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LOTR: TMCP Ch. 202
🕑 Added 2025-08-17 02:22:08 +0000 UTC"He should be grateful he didn't draw his blade against his old comrades."
Kane rested his hand on the sword at his waist, shaking his head grimly.
Garrett spoke up from beside him, "I must remind you, he doesn't look like he's off to do anything good. That direction leads straight to the Haradrim stronghold."
"I know. I know it all."
Kane sighed deeply and said, "Not only do I know, I also know that stronghold is where the commander of the Harnen Valley forces is stationed."
"Don't underestimate our intelligence-gathering capabilities."
Garrett nodded.
"Seems you're well aware of what you're doing."
"If we go and drag him back now, that stronghold can still be used."
"No need."
Kane chose not to pursue.
"I already gave him his opportunity. Since he refused to repent in the end, he'll pay the price for his choice."
"The Haradrim won't let this chance slip by. Before dawn, they'll attack for certain. Time is short. The number of troops they can send here in such a brief time won't be large, we can ambush them en route."
"I know exactly how many men they have on the northern bank. This company can handle it."
"After this, I'll settle accounts with Tret. He'll learn how grave a mistake he's made."
Bwoooo.
The horn of battle sounded. Rangers sprang awake from their sleep, hastily strapping on weapons and longbows, assembling on the cavern floor.
Kane stood at the front, delivering a rousing address, "Our stronghold has already been scouted by Haradrim spies. Tonight, my friends, we have a battle to fight."
"Stay sharp!"
"The Haradrim will pay the price for their arrogance!"
No more needed to be said. Every man in the company was long accustomed to life and death, sudden skirmishes, and shifting circumstances.
All they needed was a target, and the order to act.
Several veteran scouts slipped away quickly toward the northern bank of the Harnen River. The rest busied themselves checking gear, making every preparation.
After the moon had shifted several degrees, the scouts returned one by one.
"The Haradrim camp is in commotion."
"They're mustering at the nearest encampment on the northern bank."
"Well then, the next step is obvious."
Kane swiftly selected the ambush site.
"They'll soon learn why we're called Rangers."
"Count me in."
Garrett approached. He couldn't resist, he had to join the action.
"If you wish."
Kane replied with a grim smile.
With this legendary figure among them, the operation was practically assured... Or was it?
---
"My lord, I've scouted everything!"
In the northern bank encampment of the Harnen, Tret reported excitedly:
"There are 85 men in the camp altogether, including one company captain, and an outsider."
"You've done well."
The commander rose at once, placing an encouraging hand on Tret's shoulder.
"But you mention there's an outsider present. Who is he?"
"That's exactly what I wanted to emphasize, my lord."
Tret spoke in conspiratorial tones:
"He's a northern lord of rank equal to a king, with many legendary deeds to his name. I heard he even slew a dragon with his own hands."
"And he also wields certain strange sorceries, especially alchemy. He can brew a potion that heals every wound instantly. I've experienced it myself."
As he spoke, he stood tall before the commander to demonstrate.
"All my wounds, inside and out, vanished the moment I drank it."
"Truly so miraculous?"
The commander could hardly remain seated.
No wonder this man's complexion had improved so dramatically, nearly the same as when he'd first been captured.
"Excellent. Very valuable indeed."
"If such sorcery could be made ours, what would Gondor's armies amount to?"
The commander's mind began scheming, though one last doubt lingered.
"But why would a northern king travel here?"
"They say he slipped away without informing his subjects, to search for something in the South."
Tret answered, "I investigated thoroughly, my lord. He truly came alone, not a single retainer with him."
"Good. Excellent."
"In that case, our plan must be adjusted."
"A northern lord, a man like a king, master of strange sorceries, he's worth far more than that whole little company. We absolutely cannot let him escape..."
Muttering to himself, the commander gestured broadly and summoned his lieutenant.
"Prepare one hundred, no, two hundred cavalry. Have them strike the Rangers' stronghold first, let them taste what it feels like to be ambushed."
"Then gather every force we have, even call over the men from the southern bank. We're going to surround and annihilate that so-called great lord."
"Didn't he claim to have slain a dragon? Then bring out the mûmakil. I don't believe he can stand alone against thousands of men and the trampling of war-beasts."
With so many, even if he truly possessed the strength to slay a dragon, he would exhaust himself to death. And that's not even counting the war-elephants behind them.
Slaying a dragon?
What nonsense.
If you told me he shot one down with an arrow to its weak spot, I might believe it. But to say he fought a dragon with only mortal flesh...
That's rather far-fetched, isn't it?
What do they take him for, the Shadow of War from the East?
"Take him alive."
"I want to see for myself just how capable this great lord truly is."
The silence of night was shattered.
The commander's orders were carried out swiftly. Nearly every cavalry unit on the northern bank assembled at once, beginning their march toward the Rangers' lakeside outpost.
Every Haradrim soldier brimmed with fighting spirit, for at last they had the chance to take revenge upon those elusive Rangers. Tonight, their roles would be reversed: no longer the ones ambushed, but the ambushers.
Yet this, in truth, was unrealistic.
As the cavalry thundered toward the company's camp, they did not know the lakeside outpost now stood empty. The Rangers had already withdrawn, lying in wait along the road leading to the camp, hidden by dead thickets and the veil of darkness.
Each man carried a bow nearly as tall as himself, a great quiver of green-fletched arrows on his back, and a sword at his waist.
Deadly at any range, ready for whatever came.
Caught up in the atmosphere, even Garrett drew his own bow, waiting in silence with the Rangers.
But glancing at the darkness ahead, he thought better of it, swapping out his fire-enchanted bow for an ordinary one. Flaming arrows were far too conspicuous at night, his first shot would reveal their position immediately.
Rumble...
Faint hoofbeats echoed from afar, growing louder as they drew near.
Everyone held their breath.
Kane stood at the front, eyes locked on the approaching cavalry.
Within moments, the ground itself trembled, the vibrations growing stronger.
Bathed in moonlight, he raised his hand, and every bowstring drew taut. Then, in a single motion, he slashed his hand forward.
Whoosh.
Arrows hissed through the trees, raining down upon horsemen and steeds alike.
Neigh!
"Ahhh!"
Screams and the shrill cries of horses rang out as clouds of dust and earth burst into the air, blinding the riders behind.
The ambush struck so suddenly that those at the rear had no time to react, tumbling into chaos as men and horses toppled in heaps.
Kane raised his hand once more, another volley followed. By now, nearly half the cavalry were down.
"There! Over there!"
A rider shouted, pointing toward the Rangers' hiding place, only to collapse the next instant, an arrow silent and sure through his throat.
With their position about to be exposed, Kane made another gesture. At once, the company understood: they drew swords from their belts and surged out of the brush, launching a full assault on the stunned horsemen.
"Fight! Fight!"
The cavalry captain had been struck down in the very first volley. His lieutenant seized command, but it was far too late.
In the chaos of night, the Rangers moved like shadows, swift and silent, cutting down cavalrymen with efficient precision.
All except for one man, whose presence could not be hidden.
Boom!
Fire roared to life from somewhere in the fray. The lieutenant turned instinctively, and froze.
A black-armored warrior wielding an elven longsword carved through foes before him, each strike setting enemies ablaze, each clash ending in death.
Flames. Black armor. An elven blade. Magic.
A chill surged down the lieutenant's spine. His voice faltered, stammering, "W-War... the Shadow of War...!"
The Shadow of War!
Whinny!
His horse reared in terror. The lieutenant clamped his legs tight, spurring it hard, abandoning the shattered unit, fleeing alone into the night.
The intelligence was wrong!
That man, the so-called "great lord" the Gondorian traitor spoke of, it was him!
The commander had to be warned...
Thud!
His horse suddenly pitched forward, collapsing in silence. The lieutenant rolled across the ground, scrambling up, only to see several green-fletched arrows buried deep in the beast's vitals.
"You cursed... mmph!"
A hand clamped over his mouth, a cold dagger pressing to his throat—then sliding across.
Shhk.
Smooth, painless, silent.
The last enemy crumpled to the ground, lifeless.
