Clear horn-notes tore the silence of the waste; a lone rider, borne hot from the north, brought the first tidings of war.
Within the Fortress every soldier surged to the battlements, and in a very short while the place fell into the strict, watchful rhythm of warfare. Ryan, Erken, Alaina, and Arion stood upon the wall, peering northward; Ailin, below, took charge of the healers and the stores, sending men to haul arrows, stones, and all manner of implements to hand.
Presently a scout rode up beneath the walls and called aloud, "My lord Ryan! The hillfolk have come! A host of more than five thousand hillfolk marches upon us!"
At the news the commanders and soldiers on the wall showed no sign of panic; their faces remained set and steady. Ryan's eyes darkened; he gave his command at once. "Ride to Garrison of the Vale. Tell Idhrion to be ready to lend us aid at a moment's notice!"
"Aye!" the scout answered, and sped away to the south.
Ryan turned to the warriors and captains arrayed for battle and, drawing the kingly blade Glamdring from its sheath, spoke in a clear, ringing voice:
"My loyal captains, and you brave, steadfast soldiers! Like me you were reared upon the northern wilds of Eriador — hardy as the grasses that cling to its stony slopes, stubborn and unbowed."
"The frost and wind of these lands have forged in us an unbending heart — a heart that, though the sun should set, will yet guide us through the long night."
"Now we shall strike our own spark and become the dawn that drives back the dark; in this age when shadow gathers, we shall raise a great realm and hang it high as a sun above the North!"
"But darkness will not brook our rising. It fears our strength, and would smother it where it be born."
"Today, with blood and with life, we shall defend this keep, we shall defend our honour and our renown!"
"There may be many who fall in this strife; I myself may lie at these very walls. Yet are you willing — with what life remains to each of you — to smite these coming foes hard and true?"
"With the weapons in your hands, show them: this black stronghold stands unshaken! Our great realm will be born!"
At that name a single thought leapt to Ryan's lips. He raised his arm and cried, "For Eowenríel!"
"For Eowenríel!" came the thunder of answer.
The warriors' cry rolled like surf upon a cliff. One by one, kindled souls fixed their fierce eyes upon Ryan. All knew his full name — Ryan Eowenríel — and some had at first taken Eowenríel merely for a family name. In an instant they understood: Eowenríel was no mere surname, but the name of the realm he called into being.
In that hour every man perceived the truth: this would be their founding fight. If they prevailed, the kingdom would rise like the morning sun; if they failed, they would pass as shooting stars across the night — bright for a breath, then gone. Every gaze was fastened upon the figure upon the wall, the kingly sword uplifted.
Sunlight broke through the cloud and fell upon Ryan, cloaking him as though in golden mail. Sacred and noble, he stood: an image of kingliness so complete that none with a million hosts could ever again make that same hour. This was his legend given flesh.
"Wuu—" "Wuu—"
From the far rim of the northern waste there came the dull answering of horns; at last the hillfolk's host appeared upon the skyline.
They surged like a tide, dark pelts flashing as one broad mass beneath the sun. Axes and spears in their hands caught a cold glitter. Among them were well-armed men in armour, and even cavalry mounted upon shaggy war-horses. These were the hillfolk of the North — a fallen people once in league with the Witch-king of Angmar, who wrought ruin over the old kingdom of Arnor. Though they had, as the Dúnedain had, slid toward ruin, they yet retained much of their warlike might.
Their chieftain bore the name Sakaban — in the ancient tongue of the mountains it signified "Great-Chief." He was near two metres in height, broad as a bear, his very presence exuding savagery, and his eyes fixed like iron upon the unfamiliar fortress ahead.
"Is that Minas-Elion?" he asked, his voice heavy with inquiry and a curious edge.
"It is so, my lord; that is the stronghold built by the Dúnedain," the evil priest at his side answered.
The priest wore a robe of deepest black. Tall but gaunt as a withered pine, his cheeks hollowed and his eyes aglow with a strange purple light, he extended thin, bony fingers from beneath his cloak. Upon his staff hung a score of tiny skulls; as the chariot jolted they chimed together with a sound like the clash of shells.
The hillfolk host halted a hundred paces from Minas-Elion. Sakaban rose from his chariot and met Ryan's gaze across the space. Around him the five thousand men drew quickly into order. On the outer ring were crudely-armed spearmen in pelts; close to his throne stood some four hundred black-armoured warriors, broad-shouldered men whose bearing made plain they were his chosen guard.
"You are Ryan Eowenríel?" Sakaban called, his face a mask of hate. "You worthless Dúnadan stripling? I hear you have grown proud — have taken a few strays into your service, and have slain many of my folk?"
"You are not mistaken," Ryan answered, his voice bright and level. "If you come to gaze, you may creep on your knees to the foot of these walls and repent for your forebears' treachery; but if you come with blade and spear, I will not mind to swing from your skull a trophy for the gate."
At Ryan's words Sakaban's look turned cold and murderous. "Boy," he snarled, "pride will cost you your life."
"Then try me."
Ryan's tone was ice. He took a longbow from a soldier at his side, strung it and set an arrow in one smooth movement. When his fingers loosed, the shaft sped forth like a falling star, tracing a fine arc through the air.
Seeing the arrow fly, the guards about Sakaban raised shields to cover him.
Clang! — a clear, metallic note. One of the tiny skulls that hung from the priest's staff had been struck; it was driven off and tumbled to the ground.
Ryan lowered his bow with the faintest curl of scorn. "See?" he said. "I have made room for you. Soon I shall hang your head there myself."