The hollow sound of the hooves on the ground echoed as the rider sped through the Wold. Having just left Belfa, Eorran's mind raced to the beloved he left behind. His decision came with a heavy heart, to leave Belfa and join the fight -the real fight- against the enemy of his homeland.
When he reached Ethengels he marveled the tiered city, with the fully manned battlements. Unlike Belfa, the people there were ready against any attack. His mind crossed many possibilities. Perhaps he could ask the Thane to spare some soldiers for the defence of Belfa, Lord Ehris would approve -or so Eorran thought. He spent a good two days in Ethengels trying to find a way to talk to the Thane, but to no avail.
The third day as Eorran was at the stable caring Etheon, a patrol returned battered and bruised. It seemed like the men had gone against a force too strong to either defend against or evade. A couple of the horses were void of riders. Another casualty in this war. A woman's wail was heard from the steps that led to the entrance of the city. Eorran closed his eyes and pursed his lips. Perhaps this wasn't a good idea after all. His hand ran to his belt where a woven strand of blonde hair hang. The stable master and his helper too the two horses and removed their saddles.
"Poor beasts" the stable master said
"And poor wife" the helper nodded
Eorran took a few steps towards the man who appeared to be incharge of the patrol.
"What happened?" he asked as he placed his hands on the reigns.
The man dismounted before replying "Troll, thats what happened"
Eorran's brows rose. "You couldnt down it?"
"Not this one. He is too strong and too resilient. We are lucky any of us is alive" The man said as he removed his helmet.
Eorran's interest peaked "Where is this Troll?"
The leader of the patrol threw him a hard look before replying "Don't waste your life like this friend. It is beyond hope"
Eorran stood there looking at the man as he removed the saddle from his horse. At some point he realized the young Rohirrim was still looking at him.
"You think you can take it down?" the man asked,running a forearm infront of his mouth to wipe the sweat.
"I have had experience with Trolls before" Eorran smiled.
A smile that looked more like a wince formed across the man's face. "Its your death..." he nodded slowly. "Follow the road yonder..." he pointed at the gate "And at the crossroad turn north..." he ran a palm across his dirty forehead wiping more of his sweat "...you will come across one of our mid way camps. From there you will continue north past the burned farms and when you begin to see the city of Cliving in the distance, turn north-east" the man paused "its not far from there. Careful of the warg riders that lurk in the area"
Eorran sighed and went back to tending Etheon, his horse. The patrol leader looked at him and shook his head slightly before tending to his own horse.
That night, Eorran rode out the gate. His destination was the mid way camp between Ethengels and Cliving. It was dusk when he saw the fires of the camp from afar. The camp was actually a collection of hunters and merchants, of refugees and soldiers. There seemed to be no strong defence against any attack. A couple of riders patrolled inside the camp, but noone dared venture beyond.
Eorran spent a full day there, resting, buying supplies for the road ahead and acquiring more information about the northern part of Norcrofts. An orcish brute in charge of a group of mounted Orcs charged the farm houses a few months back. Anyone who managed to survive or escape either headed towards Cliving or found shelter in this camp. The troll Eorran was told about in Ethengels, is merely one of the many that now roam the Norcrofts. It then dawned in the young man's mind the futility of the situation. First Langhold and now this. And yet the King has marshalled no army against this devastation.
His thoughts were interrupted by the wimper and lament of a woman sitting in the hearth behind Eorran.
"Hush now, girl" an eldery man's voice offered.
"He will be alright" a woman's voice said "Captain Bethean is one who values his riders greatly"
The woman's wimper lingered.
"Aye..." the man agreed and paused for a moment "For Bema's sake woman, he isnt dead yet!" The eldery man bursted "The Thane needs all the available men right now!!! Be glad he wasn't killed in the attack. At least your husband will have a chance to fight back..." the man took a step back and sat down on a log, his voice trembling "Unlike Hearthon..."
Eorran closed his eyes. Even without looking he could feel the sadness and despair of the man. He sighed and sat there looking at the flames. All sounds were muted, except from the humming of a woman trying to make her baby sleep. The fire and the humming hypnotized the young Rohirrim. The flames were golden, warm, dancing infront of him. Reminding him of Kennia. His eyes slowly closed and he drifted to sleep.
The sound of whining horses and stomping hooves awoke the young man. He could hear voices, but having just woken up couldn't realize what was being said. Slowly the buzzing of the voices died down as he became fully awake and could now hear what was being said.
"Captain, save us!" a woman's voice said
"They killed my husband, burned our farm..." said another.
"My crops are burned, my stead is ashes, why doesn't the Thane do something?" said a man's voice
"We are with you Captain!" said a young man's voice
"Lord, the relief caravans never reach their destination" a deep male voice said.
Pouring some water on his face, Eorran turned around to see what was happening. A group of riders had just ventured into the camp. One of them bearing the crest of Cliving. He looked stout and solid. His dark armor featured silver accents, accompanied by a red cloak. His golden gray beard was showing under his helmet and as he removed it, his equally golden gray hair were revealed. All this time this man was saying nothing, until he raised his hand. Everyone fell quiet.
Taking his time to look at each of the faces looking back at him, the man spoke: "Crofters, my brothers, my sisters...I assure you the Thane has not forgotten you. Our lands, our people are always in the Thane's mind..." he paused "...and for that I am here"
The crowd buzzed like bees in the spring as they began murmuring.
"Please, hear me out!" Said the rider as he raised both hands to calm the crowd down.
"We are, Captain, but we have nothing more to give" Said a man, from the look of his dirty tunic, seemed like another victim of the raid in the farms.
Another man jumped "Aye, we have nothing more, the Thane..."
"The Thane is not to blame" said a woman.
From the looks of it, it seemed that the people seemed divided. The fear in their eyes and hearts, the uncertainty of their efforts to survive, the despair. All these seem to have divided the people.
"HEAR ME OUT!" Roared the man. The buzzing died quickly "I, Captain Bethean, give you my word that I will never stop, never surrender till either I die or free these lands...But to do this, I will require men, willing to fight...ready to fight" Bethean pointed towards the East "We have set up a training camp in the East, massing for an assault, but we need more men"
"You expect us to give our life for the Thane?" a man yelled.
"No!" Bethean replied "I expect you to give your life for your people, your lands, your loved ones. Id rather die a thousand times for you than any Thane lurking behind closed doors..." he paused "...but our Thane isn't lazy or afraid, merely old. It is for this that he has appointed me in command of the Cliving's army. You want your farms back?"
Many 'aye's were heard.
And again Bethean asked "You want your lives back?"
"AYE!" more replied this time.
"Then hone your hatred, train your spears and mount your horses, for I will give them to you" Bethean raised his fist in the air as the crowd cheered and roared.
It was obvious to Eorran that Captain Bethean was the beloved son of Cliving. A man who knew what the people wanted and one who wasn't afraid to give it to them. With sturdy paces he headed towards Etheon and began saddling him. Around him he saw several men gearing up, wearing the scale or mail armors, helmets and preparing their own horses.
A few minutes later, the group of riders leaving was at least double the size of when it arrived. The armor clad men were silent, some looking back, waving goodbye to their own loved ones. The scuffing sound of racing feet made Eorran look. A small girl raced past him in the column and stopped at the man infront of him. The girl couldn't be more than ten winters old.
She presented the man with a few small flowers with white pedals "For you papa!" the girl walked by the rider as the column proceeded. The man bent over and took the flowers. "Don't forget us!" the girl said as she stopped and watched her father ride on "I will wait for you...". The man turned back to see his daughter and for a moment, Eorran thought he saw a tear under the man's helmet. The man acknoledged Eorran and smiled to him. For a moment....Eorran lowered his eyes and looked away. Something in the man's eyes betrayed a possible future he did not want to consider.
The ride was long and without any break. They had to reach the training camp before the next day, undetected. They reached the edge of a forest, at the feet of a cliff. The clashing sound of metal and the whinning of horses reached the ears of the riders, alerting them to fully awake. Yet, the Captain led the men through the forest in calm. As they reached far into the other side, the forest opened up to them revealling a clearing right at the foot of a high cliff. Everyone of the volunteers' jaw dropped. There it was, the training camp of Cliving, fully manned and equipped very well. There were jousting training courses where several riders tested their skills with their spear, while another group of men were training with sword and shield, and another with bow and arrow. For the first time since he stepped his foot back on Riddermark, Eorran actually believed there was hope to guide them.
The following weeks were full of training. Bow, sword, axe or spear, the men learned to wield it with skill. Every so many days new riders arrived and joined the ranks. Captain Bethean always leading them. It didn't take Eorran long to join the Captain in his missions. He was now not only trained in sword, but in arrow as well. The young Rohirrim was always first to volunteer for duties and tasks. It gave him a purpose, a way to do something to help his people, his land., his beloved one and the unborn child she was bearing.
"Corwyn call the men" said Bethean
"Aye Captain" replied Corwyn and raced out of the tent towards the training area, rousing all the men and beckoning them to approach the Cpatain's tent.
Meanwhile, another man approached Bethean "Captain, are you sure you want to go through with this?"
Bethean gritted his teeth "What other choice do I have, Dorlman?" he sighed "The Thane has been expecting news and supplies from Entwash Vale for long" he adjusted his posture "Besides, I will not take all the men, only those who volunteer" he said and glanced at Dorlman
Slowly the two men made their way out of the tent, only to be surprized that all the men in the camp except those on guard duty, were mustered there. A smile appeared slowly on his bearded face. He threw both arms in the air and the men cheered and roared. They loved him. Slowly he lowered his arms and with that so did the cheers and roars.
"My countrymen, my brothers, my kin. With great joy I have watched your progress and see how well you have become in the matters of war. You have all been training for a day to strike back at the enemy" he paused scanning the soldiers' faces. Dorlman stood by his side.
"And this day has come. I received orders from the Thane that we are to begin our strikes to our enemies" the crowd roared and Bethean had to pause for them to allow him to continue and they did.
"To begin our fight, we have need of aid from our brothers and sisters in Thornhope" Bethean said.
"Thornhope is too far away" complained a man
The Captain recognized the man and looked at him "Aye tis far, but they have men and supplies we desperatelly need" he paused "Besides, on our way there we do have the orders to hunt down and kill every Orc or Warg we meet" Bethean smiled. Dorlman turned and looked at him with surprize, murmuring something. None of the soldiers noticed. They were too busy cheering and roaring. Neither did Eorran who stood there among the crowd.
"But for that I cannot take all of you, alas" the Captain placed a hand on his heart "I can only take thirty strong and experienced men, no more" easily one could notice disappointment in some of the faces "But fear not, for the rest will be on other tasks beyond this camp"
The men were ecstatic. Finally after all this time they spent honing their wrath and skills, they will get the opportunity to exact their vengeance upon the mongrel Orcs.
Then, Bethean turned to Corwyn "Get me thirty of the more experienced men and tell them to saddle up. We leave at dusk". The man nodded and headed towards the crowd, while bethean and Dorlman headed back into the tent.
"Are you out of your bloody mind? The Thane..." Dorlman complained.
"The Thane is not out there" Bethean pointed outwards "he doesn't see the butchered, or the burned steads" lowering his voice he rested his hands on the table that had a map on "These people need a purpose and I cant keep pulling it away from them" he said eventually.
Dorlman paced next to Bethean "The Thane told you to scout and not fight your way to Thornhope"
Bethean pointed at the map at an area surrounding Cliving "All this...all of it, is crawling with Warg riders" he then turned to face Dorlman "You expect me to send anyone to this death trap?" he raised his brows as he slightly tilted his head at Dorlman, as if he could pull a reply out with his eyes alone.
Dorlman sighed and folded his arms across his chest "Alright, I understand...Its not that I don't agree with you..."
"Then don't" Bethean interrupted "I will need you in this"
Dorlman pursed his lips and nodded slowly "Then you will have my spear by your side".
Bethean smiled and placed a friendly hand on the man's shoulder "Now, let us plan this out..."
The sun was setting quietly upon the west, beyond the tree line protecting the Rohirrim camp. Its golden rays were followed by the red crown of dusk, as thirty two strong riders emerged from the forest, their armor reflecting the glow of the sleeping sun. Among them, Eorran riding Etheon, the Eorl of horses as he once called it.
It was days since thirty two men rode out from the hidden training camp. Bethean and Dorlman had lead the men in a series of raids in the crofts outside of Cliving, striking swift and striking hard at the enemy, on their way towards Thornhope. Neither rain nor cold could dumpen the spirit of the men. Still, Bethean was worried. They had been on Entwash Vale for a day now and they hadn't seen nor heard any sign of Rohirrim. Dorlman, by the Captain's side, was thoughtful too.
Dawn approached and with it, revelation as they reached a hill. In the plains beyond lay Thornhope. At last they reached their destination.
"Look!" Dorlman pointed at the distance.
Bethean furrowed his brows and with his hand he sheltered his eyes from the newborn rays of sun.
"We are there" Dorlman added.
Bethean stood still, peering beyond at a gray column of smoke. He frowned. "Damn them...." he whispered.
Dorlman looked at the Captain for a moment and then looked himself beyond "Oh, no...."
Bethean took a deep breath and let it out slowly "We are late..."
All of the riders stood there on the hill, waiting for orders.
"Its gone" said a man next to Eorran "Its all gone"
Eorran himself kept himself silent, as he looked beyond to where Thornhope used to be. Now all cluttered with Orcs and littered with bodies of the Rohirrim
"A massacre..." the young rider whispered.
"Keep your wits about men! Dont let the fear grip you" Dorlman barked.
"Send in a scout, we need to see what are we up against" Bethean said to Dorlman, who nodded in agreement and gestured at a man next to him. The man approached and Dorlman said something to him.
That night, the riders had camped on the hill, but no fire kept them warm, still some had decided to take a nap, waiting for Cravon, the scout sent to Thornhope who was yet to return. This could only be an ill omen.
Someone shook Eorran's shoulder and the young man drew his knife, only to see one of his fellow riders leaning over him.
"Damn you man, hide that knife lest you kill someone" the man said.
"I..I apologize" Eorran holstered his knife
"Never mind, just get up, the Captain will lead us to a charge" the man said smirking
The young Rohirrim groaned "Ah, good, so the scout returned?"
The man replied with a nod and helped Eorran up. Both of them headed towards where the Captain was, surrounded by the rest of the company.
"...so we will try to be as silent as we can, taking out their outter guards with arrows. Be careful, we must kill them before they raise any alarm or all will be lost" Bethean's voice was low.
"Remember, they outnumber us three to one and stealth and surprize will be our only means to even the odds" Dorlman added. Several men nodded agreeingly.
Bethean continued "Then, the main force will charge into the city and hit them as hard as they can. When you hear the horn, you will retreat north. Do not worry about being chased, the archers from the south will take them out, covering your escape"
The men agreed with nods and 'ayes' and with that everyone was scattered to head onto their positions. Eorran was in the main force, led by the Captain and Dorlman, while the archers were under the command of one of the sergeants.
The silence of the night was not interrupted by a number of very silent successive groans, as the arrows found their marks. Nor was it interrupted by the hollow sounds of hooves on the dump grass outside what used to be the gate, several orcs who stood there pulling guard duty now lay hewn.
"CHARGE EORLINGAS!" Bethean barked and soon the hollow sounds of hooves on the dirt accompanied the loud groans of the Orcs as they fell under arrow, sword and spear.
The clash of arms and the clutter of armor and hooves awoke even most heavy sleeper among the Orcish ranks and soon the battle became hectic.
Bethean threw his spear at an Orc, impaling it and throwing it against the remains of a wooden house behind it. He then drew his sword and began hacking and slashing at the enemy grunts. The men followed him, forming a column of death. Behind them remained only dead bodies of the Orcs. Several riders had fallen, but this was not the time to mourn. There will be a time for that, but not now. Now they fight and if need be, they die!
Eorran wielded his sword slashing and hacking left and right, his teeth gritted as his hand began to tire. The orcs were too many. His trusted horse moved along, avoiding attacks and from time to time using its own hooves to strike at the enemy.
As Eorran stroke at one of the grunts, he saw a tall figure, standing at one of the highest parts of the devastated town stringing an arrow. His features were covered under the veil of the night, but he was certain he was no Man.
A man behind him yelled "ARCHERS, WATCH OUT!"
Without any further delay or thought, Eorran pulled out his knife and threw it at the figure. The blade arrowed through the air and found its mark on the neck of the archer. The archer loosed his arrow as he reached for his neck, but not unto its intended mark.
"DORLMAN!" The Captain's voice echoed amidst the clutter.
"URUK HAI!" Another yelled before a crude blade came out from his chest.
Rohan's horn sounded three times and with that, the Rohirrim rode out of the town in the north, while under the cover of arrows from the south. Behind them, several Orcs gave chase, but were soon downed by a rain of arrows.
Morning. The sun shone through the sparce clouds, warming the warriors with its rays, as they were sitting in a camp they had set up, with cooking fire and some mead. Guards were posted all around the camp and a few tents were set up, one of which had two guards outside. Inside sat Bethean by the deathbed of Dorlman. The Captain's advisor and right hand, had been hit by an arrow during last night's raid. He died during the night as they were setting up camp. A man, a friend, a warrior and a father. thats how Bethean had described him to his men. Despite the success of their raid and all the raids preceeding it, this blow was the the hardest to the Captain.
Amidst the men in the camp sat Eorran, with the man who last night had almost killed. His name was Dereth. A soldier turned farmer turned soldier again. He kept Eorran company with his talk about his family and kids and how his wife always complains about the ale belly he now has, that he didn't when they first met. Eorran's eyes were stuck at the hearth, visualizing all of Dereth's stories.
"So what about you lad?" Dereth took another bite at the leg of pork he had in his hand "Got any stories with the missus to share?" the man grined.
"Stories?" Eorran sighed and looked at the man "Oh, I got lots of stories"
Dereth chuckled lightly as he chewed on the meat.
"But they are not for your ears to hear" the young Rohirrim grinned.
Dereth burst in laughter "I bet!"
Another man came and sat with them. Eorran remembered him from the raid last night. The man had pulled his cloak around him.
"Ah, how's that wound?" Dereth nodded at the man
"I'll live...there goes my wife's wish" he said and burst into laughter, accompanied by Dereth's nervous laugh who had almost made his face red.
The man paused and placed a friendly hand on Dereth's shoulder "Say, any news on when we break camp and return? I can't wait to leave this place"
"No harm in asking" Eorran shrugged
"Ah! Then be a good lad and go ask him yourself" Dereth chuckled and poured some mead in one of the cups "And while you are at it..." he clumsily pushed the cup against Eorran's chest spilling some of the mead on his tunic "Give him some mead. Courtesy of Dereth, tell him" Dereth winked.
The young Rohirrim tried to wipe the mead off his tunic, but it was already too late. The tunic was soaked on the chest. It wasn't proper to present himself like that, but perhaps the Captain might be forgiving, or perhaps even not notice. He took the cup, stood up and headed out towards the Captain's tent.
"Look at him how he goes" Dereth chuckled pouring another cup for him and the other man "He really is gonna do it!"
Eorran turned around momentarily making a rude gesture at Dereth, who almost immediatelly burst into strong laughter. The other man hoisted his cup towards Eorran "Brave man!" he said.
With heavy feet and arms from last night's raid, Eorran reached the tent. The guards recognized him and allowed him to go inside. Parting the tent's entrance, Eorran found himself inside the Captain's tent, in the dark. The body of Dorlman lay on the bed, while Bethean was sitting infront of an improvised desk, apparently studying his maps and notes.
"I am sorry to bother you Captain" Eorran started "But the men could use your company" idly he gestured at Dorlman "We understand your grief but If you ask me, it would be good for morale"
No reply.
Eorran felt rather uncomfortable with all this quiet and took a few steps closer towards the man "I understand it is not my place to speak Captain....Here is a cup of mead, Dereth's courtesy..." now Eorran was just behind the Captain, placing the cup on the study. Bethean sat still. Something was not right.
The hands of the man were laying on the desk idly. Taking a closer look, Eorran placed a hand on the man's shoulder, thinking him asleep "Captain?"
Shaking the man gently did not produce any response other than Bethean's head to tilt backwards and suddenly Eorran noticed a glimpse in the dark right infront of the Captain's chest.
it was a knife, and not any knife. It was a knife adorned with several small gems and runic designs. It was the exact same knife he had once received as a gift from a Dwarven friend. It was the same knife he used to kill that Uruk Hai archer whose arrow hit Dorlman.
Eorran's eyes widened "Captain!" a yell escaped his lips. He quickly pulled the knife out of the chest and tossed it away. The tent's entrance opened shedding light into the otherwise dark tent. The two guards peeked in and seeing Eorran holding the dead Bethean, raised an alarm.
"Stay where you are else I'll run you through" said one of them
Eorran shook his head in denial "I didn't do it, I found him like that. I just came here to br-"
"Shut your trap, traitor and move away from the Captain!" the other one threatened with his spear.
Another man reached the tent's entrance, holding his own weapon and immediatelly interpreted the scene "THE CAPTAIN'S DEAD!"
Before anything else could happen, Eorran acted instinctively. He grabbed one of the guards' spear, throwing him off balance. Then he drew the guard's sword from the scabard and sliced at the tent.
"HE ESCAPES" the other guard said "GET 'IM!!!"
Just as soon as he came out of the tent, several arrows flew past by him. Stopping for only a second he noticed that the same men he rode with the night before, were now seeking his own death.
"This is madness..." Eorran told himself and blew a loud whistle, while running further away from the camp. The hollow sound of hooves on the ground alerted him and as he saw the feet of the horse, he leaped on it.
"Thank you Etheon..." the young runaway told his horse
Arrows flew past as horse and rider made their way through the sparce trees, alongside Entwash river. Eorran turned back momentarily, only to discover that his pursuers were now on horse back.
It wasn't long before the young fugitive noticed that the river's waters started to look murky "Wodfen..." said Eorran to himself and pulled the reigns in order for the horse to head towards the swamp. As they reached the shallows of the swamp, Etheon hesitated at first, complaining with a whinie. An arrow that few past it and stuck itself on one of the trees changed the horse's mind and sped right into the bog. It didnt take many steps for the horse and the rider to get neck deep into the mud.
Etheon's eyes widened as fear began to grip the valiant horse. Eorran tried to calm him, in vain. The more the horse ventured the further they sank. Eorran got off Etheon's back and tried to swim ahead, while holding the horse's reigns. The steed had saved his life more than once. It was time for him to do the same. It didn't take them long to find a sturdier and shallower part of the swamp to hide. Man and horse remained silent, looking for any sign of their pursuers. Nothing....Eorran exhaled, stroking Etheon's long neck.
"What have I gotten us into this time...."
