[Fordim Hedgethistle]

The shadowy forms of the sentinels moved through the trees with such quiet stealth that Ambarturion doubted that any but one such as himself could see them. The brothers were young, but he had trained them well and they knew how to move in the dark so that they would neither be seen nor heard. He sniffed at Coromswyth’s fears of being surprised by any manner of beast: there was nothing alive that could find its way past two whom he had trained. The moon was sinking toward the mountain tops, casting the last of his feeble light, while above the copse the light of Earendil shone down so bright that it cast faint shadows. Ambarturion sought comfort in sleep and dreams but they eluded him. He was a creature of action and movement, and while he found it easy to lose himself in memory as he walked, always the enforced stasis of night left him anxious. This night, his unease was provoked both by the chill of apprehension that had settled upon him and by the knowing, half-mocking words of Coromswyth.

He had misjudged her somewhat; he had thought her incapable of reading him so well, and she had surprised him when she so easily found him questioning her spirit. He had begun to see that he reminded her of someone – someone whom she admired and respected but with neither intimacy nor passion. An older brother perhaps, or the lord Celeborn. He shrugged his shoulders beneath his cloak to drive away the thoughts of her and settled his head back against the trunk. He fell into sleep, but his eyes remained open and gazing upon the Flammifer.

He was awake and on his feet before Megilaes had crossed half the distance between them. He had been asleep for only three hours but the darkness had deepened to pitch with the moon’s setting. The Star still shone, but he had moved behind the screen of trees that was now their only protection from what came toward them up the hill. Seeing that his master was awake already, Megilaes went to wake Coromswyth and bid her prepare for the onslaught.

Trusting the immediate protection of the lady to his pupil, Ambarturion joined Caranbaith upon the shallow lip of the hollow and followed his gaze into the west. “How many have you seen?” he asked.

“At least two score. They are trying to cover their approach in the brush, but the light of the Mariner has shown them to me. They must have been lying in wait for us since we arrived, however – they began to move the instant the moon disappeared.”

Ambarturion’s eyes scanned the ground before them, taking in the situation at a glance. The lady Coromswyth’s assessment of their position’s strategic potential had been accurate. Had they been surprised by the enemy there would not be much hope. Thanks, however, to the keen eyes of the brothers the advantage was now theirs. Ambarturion spoke quickly, issuing orders. “They are many, but still too few to surround the hill. They will attack on no more than two sides, if they have wit enough; it is more likely that they will come upon us in a body, hoping by the force of numbers to overwhelm us quickly. I do not see that many of them are armed with bows, so we must take full advantage of that. Get your longbows and conceal yourselves in the trees – but take care that you are no more than six paces from one another!” The brothers quickly obeyed him, Caranbaith bringing Ambarturion’s bow to him where he stood. As Ambarturion readied his first arrow he saw Coromswyth take cover and aim her shaft at the leading goblin.

Their enemy was close enough now that they could easily make out the heavy stamp of their foul feet and the harsh clatter of their armour. They were indeed goblins of Moria, and as they came they spoke to one another in their debased babble. They hesitated for a moment at the foot of the hill, but at a command from the rear of the column, they rushed up its slope. Ambarturion waited until they had closed to half the distance of the slope before loosing his shaft. At the same moment Megilaes and Caranbaith loosed as well, and were quickly followed by Coromswyth. All their arrows found their marks and four goblins fell. The band let out a howl like a pack of dogs and raced toward the trees. The Elves fired again and again, more quickly than the eye could follow, and soon at least a dozen more goblins lay dead upon the clean grass. But then the party was beset by the monsters, and they were obliged to draw their swords.

Ambarturion easily sidestepped the first wave of assailants, and with an almost lazy slash of his sword, he sent one of the goblin’s heads toppling through the air. His blade glittered white in the starlight as it danced and wove about him, and soon two more goblins lay dead. He felt a danger to Caranbaith and whirled in time to see two goblins pressing their attack at his back. Ambarturion leapt over the nearest goblins and drove his sword through the back of the largest beast besetting his pupil. The other turned but fell to join his companion.

The initial shock of the attack was now over, and Ambarturion looked about for the others. Coromswyth and Megilaes stood together against their foes and dealt out death on all sides. The lady’s skill in battle surprised and pleased him – she had clearly been trained by a master. The goblins renewed their attack, and he was soon wholly concentrated upon the battle once more. Goblin after goblin fell before him, but still they pressed in. He did not know how many were attacking them, and he did not know how many he had killed, but surely their numbers were more than two score?

A cry of pain from behind made him swirl, and he saw Caranbaith clutching his side as blood came forth from a deep gash. The goblin who had dealt it stood behind his pupil, his hideous face made more so by the devilish look of hatred that overspread it. The goblin raised his sword to deal the death blow, but Caranbaith was able to counter it before it fell. The effort, however, pained him and he stumbled and fell. Again the goblin came at his prey, but it was too late. Ambarturion had rushed to his student’s aid and before the goblin saw him coming, he the cold steel of Gondolin pressed through his heart and he fell without a sound to the earth.

To this point, Ambarturion had fought with mastery but reason. The sight of the young Elf’s blood seemed to set him alight with fury. With a cry he sprang at the nearest goblins and began to slaughter them with a grim smile upon his face. He took no heed to his safety, relying instead on the blaze of his rage to quell them. They looked upon him and despaired, for it seemed that one of the Eldar had fallen upon them, as in the days of old, and none could withstand him. Those who yet remained alive threw down their weapons and fled, gibbering in terror. Ambarturion pursued them to the edge of the hollow, slaying as he went, and soon the hill was bare of the enemy.

He stood panting upon the lip of the hollow for a time, allowing the cool night wind to cool his fury. He knew that Caranbaith was alive, but grievously wounded, and the knowledge stabbed at him more keenly than any orc blade could have done. As he returned to reason, he heard the low cries and moans of those enemies who had been wounded too badly to flee. Turning from the edge of the copse he walked amongst the fallen, coolly dispatching the survivors with his sword, heedless to the foul curses that they spat at him with their dying breaths.