Chapter 25. The Witch-KingÂ’s Hunt

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Angnmarian countryside, October 25, 1347
Written by Angmar
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The day was a fair one for this far north. The weather seemed auspicious and promised an excellent opportunity for the lords of Angmar to have the excitement of a week of hunting before the cold northern winds of November blew their chilly breath and covered the land in a blanket of snow until March. Lady Gelireth, the current favorite of His Majesty, looked truly outstanding that morning in a dark green woolen riding dress; matching ermine-lined cloak; kid gloves of the finest quality lined with fur; and snug sheepskin-lined boots, designed to keep the delicate feet of which His Majesty was so fond snug and warm should the weather turn foul.

Men with tracking dogs had set out ahead of the party, and when the prey’s trail was picked up, their function was to send back word to the main group. Servants, too, had been sent out to set up a hunting camp for the royal party, where the King and his guests could take brief refreshments before setting out on the ardors of the hunt.

Lady Gelireth rode beside the king, her two beloved black and brown moosehounds trotting dutifully beside her horse. Her men-at-arms came along behind at a respectful distance. At some length behind them rode the royal nobles and their entourages.

His Majesty’s elkhound, a powerful, well-muscled brute, tolerated the lady’s two dogs, but there was no doubt whatsoever in anyone’s mind who was the leader of the three. Lady Gelireth had presented the dog to His Majesty when it was only a pup. When she had asked him what he planned to name the hound, in a mood of levity he had replied, “The beast shall be known as Gil-galad.” It was certainly true that His Majesty was pleased with the hound, which had grown into a strong animal capable of long endurance and thoughly devoted to His Majesty.

“Gil-galad,” His Majesty gave a quiet word to the dog, which wagged his scimitar-curved tail in recognition, “will the hunt be good today?” The animal replied with an excited bark.

“Your Majesty,” said Lady Gelireth, her face flushed a charming rosy pink with the cool air, “I think that must mean the hunt will be a fantastic success!”

“Perhaps,” the King replied, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

By midmorning, the party had reached the hunting camp that had been set up by the servants. After a light repast – at which some of the lords consumed far too much ale – the group was ready to set off.

Around mid-day as the sun reached her apex, an excited courier approached them on his lathered horse. After drawing up and saluting the king and his lady, the man gave his message. “The beast has been found in his lair at not too great a distance from where you are now, my lord king!”

“Well done, my good fellow!” the King thanked him.

Lady Gelireth, who loved to hunt, quivered and twitched from the top of her head to her dainty toes, warmly ensconced in the sheepskin-lined boots. Turning to the king, she laid a delicate hand upon his arm and looked into his eyes. “I am so excited, my lord!” Her breathless voice came out in frosty puffs of air. “Could I not talk you into allowing me to try my hand at taking down the brute? I can wield the lance well for a woman.”

“Nay, my lady love, ’tis far too dangerous a thing for you to attend, and besides that, a woman’s strength is not up to wielding a lance. You may watch at a safe distance, however,” came his patronizing reply. She curled out her lower lip in what he considered a very becoming pout, and gave him reason to dwell more on the adventures of the bed-chamber than he did upon the rigors of the hunt.

With an upraised hand in the air, the king signaled that the hunt was to begin. Touching his spurs to the sides of his magnificent gray stallion, he bounded away behind the courier. With a loud blaring of horns and shouts of jubilation, the lords upon their horses set out behind him in a wild gallop across the country. Some of the nobles who had more than their share of drink teetered in their saddles, but since all were excellent horsemen, righted themselves and set off with the usual dash and aplomb of the hunt.

The huge brown bear had made his den under a great, spreading ledge, which led back inside the side of a hill. The huntsmen who had gone ahead had set up piles of fallen wood on both sides of the opening of the cave to smoke out the bruin. The beast must have been far back inside the twists of the cave, for he was reluctant to come out, and so the huntsmen set the dogs inside to drive him out. A horrendous barking and yapping ensued from the mouth of the cave with several wailing yelps, signaling that some of the hounds had been injured in the contention with the bear.

The slow brush wood was by this time fully engulfed in flames and belching out a dark gray smoke, showering cinders down upon the backs of the huntsmen. Soon, though, with a great pack of dogs driving at his tail, the bear rushed out between the smoking piles and out into the open, growling and snarling his anger at his tormentors.

An eager lord, lance in hand, hurled the spear at the bear, but the beast was moving too quickly and the lance fell short. Another whose mark was far truer sent a stout missile, which caught the bear high on the back but missing the spine. Wounded, the animal bellowed in rage, and made straight for the Lady Gelireth, who, in, in her thoughtless excitement, had ridden her mount closer than her lord would have approved.

Dripping blood from his wound, the beast charged into her mount. The terrified horse reared, and the bear’s claws ripped into its stomach, eviscerating the beast. Screaming, the lady was thrown over the horse’s head as her mount crashed down to its knees. The bear, its great mouth open wide, turned glittering eyes upon her.

The king touched spurs to his horse’s flanks, and the mount bounded forward. With an angry squeal, the horse rose on its hind legs in an oft-practiced military maneuver, its hooves flailing the air. Crashing down savagely upon the bear’s back, the horse pounded the beast with its hooves, distracting the bruin from its intended victim. With a howl of rage, the bear turned away from Lady Gelireth, who crawled away on her hands and knees. The King of Angmar was quickly off his horse’s back, and with a snort, the gray stallion scampered out of harm’s way.

Menacingly the bear stood to its full height of nine and a half feet of angry fifteen hundred pound fury, towering above even the king. Lady Gelireth, safe for now in the arms of one of her guards, screamed hysterically, “My lord! The beast will slay you!”

The King laughed as he hefted his lance in both hands. “This is not my day to die.” Lady Gelireth could not bear to look as the snarling bear lumbered on its back legs towards the King, closing in on him rapidly. Drawing back the lance, the King hurled it into the creature’s chest. The beast screamed in pain, clawing at the embedded lance. Though the King had wounded the animal in the chest cavity, he had not struck the heart, and the animal, though wounded, was far from dead.

Lady Gelireth buried her head in her hands and fainted dead away in the arms of the guard who held her. Eschewing magic, the King drew his double-edged sword from the sheath. With both hands holding the sword around the hilt, the king waited. The frenzied bear, mouth agape, teeth gleaming, bore down on the King. When the bear was close enough that the king could feel the heat of its fetid breath, he rammed the steel blade home into the creature’s mouth, the point emerging through the back of its skull. The bear lay at his feet, writhing and thrashing, spewing blood from its mouth, the back of its head and from the lance wound in its chest.

“‘Tis dead,” the King pronounced quietly. Walking over to the Lady Gelireth, he picked her prone form up, and as his horse knelt for him, he was soon in the saddle with her in his arms.

“Skin the brute. ‘Twill make a fine covering for my bed this winter.” With a few more instructions to his men, the King urged his horse through the parted assembly of nobles and set off on the ride home to the tower and fortress of Carn Dum. Their three hounds, their heads low in embarrassment, fell in mournfully behind his horse. With a low, melodious chant and a deep, passionate kiss, he awoke the Lady Gelireth, who looked up at him in confusion.

“My lord, I was so frightened. That beast could have been your ending,” she murmured as she sat up in the saddle.

“It would take more than that to kill me. Much more, I think,” he said reassuringly.

They were scarcely more than halfway home when they heard a loud squawk above them. The King halted the horse as the raven glided in and perched upon his arm.

“Open the cylinder, my lady,” he instructed her.

Taking the container from the bird’s leg, she extracted a thin sheet of paper, which she handed to him. “What is it, my lord? May I be so presumptuous as to ask?”

“You have always been presumptuous, my pet.” He blew a teasing puff of cool air over her neck. “Belzagar and Authon have both made a botch of it, jeopardizing our entire operations in Cameth Brin and elsewhere. Apparently, he was careless enough to allow a message from our orcish warriors to fall into the hands of the Princess Gimilbeth.”

“But, my lord, everything is in code. What might it matter that someone should read it? They could never understand it.”

“If she can decypher the message, the Princess will be made aware of the spying activities of Lord Belzagar, and not only that, but the presence of the orcs in the Trollshaws. With this knowledge, she will doubtlessly urge her father to execute Lord Belzagar and Authon and send a force of soldiers to drive out the orcs. No doubt now ’tis no longer safe even to send the messenger birds south. I have other ways of warning the orcs, but I fear that Lord Belzagar is lost. I will, however, send a courier who might reach him, but ’twill soon be time for the winter storms to sweep over the land.”

“Is there naught that can be done for Lord Belzagar and Authon? Though both are knaves and scoundrels, Lord Belzagar has always been quite devoted to you, Your Majesty. ‘Tis a shame to let them die.”

“Both men are exceedingly cunning, my lady. I will do everything I can for them.”

They rode for some time in silence. Then the King observed quietly, “Never underestimate an ambitious woman, and the Princess Gimilbeth is that, for the Lady wants power, and will achieve it however she might. Not only is she well-versed in intrigues, but I perceive her to be on her way to becoming an accomplished sorceress. Far better would it be if her talents could be turned to other uses.”

The horse trotted along, its breath steamy vapor about its nostrils. Lady Gelireth, lulled by the gentle rhythm of the horse’s hoofbeats, was almost asleep when she felt the lips of the King upon her cheek.

“Oh, my ardent King,” she giggled, “we are not even home, and the weather has turned cold!”

“Ah, my lady,” he murmured as he nuzzled her neck, “I can make it a lot warmer…”