Dol Guldur – Diversion and Decision

Initially the day’s light helped them find the path inside from Dol Guldur’s entrance gate as it wound along the inside wall of the cavern.  Behind them, crisscrossed by the silhouette of the great gate’s bars, the tall narrow triangle of the cavern’s exit retreated.  Ahead they could see little, their eyes only beginning to acclimate to the darkness inside. 

But not Ardugan.  His unusually large pale blue eyes drew in the light as they had on many a dark night’s solitary hunt in the wild allowing him to take the measure of their surroundings.  He turned to his companions, whispering.

“We must wait here a few moments for our eyes to adjust.  We must be certain that the cavern is vacant before proceeding”

“It is late morning.  The feeding has been done for over an hour.  They usually slink back into the far entrance after that unless pressed by some other business” Eradan whispered back.

A few moments passed in silence.  Ardugan could see clearly now, the array of cages for two legged prisoners several hundred feet away on the left, where Eradan and Zeraphath had been held.  Another series of cages, rising up from the cavern floor on the distant right, holding His beasts, if Eradan’s information was correct.  In between, a long, open space split by the sluggish black stream that crossed only twenty feet from where they crouched, as it made its way to the outside through the gates.  He could see at least three rude stone arches crossing the flow between their position and the last of the cages.  In the far rear of the cavern a flicker of light denoted the first of the torches lighting the stone hewn entrance to the orc’s quarters.

“Can you see well enough?” Ardugan whispered to his charges.  They nodded in assent.

“Very well.  Hagar, you and Eradan will cross the stream at the first arch taking the dead mushroom harvesters.  Prepare them as the ones outside and dump them short of the cages closest to the gates.  Drianna and I will stay on this side of the black creek keeping pace with you as you proceed.” 

“We will start with the beast cages closest to the orc entrance.”  Eradan confirmed, “The cages open from the outside though the bolts are heavy and it will take much of our strength to slide them free.”

“Drianna and I will be in position.  She with her bow and I with her crossbow which she has generously allowed me to borrow for the occasion” Ardugan nodded in Drianna’s direction.

“They would be no match for my sword” Hagar boasted

“We have no time for swordplay” Ardugan chided.  “You and Eradan must open the cages quickly and make fast back to the gates.  It is not our task to kill orcs, just distract them.  We have no desire that they know of our presence.  Only that whatever numbers remain here be fully occupied with the beasts we free.  Drianna and I will only launch our arrows and bolts should you be discovered in the act.”

“Time passes even as we speak.” Eradan reinforced.  “We must make haste if we are to rendezvous with the others at the Stair.  Come Hagar, we have dead Easteners to haul and beasts to free.”  He turned to Ardugan and Drianna, his face tight, then made his way off the trail, down an uneven rocky slope in the dim light towards the first of the arches crossing the stream.

Drianna watched as he and Hagar made their way across and up the opposite slope to another stony trail following the far wall.

“Come…we must keep up” Ardugan whispered and beckoned towards the far end of the cavern.   Drianna nodded silently and stuck close to him, hugging the cavern wall as they made their way deeper into the cavern.

Across the way Eradan took the lead, bent under the dead weight of the corpse.

“This one stinks” Hagar muttered half to himself, commenting on his burden, carelessly slung over his right shoulder.  Eradan turned, the glare on his face commanding silence.

After a minute had gone by Eradan encountered a break in the rugged cavern wall on their right.  An entrance yawned, twice the height of a man and ten feet wide.  He held up his hand, halting their progress.  He stood near the opening, listening and peering cautiously into the passage.  There was no sound other than his own breathing, no light, just a pitch dark tunnel.  But there was a smell seeping up from below, damp and reptilian. 

Eradan shivered involuntarily, remembering that odor from another day not long past when he lay in an underground cell, battered and half conscious, seeing…or was it dreaming…a vision of a huge serpent, sizing him up. 

“Why do we stop” Hagar whispered

“Nothing…just a tunnel.  It seems quiet.  We should move on”

Eradan crossed the front of the passage and continued on.  Hagar paused for a moment, peering into the blackness of the tunnel, wrinkling his nose at the smell that came out, then quickened his pace to catch up with Eradan, now twenty paces ahead on the trail that wound along the cavern wall.

Two minutes later they were approaching the first of the animal cages, just a hundred feet ahead.  Once again Eradan held up his hand.

“We will dump the bodies here” he whispered to Hagar, “The scent of this human carrion will draw their attention once the doors are open.”

Hagar let the corpse slide off his shoulder, flopping to the stony floor.  The two men arranged them in an embrace of mortal combat as they had done with the others outside.

Ahead the cavern wall receded sharply to their right, opening up a space filled with great barred cages whose iron stanchions were anchored deep into the cavern floor.   The gravelly trail they trod passed by the first row of large cages.  A second row was set further back.  

Further ahead the trail wound to the left, sloping slightly downhill to a large torchlit entrance.  From his first day of captivity Eradan remembered the orcs wandering in and out of that passage on their duties, feeding the beasts in the cages. For now it was devoid of activity.

He glanced across the cavern to the opposite side, a good two hundred feet away now.  There he saw a slight movement, Ardugan and Drianna edging along the far wall, keeping pace.  It was time.  Already he could detect a restlessness from the cages, the beasts sensing their presence and getting their first whiff of the dead men lying on the trail.  He turned to Hagar.

“We will take the cages in pairs of two, you and I, from the farthest back to those just in front of us.  The cage doors face onto this trail.  The bolts slide to the right…I have seen the orc feeders open them.  We will sling the bolts back, open the doors, then quickly move onto the next pair.”

“And the beasts?”  there was a touch of apprehension on Hagar’s voice

“Of no natural creation.  Do not tarry over their horns and claws.  That will be for the orcs to restrain.”  Eradan’s permitted himself a grim smile at the thought.  “Now we must go!”

Eradan walked away briskly along the trail past the first eight cages.  After a moment’s hesitation Hagar followed, sparing nervous glances every now and then at the inhabitants of the iron barred confines.  Soon they each stood in front of the stout gates of the first pair of cages, forty feet square.  Eradan gestured to Hagar, positioned over ten yards away in front of his gate. 

Hagar could not help but look in to what hulked inside.  A boar the size of a small ox rummaged through a heap of foul smelling detritus and bones.  It was distorted, though, its back legs stubby and uneven, skin covered in open sores, head bulging with strange growths.  And he was going to let it free.  Now the thought of what their diversion entailed sunk in.  The cavern would be full of creatures like this…and worse, if his hurried views of the other cages were true.  They would have their hands full just escaping the chaos they would create.

He heard a clang of metal on metal and the creak of metal hinges.  A glance to the left…Eradan had already opened his cage.  Hagar took in a deep breath, grasped the heavy iron bolt in front of him and slid it to the right past the restraint of the clasp on the cage frame.  He pulled on the heavy barred gate, wincing instinctively at the squeal of its hinges as it opened.  Inside the boar turned, suddenly alert, its yellow piggish eyes focused on Hagar’s movements.  He stood still for a moment, caught in the beast’s gaze, until the rough hand of Eradan cuffed him on the side of his face.

“Do you wish to be its dinner?! Come Hagar! We have eight more to open and with luck may make it to the cavern entrance before the beasts take too strong an interest in us!”

Hagar snapped out of it at his words, galvanized by the thought of the boar standing over him.  He sped off to the next cage, wasted little time examining its contents, merely sliding the bolt, opening the door and racing on.  Eradan matched him, cage to cage.  Inside of a minute they had opened nine of the first row of then cages.  Eradan slipped the heavy bolt on the tenth and swung the door open.  The hinges squeaked, but another noise intruded, a thunking and clacking, like the tumblers of some large lock shifting in position. 

What Eradan could not have known was that the cages had been linked to an emergency closure gate to the cavern.  Should any ten doors be opened at once, it was a given that a mistake had been made and that the beasts might escape en masse.  So a massive solid portcullis had been built, the width of the cavern exit and fully forty feet tall.  A great restraining chain would be released from its locked position once the door to the tenth cage opened, and the gate would plunge from its position high in the shadows above the cavern opening.

And so it was.  The opening of the tenth cage freed the lock and released the chain.  Eradan and Hagar heard the clang of iron links sliding rapidly through massive forged guide loops.  Far away a creaking and groaning noise echoed back from the cavern entrance.  Eradan watched, dismayed, as the triangular sliver of light marking the exit from the cavern became blotted out with the descent of the massive slab of iron bound wooden timbers.  It struck the cavern floor with a thunderous blow, rattling the cages and rousing the beasts.

The air was suddenly filled with roars and howls from creatures freed from their foul confines, able to wreak havoc.  Eradan grabbed Hagar by the shoulder.

“We cannot stay on this side! Follow me!”

Hagar needed little encouragement.  The two of them clambered down the stony slope to one of the arches over the sluggish stream running through the center of the cavern.  They quickly crossed and hauled themselves up the opposite slope to the trail near the opposite cavern wall where Drianna and Ardugan crouched.  The bestial cries were growing louder and now a new element intruded, the shouts and curses of orcs emerging from the torchlit tunnel at the rear of the cavern.

“I did not know…” Eradan was breathing heavily, trying to explain to them.

“No time for regrets, brother…you have done well,” Drianna replied.  “The diversion is a success.  What orcs He has left behind will not trouble the passage up the Hidden Stair.”

“But we will not be joining that passage this day” Ardugan replied soberly, assessing the scene of growing chaos in the cavern.

“Perhaps there is still room for us to squeeze through the gate” Hagar ventured.

“And if there is not we will find ourselves cornered.  No, we cannot take such a risk” Eradan replied curtly.

“Nor can we just stay here, huddled against the cavern wall.” Ardugan replied.  “There must be another way out” He turned expectantly to Eradan. 

Out in the cavern at least twenty orcs had emerged with ropes, chains, spears and nets.  The beasts were rampaging about, some attacking each other, some now evidencing interest in the orcs.   Eradan knew they could not go into the dark entrance he and Hagar had passed, the one that led below where the only exit led past the ravenous insects that had nearly killed him.  Nor could they simply walk into the torchlit tunnel where the orcs were emerging. 

There were now close to thirty orcs spreading out into the cavern, clustering in groups of five and six about some of the lesser beasts, trying to hem them in.  Some of the larger beasts were still thrashing about, crushing orcs in their path, getting closer to where the four of them were huddled.  Time was running out.  Eradan cast his eyes about.  Not far from their position the three rows of cages for two legged prisoners were arrayed along the wall on their side of the cavern.  He remembered waking there days ago with Zerephath, trying to regain his senses.  Then the visit later on, the great black hound emerging from behind the rocky outcrop behind his cell.  Maybe.

“There may be a way.  Behind the cells just ahead where I was kept captive.  I cannot be sure, but I believe a…visitor… on my first day here may have come from a passage behind the cells.”

“We cannot stay here” Drianna could see the turmoil in the cavern moving closer to them.  It would not be long before someone spotted them.

Eradan said nothing more.  Gesturing to them to follow, he slowly made his way along the path that hugged the cavern wall.  The wall receded back around to his left as they reached the prison cells arrayed out in the three rows in an embayment carved out of the cavern’s side.  Eradan stuck close to the wall, making his way past the last cell in the first row, then the second, and finally the third.  Now they had the three rows of cells between them and the open area.  Eradan crept along the narrow space between the last row of cells and the rugged cavern wall. 

They could hear voices louder now, from just beyond the first row of cells.  A wild roar from some beast split the air.  Then a thudding clang as it crashed into a cell, partially tearing the bars from their stone anchors.  Eradan motioned the others to follow him along.  The voices of angry orcs were getting louder, cursing, trying to pin down one of the creatures near the cells.    

Then he spotted it, a bulging outcrop, nearly reaching the back of one of the cells in the last row from the cavern.  He squeezed between the rocky thrust and the cell’s cold iron bars.  On the other side of the outcrop he felt it, a current of cool air, and saw it, a dark hole in the rocky wall.  Once again he motioned to the others, this time more agitatedly. 

Soon they were all gathered in front of the opening.

“Where does it go” Hagar ventured apprehensi vely.

“Anywhere but here” Eradan replied curtly.  “We have no choice for now.  At the least we need to make our way far enough up to avoid being seen by the orcs or smelt out by the beasts.”

As if to emphasize his point there was another great crash, then a grind of stone and metal.  A deep bellow followed, then screams from orcs which ended abruptly with a sickening crunch of great jaws on bone and flesh.  They were just yards away.  That was more than enough for Hagar who dashed headlong into the dark opening without a second thought.  Drianna followed, then Ardugan.  Eradan ducked in last, sparing a last look. 

He entered the tunnel just in time.  Outside, a huge beast twice the size of an elephant sporting massive horns and tusks was in a rage heaving itself into orcs and iron barred cells, ramming them into a tangle of metal and blood.  With a last spurt of savagery it rammed the debris straight at the entrance the four of them had just ducked into, blocking any exit with a mound of twisted wreckage and crushed orcs.  

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“We have waited long enough…too long”  

“I fear you are correct Aranarth” Gandalf replied shaking his head.  It was well past the hour’s deadline they had set for the return of the diversionary party.  The afternoon was getting on, the gray overcast gradually lowering and thickening.  They had a long climb ahead of them.

Haldir let out a curiously melodic whistle, not unlike the sound of a songbird.  Moments later Arahael appeared, making his way from the wide path on the west side of the mountain, through the rough cut in the woods made by Arthed’s axe earlier in the afternoon.  Arahael said nothing, his look enough for them to understand that there was no sign of the others.

They made their way to the Stair in silence, concerned about the fate of their companions, as well as their own, should the possible failure of the diversion somehow alert Him to their approach.  Aranarth caught his son’s eye for a moment, the look on the older man’s face a grim acknowledgement of the sentiments Arahael had expressed the day before about dividing their resources.  But that was past and done now as they made their way up the Stair, Haldir taking the lead as he must to activate the steps, Gandalf next, then Arthed, Aranarth and Arahael.

The crease in the mountain they climbed was deep and sinuous.  A glance above would reveal 30 to perhaps 50 feet of the way ahead before a fold in the rock blocked out further view.  It was just as well.  If they could not see past that point either could any of His guards see them looking down from some trail along the side of the mountain. 

What they could see was the forest receding below them as they climbed.  Soon above the treetops, they could see the vast black carpet of Mirkwood’s southern marches undulating away to the west.  The air was heavy with moisture and still, the sound of the steps ahead snicking out and those behind them whisking in muffled.  From time to time Gandalf would tap his staff on Haldir’s back.  They would stop and the wizard would examine the lowering skies and cast a worried look to the west southwest. 

They were closely packed, the five of them, the brace of ten steps forward and ten back leaving little room for laggards.  Once when they stopped for another of Gandalf’s searching looks Arahael counted the steps idly, having already taken in the view.  Indeed there were ten steps above Haldir as far as he could tell, but it seemed to him at least that there were eleven below.  Perhaps the elf had his figures wrong.  No matter, he would be sticking close, having already observed the steps remorselessly sliding back into the rock not far below him, leaving no possible means of passage back to the forest floor.

Late in the afternoon they came to a temporary impasse.  Thirty feet above them they could see the defile they climbed had been bridged by a rude construction.  Haldir turned.

“The light we saw crossing the mountain’s side last night.  This may be one of his outer patrol trails.  They have built a span over the gap above us.”

“We will have to past it…and hope they are occupied with tasks elsewhere” Aranarth frowned.

As if to emphasize his point, they suddenly became aware of voices, barely audible, well above them, but becoming gradually louder, orc voices.  Haldir motioned them to absolute stillness, hoping whatever intruders these were would move on, allowing them to pass without the need to risk a skirmish.

“…and I says the animals are no concern of ours…”

“…the call went out Ragnish…Orgluk’ll be looking for us…”

“…and ‘e’ll find us good and proper…but not fer a while…we has our rounds to make and then we’ll head down…let’m get them beasts back in their cages their own self…theys the ones what didn’t lock the doors…the fools!”

“…it’ll be on yer ugly head then Ragnish..”

There was the sound of a blow, as if one of the orcs had roughly cuffed the other.

“…an you’ll lose yer head if I hear any more guff from you Beglik.  Now shut yer trap and follow me.  You’ll thank me good enough when you see the mess down there.”

The voices faded as the two orcs made their way over the span and to the right, heading south along the mountain’s west face.  They waited for another two or three minutes to make sure that the orcs were truly gone and that no others were following closely. 

“It seems the diversion has met with some success.  The path ahead should be unopposed” Haldir remarked

“Yet at what price we do not know, Haldir” Gandalf replied somberly.  “Their absence at the Stair does not bode well.”

“Nor does waiting here while the path ahead is clear for now.” Aranarth growled.  “My brother knew the risk and he is most resourceful when he chooses to be.  We must make the most of their contribution and hope that we will join them again ‘ere this day is done.”

There was little more to be said.  Aranarth’s counsel was direct and to the point.  Gandalf nodded at Haldir and the elf took a step, then another and they ascended the Stair.  The crease in the mountain was deep, still the twenty foot wide cleft they started at its base.  The rude bridge the orcs crossed lay at the outer opening of the cleft, leaving a gap between the bridge and the base of the notch in the mountain where the Stair was fixed.  Soon they had risen to the level of the bridge which lay just a few yards between them and the open air on the west side of the mountain.  All was quiet.  They heard no approach from the northern side nor a return of the guards who had passed to the south moments ago.

They were halfway to the top now.  Gandalf looked at the sky, a trace of anxiety on his face.  The featureless high gray overcast was still lowering and darkening.  The afternoon was all but over.  Evening would come early, even with it being high summer. 

“Now we must hurry my friends.  As Aranarth says, the path is clear and we have business with the Necromancer before the sun sets behind the clouds.  Haldir…lead the way!”

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Far below them and deep inside the mountain four others faced a more difficult quandary as to which way to proceed.  Ardugan looked down the passage that had secured their retreat and saw little but a dim square of light and the silhouette of mangled iron bars and crushed orcs.  The sound of the unnatural beasts still wreaking havoc in the main floor of the cavern echoed up the tunnel where they stood. 

“We could call out for help and wait upon our rescue” Ardugan attempted some dark humor.

“Little help I would expect from them” Hagar muttered half to himself.

“Ardugan makes light of a dark situation, Hagar.  And we have more need of ideas than levity” Eradan’s voice was quiet but harsh as he glared at Ardugan.

“What do you suggest?” Drianna tried to focus their emotions on decisions before their frustrations were directed at each other.  Eradan replied first.

“He took this passage from some other place on His mountain to visit me in my cage.  It leads to Him.  Gandalf and the others seek the same end.  We should follow this tunnel in hopes of meeting up with Him and with our companions on the outside.  We have no other choice, unless you wish to give yourselves up to the orcs as sport once they clear the wreckage of the beasts.”

“It is dark ahead.  Perhaps Ardugan will lead the way, his eyes being most keen in the night” Drianna sought to bring them back as a team.

“I can see well enough…and smell as well.  The scent of a great wolf lingers on these walls.  We will follow as long as light provides.  I have flint and tinder in a small pouch, among other implements, enough to fabricate a modest torch.  It will last less than half an hour so we must use it only in final need.  Let us see how far we can go without it.”

And so they left the last dim light of the cavern behind and turned to follow Ardugan up the gently sloping passage. 

After just a few minutes the last of the sounds of orcs and beasts had faded away, along with the light.  It was black as pitch for all save Ardugan, who still managed to wring some meager illumination with his strange large eyes.  Still he knew it could not last and he tied two of Drianna’s arrows together to form a rude blind man’s cane to tap the ground ahead lest they step suddenly into some yawning chasm.

On they went for a while, stumbling occasionally on the rough surface of the tunnel.  Staying close to avoid being separated this also meant that one stumble often left them crashing in a heap together.  The slope of the passage began to steepen and wind about to the left and right, seemingly without purpose.  Eventually they came to a point where the irregular surface resolved itself into roughly cut steps. 

Here they paused.  The air was stagnant and silent, dark as an orc’s heart.  The wolf smell lingered, along with a trace of something musky that seemed vaguely familiar to Eradan.

Drianna felt something brush past her leg and let out a gasp.

“What was that!”

A light padding sound with a whisp of sharp claws on rock sped by them.  Eradan drew his sword. 

“Ardugan…best you light that torch…” he whispered.

He could not see Ardugan’s smile as he bent down to the first step and extended his hand, feeling the soft fur before him.  The tunnel hummed to the sound of a purring feline.

“It’s all right, Eradan…we do have company, but familiar friends” Ardugan smiled again, enjoying this private play on words.

“Friends!?” Eradan replied incredulously

“Radagast’s bobcats…they must have tired of the sport inside the cavern.  Their eyes and powers of scent are keen.  They may be of some help to us”

As if to underscore Ardugan’s comment, Chrisandil let out a low meow.  For a moment they could see the palest reflection of two pairs of green eyes.  Then there was a barely audible sound of padded feet and claw tips scampering up the stairs.

“Let us hope they do not find too much mischief” Eradan groused.

“Their mischief is often to the detriment of our adversaries…I for one wish them good hunting” Ardugan admonished.  “Come…we have stairs to climb now…a sign that something must be near to deserve such efforts.”

He led the way, one step at a time, now more cautious as they might be encountering interior chambers for which the stairs were designed as access.  After about ten minutes Ardugan halted.  He reached out in back, his palm extended, pressing against Eradan who followed closely.

“Listen…” he whispered, barely audible.

Nothing at first, then the sound of orc voices, then nothing again.  Ardugan tested the air.  A slight change in scent and the barest hint of a current wafting past.

“Careful now…we know not their numbers…”

They crept up the steps, still in utter darkness, single file.  The voices, in and out of hearing, became steady as they climbed.  Then they began to see light.  Just a crumb of gray at first, far, far up the steps, a small dot that gradually expanded as they approached.

Their eyes, starved for illumination greedily took this in. 

After a few minutes it brightened, revealing the walls and pitch of the staircase.  It was a splash of light from some sort of room off to the right of the passage, casting a flickering glow on the tunnel wall opposite its entrance.  They were now fifty feet down passage from it.  The voices were becoming clearer as they crept up.  Orcs.

“…look at ‘em layin’ there like the dead…”

“They is dead or near to it, Dalek.  Look…hands and arms all white…go ‘head an’ poke one…I did it…just a little black goo what comes out…’an they don’t even twitch…don’t feel nothin’…”

“…He wants ‘em that way…wants ‘em to be like the dead, but fightin’ like the living ‘ell…” 

“If they’s so good at fightin’ why is they here and not down South?”

“…they’s not fully cured yet Bulgash…’at was what He said….an’ this one, the old one…he’s a tough case…”

“Better put ‘nother dose of ‘at potion on them, Dalek…if they awake, theys liable to take a cut at you with their fancy swords…”

“Let’m try…I’ll give ‘em a whack with this ‘ere mace what we captured from that Steward’s son…no use to him in the bellies of His beetles…”

Ardugan had now crept up to the very edge of the entrance.  The bobcats were nowhere to be seen.  He turned to Eradan holding up two fingers, then running his hand across his throat.  Eradan passed the signal on to Drianna and Hagar.  They nodded, understanding.

Eradan quietly got into position next to Ardugan on the step just behind the opening.  They locked eyes for a moment, drew their swords silently from their scabbards, took a deep breath, and charged in screaming at the top of their lungs, Hagar and Drianna following close on their heels.

The room was low ceilinged, perhaps thirty feet square, lit by several torches in stanchions on the walls.  An exit passage was a dark square in the wall on the far side of the room.  Five stone platforms rose from the floor waist high.  Bodies, the bodies of men, lay under blankets, their arms and legs sticking out.  Two heavy long wooden tables covered with jars, implements, and weapons, backed up against the far left wall.  There two ragtag orcs stood astonished as four raging invaders leapt at them swords drawn.

They barely had time to draw their own weapons.  Eradan parried a weak thrust, sending the orc’s short sword flying then sending his head off in the same direction with a wide arc of his blade.  Ardugan toyed with the other, mockingly deflecting the desperate orc’s hacking and cutting, til finally wearying of the sport, he took off the orc’s hand at the wrist, then its head. 

Drianna and Hagar took a look down the exit at the far wall, listening for the sound of reinforcements, but heard nothing. 

“Drianna! Look!”

She turned at the sound of Eradan’s voice to see him lifting the blankets off the forms on the flat stone platforms.  They were fully clothed and fitted out in battle gear replete with Gondoran style weaponry. 

“I recognize these men!  Caldor..and here is Galvan, Nestir,  Belas…and Zerephath….”

Ardugan examined them closely.  “I fear for what He has done to them, Eradan…what he was trying to do to you as well.”

Hagar was rummaging through the contents of the table while they spoke.

“Ah…a fine weapon indeed” the young northerner picked up something long and menacing, admiring its weight and balance.  “Methinks I will keep this for myself!”

Eradan turned, his face a mix of shock and joy.  “Crusher!  Bring that here Hagar…that is mine and there are orcs aplenty who have left their heads and ribcages stove in from its not so gentle caress!”

It was like a reunion of long lost friends.  Eradan almost snatched it out of Hagar’s grasp, then gripped the haft of the great mace and took a few practice swings, his eyes warming to the sound of the spiked head swooshing gently through the air.  But there was little time for displays as another stranger sound filled the room, the rasp of breath through the throats of the living dead.

Almost as one, the five recumbent figures on the platforms sat up, opened their eyes, swung their legs to the floor, drew their swords and began to stalk Eradan and the others.

“Galvan! Nestir! What are you doing?!” Eradan cried.

There was no response.  Their eyes were open, but entirely black beneath their lids, exposed flesh pale and cold like an animal washed up on a northern beach after a violent storm.  Their faces were set like stone, mouths carved into a tight sneering grimace.

“What do we do?!” Hagar shouted, “These are your kinsmen!”

“Not any more” Ardugan replied, “We must defend ourselves”

No sooner did he get his words out then Caldor took a vicious cut at him.  Ardugan parried it away and struck back with the flat of his sword to the side of the head, hoping to stun the possessed cavalryman.  It had all the effect of a brush with a twig.  Caldor kept coming, this time thrusting his sword right at Ardugan’s chest.  He deflected it aside and this time let the edge of his sword answer back, cutting deep into the bicep of Caldor’s sword arm.

There was a moment’s hesitation.  A small viscous black trickle emerged from the cut.  Caldor merely exchanged the sword to his left hand and attacked anew as if he had felt nothing.  Ardugan blocked his next blow, then struck with all he had at Caldor’s exposed upper left forearm, severing it save for a string of pale skin. 

Caldor evinced no pain, drew a knife from his belt with his damaged right arm and charged Ardugan, seeking to overwhelm him.  He met the point of Ardugan’s sword square in his right eye.  Ardugan drove it deep, twisting it wickedly.  The doomed cavalryman grabbed the blade with his right hand as his body convulsed once, twice, then flopped to the floor, oozing more of the black ichor from its eyesocket.

It was a battle repeated with each of the others.  Drianna parrying at first, then recognizing like Ardugan, that these were not longer men, but automatons.  Though she lacked the raw physical power of the others, she was extraordinarily fast and accurate.  Deflecting the first blow she flicked her sword back twice in a blur of motion, each time gouging out the eyes of what had once been Belas.  He staggered, blindly flailing about with his sword, crashing into one of the stone platforms.  Will little choice, Drianna brought her sword down on his neck, cutting deep enough to sever the spine.  Belas dropped to the floor in a heap.

Hagar had two to deal with, both nearly his size.   Galvan and Nestir began to press him into a corner.  But they had not bargained for the strength of the Rhovanian nor the deadly power of his sword, Anquiriel, made of elements not of Middle Earth.  He took a massive cut at the first, and a sickening crunch rent the air as the black blade carved entirely through Galvan from upper right shoulder down and through his lower left waist.

Still Nestir came on, the tip of his thrusting sword scraping across the breastplate made from Scatha’s skin.   The old hide proved its merit, shunting the blow aside.  Hagar struck down, severing Nestir’s sword arm at the shoulder, then raised his blade and hacked off the top of Nestir’s head just below the nose.  Gushing black blood and white brain matter, the cavalryman slumped to the floor.

Eradan had Zerephath to deal with and the old warrior was just as resourceful under the Necromancer’s spell as he was in battle for Gondor.  With the extra advantage that Eradan did not want to kill his old friend and mentor.”

“Zerephath!” he shouted, as if the sound of his voice might somehow rouse him from his deadly hypnosis.

The grizzled cavalryman advanced, sword out.  Eradan took a swing of his mace, knocking Zerephath to the ground with a blow that would have left an ox unconscious for an hour.  The old warrior picked himself up as if nothing had happened, though Eradan could clearly see that his left side was battered in, half his ribs broken.

“Don’t make me kill you” he pleaded, blocking another of his sword cuts with his mace.

But it was to no avail.  The veteran cavalryman shifted the sword to his good side and took a vicious cut at Eradan’s head.  Once again he parried the blow with his mace and this time swung hard, very hard, hitting Zerephath square in the chest above his heart.

There was a whoosh of air forced from dead lungs as he was flung back with enormous force against the edge of one of the stone platforms.  A sharp cracking noise told the tale of his spine breaking on the unforgiving stone.  He fell to the floor, twisting and writhing, trying to make his broken body respond, get up, and resume the kill.

Eradan walked over, tears streaming down his face.  The form below him convulsed then grew still, the sword clattering from its grasp.  Eradan kneeled down beside his old comrade.

“He said I would kill you before I was set free…” Eradan spoke softly, remembering the evil taunt that He had made.

Zerephath’s eyes fluttered.  Eradan gripped his mace, preparing for another blow, but  Zerephath did not rise.  His eyes opened.  They had cleared, resuming their natural gray coloration.  His mouth worked to speak.

“Eradan….where am I…how is it that you are free…my body…I am sorely wounded”

“It is all right, old friend….you are amongst the living again…that is all that matters.  Now rest a while…we will return for you when our task is done…”

Zerephath smiled briefly, meeting his eyes.  But his wounds were too severe, the dark potions that had poisoned his body too toxic.  With a gentle exhale he breathed out his last, his right hand gripped tightly about Eradan’s forearm.

The tears dried on Eradan’s face as he separated himself from his old friend and stood.  His features were drawn, haggard, grief fought with anger.  No one stirred.  Finally Eradan met their eyes.

“We can do no more for them here.  There is a score to settle.” His eyes were flat and grim.  “Ardugan…which way to the top of this accursed mountain.”

“Back to the stairs…follow the scent of the wolf…”

And so they exited the room, a welter of blood and body parts, dead companions and lost memories.  Back up the steps they went, each taking a torch with them this time, not sure where and when they would reach the summit, but resolved to inflict a price for what He had done.

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Sauron’s lieutenant, Drazakh, glared out at the flat expanse of the Brown Lands before him, heavy arms folded over his barrel chest.  Late afternoon was giving way to early evening, gray and humid under the featureless overcast that had been lowering all day.  Out in the near distance he could see mounted formations of Gondor entering the opening of broad embayment carved out of the southern edge of Mirkwood. 

Gondor’s scouts had been riding about all day, darting close to the eaves of the forest, looking for evidence of his own massed troops.  They had also seen men, garbed in Gondor’s cavalry uniforms, strapped to poles on the plain, the target of arrows from unseen archers deep in the wood. 

Drazakh gave grudging respect to the Steward, leading his men, doomed as they were.  The sight of what to them must appear to be Gondor’s finest being methodically pierced with arrows and allowed to bleed to death must be excruciating to such a proud commander.  Yet he moved his troops cautiously, at a measured pace, not allowing emotion to spur a premature charge. 

This one was not like the last, impetuous, daring, and ultimately defeated.  And from what his own observers were telling him, hiding behind the last trees at the edge of the forest, these men and their horses were better armored.  Still that would not fully protect them from His winged creatures which would emerge thirsting for blood, determined to find the smallest gap in any protection.  It might take longer this time, but they would wreak the same havoc, disrupting formations, sending men flying off horses panicked by the pain of hundreds of bites.  It would be hand to hand again, like before.  His men and the orcs still outnumbered them three to one.  And then there were the wolves.

“Do your pets smell their dinner yet, Zeorn?” Drazakh growled to the hideous figure of a man standing to his left.

“They haven’t eaten in three days…man or horsemeat…either will do”

Zeorn turned his parchment skinned skull around to examine the hundred famished wolves chained to trees, whining and pawing at the dirt.  The wind was out of the south.  They had the scent of the approaching cavalrymen since early in the morning.

The wolves would form part of the center of his attack.  Soon Drazakh knew His voice would appear inside his head, alerting him to the release of the bats.  He would have an hour until their arrival.  That would provide time for the rest of the fifty laggards and drunkards he had singled out from his own troops to be dragged out of the forest onto the plain, tied to posts and used as target practice.  It would be too much for the Steward and his men.  They would advance deep into the open cove in the forest to rescue their ‘companions’. 

Then from either side of the cove Drazakh’s orcs would emerge from the dark forest, howling, beating their battle drums, brandishing their swords and spears.  The cavalry would organize into cohorts, preparing to sweep his men from the field.  He would hold back, waiting until the first of the bats flew over.  Then the trap would close in, orcs charging from either side, the cavalrymen wheeling about, splitting their forces in two, thundering directly at each of his flanks to meet in battle, confident of the superiority of mounted armor over footmen.

But just like before, they would not get far.  The voracious bats would set upon them in clouds, maddening the horses, rending any open skin on the seated riders.  Chaos would reign.  His Easterlings would advance from the center and in the final charge the wolves would lunge out en masse, howling, jaws agape, ripping into throats and guts. 

The Steward was to be spared.  He had made that clear.  Drazakh knew his life would be forfeit if he failed in that task.  But the lives of the rest were at his whim or the appetites of the wolves. 

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Perrian looked apprehensively entered the broad open area that was bounded on either side by the brooding forest.  Ahead, less than a league now, he could clearly see the posts staked out on the barren plain and hear the cries of men in torment.  To his right Mardil rode without expression, seemingly immune to their pain.  Behind him he could hear a low murmur, his men muttering, unsure why they did not simply charge ahead and free the others slowly dying at the stakes.

Mardil raised his hand and turned to Perrian.  There was a curious smile on his face.

“Call the company commanders and their platoon leaders, Perrian.  A battle will soon be upon us, but not one that our adversary expects.”

Perrian looked at him quizzically for a moment, then rode off through the formations.  He soon returned with a dozen men, galloping up, then spreading out in front of the Steward.

“I know you and the men have grated at our slow pace and think me heartless that such caution has allowed good men of Gondor to die at the stake who might otherwise have been saved.”

The hard stares of his commanders were indictment enough.  Mardil smiled again now.

“Their deaths mean nothing” Mardil could hear a gasp from some of the commanders. 

“They mean nothing for those who have died are not of our land…they are barbarians from the east.  It is a ploy to draw us in close to the forest.  On either side of us, hidden in the dark eaves are three times our numbers, preparing to attack once we are deep enough in their trap.”

“What madness is this that we march to our dooms?” Perrian cried out, unable to restrain himself.

“Not our doom, my loyal captain, but theirs.”  Mardil’s face was deadly serious.  “It is time you knew the true nature of our adversary and the importance of our mission.”

And so Mardil recounted the events leading up to Eradan’s departure to the north in pursuit of what had seemed to be a renegade party of orcs.  How it had been an elaborate hoax designed to lure the heir to the Stewardship into battle and capture by an old evil that men had long since thought vanished from the earth.

“He has returned?”  Some of the commanders paled at the thought, remembering the old tales of the Alliance and the great cost of lives it had taken to defeat Him. 

“Yes, Perrian.  He makes his lair in Dol Guldur, just fifteen leagues north of where we stand.  While the world has slept He has quietly begun to rebuild his strength, casting a dark spell upon the forest men now call Mirkwood.  He must be driven out ‘ere he becomes too strong.”

“And we are to force His departure?”

“No…that is for others to do, but we must do our part.  Our arrival is an unexpected prize for Him, but one he is intent on seizing.  He seeks to capture me above all, leaving Gondor without a leader, weakening it, laying the groundwork for disunity and its future downfall.”

“We should have come in force, with greater strength”

“No.  We could not afford to drain our eastern and southern fortifications.  We cannot know what deviltry the Witch King might spring on our land while we were so far from home.  But more, we could not allow Him to withdraw his forces and escape into the forest, seeking to avoid defeat.  We had to muster just enough strength to tempt him into battle with the thought that He would prevail.”

“Our scouts have had little luck in estimating the size of his forces” Jared, Chief of the Scouts replied apologetically.

“Nor would they.  He will keep them beyond sight in the forest til we are deep within jaws of the trap.  But from what I have learned, the price of Eradan’s capture was dear.  I would guess He has at best three thousand now to muster into battle.”

Mardil paused for a moment, allowing the number to sink in.  The commanders spoke amongst themselves for a few moments.  He could see their faces, animated in discussion, heads nodding over some point of tactics.  After a while Mardil held up his hand, signaling them to silence.

“Yes.  A thousand of our cavalry is more than a match for three thousand on foot, whether men or orcs and He will have both to put into battle.”

“But surely He knows that as well.” Perrian replied.

“He counts on more than men and orcs to win this battle.” 

Mardil then described what the hawk Guaykil had seen, flying high over the battle months ago.   The momentary confidence of his commanders seemed to sag.  One of them, Lerion, a company commander, spoke up.

“If it was as you describe, then even our new battle armor and the shielding for the horses may not fully protect us.”

“If indeed He sends his winged minions you may be correct Lerion.  This new protection would suit only to allow enough of us a chance to escape, not to win the battle.”

“Then…”

Mardil cut him off in mid-sentence.  “Then we wait and see.  If it is foe we see from the skies, ready your men to charge through the ranks of orcs and men at full speed, stopping for nothing til the horses can go no further.  We will at least put a day’s march between us and their foot soldiers.  If it is friends we see, then we will feign being attacked, riding aimlessly, flailing about with our weapons and shouting like raw recruits.”

“Friends…?” Perrian had a puzzled look on his face.

“Not all with wings seek our defeat, Perrian.  Mardil described the plan and the confidence and understanding returned to his men.

“By feigning confusion they will believe the winged attack has begun in earnest.  They will advance, seeking to finish us off.”  A broad smile began to emerge on Lerion’s face.

“At which point we will suddenly reform ranks and attack them with utter surprise, while others that they least expect will greet them from above.”  Perrian concluded, his eyes glittering with the thought of such a turnabout.

Mardil stared at them all for a moment, allowing them to savor the potential that lay before them.

“It is yet too early to be singing songs of victory” Mardil admonished gently.  “Even if things go well they will fight to the death and their wolves will be a match for any of us.  Not all will return to tell tales of strength and valor.   If things go awry, only a handful may return.  Remember we are many leagues from any form of assistance.  Now you must go and prepare your men.”

The commanders saluted and rode off.  Perrian stayed behind.  Mardil turned to him.

“It grows late.  The attack will come within the next hour or two, when our advance takes us close to the forest’s edge.  Ride with me a while longer, then inspect the ranks and report back what you see in their eyes.”  Mardil’s own gray eyes met Perrian’s now, looking at the depth of his captain’s resolve.  The moment passed and Mardil wheeled his mount about and eased it forward, satisfied with what he had seen.   

A league to the north, Drazekh watched the small group of men disperse, the lone rider taking the lead further into his trap.  So, he thought, their commander holds one last parley with his men.  Best they had said their goodbyes.

Suddenly the barbarian was seized as if possessed.  A voice like the grating of iron saws on raw stone filled his head.

“I am releasing the bats!  Make your preparations for attack within the hour.  I will be watching through your eyes, Drazekh.  Have a care that I like what I see!”

Just as quickly as he was jolted by His presence, he was released, slumping over in a cold sweat.  He knew he would feel Him again when He entered his mind again to see the battle, though His touch would be lighter, just enough to take in sensations.  Gathering himself he turned and strode off into the forest where the miserable orc commanders awaited him, no doubt plotting his demise.  He would see to it that their heads rolled, but for now there was much to be done and their obedience was all he needed.