The departure of Gandalf had passed into the fifth day.
By Kaen's reckoning, ten days more and the armies of Eowenríel would be ready to thunder against Gundabad and the High Pass. Yet Elrond's words lay heavy on his mind, like a dark weight on the breast. To wait was folly. To strike late was to play into Sauron's hand.
Thus Kaen advanced his plan. He himself would lead the army northward: five hundred of the King's Guard, two thousand heavy cavalry, and six thousand bow-riders—a tide of eight thousand five hundred, terrible to behold.
Elrond, for his part, would take a thousand Noldorin warriors, a thousand Heavy Infantry of Eowenría, and four thousand foot-archers to assail the High Pass.
So it was decreed.
…..
On the plain outside Thalorien town, where the harvest had been gathered and the stubble lay yellow upon the earth, the host assembled.
Ranks of bow-riders sat straight in their saddles, their faces alight with grim fire. The heavy cavalry stood armored in steel, man and mount encased, only their eyes showing, gleaming fierce beneath the helm. And there, like a living wall, stood the King's Guard: five hundred in golden mail, tall and silent, each one the equal of a captain. Mounted, they were the deadliest riders of the realm; afoot, the strongest phalanx.
At their head was Kaen himself, clad in silver mail laced with gold, astride the steed Mearas, who shone like moonlight beneath the sun. He lifted his voice over the host:
"The Orcs would invade Eowenría. They would quench the light that blesses us, and cast our land into shadow. If they succeed, never again shall these fields yield harvest, never again shall laughter ring in our halls. All that we love—wives, children, comrades, kin—would be devoured by flame and turned to ash."
He paused, his gaze sweeping the host. "Warriors of Eowenría! Tell me, with the loudest voice you have: what shall be our answer?"
And the army roared, weapons lifted high:
"Kill! Kill! Kill!"
Kaen raised his blade, its edge flashing in the morning sun. "Then die if you must, but die on the field, guarding hearth and home! Let all courage and all honor blaze forth—for Eowenría!"
"For Eowenría!" thundered the host in reply. The shout rolled like a storm, shaking the air, echoing across field and forest.
Kaen wheeled his steed and pointed north. "Follow me! Strike swift as lightning upon Angmar's heart! We shall take Gundabad!"
At once the war-steeds screamed, and the ground quaked beneath thousands of hooves. The host moved out in perfect order, eight riders to a file, one yard apart, a serpent of steel,streaming toward the north.
Along the way, bands of warg-riders sought to harry them. But they were swept aside: the bow-riders loosed death from afar, arrows hissing into the dark hides; and the heavy armor clad horses trampled any that dared come close. The sight of the glittering host sent many a fell creature slinking into shadow.
….
Northward they rode into the Ettenmoors—land once of Arnor, later seized by Rhudaur, and ever after a haunt of evil.Further than here the Witch-king of Angmar had built his power, raising Carn Dûm to be his dread fortress. Even when Angmar fell, the moors remained a land of trolls and orcs, cursed by dark memory.
It was here that Arador, father of Arathorn, and grandsire of Aragorn, had been slain by trolls. Few places in Middle-earth bore such a weight of grief.
But Kaen gave no heed to battle among the scattered orcs. His eyes were set on Gundabad, and he would not waste strength on lesser foes. So he drove his host along the eastern ways of the moors, swift as storm-clouds scudding northward.
….
Upon a high ridge a mighty orc watched the host ride past: tall, shoulders like stone, tusks yellowed with age. At his side crouched another, whispering, "Chief, shall we tell Gundabad? They say the Witch-king has returned, and his kingdom rises again. Should we not join him?"
"Join him?" sneered the chieftain. "A kingdom without treasure, without meat? What has he to offer? We owe him nothing. The moors are ours now, and the trolls as well. Let the Witch-king prove his worth, or starve in his northern holes."
"And these Men, these horsemen?" asked the other.
The chieftain spat. "Let them pass. Better if the kingdom of Men and the spawn of Gundabad bleed each other dry. Then we shall feed well on the leavings."
So the orcs crouched in the hills, watching as the gleaming tide of riders rolled past.
….
Ten days they rode, relentless, through storm and frost, until at last the Misty Mountains loomed in the north, their peaks white with eternal snow. There, at the very crown of the range, rose Mount Gundabad.
It was a place old as the world: three peaks joined as one, sacred to the Dwarves, for there Durin the Deathless had first awoken in the elder days. Here the Fathers of the Dwarves had held council, and in the Second Age they had raised halls for worship and for law.
But in the year 1697,of the Second Age, when Eregion fell, Sauron had sent his orcs to seize Gundabad. From then it had been a fortress of darkness. Later the Witch-king made it his stronghold, building forges and armories, and from there he struck at Arnor. Though Angmar fell, Gundabad never returned to the Dwarves: it remained the capital of the orcs of the North, teeming with goblins, wargs, trolls, and worse.
The valley at its foot bore a road eastward, crossing to the other side of the mountains—but at its throat a fortress barred the way, with twin gates, west and east.
Now, beneath the shadow of the peaks, Kaen reined in his host. The night was deep and cold, the stars like burning ice. He raised his hand, and the riders halted.
"Rest," he commanded. "Feed the horses, sharpen your blades. Fell trees, and fashion rams for the gates. At noon, when the sun is high, we strike. Orcs are creatures of darkness—let the light be our ally."
The captains saluted. The host dismounted, tending steeds, breaking their fast with hard bread and meat. Wood was hewn, timbers bound with iron, and great rams were shaped for war.
….
Noon came. The host stood ready, ranks drawn up before the valley. Eight thousand riders in shining array, their banners snapping in the wind.
Kaen rode to the fore. His sword flashed as he lifted it skyward, and his voice rang like a trumpet:
"King's Guard and the Heavy Cavalry—dismount! Fight as footmen before the gates! Bow-riders, cover the field, let no arrow cease until the gates are broken! Strike without pause, strike without mercy!"
The ground trembled as the host roared back:
"For Eowenría!"
Kaen pointed his sword toward the dark fortress. "Warriors of the realm! With me—charge!"
The horns of war blared. The King's Guard advanced, gold armor blazing. The heavy horse leapt down from their saddles, forming a wall of shields. Behind them the bow-riders surged, loosing clouds of arrows that darkened the sky.
And with a cry that shook the mountain, Kaen himself spurred forward, leading the first assault upon the gates of Gundabad.
The war for the North had begun.