Turn 11 - Spring

Southeast of Vinhir, Metrast
 
All the sudden the weak wind stopped completely. There was no sound remaining and no living creature or elemental changed that for what seemed a long moment for confused warrior. He heard his own breath growing stronger and forced himself to calm down. Leif had lost sight of the woman and almost himself, as he stumbled through the forest. But now he had stepped into a gloomy clearing. In the middle there was a big stump where the woman stood. She had a big pole resting between her feet and her head was resting on her hands, themselves resting on the top of the pole. Her concentration was not broken with the warrior's coming. Leif noticed that she kept looking westward.
 
"Mistress Hannah, why this mystery... I am a warrior and not versed in the arts of sorcery..."
The woman said nothing. She seemed to be waiting.
"Mistress Hannah...", insisted the Rohirrim, "I should be getting to my friends... They may need my help..."
"Quiet Warrior, all will be revealed soon.", her voice came out with a hint of impatience.
 
After a while the crackle of twigs and rustle of leaves drew Leif's attention to the west edge of the clearing. There was a huge wolf coming in! In a moment, the woman stood up, raised her pole and said three words in the strange language that Leif had heard earlier. The wolf showed his enormous fangs.
 
"By Araw! I knew this was a trap!". A ring of steel formed around Leif as Frostbane was drawn from its scabbard. "I will kill this beast then I will deal with you... witch!"
 
Leif advanced slowly toward the wolf, holding the torch forward and his sword ready to strike. In front of him, the wolf showed Leif his teeth and stood firmly.
"Hold your sword, warrior!", cried the woman.
Leif's eyes flickered toward the woman. Blood-lust and adrenaline pumping through his veins. Instincts told him to ignore the woman's words but his heart repeated her words 'Hold Leif'. He stopped warily watching the wolf. "Give me a reason woman, why I should not strike down this killer of horses."
She turned to the wolf and ignored the warrior for a moment. Then she said something in her strange language and the wolf seemed to calm down. "A witch you call me", she said to Leif, "but that I am not. I know this wolf as you know your horses, Rohirrim. Ranak and Lessa, right? I saw Ranak yesterday, he is a superb mount. Now, would you like it dead?"
"You threaten my horse woman? That is grievous indeed! Perhaps I should strike you down then kill this flea-bitten excuse for a wolf." Replies Leif, his jaw clenched in anger.
"Calm yourself! I want neither your horses nor my friend Wolf dead, warrior. Still I have my doubts that you would kill him so easily. I don't know if you are just bold or a fool, but you surely have a true warrior's fierce resolution. I've seen veteran soldiers running away just by Wolf's presence. Now, take this seat and let me tell you a story."
"No man nor beast scares me Mistress Hanna, I have killed plenty of his kin, while riding to protect my fathers horse herds.", the rage was bursting out of Leif as consequence of the battle-lust.
Imperturbable, Hanna offered him the stump once more and walked slowly toward the Wolf. She bent at his side and rubbed his head. The Wolf licked her hand and returned her gaze. Then, with a mocking smile, she looked back to see what Leif was up to. Leif had warily taken the seat offered to him by Hannah, his blue-green eyes flashing in the torch light. "Tell me what you will and be quick about it, I do not want to be delayed here long. I sense my friends need me... I smell battle in the air!"
 
As Leif remained seated, she closed her eyes and raised her head to the sky. Then, slowly, her hands raised also, drawing a slow curve up to the point where the tips of her slender fingers were but an inch apart. Astonished, Leif saw her sad eyes glowing fiercely under her eyelids and he almost ran away. He never knew what kept him there when a strong sense of panic climbed up his spine, almost knocking out his head. He was dizzy. Things became less real. Only her eyes shone. They looked like stars, thousands of stars.
 
"My true name I will kept closed to you, son of Rohan. But know that I am old, very old for you. I was old when your companion Meneldor was born. Oh yes, I remember those times. A great battle had occurred some years before. The elves used to call it Dagor Bragollach. The land had been severely hurt, but the will of Men and Eldar embraced the peace as if it would remain eternal. The storm had passed and those weird creatures dreamed. Did they really know the world? Some perhaps, but few they were, too few of them... Except the Lady of the Forest... But that does not matter anymore. No... Know that during those days I returned from my true realm. I was expelled by my King and fled from his rage. Indeed, I left behind my youth and... my true love. I call him Spring now, for the sake of the good old times when he enjoyed the fresh, untouched springs of pure water above all." She suddenly stopped and seemed to live an old memory,
 
"Above all but me...". Her voice grew stronger once again, as she continued her story. "He was a Lord in our homeland and always had had his quarrels with the King. But during the Dagor Bragollach things got worse and he rebelled against him. I helped Spring in the beginning, but soon his pride and arrogance burned his spirit and I became only a tool for his goals. I left him, but I had already brought too much trouble to my King to be forgiven. I was forced to run and hide for a long time. Eventually, I found a great river called Sirion that, for me, became the gate to the realms of the Elves... And I passed to the forests of Beleriand where I remained safe for some time. Yet another peaceful season passed among the sons of Illuvatar but it ended in the worst war they had seen to this very day. My former lover had carved his own Kingdom by the time and once more he took his might against his former King. Finally he had shown his true Lord, Morgoth, the Fallen. Now I know that his spirit was consumed by the Dark Valar and I find myself happy to have escaped in time."
 
The lady paused for a while. Perspiration ran freely down her face but her eyes remained closed and pointed toward the night sky. "After that terrible war, a new age came to the realms of Men and Elves. But at the first stages of that era something happened that I know not. What I have heard is that the old captains of the imprisoned Dark Valar fought their own petty wars for control of the scarce resources that they still possessed. Spring had been punished very hard during the War of the Wrath, and the tales tell that he fell during those petty wars that were fought with such cruelty and violence that the Men cannot dream of. Still, Spring or some of his followers must have survived. I know his nature... I know his source and there's something in these lands that remembers me of him. It is a very weak link, but it does holds itself, instigated by an unknown master. Listen, Rohirrim, I want you to tell this tale to that you call Meneldor. I can't see him myself. I can't talk to him myself. Tell him to listen to that who calls him. Tell him that... there is someone that might help him. I've heard your new companion call him the Archer... Oh, yes, and... above all tell him to never look behind."
 
She paused for a long moment. Her eyes stopped shinning and her voice drifted warmly. "No, Leif, I am not a witch. I am just an old woman now. I want peace and time to grieve my wrong doings. I want to reconcile with my King. But that I cannot, yet. Here, take this necklace to Meneldor. Tell him to never use it, except when Water, Fire and Rock meet in the same Sacrum. Now, go..."
 
Leif woke up. He was lying on the floor near the stump. He raised his head and looked around but there was no one around. He stood up slowly and wondered if he had been dreaming, but then he saw the necklace on the stump. He picked it up and examined it. It was simple and made of seashells, tied with a string. It didn't looked expensive nor magical but it was pretty. Leif stumbled to the road again, stuffing the necklace inside his tunic under his armour. He moved along the road again toward the Hut, which was his destination.
 
***
 
Talis saw the predicament but could do nothing for the present. "At least these archers are firing more rapidly than I.", he said.
"Talis, I have never seen more accomplished archers.", replied the shepherd at his side, "About time we tried to even things up I think. I have an idea."
The ranger looked to Benil whilst he hooked another arrow, "If luck is with us, they will surely run out of arrows in their enthusiasm." Talis chuckled as another shaft narrowly missed his brown locks.
"Maybe so, but I don't think so." So saying Benil placed his staff down and got his sling out. "Here is my idea. I will fire some stones on the side you have been shooting from, so that you can try from the other side. Also Bogas will run and attack one of the bowmen. With two added distractions it may give us some better odds.", bending down, Benil looked at Bogas eyes and asked, "But be careful boy, I want you back safe and sound. Take to the woods if they start firing at you."
 
On the other side of the field, Meneldor grabbed for his bow and arrows as soon as Fletch jumped onto the rock. He had no other option than giving up his presence. His first shot was rushed but aimed to buy his friend the time to duck for cover once more. But Fletch seemed out of himself with the presence of the small creature. He shot hastily at him with no results.
"Come down!", cried the seer angrily at the Hobbit warrior. But to his dismay, as the little creature made his way into the woods, the Hobbit raced after him, oblivious at the archer that crawled behind him.
 

***

 
Alyster stepped forward and everyone on the kitchen fell silent. Addressing the Guards, Alyster commanded, "Men, let's give these scoundrels some Gondorian lesson about the art of war. Prepare yourselves for battle and protect your comrades." Then turning to the Watchers he said, "Prepare your bows, soldiers." As the Belfalean captain spoke, he noticed the fat warrior opening a small flask and spilling a yellow liquid on the blade of his butcher's knife.
 
The table protecting the dark warriors allowed only two possible routes of access. To the left, there was a very narrow passage between the table and the west wall of the kitchen where only one man could cross at a time, and even then he needed to press his backs to the wall and walk to the side. A warrior with a long spear guarded this passage. To the right, a larger gap granted passage to two men marching side by side, but the other three warriors were here. The cook, in front of them, started laughing madly as the enemy moved. Behind him, a spearman held his weapon low and the tip of his long weapon reached well beyond the cook and offered a real challenge to anyone crossing this gap. Alyster also realize that it would be very difficult to climb the table, and that those spears could easily put an end to such an attempt.
Metallic sounds echoed everywhere while the Guards and the Watchers took position. When all became quiet again, Alyster shouted to the tougher warrior, "This will be a very good time to surrender, man. I will give you no second chance! Drop your weapons and come out of that table one by one!"
Clearly, the warrior did not speak Westron, but he seemed to have understood the Dunadan's request. He just spited to the floor as an answer.
 
Looking with disdain at this pitiful kind of warrior, Alyster ordered the charge.
 
The archers readied their bows and all the dark warriors ran for the cover of the turned table. Instantly, four arrows hit directly the table, and a fifth flew above it and hit the head of a dark warrior. Unfortunately, the helm protected him but the speed of the arrow sent it flying to the ground. Alyster, Ragnar and the Guards followed the routes of the arrows and charged.
 

***

 
Before heading back to the Ice Dragon, Captain Alvor came to Aratan and saluted him with an informal gesture. "Although I am against this move, I wish you the best luck, Aratan."
"Thank you, captain. Remember that if we fail it is up to you to warn the mainland of this base."
"I hope I don't have to."
"Me too.", replied Aratan as he warmly shook hands with his elder.
Alvor mounted his horse. "I must not wait any longer. I fear for the safety of the ship." Aratan had requested the horses from the scouts for his own party. Only Alvor had the privilege of returning mounted. But since he would not venture alone, he would have to travel at the slower pace than he desired.
 
Aratan watched the scouts leaving the camp before going to where Fletcher had lined his hand picked force. Eight Cudin and two Cambeleg presented arms as Aratan approached.
"As you have suggested, Fletcher," said Aratan after returning the salute to his men, "I will take six men. This is the same number that Eldacar took Cameth Brin with...", Aratan stopped momentarily and grinned at Fletcher. The sergeant frowned. "...Do not worry, Fletcher, I am not becoming soft or searching for lost glories. I mentioned this, to show that it has been done before and this Cave is nothing compared to Cameth Brin, so if we choose our men carefully we should be able to do it."
"And about the bodyguard...", Fletcher suggested.
"You seem to forget that I am a trained warrior myself, quite capable of defending myself, but if you insist I shall take one man as a bodyguard. Nevertheless, I'll take no more than five men, including you, sergeant."
Fletcher shrugged his shoulders and presented each men to Aratan.
Aratan had no doubt about the first three, and as he named them, the men stepped forward. Serpent could not conceal his displeasure about being appointed and Aratan grinned at the marine. At Serpent's side stood Mea, a short and thin man that seemed very observant and nervous. Actually, it was the first time that Aratan had really noticed this man. He seemed too light to be a marine, but Fletcher had pointed out that that was his main skill. Following Mea stood a Cambeleg called Thoran. Aratan had selected him for his bodyguard. Serpent tried to dissuade Aratan from this choice and once more presented Rasta to his captain. Rasta was a bulky and ugly Cudin with heavy hands and a particularly massive war club hanging from his weapon's belt. Rasta, lining one step behind Thoran, visibly had an ugly argument with the Cambeleg. In contrast, Thoran seemed very happy to be appointed. This was a huge and seriously muscled Dunadan. Instead of wearing his standard Cambeleg equipment, Thoran had changed to a lighter armour. He had a sturdy rigid leather chest armour that came down and covered partially a small kilt. But, beside his boots, he had no other piece of clothe on. His sword had passed over his shoulders instead of hanging from the side and Aratan noticed a dagger hidden under one of the boots, but no other weapons.
 
Aratan looked at the other men and was unsure where his other option would fall. He inquired Fletcher about them further. The sergeant praised Anata each time they talked about the Cudin. This was a strange man with brown skin, though not as dark as Southron. He carried a long rope, but otherwise seemed more a common marine than his Cudin companions. By Fletcher words, he was a former innkeeper.
"...I heard that already, sergeant.", Aratan patiently added, "but what particularly skills does this Cudin have?"
"Well, Anata is a fine marine... no special abilities..."
Aratan knitted his eyebrows.
"...ahhh... Actually he knows about... ehhh... evaluating objects..."
Aratan was surprised with Fletcher's words and wondered why would the sergeant want to evaluate objects. Was this Belfalean marine thinking about looting? Aratan did not wanted to think about that and for the time being he forgot about that. And also forgot Anata.
"And about Taron...", said Aratan. This Cudin archer displayed some signs of Dunadan blood. He was a tall, handsome man with long black hairs tied in a knot behind his head. This was unusual for a Belfalean soldier and Aratan knew that only on a special troop as the Cudin would this be allowed. Taron seemed to grin constantly. He carried a war-hammer and, for Aratan surprise, a bracelet with ancient runes. This was intriguing the Prince's official more than anything.
 
Fletcher showed some faint signs of irritation about Anata being turned down, but calmly continued, "Taron is a fine Cudin also. I selected him because he likes cramped spaces. Full taverns being one of those spaces...", grinned Fletcher.
Aratan was starting to be irritated with the sergeant. Noticing that, Fletcher quickly added, "During an assault on a pirate's cove, I and half a line of marines had to retreat from a counter attack. Taron stood behind on a one man's passage. Somehow, all the arrows directed against him fell from the air, as he charged slowly forward. The archers broke without even fighting and that action saved the day..."
"That is interesting...", said Aratan.
"Besides, my men like him. His happy nature have more than once boosted the morale of his companions.", said Fletcher.
"I'm convinced, Fletcher, I'll take Taron. But tell me, what of yourself Sergeant Fletcher? Why should I bring your on this dangerous mission?", asked Aratan with one eyebrow cocked upwards.
"Well, captain, I know how to handle a weapon if needed and, with respect, I know better than anyone how to take advantage of my men's... ahhh... abilities..."
Aratan smirked, "OK sergeant, prepare yourself and those four marines to ride in five minutes."

***

 
"Mmmmmpphhhhh!"
"Quiet!"
"Mhmmmm! Ughgh! Mhhhh!"
"SLAP!"
Blanchon fell to his knees again under the strength of the heavy hand, his elven blood driving down from his nose.
"Now you will learn to be quiet. I wanted it the easy way, but you want to play tough. So tough you got...". The heavy warrior rubbed Blanchon's blood from his perfect white gauntlet. "Now look what you did. For the sake of your good health, it's better that Girdion can clean this mess." Blanchon raised his head and his white hairs swirled and fell again as if picked up by an invisible hand, but the warrior didn't seem impressed. Grinning, he took out both gauntlets and threw them at the tent flaps. "You heard me, Girdion! Take those away!". A young Haradrim appeared from the tent and bowed to the warrior before picking up the gauntlets and retracing back his steps. The warrior didn't even noticed him. "And you, my sweet, what have your temper to say now?"
Mara's eyes mirrored all her anger toward the warrior, but he simply looked delighted.
"Uhm... Under all this dirt lies a pretty looking, young face.", said the warrior holding her chin with his large hand.
Mara tried to free herself but could not.
"Fierce, aren't you?. What a splendid Shainda you could give in my homeland."
The anger reached Mara's cheeks and they reddened.
"Ah! Ah! Ah! Seems we have a fighter here. What a spirited woman... But now you will do what I say, if you want to stay alive, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?", both the warrior's breath and his hand on her neck almost choke Mara to death. She fell to the ground gasping with great convulsions. The warrior smiled wickedly and pressed her head with his black leather boot. "Now you, elven bastard, will you be quiet or shall I crush your friend for good?"
 
Blanchon's eyes also burst with fury, but he was helpless and resigned to all resistance, lowering his head as a signal.
"Good. You'll see that's the only reasonable way. You will have to serve me for quite a while, you know, so start getting used."
Blanchon looked suspiciously at the warrior. He was already walking to the tent, leaving behind those three black warriors that had ambushed the mage and his companion in the woods. Blanchon switched his look to the tallest of the guards. He still had the large club that had knocked the elf senseless. The guard grinned back at Blanchon. "I told you that you would like the captain. He already showed you a lot of courtesy only by not killing you on the spot, so why don't you just quit being so naughty?". Blanchon almost laughed with these words. He had though that those rough-looking warriors hardly had a natural language, but this one even proved to know Westron, although with the harsh Southern accent. And his cynicism showed more intelligence than he really looked like to have. For the time being, the elf could do nothing but wait.

***

 
As Alyster and the Guards charged the black warriors, the Watchers changed their bows for their hand-to-hand weapons and stood ready to follow his captain if needed.
 
Alyster and a Guard diverted to the left as soon as they reached the table, while Ragnar and the two other Guards moved to the front of the larger gap on the right flank. The laughter of the cook died as he looked suspiciously at Alyster quickly moving out of his reach. He shouted some orders to the warrior guarding the left gap and prepared himself to strike. At his left side the long spear of the dark warrior challenged Ragnar, while to his right stood the warrior holding a shield and a short sword. He pushed his shield high to protect himself from the Guards' Sarrissas.
 
On the left flank, Alyster advanced with the close support of the Guard. The tip of the long spear appeared quickly, in a masterful movement. Alyster's shield absorbed most of the impact, but the weapon's weight managed to unbalance the Dunadan. The spear swung back and forth again, catching Alyster's shield once more. Still trying to regain his control, Alyster was caught completely out of balance and fell, making a thunderous sound when his armour hit the stone floor. The guard behind him rushed forward and jumped over his captain. The dark warrior tried to turn the pole and hit the Guard, but the gap let no space for the maneuver and his move was lost when the pole touched the wall and refused to move any further. Alyster quickly jumped to his feet and had to feint the deadly weapon that stroke again. But that was the last chance the dark warrior had been given. The Guard in front of Alyster pushed aside the spear with his own shield and Alyster, letting his sword fell to the floor, grabbed the pole arm below the tip. Using all his might, the Dunadan pulled it and the warrior fell forward with surprise stamped in his face. But the Guard's sarrissa didn't let him surprised for long. His song of death cried loud, echoing a similar painful sound from the right gap. One of the Guards had been hit there.
 
With the gap open, Alyster though of turning over the sturdy oak table, but its size and weight quickly made the Dunadan forget about that. Instead, he pushed himself through the narrow passage, intending to outflank the enemies. As Alyster rushed behind the defenders to the right flank, he saw that Ragnar had already engaged the enemy. One of his men had fallen to the floor as soon as they had met the enemy. The wound delivered by the cook didn't seem fatal but the warrior was crying. "It burns! It burns! Ahhh...", he yelled.
 
Ragnar and the other Guard were much more successful and had avoided the long spear and the butcher's knife. Their charge sent the three warriors back a few paces. The man with the spear tried to counter-attack Ragnar but he had no room to maneuver his weapon and Ragnar didn't wait for him to have it. The warrior didn't even had time to scream. The other guard used his weight to unbalance the warrior with the shield and he was trown first againts the wall, then to the floor. The sarrissa came down to his neck, and the warrior quickly understood he would better surrender. The cook had also fallen behind and now faced two opponents. Feeling his cheeks burning with the battle lust, he charged the tall Dunadan captain. He was lost but he would not fall alone.

***

 
Near the pool, a new fuss broke out. Surprised with the commotion behind him, and still under the effects of the confusion called by Meneldor's skills, the dark warrior was not quick enough to react to his prisoner sudden movement. The young Corsair, taking all his chances to escape from his situation, threw himself against his former captor. The warrior dropped the weapon and both men fell into the pool. Quickly, they started fist fighting with water at knee level. No one gained advantage, since the Corsair heavier bulk and stronger arm were restricted by the chains at his feet.

***

 
All seemed quite but Leif could not drop his defenses. He unsheathed Frostbane and carefully stalked to the door of the shack. There were no signs of his companions being there, but Leif knew that that meant nothing. He pressed his backs towards the wood walls of the hut and with his free hand pushed the door slowly. There was a slight creek and dust swirled up in the air, but nothing more. Leif stood there for a moment, trying to hear something. Feeling more confident, he entered the shack. There were no signs of his companions, nor of anybody else having passed through there for a long time. Curiously, there was a fair amount of sand spilled around the floor. At first Leif did not cared about it, but seeing even more sand spilled around, he wondered where did it came from. He got to his knees and picked up some. For his surprise it was slightly wet. "How can this be possible?", he asked to himself. "The night is not that humid... Strange... I guess I am wrong about being the only person to come here for a while..."
 
As a reaction to his own thoughts Leif lifted up his sword and carefully examined every corner for possible beings but found none. Instead, he started to take the toll for his long journey and his great loss of blood last night. His head became very heavy and the Rohirrim realized that he was awaken for, almost, a complete day. Allowing himself to rest while he changed the dressing that Mara had applied to his arm injury, Leif sat on the straw bed, making large clouds of dust explod under him and start dancing around. As he completed his treatment he noticed the moon rays that invaded the hut through the dirty glasses, shinning like a thousand stars when they hit the tiny dust particles. That was a beautiful sight... and for the tired and weakened warrior, hypnotic. Soon he was asleep.

***

 
Alyster and the fat warrior clashed. Surprisingly agile for his bulky complexion, the cook was the first to strike. Alyster lifted his shield and managed to hold the weapon. Noticing the opportunity, the Dunadan stroke back quickly, but missed wildly. The fat cook pulled his arm up and feinted. Alyster lifted the shield but became surprised when the weapon stroke from the side and not downward. A pain climbed up his arm as the shield absorbed the full impact. Alyster stepped back to regain his balance and the cook took the chance to kick the shield. Alyster had no option but to let it fall.
 
Now he was facing him unprotected from the deadly blade. But when the fat man pressed is attack once more, Alyster stepped aside, letting the guard that had followed him through the gap to thrust his spear.
The fat man screamed in horror when the guards sarrissa hit his weapon upper arm. The deadly blade fell to the floor. In the next moment, Ragnar arrived and with the help of Alyster, knocked down the man. The frail was over.

***

 
Thought with a good rhythm. Meneldor's shooting was too wild. Still he felt the burden of his last spell. His tired hands shook with the effort of pulling the string, making his arrows scatter around the crawling archer. All that the elf achieved was that the man crawling toward the summit of the small depression, doubled his speed. He was almost there.
 
Those events did not went unnoticed to Talis. "Your plan could have worked, Benil, but now we have to act faster. Damn that Hobbit, he is putting all of us at stake. Stand aside..." Talis took the opportunity, when Benil was out of the way, to hug his bow down the length of his body with arrow ready. As soon as another flight passed near, he rolled out from cover onto his side, bringing the bow up to head height whilst rocking onto his stomach and let fly immediately with practiced precision along the ground towards the archer aiming at Fletch. The arrow ran deeply into the earth at the crawling archer. Instinctively, the archer covered his head and rolled aside, momentarily out-of-action. The other archers were quick to react, but when their arrows started to fall on the new position of Talis, the ranger had already returned to his former position.

***

 
As his men took the fallen Guard, Alyster warned, "Be careful with that blade. It must be poisoned. This guard died in a couple of minutes. And what a powerful poison it must be...", he said as he absently kicked the fat warrior, still lying unconscious on the floor.
 
Alyster left the kitchen and asked for the papers that Ragnar had found on the large table. He looked at them quickly as he moved towards the shaft door. One was a large military map of the region, while the other looked like a hand draw of the tower. The third was a half burned letter. Alyster looked through it but didn't recognized the words. He gave them back to his standard bearer and told him to keep them for him. He had more urgent matters at hands.

***

 
Aratan's mounted party waited while the Dunadan captain detached from the group and headed to Sergeant Angorn. "Yours is perhaps the most crucial role in this, Angorn. You are to surround the cave complex with the Cambeleg and Cudin and will have to wait for our signal. We will either find an entrance for you or keep the garrison busy while your men move into position to take the complex by force. Timing shall be everything, my Horn shall be your signal to attack or one of our number will lead you to an entrance. But you may have to use your initiative because you will be in a position to watch advents while we shall be inside and shall have no knowledge of them. However, the final decision shall be yours, Angorn, and I shall be counting on you."
Angorn stood rigidly and saluted his commander.
"It shall be done, sir.", he said.
Aratan smiled. He wished that his dealings with Fletcher could be so easy. He returned the salute and spurred his horse.

***

 
The wet rocky floor made each step trickier as the corridor descended to the sea level. The chains holding Blanchon and Mara girded as they were continuously pushed with the low tips of the guard's pikes. "Hurry up, you scum! Get your feet dancing fast!" From time to time a guard pulled the rope tied to their handcuffs, making them fell over. Tired, the pair kept following the torches of the warriors to some underground base.

***

 
As Meneldor arrows began to get dangerously close, the now immovable archer shouted at his companions for support. One of them mumbled something and changed his position. With a jump to the side, he prepared his bow to shoot arched volleys at Meneldor's position. This gave time for the other to reach the summit and calmly aim at Fletch. He was a veteran fighter and didn't allowed the pressure to put haste on him. He suspended his breath and let the shaft fly. Would Fletch been larger or slower, probably he would have been killed on the spot. But the arrow just scratched his elbow. The Hobbit cried and suddenly understood what peril he had jumped into. Scared he doubled his speed trying to use all the cover he found as he went for the woods.

***

 
"Rasp! Rasp! Rasp!"
Leif woke up quickly and confused. He grabbed his sword and looked around, but there was no one.
"Rasp! Rasp!"
Something was at the door! Leif looked around for possible escapes. Beside the door, there were three windows that could serve his purpose. Now fully awaken, the warrior wanted to know his chances of running and peeked from one of them. He saw no one.
"Rasp! Rasp! Rasp!"
But definitely there was something. Leif started to get suspicious about more sorcery and just one thing got focus in his mind: to force his way out of this dread place.
With all his strengths summoned and a firm grip on Frostbane's hilt, Leif opened violently the door. A huge wolf stood there, blocking the exit. Leif was ready to strike, but the wolf just reamined seated and waiting. For a long moment Leif did not loose his concentration and was ready to defend himself, but the wolf seemed just curious. Quickly the noble realized that this was the same wolf that Mistress Hanna and called. As the warrior from Rohan wondered what he was doing here, the the wolf turned around and raced to the woods. Yet, before disappearing completely under the bushes he looked back at Leif, as if waiting for him.

***

 
With apprehension Benil took up his position and whispered a silent prayer to Eru. As the shooting proceeded, Benil examined the surroundings and though that sending now Bogas directly against the archer's position was really too risky. From the back of his belongings, the peaceful shepherd took a sturdy sling and started to swing it. To Talis great amazement, the first stone hit directly the head of the remaining archer, that went down. He was not dead, however, and in spite of the blood running freely from his front down his left eye, soon he was ready to strike back.
 
"Eru is on our side Talis. My practice against the wolves who attacked my sheep has come in handy." At his side, the black dog seemed to be eager to defend his master. "Stay Bogas, a pin cushion dog I don't need at present. The way is too open.", comande Benil.

***

 
The Crown Guard had already cleaned the first three levels of the tower without much resistance, but now they had to bring down the sturdy door that gave access to the fourth level. It took several minutes, but the Guards were resourceful and the door simply blew away. Within stood Wulfright and the last of his men, surrounded and heavily outnumbered. Still, the famous weapon of the blond officer made his bloody dance and kept his enemies at bay. But the sergeant and the Iron Watchers seemed to be at the end of their tether. All of them were already wounded and looked very tired. But now, the sudden appearance of the Guard lifted their spirits and the soldiers fought with all their forces. It was a bloody and hard fight for both factions, but at the end the Belfalean warriors took the upper side.
 
The last of the dark warriors fell under a Guard's sarrissa when Alyster sheated his sword.
"I am pleased with your coming, captain...", Wulfright greeted his captain. He had a terrible wound above his right bushy eyebrow and his own blood had painted half of his face.
"I am also glad to see you, sergeant. You seem to be in dire need of a rest... and to take care of that ugly wound.", Alyster pointed out.
"I can't, yet. The officers of these men ran to the fifth floor and are heavily entrenched there. They also possess some kind of trick that make walls and men get on fire upon contact. I think it was that that carved that awful hole on the wall."
"We have lost too many soldiers already, sir.", Ragnar contested from behind the men.
"I didn't expected to find such a heavy resistance.", admitted Wulfright, "Besides, these warriors are really tough. I would say that they are no less valuable than a common Gondorian soldier."
"I have noticed that too, sergeant.", said Alyster. "And that worries me the most. We lack in numbers and always have hoped that our superiority in equipment and discipline could overcome our obstacles, but now..."
"I think we should leave now, sir.", urged Ragnar, "We have almost three lines out of combat today, sir. Our force is not enough to face such an well entrenched enemy. As you suggested before coming here, captain, we could force them to surrender by laying seige. Mainly now that they lost access to their supplies down there."
"Or maybe we could burn their way out...", added a Guard with a wickedly smile.

***

 
An hour passed while the marines rode as fast as they could under the moonlight conditions, following the mountain path. Angorn and the bulk of the marines followed behind, at a much slower pace. Ahead of Aratan were the fields where the battle, that is men had named battle of the Ered Hith after the name of this mountains, had taken place. The pyres of the dead had already extinguished themselves, but a gray and acrid smoke still drifted slowly on the valley.
 
After hiding the horses in the nearby woods, the marines stalked in silence to the small mountain trail that went up the rocky face to the cave complex. They were close to the trail when they saw a small campfire burning. Three beings stood around it, talking in low voices and watching the fire.
 
Aratan raised his hand and everyone froze in place. The captain looked around for possible guards but saw no one and thought that it would be better just to avoid these men. He turned around to signal his order but realized that already a Cudin had left the party. By the look of Fletcher, the sergeant had commanded Mea to scout those three men. Aratan was infuriated with this attitude of his subordinate, but though that this subject should be postponed. It didn't took too long for Aratan to see the scout getting back. He addressed both Aratan and Fletcher in whispers, saying that those were common Haradrim sentinels. They were talking in their own strange language, that Mea grasped. They talked about a princess of somewhere that migrated to the lands of the Prince... Mea could not get much more than broken bits which made no sense... 'the desert storm'... 'a cold rope'... 'the furry beings'...
Aratan was mad at the delay, although he felt it was not serious. But he readily commanded the group forward, sneaking by the sentinels.
 
After a short, uneventful walk on the mountain trek, the marines led by Serpent saw the entrance to the cave. While Mea took the lead and scouted ahead, Aratan waited with the others, hidden in the first natural hall. Not long after, the head of Mea appeared from the high passage. He made lots of hand signals that Aratan did not understood. He look inquiringly toward Fletcher. The sergeant came to him and whispered, "Mea his using the... ahh... Linhir's sewers talk... Well, he is saying that the passage is clear but there is someone on the big cave below. He counted at least half a score people. At least three are Haradrim men-at-arms. He is also saying that he did not ventured further than the position of the first slit overlooking the big cave..."
 
Aratan nodded, still admired with this new revelation of a special language. He ordered his men to continue into the cave, making all pains not to be seen by the guards.

***

 
Two arrows had already fallen at Meneldor's side, narrowly missing the seer. He was getting scared with the precision of this archer, even with the elf out of his sight. Whilst shifting his position as best as possible, Meneldor used his ventriloquism skill to call across to Talis in Sindarin as if there was another person nearby in a different position not yet spotted by our foes, "We're in peril. Enchantments are not easy here. Remember the mist I mentioned? Time for a retreat. Where shall we meet?"
 
The sudden voice appeared from behind Talis, puzzling the ranger and the shepherd. The archers also heard it, and started to think that a crowd stood behind those rocks...
"What...? How did he get there. What did he say Talis, I don't speak that language.", Benil fumbled when he tried to place another stone on his sling.
Lying prone behind cover, the Dunadan searched the landscape behind for signs of intruders, before recognizing the voice of Meneldor. He smiled quickly in surprise, then spoke up; loudly enough perhaps for those by the pool and rocks to hear: "Keep firing dammit, you! - Where sands are thrown across the ancient wood? What nonsense is that ?"
Then quietly to Benil, he added: "Meneldor wants to retreat but wonders where we could be safe, if we ever make it to yonder trees. We have no way of knowing what has become of Blanchon and Mara and at least two warriors by my count are circling behind us. Perhaps we should escape? What say you friend? Leave the Corsair to his fate ?"
"You are a better warrior than me, but I for one do not like to leave people in trouble, and we do not know what will happen to our friends. I can have Bogas stand by to warn us of an attack from our rear. I will take your advice, but myself would like to try and save this corsair from these evil fiends." Benil thought in his own words and stopped to feel the wind. It was coming from the north and going to the sea, but it remained weak. That would not be a help for Bogas, either, though Benil sadly.

***

 
Blanchon and Mara emerged on a large cavern with a high vaulted ceiling. For their surprise, there was a huge black ship anchored to a discreet wood pier that was nested on the rocky shores of an inner lake. Several large bonfires gave a fair light to the cavern, but they could not reveal how have this huge ship sailed in.
"What the...", Blanchon became wordless.
"It's the Black ship!", called Mara, "I told you! It's the Black Ship."
"Oh my. It's a black ship...!", chuckled one of the guards imitating Mara's surprised voice.
From his companions a laugh burst out.
"Be quiet, warrior, or I'll make you feel my mystic powers", teased another guard using Blanchon's tone.
"Does that scratches my backs? That you be relaxing..."
More laughter.
 
The party was greeted by the guards on the pier and those at the nearest bonfire. Several other guards stationed on high positions watched them without bothering to raise. When they stepped to the pier, some kind of sergeant challenged the guards on their own language. The guard with the club replied, but his words wore lost on Blanchon and Mara. Once more, the guards pushed their prisoners towards the ship.
 
The pier was long enough to reach a deeper portion of the lake. When they finally reached the ship, Blanchon was lost in his own thoughts, still wondering how did the ship came in. Mara flushed faces could not conceal her understanding of the meaning of the jokes and laughs thrown at her in the warriors' strange language. As soon as they stepped in the dark vessel, they were confronted with the same Caption they had met. He was wearing his white gauntlets. Blanchon looked at him and he grinned, showing them to the elf as if saying that he had escaped his rage this time. Blanchon displayed no emotion.
"Release her.", said a voice from the prow.
 
Blanchon and Mara looked up to their left and saw a man with a deep blue cape covering him from the head to the feet. Several similar looking men were gathered around him. A strange, heavily armoured halebardier stood at their side.
"The warrior of the stars' armour...", mumbled Mara with widely opened eyes...
 
Metal clanks told them that Mara's hands and feet were free again. The dark captain called a guard and he brought Mara's staff. "Here!", he said as he threw it at her feet. From behind him, a large warrior appeared and stepped toward her.
"Prove you are worthy and we shall spare your life.", said the broad captain while he playfully stretched his gauntlets.
"Untie me!", ordered Blanchon.
"What for?", asked the warrior, "I know you already. You don't have nothing to prove. Your friend is not so lucky, I guess..."
"No Mara, this..."
"Don't worry, Blanchon, I'm a grown up."
Blanchon watched her and then her opponent. He was a bulky dark warrior, a sailor maybe. He had no armour but held a small wooden shield and a heavy war-hammer. It seemed an unfair fight and Blanchon started whispering some words.
"It serves no purpose.", came the same voice from the prow.
Blanchon looked up again.
"Your skills will have no effect here, elf.", said the blue cape figure.
Quickly, Blanchon tested a fast, harmless spell but it just ran from his tongue before he had tailored it. Blanchon was intrigued and felt his confidence melting. The sounds that followed from the prow reminded the elf of laughter, but they hissed more than laugh.
 
A shout called back Blanchon's attention again. The warrior charged Mara but the lady easily feinted the brute. As fast as it had started, the fight ended when Mara reappeared behind the warrior and her staff pushed the man over board and onto the pier. The sailors on the deck laughed, but not for long. Mara seized the moment and took advantage of the low alertness among the guards and their captain. With all her guts she stroke them, knocking senseless the three guards that stood close and pushed back the captain. The time that the other guards and sailors needed to react was sufficient for her to retrieve the key of the chains from a stunned guard and throw it at Blanchon.
"Next time try tying from behind and not from the front...", she said as the captain approached her with his longsword drawn. She challenged all her opponents, shielding Blanchon.
"Alive. I want them alive.", came the voice from the prow. Blanchon noticed that the figure that had talked, was leaving and another man under a deep blue cape took his position.
When Blanchon finished to untie himself, Mara was already surrounded. A couple of Guards passed by her and rushed to Blanchon.
"Leave!", cried Mara somewhere from the center of the mob. "Flee now..."
Blanchon looked behind. The guards on the floor were still unconscious and he realized that he could easily reach the rail and jump over the pier, into the lake.

***

 
Several lined torches cast weak lights that flickered and danced on the rough walls. The air was oppressive and cold and it poured an acrid taste in the mouth. Mea spited again to the floor as he watched the column of pikers marching down the aisle. They seemed lazy and ill-suited for an organized group, but their captain, a tall Corsair, tried hard to keep some sense of order with his shoutings and cursings. Mea was not very found of officers, including this blatant young captain Valandur he had to serve now, but this demented Corsair stroke him deeply. Mea spitted again, but this time as a reaction to the Corsair shouts. Three scores and a half, he mentally added. And not counting the archers and the priests.
 
The scout let the last piker pass and rushed quietly to the arched doorway down the aisle, in the opposite direction of the armed mob. Peeking to the large cavern, he saw another group of warriors coming down his way. Cold blood ran in his veins, and the Cudin marine calmly strode to the left wall and tested the curtains that covered a side passage. They seemed to hold his light weight and he climbed into a small niche from where the curtains were tied. Then he pulled over his dark cape that, coupled with the weak light, made him almost invisible. This group was in better shape than the former. They marched quietly and in good order. They numbered, maybe, two times the former group and were much better equipped. All of them wore a chain mail armour over a dark red robe and a conical helmet. In unadorned scabbards, they carried long swords and on their left arm, large oak shields reinforced with steel. The walls seemed to vibrate with their tuned march. They would look impressive anywhere in Gondor, but not for this particular marine. He was about to spit again with disdain but thought better about that. What Mea didn't like the most about all those warriors and priests he had seen was their aspects. All but the Corsair were strange to him. He had never seen their kind. The best way he could describe them was that they looked like ugly humans. They were, maybe, taller than the average human, but their slightly inclined position and longer arms made them look shorter. These last group could pass as humans, or maybe they were. But the pikers were not, Mea was sure. Even their dark skins seemed much harder than the Southrons from Far Harad.
 
After the last soldier, Mea waited for a couple of minutes to be sure that his way was free. Then he came down from his hiding and rushed to the great cavern. There was still a small armed group there, much similar to the first one he had seen on the aisle, archers and priests. These were tall and slim creatures and horridly white, as if they disliked the sun and had avoided it all their lives. The priests had formed a circle around the altar and were spilling water at their feet. Mea looked intrigued and though it would be better to see what they were up to. He had no difficulties in discovering a new hiding in this huge cave.
 
Several minutes passed. Sometimes a priest would chant in a strange language for a short period, but nothing would happened. The archers, chattered idly, not paying attention to the priests. For several occasions Mea was about to retreat but either for the danger of it, or for his curiosity he had no opportunity before the first group of priest he had seen arrived again. The archers, now reinforced, instantly took some busy attitudes. Some quickly closed and sealed all the exits, while others hurried to extinguish every source of light. Soon Mea was under a completely dark cavern. Everything was calm, too calm for his taste. But not for long. A faint song came from somewhere. The song took several minutes to grow, but it was becoming much more intense with each second. Soon the priests were shouting their songs with all their lungs and Mea started to feel very uneasy with the rhythm. He was near to panic when all the sudden the forceful chant died. A moment passed. Then, at the center of the altar an huge flame burst out and tried to engulf the priests. Under the ghostly light, Mea was astonished to see that the priests were involved by strange cape made of water as they fought back the flame hands. As the flame launched its long, red arms towards the priests, their song raised again, now in a completely different tone. From each priest came large waves that crushed against the altar. At first Mea though that the sea had entered the cave but then he remembered that he was on a mountain well above the sea. As the astonished marine ate his own fear, the flame was extinguished under the tons of water that disappeared as soon as they reached the altar. Then, again under dark, a powerful sound shook the floor and walls. Mea launched his arms to his hears and fell to the floor, shivering.
 
The light returned. Slowly, some archers were restoring the torchlight. Mea noticed that several other archers were also recoiled on the floor like children under a thunder storm. The priests were seated or lying on the floor, as if utterly tired. When the light was enough, the Cudin saw that the stone altar was broken in two. Cheers erupted from the archers, shortly joined by the priests. As all the terrifying experience melted away in each man's spirit, a joyful ambient settled on the cave. The doors opened and several of the other warriors joined their voices to the happy chorus. It would take several minutes for the disturbed Belfalean marine to have an opportunity to retreat from this crowded cave.

***

 
Talis, groaning quietly at a cramped muscle, muttered under his breath: "Well, I don't know what Meneldor is up to and the others seem long gone into the forest - we must get out of here before we die of starvation! Benil, what say you my friend ? Do we go out fighting or run for the forest ? We can hope that Meneldor will use us as cover to flee after Fletch. Our forces are divided and won't be coming to our rescue so there is no other course."
 
But suddenly low whispers echoed near Talis. "Meneldor is on his way again,..." mumbled Talis.
"Talis", the phantom voice said, "I'm going to draw the archers fire. You recall the wall I mentioned earlier? They should target me for awhile. Either shoot them or make good your retreat. Tell me where to meet you. If I have the strength I'll do one last spell to cover us. Then I'm finished with enchantments. Here goes.."
 
As yet another arrow stroke a rock above to the left of his head, Meneldor removed a small bottle from his pockets, opened its small cork stopper and poured a viscous oil into his palms. The oil bubbled wildly as it quickly evaporated into a heavy vapor. The seer leaned forward over his palms, closed his eyes and inhaled. He jerked back up and opened his eyes. As he did so his chanting ended suddenly. With that he exhaled strongly, a long, harsh breath.
 
Talis shouted back in Sindarin: "At the Hut before. I'll find you!" Then drawing back his bow for one last high-arcing shot the Ranger whispered to his companion: "This is our time Benil. Keep the dog close by. Just keep moving and stay close to me, my friend. Now we move."
 
With this, the Dunadan launched to his feet, and checking that Benil was moving also, leaped forward with head down and sprinted for the trees at a tangent to the pool and the enemy. He did not shoot or drew another weapon but looked to see the state of the Corsair prisoner.
 
Behind something unexplicable happened. The arrows from the archers just started to fall from the sky in front of them. Meneldor raised his head and grinned. He didn't waited anymore and rushed for the woods as fast as he knew.

***

 
On the pool, stood a slain body. The Corsair dropped the knife that he had recovered from the robed man, and quickly searched the stabbed body. He had no trouble to find the keys to his chains. Before the archers had time to recover from their surprise, the Corsair was also gone.




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