CHAPTER IX: The Death March of the Dark Elves

When the last straggling remnants of the three Kindreds of Elves had finally departed on the path set by Araugh, an age of peace came once again to Cuifhiainan. Although this peace brought the Elves freedom from fear -- for Morgadh still was a hostage in Bailleaniar, and his minions were scattered -- it did not bring tranquility to the hearts of the Firstborn. The Waters of Awakening were still pure and calm, and the same stars shone eternally bright and sparked to glittering the white sands of Cuifhiainan's shore, but the joy of the Elves was shrouded in melancholy as the long shadows of loved ones forever departed cast a pall along the twilit mere. Yet ever and anon Elves returned, having forsaken the long western march, and great were the celebrations for these prodigal sons and daughters; and for a little while the veil of tears was lifted.

For many years wayward Elves would find their way home again, either singly or in small groups, tired and bewildered from their long trips abroad. Recounting their journey, they spoke of wandering across endless plains, passing through a vast forest, and fording a great river; but a range of mist-shrouded peaks nearly as massive as the Orruacarnai Mountains blocked their westward advance. And they said that some of the kindred of Ealui had given up the march altogether, neither moving forward nor returning to Cuifhiainan, choosing instead to live along the great river. But these tales of tribulation became more ominous as the years advanced, and fewer and fewer Elves returned, until finally none came back at all. And the last few who managed to flee the darkness spoke of nameless terrors returning to the plains, and grim shades stalking them nigh up to the marches of Cuifhiainan itself.

For, as was told, the Bailard did not rout out all the secret lairs of Uthuamhano when they sacked Morgadh's labyrinthine northern fortress. Many great evils escaped that should have been destroyed or imprisoned along with their master. Of these the greatest of all was he that is unnamed by the Sidhe, for his name is a curse that no words can define, nor voice should utter; but in the common speech he is called Sauron, the first lieutenant of Morgadh, and privy to all the Dark Lord's most evil machinations. And if in those days he was any less evil than Morgadh, then it was only by degree, as he had yet to assume his master's overlordship. But the Sidhe account he who is both nameless and accursed as their bitterest enemy: a thief, an assassin, the slayer of innocents, and corruption incarnate.

Now Sauron was at first dismayed by the Bailard's wrath, and the utter defeat of Morgadh. He cravenly hid while his master was chained and dragged off to Bailleaniar, and for a long while he remained in the shadows, unwillingly to come forth for fear of the Bailard's swift retribution. But Sauron learned a valuable lesson then, one that he would exploit often in ages to come: the Bailard may be mighty and fearsome in their wrath, but their anger cools all too quickly, and they eventually surrender everything they have conquered, neglecting that which they sought to protect. So it was that Sauron, perceiving the Bailard had once again forsaken Middle-earth, took up the mantle of his master and began to reorder Morgadh's shattered empire. Angabhann, once merely an outpost of Uthuamhano, Sauron enlarged and heavily fortified, imbuing the very stone with his sorcerous malice; and as the Captain of Angabhann, he did summon all of Morgadh's scattered forces unto him. The denizens of the deep places and the shadows of corruption swarmed to Sauron like malevolent moths to a dark flame, filling Angabhann with such dread that the former terrors of Uthuamhano soon paled in comparison.

Then did Sauron stretch the first, furtive tendrils of his evil grasp about the unsuspecting peoples of Ardan, and horrid beasts and Orc began to multiply like flies and returned to their old haunts. But Ingloir was now Lord of Cuifhiainan, master of a large and thriving Elvish population, and great strength of weapons had he amassed in the long peace of Morgadh's captivity. Easily Ingloir repelled Angabhann's first incursions, which were but calculating feints, as Sauron was merely biding his time, awaiting the return of his master.

For the age of Morgadh's imprisonment was drawing to a close, but of his escape and the evils he wrought in Bailleaniar, little is known save rumor. But it is said that when Morgadh at last set foot again in Middle-earth, Sauron sent forth a great host against Cuifhiainan, deeming that the Elves of the starlit mere were beyond the aid of the Bailard or their kindred in the west of Middle-earth. From thence onward, Cuifhiainan was assailed on all sides by the might of Morgadh, and Sauron himself conducted the siege. For the Waters of Awakening were a symbol of goodness in the world, and of the might of the Bailard, who strove against the Evil Powers to protect the Firstborn who dwelt upon its shores; and neither Sauron, nor Morgadh his master, would suffer such a token of their defeat and humiliation to be left inviolate.

Thus Sauron bore down on Cuifhiainan with all his malevolence, but Ingloir and his people were valiant, and they defended their birthplace with unmatched ferocity. Ilrin, Lord Ingloir's son, knew well that such resistance was futile, and that the destruction of Cuifhiainan was drawing nigh. But Ilrin's council was of little avail in that time of peril, for Ingloir would not forsake the lands he now lorded over, having become arrogant and overconfident of his strength; and he held Ilrin to his vow that none should leave Cuifhiainan, even to the last of their kindred.

Ingloir then chastised his son, and bade him return to battle, saying, "Unsheathe thy sword, gentle son, in hopes that the clash of cold steel shall relieve thee of thy timidity. Get thee gone and seek out our enemies, lest ye be branded craven and our House mocked!"

But Ilrin was no coward; on the contrary, he was esteemed greatly among the Elves for his valor and feats of arms. Yet bravery in battle is mere vainglory when wisdom is abandoned for foolhardiness: Cuifhiainan was invested by an implacable foe and there would be no relief, for Araugh was gone and he had taken the greatest strength of the Elves with him into the West. In despair, Ilrin refuted his father's bidding, and in secret he sought for hidden paths that led up to the Orruacarnai Mountains, harboring hopes that, at the end of all things, some of his kindred might still be saved.

But some say Morgadh grew impatient of the siege, for war was brewing in the west, and he was in need of all his forces to quell this new invasion. Thus Sauron withdrew his Orcs, ever the fodder of the Dark Lord's legions, and instead unleashed an army of nightmares: Baolruaigs there were, and with them their vassals, the Scathantine, ancient fire demons; Scanraithes and Grims, the shadow-walkers of old, drifted disembodied and ghoulish in the wreak; and were-beasts, twisted creatures fed Elvish flesh by the hand of Sauron himself, howled and shrieked in rabid fury. So horrific was the onslaught that the Elvish defenses were thrown back with great loss, and everywhere Elves ran this way and that in fear and confusion. But still the center of the Elvish line held, for there stood Lord Ingloir with his son, Ilrin, and others of his household at this side. But Ingloir beheld the collapse of his army, consumed by fire and shadow, and he perceived his own folly at last.

"Without purpose, save for blind ambition and pride, have I ensnared the lives of my kin!" Ingloir shouted to Ilrin; but as one without hope, he added, "Yet let it not be said that my death should prove purposeless as well!"

And Ingloir commanded that Ilrin should muster what Elves he could, and set up a second line of defense farther to the east; meanwhile, Ingloir would take a picked force to attack Sauron's fiery legions directly, and thus provide a screen for Ilrin's movements. Ilrin gazed into his father's eyes and saw that death was written in them, for Ingloir was fey and beyond reasoning; therefore, Ilrin bade a tearful farewell to Ingloir, knowing well that this was their final parting within the circles of the world. As Ilrin prepared for his withdrawal, he watched Ingloir rush headlong with his sortie against the enemy lines, a small but shining group of Elves silhouetted against innumerable foes. There was an audible concussion as the Elves hit the enemy's line and a great spout of flame; and though the legions of Sauron reeled from the sudden assault, Ingloir and his band were slowly engulfed and soon disappeared beneath the crush of many Baolruaigs. Thus ended Ingloir, the first and last Lord of Cuifhiainan -- the proud master thus mastered by pride.

Then Ilrin did indeed order a retreat towards the east, and gathered what Elves he could to him, both hale or wounded; yet he had no intention of fighting for a lost cause. Guiding his kindred along the secret paths he had prepared, Ilrin came upon the place where the women and children lay hid, and he bade them move out ahead of the warriors, so that they might be protected more easily. Ilrin and the remaining members of his household made up the rearguard as the Elvish procession began its painfully slow march towards the Orruacarnai Mountains, which were several leagues from the mere of Cuifhiainan. Behind them they could hear the bellows of victory and the guttural laughter and cursing of the victorious as Sauron's hosts flooded the blessed plain and tramped across the white sands. But to the misfortune of the Elves, their retreat had been espied from far-off, and even now they were being chased.

But the long train of Elves could not be made to go any faster, for there were many battle-wounded and very young children among them, but Ilrin would suffer none to be left behind; thus, the hunters Sauron had sent against the retreating Elves advanced upon them very rapidly. Within a league of the mountains, Sauron's forces at last caught up with them, and Ilrin and the rearguard were forced to turn and fight their foe. Six times did the rearguard turn and meet the enemy advance, and six times did they drive them back; yet each time with greater losses among the Elves than the one previous, for Sauron's minions were far more numerous and had the scent of blood in their noses. Yet when the rearguard turned a seventh time, the women and children had already began to scramble up the mountainside; and Ilrin would give no more ground. Many of the wounded Elves refused to make the climb, preferring to stand by Ilrin as best they may in hopes of defending the pass so that their loved ones might escape.

And the noble stand of the Firstborn along the slopes of the Orruacarnais is renowned among the Sidhe, although it is recounted with great sadness. There fell Faolar and his brother Faolin, ripped to pieces by were-wolves; and Curumair the Fisher, burned alive by Scathantine demons; Fiannur, Forgrinn and Eolard the Wise slew a towering Baolruaig, the leader of the raiding party, but they were themselves slain, crushed beneath the toppling beast's massive weight. At the last, Ilrin had less than three-hundred of his exhausted kindred surrounding him, and of his household, only Riordan the Bard and Amhran the Minstrel were still standing; but there were none among them who were unscathed or did not suffer some grievous wound.

Undaunted, the Elves dug in atop a wide, rocky tor with their spears bristling outward in every direction. Encircling the slopes below them lay such great heaps of their fallen foes, that it seemed the hill they stood on was formed of piled corpses. There the Elves awaited the final massed charge of Sauron's army, holding little hope now that their wives, sons and daughters would escape the massacre; and even less hope did they keep for themselves, surrounded as they were by the ravenous army of Sauron.

But even in his darkest dreams Sauron could never fathom or portend an event of such magnitude that it would steal ultimate victory from him at the very moment it lay within his grasp; yet such a thing occurred. On a sudden, even as the triumphal army of Sauron clamored for the final, fatal charge, a silvery light bathed the skies along the western horizon. As the sheen mounted, it grew brighter than any star in the heavens; and in that desperate hour came the first rising of the full moon, whose luminous face was radiant white, with dark, argent eyes that followed the thralls of Morgadh no matter where they hid. And Sauron's army was thrown into disarray, and they shrieked and ran about gibbering in fear, believing the Lords of the West were come in their divine wrath to destroy them once and for all. Still cowering and covering their faces, they retreated back to Cuifhiainan, and the relative safety of Sauron's main force, leaving Ilrin and the Elves alone and astounded atop their forsaken tor.

Rejoicing, Ilrin deemed the rising of the moon was indeed a sign of the might of the Bailard, and an omen of good fortune for the Elves. But as he gazed down upon the vale of Cuifhiainan from his promontory rock, the smile faded from his lips. For in the spectral moonlight he beheld in horror the utter destruction of the land of the Firstborn: the forests were all ablaze or trampled; the once white sands of the twilight mere were covered in blood and the filth of the enemy, who in their thousands were now there encamped; and the Waters of Awakening were black and defiled, with the swollen bodies of the dead floating along its shores, for Sauron had commanded that all the corpses of the Elves should be thrown into the hallowed waters. Ilrin bowed his head and turned from the rape of Cuifhiainan, never to look back again.

Although the threat of attack was lessened, still Ilrin could not count on the fickle nature of the army of Sauron; therefore he bade the Elves start immediately the arduous climb up the mountains. Thus began the second trial of the death-march of the Dark Elves: the treacherous ascent of the Orruacarnais. With little food and no real certainty of success, Ilrin gravely took the lead and guided the remnants of the Elves of Cuifhiainan up the unforgiving slopes. The wounded and dying were carried or dragged by those who could still manage to stand, and infants and small children were cradled tightly by their worried mothers for fear of slipping off the precipices; for the western walls of the great Red Range were sheer, with few footholds, and ice and snow covering the upper third of its looming shoulders for most of the year. As they slowly picked their way upward, the wind began to shriek and assail them from every direction, and the cold was bitterly cruel. Many of the wounded Elves did not survive the first few days of the climb, and there was much lamentation in the high places of the mountains.

As they reached near two-thirds of the Orruacarnai's height, a great storm came howling down from the mountain's hoary pinnacles, a blizzard the Elves contend was conjured by the dark sorcery of Sauron, who in his malice still wished to thwart the Elves' escape. Blinded by the snow, the Elves could neither move upward nor retreat, for the drifts were heavy and the ice was treacherous. Ilrin fell into despair, cursing his father's vow that had led his kindred to such a horrid place. Soon, he feared, the children and the rest of the wounded would die from exposure, trapped there on the merciless peaks. But it came into Ilrin's thoughts that behind the angry, black clouds the innumerable stars still shone, and the newly-risen moon hung somewhere beyond the virulent storm; and Ilrin said a silent prayer to Araugh, the ancient protector of the Elves, and of old a friend to both he and his father. In answer, Ilrin believed he heard the mighty horn of the hunter resounding from the cliffs above, but in truth it was the call of a great eagle, whose shadow the Elf could descry gliding effortlessly amid the storm.

Ilrin took heart, and carefully climbed to spot where the winged raptor soared. To Ilrin's surprise, he found a massive stone ledge, and atop the ledge a deep cavern. Giving thanks to the Huntsman of the Bailard, Ilrin returned to his kindred and guided them back to the cave. There the Elves took shelter and nursed the wounded and found warmth for their children. Eventually the blizzard subsided, and the Elves with the keenest sight could discern from their lofty perch the armies of Sauron moving northward away from the desolation of Cuifhiainan. But there was no returning now to the vale of the twilit mere: long ages would pass before the land recovered from its defilement, and even then it would remain a wasteland; and the Waters of Awakening were poisoned with death, soon to be choked with foul weeds and mired with black mud -- a fen of nightmarish delirium.

The eagle returned again by the clear light of the waxing moon, leading the Elves ever upward by the safest mountain paths; but still the climb was dangerous and the air was thin, and one misstep spelled doom for the unwary. At last, through great toil and hardship, Ilrin and the Elves reached the summit of the Orruacarnais, the highest peaks of the East. The mighty eagle of the Bailard hovered above them in the high airs of Middle-earth, gliding in slow circles for a time, his massive wings spreading some thirty fathoms across. Assured that his mission was complete, the eagle left the elves then with a piercing, triumphant cry, and sped off as a shooting star into the west.

In gratitude, Ilrin paid homage to the most noble of the birds of Ardan, and there in the loftiest aerie of the world he gave himself a new name, Thoir Iolar, which signifies Eagle of the East; but his thankful kindred proclaimed him their Lord and Sovereign, and ever after called him MorThoiriol, for he was the greatest among them. And it is said that as the Elves began their descent on the far side of the Orruacarnais, the sun in all its glory kindled the eastern skies in a blaze of red and gold and orange; and the Elves beheld with wonder and joy the majestic forests and verdant vales of their new realm at the dawning of the first full day of Ardan.