Hooves thundered upon the path way as one hundred horsemen made their way South. Their helms were glistening upon the light of the setting sun, and their spears were held high. The sky was painted orange with the sun's light. Day was thinning.
A horseman appeared on hilltop to the west. His spear raised high in the air, and he turned about while calling a dreaded warning. "Hill-men!"
Régnwald heard the call and repeated it in a loud, commanding voice, "Hill-men of Dunland! All men to arms!" He stared up at the hill with a grim visage under his plumed helmet.
The scout atop the hill pointed his spear to the West. Régnwald would ride to meet him there and soon all his men, an éored of 100 men, lined across the rocky top. The Æthelwigend moved from end to end and without words but mere motions of his hand they knew what to do. Grimhelm, the maegisterwigend led 50 men mainly consisted of maercwardas on a forward charge.
They were all planned by the Hill-men that their leader gave the order to roll the burning hays down through the valley, to the charging horsemen. Leader of the Hill-men watched on as the fireballs hit into the riders, shouting to his men, "At y creigiau!!" He turned his horse, it galloping off towards the rocks, the eight men running behind after. They joined the group of fierce Dunlending warriors, banging their shields and shouting out, blowing horns, they readied themselves with spears pointed outwards.
Cresting the hill with great speed and direction, the partial Éored charged a mass of Dunlending horde, only few of them losing the control of their horses due to the hayrolls. The Éored knew this tactic, It would only fend off the horsemen at close range, yet most of them failed to use it due to the narrow area surrounded with rocks. The company separated into three lines as one of the maegisterwigends blew his horn fiercely. The lines weaved between the clusters of the Hill-men. The enemy were on foot and over a league away. More spilled over a yonder hill, like ants from a disturbed nest. Their numbers ranged to the dozens. Their smell, caught by the wind, filled the nostrils of the horses and the vigor of battle heated their veins.
The rows of Dunlendings at the front crumpled underneath the horses hooves and the spears, yells being screamed and war cries joining them. Pren stood on his horse at the back, barking out orders. Clearly the leader of these men, "SAETHWYR!!" He shouted as he watched the riders come closer, Dunlending archers stood on the rocks, about seventy in number, they knocked their arrows and pulled on the strings. Lining up their targets and firing out towards them, like a swarm of flies in the sky they whistle towards them.
Agnahan barely noticed the archer line form and pressed himself toward the rock-wall they stood. Still two arrows made their marks upon his steed's armour. Baldead, the sperewigend's spear pierced into a shield of a hill-men, thus letting it go. As he' was about to draw his sword a rather nasty club found its mark right onto Baldead's chest knocking him back off Garwulf, his horse, landing on the ground with a big thud. Agnahan and his steed began showing signs of weakness as their movement began to slow. Both horse and rider sulked deep down into the dreadful poisons of the Hill-folk. A young falawigend, Eohilda rode fiercely upon the horde, her eyes flaming with hatred, as her steed, Hebrew continued to gallop wildly. She drew her sword and bright steel was swung. She slew her foes with sword and rearing hooves, wheeling her steed and turning back to charge again. Another eorling, Agnahan came charging away from the line of a few Dunlending and regrouped with Régnwald.
This time led by Régnwald, fifty horsemen formed a five by ten line with even spaces. Their pace accelerated and they lowered their spears toward the empty spaces between the armor of their foes. They were upon them now! The formation struck the thick of the horde. The lances of Régnwald and the four beside him stuck with such force that the Hill-men were launched backward into their comrades, knocking them down for the horses to trample. Agnahan sweeped back to form Regnwald's right spear flank, he maintained his initial momentum and felled several Dunlending as his until charges. The formation came out the other side of the horde. They turned 'round and struck again through the center. The few archers, positioned at the rear, tied reigns to saddle and readied their bows. The arrows shot in a high arch and whistled, finding their homes mostly. Ysmired finally managed to lead his steed to the hill top and began to shoot arrows at the enemy on the rocks. Young shieldmaiden Eirveth cried, ''Forth Eorlingas!'' and swinged her sword of steel, cutting through the guts of the Wild-men.
Leader of the Hill-men, Berahéafod raised his axe, kicking his horse as he shouted out, all of his men now charging at them. The leader shouted out, his deep voice echoing in the small valley they are in. "NAWR! Nawr rydym streic a lladd! Gwnewch eu gwallt melyn yn mynd yn goch! Gwnewch EIN tiroedd rhedeg yn goch gyda eu gwaed!!" He rode on, axe high as all of his men met the horses. The commander himself focussing on Régnwald, from what he sees, the leader of the men.
Régnwald cried, 'Left none alive!' as he hacked with his sword. The brittle courage of the Wild-men began to waver.
Agnahan attempted to muster enough of his sheer will to regroup with Regnwald and fell more foes, but was struck too far into the corrosive nature of Dunlending poison. Baldead looked towards Agnahan hearing him yelling about the arrow. He tried to make way over to him, but was stopped on the way by the new charge of the Hill men. He just managed to block the incoming blow, but is losses the axe in such manner. A Hillman would plunge into one of the shieldmaidens, to Eirveth again from her left side, yet she couldn't avoid the blow and her foe would cut her leg with his axe and she shouted out "Arrgggh!" pushing him away with her shield.
Berahéafod rode harshly into the Rohirrim leader, roaring out a deep battle cry! The Dunlendings crashed into the horses, spears reaching for bellies and axes reaching for legs! Roaring with spirit, a war chant being shouted out! "Marwolaeth i'r gwallt llin!!" Regnwald unsheathed his sword, surveying him keenly and steel met steel. The riders and chaos was around them, but he fought without hindrance nor help, using his riding maneuvers before the Hill-men commander. ''Death shall meet you now!''
Berahéafod roared out, not caring for any maneuvers. The life of a horse worth nothing to him, he turned the large brown beast, aiming to slam the whinnying horse into Regnwald's own one, causing them both to fall. Regnwald leaped from his steed before the fair beast falls, and grabbed his sword once more. He would lunge and strike with heavy blows and switch to fast and light ones. His opponent matched the changing pace of his blade. Then Régnwald glanced a blow to the bearhead's bare shoulder. Pren fell from his steed as it hit the ground, rolling off into the reddened grass with his axe in his hand, pushing himself up, the sword digging into his shoulder before he swung with his axe towards the man, rolling his bleeding shoulder with a grunt.
A horn blasted from behind, and then another. Eighty horsemen from the East, held high their spears, announcing their arrival to the battlefield. Their speed could not be matched on foot. They themselves became as a spear and plunged into the heart of the enemy. Launching the Wild-men backward, sounds of whispering arrows,and cries echoed through the wild west wind.
Régnwald cried, swinging his sword to parry his attack, ''Your band falls this day!" He kept his sword aloft and his ears open. This battle was nearly over, but would not relax his guard. The commander of the Hill-men watched his men getting fallen by the joining Rohirrim, his brow furrowing as he let out another loud roar. "Yn ôl! Yn ôl! Mae gormod o, rydym yn ymosod anheddiad llai!!" Pren kicked outwards as his axe was stopped, trying to get some time for himself then, he grabbed onto his horse, climbing onto it as he rode off as fast as the beast would carry him. His men following him, leaving behind the dead and injured, blowing horns as they went... Fifteen maercwardas were ordered to follow the Hill-men fleeing towards the river, while the rest rode back to help the wounded. The burg of Cliving was near, so the order was given to ride back there with the wounded.
Dusk slowed over the sky after the sunset in the horizon, slower still. The chill of night already set on the air now that the sun no longer warmed it. Foggy breath expelled from the mouths of man and beast. They were celebrating their victory with swearing to the Wild-men of Dunland. Régnwald stood with a grim visage, he fixed his eyes at the way the Wild-men fled to, as they were heading back to the Burg.
