Authors’ Note: I’ll bet you’re getting tired of these, eh? Okay, I was waiting to post until I had a day I could respond to your reviews first, but the day hasn’t come yet, and now I’m about to be leave on an expedition to fetch back my repaired car from the next state over (where I had to leave it when I smashed it)! Yay! Faced with the choice of leaving you with no replies and no new chapter, or leaving you with a rain-check on the replies and something to entertain you while I’m gone, I opted for the latter! Besides which, this might be a good chapter for you to read while I’m safely out of town… *wary grin* On behalf of Hannah and I, thank you for your wonderful patience! You are the best readers we could ask for.

Chapter 26

In Which Erynbenn Fights

May 15

Southern Gondor, Battle Line, Gondorian Side

Bartho had no sooner collapsed in a heap onto his cot when a messenger, bright-eyed with youth and importance, came walking briskly towards him.

"Valar above," he groaned under his breath, and Erynbenn smiled at him.

"It's probably not for you, my friend," the younger man murmured reassuringly. "Faramir knows you were out all of last night."

"It wasn't last night; the new recruits didn't smother me with useless questions until this afternoon."

"Captain Erynbenn?" the messenger inquired respectfully. "I come bearing orders from Lord Faramir."

"Thank you," Erynbenn nodded, taking the roll of papers. However busy Bartho and he may have been that day, Faramir was clearly more so if he could not deliver these orders in person. "You may continue about your duties," he added, when the messenger seemed to expect a formal dismissal.

"Where are you off to?" Bartho asked through a yawn, not bothering to open his eyes.

Erynbenn was perusing the instructions carefully. "I'm to take my whole company southeast, attack the Southrons' battle lines, next to Irin."

This was surprising enough for Bartho to crack one eyelid. "Irin was razed over a week ago."

"Not razed, just emptied, and the attack isn't for the benefit of the town, per se. Our scouts say the Southron line is weak there, and there is no access through to the gorges, where the bulk of the Southron army is hiding. Hopefully we can retake Irin and incorporate it into our own lines. Faramir wants to drive a wedge into their defenses — if we wait for them to move first, it could be disastrous."

Bartho smothered another yawn exhaustedly and readjusted his position so that the dagger hilt on his belt stopped digging into his side. "Well, then."

"Indeed. I'll see you in the morning, my friend. Maybe we'll have an actual conversation over breakfast." His eyes twinkled. Checking that his weapons were buckled on firmly, he picked up his cloak and paused to smile fondly at his companion, who had apparently fallen straight to sleep.

As he left their small corner of the garrison and strode out of earshot, Bartho muttered under his breath, "Be careful, friend."

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Since the death of his first lieutenant, Malbeth, Erynbenn had been getting along with only Lieutenant Anto's help. He admitted it was foolish not to grant one of the other men the position, but he missed Malbeth and felt reluctant to replace him. Besides, Anto was an energetic young man and a good fighter. Had Erynbenn known it, Anto strongly reminded Bartho of what Erynbenn had been like in his youth.

The sun was some ways away from setting, but the sky was overcast and it helped to hide them as they neared the Southrons' lines. Erynbenn could not help but wish his company were better trained at keeping low and slipping through, rather than tramping over, the undergrowth. This attack would be difficult enough without the Haradrim hearing them coming a mile off.

"Lieutenant, pass the order to tread silently."

Anto already had, but he passed the order again all the same. "What is the matter, sir? I didn't think this was very dangerous — after all, they only have about a hundred men, compared to our company of twice that number."

"Better odds than that have lost in wars," Erynbenn muttered, noticing how much like Bartho he sounded.

They were rounding a curve of hills, the other side of which was the closest they would come to the bulk of the Southron army. There was a cove there that protruded into the maze of gorges to their right, but though it wasn't actually attached to them, there was a chance scouts may have been placed on the ravine wall between the cove and the gorge behind it. It was a time to be especially cautious.

They had only just passed the cove by and entered a sheltered dry riverbed when Erynbenn's scouts returned with word on the position of the enemy.

"You weren't able to get in amongst them at all?" Erynbenn asked.

"No, sir," the lead scout affirmed. "We only verified their front lines, and I counted approximately a hundred men, as we were told before. They await you just beyond the further stand of trees."

"Good. Lieutenant, separate out a contingent of archers and then pass the word to our right and left flanks. We will widen our stance to stretch the width of their line. The archers will remain in reserve, to finish the attack or cover the retreat. Everyone must keep low; the advance will be upon my lead. We have a clear, straight course, and I'd like for this to be as quiet and unobtrusive as two hundred running soldiers can be, understood?"

Anto couldn't help a small smile as he went to pass the word.

There was no sound for a long while as Erynbenn waited for Anto's return. It reminded him of the woods north of the Shire — the wakeful, watching silence of things crouching in the dark. Erynbenn blinked in surprise at himself, unsure where the thoughts of fell beasts had arisen. It made him uneasy…

"The men are in position," Anto reported softly, taking his stance behind his captain.

Erynbenn nodded once, unsheathed his sword, and left the cover of the underbrush and trees at a silent and deadly run. His dark hair rippled, a darker shade of the overcast day, and he sensed through the vibrations in his feet that all his men were following him.

They crossed the intervening space unchallenged and came to the further stand of trees. Just as he passed under the branches, Erynbenn straightened to full height and swung out his blade with loud battle cry. The rest of his company responded in kind.

The Southrons were there, crouching seemingly unsuspecting in the bushes. Erynbenn slew three before something began to nag at him. A fourth Southron swung his scimitar at Erynbenn's head and the captain ducked under it, bringing his own sword around and sheering through the scimitar's handle. The Southron dropped the useless weapon and made to lunge for Erynbenn's throat, but the Dúnadan's blade came up and his enemy caught it through the chest. Erynbenn backed up, his sword at the ready, and his mind still wondering what was wrong. There were cries — startled shouts — and the exclamations weren't spoken in Haradrim.

With eyes keen from years of hunting under trees, Erynbenn sought the problem, and began to see in the dimness black and scarlet turbans. Not a hundred, but rather hundreds! They filled the spaces between each tree, and everywhere he turned there were at least three to every one of his men. Another Southron rushed him and he stabbed them through the throat, leaping over the body as it fell in time to stab the next warrior in the thigh and send him sprawling. The ambushers had been ambushed in their turn. Now was not the time to press rashly forward, unless he wanted to lose two hundred lives with no gain.

"Fall back! It's a trap!" he yelled, sidestepping the down swipe of a long-handled axe like a scythe. Again he sheared the weapon handle in two, accidentally gouging his hand on the splintering wood. Ducking around a tree in time to miss a black-feathered arrow, he repeated his orders, "Fall back! FALL BACK!"

Erynbenn began his own steady retreat, still cutting down any of the enemy that came close, and never quickening his pace beyond that of his men. Gradually the Gondorian line withdrew, their numbers already fewer, and as the last of them cleared the line of trees Erynbenn called for the archers to give covering fire for their retreat. But no arrows came.

As the soldiers continued to hold an orderly line across the open meadow to their original attack position, Erynbenn called again to the archers to fire, and still there was no response. Couldn't they hear him? Then he saw that the Southrons had not remained mingled in amongst his men as they pulled back, as if they were afraid of being mistaken for a Gondorian target in the growing dusk.

They were being trapped again.

Even as Erynbenn caught sight of the still forms of his archers, lying amongst the trees, and even as he called to his men to change direction, a second line of Southrons sprang out of the trees behind them and opened fire with their own arrows.

Erynbenn's order came only just in time for his men to duck the first hail of arrows and put up their shields. There were screams as a few fell anyway, but Erynbenn grabbed Anto by the shoulder, "We must retreat back to the right! Pass the word to follow me!"

Blood was streaming from Anto's chin where he'd been clipped with a scimitar. He went instantly to obey.

The line of retreat was no longer orderly. The Gondorians fled, several more falling to the rain of arrows as they followed Erynbenn as he skirted the end of the archers' line and led them back into the cover of the dry riverbed. The Southrons pursued them hard, keeping close behind and engaging the Gondorians in the rear. Erynbenn's mind was wholly blank except for the one desire to get his men back to safety. He fought with the speed and agility only a Dúnadan could show in these latter days. His blows were quick, like the striking of a snake, and his hand-to-hand tactics depended mostly on his ability to dodge most of the blows aimed at him.

He had single-handedly dispatched eight Southrons when he turned and almost impaled himself on a scimitar aimed to stab him from behind. Trying to leap out of the way at the last second, he kept the blade from entering his heart only by a narrow margin, and then felt a harsh sensation of agony as the blade entered his side instead. The Southron howled in triumph, dragging his blade to the side so as to tear it free and doubly wound the Gondorian captain. His triumph was short lived. Too far away to stab his assailant, Erynbenn threw his sword in a flat spin sideways towards the Southron's neck and the blade sliced across the Southron's throat, sending him instantly down. Erynbenn gripped the scimitar and pulled it free, feeling the blood start to run thickly down his right leg. He could tell with a cursory look how bad it was, and he shuddered as he leaned painfully over to retrieve his sword and meet the next attack. The last thing he needed right now was a time constraint, but for him that was exactly what this was.

Keeping his left arm wrapped around his stomach and side in an attempt to stem the flow, he parried three successive blows towards his head and began to make his way through his men towards the front of the line. He had a bad feeling about the options he would have once they left the riverbed. Grabbing the arm of a passing soldier who still seemed unmarked, Erynbenn pulled him close and spoke in a clear tone, "I want you to break with the company. There's a branch in the riverbed ahead of us where a stream used to run out. It's too narrow for more than one man. Follow it until it turns south and then abandon it and return to Lord Faramir. Tell him what has happened; ask for more men. We will probably be surrounded by the time you find him."

The soldier nodded, dropping his shield as too cumbersome for his new task and removing his helmet as well, since it could reflect the light of the moon when it rose. Ducking low, the man vanished between the moving bodies and a little while later was running flat out through the narrower streambed.

Erynbenn's suspicions were confirmed as he and his men reached the end of their temporary shelter. The Southrons were already here as well. The arrows began to fall again, thinning their ranks even further, and for a single second Erynbenn was forced to choose. The choice was between sure suicide in a charge against a well entrenched triple line of Southrons, and possible death by backing into the cove they had passed before.

He chose the cove. Though it was nestled so close to the gorges occupied by the Southrons, there was no connecting passage between the two, and if he could only keep his men alive until Faramir came with reinforcements…

Grunting in pain as an arrow flicked past him, leaving his ear stinging and bleeding as it came too close, he began to lead the way into the cove. The men followed, running easily over the flat ground inside, and keeping a barrage of their own fire concentrated towards the rear to keep the Southron's from following them in. With such a narrow opening to the cove, the Gondorians were able to keep their enemies at bay.

Erynbenn glanced up anxiously, shaking a ringing sound from his ears. Sooner or later, the Southrons would place archers up on the ridge to aim down at their trapped prey. He could only hope that they hadn't anticipated *this* retreat as well; perhaps he would have just a few minutes reprieve to try and plan a defense.

Anto appeared at his side and it was a moment before the muffling in his ears parted to let his lieutenant's voice through.

"Captain, what are your orders?"

Erynbenn nodded, thinking fast, "Order one contingent to remain at the entrance and repulse all Southrons trying to enter. Get what archers we still have to find places where they can target the ridge in case of enemy bow-fire from above. Is there any cover to be had?"

His lieutenant squinted in the evening light, "Very little. Some trees, a few outcroppings of stone… Wait!" He pointed eagerly. "There is a large mound of stone back towards the gorge! We could take cover behind that."

Erynbenn whirled, feeling the earth move at twice its normal speed. It was his worst fear, fully realized. A mound of broken stone had no business just sitting there — unless it had been recently dug from somewhere. There, in the darkness beyond the pile, there loomed the open mouth of a tunnel. A tunnel leading straight into the cove from the direction of Mavranor's army.

"Dear Ilúvatar," Erynbenn breathed, and at the same instant the glint of steel and the sounds of Southron war cries began to echo through the tunnel, and on the ridge a crimson line of Southron archers stepped from cover, aimed downward, and opened fire.

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Bartho was wakened from a deep sleep by the sounds of men hurriedly collecting weapons in the barracks around him. Shaking his head to clear it, he stood up quickly. Instinctively, his mind went to the first thing that such activity could mean and he ran quickly from the barracks towards Faramir's tent.

Inside Faramir was donning his own mail and rapidly lacing a leather vest over it. Beregond seemed to have been sent on an errand, so without an invitation Bartho entered and helped him buckle on his bracers.

"What is happening?" he asked urgently.

"You're supposed to be asleep," Faramir scolded distractedly. He noticed that Bartho was already fully armed, "So you expected this?"

"No, I always sleep like this; saves time when catastrophes intrude on my sleep. Where is Erynbenn?"

"At best, trapped in a cove east of the gorges. If he follows that old riverbed to its end, that'll be his only retreat point, unless Mavranor is so stupid as to have let him reach the end before her, which would be unlike her. We may yet have a little time if he can hold the Southrons outside the cove until we arrive. At worst…" He trailed off, clasping his dark green cloak at his throat and buckling on his quiver.

Bartho didn't need to be told the worst. When Faramir left his tent and called his select band of reinforcements together, Bartho was at his side, and Faramir didn't even try to send him away.

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The darkness was almost complete, but the overcast day had turned to thunder, and the flashes of lightening showed the Southrons their targets. Fire arrows too were launched at the trees standing in the cove, turning them into brilliant torches and shrinking what little cover there was to be had.

Erynbenn was standing over the body of one of his own archers, ignoring the steady agony from his side and stooping to take arrows from the dead man's quiver to fire across at the Southrons at the cove's entrance, trying to break open a way of escape. When the quiver below him ran out, he found another body and repeated the procedure. His heart was sickened at how easy it was becoming to find such resources.

He watched with senses deadened by pain and sharpened by adrenaline as his men fell by tens and twenties around him. Those who weren't shot down from above were slain in close combat with the Southrons coming through the new tunnel. For a moment he was fighting in a small cluster of five other Gondorians. Then, at his side, one man fell with two arrows in his back. Another stabbed a Southron through the chest, only to be stabbed in turn when the death of the Gondorian who'd been behind him left his back exposed. The fourth killed several Southrons before he was slain in turn, and then the fifth was gone, lost somewhere in the smoke and shadows.

Everywhere his men were faltering, falling, and being trampled under the feet of the Southrons. It was purposeful, wholesale butchery. The dark shapes danced and leered at him in the orange firelight, and thunder shook the whole cove. Erynbenn felt a shock of fresh pain as a Southron sliced his scimitar across the length of his forearm, and the Gondorian bit back a scream. A little way away he saw Anto trying to fight with his sword in his right hand, now that his usual left hand was disabled. The young lieutenant took an arrow high in the left shoulder and went down.

With a yell, Erynbenn parried only two strikes before stabbing the Southron in front of him in the chest. Running with sudden energy across the gap between them, Erynbenn swung his sword viciously at head height, killing the Southron instantly before a further blow could fall on Anto.

For a moment the captain met the eyes of his lieutenant, still lying on the ground. He offered a hand up and Anto accepted, only to let go immediately when Erynbenn nearly fell over with the effort.

"Captain!" Anto cried, staring in dismay at the blood that seemed to coat Erynbenn's entire body.

Erynbenn stood hunched, leaning against the side of one of the few trees that wasn't burning. "I'm alright. We have to break out — get the men away from here… they'll be killed if we stay down here."

Anto looked around wildly, seeing so few emblems of the white tree and so many scimitars. "Sir, let me get you to safety, you can't keep fighting like this!"

Erynbenn couldn't help a chuckle as he pushed himself back upright. "Safety? No, Anto. Not even if it was to be had. Come, perhaps we can break an opening on the ridgeline —"

"No need," hissed a voice suddenly at their side. A Gondorian slipped from the shadows, his unwounded body proclaiming him to be a newcomer. "Lord Faramir has taken the north ridge, Captain. We must collect the survivors and order them up that side before the Southrons realize the arrows from that direction are killing their own men!"

With haste, the captain nodded and acted. When Anto looked towards him, he was already gone, calling loudly, "Gondor, follow! Up the ridge! RETREAT!" He ran. His long legs stumbled among the bodies, but he kept going. His whole body quaked with pain, but he pressed himself straight through the middle of the mêlée, yelling to his men to follow. Amazingly, no arrow found him, and no Southron seemed inclined to stop him. Perhaps they thought their archers on the north ridge would finish the foolish Gondorians.

As the ground sloped upward, he saw men coming after him in ones and twos, but blackness unrelated to the night was narrowing his vision and he knew he could not make it much further. When at last he collapsed, gasping with pain, he had the small satisfaction of seeing Faramir's men hiding invisibly amongst the bushes, laying down accurate fire as the remnants of the Gondorians followed Erynbenn's call.

Smiling a little, as the rain began to fall and a trickle of blood curled from the corner of his mouth, Erynbenn's eyes closed.