In An Age Before – Part 303

"Give this soldier water," Haleth ordered, and Captain Heaþolaf offered his own water skin from which the Rider gulped ere nodding his thanks. The drink seemed to help him recover a bit and his breathing quieted somewhat.

The nearest Riders, those who had heard his words, immediately began voicing a clamor of comments and curses. These spread like lightening through the host as their dismay increased. Bravely they had ridden out against unfavorable odds to defend their homes. They had fought hard and well that day, inflicting bitter losses upon the invaders whilst sustaining relatively few of their own. And now, as they returned with a victory to celebrate, they learnt that their city was assailed by unforeseen foes, whilst only sixty of their comrades had been left to defend against howsoe'er many had come against them.

As the host recoiled in shock at the tidings, the Third Marshal asked for details with a sinking heart. The enemy had been less than a day's ride from Edoras and I knew it not!

"How many, Osbearn¹?" Haleth asked. ¹(Osbearn, Divine Bear Old English)

"Thousands, my lord, many of them foreigners," Osbearn said. "At first we rode against them, but we were o'ermastered and easily driven back through the barrow field. A third of us fell at the gate and we could do 'naught but take refuge within the palisade. I volunteered to ride for aid, and the city was closed behind me. I know not how our Men have fared since."

"Had they rams or other engines of siege?" Helluin asked, and they were all grateful to see him shake his head 'nay'.

"Perhaps the gates hold still," Captain Heaþolaf said hopefully. "The Men would have barred them from within."

"Aye, that they would," Haleth agreed, "and more, I see no signs of burning so perhaps they have not fired the city. There is hope yet."

Many eyes turned south at his words, but they marked neither a rising plume of smoke, nor the ruddy light of flames through the gloaming. Then their hope was renewed and horses edged forward as their Riders yearned to bring aid. That thought was foremost to e'eryone in the host and Prince Haleth most of all. Forty valiant soldiers and a palisade of wood were all that stood 'twixt a horde of Dunlendings and Corsairs and the Golden Hall of Meduseld.

Haleth turned to the exhausted Rider and said, "Osbearn, we ride for the city. Canst thou stay in the saddle if thou hast a fresh horse?"

The Man nodded to the prince for there was no way he would remain in open lands filled with enemies. He would follow the host or die trying.

"I will ride in thy following, my lord, and if 'tis my part to die in the saddle this night, I shall die a Rider of Rohan. As for my mare, I would have her recover and join the princess."

He was given the horse of a fallen Rider and mounted his new steed. Then with soft words, he bid his tired warhorse rest and graze, and when she felt well enough, make her way to join their people in Harrowdale.

The Third Marshal cast his glance back to the host for a moment, and then swept his hand forward giving the order to ride.

"To Edoras! Death to the invaders!" he shouted and a roar of voices came from the Rohirrim.

They came to a gallop and after half a mile, forded the Snowbourn and reached the Great West Road. There they surprised a mounted company of Dunlendings, three hundred who were guarding the rear of their host, and these the Eorlingas ran down without pausing.

The ancient, paved way ran in an arc about the spur of the Starkhorn and only a mile separated it from the solitary, steeply up thrust hill upon which Edoras stood. From it, a dirt track led through several easy curves 'til it passed just to the left of the eight mounds in the barrow field and came at last to the gates of Edoras. There, newly kindled torches revealed the host of Dunlendings and Corsairs massed before the palisade and on either side of the track. The Rohirrim saw that they were easily three thousand strong.

"Wind your horns so our Men in the city shall know they no longer stand alone!" Prince Haleth cried out, and the Rohirrim blew such a cacophony of notes upon their war horns that it shivered the falling night. And as the horns sounded, he shouted, "Charge!"

Then the assault faltered as the heads of Dunlendings and Corsairs jerked 'round from the city to stare into the grasslands north of Edoras. They could see little in those darkened lands, but they heard the horns and the pounding thunder of galloping horses. In a frenzy of activity, they tried to form defensive lines on the dirt track and beyond the barrow field, but they had not the time. Spearmen, swordsmen, crossbowmen, archers, and some cavalry were all interspersed, milling about with no coherent formation.

Into their disordered throng, the Rohirrim charged with shields raised and spears leveled. They clove a path up the track, running down and scattering their foes, but from the flanks, from the land to their east and from amidst the barrow downs to the west came a deadly hail of crossbow bolts. Riders fell and horses tumbled, stricken by the short, finger-thick, quarrels that slammed through helm and hauberk into their bodies and buried themselves in their flesh.

At the stockade, the defenders had heard the horns and they had seen the charge of the Third Marshal. They cheered and some blew notes in reply as they hastened to unbar the gates of Edoras. Then they hauled them open and stood behind them waiting for their reinforcements to gallop into the city. Yet in the scant time 'twixt the winding of the horns and the Rohirrim passing within the stockade, o'er three hundreds fell to the deadly crossbows of the Corsairs. And finally, with the entry of the last Rider and all too many now riderless horses, they slammed closed the gates and barred them again.

In the aftermath, emotions ran rampant. Some shouted their thanks to the prince and his Men for relieving their 'nigh hopeless plight. Others bemoaned the injured and the slain as they helped bloodied comrades down from their saddles and tried to staunch their wounds. Watchmen in the guard towers to either side of the gates peered from behind the shielding palisade and shouted curses as they watched Dunlendings and Corsairs slay the wounded who had fallen outside the stockade. A halfhearted duel of archers commenced with a few Rohirrim shooting down at the invaders whilst they shot back, trying to pick off defenders within the stockade.

Haleth gave orders that the wounded be taken to a tavern 'nigh the gates where they could be tended, and he bid the captains make a count of the slain in each éored. Then he set watches and archers in the towers and roving companies to patrol the inner perimeter of the palisade. In an open square beyond bowshot of the gate, he held a council with his captains for to order the defense. There he spoke to Helluin after receiving tallies of the fallen.

"In one charge I have lost three hundred twenty-seven good Men," he told her. "I feel sick."

"'Tis the crossbows, my lord," she said. "They must have five hundreds so armed."

"I would see one of these weapons that can launch such a bolt through both shield and mail to slay a Rider," he said as he held out a bloodied quarrel taken from one of the wounded.

"Pray tell, my lord, is there a postern gate in the palisade? Can I sortie forth to capture such weapons?" Helluin asked, but the prince shook his head 'nay'.

"These are not walls of stone as there are in Súthburg or at Mundburg," he said. "We stand within a wall of wood. There is but one gate."

To this, Helluin nodded, but then she asked, "Surely there is a channel to drain the spring-born freshet that runs down beside the stairs of Meduseld? That stream continues beyond the wall to join the Snowbourn."

"Aye, there is a drainage channel with a grating, but 'tis wrought of heavy, criss-crossing iron close fitted in stone where it runs 'neath the palisade," Haleth said. "Even those who raised Edoras in the days of Brego King kenned the threat it could become and worked to make it null. So 'tis, a fathom in breadth, but only a hand's length in height and not even a child can pass it. Besides, it exits 'nigh the gate, too close 'neath the eyes of the invaders." Helluin nodded, accepting his words, and the prince added, "Save for the gate or digging a tunnel, scaling the stakewall is the only way in or out."

Helluin sighed and said, "Then 'tis o'er the top that I must climb. For coming and going, I shall require some assistance."

Though he was surprised at her audacity to entertain the notion of such a mission, he nodded 'aye' and said, "I shall assign some to aid thee. Let me know what thy task requires."

The half part of an hour passed, during which Helluin found sufficient length of rope and chose a watchtower facing east whose sides were cloaked in moon shadow when viewed from the north whereat the Dunlending host laid siege to the gates. The platform atop the tower stood hard by the stakewall, canting out beyond its legs so that the uppermost fathom of the palisade formed a head-height, protective parapet of planks. Half a dozen archers kept watch there 'neath a rawhide sheathed shake roof, whence dangled a bronze bell to ring alarms as they defended a length of the palisade.

Helluin climbed the stair to the platform and swiftly took the measure of the Men there. She chose two, one a tall, stocky veteran soldier and the other a slim youth questionably old enough to serve in time of war and took them aside for a brief council. The older named himself Beorhtwulf¹ and the younger Fostercyld² who was the adopted son of one of the captains. The Noldo suppressed a grimace on hearing that, thinking his name woefully unoriginal at best. ¹(Beorhtwulf, Bright wolf Old English) ²(Fostercyld, Foster child Old English)

"If ye would, might I have your aid in coming and going o'er the palisade?" she asked them. They eyed her as if she was fey, for who in their right mind would want to be outside the wall this night, but then again, she was an Ælf.

"What wouldst thou, Helluin Werewolf's Bane?" the elder asked, as much from curiosity as to offer aid.

"That first, I shall stand atop the platform with Fostercyld on the ground on the opposite side. We shall each grasp an end of this rope, and according to my conjectures, as I drop from the far side he shall rise to the platform, gentling my descent." The youth gulped and eyed her, now certain that she was mad.

"What if I should not reach the platform when thou reach the ground, Werewolf's Bane? Shall I not crash back down on my side if thou release the rope?" he asked, looking warily o'er the platform railing at the ground four fathoms 'neath them.

"As the platform stands on flat ground and the rope shall be as long to thee as to me, I am well persuaded that we shall arrive at the same time," Helluin said, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. 'Twas much like reasoning with some of the horses she had known.

Beorhtwulf choked back a guffaw and reassured the younger Rider, saying, "I shall join thee on the descent, I wager, for together we shall weigh sufficient to lift Helluin rather swiftly to the platform."

"Just so," Helluin said, and Fostercyld look much relieved, more for the cause of having the veteran Rider joining him on the way down than any logic inherent in Helluin's words.

With the aid of the other archers, they lowered the alarm bell and its hook to the platform and then ran the rope through the wrought iron eye attached to the ceiling beams whither it had hung. They then prepared for a test of the process, with Helluin standing on the edge of the platform railing and Fostercyld on the ground on the opposite side of the watchtower. The young Rider still looked nervous, but the Noldo offered him a reassuring smile and his comrades offered words of encouragement as they laid wagers on his survival.

When Helluin stepped off the railing into thin air, Fostercyld began to rise as she dropped, both of them moving at a slow and comfortable pace. Still, he cried out a terrified, "Aaaaaaaaaaagh!", but ere any worse could come to pass, Helluin alighted on the ground just as his feet touched down safely on the railing. He stared 'round the platform at the other archers as if they were strangers. They complimented and clapped him on the back and finally he relaxed and they shared laughter.

"'Twas like flying off a bucking horse, but in the slowed motion of a dream," he mused.

"Then thou wast in no danger, for at such times, your lifetime passes thine eyes in a moment," one of the archers said, and they laughed again.

From the ground, the Noldo called up, "Beorhtwulf, pray join Fostercyld and step off so that I may ascend."

The older Rider waved to her and stepped up onto the railing. Then he clasped the rope and gave Fostercyld a nod, and together they stepped from the railing and began to descend. Helluin was lifted into the air, somewhat faster than she had descended aforetime, but still at a pace that was easily controlled. She stood upon the railing just as the Riders set foot on the ground. The other archers cheered. The mad Ælf's plan had worked, and even if her mission failed, they would have a story to tell and a new source of excitement to temper their boredom in the future.

Now after waiting a prudent while, Helluin prepared to make her sortie. The hour was late by then, intentionally so, and the moon westering. She left her travel bag, bow, and quiver with the archers on the platform. Instead, she shouldered a large empty sack and donned a dark cloak. After carefully surveying the landscape for enemy patrols and finding none, she took her end of the rope and crouched on the top edge of the stakewall whilst Fostercyld stood upon the ground, holding his end of the rope. The Noldo briefly thought of how nervous he had been when he realized that she would be starting from the wall instead of the railing. It had taken a bit of effort to convince him that t'would make no difference and he would still ascend the watchtower as he had aforetime, no more, no less.

With all the details confirmed, the Noldo stepped off the palisade and Fostercyld began to rise off the ground, trying to appear fearless this time. He rose into the air as Helluin descended to the ground outside the stockade. When he finally stood steady on the railing again, he gave a couple tugs and Helluin let go her end of the rope. Then she took up the stealth of the Laiquendi. As a dark shadow she had landed, but in the next moment, she vanished to the eyes of the archers in the watchtower. They sought for her in vain, trying to follow her path down from the hill of Edoras.

Slipping through the densest shadows, the Noldo moved along a game trail leading from the stockade towards the gate. The lands to the north of Edoras were filled with enemies, but these were paying little heed to 'aught save the gate. It seemed they knew very well that 'twas the only entrance or exit and all those within the city were trapped thither.

Now after spending some whiles to observe the disposition of the invaders, Helluin determined that whilst the allies mingled on the battlefield, they encamped apart. 'Twas hardly a surprise. Though united in purpose for a time, the Dunlendings and Corsairs were not friends, being wholly different in origin, culture, and language. Indeed, after thinking on it, she imagined that the Corsairs felt some disdain for their new comrades who were Men of Darkness, whilst the prideful Umbarhoth might still recall a heritage of Númenor.

Long ere she would have reached the dirt track leading to the city, Helluin had moved away from the palisade, down the hill, and into the open ground where the Dunlendings and Corsairs were fewer. Not knowing the loyalty of the horses to their Dunlending masters, she avoided the pickets lest the steeds become unquiet and raise some alarm.

Instead, she made her way towards an orderly field of tents that had been raised on the host's eastern flank. Most of these were small, meant to protect six soldiers from the weather at night. What drew her was that they were not the crude, single-sheet lean-tos of Dunlending hunters. Rather, they were hexagonal shelters of waxed sailcloth with a central pole and a half-dozen lines staked to the ground. They were arranged in concentric rings of a dozen encircling larger tents for officers that displayed pennants of Umbar from their pole-tops. 'Twas the encampment of a real army that reflected its order and chain of command.

By evading sentries and those soldiers still awake and moving about, Helluin entered the Corsair camp unmarked. Black were the shadows cast by the tents, and into these, she left the bodies of a few who had crossed her path along the perimeter. Less visible than a wisp of mist, she penetrated the resting encampment, her hearing reporting on the sleep of the soldiers within their shelters of canvas. Into a few of these, she slipped to achieve her purpose.

With her dagger, she slew them unwaking and unresisting, more silent than any mortal thief. She collected from them their crossbows and quivers of deadly quarrels. A half-dozen of those weapons she gathered in the sack, two from each of three tents, for so it seemed they were deployed, leaving behind eighteen Corsairs in sleep unending. Then, laboring 'neath the weight of her trophies, she took her leave and slowly returned to the palisade. Indeed, she bethought herself much like a smuggler's pack mule, tiptoeing past hostile city guards.

In truth, Helluin had not anticipated the weight of the crossbows, their cocking levers, and their ammunition. Made for ocean-going warriors and constantly subject to salty air and seawater, they were wrought mostly of iron and steel. Only their stocks were of wood. Each weapon weighed a dozen pounds, the goat's foot lever another pound, and the full quivers another three apiece, leaving the sack tipping the scales at ninety-six pounds. Carrying it was hard, carrying it uphill in stealth even harder, and so she was relieved when she stood again in the shadows 'neath the watchtower.

For the last few fathoms of her approach, the Noldo had allowed herself to become visible. Once she had set the sack on the ground, she looked up and traded waves with a couple of the archers. The rope she found dangling just as she had left it after her descent, and now she tied the neck of the sack with it and bid the Men raise it o'er the wall.

Within the stockade, Beorhtwulf signaled Fostercyld to the railing and finally gave him a nod to descend once Helluin had confirmed that the sack was secured. The young Rider stepped off the railing and began to fall, far faster than aforetime, for despite its ninety-six pounds, the sack was also sixty-five pounds lighter than Helluin and only half her height.

When he hit the ground, Fostercyld crashed down on his butt with a complete lack of grace. The sack cleared the top of the palisade by a yard and swung onto the platform like the log in a swinging mace trap, narrowly missing two of the archers, bowling o'er a third, and finally being caught by Beorhtwulf as it reached the full extent of its swing.

With a growl of irritation, he untied the rope and lowered the sack onto the platform. At the base of the tower, Fostercyld had regained his feet and was hastily climbing the stairs, a look of chagrin on his face. Standing on the ground outside of the palisade, Helluin was tapping her foot in impatience, glad that she was not fleeing a mob of Corsairs.

'Twas as if her thoughts had been heard by the Valar, for at that moment a hue and cry arose from the Corsair camp. By some chance, the tents full of dead men had been discovered and the murderer had passed their sentries unmarked. Then the bodies of a few of those were found dead in the shadows of the outermost tents and an alarm was raised. Helluin groaned at the timing as voices rose in the distance and a search of the encampment began. She imagined that she could hear the Aenath chuckling in Valinor 'cross a gulf wider than the old Sundering Sea.

It seemed an Age ere the rope dropped back o'er the palisade. She grasped it with a huff of irritation, but once in her hands and a couple gentle tugs had told those in the watchtower that she was ready, Beorhtwulf and Fostercyld stepped off the railing and Helluin was jerked upward off her feet. The Noldo literally ran up the stakewall 'til she topped it as the two Riders set their feet on the ground. Then she leapt down off the wall and onto the platform, effusively thanking the archers there.

With Beorhtwulf's aid, Helluin hauled the sack to Prince Haleth and Captain Heaþolaf whilst the remaining archers rehung the alarm bell. At first, the Third Marshal was surprised by the weight of the crossbows, but then became excited to examine them. Like any warrior's first introduction to a new weapon, he was consumed with learning how it worked and what it could do. He quickly apprehended the mechanism and how it functioned.

A claw-shaped steel lever temporarily attached to the upper side of the stock, and pulled with effort, drew back the bowstring to engage the trigger. Haleth was surprised at the resistance he felt and the short length of the bowstring's travel.

"How can this bow produce such force when the draw is but half a foot?" he asked no one in particular, for they were as unfamiliar with the crossbow as himself.

"I deem the power comes from the strength of the crossbow's steel arms," Helluin conjectured. "Perhaps they could attain even greater force if drawn further, but the danger of an arm breaking increases and the gain rendered becomes more a hazard than a benefit."

To this, the prince nodded, imagining the deadly flail that a broken arm of the steel bow might become to the user should it snap whilst under tension. T'would deliver a devastating blow to the head whilst still attached by the bowstring. The existing force of the weapon was already sufficient to kill unmercifully, as he had seen during his charge to the city gates. That memory sobered him and he lowered the crossbow, a grimace on his face.

"I find myself eager to turn this foe's weapon against them that they may feel the woe of their own returned," he said. Then he took a quarrel from a quiver and set it into a shallow groove along the top with its unnotched end against the string.

Haleth waved his Men away from the gate and then sighted on the right-hand post 'round eight fathoms distant. 'Twas hewn from a sturdy tree trunk the thickness of a stout Man's torso. When he had assured his aim against the unfamiliar weight and balance of the weapon, he loosed the short, heavy bolt and saw it strike the wood with a distinct thump. He had felt the strong kick of the steel arms snapping forward to drive the quarrel hence that had made the stock jump in his hands.

As they stalked toward the gatepost to observe the results, a familiar face joined them. 'Twas Hroþulf, the dismounted Rider that Helluin had met on their way to Edoras with the refugees of Halga's party of fleeing farmers. He offered the Noldo a smile and clasped forearms with her in a warrior's greeting.

"I had hoped to meet the enemy in thy company, Helluin," he said.

"And so we shall, my friend," the Noldo replied, and then asked, "Didst thou ride with the Third Marshal's host? Earlier, I saw thee not."

"Nay," he said. "I volunteered to guard Edoras and the king's hall."

"Then I am glad thou survived the battle aforetime," she said, and he nodded, grim-faced.

"My thanks, Helluin. 'Twas a close thing," he said. "The Man beside me was shot down and I lost another horse…had to pass the barrow field on my own two feet to reach the gates. Fleeing those savages sits poorly." He shook his head in anger and sorrow for his fallen steed, and then brightened a bit. "I took three foes to hell though, one by spear, one by sword, and the last in the neck with the rim of my shield." By then they had reached the gatepost.

"Three fingers deep the bolt sank," Captain Heaþolaf said in amazement as he held a fresh bolt next to the one the prince had shot. Sure enough, the head of the quarrel and o'er two inches of the shaft were embedded in the wooden post.

"'Tis no wonder then that these bolts passed shield and mail," Prince Haleth ground out. "How shall my Men face such mortal jeopardy?"

No one had an easy answer to that question. Unpracticed soldiers could use the crossbow far more easily than a regular bow, its lethal range was unknown, and the enemy possessed many to deploy. In battle, the unskilled became as deadly as master archers and the standard shields and armor of the Eorlingas offered no protection. To Helluin's eye, such a bolt would also penetrate the plate armor of a Knight of Gondor. For a while, she and the others stood undecided, looking at the gates, the watchtowers to either side, the palisade, and the road running uphill into the city.

They have the numbers for a siege and time is on their side for another host approaches to reinforce them, probably by the morrow's noon. Their crossbows answer any advantage of mounted forces. They cannot be allowed to bring their numbers to bear, and they can be offered no straight shot at the defense. Slowly, the germ of a plan began to take shape in her mind's eye and she cast a speculative glance to the nearby tavern.

"My lord, the enemy will concentrate their assault on the gate, and if they are allowed to attach lines, have horses in sufficient numbers to haul them down," Helluin told the Third Marshal, "and that would be a disaster." He received her words with a grimace for he knew the truth of them. Ropes with grappling hooks lodged 'twixt the planks at the tops of the gates would be impossible to remove from the ground. "They must be encouraged to accept other strategies."

"How so, Werewolf's Bane? I have doubts that they would accept my suggestions," he said.

"Indeed, they shall do just so," she said, prompting looks of doubt from Hroþulf and Captain Heaþolaf and a calculating glance from the prince. "They shall have no need to demolish the gates if they stand open."

At that, the three Men shook their heads at her madness and offered comments of disbelief.

"Say not that thou suggest our surrender," the Third Marshal thundered. "Not a Man herein would cede Edoras without a fight, for none would so dishonor their sires or betray the memory of Eorl." Beside him, Hroþulf and Captain Heaþolaf nodded vehemently in agreement. They would rather die in battle than give up without a fight.

"Nay, I do not," Helluin said, "but I would also not that ye cede the manner in which the battle is fought. They have numbers and fearsome weapons, but both require open ground for victory. We can control their numbers and diminish the threat of their crossbows at the same time."

"Say on then, Werewolf's Bane," Haleth said, "I would hear thine inspiration."

"Set hither in the ground a sturdy post," Helluin said, indicating a spot behind the left-hand gate where it met the right-hand gate, "so to deny its opening as doth a floor bolt behind a door. And hither another," she said, pointing to a spot a fathom and a half behind the right-hand gate, "to limit its swing to but a third of its full opening." And now the prince grinned, for he kenned her intent.

"T'would leave them but a narrow and angled avenue of approach," he said, "enough to tempt, but scarcely broader than a single horse, and t'would deny a straight shot into the stockade."

"Aye, just so," Helluin said, as the captain and the Rider nodded in provisional agreement. "A wagon upturned, its bed reinforced with a heavy table from the tavern, shall shield Men facing the gate from their bolts whilst allowing them to shoot back. Another wagon so prepared and set beside the right-hand post shall funnel the invaders further whilst presenting their flank to archers behind that wagon and in the towers."

"And all such preparations shall be unseen from without," Haleth said, nodding in approval. "A bitter surprise they shall be to any that enter, whilst gathered within the stockade shall be éoreds to charge with leveled spears and Men afoot to harry a narrow column of invaders."

"They shall be six thousands against a thousand, but only a couple hundred can join the battle at any time," Helluin said. "Ye shall have a chance so long as ye have strength to fight and the gates hold."

"I shall convene a council of captains, and if none has a better inspiration, then we shall make it so," the prince said. "My thanks, Werewolf's Bane."

"I would advise one thing further," Helluin said, and at a questioning glance from the Third Marshal, she added, "that all crossbows be taken from their fallen, as many as fate delivers into thy hands." The Third Marshal nodded in agreement and then called his officers to council.

As she had expected, the captains had no better notions for the defense, and on his return, Haleth set Men to labor at sinking the posts and preparing the wagons. Helluin watched, offering advice where needed and demonstrating the goals of shooting in defilade and enfilade at foes forced into a narrow front through less than half the gate. It raised Men's morale to imagine the coming slaughter, and despite the odds arrayed against them, they took hope.

By dawn, their preparations were complete and indeed the Rohirrim had even improved on them. More tables from the tavern had been carried up into the watchtowers to provide better cover to the archers stationed therein, and benches had been tied atop the wagons that lay on their sides to improve the safety of those behind. Six éoreds were drawn up in the open space behind the gate, and companies of dismounted Riders waited with spears, swords, shields, and axes to skirmish with the footmen that passed the gates. 'Twas 13 Nórui and the defense of Edoras would begin in earnest.

In Anor's rising light, Helluin, Prince Haleth, and Captain Heaþolaf stood on the platform outside the Golden Hall. Not even a full day had passed since the Noldo had watched Princess Heorte leading the last civilians into Harrowdale. They each wondered how the city would stand by noon.

'Neath them, Riders were waking and preparing for battle. Smoke rose from the tavern chimney where the morning meal was being cooked. Further off, in the grassland to the north, the Dunlending and Corsair camps were coming to life. Cook fires were kindled as the enemy prepared to break their fasts. On both sides of the stockade, Men went through much the same motions as they met the day.

The Corsairs and Dunlendings seemed in no hurry to begin their assault. They had no faith that a palisade of wood could withstand their efforts for long. By that night, they deemed, the gate would be broken and the defenses would fall. The slaughter would follow and midnight would see Lord Wulf on the throne of the Eorlingas in fulfillment of his oath. So certain were they that they did not even await the arrival of the reinforcing host marching south from the Entwade. Instead, they mustered at the second hour after dawn.

"Recall our words yestermorn, Helluin, if the fortunes of battle should turn against us," Haleth said.

"I remember, my lord, and my word-bond is given," she said. Protect the princess, just as she beseeched me to protect thee. "Through fire and death we shall ride, and if not on this day, then on some day soon, victory shall be Rohan's."

On the dirt track beside the furthest of the barrows, the officers of the Dunlendings and their Corsair allies gathered at the head of their host. From the platform, Helluin espied them through her viewing tube. After taking their measure and committing their faces to memory, she handed the device to Haleth who now took his turn.

Almost immediately, the Third Marshal stiffened and a hiss of rage escaped his lips. He roughly handed the tube back to the Noldo, who regarded him with a questioning glance. Haleth answered with a single word, charged with hatred.

"Wulf!"

And then he was striding from the platform to join his Men at the gate. Helluin returned the tube to her eye for a moment and marked him, Wulf son of Freca.

Now the Corsairs arrayed their crossbowmen to cover the attack. They formed ranks and aimed at the gate and its flanking watchtowers. Helluin marked that each bore an oval shield of wood strapped to his back, much like a turtle carrying its shell. Dunlending footmen gathered in a mob to assail the palisade whilst the horsemen waited to charge once the way was opened. Yet ere any order to advance was given, the horns of the Rohirrim rang and the right-hand gate partially opened. Then through it strode a lone archer in black armor.

With one of her remaining broadhead arrows nocked on the string, Helluin drew. Not quite two furlongs away, Wulf and the other officers scoffed, for they knew the range of the Rohirrim bows. The arrow might reach them, but the shot would be so weak at that distance that it could be batted away by hand. The stayed their mounts and sat untroubled, watching as the archer drew and loosed. 'Twas but a moment ere they knew doubt.

The arrow leapt towards them on a much flatter arc than anyone shooting a forty-five pound mounted archer's bow would essay. Sent to flight, it crossed the distance far too fast. Astonished, Wulf and the Corsairs were slow to react. They were still watching as the shaft took the Corsair captain in the face as he sat his horse not a fathom to Wulf's left. It slammed his head backward, bisecting his skull and retaining enough energy to pass clean through and plant itself in the chest of the Man behind him. Not even their crossbows were so deadly at that range.

Ere the captain toppled from his saddle, the archer had sent a second shaft to flight and then a third. Wulf and the other officers broke from their paralysis and kicked their horses to scatter, not fast enough. A captain of the Dunlendings, the very same one that Helluin had parlayed with on the road to Súthburg, took the second shaft full in the chest, a mortal wound. His steed had stood just to Wulf's right. The third struck that captain's lieutenant in the shoulder as he spurred his horse to flee.

My lord Helm, as promised, I have left thine enemy for thee still standing, Helluin thought as she began to back away through the gate.

Then pandemonium broke loose. The order to attack was given and the enemy host advanced. They raced forward as swiftly as their legs could carry them, so to diminish the time they would be targets of the Rohirrim archers in the stockade. On they came, shrieking like Orcs whilst the Eorlingas jeered and shouted threats and curses back at them.

At a hundred yards, some of the Corsairs began to shoot with their crossbows, aiming bolts at the gate and the towers. After each shot they were forced to halt to cock their bowstrings with their goat's foot levers. 'Twas then that the Rohirrim began showering them with arrows. Yet the crossbowmen turned their shielded backs to their foes as they prepared their weapons and few were slain. During that time, those who fired not, along with the Dunlending footmen, continued their race towards the palisade.

They should have been suspicious that the gate had not been slammed closed after the black armored archer's retreat, but it stood partially open still. A mixed dozen Dunlendings and Corsairs were first to arrive. They charged through the gap, only to be met by the same archer, but now she stood before them wielding a spear. That 'twas was a woman was shock enough. Neither of their cultures accepted females as warriors. Then she was moving whilst from behind an o'erturned wagon that they only marked too late, there came a flight of arrows and eight of their twelve fell.

The warrior lunged, snapping the spear forward in one outstretched hand to pierce the chest of a Dunlending standing a fathom away. 'Twas withdrawn sharply and the woman advanced, bringing her feet together and then turning a half circle to the right, arm extending, the spear's hewing blade cutting an eight-foot arc to slash the throat of another. She retracted the spear into both hands, skip stepping forward to cover the distance so that her body rather than the weapon moved. Then she stepped laterally with her right foot, pivoting on her left and lowering her stance, graceful and swift. The spear's shaft was driven upward by her rear hand and guided through her front hand to impale the neck of a third soldier, this one from Umbar. Her recovery to a neutral stance included a pin wheeling down stroke that clove the sword arm from a fourth just as an arrow struck him in the chest. He collapsed as more of the invading host swept through the gate.

The spear was a weapon the Noldo knew well, yet 'twas not her favorite amongst arms. In Beleriand she had used spears in war, had first trained with them in Aman 'neath Eönwë and Oromë's Maiar, and she had continued with the weapons in Vinyamar ere Turgon's host had vanished into Gondolin. But e'er she had favored the sword, the preeminent weapon of her people, for long aforetime the Noldor had been called the 'Sword Elves', in the days when the Vanyar were known as the 'Spear Elves' and the Teleri the 'Arrow Elves'.

When the mob flooded the gate, she lunged again, driving her spear through the nearest foe and impaling the body of the Man behind him. Then she abandoned it and drew Anguirél.

Helluin took station in the limited space 'twixt the gates, and for a time held the enemy at bay with her swordplay. Wielding Anguirél in her right hand and the gleaming Sarchram in her left, she lunged, sidestepped, spun, and parried the blades of her foes. Despite their numbers, they were unable to break her defense. The Noldo was too fast and far too experienced to fall to their short-lived mortal prowess. With her blades, she warded off attacks and with unexpected ripostes, answered their strokes with death. 'Round her, the fallen lay strewn, gathered on the ground alongside those shot by the archers behind the wagons.

Soon, those at the fore shied from her, yet they had no space to withdraw whilst their advancing comrades pressed forward at their backs. They were forced to face the preternatural maelstrom of mithril and tempered steel that she wielded against them. Still, where their martial skills would not serve, sheer numbers did, and step by step, Helluin was driven back.

Outside the palisade, a horde of hundreds vied for entry, crowding the space just beyond the gates. For the archers in the flanking watchtowers 'twas like shooting fish in a barrel, yet they were but a dozen all told, six in each tower, and far from enough to deny their foes. And they too were in jeopardy, for crossbowmen took aim and fired upon them, seeking to remove their threat.

An increasing count of Dunlendings and Corsairs flooded through the partially open gate and all too soon, the lone warrior could no longer stay their advance. Simple inertia held sway and Helluin was forced to retreat lest she be surrounded and cut off from her allies amidst a hostile throng. Back from the gates she paced and then 'twixt the wagons 'til she stood in the yard behind the palisade.

The flood of enemies passed into the open ground behind the gate like an ocean tide passing 'twixt breakwaters to enter a harbor. They spread to claim swinging room for their weapons and the Noldo could do 'naught but fall back. Soon o'er a hundred faced Helluin in an area of ten fathoms square. She gazed sternly upon them, raising Anguirél vertical before her face as if in salute.

In the next moment, the Corsairs and Dunlendings were blasted with a blinding radiance, intense as a bolt of lightning. Their eyes snapped shut by reflex and they felt sudden heat upon their faces and hands, reddened afterwards as if they had stood too long on a beach in summer. For a few heartbeats they stood still and unmindful of 'aught else.

When they dared reopen their eyes, colorful phantasms obscured their sight ere fading away, as after glancing unexpectedly at the noonday sun. They desperately blinked to restore their vision of the battlefield. With the colors had gone the black armored warrior. She was no longer to be seen. But then came the thunder of hooves and the war cries of the Rohirrim as an éored with raised shields and lowered spears charged downhill upon them.

They had barely time to steel themselves for the impact. Men on horses just come to a gallop slammed into them and those not slain outright by spear or sword were flung through the air. Bones were snapped, air driven from lungs, legs twisted, and backs broken as they hit the ground. The few left unscathed watched the Riders pass and circle back uphill as more of their comrades flooded into the space behind them.

Thrice the Dunlendings and Corsairs massed onto the ground within the gates and thrice the Rohirrim charged to run them down, but after each charge, more had survived to scatter and attack where'er they found the defenders. They engaged the archers behind the wagons and those Rohirrim fighting afoot, whilst some even attempted to assail the watchtowers. These had to be opposed by infantry, and whereas they were suppressed at first, soon they grew too numerous to be dismissed.

After 'nigh an hour of fighting, the tower behind the partially open gate was taken. One of the six archers there had taken a fatal wound from a crossbowman outside the palisade and a Dunlending archer who had survived the gate wounded a second. Dunlendings and Corsairs had managed to ascend even as a party of defenders tried to hold the foot of the stairs. The remaining four archers were forced to engage the attackers with swords so that they were constrained from shooting, and their absence allowed yet more enemies to pass the gate.

The third hour after dawn saw both the defenders at the foot of the stair o'ercome, the archers in the tower slain, and their bodies flung o'er the railing to the ground. Then Corsair crossbowmen occupied that elevated position. They first shot the archers in the other tower and then covered the entrance of their comrades by raining their deadly quarrels on the Rohirrim archers behind the wagons. And when those too had been slain, there were none to stay the invading host from charging into the city.

At first, the éoreds continued to charge the invaders as they entered, inflicting harsh casualties, but always the slain seemed too few against the tide of foemen that streamed into the stockade. Desperation increased as the count of attackers grew 'til groups of a dozen Riders were forced to break off and chase down scattered groups as they fled uphill from the palisade and into the city. With the second hour after the start of the attack, the Riders could no longer remain organized as éoreds. They could no longer constrain the Dunlendings and Corsairs to the open space behind the gates. Now they hastened to hunt down random parties throughout the steep, meandering streets of Edoras.

Helluin raced from one scene of fighting to another, shooting crossbowmen as a first choice, but sparing not any other foe within range of her bow. Twice she managed to empty the Corsairs from the watchtowers, only to see the dead replaced. She loosed arrows into groups of enemies in hope of keeping them from organizing their attack, and she shot Dunlendings as they fled into the city in hope of relieving the Riders from having to root them out.

Yet the Noldo had known that as soon as control of the gate was lost, Edoras was doomed. Less than a thousand defenders simply could not slay enough foes fast enough to prevail. The gates continued to disgorge a constant stream of enemies, and beyond the palisade, the mob pressed in steadily from without. There seemed no end to the count of Corsairs and Dunlendings. The Eorlingas had been outnumbered three to one at the start of the attack and soon, the odds would grow worse. A quick glance at the sun revealed the third hour of daylight failing and the fourth hour after dawn drawing 'nigh. With a groan, Helluin reckoned that the host of reinforcements from the Entwade would be upon them in another hour…three thousand.

The fighting continued through its second hour, increasingly desperate as more and more foemen breached the city. The prince tried to marshal his éoreds to continue charging against the enemies entering the gates. He managed to retain command of three whilst the other three were broken into companies of a dozen as they chased down stray parties of Dunlendings and Corsairs. The remaining Riders, some three hundred, had been detailed as infantry, and the survivors continued to skirmish with the invaders mostly 'round the gate, but 'twas a deadly duty after the Corsairs had occupied the watchtowers and they had lost their own archers behind the wagons. Many Men fell to the crossbows whilst the rest fought desperately but with little order.

Helluin supported them with her bow so much as she could. Her own arrows long spent, the large sack of arrows she had gleaned from the armory was emptying all too swiftly. Of two hundred shafts, she deemed she had not even fifty remaining, and though she had slain 'nigh two hundred already, 'twas insufficient to turn the tide. Then, as the fourth hour after dawn drew to a close, she heard the distant call of hunters' horns and shouts of jubilation from beyond the palisade. The enemy's reinforcements had arrived.

The fifth hour after dawn opened and with it, the third hour of battle. Within half an hour, the newcome Dunlendings and Corsairs had joined the host and added their numbers to the press beyond the palisade. Now they stood 'nigh a hundred deep, shoving and clamoring for entry and bloodshed.

Within the city, Haleth and three éoreds charged any group they saw forming whilst companies of Riders chased down smaller parties of foemen. Helluin continued shooting in support of the surviving Rohirrim infantry, but 'twas a losing struggle and as at Gondolin so long aforetime, she could see that the city was lost. The wall was breached, the defenders outnumbered, and the enemy possessed of superior weaponry. She cast her glance 'round to find the prince for she had a promise to keep.

The Noldo caught the Third Marshal as he led his éored against a mass of enemies that were making for the stairs leading to the platform of Meduseld. The Riders charged into their midst, slaying most and scattering the rest, yet a few held on, running up the hill towards the Golden Hall. She managed to shoot down a couple of these, but her focus was on the prince.

"My Lord Haleth!" she cried out to him and was relieved when he cast his gaze upon her. She ran to him and looked him in the eyes as he sat his horse.

"Helluin, what goes forth? I am much occupied," he said.

"The gate is taken and the enemy is reinforced. My lord, the city is lost. We must gather those we can and flee ere all are slain," she said. When she saw the denial in his eyes, she could only add, "To live and fight another day is our only hope now. We cannot defeat the force arrayed against us. We have not the numbers."

For too many heartbeats, he wavered. His gaze swept the space within the gates and saw it awash with foemen. More poured through the gap in a steady stream, spreading into the ground at the bottom of the hill. His Men fought bravely mounted and afoot, but they were being driven back and as he watched, the Corsair crossbows claimed yet more lives. In the city uphill, bands of Dunlendings and Corsairs ran to and fro, some chased by companies of Riders, but all too many unopposed. He shook his head but had experience enough of battle to know that the situation was hopeless. Now the most important thing was to preserve the lives of his Men. Worst came to worst, the city could be recovered and rebuilt someday.

"My lord, is there store of oil?" Helluin asked.

"Aye, both in the kitchens of Meduseld and in the tavern, but whyfor…?"

"I shall contrive a distraction for our escape," she said, and having just named the Golden Hall, the prince looked at her in horror and began shaking his head. Helluin read his fear in a moment.

"My lord, I intend not the firing of the king's hall," she said, and saw relief in his eyes. "Pray gather all the Riders and send any thou find afoot to the stables. I shall take a small party and arrange the distraction. I reckon thou shalt know when to charge."

Though still uncertain of her intent, there was not time for discussion. He nodded once and then rode off, issuing orders for the mustering of those ahorse.

Helluin ran to join the infantry behind the gate. There 'nigh two hundred Rohirrim fought a horde of Dunlendings and Corsairs and only because they fought in a press of foemen were they spared the sniping of the crossbowmen in the towers. The Noldo cut her way into the fighting, slaughtering any in her way for her patience had fled and time was short. Finally, she found a familiar face and she thanked the Valar for that boon.

"Hroþulf, is there a captain hither?"

The Rider turned at his name and saw her but a sword's length away. A smile shaped his lips despite the mob of enemies surrounding them.

"Helluin, there is no captain, but I give thanks to raise swords beside thee," he said, "though perhaps it shall not be for long."

She gave him a nod. There was no captain and none commanded this defense. With a flurry of strokes, she cut her way to the fore of the company and then begin to hew their enemies with such ferocity that they shied back, giving the Eorlingas a couple scant feet of room.

"Withdraw!" she cried out o'er the din of battle. "Bring the wounded from the tavern to the stables! Mount for a charge!"

As the Men began to back away from the gate, she caught Hroþulf's arm.

"I need a half-dozen to aid me in buying a respite for the host to pass the gate," she told him. He nodded in acceptance, wholly on faith, and 'round them, several other Riders voiced their agreement as well. She was astonished to find amongst them the two archers, Beorhtwulf and Fostercyld from the further watchtower, and the previously exhausted messenger Osbearn. "Make for the tavern seeking oil. Go and then return to me!"

The infantry had just begun to withdraw when Helluin blasted the battlefield with a blazing flare of Light. The enemies facing her were blinded, but the Rohirrim facing away towards the stables and the tavern were spared. Then, as the Dunlendings and Corsairs began to recover their sight, Helluin waded into them, spinning and slashing with inhuman speed and assurance. As she hewed them with her blades, her figure was ablaze in a ril of silver and gold and flames of blue battle fire roiled from her eyes.

The effect was both astonishment and horror. Helluin's black armored figure, illuminated from within brighter than the sun, the Black Sword that cried out threats and curses with a voice of its own, and the terrifying Ring Blade that flew to kill and then returned to her hand were beyond their ken. None of them had e'er seen the Amanyar at war, but all of them believed in witchcraft and black sorcery. They fell before her enchanted weapons whence boiled a fulminating hatred and bloodlust that beat upon their spirits as a physical blow. Their courage sapped by her manifestation, they could not but shy away, fearing for their lives.

Helluin drove them back as she marked the Riders entering the stables, some supporting limping, wounded Men from the tavern. She had reached the foot of the stairs leading to the right hand watchtower when she saw Beorhtwulf, Hroþulf and their company returning from the tavern. Two carried a bench as a shield for all six whilst the other four carried kegs of oil. They hastened towards her at a dead run. When they finally joined her, she led them up the stairs.

Now the Corsair crossbowmen in the tower had looked down upon the horror of the Noldo that none could withstand and they knew she approached. They were trapped thirty feet above the ground and could see her Light charging up the steps. Two of them were ready to fire, the others frantically preparing their weapons. Those two moved to the head of the stairs intending to shoot, but Helluin cast the Sarchram up the steps towards them and it hewed off their hands. Then it ricocheted off the roofing joists and slit a throat on its return flight. Helluin caught it at the head of the stairs, and when she stepped o'er the crippled bodies of the two stricken crossbowmen, the five that remained unscathed jumped o'er the railing and into the melee outside the palisade.

Hroþulf, Fostercyld, Beorhtwulf, Osbearn, and the other two set down the bench and their casks of oil and stood bent o'er with hands on their knees, panting. They were too excited and too amazed to worry that they were trapped atop the watchtower and surrounded by enemies. Helluin hauled the two wounded Corsairs to their feet and shoved them down the stairs so that they fled, handless and wailing. The dead Man with the slit throat she threw o'er the railing into the crowd of enemies.

"What now, Helluin?" asked Beorhtwulf.

"Now we prepare the way for the escape of the Third Marshal and his éoreds," she said as she doffed her cloak and handed it to him. "Pray tear this into strips and wet them with oil."

With the aid of Fostercyld, she stove in the tops of the casks whilst two of the others ripped the legs off the bench and splashed them with oil. These they set aside, and then they soaked the bench top with more oil and balanced it on the railing o'er the gate. 'Neath them, a milling throng of enemies were entering in a constant stream.

Helluin cast her glance uphill and saw Haleth at the head of what remained of his six éoreds. At the stables, the doors were crowded with mounted Riders. Deeming the time ripe, she initiated her plan.

"Pray set those bench legs afire, my friends," she said, and Fostercyld struck sparks from a flint against the pommel of his sword 'til the wood caught and flames leapt up.

From the tower, they splashed a keg of oil onto the mob of invaders just inside the gates, trying to douse as many as possible. These looked up at the rain of oil, and a few shot bolts towards them, but their angle of fire was so bad that none came close to hitting.

Helluin took one of the crossbows from the fallen Men at the top of the stairs, wrapped a strip of her cloak 'round it, and then, using it as a torch, ignited the bench. Beorhtwulf immediately kicked it off the railing and it fell onto the oil-dampened enemies milling below.

Some were crushed outright by its fall, but more caught fire, their raiment, shields, and armor bursting into flames. These began screaming, flailing, and running, first in circles and then towards the gate, trying to escape the city. In doing thus, they ignited more of their host and the panic spread. They fled blindly, driven by the flames, the pain, and their fear, and so managed to involve others who had not been splashed with oil.

Atop the tower, Helluin signaled the others to begin slinging oil onto the crowd inside and outside the gates, wetting as many of the enemy as possible. This they did whilst laughing and taunting the Dunlendings with threats, curses, and even animal noises. Finally, after assessing the pandemonium below, she bid them toss the burning bench legs, the remaining strips of her cloak, and the oil casks themselves down into the melee. All caught fire and a great conflagration spread at ground level.

"Time to leave," she told the six Riders, and she led the way down the stairs.

At the base of the tower, they had to fight a few foes, but when Helluin burst into a blaze of Light, they fled her and the Men were able to join the Riders that came from the stables with the riderless horses, none of whom wished to remain. Because so many Rohirrim had been slain, there were plenty to go 'round. Helluin snatched a spear she saw planted upright in a corpse and then found Hildmearh who appeared upset.

What happened here, Helluin? the mare asked, looking 'round at the burning and the dead, This seemed like such a nice place.

'Naught but the usual when one possesses 'aught another covets, my friend, the Noldo replied.

To this, the warhorse nodded in acceptance.

Shall I take our flight to indicate a defeat? Hildmearh asked, just to be sure.

Indeed so, but some days are like that, Helluin admitted with a shrug, then added, Pray pay the fires no mind as we take our leave.

The mare rolled her eyes at those words, for her kind were not partial to flames.

Ignore the fires…got it.

Helluin mounted and with the six who had aided her, awaited the Third Marshal. When Haleth met her eyes, she gave him a grim smile and a nod that he returned. Then he stood in his stirrups and shouted to his Men, "Charge!"

At the gates, Dunlendings and Corsairs fled the flames. Those afire ran to escape the rain of oil. Their comrades fled those on fire lest they too be ignited. Offering aid and comfort to suffering brothers in arms was the last thing on their minds. Together, they created a chaotic mass movement of bodies exiting the gates of Edoras.

Within this maelstrom of panic, the thunder of hooves and the charge of Rohirrim was ignored. The fleeing invaders paid them no heed at all and the surviving horsemen, barely five hundreds left from fourteen hundreds alive a day ago, slammed into their rear at a gallop. Strangely, perhaps, in running down foes that were already fleeing in the same direction, the loss of life was less than when crashing against a line of foes standing still or advancing towards them.

Passing the gates and exiting the stockade, 'twas not only the Dunlendings and Corsairs that hastened in fear. The horses ran from the conflagration as is their nature and though they might, through training and trust in their Riders, abide fire in limited quantities, cleaving a tunnel through a horde of flaming bodies made them show the whites of their eyes. They ran as they had seldom run aforetime, and with their instincts strengthened, they held together as a herd.

Outside the palisade, three and a half thousand invaders had stood a hundred deep, clamoring for entrance into Edoras and eager to unleash mayhem. Yet with the rout of those aflame, they had begun to withdraw and were much less densely packed when the Eorlingas drove through them. Indeed, that they were moving in the same direction as the Riders turned a doubtful charge into a possibility of escape.

The Third Marshal led his Riders through the flames and the Rohirrim followed their prince, carried forth so swiftly by the hurricane wind of their steeds' haste that scarcely did they bother wielding their spears. The excitement brought exhilaration to Haleth's face and he smiled as he cleared the enemy host and charged down the track towards the barrow field. He glanced to Helluin who rode at his right hand to honor the promise she had made to Heorte.

"Through fire and death we shall ride…thou said this past morn, and blessed is the foresight of the Elves!" he cried out to her.

Behind them stood the gates before which lay open ground littered with trampled and burning bodies. Ahead rose the royal barrows amidst which were gathered companies of Corsair crossbowmen reserved for assailing the city in support of the Dunlending cavalry. These were drawn up flanking the dirt track, with the crossbowmen before the barrows on the left and the cavalry gathered in a column to the right. On their present course, the Rohirrim would make a suicidal pass 'twixt the two.

But Haleth was no fool and far to practiced at the art of war to fall into such a trap. He turned the host south to bypass the Dunlendings on their left flank, placing them 'twixt his Men and the Corsairs who would then be unable to shoot for fear of hitting their allies. The Rohirrim followed him off the dirt track and onto the open grasslands, racing away from Edoras. Only the Dunlending cavalry could pursue them, and they numbered scarcely more than half the count of the Riders.

Yet in those moments, who is to say what passed through the prince's mind? Son of Helm and scion of Ërlick, Fram, and Eorl, he surely marked his great enemy Wulf sitting smug at the head of the Dunlendings. Prudence would have counseled him to turn more broadly away. Instead, he took the left flank of his host and drove towards Wulf with leveled spear and death in his eyes. Helluin could only pace him on his right, for to swing 'round behind him to guard his left would leave her 'twixt the prince and his foe and trailing too far behind to be of any aid. So they closed the distance, locked in a fated and fateful attack.

The Corsairs saw the Rohirrim riding to attack their allies and most of all, the lord who had brought them to Edoras in service to an oath made o'er his father's grave. Such honor they all understood. And so, despite the danger of an errant bolt, 'nigh three dozen loosed their quarrels against the lead Riders at a range of fifty yards.

Only ten yards ere they clashed, a flight of crossbow bolts intercepted the front of the Eorlingas' column. Helluin felt one pass just o'er her head and another 'ping' as it deflected off her left pauldron. Worse, she saw the prince's body jerk to his right and heard the sharp huff of air he exhaled as a bolt pierced his side. She heard the fall of another five Men behind and to her right.

With a cry of rage and pain, the prince steeled his grip on his spear, and then leant into it as he shifted to plant its head in Wulf's left shoulder. It drove deep, but Haleth could not hold it so firmly that it passed completely through his foe. Instead, 'twas torn from his weakened grasp and he could only struggle to regain his seat as he galloped past. The last thing he did was rein his horse to the south, away from the Dunlendings and towards Harrowdale, and then he slumped forward o'er his steed's neck.

To Be Continued