In the dead of night, before the storm froze the peaks of Cameth Brin, the Barad-Glinn Nim throbbed with activity.
The moment a scout pigeon brought word of the Black Battalion’s march from Gundabad, King Arthur ordered Arandhir to assemble two hundred choice warriors from Aetherion’s reserves with Kaelan in Command.
Arthur declared “Use the subterranean passages of *Nogrod-dûm*.
The surface storm may choke the pass above, but the paths of the ancestors beneath the earth are ours.”
An hour before dawn, the relief force entered the stone gates of *Zhar-Gij*.
Kaelan led the vanguard with fifty mail-clad soldiers wielding long *partisans*.
Behind him marched one hundred Heavy Shield Knights, steel tower shields strapped to their backs, interspersed with fifty additional archers carrying extra quivers.
Under the silvery glow of *Glow-stone* crystal torches, the march through the three-mile ancient tunnel was quiet and precise.
Completely sheltered from the howling blizzard above, the soldiers maintained a swift, tireless pace.
In under two hours, the rhythmic footsteps of two hundred men echoed up the winding stone stairs leading straight into the vaults beneath Cameth Brin.
When the hidden iron door swung open, Elmir was startled to see Kaelan emerge from the shadows, followed by a tide of fully armored warriors.
“Kaelan?
How are you here so quickly?” Elmir asked, gripping his old friend’s arm.
“Our King foresaw that the enemy would not wait for dawn,” Kaelan replied with a thin smile.
“I bring two hundred reserves from Aetherion, along with a line of anti-cavalry pikes.
The tunnels of *Nogrod-dûm* rendered the blizzard outside useless.”
With their arrival, the balance of power shifted just as the enemy horn shattered the mountain silence.
The storm did not wait for dawn.
As the first gray rays of light struggled through the eternal dark of the northern skies, a freezing gale howled off the jagged peaks of the Misty Mountains.
It carried a blinding blizzard—and the heavy, rhythmic thud of thousands of iron-shod boots marching in unison.
High atop the ramparts of Cameth Brin, Interim Commander Elmir pulled his cloak tighter against the biting cold.
Snow clung to his hair and eyebrows, but his gaze remained fixed on the tree line below.
Beside him stood one hundred archers, silent as stone statues, their longbows wrapped in oiled leather to protect the bowstrings from freezing slush.
Below, on the courtyard and lower walls, one hundred and fifty Heavy Shield Knights locked their massive iron shields into position, their breath blooming in thick white clouds.
Then, the enemy horn sounded.
It was no clear brass call of the Men of the West, but a harsh, guttural roar from a mountain beast’s horn that shattered the mountain silence.
“They have arrived,” Elmir muttered, his hand resting instinctively on his sword hilt.
From the shadows of the northern forest, the vanguard of the Black Battalion surged like a swarm of black locusts.
Hundreds of armored Orcs charged, clattering their jagged blades against their shields.
Behind them, snarling Wargs with glowing eyes leaped over the front ranks, while the earth trembled under the weight of three giant Cave-Trolls hauling an iron-plated battering ram.
At the center of the host, Gothmog-Utar raised his massive broadsword toward the stone keep.
“Leave no survivors!” Gothmog-Utar’s roar cut through the howling gale.
“Smash the walls!
Drag the *Tarks* from their nest and let their blood stain the snow!”
The Orc host surged up the steep path toward the main gate like a tide of black iron and fangs.
“Hold…” Elmir commanded, raising his hand.
One hundred archers drew their heavy bowstrings to their ears in unison.
The Orcs crossed the red marker stone on the path—three hundred paces.
Then two hundred paces.
“Mark…
Loose!”
A rain of black arrows whistled through the blizzard.
Piercing heavy armor and wooden shields, the volley crumpled the Orc front ranks into a groaning heap.
“Reload!
Maintain the rhythm!” Elmir called out, drawing his own bow and felling an Orc captain mid-shout.
Yet the Gundabad host was relentless.
Driven by fear of Gothmog-Utar’s blade, the Orcs trampled their fallen, forcing the Cave-Trolls forward.
“Hold positions!” a shield knight bellowed below as stone dust rained down.
“Stand firm for Aetherion!”
As the main gate groaned under the battering ram, a subtle vibration pulsed from the deep roots of the mountain.
On the high command balcony, King Arthur stepped into the open air, his cloak billowing in the blizzard.
He rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, his eyes glowing with an ethereal ice magic.
Arthur unleashed his **King Radiance Aura**.
A surge of warm, golden light erupted from the King, bursting through the blizzard to envelope the fortress.
The mystic warmth melted the freezing chill from the soldiers’ hands, wiped away their fatigue, and ignited an unbreakable resolve within every knight and *Gargor-Dun* hunter.
Fear vanished, replaced by absolute courage.
For the Black Battalion, however, the aura was a blinding wave of terror.
The radiance pierced the dark souls of the Orcs, searing their eyes and striking dread into their hearts.
Fierce Wargs whimpered and balked, while the Orcs cowered before the authority of a true King.
“Boran is in position,” Arthur said softly to Arandhir, who stood beside him with drawn steel.
Instantly, the snow behind the Orc ranks exploded.
From hidden fissures, collapsed aqueducts, and ancient Dwarf passages beneath the path, dozens of shadows burst forth into the storm.
Boran and his *Dagor-Gathol* struck like ghosts.
Twin daggers flashed in the dim light, driving into throats and armor gaps before the Orcs even realized where the attack came from.
“Underneath!
They’re coming out of the stone!” a Goblin shrieked, right before a black-feathered arrow silenced him.
Trapped on the narrow cliff path between a deadly rain of arrows from above, the oppressive force of the *King Radiance Aura*, and Boran’s assassins striking from beneath, the Black Battalion’s advance stalled in bloody chaos.
Gothmog-Utar wheeled his mount, eyes burning with fury.
“Useless worms!” he roared, swinging his mace to crush a shadow hunter leaping from the snow.
“I will break this mountain myself!”
On the tower above, King Arthur drew his blade.
As the steel cleared the scabbard, a shockwave of ice rippled across the stone floor, freezing the falling snowflakes in midair.
“The wind has turned,” Arthur said, his voice echoing clearly above the din of battle.
“Let us show these Gundabad beasts why the north belongs to Men.”
Arthur swept his blade in a wide arc, letting the freezing hum of his sword ring through the night.
“The main sector is ours.
Arandhir, Kaelan—take the lower command!”
“Knights!
Lock ranks!” Arandhir roared, leaping down the stone steps toward the main gate courtyard.
The heavy teakwood gate groaned as the first Cave-Troll slammed its battering ram, buckling the iron hinges and splitting the wood.
A two-meter gap opened, and Orcs poured through like black oil.
Arandhir stood first in line.
Sweeping his longsword in a precise horizontal arc, he severed three Orc heads before their feet touched the marble floor.
“Raise shields!
Give them no room to breathe!”
One hundred Heavy Shield Knights surged forward, locking their tower shields into the fractured gateway to form a wall of solid steel.
Long spears thrust from behind the shields, turning the breach into a slaughterhouse.
When the Cave-Troll raised its stone club to crush the barrier, Arandhir leaped onto a knight’s shield, launched himself at the monster’s chest, and drove his sword straight through its throat.
Black blood spewed as the beast collapsed, crushing a dozen Orcs beneath it.
On the right flank, a pack of chain-armored *Iron Wargs* scrambled over the snowbanks and cleared the low parapet to outflank Arandhir’s shield wall.
Though known as a cavalry commander, Kaelan was a formidable warrior on foot.
As a rider himself, he understood the exact momentum and weakness of mounted beasts.
Clad in heavy forged armor, he led fifty soldiers armed with heavy *partisans*—forked spears designed to stop charging mounts.
“Hold…
plant the butts into the stone!” Kaelan bellowed.
As the Wargs leaped over the wall, they were impaled on the upward-thrusting spear points.
Howls of agony filled the air.
Kaelan drew his short sword, charging a fallen rider.
With practiced speed, he cut the reins and throat of the rider in one fluid motion.
“Secure the right wall!
Toss the carcasses over to block their advance!” Kaelan ordered crisply.
High up in the main watchtower, Elmir stood like a hunting falcon.
The blinding blizzard could not dull his sharp Eriador instincts; every arrow released was a guaranteed kill.
“Archers!
Target the torchbearers and the handlers of the second Troll!” Elmir called out.
Seeing the second Cave-Troll swing its iron-plated ram toward the curtain wall, Elmir drew his *Lebethron* bow to full draw and aimed for the monster’s left eye.
*TWANG!*
The steel-tipped arrow shot through the swirling snow and buried itself deep in the Troll’s eye socket.
The beast bellowed in agony, thrashing blindly and smashing its iron ram into the Black Battalion’s own ranks, crushing dozens of Orcs.
“Fire on the tow chains!” Elmir commanded.
A volley of flaming arrows ignited the thick ropes, disabling the siege engine on the narrow path.
While the battle raged on the surface, Boran and his *Dagor-Gathol* worked in the dark beneath the enemy’s feet.
Creeping from stone crevices behind the enemy rear guard, Boran and his shadow hunters moved without a sound.
“Sever their tendons.
Sink them into the snow,” Boran whispered in his native mountain dialect.
Twenty *Dagor-Gathol* spread through the deep snow drifts.
Twin daggers slashed the hamstrings of panicked Orcs staring up at the walls.
One by one, Orcs collapsed into the red snow before they could scream, their throats slit by Boran emerging from the dark.
Spotting the third and final Cave-Troll preparing to push a reserve battering beam, Boran signaled his men.
Five of his best hunters leaped from the cliff face onto the monster’s back, driving venom-coated daggers into its neck and ears.
The giant stumbled, pitching sideways off the sheer cliff of Cameth Brin.
The combined strikes of the four commanders dismantled the Black Battalion’s offensive:
At the Gate, Arandhir locked the breach with his shield knights, unyielding.
On the Right Flank, Kaelan wiped out the enemy Warg cavalry.
From Above, Elmir broke the siege engines and shattered the enemy’s momentum.
From Below, Boran destroyed the enemy’s rear guard and shattered their morale.
Gothmog-Utar stood frozen amid the ruin of his army.
More than half his host lay dead on the cliff path, and all three Cave-Trolls were slain.
As the Orc High Captain raised his heavy iron mace to charge the gate himself, his momentum faltered.
Standing atop the broken archway of the main gate was King Arthur.
The Ice blade in the King’s hand radiated a blinding blue light, freezing the falling snow around him into a glowing halo.
“Your battalion is broken, Gothmog,” Arthur’s voice rang out, cool and clear as the storm settled.
“Return to your northern fortress…
or become an ice statue upon these cliffs.”