Middle-Earth: Kaen, Lord of Light

"Take her away, and feed her the finest watergrass. From this day forth, she shall be my comrade and companion in battle."

At Kaen's command, Fierygleam was led away.

Only then did Kaen turn his gaze upon Cenric.

He said,

"Since your king has gifted me such a rare and precious Mearas, I cannot be stingy with my own treasures."

"You give me a treasure—I shall return one in kind. I will send to King Fengel mithril, the royal ore worthy of crowns and mighty swords alike."

Kaen had no need to guess the intent behind King Fengel's gift.

Such a noble steed was not sent as mere flattery—its purpose was clear. A token of alliance, perhaps… or a silent plea for favor.

But in Kaen's kingdom, save for mithril, there was nothing else that could compare in value to a Mearas. Still, he cared little for weighing worth. To him, the Mearas—a creature that could bear him into the heart of battle—was of far greater significance than the gleam of any ore.

It was, in his eyes, a fair and necessary exchange of interests.

Cenric, hearing this, was overjoyed. He bowed deeply, exclaiming,

"Thank you for your generosity!"

Thus the banquet came to its close.

The next day, Kaen ordered his men to deliver the mithril and gold to the envoys from Rohan.

Yet Cenric and his party did not depart at once. Instead, they lingered for a time in Elariel, recording the language of Anglian, the customs of the land, and details of its military strength.

Kaen instructed Will to cooperate fully with Cenric's inquiries. Before long, the two realms officially established diplomatic ties.

Only then did Cenric lead his delegation homeward, their mission complete.

….

After the horses were distributed, the heavy cavalry under Sigilion and the mounted archers under Cathril began formal training.

Each day they rode out into the wilds, drilling tirelessly, perfecting new cavalry tactics.

Five hundred heavy cavalry. One thousand mounted archers.

The kingdom's mounted forces were now fully formed, and its military might had grown severalfold.

Kaen returned to the heart of the Ashenwood, where he resumed his governance—handling state affairs by day, meditating and cultivating his strength by night, and monitoring the progress of his budding dominion.

All seemed calm.

But on the night of midsummer, outside the eastern border of the realm—beyond the town of Aurienel—a dark presence stirred.

...

Aurienel – Dusk

A small patrol of mounted archers had just completed their rounds and was returning to the gates, when suddenly—

A chilling howl echoed through the wilderness behind them.

"Awoo!"

The riders snapped to alert. Their leader turned in the saddle and cursed under his breath.

Out of the tall grass, they saw them: three to four dozen Orcs, mounted on wargs, racing toward them at a blistering pace.

The captain's voice rang out:

"Ambush! Loose arrows and counter!"

The horses shrieked as the riders drew their bows—but even before the first arrows were loosed, another series of howls rose up all around them.

It wasn't a small warband. It was a hunt.

"We've been hunted!" the captain shouted.

These warg-riders weren't just passing through. They'd tracked the patrol deliberately, preparing an ambush. Though a warg is nearly the size of a warhorse, it lacks the same brute force in a frontal charge. Orcs rarely seek open combat against cavalry unless they're certain of victory.

Understanding this, the captain made a split-second decision.

He slung his bow back over the saddle, pulled free his shield and spear, and said in a low, urgent voice:

"Sound the warhorn. Break west—cut a bloody path to Elariel."

"For Eowenría!"

"For courage and honor!"

Ten mounted archers cried out in unison, forming into a wedge and charging westward.

There was no fear in their eyes—only resolve. They knew that if they fell, their names would be etched upon the Stone of the Glorious Dead, and their families would carry their honor.

Warg met horse. Spear met flesh.

The soldiers fought with all the fury of doomed men, taking down twice their number before falling.

Though many perished, two cavalrymen broke through the chaos. Bleeding, their mounts limping, they pulled horn from hip and blew with all the breath they had left.

The horns were runed—ancient elvish glyphs etched along their curves. Their cries carried far and wide, borne by magic on the wind.

….

Aurienel

The sound had barely faded when Cathril mounted her steed and led a full company of mounted archers out of the garrison, thundering across the plains toward the signal.

Before long, they caught sight of the two wounded riders—behind them, a swarm of wargs giving chase.

"Arrows ready!" Cathril commanded.

Even at full gallop, the riders reached for their bows, nocked arrows, and drew.

"Loose!"

A storm of arrows flew, striking wargs and riders alike, felling several in a single volley.

Seeing reinforcements had arrived, the remaining Orcs made no attempt to stand their ground. They turned and vanished into the wild undergrowth, using the trees and tall grass to melt away into the forest.

The site of the skirmish was soon surrounded by the archers.

What remained was a massacre.

Torn limbs, mangled bodies—both man and horse had been savaged beyond recognition.

Cathril's face darkened. "Recover the fallen," she ordered grimly. "And notify the treasury to release the death pensions."

….

The Next Day – Ashenwood

Cathril rode into the forest's sacred grove.

There, she dismounted, knelt on one knee, and said solemnly:

"My lord, I beg permission to lead the mounted archers in a retaliatory strike against the warg-riders. We cannot allow them to come and go as they please."

A flicker of fury passed through Kaen's eyes. He rose, stepped forward, and helped her to her feet with his own hand.

He was about to speak—

When Zakri came running into the glade.

"My lord! Captain Thaliondir of Rivendell seeks audience!"

Kaen blinked, startled.

He gave Cathril's hand a light squeeze, then said,

"Wait here a moment."

To Zakri, he said: "Bring him in."

Soon, a familiar figure entered the glade—it was Thaliondir, the elven captain from Rivendell.

He bowed respectfully and spoke:

"Lord Kaen, I come at the behest of my king. Days ago, a band of Orcish warg-riders emerged from the Misty Mountains and followed the Anduin downstream."

"Our elven warriors clashed with them. Many were slain, but the remnants turned west—and entered your lands."

"My lord bids me ask: if you wish it, we shall send riders to aid you in their extermination."

Kaen exhaled slowly.

"Convey to my master my deepest thanks. But this I must handle myself."

"I already have soldiers who've fallen. This is Eowenría's wound to bear—and we will not shy from it."

He turned to Cathril.

"Effective immediately, dispatch five hundred mounted archers into the wild. Hunt these beasts down. Let them feel the weight of their sins."

Cathril saluted, her voice hard as steel.

"They will not leave them alive."