Maps & Battles.

[Saeren]

((This thread is not a '' war '' thread, it is simply for writing about the training, local wars etc , it is therefore private for Saeren, Lebennen & Legolas ))

As has been said, southern Haradwaith and Bellakar and its various dominions, were divided into kingdoms, emirates, khanates, city states, and so-called empire,s whose boundaries shifted and changed with each petty war.
Saeren had taken Dar because it was primarily a trade city, and its links to Sud Sicanna, another trade city in the desert where he had long lived. But it must not be thought that the rulers of other cities took this calmly.
The death of the old Pasha had swept even to the wandering nomad tribes, and caused , even among those people, a kind of horror. And if it was indeed true that this man was the son of Sauron , who for so long had dwelled in his Black Land in the north, what else might he not do?
Khorsaj, a city lying to the south west, another city fat on trade, declared war, refusing to treat with Saeren, in Dar and Saeren saw this as a perfect opportunity to test the new army he and Lebennen had been training. The first trial of the phalanx. They did not wait for Khorsaj to march on them. They took the war to the walls of Khorsaj.


To the beat , the Variag warriors advanced , eight footers at the upright, the honed and polished spear points flashing in the sun. Now the foe broke into an all out charge. Deth and his father, displaying neither haste, nor urgency, fell into step in the front ranks, with the Knights flowing impeccably into position upon their right and left.

The spears of the first three ranks snapped from the vertical into the attack.
Words could not convey the impact of awe and terror upon the foe, any foe, by this seemingly uncomplex maneuver, called '' spiking it '', so simple to perform on the parade ground, and so formidable under conditions of life or death. To behold it executed with such precision, no man surging forward out of control, nor hanging back in dread, none edging right into the shadow of his rankmates shield, but all holding solid and unbreakable, tight as the scales on a serpents flank, the heart stopped in awe, the hair stood straight up upon the neck , and shivers coursed powerfully the length of the spine.
As when some colossal beast, brought to bay by the hounds, wheels in his fury , bristling with rage and baring his fangs and plants himself in the power and fearlessness of his strength, so did the bronze and crimson phalanx now snap as one into its mode of murder

Horses would never gallop at such a wall, nor would their riders permit them to be so spitted, and they swerved away, seeking to come at their foe from the flank .
The left flank of the enemy , eighty across , collapsed even before the shields of the front-rankers, came within thirty paces of the Darians. A cry of dread rose from the throats of the foe, so primal it froze the blood and then was swallowed in the tumult. The enemy left broke from within.
This wing, whose advancing breadth had stood and instant earlier at forty eight shields, became thirty, then twenty then ten as panic flared like a gale-driven fire from terror stricken pockets within the massed formation.
Those in the first three ranks who had turned in flight, now collided with their comrades advancing from the rear. Shield rim caught upon shield rim, spear shaft upon spear shaft, a massive tangle of flesh and bronze ensued as men bearing eighty pounds of shield and armour stumbled and fell, becoming obstacles and impediment to their own advancing comrades.
Brave men strode on in the advance, crying out in rage to their own, as these abandoned them. Those who still clung to courage, pushed past those who had forsaken it, calling out in outrage and fury, trampling the forerankers, or else , as valour deserted them too, jerked free and fled to save their own skins.
At the height of the foes confusion, the variag right fell upon them. Shields were flung away, spears cast wildly to the sand. Half a thousand men wheeled on their heels and stampeded in terror. At that instant the center and right of the rebels line crashed sheilds-on into the central corps of the Bloodguard.
That sound which all warriors know, ascended from the clash and collision, neither shriek , nor cry, growl, or roar, but a thrum as if from the netherworld, a vibration of rage and murder ascended not from brain or heart but almost from the very cells themselves.
As disordered as were the ranks of the rebels, the Bloodguard held firm and cohesive. their fore-rank did not charge wildly upon the foe, flailing like savages, nor did they advance with the stolid precision of the parade ground. Rather they surged, in unison, like a line of warships on the ram. The murderous eight footers punched and struck, overhand across the upper rim of the shield, driven by the full force of the right arm and shoulder, not just the spears of the front rankers, but those of the second and even the third, , extending over their mates shoulders, to form a thrashing engine that advanced like a wall of murder. As wolves in a pack take down the fleeing deer, so did the Variag right fall apon the rebels of Ubesesh, not in frenzied shrieking rage, but predator-like, cold-blooded, applying the steel with the wordless cohesion of the killing pack, and the homicidal efficiency of the hunt.


www.taivaansusi.net/roolipelit/lindefirion/maps.html

[Saeren]

There on the right where the Serpent regiment had routed the rebels, one saw the turf unchurned and the field beyond littered with enemy shields and helmets, spears and even breastplates, flung aside from the stampeding foe in their flight. Bodies lay scattered at intervals, face-down, with the shameful gashes of death delivered upon their fleeing backs.
On the right, where the stronger troops of the enemy had held longer, the carnage spread thicker and more dense, the turf was chewed more fiercely, along the battle wall which the foe had erected to anchor its flank, clumps of corpses could be seen, slain as they, trapped by their own wall, had struggled in vain to scale it.
Then they eye found the center, where the slaughter had achieved its most savage concentration. here Saeren and Lebennen had fought with the Bloodguard, and the earth was rent and torn as if a thousand span of oxen had assaulted it all day with the might of their hooves and the steel of their ploughs deep-churning blades. the chewed up dirt, dark with urine and blood, extended in a line three hundred paces across and a hundred deep where the feet of the contending formations had heaved and strained for purchase upon the earth. Bodies sprawled like a carpet, mounded in places two and three deep. To the rear,across the plain whence the rebels had fled and along the riven walls of a watercourse, more corpses could be seen in scattered perimeters manned by two and three, five and seven, where these in their flights had closed ranks, and made their stand, doomed as castles of sand against the tide. They fell with wounds of honour, facing their enemy, cut down from the front.

A wail rose from the hillsides where the watching foe now looked down upon their comrades vanquishment, while from the walls of the city itself, wives and daughters keened in grief.

The Darians were hauling bodies off the stacks of the dead, seeking fiend or brother, wounded, and clinging yet to life. As each groaning foe-man was fling down , a blade held him captive at the throat.
'' Hold! '' Saeren cried, motioning to the trumpeters to re-sound the call to break off. '' Attend them. Attend the enemy too, '' He shouted , and the officers relayed the order up nd down the line.
He offed his purple plumed helm which marked him so easily, only the face unbloodied, protected by the full face of the helm, the rest of him splashed with gore, but his cobalt eyes burning with battle joy, and without a trace of weariness, and put out his hand in a casual gesture for a wineskin.
After a quick swallow, his eyes moved over the warriors, even in the hot-blood aftermath , their discipline held, them chaste and noble, above all vaunting and boasting. They did not strip the bodies of the slain, nor erect trophies of vainglory conceit from the arms of the vanquished. These people both hated and feared him, but he also showed them, that unlike Sauron, whom they had fought for in the War of the Ring, they did not fight for a nameless and unseen and terrible power, but for one who would fight alongside them. It was true he healed easily, true he was stronger, faster than these men, but by joining the Phalanx he had, in fact , abdicated their superiority, to become one with their men.
The men were collecting their tickets now. These were wooden twig bracelets each warrior made for himself before a battle, to identify his corpse, if necessary, in the aftermath. A man scratched or wrote his name twice, once on each end of the twig, then broke it down the middle. One half he tied with twine to his wrist, the other was kept in a basket behind the lines. The halves were jaggedly broken so that even were the writing defaced its twin would still fit equivocally . When the battle was over, each man retrieved his ticket. Those remaining unclaimed , numbered and identified the slain.
When men heard their names called and came forward to take the ticket, they could not stop their limbs from quaking.
All up and down the line, warriors clustered in groups of twos and threes as the terror they had managed to hold at bay throughout the battle, now slipped its bonds and surged upon them , overwhelming their hearts. Clasping their comrades by the hand, they knelt, not from reverence, although that was abundant, but because the strength had suddenly fled from their knees, which could no longer support them. Many wept, others shuddered violently. This was not regarded as effeminate in any way, but termed '' battle-purging '' or '' fear-shedding ''. Saeren, who had seen it many times, knew this was utterly natural. All men and elves reacted this way, or they had not fought with all their might and skill and hearts, - only those spawned by Morgoth or Sauron, and bred for war, ( and those of evil who felt dark ecstacy in killing ) did not feel this bodily release of terror.
Saeren strode among the men, letting them all see he was alive and unwounded.
The men gulped greedily their ration wine, strong and heavy and made no shame to drink water and plenty of it,. The wine went down fast and produced no effect whatsoever. Some of the men tried to dress their long hair, as if thereby to induce a return to normality. But their hands trembled so badly they could not do it. Others would chuckle knowingly at the sight, the veteran warriors who knew better than to try: it was impossible to make the limbs behave, and the frustrated groomers would chuckle back, a dark laughter from hell.
When the tickets had all found their mates and been reclaimed by their owners, those pieces left bereft within the basket identified the men who had been killed or were too badly wounded to come forward. These latter were claimed by brothers and friends, fathers and sons and lovers. Sometimes a man would take his own ticket, then another and sometimes a third besides, weeping as he accepted them.

There was a stir and Saeren emerged along the front of the assembled warriors, of them all besides his Lietenant and the blond elf, , his gait was springy , powerful and light, as he moved down the line.
'' Does every man have the half of his ticket? And have your hands stopped shaking enough to fit them together? '' His white smile flashed and the men laughed, liking him for it.
'' then sit , warriors of Khand and listen to the words of my heart.

[Saeren]

'' When a man seats before his eyes the bronze face of his helmet and steps off from the line of departure, he divides himself, as he divides his '' ticket '', in two parts. One part he leaves behind. that part which takes delight in his children, which lifts his voice in song, clasps his wife or lover to him in the sweet darkness of their bed.
That part of him the best part, a man sets aside, and leaves behind. He banishes from his heart, all feelings of tenderness and mercy, all compassion and kindness, all thought, or concept of the enemy as a man, a being like himself. he marches into battle bearing only the second portion of himself, the baser measure, that half which knows slaughter and butchery and turns the blind eye to quarter. He could not fight at all if he did not do this. ''

The men listened, silent and solemn and with bent heads or some eyes rising to gaze on the one who was not of their blood at all, but who knew how to read their minds and hearts, a superb actor, in fact, for Saeren was a war machine, who would not have experienced a flicker of conscience in murdering any-one, but whose upbringing had inculated in him a pride and desire to win only by skill and force of arms alone. His voice, melodious, yet ringing with power, swept over the men, holding their hearts.

'' Then this man, returns alive out of the slaughter, he hears his name called and comes forward to take his ticket. he reclaims that part of himself which he had earlier set aside.
This is a holy moment, a sacramental moment. A moment in which a man feels as close to the Gods as his own breath.
What unknowable mercy spared us this day? What clemency of the Divine has turned the enemies spear one hands-breath from our throats and driven it fatally into the breast of the beloved comrade at our side? Why are we still here above the earth, we who are no better, no braver no more skilled than our brothers whom have been dispatched? '' No smile, one might honestly think he considered himself as human and mortal as they.
'' When a man joins the two pieces of his ticket and sees them weld in union together, he feels that part of him, the part that knows love and mercy and compassion, come flooding back over him. That is what unstrings his knees.
What else can a man feel, at that profound moment than the most grave and profound thanksgiving to the Gods, who , for reasons unknowable, have spared his life this day? Tomorrow, their whim may alter, next week. Next year. But this day the sun still shines upon him, he feels its warmth upon his shoulders, he beholds about him the faces of comrades whom he loves and he rejoices in their deliverance and his own. ''

Saeren paused now , his unearthly golden eyes sweeping about.
'' I have ordered pursuit of the foe ceased. I have commanded and end to the slaughter of those whom today we called or enemies. Let them return to their homes. Let them embrace their wives and children. Let them, like us, weep tears of salvation and burn thank-offerings to the Gods.

Let no-one of us forget or misapprehend the reason we fought other Haradhrim here today. Not to conquer or enslave them, but to make them allies against an greater enemy. By persuasion we hoped, by coercion in the event . But no matter., they are Haradhrim and part of the greater whole.
For years you bowed and shed your blood in intercine wars, and strife, tribe against tribe, city against city, when those cities were first built of mud and clay in the forgotten years! You served a Dark Lord, first one, then the shadow of his malice, who little cared if you shed your blood , as many of you did on the fields of the North, at the Pelennor, which has been a name of bitter memory for you.
But now I am here. I will make you a nation, a brotherhood, and I am no faceless shape of darkness who sits behind enshrouded blackness beyond the mountains.
I will fight with you, alongside you, bleed with you! '' His face was lit, glowing even under the fierce sun. '' With you , with each man, I will raise you to glory, and pride, our lands may bring forth spices, golds, silks, grain, - but we will also bring forth Men!
I am your mother and your father! '' Power crashed through his voice then, making the earth subtly shake and each head bowed, '' and I will stand between you and any who dares to encroach upon us, I care not if it is other cities of Harad, Near or Far, or Rhun, or Mordor, or any land. And if what we build ever passes from us it will be because all of us have given our lives and there are no more to walk upright across its earth! ''
And then the cheering began, and every man, mastering his trembling limbs rose and picked up his eight foot spear , and the sun flashed upon them. Saeren raised a hand, and the roar ceased.
He had them. He knew he had them. Whatever else he did, because of these battles, these days, he would always have them. He met his Lieutenants eyes , and the smallest hint of a smile stirred in the gold.

[Saeren]

~~~~~~~~~~~The world of the Haradhrim was one of turmoil and war, intirigue and treachery. There was no Haradhrim nation, the divided land was ruled by scores of city-states which fought continually for domination.
For centuries the great cities of Umbar and Sudu Cull battled across the deserts for the right to become the supreme power in Harad . Other cities, Sud Sicanna, Feah, Siakan, Urud, and others changed sides again and again and victory flew between the warring factions, always the harlot, moving on sweet with a promise she would not keep.
For while Umbar was the greatest port on the west of Harad and Bellakar, it southerly neighbour, Sudu Cull was financed by Chey Sart, the great and little known ( to northerners) empire to the east of Khand. Chey Sart feared what a united Harad might do, and kept the pot boiling with trade agreements and gold. They grew yet richer and their easterly empire flourished . But still they watched Harad. Especially now.
Their young King, Udamah, called the Sword King, claimed descent himself from Sauron, and in the years following the defeat of Sauron, hearing of the growing power of Saeren lead an army of a quarter of a million men westwards.
They were met by three hundred Fae da Khi. At the Pass of Angkruz....

[Saeren]

.......

Saeren lay very still , watching the riders as they moved out into the valley, dressed in rich robes, on fine horses, with wagons behind them, these were nobles of Khand, and his message to them a month ago had told them not to leave their cities to aid the King of Chey Sart as he would construe it as an act of war.

He glanced at Lebennen and the Bloodguard behind him '' Follow my lead, '' Then he rose to his feet and strolled down the dune to meet the riders.
The leader rider, copper skinned and burly, drew on his reins and waited for Tar to approach, his men hefted their spears and bunched along side him, ready to charge.
' You have defied me, Variag, ' Saeren said amiably. ' You have disobeyed me. '

The rider grinned. ' The Dark Lords power has faded. You cannot enforce obedience. Your army is not big enough, we know this. Now go, out of my path. My noble ally of Chey Sart calls me. We will meet on the field of war
'
' The King if Chey Sart is your ally, truly? ' Tar said, feigning surprise ' I suppose that makes you an important man among your people. A man not to be taken lightly. I will tell you what I will do I will send a message to the Khan , your noble ally. '' His voice hardened and his eyes grew more luminous '' The survivors here can deliver it, '' he lifted his hand, it was holding a small crossbow, and it sent a bolt into the mans chest. he slumped from the saddle, but Saeren was already rolling aside as the princes guard threw their spears, coming up with his scimitars in his hands and plunged into them like a whirlwind, the Bloodguard with him.
Terrified horses reared, pitching their riders. Light and steel scythed through the Variags. One mans arm was severed from his body, another's head fell to the ground and rolled toward Saeren. A rider spurred his horse into a charge, one of the scimitars whirred and the horses head fell clear, the rider catapulting over its headless neck where the second blade severed his own head.
Arrows hissed from the dune behind them into the warriors like hail, fired by a golden haired Elf, panic took the rearguard, who were already galloping away. When the sand settled the only living Variags were the wagon drivers. Saeren approached the terrified men and ordered them to stand down. he placed his bloody hand on the first drivers shoulder.
'' Such violence is dreadful, do you not think? ''
'' yes... dreadful, '' agreed the man.
'' then you should not have come, '' said Saeren brightly, ramming his left hand scimitar into the mans chest. The victim screamed and tried to drag himself back from the killer. But the blade pinned him. he died and sagged against Saeren, who patted the dead mans cheek. '' So nice to meet a man who does not outstay his welcome. '' he said. Dragging the scimitar clear he let the body drop. The other prisoners fell to their knees and began to beg for mercy.
' What I need, ' Saeren said '' is a man who can remember a message, can any of you sub-humans do that, do you think? ''
The men glanced at one another. One of them raised a hand.
'' Good, '' Saeren said, '' follow me, '' Swinging away he glanced at the Bloodguard and Lebennen on the dunes : '' Kill the others.''

The remaining raiders scrambled to their feet and started to run. Three of them were cut down instantly, but the fourth was dodging and weaving and running so fast that the archers failed to hit him.
'' I don't know, '' said Saeren, laying his hand on the trembling prisoners shoulders. '' They are supposed to be my elite. But do you think any of them could hit a cows arse from five paces? '' he shook his head. '' Wait here, '' Legolas should have brought him down, which indicated to Saeren, that he was deliberately avoiding firing on unarmed men. He tutted under his breath.

He strolled back to the others, raised a hand for the archers to stop firing and looked at Legolas, then he took the elfs great bow and sent an arrow into the mans back at two hundred paces.
Returning to the survivor he gave him a charming smile. '' Sorry to have kept you waiting. '' the man was still wearing a short sword through his girdle, but he stood stock still his eyes fixed to Tars unhuman golden gaze.
'' What are you staring at? '' Saeren asked.
'' Nothing lord, I was just... awaiting your orders...''
'' He was the enemy's ally, now he is dead. That's royalty for you, ' Now, go and cut of the head off and ride to Angcruz, '
'' yes lord '' the man took his sword and struck four blows to the neck of the corpse.
'' Shoddy workmanship, '' Saeren sighed and knelt, severing the remaining tendons.
Rising, he swung to the man. ' My name is Saeren - the Dark Prince, can you remember that. '
' Yes lord. Saeren. '
' Good, now tell the King his ally will be bringing no reinforcements . Tell him when we meet I will walk up to and cut out his entrails. Then I will make him eat them. Be so kind as to repeat that back to me. ''
The man did so. '' Splendid, '' Said Saeren, clapping him on the shoulder. '' Now pick up that head. I am sure the King will want it. Oh and do not tarry - there is going to be a battle there, you know. ''

Walking back to the wagons, he glanced in the back of the first, it was mostly sacks of grain... and under them... swords.
'' What is in the others? '' he asked.
'' Mostly the same, my Prince, ''
' Well start them back to Sicanna, anyway, '' he strolled to one of the horses and leaped into the saddle.
'' My lord Where do you go? ''
'' Just for a short ride, dear boy , the escapees may have reformed, I would not like any surprise attacks, '' he turned the horses head and galloped away toward the north.

'' he is a f*cking lunatic, '' Said the Fae da Khi next to him, carefully under his breath .
The other looked at him and laughed. '' Yes. But he won. ''
The prisoner rode up, '' Am I to go now? '' he asked
' I would if were you, ' The Lieutenant said, '' The Prince can be very ... changeable... he may decide he does not want the message sent after all. And then.. '' he smiled, and gestured to the bodies.
The man sent up a cloud of dust and sand as he galloped wildly away.

[Maglor]

The Pass of Angruz was narrow, Udamah knew he could not use the full weight of his army there, but also knew , in time, the defenders would be worn down.
Maglor fought because his son fought, because there was too much age in him not to, because there was no Elf in Middle Earth he would follow, nowhere else he desired to be. And each time he killed , he imagined it was Saeren.

And Kalith cleaved and killed. It was true that Maglor had no defense when he fought like this, but that terrible axe never left a man facing it with a non mortal wound. To kill him, one had to be prepared to die and most men wanted to live. The killing frenzy of the berserker, in him was controlled, and he could think clearly, he was always balanced always moving, his eyes were never still.
When one soldier launched himself at Maglor to removed Kalith from his hand, causing Maglor attention to be forced on him, he did not simply knock the attacker senseless, he picked him up and hurled him back into the breach, retrieving the axe and carrying it forward once again to the enemy. he had seen the danger, formulated a plan of action and carried it out, all within seconds, the mark of a warrior born.
At dawn the soldiers came again, but this time they did not attack, they began clearing the ground of the bodies.
' What are they doing? ' Maglor wondered, the breeze stirring his long , blood clotted black hair.

[Saeren]

' Preparing the ground for chariots, ' Saeren murmured, ' Although in general horses will never attack a solid line, they pull up short. '
On the far side of the stream below, the Cheyan army had parted, making way for the gleaming bronze chariots . With their huge wheels bearing sickle blades, serrated and deadly, each chariot was drawn by two horses and manned by a driver and spear carrier.
After the clearing of the bodies, Saeren ordered thirty Bloodguard forward carrying the hide shields retrieved from the battle the day before, the shields were spread across the pass in a line and doused with oil.
Saeren laid a hand on Lebennens shoulder. ' Take your line fifty paced forward beyond the shields, when they attack, break formation, left and right, once they are through we will fire the shields. The second rank will engage the chariots while your line holds the following infantry. '
Across the line of chariots, drivers were pulling silken hoods over the eyes of the horses. Lebennen lead his men forward , hurdling the shields, and a thunder of hooves echoed through the crags as two hundred charioteers whipped their horses to the gallop.

[Lebennen]

With the chariots almost upon them Lebennen shouted the order to break ranks, as the Bloodguard raced toward the mountain walls, the Cheyan chariots thundered on toward Saeren and the second line. Flaming torches were flung onto the oil soaked shields. Black smoke billowed instantly, followed by dancing flames, the breeze carried the smoke toward the east, burning the flaring nostrils of the hooded horses. Whinnying their terror, they tried to turn, ignoring the biting whips of the charioteers.
Instantly all was confusion. the second line of chariots tore into the first, horses falling, vehicles overturning, hurling screaming men.
And into the milling chaos leaped the Bloodguard, hurdling the dying flames to fall upon the Cheyan spear-men, whose lances were useless in such close quarters.
The Cheyan King, from his vantage point a quarter of a mile away, ordered a legion of infantry into the fray.
Lebennen and the two hundred Bloodguard and the Elves, reformed across the pass, presenting a glittering wall of blades to the silver armoured infantry.

[Maglor]

Crushing the skull of one man and decapitating a second, Maglor stepped back, casting a lightning glance to left and right. The line was holding, pushing forwards. Only a handful of chariots burst back through the Bloodguards lines, there to crash and cut a path through their own infantry in their desire to flee the Pass. The silver clad Cheyans tried to press their attack, but meeting that terrible axe and the whirling blades of the Bloodguard they began to loose conviction and strength.
Furious, Udamah ordered their general into the pass.
'' Lead them hard or you beg to be allowed to die! '' He promised.
The generals body fell within the hour, and the infantry slunk back across the stream in the gathering gloom of twilight.

Wine was broached and Maglor lifted the silver cup in grim salute to Tar.
' Three hundred against a quarter of a million, I do like your style, son of Sauron, ' he admitted and tossed off the wine.

[Saeren]

Saeren gave his elusive charming smile, he was mixing some grey-black paste in a large earthenware pot. He rose and went to the Bloodguard, dipping his fingers in it and drawing lines over their faces, upper arms, like tiger stripes.
' I desire to see this so-called Sword King, ' he said calmly, handing the pot to Maglor. '' War camouflage, '' he added, wiping his fingers with a cloth.

Thus accoutred, Saeren and thirty warriors silently waded the stream under a moonless sky, hoping the clouds would not part. In single file they crossed to the opposite bank and once ashore, squatted in the midst of the group, nodding toward the drowsy sentries around the dying fire.
Lebennen...Legolas...Maedion.. he silently said, watching them ghost toward the sentries silently, daggers in hand. The men died without a sound. carrying unlit torches, Saeren approached the sentries fire , stepping over the bodies bypassed it, snapped a streak of fire into his own torch and the others, then dispersing, they slipped from tent to tent, until flames leaped thirty feet into the night sky.
Suddenly all was chaos as screaming men burst from blazing canopies to fall before the swords of the Bloodguard. Saeren raced ahead, cutting a crimson path through the confused Cheyans, his eyes fixed on the tent ahead, a huge pavilion, its glowing griffin outlined in towering flames. Wrenching open the flaps, he leaped inside. But Udamah was more wily, he was not there.
' Damn, ' Saeren said mildly, setting torch to silk, then snapped a silent order for his warriors to regroup, leading them back toward the stream. No concerted effort was made to stop them, as Cheyans milled in confusion, may of them half clothed, others filling helmets with water, forming human chains to battle the fierce inferno racing on the wings of the wind throughout the Cheyan camp.
Then a small group of Udamahs finest, the Immortals, collided with Saeren and the Bloodguard as they ran to the stream.

[Maglor]

Kalith leapt forwards, braining a warrior, with all the power of his muscles, Maglor reversed the stroke and took the head from another. the battle was brief and bloody, but the element of the surprise was with the Bloodguard. And the Cheyans, faced with these tall, black clad killers with eyes of fire, felt doubt in their hearts, for who were they? Long ago, it was said, the men of the North had been mighty, fighting with the mythical Elvenblood, against the first Dark Lord. But few believed now, that the North bred such beings. They knew only, that the one who lead them, and those who fought close to him, were not Men....
Bursting through the front line of Cheyan swordsmen, Maglor crashed the great axe through one mans side, reversing it it a slashing swipe across another's shoulder. Kalith continued to rise and fall, shearing through armour and bone. All of them were bloody, all bore wounds as they sprinted like light-footed mountain lions , back to the head of the pass.
'' So, '' Maglor said calmly, hammering the axe blades deep in the earth to cleanse them of blood.
'' where is the King? ''

[Saeren]

Saeren closed his eyes, ' You cannot feel him Kanafinwe? He will hold back, until the last, and if he does not fight... his men will deem him a coward. he made the same mistake many do. He underestimated the enemy. ''

For eight terrible days Angkruz became a charnel house, filled with swelling corpses and the foul stench of putrefaction.
Udamah threw legion after legion up into the pass, only to see them stumble back, dejected and weary. The dwindling Bloodguard, - for they lost also, - were held together by the indomitable will of Saeren.
Some of the Cheyans said they were demons, lead by the Gods of War, ancient tales were recalled, and new ones spun.
Only the elite, Udamah's Immortals , lead by his son Leonidas remained aloof from the fears. They knew it would fall to them to clear the pass, and they knew it would not be easy, but none believed it impossible.
On the eighth night, Udamah at last gave in to the insistent demands of his generals. Time was running out, for Chey Sart was no land to leaved unkinged for long, with no victories to report. The way had to be taken tomorrow.
The order was given and the Immortals honed their swords.
At dawn they rose silently, forming their silver line across the stream, staring stonily ahead at the two hundred men who stood between them and the riches of Harad.
Back at them looked the undimmed eyes of the Bloodguard.
Leonidas , the general of the Immortals, walked forward lifted his sword in silent salute to the defenders, as was the Immortal custom. The blade swept down and the line moved forward. To the rear three drummers began the doleful marching beat, and the Immortals swords flashed into the air.
Grim were the faces as the cream of the Cheyan army marched slowly toward the Bloodguard and the Dark Prince.
Saeren looked down at them and smiled his brilliant smile. He had made it clear that he did not care how many of the Bloodguard died. He took two paces forward, giving the Immortals a clear view of himself, his curls tossed in the wind and he crossed his scimitars and bowed, then, tauntingly, blew a kiss to the advancing ranks.

[Maglor]

Maglor barely repressed a smile, watched the advance, his fiery silver eyes blazing; he stretched the muscles of his shoulders and took a deep breath. His body had taken wounds also.
This was the test he knew, the days of days.
The spear-point of a would- be Emperors destiny against the resolution of Saeren . He had come to learn, as they all had, that the Immortals were damn fine warriors, but now they fought for glory alone.
Saeren on the other hand...was fighting to fulfil a new destiny of his own. Maglor had come only to fight with his son, but as the days had gone past, in blood, in death, it had dawned upon him that in this madness, he had found the only man he would ever follow. What lay between them, was there, a live thing, under it all, but his loathing had reluctantly grown a flowering of awe and respect. There was something not so dissimilar in his own father, and in Saeren, the panache, the flair, the passion, the charismatic fire.

But without Saeren's pure, insane resolve would they still be here? Yes... he thought, he, Maedion, Legolas, Lebennen, Tars first Lieutenant and his lover, yet a man of mithril-steel. They were all, in different ways, colossal forces, which endured.
He looked again at Saerens face in the dawn, unearthly in its fierce beauty - hate him or not, and he did, one had to admire him.
Time for you to speak, Saeren he thought.

[Saeren]

With the instinct of Ages of war, Saeren did speak. He swept up one of the gleaming swords and his ringing voice echoed back off the crags.
'' Come in and die you whoresons! I am Saeren and this is death!''

The Immortals hurled themselves on the Bloodguard line and the clash of steel on steel sounded above the insistent drums.
Saeren fought with both hands utterly independent, slashes across and down, right and up, finding the chinks in the armour at throat, at groin, under the arm, at the knee, a black clad whirlwind, but blades connected with him too, as he cut a swathe through the ranks, whirling on his feet like a turning screw of steel.
His eyes shone like blue jewels in the black war markings and blood, giving his aspect a demonic look.

[Maglor]

Maglor gripped the great axe two handed and surged forward, slashing a red swathe through the enemy ranks, his battle lust raged but was as cold as ice. His eyes blazed preternaturally. Despite their fighting skills, gradually the Bloodguard were pushed back by sheer weight of numbers, Saeren desired them to hold, not be cut into single fighting units who would inevitably be cut down, and obeying him they closed ranks, but doing so, were forced to step back. ten more paces and the pass behind them widened. They would not be able to hold it.
The line began to bend like a bow around him, but Maglor was immovable, the Immortals pushed toward him, but were cut down with consummate ease. Strength flowed through him.
he began to laugh.
It was a beautiful, yet terrible sound, and it filled the veins of the enemy with ice. Maglor lashed Kalith into the face of a bearded Immortal, and the man was catapulted back into his fellows. He leaped forward cleaving Kalith into the chest of the next warrior. then he hammered left and right . Men fell back from his path opening a space in the ranks.