Chapter 285 285: Threefold Reinforcements
The next day the sky was overcast.
Dew beaded upon the withered grasses of the wilderness, cold and clear, yet the banners of the realm still streamed proudly in the chill wind.
Under Kaen Eowenríel's command, an allied host of slowly took shape. Three thousand Caladhîn shadow-wardens, fifteen hundred of the King's Guard, and five thousand Vanyar warriors stood in ordered ranks. Most of the Vanyar had stepped forward of their own will, offering themselves to the coming storm. Many among them had seen more than five thousand years, and long lives had honed their skill at arms until there were few indeed who had ever been bested in battle.
Led by Kaen and Cardilaman, the ten thousand set forth toward the valley of Alcarosto, the Vanyar refugees watched them go in silence. Ingolossë had been forced by Cardilaman to remain behind, his duty now to guard those who could not fight. Before departing, Kaen laid a great concealment upon the valley, weaving cloaking spells about the surrounding hills so that no hostile eye would easily find that hidden refuge.
They crossed range after range, until at last Kaen and Cardilaman, with their host, climbed the final ridge. When they crested it and saw the valley of Alcarosto far below, every breath seemed to catch in their throats.
Thick smoke rolled over the valley floor, and the radiance of the Mountain of the Sacred Tree was all but smothered, scarcely visible through the murk. At the mountain's roots the banners of the Dark Númenóreans flapped harshly in the poisoned wind. Countless black shapes writhed upon the slopes, the armies assaulting the heights. The enemy were beyond number, a dark mass that filled the whole valley like a living shadow. Only at the summit, where the Starry Sacred Tree still stood, was there any light to be seen.
All who looked upon that sight felt, though they were yet far away, that a desperate struggle was raging there.
...
Then from the eastern edge of the world there came the low call of horns, riding on the wind. As the new-risen sun touched the land, a great cavalry host emerged from the glow, their shapes slowly sharpening against the morning sky.
Kaen glanced once, and understanding flashed in his eyes. He drew his sword and called out, his voice ringing bright. "The reinforcements of Gondor and Rohan have come as well. Sound the horns of attack!"
"The King's Guard in the front, shadow-wardens in the center, Vanyar soldiers behind. Become a blade, become a spear-point, and together we shall tear through the dark. All free lives, follow my light. Charge!"
"Kill!"
"Kill!"
"Kill!"
Kaen spurred his Mearas forward, riding at the very point of the spear. The army rolled after him like a golden torrent, surging toward the beleaguered mountain.
Cardilaman rode at his side. She clenched in her hand the silver sword her father had once given her as a birthday gift. In that moment she was no longer a princess to be sheltered, but a warrior ready to stand before the darkness, for her father, for Laurenandë, for the light itself.
...
On the eastern side of Alcarosto, Prince Théoden of Rohan and General Melondel of Gondor led thirty thousand riders. With them rode the Caladhîn shadow-wardens whom Kaen had sent ahead. One of the shadow-wardens pointed toward the battle, his voice bright with excitement. "Look! Our lord has already begun the assault!"
Théoden and Melondel shared a brief glance and nodded. Then, as one, they drew their swords.
"Knights of Rohan!"
"Warriors of Gondor!"
"For half a month we have ridden without rest, crossing mountains and rivers, passing over the long wild. We came to drive out the darkness."
"Now the enemy stand before us, trampling the homes of our allies. Countless Elves have already fallen beneath their shadow."
"Take up your weapons. Prepare yourselves for battle."
"To stand against the dark is the duty of every free folk."
"To fight the dark is the fate of every true warrior."
"Follow the banners. Follow the call of your hearts. Charge. Charge with me!"
"For the Alliance, kill!"
The thirty thousand riders of Gondor and Rohan swept out of the East like a roaring flood. They smashed through the Orcish lines, long spears impaling foes and hurling them aside. Where their hooves passed, only ruin and broken bodies remained.
Young Théoden swung his sword as he plunged into the foe before all others. "For Gondor! For Rohan! For the light!" he cried, and his voice carried over the clash of steel.
The cavalry of Gondor, under Melondel's hand, fell into a vast wedge-formation and drove straight toward the Dark Númenórean center. Their armor gleamed coldly in the sun, and the forest of spears they carried punched through the enemy ranks with dreadful ease.
These were two peoples of a single ancient blood, born of one forefather and sundered by different choices. One had turned to darkness. One still clung to freedom. Now they crashed together, lifting their weapons without mercy and cutting one another down.
In the valley of Alcarosto the stench of blood drowned the cool fragrance of the Sacred Tree.
Of the fifteen thousand who had first held the mountain, scarcely a third remained, yet those few still clung stubbornly to the upper slopes, holding back the rising tide.
Suddenly the Sacred Tree upon the summit seemed to feel something. It burst into a blaze of brilliant light, and its radiance swept the air, driving away the black mists that shrouded the heights.
Ingwion, locked in combat with a Nazgûl, felt the change. He swept his sword in a mighty arc, hurling the Ringwraith back, then he turned and looked down into the valley. Raising his eyes to the western ridge, he saw the silver-grey figure riding at the head of a charging host, golden arcs of light flashing from his sword in the sun, cutting clean lines through the massed enemy.
In the east the thirty thousand horsemen poured in like a great river in flood, and Orcs and dark men went down beneath their charge.
"Reinforcements!"
"Reinforcements!"
"It is the reinforcements!"
"Warriors of the Vanyar," Ingwion's voice rang out across the Mountain of the Sacred Tree, "our allies have come. Charge with me!"
In the midst of the fighting Reger too saw what was happening beyond the valley. He knew then that help had arrived, and he raised his shield high, crying, "For our king, for Kaen, fight! Kill!"
The remaining Vanyar and the King's Guard surged down from the mountain like a broken dam of living steel. Their weapons were still stained with dried black blood, but their strength flared anew as they hurled themselves against the ranks below.
Thus three hosts moved like three bright swords, striking from east, west, and north against the dark army trapped in the valley.
The sudden turn of fate plunged the Dark Númenóreans and the Orcs into utter chaos. Their formations shattered into scattered knots, each fighting alone, and one by one those fragments were ground away until almost nothing remained.
…
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