Continued from: Of the Fifth Battle, Chapter 2
Three elves broke through the encircling orc rabble, clad in their mail armor of splendour and reached the knights. One of the orcs was cursing and yelling as it lunged with a spear towards the mounted knight. It fell to its knees after recieving a hard kick from behind. Black blood gushed out from the wound on its neck. The sword driven through its throat was Veryacano’s. His face and armor were now splattered with the black blood of the orcs and gave him a fearsome look. From the left Daelanthe and from the right Daenaro attacked and cut down the orcs attacking the knights. The rest of the orcs were suprised and stood still for a moment in fear and doubt. Veryacano listened to the ongoing battle at that moment, trying to anticipate how far the main Noldor lines were. However, war had shown its true face of chaos. As countless orcs scuffled and attacked senselessly, the Vanguard advance was hindered. But the orcs gave not another moment of rest to Veryacano. And there, violent melee started.
From the chaos around them, orcs came running, or pushing each other around. They leaped towards them like crazed wild beasts. An orc came running and brandished a black sword overhead. Veryacano’s blade met it with a ring as it came down and with a strong kick to its groin, sent the dirty creature back to the crowd from whence it came. He quickly took a step back and evaded a swing from another orc. The orc was about to renew its attack, but Veryacano’s blade was too fast. He cut the orc’s sword hand clean off the wrist, following up with a quick thrust plunging his sword into the orc’s belly. Grunting as he failed to pull his sword free, he had to put his foot on the orc’s belly and pushed his dying foe away as he managed to free his sword. But now he was late to realize that the shouting from his left was another incoming attack. He quickly lifted his shield and a rather weak blow landed on it. Blindly, he struck around his shield but his sword met not flesh but a shield of wood. He blocked another blow from the orc but now he had lost too much time. Feeling that he was about to be attacked from behind, Veryacano quickly put his foot on the short orc’s shield, kicking it away again while getting leverage for himself as he rolled away. He rolled only a couple meters away and without losing his momentum, he was able to rise back to his feet. A large axe was stuck in the ground where he was last standing and the orc that held it was struggling to lift it free. Knowing that if he had not evaded on time, he would have been slain now, a mocking smile appeared on his lips. His smile became a cruel laughter as he brutally hewed at the incoming enemies.
Meanwhile, Daelanthe and Daenaro’s swords were not idle. Orc corpses were beginning to pile up before them as they slew many orcs with their long swords but the enemy kept coming relentlessly. Not only enemies came but arrows and spears came, thrown and hurled by the enemy. One of those spears struck the mounted knight and he fell to the ground with his horse, landing on the piling orc corpses. Veryacano and others had their hands full, dealing with the encircling orcs and all they could do was to take a mournful glance in the midst of battle, towards his dying body. His horse however was still alive and managed to get up and hobbled away to the east, somehow surviving the battle. Just as the enemy seemed to increase pressure, Vanguard came to their aid. Sweeping through the orc rabble, they reached Veryacano and others and kept on pushing forward. As he noticed the Captain Orommen approach, he pronounced with a big smile:
‘‘It was about time mylord. Its not easy business fighting on a pile of corpses!’’
‘‘How many times must I tell you NOT to break ranks Sergeant Veryacano?’’ Orommen replied scoldingly.
‘‘I learn slow but I kill fast mylord.’’ Veryacano repostered cheekily and gestured at the pile of corpses about him, grinning cockily. Elves overhearing this, could not hide the grins of their faces. Then Orommen looked into his eyes with a smile and nodded sharply, an obvious gesture of his approval. Veryacano’s face turned serious, he nodded back.
''Take the wounded to the rear.’’ Orommen ordered, looking down at the wounded rider. He was bleeding out of multiple wounds. As another soldier took his arm and helped him to the rear, the wounded warrior hailed his commander. Looking at the valiant soldiers advancing into the orc ranks, Veryacano then turned to Orommen.
’’I return to the front my lord.’’ Veryacano claimed. Orommen nodded and gestured dismissively as he spoke to runners, relaying messages to the other battalions. Gesturing Daelanthe and Daenaro to follow, Veryacano hastened towards the front.
It was not easy moving to the front. The ranks were thick and scuffled. These elves had not engaged in combat because the fighting only took place at a thin line in the very front. It would be impossible to move through, but the elves who saw Veryacano’s high helm gave way and those who knew him followed along, for his bravery was famed and he was high in rank among the Vanguard. When he made it to the front with many warriors looking up to him, Veryacano saw the fighting was slowing down and the swift initial charge of the Vanguard had been stopped. The elves in the front had were caught between thousands of elves and orcs pushing from either side. Cramped up, beset by a wall of steel, there was barely enough space to thrust a spear or swing a sword. Beneath them there were many orc corpses, some still lingering between life and death. The elves trampled over them and killed them, but they stumbled on their corpses and it hindered their balance.
''First rank, stand fast! Hold them! Second rank, keep your distance! Have no mercy, spear them!’’ he cried loudly. He yelled out orders and heartened the Noldor. Then, he saw a black spear pierce the shoulder of an elf before him. The orc bearing the spear was quickly dispatched. Without minding the black arrows raining over them he said:
''You!’' He grabbed the shoulder of the wounded elf and pulled him out of the fighting. The spear had entered from a weak point between his chest and shoulder armor and pierced deeply into his shoulder.
‘‘You cannot fight with that. Go back to the rear soldier and have that tended to.’’ He ordered as he pointed toward the rear. The elven warrior looked up at him, suprised and agonized by the wound he suffered. He could barely hold his sword now and red blood crept down between the metal scales of his armor. Without a word but a nod, he moved off bitterly. As he made his way towards rear, shouts rose : ''Make way for the wounded’’ Elves stared at him with forlorn eyes and they pitied him as he made his way to the rear. None of the vanguard would like to miss this battle because of such a wound. Many other wounded were pulled from the field in the hours to come, but some were not so lucky and perished from their fatal wounds. Now all the momentum of their attack was spent and the battle seemed to be in a deadlock to Veryacano. He felt the need to speed things up.
''Archers! We need archers!’’ he cried loudly towards the rear, hoping to see Orommen among the Noldor. Shoutings rose as the word was passed back. Within moments hissing sounds of elvish arrows flying overhead filled their ears like the west wind.
Against the few orc arrows fell here and there, bouncing off shields and heavy armor, a relentless elvish salvo started. They showered the rear of the enemy with arrows and killed many orcs, thus broke the strenght of their chokehold and enabled the army to push forward. Meanwhile, left and right Vanguard battalions were not idle either. As the battle raged on, they had flanked the enemy’s sides and were now encircling the orcs on both sides. As all this took place, far away above the clouds, eagles of Manwë watched the ongoing battle and it looked like a big fish devouring a small one.
The army of Himring proved superior to the enemy host, yet still the battle kept on all day. Loud voice of vanguard commander Orommen and sergeant Veryacano were heard in the center of the battle throughout the day. Veryacano kept yelling orders as he stood right behind the front ranks. The orcs could reach him not, for the Noldor had interlocked their shields and their ranks were impenetrable. He kept encouraging the troops, ordering the wounded to be replaced by fresh troops, often lunging with his spear through orc skulls. Although many valiant elves fell, the enemy’s casualties were fivefold. Finally at dusk, wavering orcs started a full retreat. Maedhros had driven them back. He had encircled and killed most of the orcs but he had failed to destroy their army. The spirit of the elves was renewed and thinking victrory was won, they wanted to give chase yet Maedhros and his brothers rode to the front on their steeds and prevented pursuit. Maedhros had chosen to keep his army as one and wished not to go towards Angband. With all his heart he wanted to rush to Fingon’s aid, for it was Fingon that saved Maedhros from the peaks of Thangorodrim and the cruelty of Morgoth.
So the eastern host of Morgoth retreated and the Army of Himring pulled the wounded from the battlefield to their camps in the south. The elves continued the march west without delay, but the banners of Fingon still seemed far away. As he looked away, Veryacano could not tell how the battle fared in the west but a darkness crept in about Fingon and he was beset on all sides by Morgoth’s forces. His armor now had numerous dents and he could feel many bruises on his body. During the battle, one orc arrow had found its way through his mail armor but was stopped by the leather underneath. He had removed the arrow without trouble and did not mind the painful bruise that remained. He looked around him and some of the warriors around him bore serious and mostly bloody wounds but they did not lose heart. During the march, they enjoyed the luxury of having chance to adress their wounds and even the chance to have some rations and water. Yet still, a twinge of doubt and a warning feeling had awakened in their the back of their minds.
Through the night, the Host of Himring marched west and finally before dawn, they reached the end of the sands of Anfauglith and approached the banners of Fingon. Veryacano surveyed the ongoing battle with worried eyes. He could see Fingon’s and Turgon’s banner flying together as the battle raged on. The situation seemed grim, but he knew victory could be won for the hour was true and their positioning was good. The army was now in silence as they looked upon the western host defend their positions against orcs attacking from all sides. Orommen turned to his troops and placed his high helm on his head and the Vanguard prepared for battle once again. Seing the western host beset on all sides, Sons of Fëanor desired to assail the enemy’s rear and reinforce Fingon. So, Maedhros blew his silver horn loudly, and thousands of horns answered in response. But at this hour of hope, darkness fell and the sky growled. Morgoth in his fear and hatred, sent dark clouds from Thangorodrim over the hosts of Eldar. Noldor looked up in confusion and doubt while men cowered in fear. Nonetheless, Maedhros gave the order to attack.
At that moment, sky cracked, fell cries and thunder filled the air as the gates of Angband opened wide and Morgoth sent forth his most dreadful servants upon the Lords of Noldor. Foremost, Glaurung the Deciever, father of all dragons came. Like a vile river, many other fell beasts crawled out of the gates of Angband. There came many lesser dragons, balrogs, wolfriders and countless orcs. The earth trembled and sky went red as Glaurung appeared in the battlefield, breathing fire and striking fear into any who dared look upon him. With fire and thunder the Host of Morgoth poured onto the battlefield.
Darkness fell into Veryacano’s heart as he stared at the host of Morgoth in awe. He could not move but he could hear the voice of Orommen. Captain of the Vanguard was trying to rally his troops, but mostly it was no avail. He saw some of the Noldor start the charge with Orommen but many of the army of Himring stood still, unsure of the order to charge. Looking upon the dragons and balrogs crawling towards him, all Veryacano could do was take an involuntary step backward. He stumbled upon a fallen helmet, dropped by a mystified warrior and fell on his back. A moment later, elves were falling about him, over him and then heat came. Quickly he raised his broad shield and curled up behind it. The fiery breath of Morgoth’s dragons burned through the thick mail and scorched through the frontlines of the Vanguard. Bright flash of the fire faded and heat about him died down but the fiery breath of Glaurung burned his forearm through his shield. The metal glowed with an igneous crimson as if it was about to melt into liquid but the shield was of dwarven make. While other shields melted and their owners burned alive, Veryacano was able to survive. Still on his knees, he quickly let go of his shield and with his right hand he quickly unbraced the locks on his burning gauntlet. He took the burning gauntlet off and threw it away, revealing his burnt naked skin. Around him, his brothers in arms were aflame. Some of the Noldor were directly struck by the fiery breath of Glaurung and were instantly turned to ash. The rest suffered a painful end and burned alive, for the flames of Morgoth’s fury could not be put out and those caught in it were beyond saving. Veryacano watched helpless as his brothers in arms and his superior Captain Orommen burned alive, screaming in terrible agony as they rolled on the ground. Few of the center vanguard were as lucky as Veryacano to survive with partial burns. As some tried to put off the flames, some searched for their weapons, some mourned over their dead brethren. Veryacano’s heart was mournful of this sight, but wrath too awakened in his heart. He then rose to his feet and mustered his courage and drew his sword. There it seemed to those who looked from afar as if he alone stood tall against the enemy on that field of death.
Within moments, the initial firestorm was gone out and the battle began in earnest. Despite the losses and their positional disadvantage, Maedhros’ army assailed the enemy and engaged the wolves, orcs and balrogs to a fight to the death over scorched remains of the fallen Noldor. The greatest battle seen upon Arda raged on and from smoke, death and flame, none but the eagles of Manwë could tell how the battle fared. From above the dark clouds of Morgoth, in sorrow they watched the Dark Lord’s army split the armies of Eldar like a hideous dagger of fire. Then they flew west over the seas to bring these fell news to Manwë Sulimo...
