A King's Guard tossed his rune-forged golden spear to the king. Kaen seized it and, riding hard, placed his aim upon Hamanûl's head. He hurled the weapon with all his strength; it became a streak of gold lightning and drove from Hamanûl's back through his heart. The man flew from his saddle and struck the earth with a heavy thud, black foam spilling from his mouth, his eyes wide with disbelief and bitter fury. He had not thought that, though dark power had lifted him, he could be cut down so easily — nor that he might meet a mythic foe like Kaen.
EXP+50.
Kaen blinked, surprised that the wretch he had felled so casually was an epic-ranked dark champion, a lesser wraith in Sauron's shadow.
But the dead mattered not. The living still swarmed before him.
...
The corpse was trampled beneath a tide of horses until it was unrecognizable. The slaughter rolled on. Kaen's aim was not to annihilate every living soul, such a thing was not their plan but to break the enemy so utterly that in the years to come they could no longer ride west to plunder. Thus he ordered without pity: "Do not molest women and children; they are not our aim. Give chase to the fighting men, spare none."
From dawn to noon the killing continued. The fields were strewn with bodies and the soil drank blood; the stench of death rose and hung in the hot air. Two-thirds of the host fled and threw themselves into the mountain passes. Denethor, Wudred, Caden, and Aragorn were bloodied to their elbows, but each bore upon his face the keen fire of triumph. For this battle was unmistakable victory: with thirty thousand heavy horse they had slain over fifty thousand, suffering no more than three hundred men lost and some thousands of horses.
Gazing at the mountain where the survivors had retreated, Denethor asked, "Shall we follow into the passes and clear them?" Kaen shook his head. "Our horses are too heavy," he answered. "In the mountains we lose our mounts' advantage. Let them go." The others nodded and spoke no more.
Wudred then asked, "What next, Your Majesty?" Kaen answered with decision: "Burn the corpses. Take only some of the seized food and destroy the rest. We will sweep the coasts of the inner Sea of Rhûn and purge them." The leaders brightened at the order and set about their work. Piles of bodies were made and fired; black smoke rolled into the sky.
...
They rested for a day, then rode inward on a great cleansing. For several days they found little trace of the fleeing foes; instead, after bending around the rear of the ranges, they at last saw the true face of the inner Sea of Rhûn. Blue waters lapped a white sand shore, with little isles near the coast clothed in reed-like plants. Marsh-grass grew lushly, and herds of pale wild-ox browsed, the horns of such beasts, folk said, were the source of some of Gondor's ancient horn-craft.
Long ago, the wise held that this sea was kin to the ancient Helcar of the Far East, where the Elves first awoke beside starlit waters. Some even said that here the Teleri first felt the sea-longing that would bear them westward, though the truth of such tales none can now prove. In the elder days Men also dwelt near these shores before ever they came into the West, and old songs remember their mingling with the Firstborn. Whether that be truth or legend, the land itself seemed heavy with memory, as though it had watched the dawn of kindreds long vanished.*
...
Watching his steeds drink from the Sea, Kaen said softly: "In many ages, few ever reached here by conquest save the king of Gondor two thousand years ago, Halmendacil II. Now we have come. It is a rare and mighty glory to drink at these waters. In some measure we have matched the great deeds of ancient kings." Pride shone on every face.
They rested a day by the inner Sea, then rode onward — and presently were halted by five thousand dwarf-groat heavy riders blocking their road. A figure rode forth upon a white mountain-goat: crowned, stout, and kingly. He saluted Kaen with eager reverence. "My scouts told me that a mighty human host had broken the evil men beneath the mountain. I came forth to see and find it is Kaen Eowenríel himself!"
This was Rorg, King of the Iron-Fist dwarves. Long ago, when Kaen once forged rune-cores for the seven clans within the Lonely Mountain, Rorg had listened to his counsel. The dwarf-king had carried the tidings that set Kaen's great eastward muster in motion; without Rorg's message, perhaps no such march would have been.
Kaen smiled and said gently: "My friend, if you came to join this war with men, I must refuse."
Rorg was taken aback and then indignant. "Friend," he said, "this is no petty deed! I would see them felled. I know where they hide. Your courage I do not doubt; I would fight for you."
Kaen shook his head again. "We shall not tarry long in Rhûn; we will return ere winter. You dwell here always and though you have quarrels with these savages, your life is entangled with the land. If you join in this slaughter you will make yourself the enemy of a people who will revenge themselves upon you for long seasons."
Rorg hesitated, his face clouding with thought, and then, though he would not ride with them, he offered another gift: a detailed map. The Iron-Fist dwarves withdrew, but left a chart rich in mark and sign — the positions of chariot folk, of savage clans, of Easterling bands.
...
With that map Kaen began the next phase of his campaign around the inner Sea of Rhûn, setting forth to strike where enemy strength was greatest and to unmake the dark host so that for decades it could no more rise westward.