64: The Tide Turns

Aragorn turned from where he was crouched by the door leading to the main hall to see Denethor coming into the room followed by Wulfred and Hardbeorht and thirty other men, ten of them archers. The Gondorian smiled broadly at the look of disbelief on the Ranger’s face.

"We met outside in the corridor," he said softly. "Thengel sent Wulfred through the tunnels with Gléomund’s aid."

"We were told you might be in need of assistance, Lord Earntungol," the Rider said with a grin.

Hardbeorht grinned as well, though his look was more sheepish. "I fear I could only round up a few men, lord," he said, indicating the archers who had watched over the barrows in case any of the enemy attempted to leave the city through the licweg.

Aragorn gave the younger man a warm hug. "Your archers are most welcome, as are you, Wulfred. Glad I am that Thengel King has entered the city. Let us see what we might do to help him to regain his throne."

He quickly filled them in as to the situation in the outer hall. "I cannot see the actors but I can hear them clearly enough," he told them. "Somewhere in the crowd is a practitioner of the dark arts, an Umbari."

The Riders exchanged uneasy glances but refrained from commenting.

"Do not concern yourselves with him. He is my responsibility. Concentrate on the others. We want the leaders alive if at all possible. I have no doubt the king will want to hold very public trials after he has regained his throne."

They nodded grimly. "How do you propose to take the hall?" Denethor asked. "We do not even know what numbers we will be facing."

"I know, but I came up with a plan while waiting for your return. I did not know how many men we would have so I kept it very simple, but with this many we should have a better chance of succeeding."

"What is your plan, lord?" Wulfred asked.

Aragorn smiled and the others listened attentively as he outlined his idea. Slow smiles spread across their faces as they realized just what the Dúnadan meant to do, smiles that were anything but pleasant as the light of battle glittered in their eyes.

****

In the end, Wulfred decided that he would be the one to take the guard’s place. "I am closer to his build than the others," he said after taking a peek through the door. "With the helm over my head, and standing in the shadows, I will not be recognized as other than what I seem."

So it was decided. Aragorn, however, insisted that he be the one to take the guard out. "I have skills at stealth that you do not," he said to Wulfred and the Rider reluctantly agreed. The others all stood back from the door, dousing all but one of their torches, leaving them in near darkness. Silently, Aragorn opened the door just wide enough to slip through while Denethor stood by. The Dúnadan moved cautiously behind the guard who shifted uneasily as if he knew something was not right but was unsure what. Aragorn did not give him time to react, but rose from his crouch and grabbed him with his left arm around his throat while simultaneously covering the man’s mouth with his right hand. He then pulled the hapless Rohir back into the room.

Denethor quickly closed the door while Aragorn subdued the guard, sending him into unconsciousness before stripping him of his cloak and helm, handing them to Wulfred who donned them and grabbed the guard’s weapons as well. When he was ready, he nodded to Denethor who opened the door again, first checking to see if anyone had noticed the guard’s absence and then Wulfred slipped past him to take up his station.

The entire maneuver took less than two minutes to accomplish. Aragorn, meanwhile, had trussed up the guard with strips of cloth torn from the man’s own tunic and pushed him behind a settee where he was not likely to be found immediately. Then he signaled to the others who followed him and Denethor out into the hall, quietly slipping into the corners of the room behind the dais, waiting for Aragorn to give them the signal to attack.

Aragorn, however, wanted to find the necromancer first. He deemed him to be more dangerous than any of the Rohirrim who were a part of the rebellion. It sickened him to think that Umbar, and through the Black Númenóreans, Sauron, might gain a foothold in the Riddermark. If that ever happened, then Gondor would certainly be doomed and the North would be threatened as well. He hoped that with the squashing of the rebels and Thengel’s return to the throne, that threat would cease, but he had no illusions. Once a toehold was found, it could be used to open up doors to further evils.

He moved silently to Wulfred’s right, gliding Elf-like as his brothers had taught him to stand behind a pillar. He gazed out into the hall, trying to identify the Umbari among the sea of Rohirrim and Haradi. Luckily, there was only a handful of the darker skinned Southrons and they appeared to be clustered around one area to the left of the throne, where a Rohir sat in negligent ease. He was old, perhaps as old as Thengel, for his straw-colored hair was mostly grey, as were his mustaches. While his body was still lean and muscular, there was a hint of fat around his middle that spoke of a life of ease. In spite of that, Aragorn was not so foolish as to assume the man could not hold his own in a fight. There was a hard-boiled look in his cold blue eyes that spoke of one who was used to giving pain, and more, enjoyed the giving. Aragorn’s eyes shifted to the knot of Haradi and saw the Umbari amongst them. His head was swathed in a bandage and he looked to be in a foul mood.

"I tell you the licweg has been breached," the necromancer fairly screamed, speaking in Westron with a heavy accent, clutching his head. Aragorn hoped the man was suffering a major headache. "Our little surprise for Thengel is gone."

"So come up with another surprise, Kadarphazgân Zigûr-bên," the man on the throne said with a sneer, waving a hand in dismissal. Aragorn grimaced at the title by which the Umbari had been called. "Four men and one of them wounded, perhaps unto death. I doubt they will cause too much trouble."

"Where there are four, there will be others, Guthláf," Kadarphazgân sneered. "I wouldn’t be too complacent if I were you. Sixteen men you sent with me and how many returned?"

Guthláf scowled, obviously not pleased with the reminder. "I will send some men to deal with the intruders," he said dismissively. "They are not going anywhere with the door locked. You, on the other hand, promised me that Thengel’s army would run screaming." His eyes went dark and dangerous as he leaned forward to glare at the Umbari. "Well, they’re screaming all right. They’re screaming their way up the tor even as we speak."

"It will take me some time to gather my spells...."

"Don’t bore me with the details, Umbari," Guthláf snarled. "Just get on with it, I...."

He was interrupted by someone running into the hall at a fast clip. Guthláf glared at the runner. "What is it, Waldamer?" he demanded impatiently. "I thought I told you to take care of...."

"Forgive me, Lord Guthláf," Waldamer said, "but you should know that Thengel has been driven into the Scamelas. He is trapped."

Guthláf smiled unpleasantly as he turned his attention to the Umbari. "Thengel will fight whatever the odds. He could very easily be killed. I don’t want that. I want him alive. Go with Waldamer and see to it that he does not suffer so much as a scratch." There was an unspoken threat to his tone that escaped no one’s notice, least of all the Umbari’s. Guthláf then turned back to Waldamer. "Kill anyone else who is with him, but bring Thengel to me alive."

Waldamer bowed and started back down the nave of the hall, stopping beside Kadarphazgân who glared daggers at both men before nodding. "So be it, Guthláf." He gestured to one of the Haradi. "Tammuz, come with us. I will need you for the spell I shall cast."

Aragorn noticed the look of terror mingled with hatred in the Haradi’s eyes and how the other Haradi seemed to shrink away from their hapless companion without actually moving, but the man did not refuse his master. Even as the three started back down the hall, Aragorn gestured to Hardbeorht who was hiding nearby and the Rider stole to his side. Putting his lips to the Rider’s ear Aragorn whispered, "Take the Umbari, but do not kill him."

Hardbeorht nodded, stepped to the side for a better view of the Umbari and shot an arrow. The man cried out in pain as the arrow drove into his shoulder, spinning him around. That was the signal for the other archers to loose their own arrows, having already chosen their targets. The sight of the Umbari falling with an arrow in his shoulder sent the rest of the hall into a panic. Guthláf rose from his seat, and backed away from the dais, screaming for his guards to cover him.

Many of the other men in the hall were drawing swords, trying to form into a defensive force, looking around for the source of the arrows but they were given little chance to form up, for after the barrage of arrows, Wulfred drew his sword, holding it up high. "Forth Eorlingas!" he shouted and the cry was taken up by the rest as they ran into the hall, their own swords drawn, ready to strike the enemy.

"Elendil!" Aragorn shouted as he joined in the fray.

"To me, men of Gondor!" Denethor exclaimed as he too ran out from the shadows and the nine Gondorians who had joined Wulfred’s group rallied to their Steward’s heir even as he was striking a blow at one of the Haradi.

There was a great deal of confusion as the two sides clashed. Aragorn grieved in his heart to see Rohir killing Rohir and shuddered as he remembered the tales Erestor had told him about the Kin-strife that had nearly destroyed Gondor fifteen hundred years earlier. He was fighting one of the traitorous Rohir himself, trying to reach the Umbari’s side. Waldamer had fled, leaving Kadarphazgân lying on the floor near the fire pit with only Tammuz standing over him, but none approached him, for Aragorn had stressed that only he or Denethor should take the necromancer. Denethor, he could see, was holding his own against one of the Haradi, taking him down and going after Guthláf, who had drawn his own sword but still kept within the circle of his men, unwilling to fight yet himself. His expression was murderous though and Aragorn had little doubt that the man could be deadly with the sword when there was need. He pushed the traitor from his mind, concentrating on reaching the Umbari. Even wounded, he could prove more dangerous than the rest.

Slowly, inch by inch, he made his way towards the center of the hall, dodging soldiers until he was facing the Haradi standing over his lord, his scimitar at the ready.

"Why do you fight for him?" Aragorn asked, speaking in Westron, even as he came near. "He would have sacrificed you to his dark arts. What hold has he over you?"

For an answer the Haradi merely snarled. Then he attacked with a vicious sweep of his curved blade that forced Aragorn to jump back in order to avoid being sliced open. He brought his own sword up and his heart sank. He had seen the fear and hatred in the man’s eyes when Kadarphazgân had singled him out from his fellows and had hoped to win him over, but one look at the Haradi’s expression and he knew the necromancer had too firm a grip on the man’s soul. However much he might fear and hate the Umbari, he would not desert him. Then all thoughts about saving the Haradi fled as the ferociousness of the man’s attack forced Aragorn to concentrate on saving his own life.

****

Thengel stared at the soldiers standing further up the Scamelas, their weapons drawn, waiting, while his thegns attempted to keep the enemy behind them at bay and sighed wearily. He was tiring and he knew that he and the few troops who had followed him into the trap could not possibly survive the slaughter that awaited them. He turned to look at Hildebrand and Folcwine, both wearing grim expressions on their blood-streaked faces and cast them a wry look. "I can take the ones on the right while you deal with those on the left," he said half in jest and the other two snorted at the king’s attempt at humor.

"Just so long as you do not try to claim all the glory for yourself, Uncle, I suppose that will be fine," Hildebrand said with a straight face and Thengel laughed at the absurdity of it all.

"Then let us see what we can do to make our ending as glorious as possible," he said. Then he raised his sword. "For Rohan!" he cried.

"For Rohan! For Thengel King!" Hildebrand and Folcwine shouted almost at the same time and the three charged up the street ready to sell their lives as dearly as possible. Behind them Thengel’s few remaining thegns battled on, hoping to buy their liege a few extra minutes of life. None of them expected to see the sun’s setting. One of them began to sing a dirge which the others picked up on and their fighting became more frenzied as they attempted to take as many of the enemy with them before they fell into death’s embrace.

Thengel heard the singing behind him even as he engaged the first of the fighters waiting for him and he laughed again, more loudly than before. It had been a good run, he thought, and his only real regret was that he would never see his wife and children again. At least, if Lord Béma was kind, they would find safety in Gondor. He and Morwen had discussed it before he left Dunharrow and she had promised to flee with their children to Gondor and seek asylum with Ecthelion. He smiled, content in his heart that at least his son and heir would live and perhaps someday with Gondor’s aid, he would be able to reclaim his father’s throne.

He laughed again, a fey mood taking him as he dealt out death and then he began singing his own dirge. A moment later he heard Hildebrand and Folcwine joining him.

****

Cyneric stood among the troops at the top of the Scamelas in dismay. He hated what he was about to do, for he was loyal to Rohan and to its rightful king. Circumstances, however, had forced him to bow to the traitors who now held Edoras. When he learned that Thengel had come to reclaim his throne he had been secretly glad but knew that there was little chance of the king succeeding. Now he was among the troop about to slaughter the king and his loyal thegns. Cyneric swallowed nervously, fear stealing through his veins like ice, robbing him of his courage. He was just a simple city guard, pledged to see to the safety and well-being of the citizens of Edoras. The most dangerous thing he had ever done until now was to chase after some chickens that had escaped from Widow Éothryth’s coop. And now, he was about to become cyningslaga.

At least he was not in the first row of fighters, for the street was narrow, perhaps three men wide. He watched in growing despair as Thengel and two of his men rushed them. It was only as they drew closer that Cyneric recognized the man on the right. He gasped in disbelief and then in growing excitement.

"Folcwine!" he screamed. "Captain Folcwine for Thengel!" And then, heedless of the furor his shout was causing among the troop, he drew his sword and swiped at one of the hated traitors, a guard captain who had enjoyed tormenting him. "Save the king! Folcwine lives!" he fairly screamed, turning to attack yet another of the troop. "Up Thengelingas! Now is the hour to fulfill your oaths to lord and land!"

Others among the troop who were still secretly loyal to Thengel took up the cry and began setting on those among the troop known to be in league with Guthláf and the old queen. Suddenly Cyneric found himself facing his closest friend, Rædwulf, who had helped the traitors, fearing for the safety of his family. Even when his wife and child were safely out of the city, he had continued aiding Waldamer and his cronies. Cyneric had tried to convince him not to turn against his own people, but Rædwulf would not listen. Now, they were staring at one another.

"Fool!" Rædwulf snarled. "Do you think Thengel will win against them, against the Dark One and his magic?"

"Only if we remain true to our oaths and fight for him, Rædwulf," Cyneric pleaded. "Will you condemn Ashlind and Wulfstan to exile, bereft of kith and kin because you yielded to the traitors? Do they deserve that from you?"

"It’s too late for me," Rædwulf said in a hoarse whisper. "If I survive and Thengel regains his throne, death or exile will be my lot."

"No, Rædwulf," Cyneric insisted. "Join me. Fight beside me as my brother-in-arms. The king is wise and merciful. He will understand why you did what you did, but only if you help him now. This is your chance to redeem yourself. You will never get another."

"And if Thengel fails to regain his throne?" Rædwulf demanded hotly. "What then?"

"Death is preferable to the alternative, my friend," Cyneric said bluntly. "Better to die fighting for what you know is right than to stand aside in hopes that the outcome will be in your favor. This is the moment, Rædwulf. Choose now. Join me, or fight me. Which will it be?"

For a moment Rædwulf stared at his one-time friend and saw the sincerity in his eyes, as well as the resolve to fight him if he had to. He glanced about him. The two had wedged themselves between two stalls to hold their debate and had been ignored by all. The battle had moved further down the street and had become a melee as a few of the guards turned on their fellows. The shock of it had given them the advantage at first but they were still outnumbered by the traitors and it was obvious that Thengel and his men would not long survive. Yet still they fought on.

Cyneric pointed to the captain of the guard, long thought dead at Waldamer’s hands. "Look!" he said. "We all thought Captain Folcwine dead. Yet there he stands fighting beside his king. Not all is lost, brother. If we are to die today, let us at least die fighting for the right side. Let us not be known forever more as cyningslagan."

Rædwulf hesitated for another moment, then stole a glance at Cyneric who gazed at him steadily. Then he nodded. "For Thengel," he whispered and then with a yell he raised his sword and ran down to join the fighting with Cyneric behind him. "Folcwine lives!" he yelled even as he started slashing at his opponent, one of the men who had helped take Meduseld and claimed that Captain Folcwine had been executed. "Waldamer lied. Folcwine lives and so does our king. Men of Edoras, throw off the shackles of slavery. If we die, let us die as free men." With a sweeping arc of his sword he slashed the other man’s throat.

That seemed to be the impetus that some of the other men needed and now several more of them declared themselves for Thengel and began attacking those who still fought for Guthláf. Side-by-side, Cyneric and Rædwulf fought and when Rædwulf began singing an old battle song as counterpoint to the dirge that was being sung by Thengel’s men, Cyneric joined right in. Soon others took up the song. Shivers ran up and down Cyneric’s spine when he realized that Thengel himself had joined in the singing.

He felt his spirits lift. Death might well be his lot that day, as Lord Béma willed, but it would be glorious and that was all that mattered to him at that moment.

****

Kadarphazgân: (Adûnaic) ‘City-conqueror’.

Zigûr-bên: (Adûnaic) ‘Wizard’s Servant’. Zigûr was the Adûnaic form of Sauron [see ‘The Notion Club Papers’ and ‘The Drowning of Anadúnë’, HoME vol. 9, Sauron Defeated].

Cyningslaga: (Rohirric/Anglo-Saxon) King-slayer. The plural would be cyningslagan. The act of regicide would be cyningslege.