Chapter 3: The Steward
Mornamarth sauntered through the ranks of his soldiers, his scarred face twisted into wry a smile which he wore after battle. He had swept down into the formations of Arnorians and elves at the front of his army with almost reckless zeal, though Helegwen knew how carefully planned his intervention had been. She begrudgingly had to admit, despite his betrayal of the Witch-king, that Mornamarth was a brilliant tactician, and when he lead an assault his confidence was contagious. That was, after all, the reason he and his army were still alive and much of the Witch-king’s forces were not. He had no doubt scouted the large army that had besieged Carn Dum, known it would fall, perhaps even welcomed it, and he was ready in a heartbeat to step in to fill his former master’s role. His smile slipped when he saw Gulzár heading towards him, but he quickly recovered upon spying Helegwen nearby. He gave her a wink before turning to the High Sorcerer, his face transforming into that of a child eager to appease an angry parent, raising his hands in surrender.
“Mornamarth, I ought to destroy you in this very moment!” exclaimed Gulzár, poking an accusing finger into the broad man’s chest.
“Oh, come now, Gulzár, I just saved your life and the lives of these fine sorcerers, not to mention the beautiful Helegwen over yonder.” He bowed mockingly, signaling with his hand in her direction. She wrinkled her nose at him and shooed him from a distance. Gulzár remained unamused.
“Where have you been! You were summoned for the defense of Fornost!” he insisted.
“Why, of course, we are on our way now to the fortress to repel the Arnorian scum now. But why am I meeting you here in the woods?” he asked, his face now a mask of concern. Nobody bought it.
“Spare me your lies, Mornamarth, I’m sure you know already that the fortress is fallen and the Witch-king defeated,” said Gulzár in disgust.
Now a streak of shock and bewilderment. “Fallen? Defeated? How can this be!” his voice rising in perfect alarm. Helegwen almost laughed. Gulzár was fuming. “Away with you, goblin-brained power monger! We will speak more of this later. For now let us regroup and consider our options for taking back Fornost.”
“Yes, an excellent idea,” Mornamarth agreed, retreating from Gulzár a few steps and turning before the sorcerer could berate him further. He began barking orders, his men rushing to obey their commander’s instruction. Gulzár sighed, rubbing his bald head in frustration. He came over to where Helegwen sat inspecting her arrows. “The fool!” he muttered. “Helegwen, there is no helping it. The man has betrayed our lord the Witch-king and has the gall to pretend otherwise, but we need him. His treachery has been long in the works, and it is obvious these men are loyal to him and no other. However, once we have gained access to Fornost’s main citadel, I will be able to recover an artifact I was forced to leave behind. One of great power and destruction. One that could eliminate our enemies...and perhaps accidentally a few...allies...as well.” His eyes burned with grim determination. “Of course, Mornamarth need not know the details. Once I mention a powerful artifact he will be itching to get his dirty fingers on it. This poison’s aroma will be so sweet to him he won’t be able to resist it. So it is with power-hungry bastards such as he. He will pay for his betrayal, mark my words. The Witch-king shall return!” he proclaimed triumphantly, causing Helegwen to shudder involuntarily. Her interaction with her former lord had been limited, but she would never forget the fear she had felt in his presence. Fortunately, Gulzár interpreted her shiver as a reaction to the cold.
“All in good time, we will hold council tonight. You must be tired from the fight. Get warm by the fire and rest yourself. We have some long and intense days ahead.”
Helegwen awoke to find the sun setting and rubbed her eyes. Had she really been that tired? Suddenly she remembered the council meeting and rose hastily, slinging her bow onto her back and grabbing her quiver. She froze. Something was watching her from the forest. She slowly retrieved her bow and readied an arrow. A wolf materialized before her, baring its ferocious teeth in a blood-curling growl. Helegwen sighed, unnotching her arrow. "You stink much worse than any creature in Arda for me not to know it is you, Drauglin." The snarl turned into a wicked smile, and suddenly a man stood before her. "Helegwen the Perceptive!" he mocked, sneering at her. His face was crisscrossed with scars, remnants from battles with both humans and beasts. The fresh gash just above his left eyebrow meant he could now add elves to the list. Though he had attempted to wipe it away, there was also still blood on his hands. Or blood on his paws that had now become hands. Beornings were weird. "So you aren’t dead.”
“I could say the same to you, Archer,” Drauglin retorted. “Come, we will meet Mornamarth now. Follow me.”
“Good boy,” she murmured. A dangerous glint entered the wolf man’s eyes, something Helegwen noted with curiosity. Before she could provoke him further, he turned abruptly and stormed away in the direction of Mornamarth’s command tent. Helegwen was close behind.
Mornamarth looked up expectantly when they entered, giving Helegwen a wave.
“I didn’t have a chance to speak with you much yet, Helegwen. Forgive me, there were many things to tend to.”
“Don’t worry, I needed to rest anyway,” she replied.
Theirs had always been a complicated relationship. When she had first been captured by Angmar, Mornamarth had given her a chance. They had even become lovers for a short while, though it was soon clear there was no real love from either. It had probably kept Helegwen alive, though; it was no secret Hwaldar had wanted to execute her instead of bringing her on board. She was a threat to his leadership over the hillmen, especially as she gained power and favor with Angmar. It ensured Hwaldar remained loyal to Mornamarth in a secret arrangement unknown to the other generals. He was a sly fox, that Mornamarth, always looking to turn any situation to his advantage. However manipulative he might be, she respected him. He was a survivor, and she had learned much from him.
“Mornamarth looked to Drauglin. “Is it done?” Drauglin nodded.
“Is what done?” asked Helegwen, a tiny prick of anxiety in her heart. Mornamarth considered for a moment.
“Helegwen, Gulzár is dead.”
Helegwen’s mouth fell open. “Dead?! What do you mean? How?”
“Drauglin killed him,” answered Mornamarth calmly.
“Drauglin?” she gasped, not understanding this new twist of events. “But why?”
“Well, it’s simple,” continued Mornamarth, “because I told him to.” What are you up to, Morn?
“I know it is unfortunate, Helegwen, but it had to be done. That man would have been the death of us. Did he tell you his great plan? Hah!” he turned and began pacing, his tone now of a lecturer before his pupils.
“Gulzár believed he could tempt me with promises of powerful weapons hidden in the catacombs of Fornost, waiting for his magic touch to kickstart our reconquest of Arnor. I’m sure I would have met an accident along the way anyway. Fornost is lost. His was a foolish mission that would have have gotten us all killed, and for what? No, Helegwen. We must regroup. I have intel that Hwaldar still lives, though he has been captured. I will need him to rally the forces of Rhudaur. They are demoralized after the defeat at Fornost and scattered, but if we can free him and show them our strength, they will surely return to our cause.”
“You know I have no love for Hwaldar. How do you know about his fate?” Helegwen asked.
“I have sent Drauglin to scout out the enemy’s positions. He is not under heavy guard. They are still drunk on victory,” Mornamarth confidently continued, “and a stealth operation would be ideal to free him under the cover of night and celebration. You are perfect for the task. Leave at dawn and you shall be upon their camp when darkness falls. Drauglin will show you the way.”
The wolf-man, who had been just staring off into the distance for some time, jumped at the mention of his name. He wrinkled his nose subconsciously.
“Yes, of course, my lord. I will take her to Hwaldar. But I hunger and have caught scent of my...prey. I must take my leave.” He glanced uneasily back at the nearby treeline.
Mornamarth snorted. “I swear you are more beast than man sometimes. Your appetite makes you forget yourself. Go on then, dog, have your hunt.” Drauglin growled before leaping to the ground and bounding off, transforming in mid-step. “The gall of that mut,” Mornamarth sighed. “I have been working him hard though. You had better prepare for tomorrow now, too. I am confident in your success.”