towers

Chapter 7
HELM’S DEEP
The sun was already westering as they rode from Edoras,
and the light of it was in their eyes, turning all the rolling
fields of Rohan to a golden haze. There was a beaten way,
north-westward along the foot-hills of the White Mountains,
and this they followed, up and down in a green country,
crossing small swift streams by many fords. Far ahead and
to their right the Misty Mountains loomed; ever darker and
taller they grew as the miles went by. The sun went slowly
down before them. Evening came behind.
The host rode on. Need drove them. Fearing to come too
late, they rode with all the speed they could, pausing seldom.
Swift and enduring were the steeds of Rohan, but there were
many leagues to go. Forty leagues and more it was, as a bird
flies, from Edoras to the fords of the Isen, where they hoped
to find the king’s men that held back the hosts of Saruman.
Night closed about them. At last they halted to make their
camp. They had ridden for some five hours and were far out
upon the western plain, yet more than half their journey lay
still before them. In a great circle, under the starry sky and
the waxing moon, they now made their bivouac. They lit no
fires, for they were uncertain of events; but they set a ring of
mounted guards about them, and scouts rode out far ahead,
passing like shadows in the folds of the land. The slow night
passed without tidings or alarm. At dawn the horns sounded,
and within an hour they took the road again.
There were no clouds overhead yet, but a heaviness was
in the air; it was hot for the season of the year. The rising
sun was hazy, and behind it, following it slowly up the sky,
there was a growing darkness, as of a great storm moving out