Chapter 18 ~ Innovation and Ambush

The Elves were gone before dawn, racing back into the north toward the crossings of Poros and the Ithilien road.  As usual they seemed supremely confident but not foolhardy.  Without a doubt, they had undertaken an arduous task that would test even their endurance.  They were not a people of half-measures when they committed themselves.  

All else was eerily quiet until first light when Imrahil heard the creak and clatter of cartwheels and the stamping of many stout feet.  The Dwarves had come.

“It has been many weary leagues from Cormallen, my lord,” Gimli said, bowing before Elessar, “but we have come at last!”

“And not a moment too soon!” Elessar greeted him warmly.  “We have need of you on our eastern flank now that the Elves have left us.”

“Yes, where have they gone?” Gimli asked, looking around.  “I would not have thought Thranduil one to weary of a good fight.”

“They are doing me a very great service,” Elessar assured him.  “Now, tell what you have brought us, my friend.”

“Ah, yes.”  Gimli turned to indicate the carts.  “When we said we had destroyed the remaining fireworks, it might have been more accurate to say we had disassembled them.  No sense in waste.  We thought the materials might now prove useful in the field.”

“Indeed they might,” Mariadoc Brandybuck agreed with a mischievous air.  Both Halflings had appeared without a sound, as they often did.  He climbed the cartwheel and peered beneath the canvas.  “I have half an idea what we can do with this.  Give us a few hours and we might have something to offer.”

“Do as you wish,” Elessar smiled, “but do it over there.”  He indicated the vacant position to the east.

“They are not very many,” Imrahil said as the Dwarves moved away to take their place on the field.

“Only fifty,” Elessar agreed.  “But I will take fifty Dwarves rather than none.  More will come.”

The uncomfortable quiet continued throughout the day.  The Rohirrim and the Knights exercised their horses, the foot soldiers were drilled in groups, all to fill the time and present a dynamic image of strength to whatever hidden scouts might be watching from the hills.  Elessar dispatched scouts of his own, primarily his Dúnedain brethren.  The reports they returned were that Karzik was doing exactly as they were, remaining in his camp and making no move to attack.

“Perhaps he is waiting upon his reinforcements even as we are,” Elessar speculated darkly, taking counsel on horseback with Imrahil and Éomer.  “I fear the obligation to attack is entirely ours.”

“It is difficult to imagine how we may do so and still retain any advantage,” Éomer observed.  “I would give a great deal to somehow give them a rude surprise.”

A sharp blast split the air, startling their horses and indeed the entire army.  Imrahil wrangled his skittish mount to stand once again, feeling as if his heart had leapt into his throat.  The disaster at Cormallen was still a raw memory.  A puff of white smoke could be seen rising from the Dwarves’ camp.

Elessar rode at once to investigate, and the others with him.  When they arrived on the scene they observed the two Halflings laughing and congratulating themselves, apparently unharmed.  Several Dwarves were containing a small brush fire which had resulted from the experiment.

“Oh, ahem.  Excuse us, my lords,” Meriadoc said, endeavoring to recover his composure.  “I believe we have an innovation to offer.”

“These!”  Peregrin thrust two small round objects at them, each dangling with cords.  The horses flinched again and rolled their eyes.  “Sorry.  We propose to use these to harry the enemy tonight.  They won’t know what hit them.”

“Neither will we, unless you explain yourselves,” Elessar noted, lifting an eyebrow.

“The Hobbits,” Gimli interjected, “with their keen eyes for all things edible, brought the shells of these remarkable fruits to our attention.”  He presented one to them, wooden and hollow, split down the middle.  “Filled with incendiaries, set with a fuse and sealed with pitch, it makes a fine present to lob at those squatters in the hills.”

“Would you like a demonstration, my lords?” Meriadoc asked.

“No, thank you,” Elessar assured them, waving it away.  “As Master Gimli says, there is no sense in waste.  Who do you propose to undertake this mission?”

“Ourselves, of course,” Meriadoc said with a hint of impatience.  “None better than a Hobbit to creep into a camp unseen.”

“And we are quite adept at throwing stones as well,” Peregrin added.

“And we never travel without these.”  Meriadoc opened a stout leather pouch on his belt and produced the Elvish cloak he had worn during the war.  “We want to be of service.  We didn’t come all this way just to see the sights.”

“I can hardly refuse when you seem so well prepared,” Elessar laughed.  “You may proceed with your plan, Master Brandybuck, Master Took.  My Dúnedain will accompany you to see you make good your escape.  Is there any other assistance you will require?”

“More shells!” Peregrin said.

For the rest of the afternoon, all soldiers who could be spared from their duties gleaned every ripe fruit they could find in the country around the camp.  They grew on the ground in the midst of a cluster of spiny leaves.  Others cleaned, split, and emptied the shells while the Dwarves assembled the devices. 

---

The quiet evening was drawing on to night in Ithilien.  Badhoron, Faramir’s seneschal in Caras Ernil, paced slowly along the flagstones of the terrace outside the Prince’s House as he often did, taking in a moment of peace after the duties of the day.  The sounds of birdsong were gradually giving way to the scratching of the insects, and he could see a few bats on the wing in the growing gloom.  

Suddenly, before he could completely comprehend what he was seeing, the courtyard below was entirely filled with Elves, hundreds of them.  Two, whom he recognized as Prince Legolas and his father the Elvenking, immediately came bounding up the stairs.

“What brings you to Caras Ernil, my lords?” he asked as they swept past him.  “Has it gone ill with the war?”

“Peace, Badhoron,” Legolas assured him.  “We are about Elessar’s business.  There is no need to concern yourself.”

“But, my lords!  Wait!”  Badhoron hurried after them.  “If you would but tell me what you require, I could assist you.”

“There is no need,” the Elvenking said.  “I know where to find him.”

Badhoron’s blood ran cold as they descended quickly into the prison.  It was highly irregular to have foreign lords running roughshod through Faramir’s house, let alone releasing prisoners without the Steward’s authority, or that of the king, or even of the Prince of Dol Amroth.

The guard at the door was equally as dumbfounded when suddenly confronted by the impatient Elvenking.  “Your keys, man!” Thranduil demanded, and the guard obliged him.

There was a loud clatter and creak of metal as the Elvenking unlocked the great iron door and swung it wide.  “Draughâsh!” he called, approaching the only occupied cell.  “Rouse yourself.  I trust you know the way through Mordor.”

---

As night fell, Meriadoc and Peregrin were equipped for their mission.  They really did blend into the dusk in their Elvish cloaks.  Ten of the Dúnedain Rangers would accompany them on horseback to carry the supply of missiles, quickly deploy them in different locations, and defend their escape if necessary.  

“I will give you no orders, for you know your own business best,” Elessar told them before they were off.  “Be quick and be cautious.”

“Don’t worry yourself, my lords,” Meriadoc assured them with a sly smile.  

“We know what to do,” Peregrin concurred.

With a practiced leap they were each able to scrabble up to sit astride a horse in front of Ranger.  All twelve of the party took their leave of the king and turned to ride into the darkness.

“I hope they come to no harm,” Imrahil said at last, venturing to air his misgivings.

Elessar sighed.  “They are not children,” he said.  “Truthfully, I believe they stand a better chance at success in this endeavor than any other of our soldiers.”

“Come, my lords!” Gimli beckoned them.  “I trust we will find no rest until the young rascals return, but the time need not be spent tediously.  We may have little to work with, but I trust we have enough to host an evening’s entertainment worthy of royalty.”

The Dwarves had emptied one of the great carts and fashioned seats upon it out of sacks of grain.  Elessar, Imrahil, and Éomer climbed inside and settled in to watch the dark horizon set against the clear starry sky.  Not content with that, the Dwarves also provided generous portions of meat, cheese, and ale to cheer them while they waited.

“Yes, I expect they will give us a fine show tonight,” Gimli snickered, climbing up with them.  “I wish Thranduil was here to witness it.  Where did you say he had gone?”

“Erellont of Pelargir surrendered to us last night,” Elessar explained.  “He informed us that our enemy is preparing reinforcements in the south.  Thranduil and his Elves have gone to ambush them beneath the mountains before they can march against us.”

“But we heard tell of them returning north,” Gimli said, bemused.

“The best chance of a successful ambush will entail passing through Mordor.”

Gimli quietly ignited his pipe, probably calculating the distance in his mind.  Then he slowly exhaled.  “No doubt they know their own abilities well enough,” he said at last.  “But I do not envy them that journey.”

There was a soft glow deep in the hills that marked Karzik’s camp in the darkness, but all continued to be quiet.

“Erellont surrendered, you say?” Gimli spoke again.  “We marched as fast as our feet would carry us and still we missed all the most interesting developments.”

“His mistress dragged him in half alive,” Éomer scoffed.  “It seems his father intended to stab him to death.”

Gimli choked a bit on his pipe smoke.  “That family is rotten beyond repair,” he said.  “Will he live?”

“He may yet,” Elessar conceded coldly, “no small thanks to the Elvenking.”

Imrahil could appreciate the double meaning in the king’s answer.  Erellont may indeed survive his wounds, but he may also be spared the headsman’s ax.  It would be a pity to see Thranduil’s efforts wasted.  “Whatever his fate, I do not imagine he will be restored to the lordship of Pelargir,” he said. 

“Indeed not,” Elessar agreed.  “I have given some thought to who may succeed him.”

Suddenly a white flash illuminated the horizon, closely followed by the sound of a blast.

“Yes!” Gimli cheered.

Another white, then blue, then green in rapid succession.  Then all was quiet again for several tense moments.

“Have they been captured?” Éomer wondered aloud.

“Never,” Gimli insisted, though his voice seemed a bit tense.  “Surely they are merely shifting their position.”  Another bright series of blasts soon vindicated his supposition.  “Ha!  There you have it!”

The blasts continued at intervals for nearly half an hour.  There was not much to be seen or heard at a distance, but there was certainly more firelight in the camp and a thick cloud of smoke rising slowly with the wind to the west.

Soon thereafter the line of Dúnedain came galloping back into the camp.  Meriadoc and Peregrin slid to the ground laughing together, relishing the success of their exploits.  The first among the Rangers came to give his report to the king.  “We sustained no losses, my lord.  The Periain acquitted themselves well.”

“And what have the intrepid Periain to say for themselves?” Elessar asked.

“Oh, it was magnificent, my lords!” Peregrin assured them.  “Complete and utter chaos.  Tents catching fire, oliphaunts running scared, everyone in a panic!”

“I suspect we ignited half the camp,” Meriadoc said.  “The horses broke free and stampeded into the night.”

“Ha!” Gimli shouted triumphantly.  “We could hardly have hoped for a better result!  Let us capitalize on it!”

“I am inclined to agree,” Elessar said.  “Stand the men.  We will march before dawn.”