20. Weathertop Destroyed
"You're back soon," Morion noted as Khamul walked in.
"Rivendell is besieged, and I left Cala in charge."
Morion raised an eyebrow. "In charge of a horde of orcs and trolls?"
"Exactly. The elves are lying low, for the moment anyway. I think they expect us to leave the moment things get boring."
"They will be wrong then."
"Fatally so," Khamul agreed. "So, where are we on the plans for attacking Weathertop?"
"In two weeks the king will be speaking with a representative of Cardolan there," Morion said.
"The king's own brother."
"I see," Khamul said. "Very powerful."
"I presume that's when we're going to attack?"
"You presume correctly," Morion said. "The number of orcs we have is astonishing; we will crush them. This time, not even if all Lindon emptied would there be able to defeat us."
"Weathertop's well-guarded though," Khamul said. "And now it'll be by both Arthedain and Cardolan."
Morion shrugged. "It doesn't matter," he said.
Khamul raised an eyebrow. "Really? We've reached that level of strength?"
Morion smiled. "And more," he said. "We might be able to take Cardolan as well, but I don't want to overextend ourselves."
"Oh no, we wouldn't want to do anything like that."
"I know you believe in quick, decisive action, but sometimes things need to be examined closely before action is taken."
Khamul snorted. "And sometimes action needs to be taken before the opportunity has passed!"
"Cardolan will only grow weaker. We lose nothing by delaying."
"We allow Arthedain time to reinforce Cardolan!"
"Khamul, the way I have planned it, Arthedain will be in no position to reinforce anyone for some time to come."
"That good, eh?" Khamul asked, grinning.
"That good," Morion said, nodding.
It was night. Sneak attacks always happened at night, Khamul noticed. All around her were stealthy orcs, slinking closer and closer to Weathertop. The fortress on the hill shone with torches, and Khamul could nearly hear the laughter of a feast. Last one they'll enjoy, she thought.
Vorea was leading the attack on Weathertop, which irked Khamul. "Leave Arveleg to me," she'd told the one-eyed ringbearer, but Vorea had simply shrugged. "I will do what I can," she'd said. No more though.
Khamul was leading a portion of the army through Cardolan to burn and pillage what they could. A portion. Ha. It was over ten thousand orcs. That was no portion; it was an army.
Morion gave the signal, setting fire to the fortress itself this time, and Vorea charged forward with a wild warcry.
Snarling to her orcs, Khamul took them past the fortress and trampling through the small houses where soldiers were stationed to keep watch on the border. Much good it did.
On they ran through the land, burning as they went. Khamul on her horse stayed well in front of the army, but would occasionally glance back to see the burning homes and screaming people.
We have won a great victory, she thought.
And then a horse very nearly collided with hers.
"Damn you!" Khamul snarled, nearly thrown from her saddle as her horse reared in fright.
"What devilry is this!" the rider growled. "Orcs abroad in Cardolan, and Amon Sul thrown down! And you! Who are you? Declare yourself at once!"
Khamul simply smiled. It was a strange way of speech the rider had, and his eyes were so very bright. "I can guess who you are," she said.
The man frowned and his hand went to his sword.
"You are Arveleg," Khamul said, attempting to take the man's head off with one blow of her sword.
"And you are – unless I am deceived – the fiend who murdered my father!" Arveleg snarled, blocking her blow.
"It was on the field of battle; it certainly wasn't murder!"
Arveleg did not reply, but very nearly cut Khamul's arm off.
"You're fast," Khamul snarled, all her attention focused on fighting the man. He was very good. "But I am a ringbearer, and all your strength and steel is for naught. I am invulnerable. You can't so much as scratch me!"
"I care not for your prophecies!" Arveleg shouted. "I shall avenge my father! I shall…" He ceased to speak as Khamul's sword went through his heart and out again.
"I don't think so," Khamul said.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.