Bagrish crept up to the edge of the low rise.  He raised his hand, indicating a pause to the companies behind him.  Lugnashk crept up next to him.

“Well ain’t that a pretty sight.  The Steward’s banner and ‘is troops trapped between the rivers.”

Half a mile away Bagrish watched Gondor maneuver archers into position and form soldiers in ranks.  In back of them the Steward’s banner snapped in the breeze.  They were faced south towards the Balchoth.  No defenses had been readied for an attack from the west.

“Don’t get no ideas, Lugnashk.” Bagrish growled.  “You want to be a pincushion for their darts?  No.  Let the brutes from the East take arrows in the eye.  Let ‘em cross the river and push them soldiers back.”

“And get all the glory and loot?”  Lugnashk protested

“No, you fool.  After they spill a lot of ’eir blood, then we crash in and finish off the Steward, take what we can off the dead.  Then be on our way.”

Lugnashk grunted, signaling his understanding and acceptance of Bagrish’s rude logic.

They would wait, Bagrish thought, for no more than an hour.  He would nearly be right.