Author Note:

1: This story is based on the Altered Fates Universe concept established by Jennifer Adams, however I’ve taken some artistic liberties so this story doesn’t strictly adhere to the rules Jennifer established.

2: This is also a fanfic of the J.R.R. Tolkien world of Middle Earth in an untold tale of the First Age. Please note; I didn’t stay completely true to the Middle Earth that Tolkien set up. This is my take on what Middle Earth in the First Age might have been like.

Beams of blood red sunlight streamed through the tree branches giving the smoke filled air a dappled crimson caste. Molly looked over his shoulder at the Elfish warriors who’d survived the night and felt a quick stab of pain from his wounded side. Of the warriors who’d participated in the ambush of Gothmog scarcely three score remained. Twice during the retreat they’d had to turn and repulse the pursuing Orc Warbands. The first time the Orcs had been led by another Balrog. Molly had fought him to a stalemate and both had taken wounds before he’d been able to pull the Elves back. The second time they’d been caught the absences of a Balrog had enabled them to punish the Orcs before fleeing further into the forest. At that point Kratos had indicated that he needed a rest and had retreated within Molly’s mind. When this happened Molly felt his body shrinking back to his normal size yet somehow the armor and weapons remained. In a parting thought Kratos had told Molly to use them well.

It had been several hours since that last skirmish and Molly lifted his hand signaling a halt. The Elves carrying Sir Helcëtôr’s body laid it by a tree, reverent even in their exhaustion. Cainir moved up next to Molly, his quiver was empty but he’d kept his bow, now strapped to his back. His sword was currently sheathed and he was leaning on a spear he’d picked up at some point during the fighting.

“Sornohen, with the coming of dawn the host of Angband will rest.”

Molly nodded, “Yes, but we will not. Pass the word, Cainir, thirty minutes and then we move. Now that we’ve broken contact with our enemies we must slip away.” Cainir gave a quick salute and started to turn away before Molly stopped him. “Oh, one more thing. See if we have any officers among the survivors. I need to hold a quick meeting to determine our next move.”

Molly looked around at the Elves sprawled on the ground. There was a part of him that wanted nothing more than to sit down and rest. Yet the part that he’d inherited from Logan told him that he shouldn’t. With Sir Helcëtôr dead the Elves were depending on him to lead them. With a quiet sigh he moved toward a group of warriors.

“Thanradon,” Molly said spotting one of the Knights who’d ridden with Sir Helcëtôr resting with his back against a tree. “Glad am I to see that you’ve got the strength to hold up that tree.”

The Elf chuckled, his helm was gone and his face showed some serious bruising. “Aye, my Lord, the poor thing, it looked in need of a good bracing.”

The Elves around him laughed at his joke. Then one with short dark hair, a rare feature among the fair haired Elves, spoke up, “My Lord, Sornohen, what’s next? Will we give them the slip and take the hidden path to Ondolindë?”

Molly put a large hand on the warrior’s shoulder, “What and deprive the forest of more Orc blood?” This time there was more laughter and chorus of responses.

“Nay!”

“Now that would be a shame.”

“Aye, the trees enjoy a tasty bit of Orc.”

With that Molly moved on to another group of warriors and spotted a face he thought looked familiar. A grizzled, older Elf, with short hair and skin that looked like dried leather was standing by another knot of warriors leaning on his spear. Molly had seen him several times during the fighting and had even fought shoulder to shoulder with him at one point. He was the only one still standing and he’d been watching Molly as he spoke to the previous group. Even though he wasn’t facing Molly directly he followed Molly’s approach with his eyes.

Molly allowed a chuckle to fill his voice as he spoke. “Ho, Alion, I see that you managed to cheat death yet again. I thought after that last skirmish you’d found your way into an Orc cooking pot.”

The veteran spat to one side, “Naw, my Lord Sornohen, I offered to climb in if it meant I didn’t have to do any more walking but they threw me back. I guess I’m too old and chewy for these soft, younger, Orcs.”

There was a round of laughter and a couple of comments about this newer generation of “soft” Orcs. Molly let the laughter run out before he turned to Alion, “Come walk with me a moment Alion.”

The old solider moved forward and Molly noted despite what he’d said he was one of the few warriors who didn’t appear exhausted and although he’d been in the thick of the fighting he wasn’t injured. The two walked in silence until they were far enough away from the others to not be over heard.

“We’re in need of every leader this band has. What is your rank?”

Again, Alion spat to one side, “If yer, Lordship is thinking I’m some officer he can look elsewhere. I’m a sergeant, the First Spear of the Lindornëa scouts, or what’s left of them.”

“I’ll need an acting Sergeant Major.” At Alion’s confused look Molly realized he’d used an English word, “A First Spear. If we’re going to get this done I’ll need your help.”

At this Alion grunted, “And what would yer Captain-ship be wanting to get done?”

“I mean to organize this troop and then rally the surviving fighters. By nightfall I hope to have enough of a force to hold our own if we need to.”

“To what end?”

“I don’t know what the dark one’s plans are, but I’ve got a feeling that the attack on Lindornëa isn’t the sum of it.” Molly pointed to the east. “I suspect there are other villages out there, villages that suffered the same fate as Lindornëa, based on the rising smoke.”

Now Alion looked around squinting and then looked back at Molly, “You are well named Captain Sornohen. Aye,” then Alion gave Molly a hard look. “I saw what you were doing, just now, I’ve never met a Maiar before, but you’re a leader. Without you we wouldn’t have survived the night. I saw you’re duel with Gothmog, I’m with you.” Then he added with a grin, “Until I do find my way into an Orc cook pot.”

Just then Cainir approached, limping to his left was a tall blonde Elf whose name escaped Molly at the moment but he remembered the Elf from fighting Gothmog. In fact Molly was pretty sure he’d been one of the knights to have his horse killed by that damn iron ball. On Cainir’s other side walked a female Elf with a bow in her hands and a pair of sword hilts sticking up over her shoulders. ‘Probably one of the Archers who tried to pincushion Gothmog.’ Molly thought.

“My Lord, this is Sir Nenthal,” Cainir said indicating the tall Knight and then he gestured to the archer. “And this is Tanna Greenleaf, Master Archer, and leader of the Lindornëa Archers.”

“Leader of a broken troop isn’t much of a title, I’m just Tanna.”

Molly looked at the woman and saw that she was bruised and singed and had obviously seen some hard fighting. Yet despite it all she was attractive in an athletic sort of way. Molly felt a strange twitch in her groin and tried to ignore it.

“Alright then, let us be about this. While the light is with us we need to gather all the surviving fighters. Share out food and water as we can, rest and tend to the wounded as we’re able, but we must move. By nightfall we must be in position to strike the dark ones. The attack on Lindornëa wasn’t an isolated assault. All of Nevrast is under attack and if we’re to survive we must move quickly. Those unable to continue must be taken by the hidden way to Ondolindë.” Molly looked around at the grim faced Elves, “Are you with me.”

The chorus of “Ayes” was all Molly needed to hear. “Last night might have been a defeat, but I plan to make this campaign a costly one. We’ll set the toll so high that the host of Angband will groan under the strain.”

The bend in the swift flowing stream had obviously shifted over the years leaving behind a large flat. On either side of the river were towering bluffs and then in the distance rising in a series of steep jagged ridges were the mountainous Logan had spotted before. The raw beauty of the land was impressive enough but more importantly the terrain provided a natural screening and for the first time since the attack began Logan felt safe. On the flat itself another group of refugees had already set up a camp. There were shouts of greeting from the refugees when they spotted Narmartë and Logan’s group.

During his time in the military Logan had lived and worked in some of the most war torn parts of the world. One of the things he’d learned was that all refugee camps have at least one thing in common, misery. Whatever events caused people to become displaced, they always left the survivors in a state where survival was the most important factor. People often rose above those circumstances to build new lives but all too often they failed and became victims of those who prey on the weak.

As Logan followed Narmartë through the camp she realized that the one universal truth about refugee camps was missing here. The Elves didn’t look happy, but they appeared, clean, fed, and well organized. The sense of despair and misery Logan normally felt was missing. Logan sensed Narmartë stopping.

Standing in front of them blocking their path was a tall noble looking female Elf. She wore the green and brown colors of a forester and had one of the Elven long bows over her shoulder.

“Greetings, I am Ervanya Talelon, are you the leader of this group?”

“Well-met, Ervanya, I’m Narmartë Thlim Ith Mindon. These,” here she waved a hand at the bedraggled group behind us, “are the survivors of the attack on Lindornëa.”

The news caused a stirring in the crowd around them. “You bring ill tidings Lady Narmartë. We had hoped that the attack on Ilcanalta was the main thrust of the enemy.” Then Ervanya shook her head, “Come, I forget myself, let me escort you to our Captain.”

“What of my folk?”

“We will see to their needs as best we can.”

“Thank you.”

Ervanya led Logan and Narmartë through the camp to a pavilion of green and gold set in the middle of the flat. As they moved forward the first rays of dawn fell upon the camp and as it did Logan could hear the calls of greeting as the Elves of Ilcanalta rose to meet their cousins from Lindornëa. Logan glanced over at Narmartë, who’d recovered a few hours ago and then shortly thereafter insisted on walking, “What do you make of this?”

“Two villages sacked in one night?” Narmartë shook her head, “This is no raid. I fear it is the opening moves of a campaign against Nevrast.” She gestured around her and added in a lower voice, “Based on this, and the number of Balrogs we faced last night, I’d say that Angband has sent a host into Nevrast for one purpose. The Dark One must have decided to destroy us.”

By this time they’d made their way to the entrance of the pavilion. A pair of guards were positioned in front of the tent, one recognized Narmartë and saluted, “Captain, give me a moment to announce you.”

With that he ducked into the tent. Ervanya turned to Logan and Narmartë, “I will take my leave of you my lady.”

Narmartë nodded farewell. A few minutes later the tent flap was thrown back and a tall blonde Elven Knight stepped out. He was wearing golden armor with a red tabard over it.

“Greeting’s Captain Narmartë, I’m Sir Ronir Thlim Climbol, Captain of the Ilcanalta Guards. Or what’s left of us.”

Sir Ronir’s voice was a musical baritone and even though he was obviously exhausted, Logan couldn’t help noticing the air of vitality around him. For the first time since becoming Molly’s twin Logan felt small as she looked up at the tall Elf and abruptly wondered what it would feel like to run her hands over his broad shoulders. For a moment Logan considered transforming back into her Melchiresa form, she suspected that she would be taller than the knight, but then she dismissed the idea.

“Greeting’s Ronir, I’d say well-met except for the ill circumstances that have befallen us.”

The Knight nodded, “Please come in, I’d offer you a cup of wine but all I have at the moment is water.”

With that he moved to the side holding the tent flap open. Narmartë moved into the tent followed by Logan. The tent wasn’t large, in fact it was barely large enough for the table that dominated the center and the cot to one side. Around the table were half a dozen chairs and on the table a large map had been spread. Resting next to the map was a mirror in a rune covered stand and it was obvious to Logan that it was a mirror that had been used in a similar fashion as the mirrors in the operations center in Lindornëa.

Sir Ronir moved to a small stand next to the cot and Logan noticed a pitcher with several glasses. He quickly poured water into two glasses and handed them to Logan and Narmartë. Then he gave Logan an appraising look, “Might I have the honor of knowing your name, my lady? You are the first of the Atan that I’ve met.”

“I’m called Ilcaúrna, and I’m pleased to meet you.”

If Ronir was surprised that Logan had given him an Elfish name he didn’t show it. Instead he scooped up Logan’s delicate fingers and kissed them. Logan felt her heart race and wanted to snatch her hand back, but for some reason she didn’t. From the back of her mind Logan felt Melchiresa stir.

*Hmmmm, he’s yummy, can we have him?*

‘Quiet!’ Logan thought at Melchiresa embarrassed by her reaction to the handsome warrior.

Narmartë cleared her throat, “Ronir, what happened to Ilcanalta? How is it that you’re here instead of fighting the forces of Angband?”

Ronir dropped Logan’s hand and turned to face Narmartë. “Ilcanalta got word of the force attacking Lindornëa from Sir Helcëtôr. Knight Captain Fallaistra took most of our forces with her to assist in Lindornëa’s defense. Before Fallaistra could return we were hit by a Warband of Orcs led by a pair of Balrogs. We might have beaten the Orcs back, but the Balrogs overwhelmed our defenses.”

At this Ronir slammed a fist against the table causing the mirror to shake in its stand. For a second Logan could feel his anger like a smoldering fire and then he regained control. In that brief instant Logan had seen the passion and power hidden beneath the controlled demeanor. Sir Ronir was obviously a powerful Elven Knight who, in the words of Sir Helcëtôr, could hear the music of Ainur and possibly sing a bit of it.

“I was entrusted with the defense of Ilcanalta, I used our forces to buy time for our people to escape and for Knight-Captain Fallaistra to reinforce us.” He gestured out at the flat, “As you can see I failed. The village is gone, as are most of my warriors. I’ve spent what I could of the night, after we fell back and disengaged, helping our survivors get here, but less than half of our people escaped. From what I’ve been told the survivors of Lindornëa out number our survivors two to one.”

“Do not blame yourself.” Narmartë said, laying a hand on Ronir’s shoulder. “We had help that you lacked.” Then she gestured toward Logan, “Ilcaúrna wears the form of an Atan, but she is from beyond Arda as is her companion the warrior Sornohen.”

Ronir’s mouth dropped open in surprise and he gave Logan an astonished look, “Can it be? You are of the Maiar?”

At this Logan felt uncomfortable, she didn’t want to lie to this handsome Elf but didn’t really understand what was going on. “It is true, I come from beyond Arda. Although, I’d never heard the term Maiar until last night.”

Before Ronir could respond Narmartë jumped in, “She and Sornohen fought and killed the Balrog Gorlung. Then Sornohen and Sir Helcëtôr led a force to fight Gothmog while Ilcaúrna came to my aid. Our escape was blocked by a company of Orcs who’d occupied the high ground. In addition to the Orc archers a blocking force of Orcs led by a Balrog stood in our way. I tried to kill him but I failed. Just as he was about to slay me Ilcaúrna arrived. She fought and destroyed him and led our people out of the trap. I haven’t heard from Sornohen or Sir Helcëtôr but I wouldn’t be surprised if Gothmog met his fate last night.”

As Narmartë spoke the look on Sir Ronir’s face went from surprised to one that was filled with hope. He glanced at Logan with a look of awe on his face, “My Lady, thank you for your aid. Even if my village has paid a heavy price the death of so many of Angband’s best servants is a worthy feat.”

Logan felt uncomfortable and instead moved over to the map. “Sir Ronir, I’m unfamiliar with the terrain.” She indicated the map with a wave of her hand, “Please, could you show me where we are and where the villages of Nevrast are? If this is a campaign, then there are probably other forces on the move. We should start trying to understand what the enemy has done. From there we can plan our next move.”

“Certainly my Lady, although, with all due respect our next move is obvious. We will spend the day gathering as many refugees as we can and then march to the hidden ways. From there we will come to Ondolindë and our civilians will be safe.”

Narmartë shot Ronir a questioning look and he nodded, “Yes, I’ve already sent word to King Turukáno. Pray to Illúvatar he will take pity on Nevrast and send a force to help.”

Logan looked behind her at the long line of refugees strung out for more than a mile. She reached up to wipe the sweat from her forehead despite the cool air brought on by the upper elevation. Not long after her initial meeting with Ronir he’d received word from King Turukáno to bring the survivors of the raid into Tumladen for safety. This message was quickly passed among the Elves and it was met with cheers and sorrow. From what Logan was able to piece together these remaining villages were the last of King Turukáno’s people in Nevrast, and they’d been reluctant to leave their homes for the greater security of Tumladen. Now with the forces of Angband upon them they were willing to accept the King’s protection, even if it meant losing their homes.

They’d left the river flat by mid-morning and were following a dry river bed between a set of steep bluffs. The ground was dry and hardened from the stream that had once flowed down it. This made the journey much easier and when Logan glanced up and ahead she spotted the virile form of Sir Ronir leading the way. His armor and high helm made him easy to spot and Logan had to suppress a shiver at the sight. There was something about him that made her knees go weak and caused her to want to reach out and touch him.

Then reflexively Logan glanced up into the sky and saw a pair of mighty eagles. They were soaring lazily, wings stretched wide, upon thermal currents. Even though the distance was great Logan was sure these were the largest eagles she’d ever seen. Then to distract herself she glanced over at Narmartë who was walking next to her.

“Have you been to Ondolindë before?”

“Yes, I grew up in Tumladen and when I was a little girl my father took me to the white tower and introduced me to the head of our House, Ith Mindon. During the visit we called upon King Turukáno and his court.” Logan saw that Narmartë was lost in the memory even as she spoke. “The white walls of the city of Ondolindë seemed to stretch up to the heavens and as tall as they were the white tower was far taller. The yard before the tower had the greenest grass I’ve ever seen and by the pool in the yard were two trees, Glingal and Belthil, gold and silver trees in the likeness of Telperion and Laurelin, the trees of light.” At this Narmartë paused lost in her memory.

Logan after a few minutes of walking asked, “Will there be room for all of these,” she gestured at the refugees streaming out behind them, “in the city?”

Narmartë glanced back and then up at Logan, “No, but the Vale of Tumladen is quite large. Most will have kin in the valley. Those that don’t will be taken care of by the King or one of the Lords of a Great House.” Seeing Logan’s confused look Narmartë continued, “Ondolindë was built by King Turukáno be his capital. It is divided into twelve sections one for each of the twelve Great Houses. Each of our folk will have sworn allegiance to one of the Great Houses. That House will be honor bound to find food and shelter for them.”

At this Narmartë paused and Logan thought she was done speaking but then she added, “King Turukáno has been trying to get all the Noldor and Sindar of Nevrast to migrate to the hidden Vale of Tumladen. I don’t know how Morgoth got this army past the Siege of Angband, but the fact that he was able to do it will cause most of the remaining folk of Nevrast to flee to Tumladen.”

Logan wasn’t sure how to take Narmartë’s words, they were filled with emotion and she wasn’t sure if Narmartë thought it good or ill that the remaining Elves would leave their land. Logan was saved from having to make a comment by the sound of running water. They’d followed the draw up to the point where the water had been diverted. In front of them the land opened showing a small lake surrounded by high cliffs and pine trees. The water had been dammed by a fall of rocks and as the lake filled a new track had been cut by the water plunging away in a series of short waterfalls to Logan’s left. From where Logan stood on the opposite shore of the lake a mighty waterfall dumped tons of water into it and was the source of the sound Logan had identified.

“Where are we?”

“This is known as Sky-Lake and its waters are the sweetest in all of Beleriand.”

Logan looked around at once impressed by the natural beauty of the land and alarmed at the situation. “Where will we go from here?” She asked. The surrounding mountains were now almost vertical cliffs reaching down to touch the far shore of the lake. From where they stood Logan could see a narrow strip of rocky beach to the right that would allow them to pass half way around the lake to the giant waterfall but from there the path ended. This lake was obviously the head of the dried up waterway they’d been following.

“We are now at the head of the hidden way.” Sir Ronir said, his voice startling Logan since she hadn’t heard him approach. “By law only the people of King Turukáno may follow the hidden path.”

“True,” Narmartë interjected, “but I doubt that the law was ever intended to apply to the Maiar.”

Sir Ronir nodded, “I agree.” Then he looked at Logan, “Upon my honor as a Knight of Ondolindë if you will vow to keep the paths you are about to see secret then I will vouch for you before the King.”

For a minute Logan didn’t know if she wanted to travel to the hidden city. She knew that she needed to find Molly and return to the gate. But events had swept them up and she didn’t even know where Molly was much less how to find the ruins with the gate. Then an alarming thought occurred to her, the Key to the gate had been the stone knife they’d used to activate it. Molly had kept the knife in his backpack. The last time Logan had seen it had been in the village of Lindornëa before the attack. Would they even be able to activate the gate without the knife? Then Logan realized that the two elves were waiting for her answer.

“Of course you have my word.” Then sensing more was expected she continued. “I swear by the Light that I will reveal the hidden path to Ondolindë to no one without King Turukáno’s permission.”

Sir Ronir nodded, “Then follow me.”

With that he set off following the narrow strip of land around to the waterfall. As Logan approached she gained a greater appreciation for the size of the waterfall. Once when she’d been a young boy, Logan’s parents had taken him to Niagara Falls and the size and power of the falling water had left a permanent impression on Logan. Now as she got closer and closer to the mighty water fall she was reminded of that experience. This waterfall wasn’t as broad as Niagara but the fall was higher and soon Logan could feel the power of the fall by the vibration in her bones.

As they got closer and closer to the waterfall Logan began to get concerned, surely there was no way that they were going to pass under the waterfall. Then less than a hundred feet from it Sir Ronir turned to the right and headed toward the cliff face. For a moment Logan wondered what he was doing then she spotted a dark shadow between two outcroppings of rock. Sir Ronir disappeared into the shadow and Logan and Narmartë followed. As she neared the shadow Logan saw that it was deeper than she’d thought and then as she stepped between the outcroppings Logan saw that it wasn’t just a shadow. It was the opening of a cave, hidden from view until one got right up on it.

Logan stepped into the narrow passage and saw that Sir Ronir was already there holding a glowing crystal in his hand. The grin on his face was contagious and Logan smiled in response.

“Welcome to the hidden way.” Then he turned around and moved into the cave. Logan and Narmartë followed in silence. For Logan the beauty of the cave was breath taking. Yet even as she moved forward a part of her mind noted the well-worn path in the stone. Even though this cave seemed undisturbed, to Logan’s eye it was easy to see that hundreds, if not thousands, of footsteps had moved among the Stalagmites and Stalactites.

As they moved forward Logan realized that there must have been a pile of spell-sung rock next to the entrance because every fifth or sixth Elf to pass within picked up a rock sang briefly to it and then held it aloft as it flared up with a bright blue-white light. Soon the cave was filled with light as the survivors of the Orc attack made their way through the cavern. The first gallery was perhaps a hundred meters long and it opened into an even bigger cavern. Then Logan noticed as they passed into the third that the ground was starting to slope up.

For the next two hours they walked from one cave to the next each seeming lager than the last and they were constantly moving up. Then they made it to a cavern with a roof that vaulted beyond the limits of the spell-stones they carried. Logan with a thought switched her vision to that of Melchiresa and the darkness faded away. Logan’s breath caught as she realized the roof of the cavern was an amazing formation of quartz and crystal. With enough light it would put on a dazzling display and for a second she considered using her power to do just that, but then she shook off the temptation. Some instinct told her not too.

Sir Ronir directed a halt to their march and the Elves spread out finding places to stretch out and relax. The supplies they’d brought with them were shared out for if they’d been in the open Logan knew it would be noon. The children were tired but holding up as mothers attempted to feed and encourage them. As Logan watched she couldn’t help feeling a new sympathy for the mothers as they tried to take care of their young. ‘What would it feel like to be a mother with your child fleeing for your life,’ Logan wondered. She shivered as she considered, what might happen if she couldn’t get back to Earth. Would she be fated to spend the rest of her life as a woman? Based on her body’s reaction to Ronir she was very much a heterosexual female. Would she end up married with children of her own? This put a whole new light on her observation of the refugees.

“Ilcaúrna, are you thirsty?”

Logan looked over at Narmartë who offered her a cup of water. Where she’d gotten the clay cup or the water Logan didn’t know, but she was grateful for it.

“Thanks. How much longer until we’re out of these caves?”

“I’m not sure, but if I were to guess another hour. We’ve been making good time even with the little ones.”

Logan took a deep drink of the water and was surprised at how clear and fresh it was. Before she could ask the question Narmartë answered it.

“The water is from Sky-Lake. Those with water skins took the time to refresh them before entering the caves.”

Before long another Elf showed up with a piece of flat bread and cheese. As far as lunches went it wasn’t the best that Logan had had, but it filled her up and she knew that she was more than ready to continue when Sir Ronir passed the word to set out again.

The next chamber was smaller and for the first time Logan noted that the floor was now sloping down. Narmartë’s prediction proved accurate because just under an hour later the pale light of the sun shone down through the mouth of the last cave. Logan followed Sir Ronir and Narmartë as they exited the cave only to stop and stare up in surprise. Directly in front of her was a mighty stockade wall made of logs lashed together. What was astonishing was the height of each log had to be over two hundred feet. Then it dawned on Logan that these logs had to come from the Trees of Lindornëa.

“Halt! Who approaches the outer Gates of Ondolindë and the Vale of Tumladen!”

Molly gave the signal and the archers cut lose with a volley. The Orc Warband had thought they’d trapped the small troop of Elves and had charged in taking the bait. The Elves had quickly turned and formed a shield wall spears glittering in the afternoon sun. Before the Orcs could reach the infantry Molly had directed the archers to let fly. The hail of arrows slowed the charge causing it to falter before it struck the Elfish phalanx. The archers had been positioned along a ridge to the north of the infantry just out of sight of the attacking Orcs. Normally the Elves preferred to take positions within the trees, firing with great accuracy individually down onto the attacking horde. Molly had explained that keeping the archers together in a tight block would allow them to fire en-mass, thereby focusing the effect into a very tight area. The massing of the power of Elven archery into a tight area had a devastating impact. The Elves had been skeptical but had agreed because of Molly’s status as a Maiar and because he’d, by default, become their captain. The new tactic paid off as Orcs died in droves.

“Calvary, NOW!” Molly shouted, and the Elf next to her blew a quick note on his silver trumpet.

Molly looked down and saw that the Orcs had lifted their shields over their heads and resumed their advance. The sleeting arrows still took a toll but the Orcs were pushing forward. At the sound of the horn the knot of infantry charged forward. Even though they were outnumbered the fact that they were in a tight formation with overlapping shields wielding long spears gave them a huge advantage. They hit the Orcs and the impact reminded Molly of the crash of the surf upon the shore. He had to shake his head to drive out the memory he’d inherited from Logan. Molly was once again in full Spartan-Maiar form and towered over the Elves around him.

With his height advantage Molly was able to watch as the Orcs pushed forward. They outnumbered the Elven infantry by a factor of ten to one. The archers continued hitting them but the Orcs pressed forward. Because of their superior numbers they flowed to the left and right of the Elven formation starting to surround them. The discipline of the Elves was such that with a shouted command the infantry commander turned the phalanx into a fighting square with the first rank of spears facing out in all four directions.

Then the distant rumble of horses hooves sounded and Molly knew it was only a matter of seconds before the cavalry arrived. Apparently the Orc commander heard the rumble as well for a series of shrill whistles erupted and the Orcs tried to pull back but Molly knew it was too late. Before they could completely disengage the Elfish cavalry broke into the open behind the Orc formation. The Orcs tried to turn to face the charge but they were too slow and ill-disciplined and the cavalry hit them with devastating force. The cries of the dying Orcs rang out over the field of battle and Molly had to harden his heart against the pity he felt. A few days ago the idea of watching a brutal battle like this would have left Molly shocked and stunned. The idea of hurting another living creature was horrifying to her. Now with Logan’s memories and Kratos raw masculine power all Molly felt was contempt at the poor job the enemy had done to defend itself. This wasn’t a challenge worthy of his power.

In full panic the Orcs tried to flee in all directions making themselves easy targets for the archers to pick off and the cavalry to ride down. Molly glanced up at the sun trying to calculate.

*No more than half of a hour.* Kratos thought.

“My Lord Sornohen!”

Molly turned and saw the female scout, Tanna Greenleaf. “Tanna, report.” he acknowledged.

The scout nodded, “My Lord, we’ve spotted another band of Elves. This one is much larger and better organized than any of the others. They are about to be pinned down by a force of Orcs led by a Balrog.”

“While the sun is in the sky?”

Tanna nodded, “Yes, my lord. It seems the dark one has given his Captains some kind of protection from the sun.”

“Or perhaps the overcast is enough,” Alion added.

Molly looked over at his first spear and nodded, “Perhaps. Well, regardless, where are they?”

With that Alion pulled a crude map from his backpack and spread it on the ground using stones to hold the corners down. Tanna squatted next to him and began to point out the tactical situation.

“The Elven force is here. They’ve paused to set up a temporary camp. The Orcs are moving here and here.” She pointed to places to the north and south of the Elves. “The main force is here to the east of them with the Balrog. I think the main force will hit them first and then once fully engaged the forces to the north and south will attack.”

Molly nodded, “And with that stream at their back they’ll be slowed down if they try to cross over and escape.”

“Aye, my lord.”

“How do they look? You said they were setting up a temporary camp are the constructing fortifications? Have you tried to contact them?”

“Nay my lord, there is no sign that they are fortifying their position. Unfortunately, we weren’t able to communicate with them. We spotted them from this ridge,” here Tanna pointed to a location close to the river, “the forces of the Dark One are too thick around them for us to get through. However, we were able to spot their banner. They are flying the ensign of Knight Captain Fallaistra of Ilcanalta.” Tanna looked up at Molly concern clearly written on her face, “They look like they’ve been fighting continuously since last night. I don’t know how much more they’ve got left.”

The frank assessment told Molly how truly desperate the situation was. “Alright, here’s what we’re going to do.” With that Molly started to lay out his plan.

The tall blonde Knight looked up as the first Orc battle whistles sounded. The sun was still above the horizon and the beasts were attacking. It made no sense, but then the last two days had been full of events that didn’t make any sense. Worse yet, Captain Fallaistra of Ilcanalta, knew that she’d failed Ilcanalta, Lindornëa, and the Nevrast Knight Commander, Sir Helcëtôr. Now after almost two days of fighting her force had been reduced to almost half of their original strength, and her warriors were exhausted, and the enemy continued to press them. She shouted orders that she didn’t need to think about. Infantry to the front. Set up the defensive line. Archers behind the infantry to reduce the power of the Orcish charge. Knights in reserve ready to ride around and attack the host from the flanks and rear with fast moving attacks. These were tactics she knew well.

The Orcs appeared between the trees. At first one or two at a time but the trickle soon became a flood and as they moved onto the open ground they began to form up. Not with the organized discipline of the Elfish Warband but the tightly packed horde was a concentration of force that couldn’t be ignored. In a matter of minutes the front line of the Orc Warband had solidified and moved toward the Elves while the Orc war drums pounded out a deep bass.

“Upon my command, the archers will let fly.” Fallaistra was almost unaware of the words she spoke. Yet the command was echoed down the chain. She didn’t need to look to know that every under her command was already in position.

“Fire!”

Arrows arched into the sky and then fell like a white fletched rain upon the advancing Warband. Orcs dropped by the score, yet they advanced. Then out of the tree-line a Balrog stepped. The creature stood over ten feet tall and was writhed in flame and shadow. The trees around him burst into fire as he moved forward. Fallaistra felt a fist of fear grip her heart. How could anyone stand against a foe of this power?! She closed her eyes and thought back to her training, training that included ignoring fear and doing what was necessary to get the job done.

“Steady!” Fallaistra heard the words but she wasn’t aware that she’d said them. “Fire!”

Another round of arrows dropped upon the Orcs and their advance slowed as they became reluctant to get closer to the deadly elven archers. Then the Balrog shouted a thunderous command and although Fallaistra couldn’t understand what was said it spurred the Orcs forward. Then they fell upon the line of Elfish infantry and the battle was truly joined.

“Let the archers know they are to fire at their discretion.”

“Aye, aye, Ma’am!”

“Order the Knights to mount up.”

“Aye, aye, Ma’am,” Fallaistra’s Aid-de-Camp replied hurrying over to send messages. The initial impact of the Orc charge had been blunted by the archers and the infantry had assumed a strong position, yet Fallaistra watched as her infantry was slowly pushed back. Fallaistra kept her eyes on the Balrog who for now was directing the fight from the rear. The fallen Maiar was watching the battle content to sell the lives of his Orcs to further his understanding of his foes.

Abruptly there were sounds of drums and war whistles in the hills to either side of Fallaistra’s force. Stunned she looked up to the hills, somehow the Orcs had managed to get a force up onto the bluffs. She’d placed scouts upon those hills and had counted on a warning if the Orcs attempted to surround her. With the river at her back she’d planned to cross if necessary to evade the dark host. Now with her forces engaged pulling back and disengaging would be next to impossible. An arrow fell a few feet to Fallaistra’s left narrowly missing her Aide. Orcish archers on the bluffs would turn this battle very quickly, particularly if they were augmented with a force of infantry.

“Pass the signal, the cavalry is to mount up. Upon my command we will pass through the lines of infantry and knock a hole in the side of this trap. The infantry and archers will follow behind the cavalry. Pass the word, carry only what you must for we need to move quickly to escape.”

Fallaistra had filled her voice with confidence when she issued her orders, yet as she watched the messengers run to deliver them to her Lieutenants she knew this was a desperate attempt. Moving one force through its own line was something that needed to be practiced and was always risky if the first force was still engaged. But what made this so desperate was the Balrog. It had set the trap perfectly and now it waited with a reserve force directly in her path. If she were to salvage any of her company she’d have to kill that damn beast.

Fallaistra moved to her horse and leapt into the saddle. This time she planned to lead the charge. She moved her horse over to Knight-Lieutenant Pengon and returned his salute.

“We’re ready to ride, Captain. Just say the word.”

Fallaistra nodded, and knew that although Pengon’s voice had been filled with confidence by the look in his eyes she knew that he understood how desperate their situation really was.

“You will lead the first rank as we pass through the line, Pengon. We won’t be able to charge so it will be slow work. I’ll keep a third of our force in reserve and once you’re through the Orcs I’ll charge. Leave the Balrog and his guards to me. Take whatever knights you’ve got left and attack the Orcs in the hills to the north. Our infantry and archers will follow you out and your assault should provide them with the cover they need to escape.”

“Yes, Captain, where will we link up?”

“Head for Iachon’s crossing. If we are successful this Warband will be in no condition to follow.”

Lieutenant Pengon saluted, “May the Light favor us this day, Captain.”

“Aye, Lieutenant may the light favor us.”

Fallaistra moved to gather her force of knights and made sure everyone knew what they were supposed to do. As she spoke the hail of black arrows grew thicker as the Orcs on the bluffs found the range. The sounds of the dying told Fallaistra that she was out of time. She lifted her hand to give the signal to the infantry to allow them to pass through. When a horn sounded. Not an Orc horn, but a silver Elfish bugle. Bright and loud the bugle was full of contempt for the forces of Angband. Then to her amazement a force of Elfish knights in silver and golden armor came over the hill behind the Balrog and his reserve. They raced down upon the creature of fire and darkness and to Fallaistra’s amazement the Knights were led by a giant glowing warrior.

The warrior wasn’t riding a horse, for no horse was big enough to carry him, yet he practically flew along, his feet barely touching the ground as he kept pace with the fastest Knight. Then he lifted an arm and a glowing trident appeared and he threw it without breaking stride. The trident flew forward and the Balrog tried to step aside but was too slow. The trident struck and thunder rolled over the field of battle as the Balrog was thrown from its feet. Then Fallaistra heard horns sound upon the bluffs, this was followed Elven war-cries and abruptly the sleet of black arrows ceased.

Now the Knights were among the reserves and the glowing warrior met the Balrog as it climbed to its feet. Blade and shield against whip and hammer, they fought and it was like the world held its breath. Elves and Orcs alike fell back to watch the battle. With a mighty blow the Balrog brought its hammer down upon the warrior’s shield, and the sound of it breaking rang out over the field. The warrior dropped to a knee as his arm hung uselessly, yet even as he fell he drove the sword in his good arm forward into the Balrog’s guts.

The Balrog let out a mighty cry and dropped both hammer and whip trying to clutch at the sword. Then the warrior surged to his feet gutting the servant of Morgoth in a vicious move before kicking it from his blade. The fell thing dropped back and fire shot up in a column that forced even the mighty warrior back. As the fire died Fallaistra sensed a shadow depart. Suddenly, the remaining light of the sun seemed brighter and the clouds that had been casting an early shadow upon the field parted.

“Now, my Knights. Charge!” Her shouted command surprised her and then Fallaistra urged her horse to a full gallop.

The Orcs had fallen back disengaging from the Elven infantry. This brief respite was all Fallaistra needed to safely pass through the lines and without the Balrog she was free to slaughter the Orcs on the field. With a fierce joy she spurred her horse forward, and as she did a song burst from her lips. It was the battle hymn of the Noldor and the rays of the setting sun fell upon Fallaistra causing her to blaze up with light. The Orcs fell back in fear and the Elves riding with her picked up the song driving the Orcs before them. For the first time in the last two days Fallaistra felt a surge of hope. Perhaps Nevrast might be saved, but in any case the enemy would pay for the blood they’d spilled.