They gathered outside of Cliving, near the path to Wildermore and the watchtower closest to Eaworth. Two groups of men, standing about chatting idly in the warm morning light. The larger group of the two sported the image of a planty green helm crowned with a horse’s head on the white background of their shields. The smaller group had a red harp on a yellow background on their shields. Both seemed nervous and alert, awaiting their orders.
Reeve Ingbert stalked towards the armed men, with one of Reeve Athelward’s maegisterwigends. He was rather annoyed by the other man, who seemed like a well trained pet. At least Reeve Athelward had allowed him some of his forces though, otherwise reclaiming has town wouldn’t be possible. As Ingbert and the maegisterwigend approached the men, they all stood to attention, ready. As they were besieging a walled structure, Ingbert and Athelward had decided to make the attack on foot. It meant they had to leave early, just as the sun was coming up, so that they could get there within the day and attack before the orcs had time to prepare a proper defence. Hopefully this tactic would work.
Ingbert addressed the men, who all listened. It was a rousing speech, which encouraged the men of Eaworth more than the men of Cliving, because they were fighting to reclaim their home. Ingbert then checked his men over whilst the maegisterwigend check over his. Several had to run to change weapons from the Cliving group, which made Ingbert proud that his men were perfectly ready. Once the men of Cliving were ready, they set off, marching to reclaim Eaworth and the Entwash Vale.
***
Ingbert looked up at the palisade of Eaworth. He no longer recognised it: blood stained the wood, heads of the men they’d lost in the loss of the town on spikes, decaying and disfigured. It made Ingbert feel sick, to the pit of his stomach. However he couldn’t falter, he had to stay strong and lead the men to victory. He looked back at them, some seemed scared, some seemed excited and some were just accepting of what they had to do. Ingbert looked back to the walls - he could see the dreaded orcs, the corrupted race, appearing at the towers. Ingbert drew his sword, thinking to himself in the flash of a moment that the positions had been switched from the last fight. He then commanded the attack.
***
Axes smashed through the badly repaired palisade. The men moved in, the sounds of metal hitting metal, wood and flesh drowning out all other noise, apart from the shouts of command from Ingbert and Athelward’s maegisterwigend. It was bloody and a little chaotic, but with Cliving’s men, it was not hard to push the orcs back and slay them. Black and red blood seeped into the earth beneath the foot and the mud began to churn up. Soon though, so soon, it was over.
Ingbert sighed, as despite their victory, lives had been lost and though their death was for a good cause, it was still a loss. He ordered some men to clear up the orc bodies and burn them outside the town. Other soldiers he told to gather the bodies of their own dead and lay them out nicely. He finally asked some to put up new banners, to indicate their victory. Then he opened the doors to the mead hall. It was empty, as if no one had been inside. It was odd. He’d thought the orcs would have plundered it, but no.
“Reeve Ingbert.”
The elderly man jumped, looking around. In the shadows stood a dark skinned man, in Dunlending dress. He swaggered forward, “The witch sends a gift for you.”
Ingbert held his ground. He paused, considering his words, “Who is this witch?”
“One who serves the White Hand.”
Ingbert frowned, “Saruman is said to be wise, but I never trust one involved in magic.”
“A shame. Does that mean you don’t accept the gift, yet you have not seen it?”
Ingbert was having enough of the man, his patience already worn thin and he didn’t want to play word games with this tongue-twister. He drew his sword, “I would never accept anything from your people.”
The man drew a poorly made dagger, “Pity. But She finds her way in one way or another.”
Ingbert slew the man quickly. There was a clunk when he did so, as if the man had dropped something on purpose before he died. Ingbert didn’t look for it though, too concentrated on getting the body outside to burn with the orcs. As he did so, he had a nagging thought telling him that the man knew they were going to attack and had perhaps the entire situation had been planned and involved with Saruman, their neighbour. He tried to reassure himself by thinking that there was no way such an organised plan had occurred and that the man was just blabbering nonsense about the wizard and whoever the witch is.
***
A week or so later, a woman was killed. She’d gone into a frenzy and attacked another servant. Some guards had to kill her, as she may have hurt someone, running around screaming about ‘She’ and brandishing a dagger. A friend of the woman had said that she’d found a ring on the mead hall floor when cleaning the blood of the man Ingbert had faced. Ingbert saw the body himself, saw a ring on her finger. The man’s words echoed in his head for a moment, before he pieced two and two together. He ripped the ring off her finger, stormed to the cliffs and then hurled the ring into the river below. Whoever ‘She’ is will not interfere with his people anymore.
