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Moon-pond, Moon-pond!
Smooth as a mirror,
darksome as the North.
Moon-pond, Moon-pond!
Unseen by all
are we coming forth.
Moon-pond, Moon-pond!
Your secret leads us
into the heart of the Light-Elves.
Moon-pond, Moon-pond!
Relentless we are fighting
and become heroes ourselves.
- Viraïgon,
Dark Elvish Master of Picture and Word
North of Middle-Earth, eighty miles north of the Iron Mountains, Late Third Age
Barbarians! Thangrineth let her powers retreat and allowed the flames in the lamps to rise higher and to illuminate the room.
The door was quivering under the strikes of the axes. Not long anymore and the wood would yield.
She took the loose head of the chieftain, with the other hand, she checked on the fit of her mask - the cut off face of the Jembina-guard which she had attached to a helmet with the help of leather straps. Together with the mantle, these simpletons would believe to deal with a real Jembina. What else was she supposed to be?
She stuck the head on the lance, hung a lamp to it so that the face could be well seen and looked complacently about the room.
Jembina and barbarians lay dead about, the weapons drawn and placed in such a manner by her that the barbarian had to think that the Easterlings had attempted an assassination against their chieftain. And they had succeeded. Now I will act so that they gather immediately and attack the fortress. Then my plan is done and I will find my way in the chaos into the north-east.
Thangrineth severed Uoilik's head from its body and placed it into her mantle that she had taken from one of the dead. Then she moved next to the door and waited until it shattered beneath the axe-strikes. The first two barbarians that entered she killed with swift stabs and slid light-footed into the night.
Swinging blades missed her and hit the own soldiers, fingers grasped after her and reached into void.
The Dark Elf swung the lance with the chieftain's head, imitated the language of the Jembina, jumped and leaped from one tent to the next. As quickly and agile she was moving, it cost her much strength and concentration to evade the attackers. She did not want to kill them, they had to want to kill her by all means. She was surrounded by sleeping enemies and with every angry call from a barbarian throat they became more. The danger increased for her from moment to moment. Where she could and found a gap, she incinerated the walls of the tents with the logs from the campfires.
Thangrineth was delighted as she saw the by the flames illuminated grimaces. Come and get me! I have killed your laughable chieftain!
In the middle of exhilaration, her right knee suddenly relented.
First she believed to have been hit by an arrow, but the joint was unharmed from the outside. The poison!, it struck through her mind. Her somnambulistic certainty disappeared, she limped and fell against a tent that springily caught her.
»Let's get him!«, one of the barbarians barked.
Thangrineth saw the first archers and arrows fly about her. Failures! To miss me on such a distance!
Unceremoniously, she cut a path through the tent, hurried through and was relieved as her knee was working again. The way straight through the tents was to her liking, as they protected her from the projectiles. On her path she stabbed at sleeping ones and caused more fires.
Bright drums were struck, angry calls and horns echoed. The barbarians wanted to catch the Jembina and kill her. After the short dismay she had found her smile again. She was certain that they followed her to engage the murderer and to punish all Jembina for the betrayal.
The uproar is getting too great. I will lure them over. Thangrineth hurried through the shadows to the horses, stole one and rode on the huffing, nervous animal to the fortress.
Having overcome half of the distance, she halted the horse and turned it around to see what the barbarians were doing.
In the shine of the burning tents she saw two-hundred men that took up the pursuit and behind them an army without a leader was forming, but inspired by ravenous blood-lust. A pairing that brought nothing but losses.
»Come already«, Thangrineth mumbled impatient. »You are too slow for a surprise attack.« She looked towards the bulwark, on which walls ever more fires were rising up. The Jembina had sounded the alarm.
Now followed the critical part of her undertaking.
She struck her heels into the flanks of the horse and brought it to gallop; the reins she let go, she required both her hands.
Thangrineth pulled down the mask, took forth the Jembina-head and took aim for a throw. As she reached the wall, she hurled Uoilik's skull up, right over to the defensive walkway, where she could see several spear-tips and helmets. »We will destroy you!«, she called and tried to sound like one of the barbarians. »Death to you all!«
The answer was a hail of spears that came down on horse and rider.
Thangrineth leaped off the saddle. Using her powers, she tightened the shadows before the gate, tossed the lamp together with Hasban's head from her spear and dove into deepest blackness. The darkness enfolded her motherly and protected her better than any shield. Invisible for the defenders, she pressed herself against the wall and remained quiet, so they would think, she would lie buried beneath the horse that had been studded with spears. Traces she had not left any, the illusion was perfect.
The host of the Wind-son rolled over the field in loud tremor.
Blind of anger they moved ladders on carts, in a broad front they came forth and thought themselves invulnerable.
Thangrineth raised her head and looked up to the defenders. I wonder what they hold against that.
With a loud crashing noise, ten steep ramps were lowered from the wall that remained three steps above the ground. At the same time a shrill whistle rose up, similar to a winch that was running with a high rotation; then iron, riveted gyroscopes shot down the ramps, which size the Dark Elf estimated to be nigh four steps in width. Uncountable blades appeared at each gyroscope through the high velocity with which they were spinning. The plates with which they had been worked were well cleanly processed, which spoke for a great skill of crafting.
The unusual war machines leaped over the ground, whirled up snow and headed, with a slight inclination to the front, straight for the barbarians. On that wave followed a second, then a third and a forth. Loud buzzing filled the air. The ramps were swinging from one side to the other and send the gyroscopes down on different locations infront of the wall.
Thangrineth had to admit that she felt an ounce of respect for the ingenuity of the Jembina. She had always viewed gyroscopes as children's toys. One can still learn from children after all.
The first war machines had reached the front of the Wind-sons by now. They drove like metallic tornados into the soldiers and the blades dilacerated anything to pieces that they hit. As the blades had not been attached rigidly, they could retract and shoot forth again as soon as they had hit something, without that the gyroscope was slowing down too much. The movement was unpredictable; they went in zigzag, curved, in a line.
It took them a long while to come to stand and even then they crushed the warriors through their sheer weight.
But the Wind-sons did not halt and roared just louder in anger.
Thangrineth smiled in satisfaction. Soon I can walk over a mountain of corpses undisturbed through the gorge. Or must I wait much longer? Through intuition, she walked to one of the ramps. The gyroscopes had caused a thick cloud of snow that she used as cover. She jumped up, grasped the side of a ramp and climbed up on it. On that way she went, protected by shadows up to the left tower, from where the gyroscopes were starting.
I want to know more. Thangrineth snuck through the opening. Three dozen Jembina handled the machinery that were propelled by chains. Platforms carried gyroscopes up from the deep that were encircled with long ropes. As they did not turn yet, they were held by a large chain that connected to their tip, to hold them in a vertical position.
One end of the rope was set into the retainer and through the switching of a lever incredibly fast unwind from the winch. The gyroscope began to turn, the chain got loose and the platform was inclined. Then the machine was leaping unto the ram and shot forth.
Excellent idea that they had. Thangrineth would remember the principles of that invention to prize it as her own by her return before the Conclave. For a defense it was most suitable. They could be additionally filled with petroleum, the walls perforated and we could light the gyroscopes as soon as they left the ramp. A fire-splashing weapon that was cutting through anything! Thangrineth saw in her mind mobile towers, moved by slaves, that she could use at her conquest. The effect of dilacerating, burning iron.gyroscopes on enemy forces would be tremendous.
Suddenly a new plan came to her thinking. Why not also weaken the defenders? The barbarians fail in the end, instead of clearing a path for me! She prowled along the wall of the tower to a winch, which rope led to a swivel arm with an empty hook attached to it. Could be heavy enough.
As a new gyroscope was starting to spin, Thangrineth let the arm come around. Before the war machine was jumping down from the ramp, it was hit by the hook and tossed out of its path.
Wobbling, but keeping itself upright, it rushed into the Jembina. Sparks flew as the blades scratched over the rock wall and the machine made one leap after the other and mowed through the soldiers.
Thangrineth had by now climbed the save swivel arm and observed the spectacle from there. Fascinating she found the blood of the men that was hurled by the blades against the wall and created random patterns. It dripped off and formed elongated splashes that reminded of branching. The walls received red veins.
»True art«, the Dark Elf whispered mesmerized and wished for more gyroscopes and more Jembina until all the walls had been decorated. She would, no, she had to repeat that at home with a few slaves! Best if she would use different races for different shades of blood. On what does it look better: on canvas or stone?, she thought. Through the impending war campaign she would soon have enough slaves from the peoples of Middle-Earth to try different variations.
Clashing the gyroscope fell, there shot the next on a platform up.
Thangrineth placed the rope as she had seen, but first she adjusted the ramp and turned it so that it pointed into the courtyard, straight infront of the gate.
Calls and shouts became loud from the outside to point out the mistake.
Let me see how your eastern cats bleed. She grinned and activated the winch, the gyroscope gained force and was released by Thangrineth. She stepped quickly towards the window, looked down.
The gyroscope ended several beasts, tossed limbs, intestines and blood about before it crashed against the gate.
These animals have bright-red blood! Thangrineth was spell-bound. What a shame that she had no vessel with her with which she could take some of the blood with her.
The wood of the gate groaned and broke partially under the first impact, warded the war machine off that was now recoiling from the wall like a mad dancer and struck another time against the gate.
Voices closed in from below, no more gyroscopes were send up. The Jembina had become wary.
The Dark Elf took a rope with her, climbed out the window, up to the tower's roof and observed cross-legged the battle that was raging before the wall.
The barbarians had placed on different spots ladders against it and attempted to get up on the defensive walkway. Some parts of the wall already belonged to them. Just in this moment a group managed to break through the gate.
»Fine little warriors!«, Thangrineth called amused. »Don't cease! Where do you have your thoughts, you witless men?«, she rebuked them instantly after.
Before the barbarians could rejoice, the guardian beasts attacked and pushed out in great number to assault the enemy on the open field. From the bridges the Jembina fired arrows and hurled spears at the Wind-sons. The first ramps were being turned, after Thangrineth's example, that the gyroscopes could be channeled into the courtyard.
The barbarians had wrestled in short time the sovereignty over the defensive walkways. As the first two war-machines landed behind the gate, the bridges crumbled and the Jembina fell. The Wind-sons had broken the beams and anchorage! Who survived the fall became victim of the own gyroscopes; then the battle started truthfully.
What would I give for a glass of good red wine. Thangrineth wished for time and material, to hold the relentless fight in sketches. She was inspired by what she saw. The rawness that was set into the battle, the wild and vehement, the excessive violence without a mind possessed something thrilling. It was the fascination for the primitive, by which she was disgusted and allured at the same time. Not that she wanted to be like the barbarians, but they raised curiosity in her to discover more about that way of life and acting. Thangrineth regretted that so many bones and other materials had to be left behind on the ground. But she had to continue her way.
As the first flames struck from the windows through which she had climbed, she stood up, bound her taken rope to a beam swung herself with much force over the heads of the fighting mortals. With ease she landed on the ground, right infront of the entrance to the gorge.
There was only one way. The halls in the mountain were of no use to Thangrineth, the barbarians and Jembina were fighting in there. With haste she walked into the chasm and was certain not to be followed by anyone or anything.
The walls protruded steep into the sky, on the bridges she saw warriors at times. Barbarians and Jembina were slaughtering each other thanks to her manner of negotiations.
Thangrineth took it with humor. They should be thankful. I have ensured that at last there would be a clear decision, instead of foul compromises. There were always two losers with a compromise, at the end of a battle, there was only one.
The hollow way ended already after one-hundred steps and opened into another valley. The Dark Elf had to laugh. For a hundred steps they besiege a bulwark for a small mortal's eternity. They will never learn. They miss the wisdom of eternal life. Especially they cannot afford to repeat mistakes.
Infront of her grew an ever-green forest. The trees with the wide-spread, thick branches reached to the very edge of the valley. They grew, finger-thick, tipped leaves, on which snow hardly gathered at all. So they were - surrounded by all the white - a most curious sight.
Highly uncomfortable were the many silver threats that hung from the twigs and decorated the leaves. Thangrineth knew what they were and she groaned: What the unknowing held for tree-seeds or exceptional leaves were in truth extremely rare Agarthul.
Before she could deal with them, did the sound of chains ring up, iron clashed and the wind carried the disgusting scent of sweat to her. Old, biting sweat that had been eating itself into the leather and fabric beneath without the hope to be ever washed out again. Only barbarian warriors smelled like that.
»There is another of them!«, one of those warriors called behind her.
Thangrineth turned around and saw fifty unwashed, dirty men running up to her, who swung their poor weapons, pure will to kill stood in their eyes.
And her knee forsook her again, to that erupted a sudden pain in her leg. The message of the Kraggash to her ... From one heart-beat to the next she saw herself facing a new problem.
A moment ago, Thangrineth had estimated to fight against the soldiers. But fifty seemed even to her - without much of a surprise effect on her side, a few too many, and they were all ready to battle and attentive.
Then they reached her and encircled her. She supported herself on her spear and smiled friendly at them, invoked a calm impression.
The barbarians had recognized that she was not one of the Jembina, did not know what to make of her outward appearance however.
Thangrineth found it refreshing not to be met with fear and suspicion as a Dark Elf. Like big children. It was time to teach the barbarian who stood before them.
»You are no Jembina«, one of the barbarians barked at her. His speech was gruesome, but he could make himself somewhat understandable so that the Dark Elf was not forced to resort to gestures and mimic alone.
»Thangrineth is my name and I belong to the Tatyar«, she said beaming. She would not mention the term Dark Elf as some of the barbarians might have heard of her people. »The Jembina have taken me prisoner and as you attacked them, I could flee.« She pointed at the forest. »But some of them could flee. They took up pursuit of some of your soldiers.«
The man translated the words and gave them on, which led the men to shake their weapons and they pointed on the path that led straight into the forest. Most of them wanted to storm ahead immediately, but some had suspicion written on their ugly faces.
Thangrineth recognized similarities to Hasban in the face of their leader. She granted the man a broad smile. Soon you will follow your father, little barbarian.
And exactly he was the man who gave order to move. He even smiled back.
»But you«, the barbarian said to Thangrineth, »will come with us.«
»Very well.« An alley was opened for her and she marched together with Hasban's son, the translator and the tallest warriors at the front of the group.
»You come from this side?«, asked the barbarian
»Yes«, she lied. »The Jembina caught me while I was on the hunt in the forest.« She perceived with glee that the barbarians knew not into what they were running. The trees themselves were harmless, the dangerous looking leaves were of no threat. Unlike the nice looking Agarthul.
Step for step they walked into the forest, the snow crunched beneath the feet of the men, while Thangrineth was not causing any tracks or sounds. This lesson you will not forget if you should survive. She held the spear easy in her right and fell into a relaxed run, pointed ever again warning to the right and left to make the barbarians believe that she had heard something. A distraction of the actual trap that they were about to enter.
It did not take long and the chieftain's son grabbed her arm, spoke in haste to her. In the meanwhile did the warriors form a circle around her, raised their shields and pointed their swords through the gaps in between.
»My lord wants to know«, the barbarian translated, »what you are intending.«
»Lead you to your people who need your aid. Why do we stop?«, she pressed.
»Because my lord cannot see any tracks«, she received as edgy answer. »Our soldiers cannot fly as much as the Jembina.«
The chieftain's son had brandished his sword and pointed the tip at Thangrineth's throat.
The Dark Elf heard by the tone of his voice that what he spoke was an immediate threat. »We can retreat, if you like«, she said and raised the arms to show that there was no danger originating from her, which was quite true.
Let us begin the lesson. What none of the naive barbarians realized: Her spear-tip touched a low hanging branch and a few spider-web like threads loosened themselves instantly, were levitating in the wind without descending to the ground.
»You will tell us why you have led us into the forest!«, the barbarian demanded threatening and the chieftain's son took a step towards her, laid the blade at her exposed neck. »You belong to the Jembina after all?«
»Never!«, Thangrineth laughed, remained calm and showed no fear of the blade on her skin. »You know that there are ways to wipe tracks clean. I can see those details in the snow.« She followed the graceful flight of the silver threads and did not regard the translator or Hasban's son.
One of the threads lowered itself whirling on the helmet of a barbarian, hung soon from the nasal protection unto his back. A soft breeze pushed the lower end up, beneath the leather on the bare skin.
It will begin in a moment! Thangrineth was looking to what would happen.
Further wraith-like threads descended on the unknowing barbarians, others were seemingly randomly carried by the wind, until they found a target as well. The warmth of a body led them, lured them in.
In moments like these was Thangrineth thankful that her people had gathered vast libraries of knowledge, in which she had long sat and read. Many secrets in Middle-earth had been accounted in the writings and one of the most rare she had instantly recognized when she had seen it hanging on the trees: Agarthul.
One silver thread was heading her way and wanted to lower itself on her face. With a short, strong breath she pushed the being away from her, so that it flew into the face of the chieftain's son and remained stuck there.
The barbarian raised the hand to wipe it away - there he opened his eyes widely and groaned. At the same time, the thread inflated itself to the width of a finger. As much as the man tore on it, the thread, which color was turning from silver to crimson and then to a dark red would not move.
Instantly the face of the chieftain's son lost all its color, became ash-grey. The sword fell out of his hand, he sunk to his knees infront of Thangrineth and still tried to get the pulsating something from his face. By now it was more similar to a tow.
Astounding. Like it was described in the book, the Dark Elf found and left neither the Agarthul, nor the barbarians out of her sight. Without her knowledge she would have fared the very same way.
The attack on the leader was the signal.
Everywhere the threads were attached to the surprised men as soon as they felt bare skin and began to swell. The sucked blood was the cause for their inflation. Their victims fell down, grasped after the Agarthul or stabbed at them.
In vain, you unknowing. The creatures that seemed to be spider web gave a liquid into the victim's blood which prevented that it would dry up. Even when one of them managed to tear one away or kill one, the victim was lost. The wound would not stop bleeding, the life essence was far too runny. It seems as if none of you survives the lecture.
»You knew it!«, the translator screamed at her and struck with the sword after her. »You have ...«
Thangrineth dismissed the attack with her hand hitting the flat side of the blade, put the spear vertical on the ground and hammered her fist as quick as an arrow exactly on the larynx, so that it was shattered and pressed into his windpipe. The fingers of the Dark Elf closed themselves again around the spear before the weapon could fall to the side. The translator fell gargling to his knees and suffocated in agony. »Do you imbeciles understand why you will never hold true power in your hands?«, she sneered.
Around her the soldiers died. Ever more Agarthul lowered themselves on them, lured by the scent of the blood.
Leave me in peace. I have brought you a feast. Thangrineth made a few steps to the side and moved into the protection of a tree on which hung no silver threads. Two, three beings that she found clinging to her armor were taken up with her gloved hand, rubbed between her fingers and dispersed like true spider web. Harmless. One of them she pushed into the sleeve hem of her mantle as trophy. As long as they did not come into contact with the skin they posed no threat at all. »Come, my little friend. Should Cadhalor make it alive back to the Conclave, then I will gift you to him. In secret«, she said and looked around.
The chieftain's son managed to tear the Agarthul from his face. The being had left a broad cut that was reaching down to his neck and from which seeped blood. The man pointed at the Dark Elf and called something.
»Are you cursing me, little barbarian?« Thangrineth laughed at him brightly. »I am the Curse-Crowned and I serve powers whose blessings would seem to you like a curse. Of what should I be afraid?« With her spear she gathered a number of Agarthul from the trees and hurled them against the man who could not evade them quickly enough. Three of them descended unto his face. »Follow your father. I follow my destiny.«
Thangrineth left the place where the dying did not want to end and loosened further Agarthul from the trees.
The breeze led the threads to the Wind-sons. They would end what she had begone.
Traveling like that was delighting.
