[Estelyn Telcontar]

Merisuwyniel listened closely, her brow slightly (yet fetchingly, of course) furrowed. “Hark!” she called out, and her companions harked obediently. “I hear…” she continued, interrupted by the voices of the others.

“Trumpets, trumpets, trumpets!” shouted Orogarn, who well knew the sounds of Gondor’s favourite instrument.

“Piccolos, piccolos, piccolos,” Pimpiowyn piped up shrilly.

“Tubas, tubas, tubas,” Kuruharan boomed.

“Stop!” Merisu commanded, “You sound like you’re filling out triplicate forms for some bürô-krát! You’re all right, of course – it is all those instruments and more.”

Suddenly a voice was heard, louder than the music, louder than the din of battle, yet its source was invisible to their eyes. All fighting ceased in confusion as the participants attempted to make sense of the words.


“Well, folks, it’s half-time, and here’s your host Pete Ship-ôlé to comment on the big show. Actually, I think we’re running a bit late – I certainly hope the battle won’t take as long after this as it did until now! I’d like to welcome my co-host Bill Furknee, who is joining me to comment this evening.”

“Thanks, Pete! It’s been a great battle so far, but it’s time to lighten up a bit, and here to entertain you is the Minus Teeth Royal Marching Band. If you’re wondering why there are so many players, it’s because they too have been revived – deceased band members from many long years. As they say, sometimes the baton is mightier than the sword!”

“Indeed it is, Bill. Let’s take a look at the action now. First you see that there are seventy-six trombones leading the big parade, and what’s that behind them?”

“I may be wrong, Pete, but it looks like an estimated one hundred and ten cornets! They’re followed by rows and rows of the finest virtuosos – the cream of Gondor’s famous band!”

“Just look at the next players, will you, folks? More than a thousand reeds springing up like weeds! And you heard them right at the start of the show – horns, horns, horns, of every shape and kind.”

“Yes, and now we can see the next rows – there are copper bottom tympani in horse platoons, thundering, thundering all along the way! I can hardly hear my own voice! And it’s getting better all the time – now the double bell euphoniums and big bassoons are having their say.”

“Well, Bill, this is very impressive, very impressive indeed. Who’d have thought that they would get such a line-up together. But what’s that? It’s getting even louder now!”

“Yes, Pete, there are fifty mounted cannon in the battery, and they’re thundering, thundering louder than before. This is almost deafening! The crowd is cheering them on, but it can hardly be heard.”

“And it’s not all just noise, folks – these guys can really play! Just listen to those clarinets of every size…”

“Yes, and their trumpeters can improvise a full octave higher than the score!”

“Well, Bill, they’re on their way out of the stadium, and I must say, this was another great show! I’m afraid they trampled on some of those miniature warriors out there, but there seem to be enough of them that they won’t be missed much. This is Pete Ship-ôlé…”

“…And this is Bill Furknee, signing off for tonight. We hope you enjoy the rest of the battle – we’ll be back next week for more. Stay tuned for these important messages.”


Silence reigned on the battle field – yet not for long...