With a nod from one trio to the other, Durgil led his companions out of the inn. The damp chill pressed on them again, even though it was the mid of June. Dirnhael pondered the weather - rain was certainly common during the Cardolan summer, but he would expect the temperature to be more warm and sticky due to the humidity. The thought did not linger long as he watched Durgil first check on the horses, and then lead them out onto the Iaur Men Formen (North-South Road).

The trio had no specific direction but they had come from the north and seen what was there, and so their boots turned south. They walked side by side down the empty road, the occasional pat of a raindrop tapping on their hoods.

Celdrahil and his two companions stayed behind enjoying the dry common room.

---

I do not want to rush into the next scene until I know you guys have finished your 'conversations', so I will give this a little more time to pan out.

 I'm good to go.

  Carry on

Nain watched as the men went out into the cold wet darkness.  He pondered going with them then decided that his warm bed and ale would be better company this night.

"Good luck with yer hunting gentlemen."  He held his cup high in a toast as they walked into the damp darkness.

The men waved a fare the well to their Dwarf companion, as they walked south along the road. Dirnhael took on a similar gait and suppressed his appearance with his cloak so as to look like any common man that might live or work in the surrounding fields, like his brother, Durgil, beside him. It would be far easier to get answers from passerbys when they appeared to be like them, instead of the aristocracy of Arthedain.


The sky was slate gray until it met the darker browns and lush green of the horizon. The city of Tharbad could be seen in the distance, sitting astride the river that snaked north and south out of view It was a darker smudge against the landscape, its formidable walls still standing to protect those within. Although, now the men knew that death was already within the confines of the city, and it was more terrible a foe than any orc that might present itself.

They passed small homes and fields, businesses, and barns - some were occupied while others stood empty and silent. There was the occasional field hand or farmer that would stand and watch them pass, but for that the road and evening was silent and lonely. Dirnhael could see smoke rising from chimneys within Tharbad and it gave him some ease of mind knowing that life did carry on there, but still all was too sedate.

Conversation was slight between the two Dúnedain nobles, the sound of their voices breaking the stillness, and so they just walked and looked. They took in all the sights, the sounds, and the feel of the land. Gandalf was right - there was something wrong in Cardolan. It reminded Dirnhael of the cold lands of Angmar - a sleeping malevolence was near. They had not realized it, but they had walked almost two miles and the walls of Tharbad could be seen more clearly in the distance - even in the fading daylight.

The city stretched north of them and the men could see where the walls ended. Outside of Tharbad was more buildings, homes and businesses around large squares for trading and selling of goods. There were docks and shipyards along this side of the Gwathlo although no ships or barges were being built anymore. A road broke off to the north and led to a small hamlet that glowed softly further north of the city proper. North of that, the bogs and mires of the marshlands called Nîn-in-Eilph were visible, dark and brooding, where the Glanduin met the Hoarwell.

Movement caught Durgil's eye as two horsemen came riding at an urgent pace down the road that led north, "SWORDS! SWORDS ARE NEEDED! FEAR, FIRE, FOES!"

Dirnhael's hand instinctively reached for Vorandur's grip, then cast Durgil a quick look of concern.
"What is the trouble?" he asked the men with urgency, but without breaking his guise.

Hearing Dirnhael's response, the two riders pulled hard on their reins and brought their animals to a halt. One of the horsemen pointed to the north of the city proper at the small hamlet that glowed with warm lights, "A forced crossing is happening! Orcs and wild men push across the river in boats! All swords and able hands are needed! Lord Guilin sends the call to all able lads - bring your steel or bows, all are necessary."

The other horsemen, a bit older than his peer, upon seeing the two Dúnedain were armed, spoke haughtily, "Get you on now to the river bastion!"

"I think we found our problem, brother.  Go to Tinkerman's," Durgil directed the riders, "and you'll find more that will heed your call."

The two heralds gave a nod and spurred their mounts forward at a pace. Durgil turned back to see Dirnhael already jogging forward down the road and he too, ran to catch up.

The dark of evening was starting to fall over the land and shadows grew around the two men. Down by the river, it was easy to see activity as torch lights sprang up and many moved about from one place to another, lighting more torches. The two Dúnedain wondered at the head count of allies they would try to assist, and who might be against them. They had faced both orcs and hillmen in the not too distant past, and they had been able to claim victory but not always without cost.

Back at the inn, the quartet of companions were just starting their third cup of Tinkerman's fine honey-brown ale when the sound of hooves and shouting were heard outside. The innkeep looked up from where he stood near his kitchen and then quickly moved to his door. The door opened revealing the small lad that tended his stables, "Watch men, sir!"

"Eh?" replied the man, wondering what was going on.

From outside the door, the companions heard the herald's call, "SWORDS! TO ARMS! All that can are needed at the river bastion! We were told there were strong arms and true men here!"

As they got closer, Durgil contemplated on strategy.  "I'll find the captain and see what we can do about organizing the lot.  You get to the lines and work at rallying the men.  By the time the others arrive, I'll rejoin you if possible."

"Make haste," Dirnhael said with a smile as he reached for the shield on his back, "I may not leave any for you."

After Durgil departed, Dirnhael picked up his pace as he continued toward the fray, his smile fading into a grim facade.

Durgil ran the remaining distance to where a burnt out building sat, its wooden frame like a shadowy skeleton into the darkening sky, and in front of it, near the river, was a rampart built of odd pieces of timber and stone. The Dúnadan realized it was the foundation of a home or business that had once looked over the river, but now was itself a reinforced ruin. From where he stood, the muddy edge of the river stretched another twenty yards until the water. It would make for terrible ground to combat upon, the mud sucking on the defenders boots as they tried to move.

Instead, the defenders were milling about the rampart striking torches wherever they could to increase the light. There were many men, young lads, and even a few shield maidens that stood at the ready, but all looked nervous. Amidst them all was a tall, fair, and golden-haired man that exuded the confidence that any leader would. He had a great yew bow in his hand and a quiver hung at his waist, across his back was a broad bladed sword. Durgil knew this had to be the man Guilin that the messengers had spoke.


Dirnhael had gone down closer to the shore to find 'the lines' that Durgil had spoken of, only to realize the defenses were further up the shore. He could see the torches sputtering and the light stole his night vision whenever he peered in their direction. By the shore, there were men milling about, too, but they were busy reaching into a barrel and grabbing small handfuls of metal barbs only to throw them out into the water, or along the shore. The Dúnadan looked closely at them and they appeared to be the likes of a child's toy, but Dirnhael knew differently - they were caltrops and whomever had had them fashioned knew a thing of combat and defense. They would give any attacker a bad time when they tried to come ashore.

Looking out towards the river, it was dark - darker than the land - save where the river horizon met the still lighter sky. Dirnhael could see the dark shapes of rafts loaded with many folk, long poles directing them as they let the river's flow carry them to western shore. There was a sudden flash of movement into the sky, as if a hundred small insects flew about. The Dúnadan knew what he saw and only had the briefest moment to yell, as he brought his shield up over himself.

"WARE! ARROWS!"

Dirnhael heard the thunk of an arrow hitting his shield, but he also heard the slap of them sinking into the mud and water, or the meaty chunk of them piercing flesh. Next came the screams and the knight knew he must get these people away from the shore.

Celdrahil was up in a single bound.

"Boy, get the horses! Barkeep, if I could impress you to aid him so we might make more haste?"

The knight barely hesitated to speak as he went for the door and made his way to the watchmen.

Celdrahil stepped into the dark night all evidence of drinking gone. "Why, have you raised the hue and cry, what threat causes you to ride into the night alerting the countryside?"

"Men of Cardolan," Dirnhael exclaimed, "we must fall back! The wet shore will slow our attackers; we must find higher and drier ground!"
He looked around for something suitable, hoping he could find a rally point that would give them an advantage.
"I am Dirnhael, Knight of Fornost, and raised in the home of Celephain; rally to me!"

Unit Leadership +8

Durgil moved as quickly as he could to meet with Guilin.  "Sir, I am Durgil, a ranger of the North.  My friends and I have come to help.  What is there to be done?"