Cirion emerged from his field tent on a slight knoll, standing quietly, looking at the stars wheeling above.  He sighed heavily, reviewing once again the latest scout’s report which had confirmed his worst fears.

The Balchoth were massing at the Undeeps, their wains bringing supplies and countless rafts they would use to cross and ravage Calenardhon.  He could not permit that to succeed. 

Cirion looked out over the plain below him.  Campfires flickered in the darkness.  He had 10,000 battleworthy soldiers.  More could not be spared for risk of inviting attack from the south or east.  His son Hallas had remained in Minas Tirith, entrusted with its defense

The scout had estimated at least 10,000 crudely armed Balchoth, with another 10,000 to come.  They carried clubs, short spears, some with hatchets.  They bore no chain mail, just padded coarse tunics, some with a leather curiass.  They did not deign helms, letting their black hair run wild. 

Cirion’s men carried swords, short spears and small circular shields. Some had forgone the spears for short battle hatchets.   Armor included helmets and chain mail hauberks.   One tenth of his forces were archers. 

It might not be enough.

So he thought, as he heard footsteps approach.

“You’ve received the scout report” a gravelly rasp queried.

“Yes, general.  Such numbers.”  Cirion replied to Vorandur, general of Gondor’s north army.  An old campaigner he was nonetheless still a canny tactician and firm disciplinarian.

“So be it.  We cannot retreat back to Minas Tirith.  That will not lessen their numbers.  And we would cede all of Calenardhon.”

“No we cannot.  We either have the strength to defend the kingdom or Gondor falls.”

Cirion’s thoughts went back to the tenth day of the month when he had sent Borondir and his companion north, the first of three pairs seeking out the Eotheod.  Even then he had feared the worst, an attack in such numbers to overwhelm his better equipped army. 

Even if Borondir survived a ride of over two hundred leagues, there was no assurance that the horsemen would come, would come in sufficient numbers, and most importantly, would come in time.

More than two weeks had passed since the riders galloped off.   

“General, what is our timetable?”

“We are at least two weeks march from the Undeeps.  It will take the Balchoth many days to organize themselves on the east bank of the Anduin.  Then they must take their rafts across the river and reassemble on the western shore.  That will take time and they will be vulnerable.”

Cirion smiled.  It had a chance.  Let them land a third of their force on the west bank.  With the army had at hand he would have the numbers to annihilate their vanguard.  That would begin to even the odds should they still proceed.

It had to work.