Four years later.
The Enemy has declared himself.
Feredir and his three companions, Svendir the Soldier Son, Brólin of the Iron Hills and Idhrhis the Lindoner are running through the northernmost pass of the vales caressing the eastern slopes of the Blue Mountains. Their silent, deadly war on the incurring Orcs that constantly probe the borders from Forochel. This time, they have met their match: A pack of Wargs is chasing, and they suspect a greater enemy behind.
They prepare to make their final stand, and with their well-practised tactics rout the Direwolves with ease. Feredir and Idhris give chase, but soon realise that the Wargs are leading them. It is a trap! Quickly, they gather up their companions, and they make for the ford of the river. Crossing is deathly cold, but inner zeal keeps them warm.
On the other side, they realise they were right: A much larger force follow the Wargs, led by a gigantic figure who trumpets spine-chillingly from a massive horn.
The Enemy has reached Númeriador.
They spirit away to the Last Retreat, the northernmost trading post in the Borderlands. They are delighted to find their friend Beoraborn present, but dismayed at having to tell everyone to evacuate.
Having sent the traders on their way the next morning, they build a make-shift raft to cross the treacherous waters of the river, and secret themselves to get a better glimpse of the enemy.
It is a war party of Orcs, led by a wretched creature perched on the shoulder of a Giant. Having the privilege of calling one of the giant-kind friend, this saddens Feredir.
Idhrhis fells a few with his arrows, just to make the point, and the Companions retreat, to find a plan and to warn anyone in the war party’s path.
They have not gone long before they come across Feredir’s Giant friend, Tom, holed up in an abandoned Dwarf mine.
With Tom’s help, the Companions dig in, setting a trap for the scouting party surely on their trail…