Chapter 334: The Battle of the East-mark
"At least there is one good thing. Gollum should not yet be in Mordor's hands."
Gandalf was not one to lose sight of what mattered.
Precisely because he had confirmed that much, he had not rushed, but remained in Gondor a while longer.
After leaving Gondor, he rejoined Aragorn.
Together, they began searching every place Gollum had ever been seen. Their tracks ranged east of the Misty Mountains, from the vales of the Anduin to Mirkwood, from the lands ruled out of Rhovanion to the Brown Lands, and on to the Dead Marshes.
They found nothing clear.
"It seems your search is not going very well."
In 3002, at a temporary camp in eastern Rohan near the Brown Lands, Levi met the two tireless hunters.
"Not very well, no," Gandalf admitted. "Gollum's trail is strange. He appears to have entered Mordor, yet from time to time fresh signs turn up outside its borders that may be his."
"Suspicious, is it not?"
Aragorn nodded and added,
"More suspicious still, his 'hunting' marks are frequent. Beasts, Orcs, even Uruks. I cannot understand it. If Gollum is as thin and wasted as he is described, how is he killing creatures stronger than himself?"
"He must have help. Or some special means," Levi said. "Have you looked closely at the bones?"
"No. That is, there were no bones," Aragorn replied, meeting his eyes. "In truth, I only guessed at his hunting from faint traces and from watching the movements of the Orcs."
"I took the risk of listening in near Mordor. So many Orcs have gone missing that one lame Uruk captain suspected a traitor and flew into a rage in camp. He put the whole place under lockdown."
"Leave that aside for now," Gandalf cut in, turning to Levi. "Tell us why you are here."
Aragorn, too, thought that strange.
"Why have you suddenly come to Rohan's eastern border? Has something happened?" he asked.
Levi raised his brows.
"Can I not simply be out for a ride?"
"Just for a ride?" Gandalf fixed him with a look that said, "Do not fob me off."
"All right. I knew you would not let it go. Yes, there is business," Levi conceded. "Reports from the border-guards say that large numbers of Orcs have been gathering upstream of the Falls of Rauros and moving towards Rohan."
"And only a few days ago, scouts from the northern vales sighted an Orc host in the hills of Emyn Muil. The Rohirrim know nothing of this yet."
"I had nothing pressing on hand, so I came to look in person, and to carry the news."
"Important news indeed," Gandalf said with a nod.
As they talked, Aragorn suddenly stood.
"They are back."
Thunder of hooves rolled nearer. A band of riders galloped towards the rough camp and slowed as they came in.
When the leader saw who stood there, he swung from the saddle at once, took off his helm, and came forward.
"My greetings to you, honoured Lord of the North, and to you, Grey Wizard, and to…"
He greeted each of the three in turn, but faltered when it came to Aragorn.
The Dúnedain was too quiet a man. Beyond Théoden and the few who had ridden with him in years past, hardly anyone in Rohan knew his face.
"This is Aragorn, son of Arathorn," Levi supplied. "He once fought at your king's side. He is your king's friend."
"I see. My greetings to you, Lord Aragorn," the captain said at once.
He did not doubt Levi in the least. He took the words of the Lord of the North as they were.
Reputation had its uses.
Once the courtesies were done, the captain turned to Levi.
"What brings you here in person, my lord?"
Levi shared what he had learned.
"Emyn Muil…?"
At that name, the captain's face went tight.
"You say there is an Orc host in those hills?"
"So the scouts from the southern vales report. Their word is good," Levi said.
Seeing the Rohan captain's expression darken, he asked at once, "What is wrong?"
"Only just now, a band of Orcs tried to raid the East-mark. They were driven off in rout. Our marshal rode after them with a small force. Their line of march was towards those very hills."
"Who is your marshal? How many did he take?" Levi asked.
"Lord Éomund of Aldburg. He took only a few dozen riders."
"Reckless," Gandalf said sharply, his voice full of exasperation.
"Looks like we have fresh work," Levi said.
As the highest-ranking man present, he swung up into the saddle and swept up his hand.
"Move out. Ride with me to your marshal's aid!"
The men stared for a heartbeat and turned to their own commander, the captain.
They found him already mounted and riding after Levi.
"We ride!" he shouted.
At the order, they scrambled into their saddles and pounded east, close behind the three.
Gandalf and Aragorn rode with them, of course. Neither would stay behind.
…
"Ha! Fools. They took the bait."
On the slopes of Emyn Muil, Orc scouts on watch jeered as they watched a handful of horsemen chasing broken Orcs across the ground below.
"I know that one. He is their marshal."
"Go tell the chief. Killing him will win us great favour!"
The fleeing Orcs fell one by one, screaming under the horses' hooves. The scouts in hiding only watched, uncaring.
They waited until the main host came up.
"Kill them!"
The Orc captain raised a crooked blade and roared as the mass of troops rolled forward.
"Fall back! Quickly!" Éomund of Aldburg, lord of the East-mark and foremost marshal of Rohan, saw the danger at once and wheeled about.
Too late.
While he and his riders were intent on cutting down the Orcs before them, a net had closed around them unseen.
Éomund glanced left and right, cold sweat running.
He had only a few dozen riders. The foe numbered in their thousands, outmatching them by a hundred to one. No tactic could bridge such a gap.
Breakthrough? There was nowhere to break.
They would not ride home.
"I am sorry. This was my rashness," he said, drawing a long breath. "It has been an honour to fight beside you. Yet it seems we must make our last stand here."
He lifted his sword high and cried,
"Let our enemies see what it means to scorn death, what true courage is!"
"Brave riders, charge with me!"
"Ride at them. Ride into ruin…"
"Ride!"
The thirty-odd Riders roared as one, their voice like the shout of a thousand.
"Kill them!" the Orc captain snorted, contemptuously, and waved his blade. The army surged.
Scores of horsemen thundered toward thousands of Orcs. Twisted faces leered and mocked as the beasts formed to meet the charge.
It looked as though all would end there.
Éomund's gaze was firm.
In that last moment, he thought of his children, his son Éomer and his daughter Éowyn. They were still so young.
At least there was Théoden. Théoden would care for them.
The pounding of hooves behind him, close and strong, wrenched him back to the present. The ground shook under a fresh tide of horses.
Éomund turned his head by instinct.
A single rider shot past him and his men like a thunderbolt, taking the lead. With a crash, he smashed into the Orc ranks, and the great dark-red sword in his hands carved a breach in their line.
"Form on him. Ride!"
At the captain's shout, the new Riders hurled themselves into the fray. They joined up with Éomund's little band and drove through the gap together.
Their numbers swelled more than tenfold, the Riders speared straight through the Orc host and split it in two.
"Seems I am in time," Levi said.
He hefted the greatsword and planted himself in the middle of the host. Orcs near him recoiled as if scalded, stumbling in panic towards rout.
"You…"
Éomund was choked for a moment, at a loss for words.
"Reckless," a low, stern voice said behind him.
Éomund started and looked back.
Gandalf had arrived a heartbeat later with Glamdring in his hand. He spared only that one, sharp word for Éomund before spurring his horse on, plunging into the fight and cutting down Orcs with a blade and mount that needed no apology when measured against the Riders of Rohan.