoth, but another host approaches from the west. I deem they are Orcs of the Misty Mountains."
At her words, Borondir, errand rider of Gondor waited not on the king's command, but kicked Aashif to a gallop and charged to the relief of his lord steward. He had done his duty, delivering the Red Arrow and leading the Éoherë to battle, but now oaths taken long aforetime ruled his course. Helluin looked after him, then turned and gave Eorl a grim grin. In the next moment, she too was racing north on Beadurof, following in Borondir's wake. Behind, she heard Eorl call out to his riders.
"Ahead stand friends hard pressed. Battle awaits, blood, death, victory, and renown! Ride…"
The rest of his words were lost in the din and Helluin heard thunder grow behind her as the Éoherë leapt to a gallop and charged down the slope to the river. Hard as Beadurof ran, Helluin ne'er caught Borondir that night, and ahead of her, he reached the ford. 'Cross Limlight was battle and he charged o'er the water toward the steward's standard, yet to reach his lord's position on the field, he was forced to break through the lines of the Balchoth.
Bold and fey the errand rider charged into the enemy host and his sword sang as he spilt the blood of his foes. From behind, Helluin supported him with arrows, shooting down many Easterlings who tried to stay him, but 'twas not enough. Ere he reached the Gondorian lines, he was stricken with many wounds, and he was already slumped o'er Aashif's neck as he came to a halt before Steward Cirion.
"My lord," he whispered, "the Red Arrow is delivered. Eorl comes!"
And then he slipped from Aashif's back and Cirion caught him ere he struck the ground. The steward would have offered him thanks and praise, but his eyes were already glazed in death, staring sightlessly into the starry sky.
"Rest then, O brave son of Gondor," Cirion said with sorrow as he closed the errand rider's eyes. "Join thy fathers in honor and be at peace, Borondir Udalraph."
To Be Continued
Author's note: I have belatedly realized that I botched the dates. I have the Battle of the Field of Celebrant taking place on 15 Víressë by the Steward's Reckoning as used in Gondor, but it is stated in canon as having occurred on April 15th. Since April 15th is the 105th day of the modern, (Gregorian), calendar, that day should, (probably), have been 13 Víressë, or 14 Gwirith by the older King's Reckoning that I have the Éothéod using. My apologies.
Artalicous: Thanks for adding me and my story to your favorites and for following the updates. I greatly appreciate it, especially from an author who is also writing a crossover involving my two favorite fandoms.
Thanks for your comment on Chapter 2. It is a long chapter when compared to a lot of fan fiction, but its word count is pretty normal for a commercial novel. I think that most of the chapters are shorter, but some are as long or longer. I hope they will continue to keep you interested in the story and that you'll find them well written. You and all readers, past, present, and future are welcome, and rest assured, I will finish this story after 19 years of writing and 18 years of posting here. There are only a few thousand years of Helluin's tale left to tell and it will probably be done this year.