11: Race to the Emyn Beraid

“Quickly! Everyone up on the ridge,” Denethor ordered, “and douse the fire.”

“No!” Maglor commanded even as people were scrambling up the slope to the top. “Build up the fire. These creatures, whatever they are, may be deterred by it. This dip is our weakest point of defense and they might be able to climb it.”

Denethor just nodded, leaving the fire to Maglor as he urged his people to greater speed. The creatures, whatever they were, were coming at them at a loping speed that would bring them to their camp in minutes. Maglor busied himself with the fire, throwing more dried dung on it rather than the wood which was too precious to waste.

“Come, friend,” Denethor said, gesturing for Maglor to join him and the others on the ridge top but Maglor shook his head. “Someone has to stay here and keep the fire going.”

“And you’ve decided that someone should be you?” Denethor demanded.

“Yes,” Maglor said shortly, taking a rag and wrapping it around one of his arrows. “Here they come.” He calmly nocked the arrow then dipped it into the fire long enough for the rag to catch fire before taking aim and shooting. The fiery arrow hit its mark and an unearthly howl issued from the throat of what appeared to be a large cat-like creature with curved fangs. Its fur caught fire and it became a living torch, giving the Elves enough light to see by. Arrows flew from the others, most of them hitting their marks. Maglor was taking a count of the numbers even as he nocked a second arrow and let it loose. There must have been nigh on twenty or thirty of the creatures and their eyes seemed to glow with an evil intelligence, for those in the back of the pack stumbled to a halt as those at the front were felled by the arrows. He watched as one of them snarled something to his packmates. One or two snarled back and it almost seemed to Maglor as if they were conversing with one another. Then, incredibly, the survivors split into three groups and Maglor had the distinct feeling that the creatures were attempting to flank them.

“These are not entirely unintelligent creatures,” he said in a conversational tone even as he let loose another arrow, but this one missed its mark when the creature he was aiming at slipped neatly out of the arrow’s path. “No, not entirely unintelligent,” he said again, more to himself than to anyone else. He narrowed his eyes, trying to see what these creatures were up to. One group was heading north, the other south, while the third remained where they were, neither advancing nor retreating.

“What are they doing?” Denethor hissed. “They are all still in range of our arrows. Should we not simply shoot them down?”

“You’re our leader, Denethor,” Maglor said somewhat shortly, never taking his eyes off the creatures. “You decide. My guess is that the group heading north plans to climb the ridge at that last dip we encountered a couple miles back while the group heading south plans to do the same. Did you see if there were other areas of the ridge that were lower than here, Saelmir?”

“No. I went no further than here,” came the answer.

“So what do we do?” Ragnor asked. “Do we shoot these creatures down or wait for them to attack again?”

“We do the unexpected,” Maglor said.

“Yes, but what exactly would that be?” Denethor exclaimed in obvious frustration. “I have no idea what we should do, do you?”

“Are you asking me to take over the leadership, Denethor?” Maglor responded with a frown, still keeping his eyes on the creatures waiting patiently in front of them. “I keep telling you that the Belain made you our leader, not me.”

“I’m sorry, Maglor, but I’m just not… not devious-minded enough to come up with a plan.”

Maglor cast the ellon an amused look. “Are you insulting me or complimenting me, Denethor? Never mind,” he said when Denethor looked to protest. “We’re probably half-way to the cut that was once the Great East Road, which means that we are sufficiently south enough that if we were to head straight across country at this point, we will come upon the northern flanks of the Emyn Beraid.”

There was a moment of surprised silence, broken only by the soft snarls of the creatures. Finally, Denethor spoke, his tone one of complete disbelief. “You want us to run through the dark over unfamiliar terrain with these creatures right behind us?”

“Something like that,” Maglor answered. “At the moment, the creatures have split their forces, and it will take time for the two groups to reach their goals and then return here, so we only have to face a few of them at this time. If we wait for the other two groups to join us, then we will be fighting on three fronts instead of one. Before that happens, I would rather be well away. This group in front of us may well attack us as we flee but we can eliminate them and by the time the other two groups return, we should have a far enough head start that they will not be able to catch up with us.”

There was another, longer moment of silence. “I didn’t say it was a great plan,” Maglor said somewhat peevishly, “but no one else seems capable of coming up with one.”

“Then we will follow it,” Denethor said, sounding more decisive. “Ragnor, Saelmir, stay with Maglor and keep these creatures occupied while the rest of us make our way down. Give us as much of a lead time as you can, but do not linger any longer than necessary. The rest of you, take whatever route seems best to you but meet directly below this dip.” With that, he followed words with action and picked up his own satchel, flinging it over his shoulder before heading down the western slope. Everyone else did the same, except Saelmir who was standing to the south of the dip and Ragnor who was to the north with Maglor between them.

“I think our friends suspect something,” Maglor said softly, even as he lifted his bow and took aim, though he did not immediately shoot. “Let us wait until everyone is down before we do anything that might upset these creatures,” he said and both Saelmir and Ragnor chuckled, though there was no mirth in it.

It was Saelmir who informed Maglor that everyone was down and that Denethor was leading them as quickly as possible away. “How soon will the other creatures reach us, do you think?”

“Soon enough,” Ragnor answered. “They appear to be able to run swiftly. The only good thing is that the ones coming along the ridge can at best come at us only one or two at a time, but there are enough of them that none of us would be able to shoot them all before they overwhelmed us.”

“So, when do we join our friends?” Saelmir asked, sounding a little anxious.

“Now,” Maglor said and he let loose his arrow and the others were only seconds behind him. Without waiting to see what effect his arrow had, he scrambled up the wall they had built and leaped off to land as softly as possible, the snow cushioning him somewhat. Saelmir and Ragnor simply ran down the slope and joined him. Shrieks of rage rent the night and without bothering to comment, the three quickly ran over the snow. They could see well enough by the light of the stars the others who were ahead of them, perhaps a good mile away.

Maglor looked back long enough to see dark figures far to the north running along the ridge, though southward there was no sign of the creatures as yet, nor had any attempted to brave the fire that guarded the dip itself. “Faster!” he shouted and the three ran more quickly.

“What are they doing?” Ragnor exclaimed, pointing ahead where several Elves were turning around and heading their way. “Are they insane?”

“We’re all insane for even attempting this,” Maglor said grimly. “Are you insane?” he demanded as he saw Gilgaran, Neldorion, Voronwë and Sador coming toward them. Maglor did not slow down but continued running with Saelmir and Ragnor flanking him. The other four ellyn split into two groups and came behind them, keeping up with the pace Maglor was setting.

“We’re the rearguard,” Gilgaran answered. “We’ll help you to teach these creatures the error of their ways.”

“Fine,” Maglor said with a huff, “but it was foolish for you to come back. We three would have caught up with you eventually. Now our own forces are split and that could prove dangerous.”

“We’re the best of the archers,” Voronwë said without any false modesty or boastfulness. “Denethor wants us to slow these creatures down if we cannot destroy them altogether. How far do you think we have to run?”

“I have no idea,” Maglor replied, casting a quick glance behind. He could see a few of the creatures climbing down the slope as the Elves had but they had a good three-mile head start on the creatures by now, so they were safe for the moment. Yet Maglor knew that the hills were still a good distance away and as far as he knew there was nowhere along the way where they would be able to take a stand. It was going to be a race to see who had the better stamina. His one real hope was that the creatures would actually tire of the chase.

They continued running in silence, occasionally stealing looks back to gauge how much distance there was between them and the creatures. Within an hour Maglor’s group had caught up with the rest of the Elves but they continued to act as the rearguard. None of them were flagging as yet and Maglor did not think any would. What surprised him was how determined the creatures were in their pursuit. It made no real sense, yet the Elves had run close to four leagues and still they followed. He stole another glance behind and muttered a vicious curse in Quenya. The creatures had narrowed the gap between them and the leading front was only about a half a mile behind them and closing fast.

“We may have to take a stand before we reach the hills,” he said.

“But only if they get into arrow range,” Gilgaran said.

“What if we stop here and wait for them while everyone else keeps on?” Neldorion suggested. “It might buy our friends time.”

Maglor thought for a moment and then made a decision, pointing to the northwest. “The land seems to rise slightly in that direction. Let us see if we can divert these creatures’ attention from our friends and lead them in a different direction. We’ll take a stand at that rise. It looks to be about a mile away.”

The others nodded and without another word veered away from the main group and raced to the northwest. By now, the sky was beginning to grey with the coming dawn and they could see their route more clearly. The land did rise slightly in a gentle slope and looking westward they could see the shadow of hills rising above the plain and knew that these were the Emyn Beraid.

“Are they following us?” Sador asked, glancing behind.

“Some of them seem to have,” Ragnor said, “but I don’t think all.”

“We’ll deal with those that are following us,” Maglor said as they reached their goal. “Denethor and the others will have to do what they can against any following them. At least this way neither they nor we are facing the entire pack at once. Spread out,” he ordered as they took their stand and waited for death on four feet to reach them.

Maglor counted about ten or twelve of the creatures heading for them and readied his arrow. The creatures appeared to slow their pursuit and then they came to a halt, staying a fair distance from them, snarling in frustration.

“They know we have claws,” Neldorion said with some satisfaction.

“But they don’t know how long our claws can be extended,” Saelmir rejoined. “If they would come just a few feet closer, I would be sure to hit them.”

“Here, kitty, kitty,” Voronwë muttered and there was some soft chuckling among them and even Maglor smiled grimly. He stole a glance to his right where he could see the other Elves still racing for the hills with some of the pack closing in.

“We don’t have much time,” he said. He took careful aim and let loose his arrow. It flew straight and sure and landed about two feet from the nearest cat. “Damn!” he muttered. “The sun will be above the horizon soon and in our eyes. We need to eliminate these creatures and help our friends.”

“At the moment it appears to be a stalemate,” Ragnor said. “They know just how far our arrows can reach. Unless we do something unexpect—”

Maglor suddenly dropped his bow, pulled out his sword and yelled, “Utúlie’n Aurë!” even as he was rushing at the creatures.

“Like that,” Ragnor concluded, dropping his own bow and pulling out his sword. “Gurth an gyth!” he screamed even as he ran after Maglor and the others followed immediately.

The unexpectedness of the attack confused the creatures for a few precious seconds and they did not react immediately, not until Maglor neatly swiped his sword and decapitated one of them. Then there was howling and snarling rage and the creatures came at them with furious intent. Maglor did not pause, but ran to the next nearest cat and plunged his sword into its face. The other Elves were doing their level best to kill the creatures as well. Three were attacking Ragnor at the same time, but his sword had a longer reach than their claws and he was able to wound two of them and kill the third. In minutes all the cats were either dead or dying and the Elves went among them and dispatched them with a minimum of effort.

Before any of them could catch their breaths, though, Maglor was already racing to where Denethor’s group had come to a halt, forming a circle of defense while the creatures surrounded them. “Come,” he cried. “Let us end this.” Leaving their bows, they ran swiftly to the aid of their friends and loved ones.

As with the ones who had come after them, Maglor saw that most of the cats surrounding Denethor’s group were staying just outside of arrow range and the few who attempted to come closer were able to evade the arrows that were flown. Eventually, all the arrows would be spent and the cats would attack in force.

“Denethor! Swords, not arrows!” Maglor shouted and followed words with actions by attacking the nearest cat. Ragnor and Saelmir were on either side of him and the others had spread out to attack from other directions, thus sowing confusion among the creatures. Then there was yelling and Maglor took a precious second to look up to see Denethor and Damrod drawing swords and racing at the cats with the other ellyn, while the ellith had their bows at the ready, shooting whenever a cat came near.

It was a bloody battle. The cats did not die easily and their numbers were greater than those of the Elves, but their claws were no match for the swords and finally the last of the cats lay dead though a few that were wounded were slinking away. Denethor gave the order not to go after them.

“They cannot do us any harm now,” he said, cleaning his sword with untrampled snow.

“We’ll go retrieve our bows and catch up with you,” Maglor said. “I think we’re only about ten miles or so from the hills.” He nodded toward where the Emyn Beraid rose in purple shadows, for the sun was only just breaching the eastern horizon.

“Do not linger,” Denethor said.

“Oh, believe me, I have no plan to do so,” Maglor retorted and then he and the others were loping away. They quickly retrieved their bows, ignoring the carcasses of the cats and soon were back with the others who were now examining the creatures and commenting on them.

“Have you ever known their like?” Denethor asked Maglor.

“No,” he replied. “I sensed an evil intelligence about them, though. They were not ordinary creatures. I wish my brother Celegorm were here. He might know. He often joined Lord Araw on his Hunts against the evil creatures spawned by Morgoth in the days before Days, but I don’t recall him ever speaking of creatures such as these.”

“Well, should we stop long enough to take some of their meat?” Eirien asked but Maglor cautioned them against it.

“I do not think that wise,” he said, “and we should not linger here.”

“I agree,” Denethor said. “Let us away before the carrion eaters come.” He pointed to the north where they could see a flock of birds heading their way and there were no objections. They set off, walking now rather than running, yet their pace was still swift. No one spoke and there was an air of weariness about them. Maglor knew that his own reserve of strength was fast ebbing and he wished to do nothing more than to lie down and sleep, but that particular luxury was hours away. They had to reach the Emyn Beraid first and set up a defensive camp.

The sun was halfway up the eastern sky before they reached the hills rising precipitously, their eastern slopes steep and forbidding.

“If we follow the hills south we’ll come to where the Great East Road ended at Undertowers,” Maglor stated. “We may find it easier to climb there.”

Denethor agreed and they set off again after taking a short rest, skirting the hills that lay barren and snow-covered. Maglor told them something of what the area had been like before the ice as they walked.

“Elessar granted the land between the Far Downs and the Emyn Beraid to the Periain and they called it the Westmarch. The soil was fertile and many farms were built, but it was never heavily populated. The largest town was Undertowers.”

“Did you ever visit the Towers?” someone asked.

“No,” Maglor replied with a shake of his head. “Gil-galad had them guarded and Círdan continued the practice after the king’s death. No one would have allowed me access. When the Periain settled at Undertowers, the guard was withdrawn, but I never bothered to stop here on my way to Imladris. The palantír was gone by then, taken by Elrond when he Sailed, so there was no point.”

“I wonder if anything of the towers survived,” another mused and several people nodded.

“We’ll find out soon enough,” Denethor said.

It took most of the day to cover the twenty or thirty miles that Maglor thought separated them from the Towers, for they were beginning to weary and the going was neither smooth nor straight. By midafternoon, with no sign of the Towers, several people were suggesting that they find someplace to camp and rest, complaining that they could not go another step. Denethor chivvied them, saying that there was still a few hours of daylight left and so they should go on.

“I am sure we are not far,” he concluded.

Yet, even as he was speaking, they rounded a shoulder of one of the hills and all of them stopped in amazement. They were now facing southwest where the hills curved inward and there rising above them were three white towers, or rather the remains of them. Two were closer and stood shoulder to shoulder while the third, which had been the tallest and where the palantír had been housed, stood further west by itself. The two closer towers were missing their roofs and the one to the north was in a greater state of disrepair than the one to the south. The western-most tower, amazingly enough, was still mostly intact. The ages had not diminished the whiteness of the stone from which they had been built, though they were presently stained red with the light of the now setting sun.

“Do we climb up?” Finduilas asked.

“Not by my counsel,” Maglor said. “The area below the towers is well sheltered and defensible, but someone should climb and check to see that the Towers have no residents.”

Denethor nodded. “That sounds reasonable. Maglor, you, Ragnor, Sador and Voronwë check the Towers while the rest of us set up camp.”

“Be iest lîn,” Maglor said with a grin and he and the other three ellyn set off to climb the hills while Denethor directed everyone else to begin setting up camp.

****

Utúlie’n Aurë!: (Quenya) ‘The day has come!’; part of the battle-cry of the Elves at the Nirnaeth Arnediad.

Gurth an gyth!: ‘Death to the enemy!’

Be iest lîn: ‘According to your wish’.