In An Age Before – Part 312
Helluin watched her go and sighed. Yes, Prince Haleth had died on her watch, but there had been 'naught that she could do to alter his fate once he had seen Wulf. Fury had ruled him. But more importantly, the mortal princess truly had no idea of what was going on, though because of her blood ties and the love in her heart, the Noldo had to excuse her.
Besides, she is doubtlessly exhausted, Helluin thought, awake since dawn yestermorn. She spent a day and night trudging through the snow. I reckon a good day's sleep shall amend her mood. At least I hope it shall, for there is more she needs consider.
Helm is a mortal Man, fated to die one day. Perhaps he shall soon fall and none would expect different in these dark days. Indeed, the rest bethink themselves already doomed. Yet if he is to meet his end this winter, then I would have him make so heroic an end that his name shall be recalled with honor by his people e'er after, and with fear by his enemies so long as Rohan stands. No king is without flaw, but for him, 'aught else would be a waste.
Long ago, I set a host to flight in Eriador and amongst them no less and evil than Murazor the Witch King. On that final night outside of Fornost Erain, I raised not my sword nor smote a single foe. By the breaking of his spirit was that coward set to rout…by the vision of a host long dead was his host scattered. Moral is indeed everything.
And thou know not the lore of Tulukhastāz the Valiant, and why should thee, latter daughter of the Second Children? Yet I knew him, hearkened to him, and recall his lessons, e'ery one. Besides, my doom was declared in an Age before. I have no fear of falling in battle. What shall come is well 'nigh certain. Soon, thy hunters shall feed Súthburg and thy woodcutters shall provide its warmth. Some may starve and some may freeze, aye, but the Eorlingas shall survive this winter.
And one thing further I would tell thee, Heorte, Princess of the House of Eorl. Whilst thy folk may prevail in this war, ere the greater Enemy who lurks in Mordor is destroyed, there can be no lasting peace in Ennorath.
'Twas Hild and her handmaidens who spent the remainder of 22 Nínui sewing Hokurzêmar's pelt into a novel garment set patterned on a thigh-length, hooded gambeson with ties to close the front, and a pair of chausses held at the hips with a leather belt. These were slit open at the backs of the calves so they could be tied o'er Helm's boots. The hood featured the Werewolf's head and face with Helm's own features visible through its gaping mouth. The original ears atop its head gave the king a daemonic appearance and he was well pleased with the look.
"Almost, I can feel the great wolf's spirit in my own heart," Helm said to Helluin when she came to join him ere they sallied forth at midnight. "I can scarcely wait to terrify my enemies."
The Noldo smiled and nodded, for the king made an imposing figure. Still, she hoped 'twas simply enthusiasm that warmed his heart and not the spirit of the Werewolf. Hokurzêmar was a gullible and ignorant moron, she recalled, and ultimately, a pathetic victim of Sauron's sorcery.
Desiring to appear equally terrifying and eldritch, the Noldo had doffed her cloak and weapons and donned her mithril coif so that only her black armor was revealed. She intended to match Helm's barehanded blows in slaying the Corsairs and Dunlendings, thereby to elicit the greatest shock in their foes and reinforce the fear the king had already cultivated.
At midnight, 23 Nínui began and Helm blew a particularly mighty blast on his horn that night. The note echoed off the steep face of Thrihyrne and reverberated like thunder out of the Deeping Coomb. On this night, Rohirrim lined the wall walks to see the leave-taking of their king. Clad in white wolf fur, he seemed to glow by Ithil's light as if he were a ghost floating amidst the drifting snow, for on this night he strode down the causeway having gone out by way of the gates rather than the postern door.
"He goes out again Berserking," Heorte muttered, fearful and forlorn as she stood beside Agrona, Eadmundr, and Hild. "And whither comes Helluin? She swore to accompany him."
"Look to thy father's shadow, my love," sharp-eyed Agrona whispered back. "She walks close beside him matching him stride for stride and even the swing of her arms mimics his so that she is hidden."
The princess stared hard at her father's retreating figure, but already his shadow was being eclipsed by his body as the causeway curved left to right. If there was 'aught to be seen of Helluin to his left where his shadow was cast, 'twas hidden from her sight in the night's gloom.
"I see 'naught," she said, shaking her head in frustration. Soon, Helm and his shadow had become indistinguishable from the drifts and the snow.
"Come inside, Heorte," Eadmundr said. "There shall be 'naught to see 'til dawn."
With that, he and Hild walked down the wall towards the keep. One by one, the gathered Riders followed for indeed there was no sign that any had passed from the fortress and even the most far-sighted could not see beyond the dike. Eventually, the princess and the Shieldmaiden turned and joined them in the council chamber. After an hour of silent worry, they retired to a small bedchamber set aside for them and shivered together 'neath a woolen blanket, longing for the Werewolf's pelt that had kept them warm on the road from Dunharrow.
Dawn's light revealed, not another half-dozen foes impaled atop the dike, but rather a line of corpses frozen upright with their backs against the inner face of the earthwork. 'Twas as if they were standing for inspection. In amazement, the watchmen on the wall counted two score and three. Then cries of celebration rose in the morning air and more and more came to view this wondrous spectacle 'til the keep was well 'nigh emptied. The mood of the Eorlingas had not been so jubilant since ere the winter.
"Whither our Lord Helm?" Riders asked, and, "Whither Helluin the Ælf?"
"Aye, whither has that Ælf come?" Heorte asked in a much less charitable tone.
Finally, the sentries at the gate espied the king and the elleth and they threw open the gates. There at the top of the causeway, out of sight of any that sought not for them from the wall walk atop the gatehouse, were Helluin and Helm, vigorously scrubbing away bloodstains with snow. The Noldo sat with her back resting in a drift, dressed only in her shift and boots, her armor stacked 'round her as she cleaned it whilst Helm was vigorously rubbing the fur of the Werewolf pelt clean of a copious ruddy spatter. All rejoiced to see them safe and chuckled at the victors occupied in so mundane a task. And yet, e'ery warrior amongst them kenned the need to attend their gear in the wake of battle.
"Sire, wouldst thou not be better within the walls?" a captain asked. "At least thy task would be warmer in the mess hall and many here would be glad to clean that fur for their king."
"I thank thee, Beornræd¹, but all is well, my friend," Helm said with a reassuring smile. "We shall be done shortly." ¹(Beornræd, Counselor = beorn(warrior, man) + ræd(counsel, advice) Old English)
In fact, it took them a further quarter part of an hour to finish their cleaning, with Princess Heorte questioning them the whole time and Agrona standing beside her shivering in the cold.
"T'would seem thy Berserking went well this night, father," she began.
"Aye, daughter. As we had agreed to forgo the impaling, I was able to slay nine rather than five or six this night," Helm said with a self-satisfied smile. The princess had groaned at that.
"And what of thee, Helluin? How many didst thou tally this night?" Heorte asked.
"The rest," she said in a distracted manner, and then after a moment's pause for thought, added, "and another five I deigned not to move, for daybreak drew 'nigh." She then resumed scrubbing the blood from the plates of her cuirass.
"The watchmen claim forty-three stand dead against the dike, so that means thou slew thirty-eight?" Agrona asked.
Helluin nodded 'aye' for that count seemed accurate to her.
"Thou count not the one who fell," Helm said.
"I deem he slew himself, so nay, I counted him not," the Noldo replied.
Heorte raised a brow in question and Helm said, "A Corsair shot her with a crossbow and when the bolt but skipped off her armor, he fled so fast he tripped o'er one of the dead and fell into a shelter trench…snapped his neck in the doing." He then chuckled at the recollection and Helluin traded a grin with him at the memory.
The princess looked back and forth 'twixt them and shook her head in frustration. They seemed as two young Riders giddy o'er their first battle.
"Ye revel in the bloodshed but ken not the danger," she said, "and all our people would rue the loss of their king for the sake of a few foemen worsted. And thou, Helluin…I came hither to calm my father's mood and thou hast but encouraged him in his madness. At least thou hast not failed again and brought back tidings of his fall."
The Noldo regarded her outburst with a raised brow, but Helm said, "Peace, daughter. The bolt she took was meant for me. I ken not how she survived, for such bolts can pierce a shield."
Heorte paused, recalling that just such a bolt had slain her brother Haleth by passing through his mail, and from her sharing of Helluin's memory; she realized that another such had deflected from the Noldo's pauldron.
At that moment, Helluin ceased her scrubbing, stared hard at a spot on her cuirass, and then spewed forth a string of curses in a particularly vile Orkish dialect. For a moment, blue fire roiled from her eyes. Heorte cringed back and Agrona nervously moved 'twixt her and the Noldo, but by then she had taken a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
"What vexes thee, my friend?" Helm asked.
In reply, Helluin held up her cuirass and pointed out a small nick in the black coating that revealed gleaming silver 'neath it, then said, "That very bolt damaged this surface…for the first time in sixty centuries, the galvorn is breached."
"Galvorn?" Helm asked, not recognizing that name.
"A black alloy of steel created in the First Age by Eöl Morben," Helluin said.
The king was curious regarding all accouterments of war, and having seen Helluin's armor deflect a quarrel that could pierce an inch of oak and their strongest mail, leant in closer to inspect the damage. He marked the spot, half the size of a wheat berry with no deformation of the underlying metal. After making a silent request in a shared glance, the Noldo passed the joined section of plates to the king.
"So light," he said in wonder at first taking them in hand. "What steel is this? I reckon 'tis of 16-gauge thickness, yet 22-gauge¹ training armor weighs more." He marked that the black coating was thin as a wash of dye, yet completely opaque. "Whence came such craft?" ¹(16-gauge sheet steel = 0.064" or 1.6mm and 22-gauge sheet steel = 0.028" or 0.7mm thick. In the 15th century, plate armor varied in thickness from about 1-3mm.)
"'Tis the work of Gneiss son of Gnoss, a master craftsman of the Guild of Smiths in Khazad-dûm," Helluin said, and at the look of surprise on his face, added, "wrought in the year 143 of the Second Age."
To Helm, the Gonnhirrim were ancient foes known mostly from the days of King Fram whom they had slain in a dispute o'er the hoard recovered from Scatha the Worm. No Dwarf had been seen in Rohan in all the years since Eorl's coming, yet their craft was regarded as subtle and wondrous, especially in matters regarding war. As for the date, SA 143 was so long ago as to be incomprehensible. The king handed the armor back to Helluin with a nod and asked 'naught else.
At breakfast that morn, somewhat more of their night's Berserking was told.
"This is truly dismal," Helluin muttered to herself as a bowl of hot water was set before her. A sniff revealed not the slightest scent of 'aught edible. She dipped her lap cloth into the bowl and began cleaning spattered blood from her face.
"T'would seem the hospitality of Súthburg fails to impress," Helm observed with a chuckle.
The Noldo sighed and said, "I deem another two nights should serve to clear the enemy from the coomb if what we saw this past night holds true for the rest of their camp."
"And just what did ye see this night past?" Heorte asked.
"Desperate Men trapped by the weather in a war they want no part of," Helluin said. "Forsaken Men from a far land who no longer care 'aught for victory in Rohan. Resentful Men who curse Wulf and Helm with equal hatred. Lost Men who have no will to fight, only to survive."
"They are enemies still," Agrona said. "They hold Súthburg 'neath a siege."
"Not for long now," Helm said. "Many fled our coming and shall spread word of the slaughter."
"Already they have learnt to fear the call of the king's horn and they quake in their shelters at the rumor of his coming, counting their losses each morn in growing despair," Helluin said. "This morn, they shall find far more lost than on any night aforetime. In two more nights, I reckon we shall have slain the third part of those in the coomb and they shall believe that such slaughter shall be visited upon them each night 'til none live. And whereas aforetime they have hoped to escape the king's wrath by dint of their numbers and dumb luck, now they shall have cause to flee despite that they have nowhere to go. Two more days and their fear shall grow intolerable."
"And then thou deem t'would be safe to send forth hunting parties?" Eadmundr asked.
"And wood cutters," Helm added. "In light of last night's events, I reckon us better positioned than at any time in months. We must find volunteers for the companies to be sent out."
"I think several parties of a dozen is more prudent than a single company as Prince Háma led aforetime," Helluin added. "They could then reinforce each other at need and take more prey each day. The cutting of firewood should also be a separate task."
"We had thought to send two parties of hunters and a party of wood cutters in each direction, east and west," the Second Marshal said, and Helm and Helluin nodded in agreement.
Princess Heorte listened in silence, but slowly nodded. Her father had been going out nightly for the past fortnight and if they could finish their hazardous task in two more days, then he could remain safely in Súthburg after. She would breathe a deep sigh of relief when that came to pass. He could count three score and eight winters, after all. Indeed, if their Berserking led to the fortress being provisioned with meat and firewood, she might even feel less hostile toward the Ælf.
"My lords and ladies, now that daylight is come, I go to the wall to watch the rising smoke from the enemies' camp in hope of learning more of their numbers and disposition. I bid ye a fair morn," Helluin said. Then she rose from the table, bowed to the royals and the marshal, and took her leave.
When she had gone, Helm said, "I seek my rest, for my night has been sleepless." Eadmundr chuckled and Heorte rolled her eyes.
He moved to rise, but ere he could stand, the princess asked, "Father, I know thou count this night a victory and so t'would seem, yet I worry. Truly, how went the fighting? Is the enemy not more dangerous for being more desperate now?"
Helm sighed, but he reseated himself on the bench and collected his thoughts ere he spoke. The past night had been…strange.
"As thou know, we left at midnight and went forth into the coomb. A quarter-hour after, that we passed the dike. To the first shelter with a fire we came, and all this time she remained hidden in my shadow. Had I known not that she accompanied me, I would have marked not her presence, so silent was she, matching my movements with her own so that she cast no separate shadow.
At that first shelter, I laid hold of a branch set on the ground as roofing o'er their trench and hauled it free, dumping snow within. The six Corsairs inside were rousted and came forth. The first I threw down and then stove in the face of the second with a single blow. The first ne'er rose, for my 'shadow' had broken his neck with a boot heel. The third I belly punched so that he fell back into the fourth and that one I struck in the side of his head, stunning him so that he sank to his knees. Ere he could rise, I slammed an elbow down atop his skull and he sagged and rose not after. The third Corsair had regained his feet, only to have Helluin grapple his head by hair and beard, and violently wrench his neck so it snapped. The fifth came up drawing his sword, but standing before him, Helluin grasped his wrist and elbow and used his own arm to slash his neck. The sixth came forth with drawn sword and tried a thrust, easily dodged, and ere he could recover, I struck him 'neath the chin, snapping his head up and exposing his neck. A strong straight punch left him choking on his own blood.
The hours passed in similar fashion at shelter after shelter. At the fourth, Helluin took the crossbow bolt meant for me. She stepped before me even ere the last Man there fired from within the shelter. I saw him not for the darkness, but her Elvish eyes did. 'Twas he who tried to flee and died tripping o'er the corpse of the third Man from that same shelter.
So we continued, yet when we had emptied six shelters and the count stood at a score and sixteen, my 'shadow' lost patience as dawn drew 'nigh. Then she strode to the entrance of a seventh shelter and bid its occupants come forth, and hearing only a woman's voice, they did.
She had backed away to give them space so that they stood before her brandishing their weapons, but rather than attack her straightaway, they only stared at her in disbelief." Here the Lord of the Eorlingas shook his head as if he still could not believe what he had seen. Heorte raised a brow and made to prompt him with a question, but he concluded his narrative, saying, "As Men bespelled they stood frozen a moment, and then they all fell dead."
"So she wielded a weapon recovered from thy foes to slay them?" the princess asked.
"Nay, daughter. She wielded no weapon save fear. They died without a wound and I had ne'er seen the like." The king looked at the expression of disbelief on his daughter's face and said, "She did likewise at the eighth shelter, bringing our tally to two score and eight. My eyes played no tricks for she brought one of the dead from that last shelter to the dike but left the rest as night failed. They bled not and even a heart-stopping attack takes not a life so swift."
"Father, Men do not simply drop dead on the verge of battle. Perchance she poisoned them somehow?" But Helm shook his head 'nay' and his doubt was obvious on his face.
"I ken not how such could be. They neither ate nor drank, and I breathed the same air. More likely 'twas some Elvish magick," he said, "and of such things, I know 'naught."
"Nor I," Heorte said. "'Tis well she is our ally, though I worry still." And yet, she realized that in learning the manner of her brother's fall at Edoras, she too had partaken of Elvish magick. Indeed, she had requested it.
"'Tis natural enough to feel disquiet at things we ken not and this was eldritch sure, yet I feel no threat from her," Helm said. "Our foes, they shall quail when those last five bodies are found and rumor spreads."
To this, the princess nodded in agreement, imagining their terror when they discovered their comrades fatally stricken but bearing no visible wounds. They shall think it witchcraft, she thought, and fear shall take them, for such wiles cannot be fought with swords.
She could not help but recall Helluin's words. Peace shall come from the defeat of the enemy's will, whether they be one or one hundred thousand. In battle, inspiration is everything. Moral is everything. Thy father knows this.
"Father, I shall keep thee no longer," she said. "A fair day's rest to thee."
Helm rose, and with a smile shaping his lips, laid a comforting hand on his daughter's shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Then he made his way to the small bedchamber that had once been a vegetable pantry off the kitchen, and there laid himself on his cot to sleep as what warmth there was flowed in through the opening in the wall whence the door had lately been taken and burnt for heat.
After she left the council chamber, Helluin had made her way to the inner curtain wall, but finding the view past the dike unsatisfying, she cast about for the highest viewpoint to be had. In Súthburg, 'twas surely the watchtower that rose beside the keep. That tower was constructed of massive, close-fitted blocks of local mountain stone, its design typical of the early Dúnedain. Indeed, it reminded the Noldo of the towers at the old fortresses of Durthang and Cirith Ungol and this was no coincidence. They had all three been built to keep watch on Gondor's frontiers.
The outer entrance to the tower stair was through a doorway carved in the rock face just beyond the portico of the keep. An inner entrance to the stair led from an alcove off the sidewall just inside the great hall. With a raised brow, Helluin marked that the outer door had been removed and most likely burnt.
The expected spiral staircase ascended in clockwise fashion up the inside of the tower walls. What light that shone through the outer door opening grew dim after a couple turns of the stairs and waned darker still the higher Helluin climbed. She marked the empty iron rings that would have held torches to light her way and let a glow of silver and gold emanate from her body to illuminate her ascent.
After the fifth turn, the natural light had failed entirely and the Noldo marked that the rings for holding torches had grown few. 'Twas just as well that she produced her own light, for she found that in the next five turns, the treads and risers of the stairs varied unpredictably, clearly meant to discomfit invaders unfamiliar with their spacing.
Cunning, the Dúnedain builders were, she thought. They would snuff the torches in the darkest part of the staircase and leave their enemies to tumble to their deaths, or stagger at a fatal moment if they were engaged in combat against defenders well acquainted with the tower. 'Twas a common enough practice in designing such fortresses, to build advantages into the structure where'er possible.
When Helluin reached the eleventh turn in the spiral, sunlight from the upper exit grew and the steps resumed their predictable proportions. The count of rings for torches was as plentiful as at the bottom. She found the trap door that had originally covered the exit at the top was missing. Like the outer door at the bottom, it had most likely been rendered for firewood.
The tower was not o'erly tall, and from the count and height of the risers, the Noldo reckoned it a yard o'er twenty-two fathoms¹. Like the keep, the tower sat atop a rocky spur at the foot of Thrihyrne, elevated a good fifty feet above the floor of the Deeping Coomb. To keep watch on a piece of land the size of the coomb, 'twas a wholly sufficient height for mortal eyesight. Helluin nodded in approval and then rummaged in her travel bag and assembled her viewing tube. ¹(A typical spiral staircase will have 12 treads per turn, each encompassing thirty degrees of arc or the twelveth part of a circle. Unlike a straight stair with risers of around seven inches, a spiral staircase has risers of roughly nine inches. Fifteen turns would include 180 steps and yield a total height of 135 feet.)
With the aid of the Mâh-Sakâ's invention, the Noldo was able to see well past the dike to the ends of the eastern and western ridges. Tiny, but clear and sharp, the threads of smoke from fires rose into the morning air. Diminutive figures walked 'twixt shelters and gathered to stand 'round the place where she had left the bodies of the five Corsairs she had slain with a look.
Good! They see and wonder, and soon shall come to fear that which they ken not, death visited without bloodshed. Death that comes in the night after the sounding of Helm's horn. Ahhh, so delicate and easily torn, the thread of mortal life revealed in a glance, she thought.
Helluin marked that of all those she saw, not a single one was a Dunlending. She reckoned that all those left to hold the blockade of the fortress had either perished, or refused to join their Southron allies. A contentious alliance, I deem it, and all the better for a host divided is sooner to fall.
She did some calculations, recalling that a mixed force of seven hundred had fled in rout from the coomb at Helm's coming in Gwirith last. Since then, more had died in battle during the summer and autumn, whilst reinforcements of Dunlendings and Corsairs had taken their place. Still, by the count of campfires from occupied shelters, she reckoned 'nigh four hundreds yet manned the siege from within the valley. The count of enemies in the open lands beyond the mountain ridges could not be known, but they were of no consequence 'til winter broke. They would not be able to stop hunting parties and woodcutters from going to and from Súthburg.
Helm slew 'nigh a hundred alone and we have taken another four dozen lives this past night. In their growing fear, the loss of another hundred shall break their spirit…I would wager 'aught on that. After two more nights, we shall be free to embrace the survival of the Westfold.
Satisfied with what she had seen, Helluin disassembled her viewing tube and took her leave of the watchtower. Having ascended the spiral staircase aforetime, descending it was no challenge for 'twas clear in her memory. She could have taken it with closed eyes.
At midnight, the horn of Helm was heard echoing out of the coomb and past the dike, ushering in the start of 24 Nínui, and Men of the south quailed in fear. By dawn's light, another four dozens were seen standing against the inner face of the earthwork two furlongs from the Deeping Wall. Throughout Súthburg, the Rohirrim cheered from the walls and in the Glittering Caves. Had Helm King commanded it, the Rider would have saddled their starving steeds and ridden out to war. Howe'er he did not, and instead greeted his family and his Men at their poor travesty of fast breaking, and then sought his rest for the day. Beyond the dike, the reaction was far different.
"Accursed is this barbaric land with its endless rain and endless snow," Magân viciously spat, compensating for his fear with anger as he sat in a shelter beside his captain Abrazân. "We shall be blessed to survive another week whilst suffering this daemon king."
They had just returned from viewing last night's dead. Five of their marines lay slain with not a single wound. It seemed they had climbed from their shelter and keeled o'er dead. Another forty-three were missing, certainly carried off by the maniacal king who ate their flesh raw. The Men whispered of witchcraft, ghosts, and daemons. They were terrified, and terrified Men mutinied. 'Twas the morn of 23 Nínui in the Corsair camp.
"We have heard the account of Edoras from Gebeor's cowards," Abrazân replied. He chewed a cuticle and then looked at his fingers in thought. "They say the land there is haunted and the enemy took refuge with the ghosts of the dead. They say the second King of Rohan sacrificed his son to the King of the Dead and gained his grace to abide in these lands. They say Wulf has no son, can make no sacrifice, and so all of his host shall die."
"And so they are, and we with them," Magân said. "Now 'tis our Men that die without a wound, as if their spirits have been stolen away. Their king is a daemon and he brings his vicious ghost, the black ghost. Recall that one from the king's coming last spring when he brought down the mountain upon our camp?"
"I remember," Abrazân said and worry was writ on his face. "That same black ghost slew Captain Bêthân here and then slew Captain Târikof the eastern host at Edoras. It stood as easily atop a galloping horse as thou or I would stand on a deck in calm seas and shot him in the face from seventy-five fathoms. That is not natural."
"Nay, 'tis not, nor is 'aught else about this land," Magân said. "That horn sounds at midnight and half a hundred die ere dawn. We must flee this hell of ice and sorcery or this week shall see the last of us in our graves. What use then shall we be to any?"
Against all calls of duty and common sense, Abrazân could find no argument. Not even one of their people who had fought the accursed king and his ghost had survived, though some had fled with their lives to tell the tale. This primitive land of mountains and grass with its golden-haired savages and herds of horses had seemed ripe for the taking. Instead, 'twas indeed a hell.
"Today our Men shall cook all meats. Pack it up as rations and prepare to leave. Tomorrow, we return to our ships," Abrazân said. Magân produced a sigh of relief.
"I shall spread the word," he said. He made to leave the shelter, but at the entrance turned and added, "Another night of this and many would flee without orders. I fear they would die, a few and alone in this accursed land where our 'allies' wait at our backs."
Abrazân grimaced and ground his teeth at the mention of the Dunlendings. He reckoned all his peoples' suffering was their fault, for they had come to a siege ill prepared to take the fortress. Numbers they had, but no ladders, rolling towers, artillery, or ram. They were as angry, vicious children playing at war, and that earnt them no respect, and certainly not the lives of his Men. If they met during the withdrawal, he would be happy to smite Gebeor, Heardsælig, or any of that people who stood in their way.
During that day, cook fires burned and meat roasted in e'ery Corsair shelter. The scent of cooking food floated on the air, drawing the attention of some of the nearest Dunlendings. When they came to investigate, they disappeared. Not one of the marines from Umbar would allow any outsider to challenge to their plans, and they were not willing to share their rations.
By evening, the provisioning was complete and they packed for their withdrawal the following morn. Darkness drew down and they waited on midnight with trembling hands and baited breath. Each asked, Would the daemon king come upon them ere dawn? Would his black ghost curse them with its sorcery and take their spirits to hell, leaving their untouched bodies behind, dead in the snow? Or would they be hauled off like so many who had gone missing? Would he take their flesh to feed his devils who passed the winter untouched in their fortress? Not a Man of Umbar slept a wink that night. Instead, they sat straining their ears for the slightest sound, clasping their weapons in white knuckled grips, whilst their frayed nerves raised the acid in their bellies to burn their throats. And many whispered prayers to their God of Fire and Darkness.
Midnight came and the call of a horn echoed o'er the valley. 24 Nínui began. Corsairs well 'nigh leapt from their skins. Then the echoes died away and they waited, hoping the night's ravages would be visited on any others but themselves. They saw no point in coming forth and joining together to confront the daemon and the ghost, for such fell sorcery could not be fought with swords.
In the night, a few curses and a few screams were heard. As aforetime, they rose from the shelters closest to the fortress and the dirt road leading to the dike. Men who had braved battle in many lands and storms at sea prayed or whimpered in fear, unashamed.
With the coming of dawn the culling passed. First light brought sighs of relief. When dawn brightened the valley, they sheathed their weapons, gathered their rations and their kit and crawled from their shelters. That morn they rejoiced, for their commander had finally ordered that they would take their leave. They gathered where the road led away from the coomb and waited for Abrazân and Magân to order the march. And they waited and waited and waited, but their leaders came not.
Finally, when several hours had passed, some went in search of them, and at the shelter where their captain had stayed, they found him and his lieutenant sitting in the snow with their closest companions 'round them, all stone dead with looks of terror etched upon their faces. And none bore a wound. There was no blood in the snow.
"Fifty-four this night past," Helm said at breakfast that morn, "with two score and eight added to the dike and the last six left to be found for the torment of their comrades."
"Amongst them were their captain and his lieutenant," Helluin said. "I deemed it necessary for them to be found. Ere I slew them, I learnt somewhat of their plans.
They had intended to withdraw from the siege this day, yet now they have none to lead them. If they flee not leaderless, then another night of terror shall persuade them, but rather than in an ordered withdrawal, they shall go in a panicked rout. Fewer shall live to see their ships."
"Why then didst thou not allow them to live, to lead their forces away the sooner?" Heorte asked.
Helluin looked at her, understanding her notion, but subscribing to it not.
"They shall leave, that much is certain, whether today or on the morrow. Yet I would see them flee in the greatest disarray possible, afflicted with the greatest fear possible, and in the greatest torment possible," the Noldo said, her voice cold. "'Aught that can be done to dissuade them from e'er returning hither with war is of worth. I want them to leave, aye, but I want to set the fear of Rohan deep in their hearts. Already they have lost many to the war and the winter. Losing another commander strikes yet another blow to their moral and a leaderless force is the lesser threat."
"And thou hast thine own reasons from of old to treat them so poorly," Helm added, and Helluin nodded 'aye' in agreement. "I have not forgotten thy vendetta."
"I would have them flee all the way back to Umbar rather than turn their ships to aid the assault on Gondor," she said, and to this the king nodded in agreement.
"In an Age before, the founders of Umbar followed their king and their king followed Sauron the Deceiver. Blasphemers. Idolaters," Helluin seethed, echoing Targitai Khan. "The Gods sank their island kingdom 'neath the sea but the Faithful few fled their home aship. By the grace of the Valar, they were delivered and founded the Kingdoms in Exile, Arnor and Gondor.
But the spirit of Sauron the Cruel survived, and in later years, the Men of Umbar followed him in opposing the Dúnedain whom he desired to destroy. With each assault and in each war, the Southrons have walked the path of their fathers, cleaving to the will of the Dark Lord in deed even if not always in thought. They are the enemies of all free peoples. And aye, I prosecute the vendetta of old on behalf of my descendants of yore and those who share my blood still."
This all the Rohirrim could understand, even Heorte. Her father had declared Freca and his near kin enemies. Wulf and his descendants would bear the same judgment 'neath the heirs of the House of Eorl, herself included.
"So one more night, thou reckon?" she asked.
"One more night," Helluin replied, "even if I needs slay them all."
To Be Continued
