Defenders of Middle Earth: A Middle Earth Story(Book 3)

Chapter 25: Pyrrhic Victory

Gerithor looked down upon the city below. Massive fires burned uncontrollably throughout most of it, and he could see hundreds of orcs pouring through the streets. Despite all of the destruction, he could see that about a hundred brave elves still held fast in the city square, like the last beam of sunlight to shine over the horizon before nightfall. The call of their horn was enough for him to know that they were still putting up a fight, and he nodded to Kalan.

"Sound the horn of Nogrod," he said with a grim smile.

"Aye aye!" Kalan replied with enthusiasm as he signaled to a lone dwarf bearing a great ram's horn. The dwarf blew a long, deep note that rang out through the hills, rivalling the horn of Rivendell that had also just sounded from the eastern hills. The two horns blew in harmony, filling the valley with their call.

"To Cirdan! To our brethren! Defend the North!" Gerithor cried as he raised his longsword into the air.

"Defend the North!" The other rangers echoed, their shout striking fear into the hearts of their enemies.

"Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!" The dwarves bellowed as they followed the rangers in their charge. The thunder of their armored feet as they charged shook the very ground, and they moved with surprising speed down the hill.

Still, they could not keep up with the long-legged rangers, who were already nearly to the gates. Several of them stopped to loose their longbows, but they quickly regained ground as they fell back into place. Gerithor led the attack, his men close behind.

He could now see Rivendell's warriors pouring down the hills to their east as well, and he allowed himself a primal grin as he thought of how fearful the orcs most likely were now. The elves were silent as they charged, almost unnervingly so.

The gates were wide open and foolishly left unguarded by the orcs, and Gerithor and his men rushed into the city with no resistance. They quickly made their way through the abandoned camp of the orcs, and soon emptied onto the main street.

The orcs that were bringing up the flank of their army didn't notice the rangers until they were already among their ranks, cutting down orc after orc. So great was the fury of the rangers that not a single one faltered in their charge, for they were determined to follow their leader into the fray.

Gerithor rushed ahead, his longsword swinging to and fro. Wherever it landed, another orc met its fate. Though many attempted to resist the blade, the ranger's strength was so great that their blades were broken and their shields were hewn in half. Gerithor did not know why, but some inhuman fury drove him forward, fury that was out of even his own control.

They soon broke through to the elvish defenders, for none could stand against the Lastborn of the Dunedain and his loyal rangers.

The appearance of the rangers rallied the defenders, and they pushed against the enemy with renewed vigor. Soon the orcs were once more in full retreat, but they were met by the heavy axes and stout shields of the dwarves on one side and the keen blades of the elves on the other, completely cutting off their escape.

There was little resistance, for the orcs were disorganized and in full panic. Many dropped their weapons immediately, some of them screaming for mercy and whimpering pitifully as the defenders surrounded them. The rest were cut down where they stood, and before long any who fought back were dead, their bodies littering the ground.

Gerithor approached a small group of them that had surrendered, his sword pointed toward the largest orc of the group.

"You. Give me one reason why I should let any of you live," he growled. Several of the nearby elves drew their swords in synchronization and lowered them over the orcs' necks.