A Different Kind of Hell [ Silmarillion ] 3

Chapter Nine: Screams

EITHEL SIRION

In Tyelko's dreams, he saw only raging flames reflected on tossing seas and shining blades. Rest rarely found him. The screams of the Falmari mingled with the screams of Telvo. It seemed that the shore would bring him only anguish. So he never returned to them.

He gathered the handful of his closest hunters, Rusco among them at his right hand, and took to the wild lands. Here in these hither lands there were wild places indeed. The orcs had not been seen in large numbers since the assault he'd led with Nelyo a few weeks prior. But now he and the hosts prepared to initiate, and not to react. Morgoth would feel the fire in their hearts, and he would be afraid.

They'd left only a few behind to guard their newly chosen spot along the lake on the other side of the mountain paths. Many of the women could handle a sword, and those that couldn't yet would have to learn. This had already proven to be a hard land. Tyelko guessed it would only get harder.

As he looked out from his hideout among the rocks at the base of the mountains, Rusco ten strides away, he tried to focus on the valley near to the start of the river he'd heard was named Sirion. They hadn't spoken to their Telerin kin yet. But even without formal introductions, they'd watched them, and gathered news by ambushing orcs on the roads. Tyelko knew that another host of the foul spawn of Morgoth would be to this Eithel Sirion before long. And when they came, he would rain death upon them.

He glanced up at the stars. They shined just as bright here in Beleriand as they had in Valinor. Much here was the same, but different. The Falathrim, for one. He had glimpsed them only from a distance, in their besieged fortress along the coast. But what he had seen had left a cold grip on his heart that he could not shake. Their silver hair and fair faces reminded him of too many other memories, equal parts agonizing and beautiful.

The fire in his heart that had burned for Hrávien of Alqualondë had never fully dissipated. And with Rusco not far off, and ever by his side, it had been impossible to fully push it away. He hadn't seen her fair face reflected in the Falmari whose blood he'd stained Valinor with. Tyelko didn't know if she'd been there during the defense. He hoped not.

Glancing up again at the Valacirca far above, he tried to distract himself. What had been done could not be undone. They'd lost much, but they knew they would. His father had said as much. Tyelko had sworn to it. And though it broke his heart to look in the eyes of Telvo when he would return to Lake Mithrim to deliver news to the greater host, he refused to dwell on it. They'd made their choices. Pityo was gone. Eve was gone.

Not physically, in her case. But she'd chosen a side, and it wasn't theirs. Tyelko felt his anger rising again. He'd said years ago, echoing the sentiments of Curvo, that marrying Findekáno would divide her loyalties. It would cause her only pain. And here they were, Eve with hate in her heart for her brothers.

They were at war. Sacrifices had to be made. Findekáno would have gotten in their way.

He continued to repeat this mantra to himself as he gazed back down into the darkened valley where their prey would have to march. Even as he did so, a cry went up like a nightingale. What followed was another, and another, until he glanced over to Rusco. The man met his gaze. Tyelko nodded. Lifting up his hands, Rusco let out an answering call.

The orcs had come.

It didn't take long for Tyelko to sense them. The wind carried their foul stench far ahead of them, and they cared nothing for the grass upon the earth. He gave a tiny wave to Rusco. The man hurried to join him at his outpost.

"Send our six swiftest runners. No horses. Let the other hosts know the battle is joined."

Rusco gave a short nod, and disappeared into the darkness. The orcs could be seen now. Even in the gloom, they were easy to spot with their poorly crafted metal armor glinting by the light of the stars. They were stupid and overconfident. They would soon learn the error of their ways. With silent, practiced ease, Tyelko readied an arrow. He slowed his breathing.

He released. With a hiss, the arrow shot out from his tight grasp, followed almost immediately by hundreds more from various points along the rocky terrain where the mountainous hills met the valley. At the signal of his archers, his swordsmen charged. Tyelko fired a few more arrows. But then he drew his jeweled blade and with the howl of Huan the hound beside him, he skidded down to join the fray.

Grunting and a snarled, hideous orcish language filled the air. His men did not need to speak. They could kill without fanfare, and be the better for it. They spoke instead with shining blades and spilled blood.

Tyelko released all of his rage on the orcs. The fire burned hottest in his father, but he had never spurned it. He couldn't help but smile as the orcs fell before them with little resistance. Vengeance drove him on.

Screeches echoed off hill and metal armor. The faint glow of the elven warriors seemed to blind some of the creatures of darkness. Blind strikes from a massive orc nearby took the wind out of Tyelko's chest. The grey, veiny-skinned creature had spun towards him. Teeth sank into an exposed section of his forearm. Tyelko didn't scream. He wouldn't give this prey that satisfaction.

With blood soaking into his clothing under his armor, Tyelko dug his fingernails into the orc's face. He clawed at its cheek, raking across until he felt its eye. Tyelko yanked it. A guttural squeal ended with a snap as he dropped the orc to the ground, neck twisted. He panted, catching his breath. Pain and firelike adrenaline mingled in his body as he rained terror down on the orcs beneath the stars.

His host drove the orcs forward. Sounds of rushing water filled his mind. Tyelko halted. Elven men rushed into him and past as he found himself unable to move. Instead of orc screams, he heard Telvo. Instead of the River Sirion, he heard crashing waves on the beach. The glow of the Firstborn children with the light of Valinor still bright in their eyes morphed, darkening and warming until he could almost feel the heat of flames. He couldn't breathe.

"Prince Tyelkormo! We have them routed!"

He focused on the voice. Not Rusco, but another of the hunters. He couldn't tell who. But the neighing of horses and the sudden growling of Huan ripped his mind from the dark grasp the memories and stench of blood held. He saw that they had pinned the remaining orcs against the other half of their host in the place where the Sirion turned around. He nodded. Twisting his sword to strengthen his grip, he looked up only once at the Valcirca before striding forward.

"Kill them all."

His host roared up in cheers. They remained silent in their slaughter no longer. Trumpets rang through the Fen of Serech, swords clashed against shields, and they advanced. The orcs screamed and scattered. Some drowned, others died bleeding. Tyelko could make out no particular faces as his force rode or ran forward. Blurs surrounded him. Instead, he watched the carnage before him, and he pushed aside all thought of the lifeless Falmari bodies on their pearl docks. He thought only of his grandfather, and his father, and his brothers. They would have their revenge. Tyelko would give it to them, one orc at a time.