Ilúvatar Voronwé (vajra) wrote in adusta, @ 2010-03-11 11:22:00 |
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Entry tags: | ilúvatar voronwé, leironuoth |
thunderstorm (leir)
Capes were a fine thing for formal engagements, but Ilúvatar was glad to leave it behind. Equally glad that he wasn't saddled with armor. The coat of his office hung open, collar folded down, and the double-breasted thing was only there to keep out the sudden chill of the night. Despite how cold it was the air felt charged, explosive. And that was mostly due to the danger. Every man who'd come along carried every weapon he could find on his person, because the half-second you took to kick a dead Perub off your sword was the half-second it would take for his brother to skewer you like a pig. Improvisation was essential. Adaptation. Respond to the situation and don't stop moving. Just fight, and kill. Those were the orders he'd given. Along with 'be quiet or I'll end you', it was the simplest set of marching orders he'd ever given a group of soldiers. It was also the reason he'd chosen these men. They knew how to fight as one. And to the last they were all respectful of their new recruit. To suggested that having two lords on one mission such as this meant it was doomed to failure or bound for great success - but no in-between.
Sometimes he wanted to cut out To's tongue.
The ledge had been precisely where Flaithriaoh had said it would be. That sort of thing didn't happen very often, and usually only in stories. Ilúvatar had no use for them except as curiosities. Baila seemed to think it meant Flaithriaoh did have the aura, and was chosen by the goddess. Ilúvatar did not know what to make of such a statement. If Flaithriaoh was chosen by the goddess for some important task then it hardly mattered if the rest of them were here, did it? No. Chosen perhaps. But still a young man, who had never faced a situation so grim as this. Then again Ilúvatar could remember Eibhear describing his son. Nothing seemed to break the resolve that Flaithriaoh carried with him as another weapon. Ilúvatar had seen more confident soldiers in his time, and he'd seen more reserved soldiers, but rarely one that combined both qualities.
Baila was on point, peering around a corner that had proved impossible to navigate at speed. Ilúvatar was balanced on the sides of his feet, where the ledge narrowed out to little more than a strip upon which one could walk if one were very brave. Dust hammered them like rain, but at least it didn't make the footing treacherous. Not with the wind as high as it was. Once the wind died down the dust would settle, and then it would be a greater challenge. Here there was nothing but naked rock to work with. Ilúvatar grimaced at Baila's back, and then began checking to make sure nothing had fallen from his belt. A long-handled axe with a short head for melee combat against many foes. Both of his shorter axes, the 'hawks which flew straight and true. A pair of knives. His rapier. Difficult to move with so many weapons hanging from your belt. He wasn't the worst of the offenders, but only To seemed to be moving without trouble. When Ilúvatar had recommended he take extra knives, the fellow had laughed, and said he'd nowhere else to put them.
All of this was madness. A camp of five hundred archers, against only twenty-odd men. It would be ridiculous to think they had any chance of surviving. It would be even more ridiculous to think they were going to die. So his only hope was that one outcome was more ridiculous than the other, and both of them were only possible because of his first most ridiculous decision of all. Ilúvatar did not know how all of this was going to end, but even putting the archers in disarray before dying might be the strike that turned the tide. Certainly the Perubs did not expect to see the enemy here, well behind their lines. Baila was peering through the brass scope that Ilúvatar had acquired in a purchase from the Dwarves some years ago. Whatever he saw did not seem to satisfy him - Ilúvatar's second lowered the scope, squinted with his eyes, and then raised the scope again. Fine eyesight aside, in the dark it was easier to see with that collection of mirrors and glass. Easier by far. They would have their conversation here on this ledge, and then orders would be whispered down the line.
If any.
"They have guards facing this ledge," Baila whispered as he walked in a crouch, back to his lord's position. "Perhaps two hundred yards away."
A killing ground, Ilúvatar thought. If someone dared to take this approach and the guards saw, they could rouse enough archers to litter those fellows with arrows before they could reach fighting ground.
Two hundred yards of nothing but a narrow ledge to walk on. Ilúvatar's legs were already full of knots and cramps. Enough that he didn't want to think of crossing two hundred yards of ledge at speed, and hoping they avoided detection. There were no torches to give them away, but anything more than two men made enough noise to attract attention. Darkness would be the only cover they had. And a flimsy one, at that, if there were enough archers to pepper the face of the rock which they used as a corridor. Not a gamble. Suicide, then. Out and out suicide. He could only think of one thing to try. A sort of emergency measure, in case they were discovered. It would be hit, or miss, but if they turned back now everything was over.
"You didn't mention a two hundred yard walk, exposed to the enemy," To pointed out to Flaithriaoh - and at a scowl from Ilúvatar he added, "My Lord."
"You don't want to live forever, do you, To?" Ilúvatar asked with a grim twist of a smile. "I know I don't want you to live forever."
A single hoot escaped one soldier's mouth before he clapped his hand over it.