There is no life,
without Death,
there is no wind,
without the breath.
There is no night,
without a star,
there is no near,
without afar.
There is no truth,
without the lie,
yet if there is,
it only means
that I
beguile.
Eriador, Northern Lands on the edge to the Ettenmoors, Spring TA 3018
Thangrineth dashed on the back of her steed over the snow; the white exploded downright about the hooves of the black horse, vanished as clouds into the freezing air.
The Dark Elf ducked beneath a whipping branch that came her way, to not collide with it. The hood of the long, black mantle had slid down to her neck, strands of her black hair were caught at times within solitary twigs and escaped them again. The gems and the carvings of bones in her hair produced quiet sounds that could not stand against the thundering hooves of the steed.
Thangrineth held the blue eyes focused unto her prey that fled through the forest, not even ten steps before her. Not the brushwork, nor the upcoming fog could protect it.
One of the riders came into sight. His eight steps long lance hindered him on his escape, but he did not seem willing to part with the weapon, but instead, held it like in a thrust forward, to not become entangled with the thicket. The heavy, unkempt armor was rattling treacherously.
»Soon we will have him«, Thangrineth whispered into the ear of the steed, that let sound a wrathful neigh. The eyes seemed to gleam up in anticipation to bring its mistress to her target.
Ever since Thangrineth had retreated into the high north, she and her troop had begun to hunt the agents of the Dark Lord that sought to cross this passage and gain unhindered entrance to Eriador. But not only darksome creatures they had hunted. Dwarven caravans, wanderers and adventurers alike they had found and attacked. From the bodies they took what they needed, whether it was weapons, armor or the belongings that often gave knowledge of interesting occurrences in Eriador. Since a few days, they were after a group of Northmen.
By now, Thangrineth had inquired through interrogations that the leader of the northmannish company was a man called Torfrid, a noble and a dalish knight. The rest of his troop was made of warriors to horse and foot which slowly became fewer and fewer.
But also the lines of the Dark Elves were decimated.
Her warriors fell victim to the powerful bolts of the dalish crossbows, or their accurate lances, as well as to the incalculability of the northern Misty Mountains.
But the Dark Elf with the braided black hair was pursuing her prey without rest. Only because they had to account for some losses, it did not mean that they would halt their advance.
Only when she saw Torfrid slain before her feet, when the bones of his men were decorating the Darkling Halls as signs of triumph, when she knew what such a company sought out here, only then, would she think about rest. The own losses should not be for naught.
Thangrineth led her black horse unto a long drawn, hardly vegetated hill that was extended itself parallel to the path of the rider, and let her steed gallop. The muscular body of the animal stretched beneath her, it flew over the top of the hill and two heart-beats later, she found herself next to her prey.
The man saw Thangrineth, but because of the trees, he could not swing his lance around to move it between the legs of her mount to bring it to fall.
Thangrineth drew hopeful her short swords that she wore at the sides of her steel reinforced leather armor.
Infront of them emerged a clearing in the forest and offered the opponent the same fortunate opportunity to strike. The man rose up and held himself obviously ready to bring his overly long lance into action.
Thangrineth jumped during the gallop unto her saddle and leapt up. Her flight carried her to a thick branch from where she leapt again and catapulted herself down, right into the back of the man.
The lance-bearer could not see what she was doing behind him because of his helm and brought his beast, more out of intuition to stand.
But that did not protect him from Thangrineth, who landed with her soles on the back of the horse. The force of the jump threw her forward, an erected sword blade drove through the small gap between pauldron and helmet straight into the neck of the man.
Instantly did the foe go limp, fell out of the saddle sideways into the snow, where the corpse spun around a few times, lost the shield and lance.
The horse danced neighing to the side, trying to throw off the unknown new rider.
Thangrineth let herself fall into the saddle, led the short swords crossed like the blades of a scissor against the neck of the beast and cut the vertebra.
The white horse collapsed and lay one moment later dead next to its master.
Thangrineth had managed to jump down before the animal fell to the ground, the swords wet of blood in her hands and gasping for air of slight exhaustion and the feeling of triumph. One less!
Her tactic, to break the formation of the riders, to hunt solitary soldiers and to cut them off from their company was surprisingly efficient. Torfrid had to be a bad or an unexperienced leader to let it still happen.
Thangrineth sheathed a short sword, rammed the other into the snow and sought through the belongings of the dead rider. She wanted to have a keepsake as token of memory of this hunt.
But as the man had nothing on him, save the armor and his weapon, Thangrineth decided for his thigh-bone. Bone was a material that was still required; It was perfect to shape needles out of it to stitch wounds and torn clothes alike. But Thangrineth had a different plan.
With certain strikes and cuts of the half long blade did Thangrineth begin her work, freed the bone from the corpse and rubbed off the remaining blood in the snow, until it was over all white and shimmering. Satisfied, she went to return to her steed.
The faint sound, like from a harshly sprung back chord came to Thangrineth's ear, and she drew her head back - the bolt buzzed past her, capped a black strand of hair and penetrated the bark of a tree. The whipping string of the crossbow had betrayed the shooter.
The Dark Elf threw herself behind the trunk of a pine and looked around. »Oltar, be careful!«, she warned.
Her black horse raised the broad head up, the nostrils grew wide, while the beast slowly retreated. Just as the eyes had spotted one of the attackers, hit two long projectiles the throat and the head.
The stallion stumbled, neighed throatily and collapsed twitching, the hooves tossed up snow.
Thangrineth cursed the diversion by the bone. The stomping of hooves told her that there were more than two enemies which she saw herself against.
Her eyes wandered to the sliced up corpse. A trap? Had the man sacrificed himself?
Rustling fell the snow from branches and twigs, loud huffing came up, became one with the ringing of armor and the sound of hard leather.
Thangrineth dared to look around her protection.
About forty steps away from her, did twenty riders take their position, the lances held high and secured by five archers with crossbows. Together they advanced, one after the after lowered the lance ready for a death-bringing thrust, the shield raised as defense on the other arm.
Thangrineth would not be able to evade the wall of blades easily and figured that she was supposed to be driven out of her hiding. In the most likely of any scenarios, did another troop await her at the other end of the forest.
Suddenly she became aware that Torfrid used her tactics of secluding against her. The men had aimed for me since the very beginning! Only for me. And they had managed to part her from her people - with guile and wit. No Dark Elf could escape the lure of triumph.
Grim she saw to her dying steed and pushed the bone below her girdle. She was not that easy to catch.
Thangrineth sheathed the second short sword back unto her side and swung herself up on the tree - ever aware that she did not offer a target to the crossbows on the ground; her black seam of her mantle and the braided hair swung forth and back, while she won more and more height.
They shot nevertheless after her. The tips of the bolts missed her fingers sharply with which she grabbed the bark. A blade cut her slightly, she cursed loudly. If a bolt should find its mark, it would surely cost her a finger.
As the Dark Elf found herself in forty steps of height, there were not many trees left around her. The snowy crowns of the trees reminded of milled bone-dust that covered bizarre fish skeletons, that had been rammed into the ground by a giant.
Her eyes sought for the daystar which was descended far too slowly. The darkness would have been her benefit. But until then, it would take long.
Thangrineth planned, to jump from tree-top to tree-top and move hence towards the east, where she had left her unit behind. Doing so, she would be well protected from the projectiles of the crossbows and the lances would not reach her at all.
The next tree that was suitable lay about eight steps away from her.
Under normal circumstances, she would have had no second thoughts about getting there. But to jump without run-up from a snowy branch? Her wight would not be enough to bring the tip of the tree to swing to take the needed force out of that.
Beneath her sounded the voices of men, bolts buzzed through the branches, missed her however by far. No one could take that defense from her.
Thangrineth sought for a safe stand with her boots and jumped with a loud cry, to cheer herself on.
She was gliding over the smaller tops of the trees, saw the small banners on the lances beneath her, the by helmets framed faces of her enemies that looked hateful up to her and wished her death.
Then she crashed into the foliage of a fir, by far lower than she had thought. Her fingers clawed themselves into the long twigs, got hold and instantly grabbed deeper into the tree, to draw herself against the protecting trunk. A bolt scraped over her back, the steel plates gave a ringing sound.
Thangrineth worked her way cursing up to the top, heard the twitching of a string and drew in her head, looked around: On the tree next to her, a man had taken position, placed the next projectile unto his weapon and called out loudly.
So much about her plan to get quickly and unharmed from tree to tree.
Thangrineth crawled down, until the enemy could no longer see her and jumped from tree to tree, hoping, that the men would at some point be out of bolts. The time was on the side of the Dark Elf, she felt strong enough.
But soon did Thangrineth meet the fact that her plan had a sickening and major flaw to itself: The forest ended abruptly.
Infront of her emerged a slightly declining slope that went down further in a mile distance and led to the lands where winter had no longer the command. I moved into the wrong direction! Wherever she looked, there was no sign of her troop.
Soon came the first strikes of axes to her ears, while the archers were taking position on the plains and were ready to send a volley against their target.
The Dark Elf got an idea.
She took the thigh bone of her foe from the girdle and tested it again. I could succeed! She drew her knife and carved the bone into form. Now she could no longer use it for her initial plan, but should everything go well, then there would be more than enough material in the end. But just one mistake and I am done for.
The sun began to sink, the shadows of the firs fell long unto the snow.
The first felled trees crashed down and the impact was shaking through Thangrineth's refuge. The time became her enemy, the darkness would not come in time to serve to her benefit and as her savior.
She wiped the last shavings from her work, drilled the implied holes through with the tip of her knife, push the last remains of the marrow with twigs out. After a last look, did she set her lips upon one of the ends and laid her fingers unto the holes. carefully she channeled breath into the bone.
The bone-flute sounded slightly untuned. Thangrineth would have to correct the size of the holes for a well-made tune, but for now it served its purpose. By all haste that was due, because of the circumstances, did she take the inspiration to play the Dark Elvish tune with all dignity and in all its splendor.
The sinister, scaring and at the same time beautiful tones wandered through the forest, flew over the plains and out into the land.
The men knew now where Thangrineth was and increased their efforts. The strikes of the blades against the tree brought the trunk into constant vibration; snow fell from the branches.
Thangrineth played and played, had the taste of the bone on her lips and the smell in her nose. Just as she perceived an impending cracking and creaking from the ground and the strikes ended, did she stand up and put the flute away.
Slowly did the fir descend, into the direction of the plains. The pursuers wanted to make sure that there was no protective thicket, under which, the Dark Elf could have evaded their lances.
The falling became faster.
Thangrineth moved her stand, adjusted her posture to the angle of the fall, until she balanced almost horizontal on the tree and shortly before the impact with the ground, she jumped up.
The landing failed utterly. She hit the ground next to the tree and fell into the chaos of branches, in doing so, a broken branch penetrated armor and lower arm.
The Dark Elf pressed her jaws so hard unto each other that the teeth were cracking. What the enemy projectiles had been unable to do, lay now in success of the fir: She had been hurt.
As balance for the inflicted wound, did the green of the needles conceal Thangrineth from the hate of the men.
Hooves came closer, the tree was being surrounded, then the hacking of axes sounded up again. The enemies freed the tree of its branches, from the lowest point to the highest, as if they would delight in driving the Dark Elf more and more into a corner.
She looked carefully between the twigs and saw not half a step away from her, the tip of a lance. She estimated the number of her enemies in her immediate near to be about ten; the archers she did not see, but surely they were close and held themselves ready.
So did Thangrineth had to perform the feat, to always have a hindrance between her and the crossbows during her lunge. The heavily armored rider did not let her worry, as long as they stood on their spots and held their lances - for through that, they had no hand free to take another weapon if it would come to close combat.
Thangrineth did not want to wait any longer, her situation improved, if at all, only by her own doing.
Quietly she drew her short swords, stormed out of her protection and was instantly between two perplexed men, whom she drove the tips of her blades through the soft spot at the hip straight into their bodies. The call of warning came too late.
While the riders fell screaming out of their saddles, did Thangrineth rush beneath the body of a horse, jumped up before her next foe and stung into his visor.
With a scream of agony did the rider fall back, remained lying on his mount, the arms lost their power so that lance and shield fell into the snow.
At that point, the Dark Elf was already on her next flight, jumped against the fourth foe, cut him deep into the armpit and capped the artery. The red liquid of life sprayed out of the deep wound, the man tried in vain to stop the bleeding.
Fate, I thank you! As Thangrineth turned against her fifth victim, the edge of a shield hit her before the chest and threw her backwards into the whirled up snow. Listening to her instincts, she rolled herself away, the hooves missed her, and so did the sharp tip of a lance. The men had thrown off their initial surprised and were now prepared against her attack.
But Thangrineth was not done yet at all.
With a powerful throw did she hurl her sword against a afar standing rider who had not reckoned such an attack and send him dying to the ground; the second sword found its mark as well.
»You will not get me!« The Dark Elf bend down and picked up a lost lance to thrust it through the leg of a rider with both hands. But the hurt arm became suddenly powerless, the fingers opened themselves without her bidding.
A bolt flew at her and penetrated the hardened leather at her shoulder.
Thangrineth cried dull out in pain and reached for her knife, as a lance hit her side.
Only the steel she had to thank that she survived the attack. Still, she went to the ground and was pressed down into the snow by the long shaft. The blink of an eye after that, had a blade laid itself against her throat, a third aimed for her head.
Thangrineth understood that there was now possibility to escape the threat. She remained quiet, but with one hand on the hilt of her knife.
Would the men intended to kill her, they would have done so by now. What do they want? Bargain? Use her as leverage? Or did they want to torture her?
Thangrineth saw their eyes glimmer behind the visors. There was no mercy, but she had not expected such or accepted it even. She would rather die.
It was still about her; sometimes did a horse move impatiently or neighed, but none of her enemies spoke to her.
Then one of the riders moved leisurely towards her, as she perceived by the sound of the hooves, and only stopped as he had come into Thangrineth's field of sight.
He was a Northman, that she could see by the form and making of the armor: Before her appeared Torfrid, to taste his victory over her.
One fist was set against his hip, at the same arm he wore the shield. The lance he held erected like the insignia of a ruler, the white-golden flag on the tip was moving in the frosty evening wind. Searchingly he looked at her, examined her from head to toe.
»You understand my tongue«, Torfrid spoke overbearing and pushed the visor up to show her his face. »I know it.«
»What should I have to talk with you about?«, she gave back and felt how the pressure of the spear tip at her side became stronger, the stressed steel gave an ugly scratching noise.
»I want to know much from you«, he answered her. »How many wretched Elves do you lead, where I find them«, he enumerated harshly. »And after that I will be wholly satisfied to hear you scream one last time.«
»You will wait long for that to happen!«, she spew at him. She drew her powers to her, focused them to send great fear against him and the men, as well as horses around her. It could bring the advantage she would need to free herself from the tips of the lances - or it would mean her death. She waited yet.
»I do not think so. Your kind may be cruel by nature, but we are using these measures to make you talk«, he held against her and let his mount move slowly forward. »Believe me. We will make you talk!«
A hoof was set upon Thangrineth's middle, the foreleg was not burdened yet however to the full extend.
The Dark Elf felt, how fine nails were pressing through the leather. The thorns on the iron gave the animals a better stand on snowy ground, where they could slip - or they clawed themselves into bodies.
»With that you want to make me scream?«, she sneered and drew her remaining power from every corner of her body.
In the meanwhile it had gotten darker and the sun had descended behind the horizon.
»It is but a foretaste.« Torfrid clicked his tongue and leaned forward in his saddle.
His horse increased the pressure.
The own armor descended more and more upon Thangrineth, the chest and the ribs were cracking. She could hardly breathe; to that penetrated the thorns the leather and stung through the cloth into her skin.
The Dark Elf could not manage to speak. Her senses dwindled from heart-beat to heart-beat, even the pain in hand and shoulders seemed to perish in the black fog that came up before her eyes. The arduously gathered force to drive fear into her enemies was scattered and vanished.
Torfrid laughed coldly. Thangrineth did not find it in the least scary, but played and annoying. »Already is your overbearance pressed down?« He clicked again with the tongue and the horse raised its hoof.
Under a groan did Thangrineth fill her lungs with air, the fog was leaving and made space for the star-filled night. She observed the glimmering above her, saw the moon that bathed her in silver light. Deep tranquility overcame her in the face of death. »You will never return to your home«, she promised quietly. »Your death will await you here. Your bodies will be burned, left for the animals to feat upon or defiled by monsters«, she whispered satisfied. »You will not play any role in the coming era and your names will be forgotten.«
»Such as yours.«
»No. My name was written down ages ago by my brother. I am already undying alone by my being.«
»And yet you die before me.«
»My body may die, but my death means nothing und will bring you no relief. My Elves will know to find and destroy you.«
Torfrid examined her again, as if he had become uncertain.
»What plans do you have in these lands? Will you tell me, before ...«
»Why would I tell you what we are intending?« She raised her head, the braided gemstones and bone carvings were clicking quietly, then she laughed. »You will die, Torfrid! The dead need no knowledge. The spirits of the void will devour your essence. You are neither on the ground of Oromë, nor of any other Valar.« She looked hatefully into the round. »You are all lost.«
»Our protectors are everywhere, Thangrineth, the Cursed«, the knight of Dale gave back and went to turn his horse. »But yours seem to have forsa...«
In the same moment a long, black arrow shot nigh past him and drove with a loud sound through the helmet of a rider next to him, who fell forward against the neck of his horse. Blood ran out of the visor and unto the white fur of the steed.
Immediately after it crackled and clanked, as if an invisible hail would go down on the armors of the enemies. They fell sometimes screaming, sometimes silently, wounded by arrows or killed. Thangrineth knew what happened: The Dark Elven arrows with the darkened tips became invisible in the night, nobody saw them coming. Wounded horses broke out, threw down their riders. Her fate had changed within the moment of a heart-beat.
Now! Thangrineth managed in the last moment to deflect two of the lances with her knife and to turn away from the third, that would have almost brought her death. She picked up a lost lance, broke it with a hard kick, took the thin front part and used it one-handed like a spear.
The dying continued around her. Without rest, the arrows were shot into the lines of the riders, hit them over their entire bodies and delivered certain death. Elven-eyes could see very well and accurate in the darkness. Thangrineth estimated the number of slain enemies and came up to thirty.
As four riders attempted to stand against her, despite that the arrows were striking through their armors and shields, the Dark Elf had to gather her powers once more. She unleashed them at once and formed them into abyssal deep fear.
Like black gossamer flew it against the men and their horses, wrapped around their minds, their spirits and hearts.
As the steps of the closing in animals became unsteady and the lances began to quiver, Thangrineth knew that she had won. She moved to make an enormous jump, used the soft carcass of a horse as springboard and came upon eye-height with the four doubting men. Midst the air, Thangrineth performed an imparriable strike against their heads. The shaft of her weapon splintered against the helmets. The first man broke his neck by the impact and hurled the second out of the saddle. The remaining two spooked horses threw their masters off. Thangrineth needed only three quick stabs with her knife to end the lives of the men. Then she had to hold, shoulder and arm seemed to be set on fire. The pain and arduousness had become too great.
Out from the nothingness, she was suddenly flanked by two huge black horses. One of the riders picked her up and they quickly fled the scene. The battle was done.
In this night, I was spared from death. Thangrineth saw over to the edge of the forest, where Torfrid and his remaining men vanished in. Not to be followed after. So it would come to a second meeting. Sooner or later.
She breathed deeply in and examined just now the wound on her shoulder. The shaft of the projectile had been broken, it felt as if the tip was stuck in the bone. Her lower arm seemed to have gotten away with a flesh wound. The loss of blood made her worry, the weakness spread in her, brought coldness into every part of her body.
»Nothing against your flute-play, Thangrineth, but you should exercise more«, the voice of her brother hit her back. »The melody of Passing Clouds, I have got more harmonious in memory.«
She turned around and saw Achastelion standing grinning before her, he too was clad in a black, steel reinforced leather armor. The expression of his blue eyes showed the relief. She reached into her pocket, took the carved thigh bone out and showed it to him. »Is it not much more a wonder that I could play like so with this?«
His eye-brows wandered slowly up. »O, forgive my hard judgement. You have done a masterpiece. Under these circumstances.« He looked at the flute. »So I must rebuke you, to have crafted a miserable instrument out of a magnificent bone.«
Both laughed.
»We will find enough material.« Thangrineth looked around. Her warriors had climbed down already and began to search through the fallen enemies. She did recognize that Darinór was looking reproachfully at her. He already sat on his steed and gave orders to the rearguard. »What is up with him?«
»He will tell you that later.« Achastelion lowered his voice. »Make ready to engage in a harsh exchange of words with him. He has not few friends within our troop.« He waved a horse towards him and pressed its reigns into his sister's hand. »I take it that we return to our camp? Your wounds must be examined by the healer.«
»Desperately.« Thangrineth swung herself into the saddle and did not wait for the other Dark Elves to finish searching through the defeated enemies. Together with her brother and a small escort they went back to their encampment, that lay hidden in a far going tunnel system at the foot of the Misty Mountains.
»One of Torfrid's men whom we captured a few days ago gave their destination to us: A place called Jarnsalr.«
Thangrineth looked at her twin-brother, not without surprise and smiled. She knew the home of the Northmen and she knew that it was home to a weapon that she desired to wield all by herself: Nothung!
