Erandor looked out over the battlements of the old fort towards the river, glimmering in the morning sun.

It was nearly half a league to the far shore.  In between were shifting sandbars and shoals, small rocky islands and the great pulse of the Anduin sliding by.

His keen eyes could just make out the activity of men on the far shore, advance groups of Balchoth.  When the wind came from the east he could hear the sound of voices in their harsh, rude tongue.  And hammering.  They were building things, rafts if the spies were correct.

It was getting harder to spy with the buildup on the other side.  Indeed it was a close run thing that the Steward’s messengers crossed here at the North Undeep just the day before.

Their path would not be easy.  The Vales of the Anduin were no longer safe.  Armed scouting parties of Balchoth had driven most settlers out, those who had survived the random night ambushes. 

Erandor remembered his hurried conversation yesterday, with Borondir who had stopped to resupply with his scouting partner.

“What news from Minas Tirith?” Erandor had asked.

“The North Army marches to confront the invaders.  I ride north to seek aid from the Eotheod.”  Borondir had replied as he’d refilled his saddle bags with feed for his horse and field rations for his own appetite.

Erandor had paled at the thought.

“But that is over one hundred fifty leagues from here.”

“Well do it know it” Borondir had replied grimly, his face set in resignation to his chances of surviving the distance.

That was when Erandor had finally understood.  Gondor’s North Army might not carry the day on its own.  Committing the South Army as well would leave the entire realm open to invaders from Umbar and Harad. 

“It will take…”  Erandor had started, but Borondir interrupted him.

“Ten days hard ride to Framsburg.  Even if Eorl comes to our aid, the muster will take time and their journey south over a week.  Yes, it will take time! Gondor must then buy time and you, Erandor, must hold fast with Gondor til our return.”

There was steel in his voice, hardness in Bornondir’s eyes. 

It had been a dose of reality for Erandor.  Until that moment it had been a distant thing, a possibility and one that surely Gondor would meet and prevail.

But from that moment on, imminent arrival of the Balchoth across the river was real, building its strength with the intent to destroy.   He would be in battle, trying to save his life, to save Gondor.  

“I will meet you on the battlefield, Borondir” he had replied.  “Not as a corpse, but with my sword cutting them down like spring wheat.” 

“Pray the harvest is good, Erandor!” Borondir had shouted as he swung into the saddle.  A nudge to his horse and he’d galloped away.

Would Borondir survive the ride?  Would aid be granted?  Would his bold words to Borondir come to haunt him as a fool’s boast?

Erandor had no answers to these questions.  What mattered today was across the river.  The far shore was now thick with Balchoth, a tide of men that ran north and south along the Anduin.  The east wind bore the voices of a large multitude.  The river bank was dotted with their large wooden rafts, being assembled at a feverish pace.

His small garrison of twenty was steadily sending reports to the North Army. It was still a good two weeks away, pushing to beat the Balchoth to the western shore of the Anduin and drive them back into the river.

If the Balchoth attacked before then, Erandor had orders to evacuate the fort, head south and meet the North Army.  A sacrifice of the garrison would serve no good purpose. 

A scout returned from a spy mission on the river.  Overnight he had hidden on a shallow river island, in a thicket of shrubs and small trees.  He whispered into Erandor’s ear, then made off to a waiting horse to ride south to the North Army.

The news was bad.  More than five thousand had already arrived.  Scores of large rafts had been assembled.  And over a thousand more arrived every day.  Erandor knew from reports two months ago that their numbers could reach twenty thousand. 

Then they would attack. 

Erandor estimated that would occur in two to three weeks at the rate they were arriving.  The North Army would be at his doorstep in two weeks at best.  It would be a close call and he could do little more than wait.