The Thieves of Tharbad by AliceNWonder000137  

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The Weight of the Crown

An attack on the Tirthon forces an evacuation with Captain Baranor leading.  New allies allow them to follow Mercatur into the vale to put an end to Thuringwethil.  Nirnadel learns hard lessons on leadership.

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51) The Tirthon - Ivanneth (September) 16^th, 1410

Nirnadel

Corporal Riston went out into the hall of the Tirthon and banged on the door to the healer’s quarters.  “Firiel!  Elanoriel! We need to move.  Captain Baranor is mustering with the cohort and the cooks. Hurry please!”  The door flew open and Firiel came out, slinging her robe over her night slip.

“Hurry, people, hurry,” she said as Omah, Vicri and Jonu led the way out, carrying as much of the supplies as they could hold.  Kaile led the ladies over there to help, slinging packs over their shoulders.  The stewards looked at each other and then jumped in, hauling both the royal items and the healers’ kits.  Everyone pitched in.

“Is everyone here?” Riston called out.  “I need a head count before we move.”

It took less than three seconds before Firiel answered, “All here!”  She knew her staff.

Nirnadel searched amongst her people as she put little Gîliel into her saddle pouch, followed by the mother cat.  “Six stewards, Galadel, Kaile…Anariel.”  She almost looked for Éanfled, the other woman having been back for so long and was part of the household again.  “All here, good corporal.  Let us move.”  He led them down the steps where they could already hear fighting and stomachs tightened. They rushed into the rainy yard of wet grass where the cohort was split into four maniples, spears out and stabbing into a wave of enemy.  The Guard held their flank, the Thangail shield wall stopping the tribesmen cold.  Baranor stood in the center with his poleaxe, wielding it with deadly effect.  Bodies were already piling up in front of them.  By the pond, Maelil was having the cooks and other camp followers hook wagons to oxen, much of it being prepared last night.

Baranor shouted to Sergeant Fendir, “Prepare to fall back! Keep them away from the royal party!” He thrust the tip of his poleaxe into an attacker’s mouth and then chopped another in the neck with the axe blade. The stewards held the horses for the royal ladies, and they mounted while Nirnadel drew her anket, or longsword and looked around, the visor of her sallet helm raised.  The stewards mounted, weapons drawn, many of them looking terrified.  For all of the descriptions that she had heard of the event, this was feeling a lot like Tyrn Gorthad of 1409.

The left flank of the cohort was under heavy pressure, shields being torn down and the enemy trying to leap over to attack from behind. Sergeant Fendir rushed over there and charged into five tribesmen, swinging his thick falchion and smashing with his shield.  His weapon was like a meat cleaver and a machete put together.  Nirnadel looked back.  “Galadel, Angion, Mindolinor, the flank may break if we do nothing.  Follow me!” she yelled and slammed her visor down over her face and she spurred her palfrey forward.  Fendir had dropped two of his attackers, but a spiked club landed on his spangenhelm, knocking the visor away and putting a dent in his helmet.  He dropped to one knee, one hand holding his head.  The three tribesmen moved to finish him, but Nirnadel rode by, lopping the hand off of one.  Galadel thrust the point of her eket into another man’s chest and Angion slammed a mace into the head of the third.  They barely slowed down as Fendir rose to his feet, waving his thanks.

The Princess wheeled her horse about, facing right into the rear of the enemy attacking the cohort.  Fendir was trying to have that maniple disengage to keep up with the retreat, but the tribesmen were savage, not letting go.  Pale corpses shambled up now, drained of blood, but howling in pain and hunger.  There was no time to think.  Nirnadel pointed her sword forward and put spurs to horse.  “Charge!”  Her palfrey bolted ahead, followed by the others.  They slammed into the enemy line from the rear, bodies being thrown about by the impact.  Nirnadel looked down and saw a man who was ghostly white, fang marks on his neck where blood dribbled down.  He looked surprised and then seemingly pleaded for her to kill him.  Her sword came down.  The others crashed into the enemy, scattering them about, giving time for the maniple to disengage.  A spear came up, and she deflected it away, slicing the attacker from neck to cheek.

Angion smote one of the undead on top of the skull with his mace, splattering it.  Then, his horse reared and he fell to the ground, rolling away before the horse collapsed on him.  Nirnadel and Mindolinor hacked around themselves, keeping them off of Angion.  Madron of the Tanner’s Guild charged up and leapt off of his horse, swinging wildly to save his friend.  Two of the pale undead seized the boy and pulled him down, sinking their fangs into his neck.  Mindolinor stabbed one in the face as Nirnadel cut into the other’s neck.  Galadel pulled Angion onto her own horse and they rode away as the young steward yelled back, “No, Madron!  No!” his arm stretched back in a futile gesture.

The tanner lay there, eyes open, blood trickling down his lips.  But the maniple had separated from the attack, marching backwards while the enemy regrouped.  The Guard mounted up and Baranor rode up to the Princess.  He raised his finger to chastise her but just shook his head. “You know what I was about to say, but you have too much of Prince Thôrdaer’s bravery and too much of Prince Braegil’s curiosity.  And it damn well saved the left flank.  I’m sorry you lost a man.  Leadership is sacrifice,” he said, knowing her pain and ushering the group together. “I’ll help you mourn later but we need to be focused now.”

Nirnadel looked over to Angion as Mindolinor held him back. The big weapon smith struggled to break free to rescue his dead friend.  Nirnadel rode over and put her hand on his shoulder from above.  “I’m so sorry, Angion.  Let us honor his sacrifice.  He died so that we will survive.”  Her words felt hollow to her, but she meant them sincerely.  Haedorial rode up from behind and touched her arm, his face full of empathy.

Fendir came up as they continued down the south road.  “Highness…Lady Galadel…lads, you saved my life and my men. I won’t forget it.  I’m sorry about your friend.  We’ll avenge him.”  He had a gash across the bridge of his nose from the hit he took on the helm.

This one hurt.  People had died around her and for her and that was horrid enough.  But this one…Madron of the Tanner’s Guild was because of her.  She led the charge, reckless, poorly thought out and he died.  She grabbed the pommel of her saddle, squeezing it hard, hiding her pain beneath the visor of her helm.  Here youthful naiveite had her thinking that this would be easy, but it was anything but.  

Well, any other worries that she had would have to wait. The enemy had reformed and were closing in again.  The Guard drew crossbows while on horseback.  “Fendir!” Baranor shouted.  “Pin them here!  We’ll be nearby.  Watch your flanks, they outnumber us!”

The sergeant nodded, raising his falchion.  “Back into line!  Three ranks, three ranks!  I want some depth!  Form an arc to protect our people!”  They formed a semi-circle to guard the healers and camp followers.  Life would be pretty meaningless if they let their families be killed here.  Firiel lobbed arrows with her shortbow as the nurses kept a watch over the wounded.

Nirnadel and those on horseback rode after the Guard as they appeared to retreat to keep the Princess safe, but they maneuvered around the enemy again.  She searched the group, seeing Galadel right behind her, Angion, Mindolinor and Ethirdir was mounted last, sitting awkwardly on his horse.  Why did he come along?  He could barely ride or fight.  Kaile had stayed with the nurses to keep assisting there.

Javelins and slingstones flew at the cohort’s shields, thunking sounds ringing out from the impact on the wooden wall.  Fendir cursed at the tribesmen, giving them an obscene gesture as the cohort rattled spears in defiance.  The enemy charged and Baranor gave the order to fire. Crossbow strings sang and bolts shot into the backs of the enemy.  The captain raised his laen sword and called, “Charge!”  Heavy warhorses sprang from the treeline and thundered ahead.  More enemy, previously unseen, rushed from the woods at them.  They would have to meet this new threat or be sandwiched between two forces.  “Oblique right!” the captain ordered and the horses angled straight into the new foe.

The charge of heavy warhorses was devastating, smashing into lightly armored tribesmen or weakened undead.  Bodies flew, some falling under the pounding of hooves. They sliced deep into the enemy horde, swords, axes and maces raining down from saddles.  Baranor’s laen sword easily cut through the leather armor or iron helmets that stood before him.  Several of the enemy had billhooks, a polearm that was originally a farming implement but had snags to pull down riders.  One hooked Corporal Riston and yanked him from the saddle.  Guardsmen leapt down to protect him and pull him away, but the momentum was lost against a numerous foe.

Nirnadel was cutting downwards, almost blindly. Anyone below her had to be an enemy. She drove her sword into a man’s head, the blade slicing through skin and bone.  Through her visor she saw the man’s face, one eye destroyed, one wide open in horror as he sank down.  She stared for a second until someone grabbed her arm and pulled her roughly from the saddle. She felt herself fall into mud as rain poured down and her horse started kicking.  She punched someone in the face with her gauntleted left hand, hearing a groan and then thrust her sword into another man’s gut.  This wasn’t fencing, it wasn’t even fighting, it was just savage survival.

One man swung a mace down and she raised her left arm to block it, the spiked ball impacting on the mithril vambrace over her forearm.  PANG!  She grunted from the blow and tried to rise, slipping in the mud.  Galadel’s eket struck the man’s head and he keeled over. Nirnadel looked up and gave a fist pump of thanks.  She looked around, seeing Mindolinor and Ethirdir dismounted, fighting off multiple attackers trying to get to her.  The bard was holding his own, parrying and riposting furiously, maneuvering to keep them at bay, but Ethirdir was swinging wildly, tiring himself out.  The Princess moved slowly, trying to keep her footing.

One pale undead dove and took Ethirdir’s legs out from under him as another piled on, dagger raised.  Nirnadel drove the point of her sword through the attacker’s neck and then slashed the one at Ethirdir’s legs.  She pulled him up by the collar, “Get behind me!  Galadel, where are you?”  Seeing through the visor was not the easiest thing.

Tribesmen pushed forward, hissing and snarling and Nirnadel held her sword out in the Longpoint Guard to keep them back.  Just one line of men and she could get to Baranor, but it was more than she could handle.  She no longer felt fear though, just fury.  She let out a bloodcurdling cry and inched forward through the mud when something flew into the line of attackers and two were gone.  She could have sworn that she saw Alquanessë streak by. A shriek sounded from above as the vampire dropped two corpses whose throats were torn out, her body covered in blood mixed with rain.  She pointed east and let out a honking sound like a swan.

Gull feathered arrows fell amongst the tribesmen and the undead and they fell in piles.  Galadel rode by with her horse and Nirnadel vaulted back into the saddle.  She scanned the road to the east and saw Lord Oswy, leading a troop of lancers with bows.  Gildor rode with them, firing a bow while standing in the saddle, three others riding behind him.  One of the riders was an old man clad in gray robes with a strange gray pointed hat, raising a staff as light shot forth, stunning the enemy and the undead ones shrieked in fear and ran.

Nirnadel breathed out a deep breath and raised her visor, looking around.  She made eye contact with Galadel and smiled, seeing how much blood coated the lady’s blade and that she was unharmed in her mithril shirt.  The hooves of Oswy’s lancers thundered by in pursuit of the fleeing enemy. She sheathed her longsword and then began to shake as the adrenaline wore off.  Her left arm ached now where she was hit.  This was getting to be a habit.

Baranor and Gildor rode up to her along with the others as Alquanessë landed nearby and walked up.  Gildor put his hand over his heart, a regretful look on his face.  “Your Highness, I apologize for my tardiness.  Thuringwethil had blocked the roads and had her minions slow us down.  She has been gathering forces in the area.”  He gestured back to the others.  “You already know my Lord Elrond and Lord Glorfindel.  This is Gandalf the Gray.”

The old man had a long white beard and white, prickly eyebrows, his eyes deep and intense.  He bowed curtly at the waist from the saddle.  “Your Highness, it is good to make your acquaintance,” he said in a rich baritone.  “I am pleased that you have survived the night.  We are here to assist you for this threat is a vast danger to all in the north.  Thuringwethil is a creature of immense power, and it will take all of our effort to destroy her.”

She put her fist over her chest in a knightly salute. “I have heard of you by reputation, good sir, and I welcome your assistance.  We have a party in the vale now and I hope that we can ride to their aid. I have many friends amongst them.”

He pursed his lips and nodded.  “Indeed, young lady.  I might suggest that your noncombatants return to the Tirthon for that will now be their best defense while we go forth.  But I must ask, how did you keep Thuringwethil from attacking you.  I don’t mean to be macabre, but all of you should be dead against her power.”

Nirnadel opened her saddle pouch and showed him the gray tabby mother and kitten, huddled in the fabric.  “She’s afraid of them for some reason, I don’t know why and…and I can talk to them.”

Gandalf pulled his chin in and gave her a second look. “Hmmm, extraordinary.  We shall have to speak after, Your Highness.  Now, come, let’s escort your people to shelter and then proceed to the vale.  We can water our horses and catch our breath for a few minutes.  I firmly suspect that we will need your cats though,” he added with just an edge of amusement.

The Princess couldn’t place it, but just hearing the old man’s voice was a comfort.  It was as if everything would be fine wherever he was.  She stood up in the saddle and waved to the camp followers. “All healers and camp followers, we will escort you back to the Tirthon where you will now be safe.  We have reinforcements who will help us to defeat this terrible threat!  Come with me, my people!”  The Guard and the cohort marched proudly alongside the noncombatants, getting them settled again.

Baranor rode up to her.  “Your Highness, I suggest that we leave the cohort and Oswy’s lancers here to guard them.  I don’t like you going one bit, but the guard will go with you.  We have powerful allies now and we need to end this.”  He reached out and they grasped hands. “You’ll be the death of me, Princess, but I cannot say just how proud I am of you.  Your family is surely looking down upon us with their blessings.”

She put a hand over her armored heart and gave him a misty smile.  “You don’t know how much that means to me,” she said and then held up her left arm. “And you saved me again.  I might not have this arm if not for your armor.”

He sighed and shook his head.  “Yeah, I saw.  About gave me a heart attack.”

Kaile tugged on her arm from below.  “Yeah, I saw too.  Now, you’re going to get down off of that horse and let me have a look, if you know what is good for you, young lady.”

Nirnadel swung her leg over the horse and hopped down.  “Oi love, you go’ a problem wi’ me minced pies, do you?  Ole Maelil’ll ‘ave a thing or two to say, methinks.”  She unstrapped her helm and sat on a bench.

Kaile snorted and shook her head as she pulled off the left gauntlet and undid the straps of the vambrace over the arm.  The cook came up with some drinks on a tray.  She put her cooking hat in the crook of her arm with a satisfied smile.  “Ole Maelil can tell you that ‘er ‘ighness’ minced pies’r just fine iffn you ask me. So, you just take me word for it now, love,” she said as she patted Kaile on the head with a confident nod.

Nirnadel winced as she giggled and Kaile examined the arm. “Oh, you have another good bruise.” She rubbed a poultice on it and handed her a vial of Mirenna Berry juice, which the Princess poured into her mouth. “I’ll bandage it up and tell you to rest, but I know you won’t.”  She then pointed to Maelil.  “And you, don’t encourage her.  I’m trying to get her to be more royal, and her accent is terrible.”

The cook gave a mock look of hurt.  “Awww love, I dunno, the lady sounds docktown born and bred to me. ‘er minced pies are just fine, right love,” she finished, holding a fist out to Nirnadel who bumped it back. “I’ll share me table wi’ you any days.”

Kaile strapped the armor back on and rolled her eyes. “You two are impossible!  Errrgh.”

The Princess pulled her gauntlet over her hand and nodded, raising her nose and putting her finger on her cheek.  “We do say, good Squire Kaile, that you attend your knight with care and understanding.  We praythee, do continue to serve her whilst We are away,” she said in a distinct Royal Accent.

Kaile shook her head.  “Oh no, Firiel, Elanoriel and I are coming with.  That’s all there is to it,” she blurted out with determination. “Jonu too.  There’ll be three nurses here with the wounded.”

Nirnadel became serious, her face somber as she remembered Madron’s last moments.  “Now I know how Baranor feels,” she said, feeling Madron’s death again.  “You will need to listen to the captain and he will keep you safe.  I’ve already lost one person of our house today.  I shan’t lose any more.”

She saw Baranor and wanted to speak with him, walking over as an arc of lighting shot through the sky to the north.  That was where Blogath’s vale was.  Thunder rumbled for a while after, and she felt squirming in her pouch.  The two poor cats were terrified.  “My friends, I am so sorry.  I’ll keep you safe.  You saved me, you know.  If you want, I will take you home with me after.”

The mother cat sniffed the damp air and then shook her head back and forth, shedding rain drops.  “Yes…friend…we save.”

She rubbed their heads.  “I will call you Calarmë, the Lamp.  You were my lamp.”  She closed the pouch again and waved to Baranor.  “Good captain, a moment of your time, if you please.”

He turned and nodded.  “The people are settled here.  Best we prepare to depart soon.  How’s your arm?”  He was speaking to her less as the Princess and more as one knight to another.  She remembered that this is how the Guard spoke with Thôrdaer.  It made her feel…needed.  She had always looked up to her brothers and, somehow, this connected her with them.

She shook her arm out.  “It has been well tended to.  I am ready but I wanted you to know that I understand you now.  When I lost Madron and my people were imperiled…it tore me apart.  I know why you worry.  I…I have been reckless.  I just wanted to let you know.”

He pursed his lips.  “I appreciate you saying that.  It hasn’t been easy.”  She put her hand on his and he smiled at her.  “I have to weigh my protectiveness with the fact that what you did was necessary. We might not be here if you hadn’t led that charge.  Fendir and those men…they’re alive because of you.  Now, shall we?”

Galadel brought her horse, and she swung up into the saddle, locking her feet into the stirrups.  The healers were ready to go, along with three of the stewards, Mindolinor, Angion and Ethirdir.  Haedorial was amongst them.  She looked at the young men and her bard.  “My friends, you do not need to make this journey.  The peril that we face is unlike any other.  I will think nothing less of you should you choose to remain.”

Haedorial reached out to her.  “My Princess, we do not need to, but we want to. Having seen you fight for our people, we cannot stand by and not support you.”

She was truly touched.  With such faith and devotion, how could they fail?  “Stay with me and always be near to Captain Baranor.  We will have great allies with us as well.  Find courage in your hearts.”  She walked her horse up to Ethirdir, giving him a curious look.  “Are you positive, my steward?  There will be no turning back.”

He blushed furiously, his ears turning red.  He looked down in shame.  “I…Your Highness, I have been a poor member of your household. I wanted to show you what a big man I was and I disgraced myself.  You risked your life for me in spite of that.  I am here…I am here to show you that I am not that boy anymore.”

She extended her hand and he took it.  “Then ride with me and help us to save Cardolan.”

He gulped hard and gave her a wan smile, wiping his nose. His face was red and determined.  “My sword is yours, my Princess.”

She looked to see that everyone in the party was mounted and ready.  Maelil handed Baranor a sack of biscuits and other rations.  Elrond, Gildor and Glorfindel led the way with Gandalf right behind them.  Baranor and the Guard followed with the Royal Household and the healers.  She looked back to see Sergeant Fendir with the cohort, standing tall with swords held in a salute.  She raised her gauntlet in a wave as Carvion, the orange cat leapt up into the saddle in front of her.  “Come…help,” he meowed.

Gandalf looked back and slowed his horse to let them catch up. “I see that they are talking to you, young lady,” he said, reaching out and rubbing Carvion behind the ear.  “Extraordinary,” he added, narrowing his eyes.  “Did you know that there was once a Queen of Gondor-”

“Berúthiel, yes.  Good Haedorial told me of the lore.”

“Hrmph,” the wizard snorted.  “Thunder stealer, I see,” he said to the bard with a wink. 

Haedorial laughed awkwardly.  “Well, good sir, we were able to determine that King Tarcil the Mariner’s wife was a Black Númenórean, Queen Aerondes who we believe came from the same city as Berúthiel.”

As they rode along, Gandalf took out a pipe and began filling it with weed, covering the opening with his hand to block the rain. “Hmmmm, I see.  And you would be correct.  You see, when I arrived here in Middle Earth, I came north with Saruman and Radagast, but our two associates went south and east.  Allatar?  Pallando? I forget which one went where now. Anyhow, he sent a lengthy report about Umbar and some of the surrounding lands.  There is a city, Rudhon, inland and south of Umbar.  That is the city in question.”  He touched the pipe and the weed glowed orange, a pungent smoke wafting up. “Now this may surprise you, but Berúthiel thrived back home.  The marriage was purely political, but I suppose that she could have been better to her hosts.  She behaved…poorly in Gondor.  However, she married again and Aerondes was a descendant of hers.  So, young lady, you are of her line, so it does not surprise me of your ability.  Good work, master bard.  I shall be sure to note your learning to Saruman.”  

Haedorial beamed with pride.  Nirnadel stroked Carvion as he pushed his cheek into her hand. “You hear that,” she said.  “Looks like we are meant to be together.”

Gandalf smiled, his eyes twinkling.  “And I would add that I knew Tarcil and Aerondes.  I was one of those who intervened and brought about an end to the civil war.  We facilitated the election that brought Tarcil to the throne.  I knew him when he was a sailor and knew that he was the right man.  He was wise beyond his years and reluctant to take the crown.  He was never meant to rule, but he accepted that role with grace as did his wife.  I suspect that you may be familiar with that feeling, young lady.”  He took a long puff and then handed the pipe to Haedorial. “And Aerondes, she was a light…a ball of fire from a hot land.  While Tarcil ruled and brought the Hiri to heel, she defined the culture of the realm, bringing high and low alike together.”  He gave her a wink.  “I suspect that you may be familiar with that as well.”

She nodded in agreement.  “I am indeed.  And I would invite your wisdom, dear wizard.”

He chuckled and then threw an acorn at Elron.  “My Lord Elrond, here is one amongst us that would welcome my wisdom,” he said seriously.

“Only when it is, indeed, wise, Mithrandir.”

Gandalf scoffed and rolled his eyes, his brows bristling under his wide-brimmed hat.  “Hrmph, how rude.  You don’t ignore advice, do you now, young lady?”

She put a hand over her mouth.  “I shall…decline to answer that, my dear Gandalf.”

He chuckled joyfully.  “Well, let me give you one piece of advice.  Do not interrupt an old man who is telling a story, even if you know the tale.  It hurts their feelings.”

She nodded, pursing her lips.  “I shall take your advice,” she said with a broad smile. His odd humor just had a way of dispelling the horror that awaited them.

Baranor pointed his thumb at her and made a slashing motion across his neck.  “What’s your secret?  Because I have nothing.”

Nirnadel made a pinching motion moving down from her chin to her chest.  “It’s the long white beard.  It just has this…this…thing, this wisdom,” she said, justifying it.  “I just want to listen.”

“Well, if that’s the secret, I’m buying one when we get home.”

What Gandalf said about Berúthiel gave her pause.  Everything that she heard about the woman was evil. The idea that she changed, or maybe that Gondor changed her, meant that some people could be redeemed…that there was hope for people.

They traveled through the night, probably half a day behind Mercatur’s expedition.  The pace that Gildor set was aggressive though and they would gain much ground, but it was still a large gap of time.  She thought about the peril that her friends were in, but it was unimaginable to her. She focused on seeing them again, a positive image in her mind.  She saw an inner glow coming from Gandalf, Glorfindel and Gildor, two of whom were Eldar, having seen the light of the Two Trees.  As horrifying as this venture was, their presence blanketed the troop with a sense of peace and safety.

She thought for just a moment about her interaction with Mercatur but it seemed irrelevant right now.  If there was a drug for this wholesome feeling, it was easy to see how someone could become addicted.  That led her mind to Neldis and the nurse’s story of poverty, addiction and degradation. How would she have fared if their lives were exchanged?  Nirnadel would not have survived.  This she was certain of.  She would have been a frozen body in the snow of the Shanty Town.  But how could she reduce such poverty and desperation in Cardolan so that these stories would be rare?  And she couldn’t ignore the comments about how alike they looked.  She could easily tell Galadel and herself apart for as well as she knew the lady.  But with Neldis, one really had to examine them closely.  A small mole on the back of the neck, one with slightly bigger earlobes, the Princess being a little more muscular, a tiny variation in the color of their eyes was about all that set them apart.  The differences were all in their behavior and mannerisms. Did her father…?  He did travel the kingdom frequently before she and her brothers were born.  And he did fancy himself a knight errant, much like Thôrdaer did and her brother made no secret of his dalliances in the countryside.  No, there was no chance.  But what if it were true, it would really change nothing except maybe her view of the late King.

At the front of the line, Gildor called a halt as Carvion meowed a warning.  The elf moved his hands, telling everyone to get off of the path and prepare.  Horses moved quietly into the treeline and the group dismounted.  Bows and swords were drawn, and the word was passed down that an enemy was approaching. There was a shriek that sent chills down spines and Finculion half ran, half flew down the path, turning to slice at his brother, Balisimur.  His black sword met the bigger vampire’s maul, sparks flying from the weapons where they clashed.  Blogath dove from overhead while their minions rushed down the path, trying to surround Finculion.  Blogath froze, mid dive, realizing that they had been ambushed.  Arrows and crossbow bolts shot from the woods, sinking into Dunnish tribesmen and undead, bodies falling where they had been struck.

Several arrows and bolts sank into Balisimur, and he howled in pain, hurling his maul at those in the woods.  It shattered the trunk of a large tree, throwing splinters of wood all around as Glorfindel and Elrond dodged away from the falling tree.  As tribesmen scattered, the male Blood-Wight seized one and slit the man’s throat, lapping up blood for power.  Blogath flitted about overhead, dodging anything that was shot at her.  She flapped her falcon wings hard, and the forest swayed at the vortex, leaves and dirt flying, blinding those below.

Gandalf thrust his staff upwards, and a light shone on Blogath, dissipating the howling wind.  She swatted away two arrows with her wings and then rolled downwards into a nosedive, veering away at the last second as people covered their faces. Alquanessë leapt up in pursuit, unfurling her swan wings.  Everything had happened so fast that Nirnadel could only watch, mouth open.

Gildor signaled an all clear and he crouched down, scanning the path and the woods ahead.  “The tribesmen are falling back after the Blood-Wights.  I’ll scout the path,” he announced and scampered along the treeline towards the vale.  Everyone else mounted and followed along at a distance, trusting the ranger to clear the way. Every so often, he would kneel, draw his bow and fire, and then continue on.  They would always pass a body wherever he had stopped.

The group came upon the damaged camp that was left by Mercatur’s expedition.  Gildor navigated a path around the traps where several dead men lay in spiked pits. It was pretty gruesome.  The ranger pointed off to the east.  “They retreated that way in good order.”  He then searched the ground, examining the bodies of friend and foe alike.  “Captain Baranor, come here please.”

Baranor rushed over and knelt down beside a body that was clad in silver plate armor.  He let out a groan and Nirnadel and Corporal Riston ran to him.  It was Sergeant Cedhron, his throat slit and his face white, his neck and chest covered in blood.  The Princess placed her hands on his chest, rocking back and forth.  He had guarded her for a long time.  “No, not him.  He was with me when I went out on the streets of Tharbad.”  She looked at the faces around her, her eyes wide in horror.  “He and Baranor are the reason that I am alive,” she cried, her voice cracking.  She was feeling the deaths of too many.

The captain let out a shuddering breath.  “I have known this brave knight since before I was married and my children were born.”  He closed the man’s eyes and folded his arms over his chest.  “Go with Eru my friend.  We will be back to guide you to your rest.”  He gestured to Riston and Nirnadel.  There was still duty to perform amongst the elite Guard, the Tirrim Aran, and it could not be ignored.  “Your Highness, if you would do the honors.  The position must be filled.”

Gildor and the others bowed their heads as Nirnadel held her sword up.  Though this would be the first time for her, she knew the ceremony.  She was there when her father and brothers had performed it. All Cardolani royals knew it.  The words were simple, but it was a tradition that dated back to the time of Arnor, one of dignity and gravitas, a pact among warriors.  “Sir Riston, corporal and Arequain of the Tirrim Aran, I promote you to the rank of sergeant within the esteemed membership.  May you hold the rank with honor, valor and integrity.”  She held her hand out and he kissed her gauntlet. “Do you have one who can fill your position?”

He nodded and pointed to another knight, the man removing his helm and kneeling.  “I am Sir Lanchanar, Your Highness.  I served under your father.”

She looked at Baranor and he nodded his approval.  “Sir Lanchanar, Arequain of the Tirrim Aran, I promote you to the rank of corporal within the esteemed membership.  May you hold the rank with honor, valor and integrity.”

He kissed her gauntlet.  “I shall, my Princess.  You have my word and my honor.”

Every day, Nirnadel was learning more and more about how to be a queen, and she would be the first ruling queen in the history of Cardolan or Arnor.  Even the law stated clearly that, only in the absence of a legitimate male heir could a woman rule the land.  The weight of over 1400 years of this Dúnedain realm was falling upon her shoulders.

Gildor waved them over to the east as Alquanessë landed nearby and limped over.  She had a black eye, nearly swollen shut and claw marks on her shoulder.  She cradled her left arm and groaned as Gildor steadied her, a concerned look in his eyes.  “You…you should have seen the other vampire,” she said in a voice full of pain but trying to make light.  “The bitch ran into the sanctuary.”  She extended her arms and the injuries faded into nothing to the sound of bones creaking and tendons snapping back into place.  She stretched her back and neck at impossible angles and then smiled.  “Oh, much better but that takes so much energy.” Her skin looked pale again, more ghostly than before.  Finculion came and braced her from the other side.  He too, was pale and looked diminished.  Nirnadel couldn’t help but look at his body, lean and muscular and he was well endowed.  She gasped and looked away, invoking the music of the Ainur in her mind.

“They went east,” Gildor continued, “hiding from pursuit as they chased Finculion.  Well done,” he told the Blood-Wight.  “That allowed them to turn north to the vale without being detected.  We are more than an hour behind and we must hurry.”  He led them towards the sanctuary, the land going downwards into an excavation and they could see discarded digging equipment near the path much like that at Lond Daer.  Burned trees could be seen through the dim moonlight that peeked around the clouds from time to time amidst the rain.  Another arc of lightning flew across the sky, followed by a deep rumble of thunder.  Rain came down hard now, pelting them with heavy drops.

Elrond wiped his face as water poured from his hair. “Those trees were Huorns, living creatures that, in ancient times, the elves taught to speak.  These are two excavations, one from before the Fourteen O Nine War and one more recently.”

Gildor touched the ground where there were some footprints that were now being erased in mud.  “Our friends walked this way under an hour ago.  They’ve gone inside.”  The moon went back behind a cloud as another bolt of lightning crossed the sky.

Gandalf strode forward, his wooden staff held out, light shooting out like a lantern.  Everyone gathered at the entrance to Blogath’s Sanctuary.  Alquanessë moved next to him.  “Blogath and Balisimur are already inside, waiting for us with allies. Thuringwethil must be in there too for she will want to guard the altar.  If we can destroy it, we can cripple them.”

The wizard nodded.  “Then that is what we will do,” he said as he took a step into the sanctuary. 

Though Nirnadel had yet to wear it, the weight of the crown felt heavy with the lives of so many, and perhaps even the fate of the north on the line.  How would she be able to learn how to lead in the time before her coronation?  She could barely cope with the pain of losing people here.  How did her father and brothers deal with it?  Would she ever come close to measuring up?

CODEX:

Poleaxe – a pole weapon that is topped by a spear at the tip and an axe blade and a spike just below, facing in opposite directions.

Falchion – a thick sword with a blade more like a cleaver and a machete.  Also makes for a good tool.

Anket – a longsword.

Eket – a shortsword akin to a Roman Gladius, mostly used for stabbing.

Arequain – Royal Knight.

Tirrim Aran – Royal Guard.

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Chapter End Notes

The sword guard positions here and in previous chapters come from actual longsword guards from HEMA.  A little more world building and character development.  I want to expand on the Royal Guard, the Tirrim Aran.  I got some of the basic ideas and terms from the MERP module, Arnor.