From where you are, it is clear.
From the far side of the valley the road goes through to the north, a mass of armoured horsemen are charging down the road. These are Arthedanian Knights, man and beast alike decked out in as much metal as they can get on them.
As they draw closer, the first three ranks lower their lances at once, preparing to bear down on the orcs.
"Robert," says the man, Talin, offering you his hand.
Farael is screaming too loud to hear you, Anglomir.
The top of the caravan is badly werecked, Willim, but the orcs on top have abandoned it.
The Knights slam into the orc lines. Their lances pierce the orcs and they do not stop. The orcs had not time to make formation against the horsemen and are caught in the open. The riders drive on through- man, horse and armout together weighing more than a ton each. Orcs skulls are crushed under hooves, or their spines broken. The lancemen ride through to the front and the Knights behind follow through with swords, chasing the scattering orcs and piercing them with straight blows.
"This was meant to be a cushy job..." says Robert. He speaks in a common accent quite distinct from the Dunadan here you have talked to before.
The orcs are routing. They run in fear from the horsemen that have torn them apart. Some of the Knights go to give chase but a horn sounds the recall and their leader is shouting "Back! Come BACK! Do NOT pursue! Guard the Princess!"
"You took your damn time," says Farael to the leader. The Knight pulls off his helmet, revealing Steibar.
"I came as fast as I could," he says. "Is she...?"
"She's fine," says Farael.
(Farael, of course, sent off Steibar to get help whilst you guys were moaning at him for not doing anything about the problem)
"So I see," says Steibar. "Farael, we can't possibly garrison the entire North Road."
"I know," says Farael. "The Council will have to decide."
"This arm isn't doing anything in a hurry..." says Robert, forlornly. "Hey, I think your friend is unwell."
Blood is spreading from Vardalian. Men are tending to him, trying to bund him up.
"A man would be dead from this wound," one of them says, grimly.
Mallachiel, looking dishevelled but unharmed (and still beautiful) climbs out the shattered caravan, a blood-soaked knife in hand. Farael spends a little time talking to her in Adunaic (Aranui, he is telling her to say nothing until she gets to Fornost). He then turns to Aranui.
"That was a damn close run thing," he says. "As close as it could get. Were it not for you and your men not a one of us would have survived. You are owed our thanks. ALL of you."
"We should move on," says Steibar. "Just in case." Farael nods.
"Straight onto Fornost-Erain, I think..." he says.
"I agree," Talin says to Robert, eyeing his fallen comrade. "But he'll live. He is a mighty Elf, and one of the best friends I've made on this journey. I have a feeling that he'll be around for other journeys I may make. Same for you."
Talin shakes Robert's hand one more time before leaving him and going over to Vardalain.
"How are you, friend?"
"Fornost! Fornost! Fornost!" Anglomir chants, before shutting up because of the annoyed glances from the Arnorians.
Before leaving, Anglomir had managed to recover a few of his knives. When he reaches Fornost he'll clean them and sharpen them.
He takes a rag from his belt and wipes the Orc blood from his sword. "You have served me well, my blade," he says before sliding it into his sheath.