It seemed that the battle of the previous night had finally struck fear into Sakaban's heart — for the hillfolk made no move to attack when day broke.
They merely sent patrols circling the fortress of Minas-Elion, keeping watch to ensure that none escaped.
Yet, however tight their cordon, it was little challenge for one who had once been a ranger of the North.
Disguised in the garb of the hillfolk, Arion slipped through their lines beneath the pale dawn and vanished into the wilds, bearing Ryan's command toward the Vale of the arms.
Inside Minas-Elion, the defenders waited grimly. Many had expected the enemy to renew their assault with daylight, but hours passed and no horns were blown.
At first, some thought it strange, suspecting Sakaban of plotting some darker stratagem.
They learned the truth when the first of the new columns appeared from the northern hills — one after another, endless ranks of reinforcements marching beneath crude banners.
"four thousand more," a ranger muttered darkly atop the wall. "Added to the survivors, that makes seven thousand. He means to wipe us from the earth."
Erken, sharpening his axe beside him, only snorted. "Let him bring ten thousand. Those savages fight like half-baked eggs — soft, clumsy, and without form. I could cut down a hundred myself."
At that moment, a messenger ran up breathlessly. "General Erken! My lord Ryan commands that you gather a hundred heavy infantry and rest them where you stand. You are to be ready — tonight, he says, we move."
Erken blinked, then smiled grimly and nodded. "Aye. So it begins."
...
To the south, within the valley stronghold of Vale of arms, the air hung heavy as stone.
Messengers had ridden through the night bearing grim tidings: Minas-Elion had fought for a day and a night without pause. Half their force was dead or wounded. The enemy — seven thousand strong and still growing.
No one spoke for a long while.
At last Elger broke the silence. "We must do something."
"I know," said Idhrion quietly. His eyes were shadowed, the lines of worry etched deep. "But what can we do, with what we have?"
A captain slammed his fist upon the table. "The enemy is too strong. Our five hundred are barely trained — most have never seen battle. Sending them would be sending lambs to the slaughter."
"Five hundred against seven thousand?" another cried. "That's not a battle — it's suicide!"
"But we can't let Lord Ryan die there!" a third shouted. "Even if we perish, we must save him!"
"Calm yourself," said Elger, voice firm. "If we die for nothing, that would truly betray him. The question is — can our sacrifice buy him life?"
The debate rose and fell in waves. They had argued thus for two days already, turning the same desperate thought over and over, searching for a way that did not exist.
They had known of the siege since the first horns had sounded across the plains, and they had waited, hoping for an opening.
Had the enemy numbered two or three thousand, they would have marched at once — but against these many, even their courage could find no strategy.
Idhrion and Elger were not fools nor fanatics. They would not throw away their men unless the hour demanded it — unless their deaths could truly serve their lord.
It was that measured wisdom which had earned Ryan's trust when he left them the Vale.
Now, though, that final hour seemed to have come.
Suddenly, footsteps pounded in the hall outside.
A soldier burst through the door. "My lords! Lord Arion of Minas-Elion has arrived!"
The captains sprang to their feet in astonishment.
"Bring him in!" Elger ordered.
Moments later, Arion stumbled into the chamber, still clad in the tattered garb of a hillman, his clothes crusted with blood and dust.
"My brother! You're alive?" Idhrion cried, rushing to steady him. "You're wounded!"
"I'm fine," Arion panted. "It's not my blood. I fought through a patrol to get here — the bastards nearly had me."
Relief swept the room.
Idhrion pressed him eagerly. "You've come from Minas-Elion — tell us, what is Lord Ryan's will? We were a heartbeat from marching without orders."
"I bring his word," Arion said solemnly. He straightened, his face grim and resolute.
Then he told them — every word of Ryan's plan.
"The lord commands: we are to strike tonight. Take every soldier of the Vale and launch a full assault upon the hillfolk camp. Hit them hard and without warning."
"At the same time, Ryan himself will lead the elite of Minas-Elion and drive straight into the enemy's heart to slay Sakaban. His words were these: 'Since no road to life remains, we shall ride through death — and find life beyond it.'"
The room fell silent.
Idhrion looked around at his men — faces drawn, eyes bright. No one wavered. Not one flinched.
He drew his sword with a slow, ringing sound. "Then it's decided. Summon every soldier of the Vale. We ride tonight. We strike the hillfolk camp!"
….
"Wuuu—"
The horns of the hillfolk blared as the sun sank red behind the ridges.
From the vast encampment poured ranks upon ranks of men, their crude armor glinting like oil beneath the dying light. The sound of their marching shook the plain.
Seven thousand strong now — a living tide rolling toward Minas-Elion.
At their head stood Sakaban upon his skull-adorned war-chariot, gazing down upon the battered fortress that had defied him. His eyes were cold, his order simple and cruel.
"Break that fortress. Leave none alive. Bring me the head of Ryan Eowenríel."
Upon the wall, every soul who could stand held a weapon. Even the smiths and carpenters had donned scraps of armor and seized axes, spears, or hammers.
Ryan stood upon the parapet, his hand upon the stone, his voice carrying far over the wind:
"This is the hour of our fate! If we are not to see tomorrow's sun, then let us die beneath this glorious one — together! For Eowenríel!"
"For Eowenríel!"
The shout thundered from a hundred throats, fierce and unbroken.
As Ryan's Desperate Valor surged through them once more, the soldiers' eyes burned with the light of men who had cast off all thought of life — for only those who no longer feared death could fight as they would this night.
And so, as the sun bled into the horizon, the defenders of Minas-Elion stood ready — a few hundred against seven thousand —
the storm about to break.