Sword and Arrow

Chapter 55

Death had come to Osgiliath. Now the corners of streets lay strewn with men in silver armor with dead eyes, and orcs ran rampant through the once-beautiful city with their cruel swords and harsh tongues, killing where they saw fit. Faramir ran through the city, desperate for cover. His cloak flowed behind him, but it would serve no purpose to him in this city of dead grey stone.

Faramir dashed into a small courtyard where Madril was waiting for him. He ducked to the side and a trio of archers quickly took down the small group of orc that were pursuing him. Faramir leaned against a wall, panting, a hand pressed against the cut on his forehead.

"We can't hold them," Madril said. "The city is lost."

A shadow covered the already dim sun as a Nazgul's fellbeast screeched overhead. Shouts to take cover were heard from above.

"Pull back!" Faramir ordered. "Pull back to Minas Tirith!"

"Retreat! Retreat!" Men and horses left the city in a confused hurry, not heeding the cries of commanders and captains. Nazgul still shrieked overhead and orcs shot down some men that tried to escape from the city.

Madril had fallen in the frenzied escape from the city. He lay on his back in one of the thoroughfares of the city, wounded. His breathing grew shallower and shallower. Black spots danced in the corner of his vision, and he thought he could hear singing, ethereal and gentle.

An orc with a deformed face stood over him. Madril saw the orc reach for a spear, and a moment later, pain blossomed across his chest. The last ominous thing Madril heard before the singing claimed him was: "The age of Man is over. The time of Orc has come."

The escape to Minas Tirith was frenzied. The former guards of Osgiliath rode in a wide line, pushing their horses as hard as they could go even as Nazgul wheeled overhead.

And then the dark beasts descended, throwing men and their horses through the air. Then a bright light ahead of them, a snow-white horse and a beam of sunlight that radiated from it. As it drew closer, they saw a man rode the horse, a man in white robes wielding that ray that cut through shadow and bone. Momentarily, the dark clouds that had covered the sky burned away as the white rider joined them and led their way back to Minas Tirith.

The great gates of Minas Tirith creaked open. The men and beasts that had escaped from Osgiliath hurried inside, eager to find the protection that the white walls of the city offered.

"Mithrandir," an injured Faramir said. "They broke our defenses. They've taken the bridge and the west bank. Battalions of orcs are crossing the river."

"It is as Lord Denetor predicted!" said Irolas, one of his captains. "Long has he foreseen this doom!"

"Foreseen and done nothing," Mithrandir growled, turning his horse back towards Faramir. The captain of the Rangers stared at Pippin with a strange expression on his face. "Faramir," said the wizard, "this is not the first halfling to have crossed your path?"

Faramir slowly shook his head, ashamed of what he done to the other two. "No."

"You've seen Frodo and Sam," the halfling said eagerly, the first time Faramir had heard him speak. He had a peculiarly different accent than them.

"Where?" Mithrandir demanded. "When?"

"In Ithilien, not two days ago. Gandalf, they're taking the road to Morgul Vale."

Dread settled on Gandalf. "And then the pass of Cirith Ungol."

"What does that mean?" the halfling asked, looking frantically between Gandalf and Faramir. "What's wrong?"

"Faramir, tell me everything," Gandalf said, leading them back up to the citadel. "Tell me everything you know."

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