[CaptainofDespair]

The carcasses of the orcs now littered the snowy field, oozing their putrid black blood into the soil, staining it. The smell of sweat, mixed with the vile orc blood, was enough to turn the stomachs of many of the troopers. Steam rose from the newly deceased, warming the chilly air, serving to increase the rancid aroma of death. The Gondorians sustained few casualties, mostly from slight injuries, which would heal enough in time for the planned assault on the Orcish battlements at Gundabad. But there was one man who was mortally wounded. His fellow soldiers had found him amongst the orc corpses, already near death. The orcs had few archers, and apparently only one had hit a target, whether intended or not. He had been struck in the neck, and was bleeding at a rate which the hastily trained field doctor could not slow. But before Lieutenant Uther could even receive word of the soldier’s condition, he slipped into Death’s waiting arms.

Uther himself had wandered the battlefield for sometime, surveying the carnage, and musing at the effectiveness of his plan, and recalling it in his mind, with as much vivid detail as he could conjure. He recalled the orc slaughter, and the veil of blood that sprayed into the air, masking sight and sound. The clanging of swords, and the howls of dying orcs screamed at his mind, demanding just attention. But before he knew it, the recollection ceased, and faded into what seemed to be a distant memory, of a past needing to be forgotten. He continued to stroll through the wanton carnage, kicking at the lifeless bodies of the orcs, while he mulled over his plans for Gundabad. But in the midst of this solitary wandering, a commotion arose on the opposite end of the field, along the tree line, where a number of soldiers now stood. The weary commander straightened himself up, and proceeded to the small tree that his men had surrounded, careful to avoid stepping on the orcs that were strewn about.

Upon arriving at the site of the excitement, Uther found the man Ingemar, sitting on the ground, with a broken tree limb beside him. Apparently he had hid himself in the tree to avoid the orcs, and had now just fallen out, possibly from the limb breaking. In any case, the lieutenant was not pleased. He motioned to a number of his soldiers to detain the poor man, and take him back to the makeshift camp now being assembled. To the others, he spoke but few words. “Return to the camp, and get some rest. Tomorrow we march in haste to Gundabad.” Ignoring the Men of Dale, he turned his back to the tree where Ingemar had just been, and slowly marched back to camp, to prepare for the next day, and to obtain what rest he could.

The evening was bitter cold, somewhat more so than normal. The fires that had been set within the camp were no use in fending off the dark chill of night. Seeing that the orcs had been defeated, the greater majority of the sentries were allowed to sleep, and stay as warm as possible. Often throughout the night, the moans of the weary soldiers could be heard rising from the hastily constructed tents. This was more than enough to keep Uther awake. But he cared not, for he slept little while campaigning. So, he stayed up throughout the whole of the night, plotting and scheming, while his two dogs slept on a blanket laid out for them.

*******************

The morning was somewhat of a blessing. The soldiers had ceased their almost incessant whining, and had begun to ready themselves for the day’s march. Most were still groggy, and fumbled about in the early morning gloom, slightly confused by the fog that hung over the snow. After an hour or so of this bumbling mess, the sergeants had managed to settle the troopers, muster them for the forced marched that would be ordered soon. The Men of Dale still lingered about the camp, but if they were to travel with the Gondorian host to Gundabad, remained to be seen. Ingemar was still detained, though rather loosely. But, he didn’t wander much. Instead, he just sat on a log bench, waiting for what was to happen to him. If Sjorging and his companions decided to set out for Esgaroth, Ingemar would be sent with them. Otherwise, he would remain with the host.

Uther did not at all see Sjorging, or any of his comrades, that morning. But since he had no time to tarry, he would set out. If they were going to follow him to Gundabad, they would be with the host. If not, he cared little. And thus, with the sounding of a horn, the column trudged forth, into the snowy fields of Dale, and off to Gundabad. Moving slowly at first, the now ‘veteran’ fighting men of Gondor attempted to liven up, before trying to tackle the forced march that their commander had planned for them. There would only be four hours of rest this night, so they tried to gather all their possible energy reserves, in hopes of withstanding the day.

Uther and his chief underlings rode at the head of the column, as usual, muttering to each other over the events of the previous day, and wondering what the Men of Dale would do, as none of them had seen them. But all the talk eventually turned to Uther’s plan for Gundabad. None of the sergeants were privy to his mind, and thus they inquired with him, and pondered many thoughts. But it was to no avail, for the battle-hardened veteran would not utter his plan to them, other than that he would take the mountain fortress.