Chapter 23: The Battle of Amon Rhûd — Part 1
The drainage tunnel was exactly where Gorlim had promised.
Maeglin led his team through the opening—a dark mouth in the hillside, half-hidden by overgrown brush. The smell hit first: rotting waste, stagnant water, something dead that had been dead for a long time.
"Breathe through your mouths," he whispered. "Stay low. Stay quiet."
Ten fighters followed him into the darkness.
The tunnel had been built centuries ago, part of the original Rhudaur fortification system. Now it served as a sewer, carrying the fortress's waste down to the valley stream. No one had thought to block it or guard it—why would they? Who would be desperate enough to crawl through filth?
We would.
The tunnel narrowed as they progressed. Stone walls pressed close, forcing them to crouch, then crawl. Cold water soaked through clothing. Things moved in the darkness—rats, probably, though Maeglin didn't look too closely.
Two hundred feet. Three hundred. The tunnel seemed endless.
Then—light. Faint, filtering down through iron grates above.
"We're under the fortress," Maeglin breathed. "Slow now. Check every step."
They emerged into a larger chamber—a junction where multiple drainage channels met. Above them, the grates opened into the fortress interior. Torchlight flickered through the bars.
Maeglin pressed himself against the wall and listened.
Voices. Footsteps. The ordinary sounds of a fortress preparing for morning. No alarm. No indication that their approach had been detected.
"Prison cells are east," he whispered. "Two guards on rotation. We need to be fast and silent."
The team moved.
[AMON RHÛD — PRISON SECTION]
The guards died without making a sound.
Maeglin's knife took the first one through the throat. Beran—who'd returned from Bree and volunteered for this mission—handled the second with equal efficiency. Bodies lowered to the ground. Blood pooling on ancient stones.
The prison cells stretched along a corridor carved into the fortress's bedrock. Iron bars. Torchlight casting shadows that made every corner threatening.
Twelve prisoners huddled in three cells.
Men. Women. Two children, no older than eight.
One of the children saw the armed figures approaching and opened her mouth to scream.
A woman—her mother, probably—clamped her hand over the girl's face. Eyes wide, body trembling, but silent. She understood.
"We're here to get you out," Maeglin whispered. "Stay quiet. Do exactly what we say."
The locks were crude—orc-work, barely functional. A few seconds with picks and they swung open. Prisoners stumbled out, legs weak from captivity, eyes adjusting to the torchlight.
An old man couldn't walk. Broken leg, badly set. One of Maeglin's scouts lifted him across his shoulders without being asked.
"The tunnel," Maeglin said. "Move now. Don't stop for anything."
They moved.
[DRAINAGE TUNNEL — EXTRACTION]
The way back was harder than the way in.
Twelve prisoners, most of them weak and terrified, crawling through darkness and filth. The children whimpered despite their mother's efforts to keep them quiet. The old man groaned with every jostle.
Behind them, the fortress continued its morning routine. No alarm yet. No pursuit.
Hurry. The signal has to go up before dawn.
Maeglin pressed the group forward, checking constantly for danger. The tunnel seemed even longer going out—every foot of progress earned through exhaustion and determination.
Then—light. Real light. The tunnel mouth opening onto the hillside.
"Out. Everyone out. Keep moving toward the tree line."
Prisoners stumbled into the pre-dawn grey, gulping fresh air like drowning men finding surface. Scouts guided them toward the designated extraction point, where a small team waited to escort them to safety.
Maeglin reached for the signal arrow.
One of the children—the girl who'd almost screamed—grabbed his hand. Her fingers were tiny, filthy, trembling.
"Don't leave," she whispered.
"I have to. There are more people to save."
"Promise you'll come back?"
He looked at her face. Dirty. Tear-streaked. Trusting.
"I promise."
He didn't know if it was true. But he said it anyway.
The signal arrow caught flame from a scout's flint strike. Maeglin nocked it, drew, and fired.
The burning shaft arced across the sky like a falling star.
In the valley below, the main assault force saw it. Heard the distant shout of command.
"Forward."
The Battle of Amon Rhûd had begun.
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