Chapter 14 – Come Quickly

Theodred’s troop of twenty Riders rode hard through the morning. The weather was damp and chill, an unbroken layer of clouds leaching the color from the landscape, leaving only dull grey. At times a fine misty drizzle dampened Theodred’s face. They paused only briefly at noon, to feed and water the horses, and to bolt a few quick mouthfuls of bread and cheese. Then back on the road, hour after hour, hooves beating out a steady rhythm. As accustomed as Theodred was to traveling, he found this journey wearing, his muscles aching and joints stiff as he swung down off Silverfoot for one of their brief rest stops, creaking as he mounted again. Age, he supposed, was creeping up on him. Long past were the days when a nearly sleepless night followed by a day’s hard ride could be taken in easy stride. He tried to dwell for a while on the depressing prospect of his body’s decay with the advancing years, but the distraction worked for only a moment. Soon enough his mind circled back to the images that tormented him. Donaldo’s sneering face. All we ask is that you command your forces to stand aside, and let us pass unhindered. Elana’s fear. I might not choose to do you the mercy of letting you die. Deore’s laughing innocence. Please, save Deore. Somehow, I don’t care, just please… please….

Now Silverfoot’s every stride carried him farther away from her, league upon league, toward the moment when he must make the choice that would condemn either his land or his beloved to doom. Perhaps Eowyn might yet save him from that choice, but truly his hope in that was slim. And even if she should succeed, it would probably be too late for word to reach him, and he must face the battle not knowing whether Elana’s fate remained hostage to his actions.

He puzzled again over the mystery of Donaldo, worrying it in his mind, trying to made sense of what he knew. Had the man been an agent of Saruman even at their first encounter? Had that incident, too, been a trap somehow? Or had anger at Theodred over Windfola’s confiscation driven Donaldo to seek out Theodred’s enemy and offer his service? What road had he walked in the intervening months, to bring him to where he now stood, hands clutched around Theodred’s heart? Try as he might he could deduce nothing with certainty.

Late in the afternoon, they crossed paths with a messenger, riding at great speed toward Edoras. Theodred hailed him, and he reined his sweating horse to an exhausted stop. “I bear a message to Theodred, the Second Marshall,” the man called.

“I am he,” Theodred replied.

“Well met, my lord. Glad I am to find you already so far along the road. Though it is ill news I bring, that will bring you little joy to read. Still, better now, for much longer might have been too late.” Theodred accepted the folded packet of paper the messenger handed him, and began tearing it open even as he dismounted. Reading as he walked, he led Silverfoot to where a line of trees marked the course of a tiny rivulet. The messenger and his men followed. By the time all the horses had drunk thirstily, and the men had gathered in a loose circle, eyes on their leader, he had finished the grim message. Wordlessly he handed the paper to one of his men, whose eyes devoured it as the others clustered about to read over his shoulder.

Saruman has sent us a warning, Grimbold had written. Today he released all the scouts he had captured, through all the months we have been watching him. Maimed, each of them, in one way or another. Hamstrung, blinded, tongues cut out, that they might be of no more use to us as scouts or soldiers. But before he let them go, he brought them out and paraded his army before them. The numbers are vast, they tell me, double our most generous previous estimate. He laughed, they said, and bid them say, “The hour for secrecy is past. Prepare to meet your doom.”

Come quickly, lord, that you may counsel with us how we may best meet this challenge. Send for what reinforcements you may, for we will need all our strength, and more. I beg you, hurry!

Theodred closed his eyes, sickened by the message’s import. A secret, glad whisper spoke deep in his heart. Surely now, surrender would be justified. Faced with such an overwhelming force, who could blame him if he took the prudent course and acted to at least save his men’s lives? Why should he sacrifice Elana and Deore to fight a battle he could only lose?

Shame burned in him at the thought. His men would not thank him for selling them out to so vile an enemy, whatever the odds against them. Rohan deserved no less than all they could give, even if the cause seemed hopeless. He could not save Elana and Deore that way. The only recourse then, was to strive, somehow, to bring about a victory, gamble everything in a desperate chance, that the sacrifice, if inevitable, might at least not be in vain.

Theodred met his men’s eyes, as they looked up from the message, wide with horror. He took the paper back and turned it over, hastily scrawling lines on the blank side. He turned to the messenger. “Bear this to Elfhelm in Edoras. It bids him come with all speed he may, and bring with him all the forces that are in Edoras, trainees, new recruits, everyone. That will leave the city all but defenseless, so you are to continue on to Eomer in the Eastfold, and carry word for him to bring his eored back to Edoras. It won’t be enough, should we fail, but we cannot pull any more forces back from the eastern border.”

Grim understanding returned Theodred’s gaze all around the circle. “Now, men, we mount and ride. More then ever, we must make haste. As quick as the horses may, and yet be fit to fight when we arrive.” Swiftly, the men obeyed.