63: Opening Gambit

Gilhael put Wídfara down when he reached the door leading out into the cemetery. He checked the younger man’s wound, which was still seeping blood but the flow had slowed. Still, it was a vicious gash and if it wasn’t treated soon the boy would die. Wídfara opened his eyes, his expression one of deep pain.

"Wh-where are we?" he whispered, trying to sit up. Gilhael pushed him back down as gently as he could, but in truth Wídfara was too weak to do more than lift his head. He settled back with a groan.

"Next time, youngster," the Dúnadan said with a wry look that did not hide his worries for the Rider’s life, "try to keep your anger in check. You were very careless back there."

Wídfara merely nodded, too tired to care.

"As to where we are," Gilhael continued, trying to keep the youngster conscious, "we’re at the door leading out to the cemetery. I’m about to open it."

"Thorongil..."

"He and Denethor are on their way back to Meduseld," the Dúnadan replied. "They wish to find the necromancer and do what damage they can while they’re at it." The smile was genuine this time and Wídfara responded with a weak smile of his own. "Now, we need to get you out of here and to the healers." Gilhael continued, "so try not to die on me before that. You wouldn’t want to disappoint Sigefred now, would you?"

"No," came the whisper of a reply, but Wídfara did not succumb to unconsciousness, as much as he wanted to. "Help me up," he said. "I will walk out of here on my own two feet."

Gilhael shook his head. "It is best if you stay where you are. You will only weaken yourself more if you try to move unnecessarily."

"I do not wish to appear helpless before the Rohirrim," Wídfara protested weakly and he did not try to stand on his own.

"I doubt if your friends will think any less of you, my friend," Gilhael said with a smile. "Now, I will open the door, but only slightly. I fear that the first response will be arrows from whoever is watching this exit."

Wídfara nodded. "Let me call out to them," he said, gathering his strength for the ordeal to come.

Gilhael nodded and threw back the bolt, praying that the door was unlocked, for they did not have the key, and sighed with relief when the door opened readily enough. As he suspected, no sooner did he open the door a crack than several arrows thudded against the wood. Wídfara shuffled closer to the opening, though Gilhael held him away from any possibility of an arrow finding its way through the space. After the darkness of the licweg, the early morning light was nearly blinding to them.

"Hold!" Wídfara yelled as loudly as he could. "It is I, Wídfara, with Tungolfród. Do not shoot."

"How do we know you are who you say you are?" came the gruff reply from one of the sentries.

"Because, Hardbeorht Heruthain’s sister-son," Wídfara said in exasperation, having recognized the speaker, "I rode with you from Helm’s Deep along with Earntungol and Grimbold. Now, stop wasting our time with silly questions. I am wounded unto death and would prefer to die under the open sky rather than in this dismal tunnel."

He gave Gilhael a weak smile, and then passed out, having expended all his strength. Gilhael scooped him into his arms and yelled out. "We’re coming out! Hold your fire!" With that he pushed the door open with a foot, squinting in the bright sunlight, and stepped cautiously out into the open. He stood there for a moment to let the archers, hidden behind the barrows, see him and hopefully recognize him and Wídfara.

Then, one of the archers stood up, his expression one of surprise and anguish. "Wídfara!" he called as he ran up to Gilhael. Others followed him, their faces creased with worry for their fellow Rider.

"He lives," Gilhael assured them, "but for how much longer I cannot say. He needs a healer now."

Hardbeorht nodded. "I will take you," he said. "What of the others, Lord Earntungol and Lord Denethor?"

"They have gone back into Meduseld," Gilhael explained, "to see if they can cause some mischief for Thengel’s benefit."

The others smiled grimly. Now that he was outside, Gilhael could hear the sounds of battle and assumed that Thengel was making his way through the streets of Edoras to reclaim his throne. "The way is open," he continued. "Take what men can be spared from the gates and go. But heed! When you reach the cavern, you will find a crude altar. Do not disturb the dust that lies on it for your life. Caution all who enter to keep wide of the altar."

The others looked at him with varying degrees of dismay and wonder. "What....?" Hardbeorht started to say but Gilhael shook his head impatiently.

"There is no time to explain. Only heed my warning. Now, I will take Wídfara to the healers." With that, he strode away. He could hear Hardbeorht giving orders and then the Rider was running to catch up.

"I will lead you," he said. "The healers are not far."

 Gilhael just nodded, concentrating on making his way through the barrows with his burden. "Stay with me, Wídfara," he said softly to the unconscious man, speaking Sindarin. "Do not heed Lord Námo’s call just yet." If the young Rider heard him, he gave no sign.

****

Aragorn and Denethor reached the top of the stairs and paused to catch their breaths, for they had taken them at a near run in hopes of catching up with the Umbari and his guards. "Do you think the Umbari will have reinforcements?" Denethor asked in a whisper.

"I do not know," Aragorn said truthfully. "We can only hope that there are too many other things on the rebels' minds to worry about us."

Denethor nodded. "Then let us see what awaits us beyond the door. If it’s possible we must keep the way clear for Thengel’s men who will follow."

"Douse the torch," Aragorn said. "It will make us less a target if anyone is waiting on the other side."

"Let us hope they did not bar it."

"I doubt that it can be," Aragorn replied. "There is little space behind the arras as you saw and the bed is too heavy to move."

With the torch doused, the two were plunged into darkness. Aragorn took hold of Denethor’s arm and waited for a moment or two until his eyes had adjusted to the dark. They were not in total darkness, as he had feared, for up ahead he saw a faint outline of the door and realized it had been left open. Squeezing Denethor’s wrist as a signal, he released his hold on the Gondorian and slowly crept towards the door, his sword in hand. Denethor followed silently behind him.

When they reached the door, they paused again, this time to listen for sounds from the other side, for they could see nothing of the room save the back of the arras which concealed them from the eyes of anyone on the other side. They could detect no sound, but that did not assure them. Aragorn nodded to Denethor, his expression grim and determined. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he thrust his sword forward to move the arras out of the way and at the same time crouched low as he ran out in case there were archers. Yet, when he straightened, he found the room empty.

"Come," he said to Denethor. "The way is clear."

Denethor came out and together they made for the door, only to find it locked. Denethor gave Aragorn a wry smile. "And do they think a little thing like a locked door would deter us?" he asked rhetorically, even as he crouched down to pick the lock a second time.

"How do you know how to do that?" Aragorn asked.

Denethor gave a chuckle. "Damrod, my second," he said. "A man of many talents, not the least of which is getting himself in and out of trouble the way others get in and out of their tunics. Lockpicking comes in handy when one finds oneself in prison."

"He escaped from prison?" Aragorn asked incredulously. "Why was he in prison?"

"A minor offense," Denethor said, "and normally he would have been sent to the quarries for his troubles, but I saw great potential in him and decided to recruit him for the Rangers. Father never approved, but Damrod has never disappointed me."

As he finished speaking there was an audible click and then the door was swinging open. Again they found the corridor empty. "I suppose they figured a lock door would be enough of a hindrance," Denethor said with a contemptuous shrug. "So which way do we go? Back to the kitchens or...."

"Let us see what is happening in the central hall," Aragorn said. "If there is any defense being planned against Thengel, it will be there."

The Gondorian nodded and allowed Aragorn to take the lead again. They traversed the corridor leading away from the back stairs, making their way stealthily towards the throne hall. They came to another set of stairs. "This leads to an anteroom behind the throne dais," Aragorn explained. "There are bound to be guards below."

Denethor nodded. "We’ll just have to take our chances."

Yet, when they came to the anteroom, there was no one. The place was eerily silent. Moving quietly to the door that led to the main hall, Aragorn opened it just a crack and peeked out, then closed the door as silently as he could, motioning for Denethor to follow him out of the room and back to the stairs.

"The hall is full of people," he said. "I could not see much for there is a guard standing just before the door, but there was much scurrying about."

"I heard voices yelling, but could not make out the words," Denethor said.

"They were speaking Rohirric," Aragorn replied. "Someone was issuing orders to set guards around Meduseld. Apparently, Thengel has indeed entered Edoras and makes his way here."

"The rebels have the advantage over Thengel, though," Denethor said, "for he will have to climb the tor to reach Meduseld and will be fired upon from above."

"Unless we offer the rebels enough of a diversion that their attention is drawn away from the king and his army."

"Any ideas?" Denethor asked with a quirk of his lips, his eyes dancing with merriment. The odds were against them, for they were only two against an unknown number of the enemy.

"Go back to the licweg and wait for Thengel’s men. Let them know what is happening."

"And what will you be doing?" Denethor demanded with a scowl, for he did not like the idea of the two being separated. There was too much danger for them both.

"I will remain here and make sure none come through. Also I want to find out what has happened to the Umbari," Aragorn said. "He can still be a danger to us with his spells."

"He was wounded," Denethor pointed out. "It’s unlikely he will be in the middle of the fighting."

"Wounded, yes," Aragorn agreed, "but perhaps not incapacitated. He may have other surprises in store for Thengel’s men. I mean to make sure he is unable to bespell them."

Denethor’s expression was one of exasperation. "He could very well be in the hall with the others."

"Most likely. I hope to find out just where he is, though, for I mean to take him out before all else. He is the most dangerous of them all."

Denethor scowled more deeply. "I like not this plan of yours, yet I have none of my own to offer. I will do as you say and lead the Rohirrim here when they come. Take care, brother, for I would have us draw swords together once again."

"We will," Aragorn assured him. "I will not take any foolish risks." He gave him a broad smile. "We Dúnedain of the North are well trained in stealth."

Denethor simply nodded. "I will go then. Don’t start anything until I get back," he admonished Aragorn with a grin of his own. Then he was bounding up the stairs and Aragorn was making his way back into the anteroom to listen at the door once again.

He pondered what could be done with however many men would join them from the licweg. He could not count on an entire éored, not even half of one, so their options would be limited. He opened the door again. The guard shifted slightly from his stance, but the view did not improve and he could not see very far into the hall. He realized, somewhat belatedly, that most likely the guard was invisible to anyone in the hall because of where he was standing. Only someone directly in front of him would see him. Perhaps if they timed it just right, they could remove the guard and replace him with one of their own men with no one the wiser. Then it would be easy for them to sneak into the hall and confront those within. That would certainly disrupt any plans they might be making against Thengel.

He smiled, running the plan through his mind. It might just work, but even if it didn’t, having some of Thengel’s men storm the hall from within might be just enough of a diversion to help the king.

Aragorn carefully closed the door again and waited for the reinforcements, wondering how Gilhael and Wídfara were faring and just where Thengel might be in all this.

****

Gilhael was in a dilemma. Once he got Wídfara to the healers, he planned to return to the fighting. He had already decided not to go back through the licweg but to enter Edoras through the gates and look for Thengel. Yet, when he reached the healers’ tent he wondered if it would not be better to stay there and offer his aid. All about were men, both Rohirrim and Gondorians, who were wounded or even dying, their moans of pain and distress an eerie descant to the shouts and clashing of swords that could be heard coming from the city where the battle raged. He was not the healer his cousin was, but his skills were greater than those of the few leeches who were tending to the wounded. Most of them were women who had followed the army, having some knowledge of herblore, but there were not enough of them and Gilhael knew that as the fighting progressed more and more wounded would be making their way here. Soon, he feared, the healers might be overwhelmed and many who could have been saved would be lost. Wídfara, at least, was safe and his wound had been tended to, so Gilhael felt his duty to the young Rider was done, yet, looking about at the others waiting to be treated, he was torn.

"Do you mean to stand there all day, lord, or will you return to the fighting?"

Gilhael looked to see Beornwyn standing there. He remembered her as the woman Aragorn had saved from the plague. Her expression was one of polite indifference and he had to smile. "With your leave, mistress, I would stay and help with the wounded. I have some knowledge of healing and one more sword will not make a difference as to the outcome of this day’s fighting."

Beornwyn nodded, her expression one of approval. "Then your skills will be welcome here, lord. And think not that you will not be fighting in any more battles today, only that the battle being fought here is of a different kind."

Gilhael nodded, knowing the truth of her words. "Where would you like me to start?" he asked.

"You may start with that one," she pointed to one of Denethor’s men who had suffered an arrow through his shoulder.

The Dúnadan bowed to the woman and went to check on his first patient.

****

Thengel and his men were waiting for the moment when the gates would open, having formed their lines while it was still dark. Now the sky was turning blue with the coming sunrise. Without warning, though, the postern gate opened and someone stepped out waving a piece of white cloth as a token of surrender. Thengel did not know what to make of it, but decided to investigate. Ordering Hildebrand to accompany him, he made his way to the gate, wariness turning to delight at the sight of Gléomund standing there. Their meeting was a glad one, though brief.

"What is happening, my friend?" Thengel said. "I feared you were dead."

"Not I, lord," the old tutor replied with a short laugh. "As to what is happening, Lord Thorongil and those with him have gone into Meduseld by a secret way. He bade us to open the gate for you."

"Us?"

Gléomund nodded. "Come. I will show you." He led the two men back through the postern to be greeted by Captain Folcwine and the others who had helped to capture the gates. Thengel noticed several men sitting against the wall of the guardhouse, trussed up and gagged, glaring balefully at them all, even as he clasped the captain by the shoulders in welcome.

"Another whom we thought dead," he said. "Glad I am that it is not so."

"As am I, Thengel King," Folcwine said with a smile, "though it nearly was so and only by the bravery of your people was I rescued from death."

Thengel nodded. "And for that I am thankful. What resistance will we find?"

"We think that most of the rebels are holed up in Meduseld and that is where the greatest resistance will be," Folcwine said. "Many of the common soldiers and guards who had nothing to do with the rebellion have been placed in the lower sections of the city, forced to comply with the commands of the rebels out of fear of retaliation against their kin. They will be goaded to fight against you but their hearts will not be in it. I think, though, that given the right incentive, they will turn on their masters."

"What incentive do you suggest?" Thengel asked, his expression curious.

Folcwine smiled grimly. "Me," he replied. "Most believe me dead, but if they see me alive and fighting by your side...."

Thengel nodded his understanding, then looked at the old tutor. "You say that Thorongil and the other three have entered Meduseld by a secret way?"

"Aye," the man said. "It leads into the kitchens. I can show the way."

Thengel turned to Hildebrand. "Tell Wulfred to choose twenty men, those skilled in stealth and archery as well as in swordplay, and bring them to me."

The First Marshal nodded and went back to the waiting éored, issuing orders. A few minutes later he returned with Wulfred and twenty other men, a mixed group of fighters from Rohan and Gondor. Thengel told them what he wanted from them and soon they were away with Gléomund and Sigefred. In the meantime, the main gates were opened and Thengel then turned to Folcwine. "It is unlikely that we will be able to take Meduseld, for the rebels have the advantage of terrain, even if we have the advantage of surprise. Therefore, let us keep them occupied while Wulfred and his men make their way there. Hopefully they will meet up with Thorongil and the others and be able to attack from within. We will concentrate on convincing those unfortunates who will be forced to fight for the rebels to turn on them and join us."

Folcwine nodded, drawing his sword. "For Rohan! For Thengel King! Forth Eorlingas!" he shouted and those around him took up the cry, their voices reverberating through the city. Thengel’s army stormed into Edoras on foot, for the narrow streets would make fighting from horseback nearly impossible. As they entered through the gates, Hildered and Hilderic led the charge, while several men veered off as planned and made for the stables to keep them from the rebels.

Thengel had hoped to take the city by surprise with the dawn attack, and he mostly succeeded, but Folcwine’s estimation as to the rebels’ strength fell short, for there were many more pouring out of the barracks in the lower city than originally thought. Thus, resistance was greater than anticipated as the rebels began attacking Thengel’s army, often from strategic locations throughout the lower city that offered suitable ambush. Even with the addition of Erkenbard’s men from Aldburg and those from Gondor, Thengel’s army was still outnumbered, yet they had no choice but to continue fighting. If they retreated now, Edoras would be lost and Thengel would have missed his one chance to regain his throne. In the eyes of many of Thengel’s warriors, death was preferable to permanent exile, which would be their fate if they failed to take back the city.

Slowly Thengel’s army made their way towards Meduseld, though not in as straightforward a manner as they had hoped. Often they found that the most direct routes were blocked by enemy fighters and thus were forced to make detours.

"Why are they trying to force us into the Scamelas?" Hildebrand shouted to Thengel even as he parried a blow that would have struck the king, who was busy fighting off another man. It was true that the enemy forces that had attacked them now appeared to be falling back into a more defensive position, leading the king and his men westward.

"An ambush, I deem," Thengel replied as he smote his attacker, sending him into the arms of death.

"It’s narrow enough for one," the First Marshal averred. "I only hope my sons are not having as difficult a time as we," he added, for Hildered and Hilderic were leading their own men in sorties against the rebels.

"There’s more to it than a simple ambush," Folcwine said, fighting on Thengel’s right, "but there is no time to explain. Something evil lurks in the Scamelas, though I cannot say what it might be. We should turn back."

"We might have no choice," Hildebrand said, "for see you, more enemy soldiers are closing in from behind."

It was true. Thengel and a dozen of his thegns along with Hildebrand and Folcwine had been cut off from the main fighting force, which had moved south and east, and were now being driven west where the streets were the most narrow and abutted right against the mount where Meduseld sat. Thengel and his men passed what had once been a warehouse but presently housed many of the enemy, who were now pouring out onto the street behind the king’s forces, cutting off their escape. The fighting became more fierce then. At one point Thengel stumbled on the uneven cobblestones and would have been decapitated right then and there save for Folcwine coming in and neatly parrying the downward swinging blade. In a few swift movements he unarmed the assailant and slit the man’s throat. Thengel, meantime, found his footing and gave the captain a nod of thanks before rejoining the fight, slaying two men who had thought to take advantage of the king’s momentary inattention.

They were still outnumbered, but Thengel’s men were slowly winnowing the number of enemies down to make the fight more even. Yet Thengel sensed a rising anticipation among the enemy fighters, as if they knew that they had the upper hand. The beleaguered king wondered, but there was little time to ponder the meaning of what he felt for now they had passed into the Scamelas itself and for the first time Thengel despaired.

Waiting for them were nearly a score of the enemy, fresh and ready for battle, while Thengel and his men were already tiring from the day’s fighting. They were trapped.