The six men stood atop the hill, the footsteps of the legions before them could be heared echoing throughout the rolling hills of Angmar. They drew arrows, nocking them and reading for the skirmish ahead. The hunter looked to the men and spoke softly, as if it was a whisper on the wind.
"Do not fear the dead lest you wish to join their ranks, let your aim be true, let your steel bite deep and drink blood. Let none live, if it draws breath or moves, kill it without mercy, without hesitation. Do not fear the dark, instead hold the light close and may our fathers smile upon us this day."
The men nodded and stood firm, their bows drawn as they stood waiting the arrival of their enemies. Cynraede stood, the crimson hood upon his head as his eyes shot from one hill top to the next, looking for the young woman that controlled the rest of the small group.
It was just moments when he saw his eyes, hiding behind the mask that hid his face. he quenched the rage building up inside, resisting the urge to loose an arrow before he uttered a word. He could not help but grin at his his words, truly the darkness had set hold in his heart. Legions of dead stretched back as far as the eye could see, yet he carried few of his brethren with him. This alone, instilled fear into the hill-mens hearts as they looked upon the eyes of the ones they once knew.
"Who dares stand in my way? Do you not know who I am? I pave the very ground I walk upon with the bodies of those who have stood in my way!"
Aphar stood, anger and frustration filling his words. Who was this lowly man who dared stand in his way, who dared defy Aphar, son of the spear?
"I am Cynraede, son of Cynhaer. Lay down you arms and I will make this quick, your life is forfeit."
The Amber man twitched just slightly at the mention of the name as he realized who he was speaking to.
"So you are the one who cost me my champion.. Did she send you? Are you one of hers?"
Aphar snorted, sneering at the man before him. Surely, his champion was bested by better than this man?
"You call him a champion? Did he fear to fight real men? Is that why he picked on young women who could not defend themselves? Truly a fearsome sight, even more so now.. I let him live so he could wonder this world and know the pain and suffering he caused so many, you will not be so lucky. She wishes for your death and Fairlain sends her reguards."
Aphar smiled at the name, seemingly puffing his chest out just slightly as he looked to the hunter. He remembered her well, the maiden from weather top.
"Ahh, yes. The little one, I should have known. I remember her torture well, I also remember that she bore my mark. If I could find none else I might have actually warmed my bed with her."
Hatred and darkness swirled within Cynraedes mind, for but a moment his heart urged for the fight, he longed to feel the spray of blood and rush of adrenaline. His grin had fadded, this one would suffer before he ended him.
"You imply you could handle a pure, whole woman. I've seen the filth in the east, nothing but street walkers and filth. You will not touch her east man."
Aphar sneered once more, a chuckle escaping his lungs as his eyes grew wide with enjoyment.
"I marked her! She is mine to do with as I please!"
He laughed and mocked the hunter, raising his hand as two of his soldiers moved forward to press an attack, finding themselves becoming pin cushions before falling to the floor where they laid lifeless. Cynraede removed his tunic and hood, tossing them to Aphar's feet as he raised his hands to the sky, his eyes staring directly back into the east mans.
"You wish for these lives? Come and take them east man, I will enjoy watching you struggle for your dying breath. Agannûlun ugruda ki!'
The East man snarled and motioned for his forces to advance, the easterlings moving forward in a neat rank while the Angmarim necromancers pushed their forces onwards. The shambling bodies of the freshly killed Hill-people, people these fighters knew. Friends and family now marched against them but it mattered not, they knew what must be done. They raised the bows and began to to fire into the oncoming dead and easterlings as the hunter drew his blades, and rushed into the fray.
Steel sang its bitter song as it struck flesh and bone, blood ran freely along its cold, harsh blade. Cynraede fought his way into the crowd, rushing forward to kill his mark, he at least, must be ended. Dead and easterling stood in his way, but steel cared not for who's blood it drank, who's flesh it tasted of and armor it rent. He did not let the rush of the fight take over, he harnessed it, using it to propel him deeper and deeper into the fight. What came next, he could have never seen coming, it stilled his heart and stole his mind. His breath was ripped from him as a chill took over his body, a warm feeling as he looked to his side as the blade tore through it.
The screech echoed through the ashen hills and wastes, filling the desperate hearts of the hill-men with dread and despair, stumbling over themselves as they tried to escape the beast. Cynraede stood about the horde who surely thought that victory was at hand as their leader walked forward with a beaming smile, spear in hand.
"Do you not see?! Even the great one comes to my call! I am Aphar, son of the spear!"
The hunter knelt on the ground, gasping and fighting for his breath as he tried to grasp the hilt of his blade tightly. He tried to rise, stumbling on his feet that could not even seem to bear the weight of a whisper. He fumbled and tried to grasp onto the stone that rested upon his chest that hung from a leather cord around his neck. The dark ink of the Angmarim running and dancing on his skin as the markings trailed across his bare torso, trying to recover as he heard the death filled voice of the figure that rode upon the fearsome beast.
"NO! NO! You thought you could deceive me and use my gift as a fool! The great one has no time for you, this is your fight."
As the great beast flapped its huge wings, sending a powerful gust across the field the dead dropped to the ground, bones, bodies and dust. As the ash and dust cleared, only bodies remained, easterlings lay strewn across the field along with the bodies of the risen dead, now finally at rest. Darkness still loomed over head, the air grew still and warm, each moment it felt as if it grew harder and harder to breath.
Cynraede continued to sit on his knees, his head spinning as he tried to focus on the east man in front of him as he watched his forces return to the dust and ash. Looking across the field at his slain brethren laying face down and distorted upon the cold ground. He turned his gaze to the hunter, his eyes wrought with anger as he gripped his spear tightly, raising it and preparing to end him.
For but a moment, Cynraede thought of her, the bright eyes staring back at him, a faint smile upon her lips. He gripped the hilt tightly and waited and played the broken lamb, waiting for his time to strike, whispering softly upon the gentle breeze.
"Ki-tuda ni-yad, agân urîkada!"
Aphar's eyes grew wide as he brought down the spear, quickly realizing there was more to this man that what he saw. The hunters blade clashed against the spear, knocking it to the side as he stabbed close to his inner thigh, hoping to sever his artery as he spun behind him. A wicked grin curved his lips as he looked to the east man, who stumbled and struggled as if his breath had been snatched away. He clambered about with the spear, swinging it wildly and stabbing into nothingness.
"Who are you?!"
Cynraede smiled as he walked behind him, placing the warm, wet steel of the blade upon his neck and whispered.
"Ni-na Cynhaer-aede.. Know the name and fear, for I am the messenger of the Lady, hear her words."
The hunter pulled the blade back and swept the blade across his neck, watching as the head rolled to his feet. He picked the head up by the hair, turning around to see the winged beast return, flapping his great wings and knocking the hunter off his feet, tossing him from the body of the Amber Man. Watching as the beast picked the headless corpse up and flew away, tossing up a forceful gust of ash and dust into the air, making it harder to breath, let alone see.
Cynraede stood, taking up the head as he slowly made his way back to Auighaire, panting as he hobbled away from the death and decay of the field, feeling the darkness lift and the air breathable once more. He grinned and mutter under his breath.
"It is done, my dear. Rest now in peace and worry not, he will never touch you again.."
