[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Óin was half-sitting, half-lying, hidden from the sight of anything but the dark birds, which in large flocks circled above, diving and disappearing somewhere where the Dimrill Dale and the lake of Mirrormere lay. Óin could not see its dark waters from here, but he knew where it was, hidden underneath the knees of Zirakzigil and Bundushathûr in the dale covered in deep shadow. He also did not see what the carrion-birds were seeking there, but he could see too well what roused them up.

Below him, all the valley was flooded with moving black shapes, pacing steadily in the evening dusk. Even from up here, the highest point in the proximity of Silverlode's dale, he could hear the clanging of iron, the harsh voices and the cracking of stone under hundreds of feet.

Below him, the dale was opening like a gigantic snake crawling among the rocks of green stone. The vanguard of the great army was marching there, the tall Orcs with heavy shields, then spearmen, then Orcs with curved scimitars and some with shortbows. They made a lot of noise, and their marching formation was by no means too organised, yet still, they were there, to protect the van of the army.

"I bet a few well-armed Dwarves will show them," Óin muttered, his beard sticking to the cold rock. "Look, what a disorder! Is that an army? If somebody attacked them now, they would hardly have chance to form a defense. The enemy will be halfway through their ranks before the ones with the shields even put themselves into a bit of good stand. Each of them will have a Dwarf behind his back, shields won't be of any use here. And there, what is that? The small Orcs with the bows cannot even see from back then above the heads of their comrades, how are they supposed to shoot? Now if only Balin was here, he will show them!"

He moved his head a little, as to see further to the right. There were parts where the valley was opening wide, and parts where the slopes heading up were not so steep. There, even the sides of the valley were black with marching Orcs; wherever the valley allowed them to spread into a wider formation, they did, even with great thrusting and jostling. There were small goblins from the North, as well as the large Orcs with whips, Hobgoblins with axes and Orcs with spears, and amidst all of them, an ordered square of huge Uruks was marching, towering above the small goblins, in their hauberks of steel rings - no doubt stolen from Dwarves or Men - and their high iron helmets. They were carrying large scimitars of steel.

"And that will make one and a half thousand, in total, no less," muttered Óin. "And there are more still coming. What is it that these beasts are carrying there? A battering ram!"

In the distance, there was an opening in the mass of the Orcs, something black and big was carried there by numerous hands. And there was more than one of these things coming.

"Well, they know something about the gates of Moria, you should not be surprised, Óin, my lad," the Dwarf shook his head. "At least you know they are really serious: they have come to take Khazad-dûm of our fathers back from our hands, and they made the effort to prepare themselves for the long journey. I would be surprised if they did not have more than that: they can make many clever things, one has to give them that. Not very useful, but when it comes to destroying something, no, you could not find better ones. That filth!"

The Dwarf looked to the left, where a bit above the river's gorge, a wide path was running around the mountainside. Now there was a long line of goblins marching there, all in heavy armor, and some of them armed with maces and warhammers. "These guys won't be fun either," Óin continued in his almost-voiceless evaluation of the approaching enemy. "I bet they can move in that pretty well. Ha! Look how fast they are moving. They'd outrun you, Óin, if you gave them the chance to spot you. Now, what do we have there?"

In the shadow of the mountain, even further above the line of the heavy-armoured goblins, another, almost unseen path could be seen. There, Óin's keen eyes spotted several fast-moving shapes.

"Wargs! Wargs, no less! So do we have warg riders with us? Looks like that! Óin, my lad, this is no fun! Nine, ten, twelve? Not many, likely, but there may be others! No, there will be others! By Durin's beard! The wind is blowing from me towards them!"

The Dwarf turned around and started descending as fast as he dared. "I guess you have seen all you needed," he mumbled during his descent. "You could not have expected less than this devilry. Balin should be informed, rightaway! And you will be quite lucky to get there before they eat you. Now, careful! If you slip, you are going to ride all the way to the valley, and these guys will be very interested in what has fallen into their midst!"

At last he was down. The steepest part was behind him, yet there were still a few dozens of feet below him, but there were also the Orcs, whom the old Dwarf had no wish to encounter. He pulled his hood deep into his face and disappeared amidst the rocks on a hidden path which only he knew.