The Sands of Rhun: A Middle Earth Story(Book 2)

Chapter 13: A Choice to Make

Third Person
Easterlings sprang through the now open gate, letting out a chilling battle cry as they rushed at the waiting Gondorian soldiers. The cry itself seemed to shake them, but they nonetheless braced themselves at the order of Boromir their commander.

"Shields up, spears out!" He cried in a commanding voice, his eyes narrowed in determination.

The enemy came through the smoke rapidly, long halberds held in front of them as they charged. Several of them fell to the ground as arrows pierced their armor, and Boromir gave a nod of thanks to his brother, who stood behind the Gondorian soldiers with what was left of his Rangers. Faramir acknowledged the nod with a grim smile as he fitted another arrow to the string of his bow.

But even the arrows of the Rangers weren't enough to slow the advance of the Easterlings. They made contact with the Gondorian line, shouting as they fought. Boromir could tell that his men were on the verge of breaking already. These were not the trained men that he was used to commanding, but he still knew that he must do what he could to save them.

"Fall back! To the thoroughfare!" He shouted as he ran an Easterling through with his sword. He turned and looked at his men, and it was then that he realized the mistake he had made.

Instead of an organized retreat, the Gondorians had turned tail and ran immediately, making an easy target for the Easterlings. The cruel men chased them, cutting them down mercilessly as they fled.

Boromir looked around wildly for Faramir. He couldn't lose his little brother. Much to his dismay, there was no sign of him among the fleeing men.

"Faramir!" He shouted loudly, hoping that somehow his brother would hear him. However, a young soldier heard him instead and approached him.

"I saw Captain Faramir flee toward the keep with his men, sir! He was alive last I saw him." The soldier was breathing heavily and holding his side, and blood was soaking through his gloved hand.

"Thank you soldier," Boromir said in relief. "What's your name lad?"

"I'm Berethor sir." The young man was pale, and now seemed to be struggling to stand.

Boromir put an arm around him and helped him along as they retreated. Less than half of the soldiers at the gate were still alive. By Boromir's reckoning, they had lost twice what the enemy had. He had come to a realization: unless reinforcements came, the city was lost.

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First Person

I heard the sounds of battle outside as my fellow Lòke-Rim charged through the gates with a yell. My task was complete. The only thing left was to take the city, which would most likely be a matter of a few hours.

I had a terrible, gnawing feeling at the pit of my stomach, and as I heard the screams of dying Gondorian soldiers I wondered if I had done the right thing... If I was even on the right side.

But now was not the time to entertain such feelings. Now was the time to fight.

I drew my scimitar and dashed out of the room into the insanity that awaited outside.

What greeted my eyes filled me with a mixture of emotions. Easterlings were chasing down the running Gondorian soldiers, cutting them down as they fled. Several of them seemed to be making the Gondorian soldiers' deaths slow on purpose, and the cries of agony and pain that came from the dying men made me sick. I had seen death before; The screams of the Pit still echoed through my mind. But not even there had it been on such a massive scale, nor had such pure chaos reigned there as it did here.