Fall of Rhunduin

Glorfangal stood behind the battlements on the inner gatehouse, the scent of fires lifting through the air to him. His finger wrapped around the elaborate jewelled hilt as he grasped his sword, the jewels rough against his skin, there to remind him of the past. He glanced down at the outer curtain wall below, his careful inventory taking in the defences and the strength, which would be useful, as the night progressed. His hazel eyes narrowed, watching as ranks upon ranks of high elven archers arrayed in three perfect lines behind the battlements. The sun gleamed off their golden tight-fitted, helms with sweeping, bladed crests, and cheek guards. He listened to the shuffling of their feet and the positioning of their bows. From where he stood, he could see the countryside surrounding the castle. He gazed upwards, watching the clear blue sky slowly turn black.

The stillness of the air was heavy. A foreboding storm approached from the south, prickling his skin, and raising the hairs on the back of his neck. Within seconds the sky was as black as sackcloth. A blinding flash seared the clouds above the hilltops. In the distance came long, low rumbles of thunder and the gentle pitter-patter of rain as it came down.

Glorfangal stared out into the vast emptiness as the rain pinged off his cuirass and fault of interlocking silver steel plates. His eyes widened as the sky was lit up again by another blinding flash of lightning.

In the distance came another blinding flash. He watched from behind the battlements as all the space between him and the field, crawled with dark shapes. Legions of Orcs marched in unison in organised columns and stopped a short distance from the wall. Thousands upon thousands of Orcs roared, their crude spears and pikes banged on the ground as they taunted the defenders on the wall.

A bulky pale orc in ink-black armour with a crested helmet stood upon a large boulder. He raised his crude sword in the air and with a deafening roar, the first wave of Orcs charged towards the wall of the fortress.

Glorfangal drew the thick dark silence into his lungs. “PREPARE TO FIRE!!!” His fingers grasped the hilt, and he slowly drew his sword from his scabbard. He listened to the noise of battle cries and weapons hitting the ground echoed. His eyes widened as he watched another blinding flash lit up the blackened sky.

The archers on the wall and flanking towers immediately drew an arrow from their varnished leather quivers, the long hours of training showing in their smooth unconscious movement, after notching it to their recurved longbow they drew the bowstring back, the wooden shafts scaped against the leather grip of the bow as they aimed at the Orcs.

“FIRE!!!” Upon Glorfangal’s command, arrows flew over the tops of the battlements from the wall and flanking towers, hissing as they came down like rain and hit the approaching orcs. Anguished roars came from below after the arrows found their targets. Another volley of arrows loosed from the second line of the archers that stood behind the first. He paced back and forth, watching as the Orcs piled up on the ground as more arrows flew over the wall. Since the orcs couldn’t reach the wall, he reached his hand out to touch the victory that was within his grasp. “WE HAVE…”

“GLORFANGAL, THE ENEMY IS APPROACHING FROM THE NORTH!!!” The elvish archer, breathless from the message and the battle, pulled him back from the brink of victory. He watched from the circular turret on the northeast tower. Thousands of orcs marched in organised columns through a narrow valley. More shadows gathered in the distance, but they were far too big to be Orcs.

Glorfangal quickly ran towards the north wall, his feet pounded on the stone, and he stopped alongside Ellsar. His eyes narrowed and he nervously turned to Ellsar. Their eyes met, and Glorfangal turned away.

Ellsar looked at Glorfangal. “I’ll rally some men together and cut off their attack while you maintain the castle’s defences.”

“How many men do you need?” Glorfangal tipped his head slightly.

Ellsar smiled and walked away, moving fast down the steps where a large host of men awaited him. After he slowly put his bronze crested helmet on, he looked back across his shoulder at Glorfangal for the last time. He drew his hand-and-a-half sword from his scabbard and made his way towards the postern gate. A host of high elven warriors accompanied him, and after he opened the gate, he disappeared through the gateway along with his company.

Archers fired arrows over the battlements and through narrow slits in the parapets at the Orcs below. A volley of black arrows whistled back over the wall and hits their targets. The anguished high-pitched screams came from men as they fell from the walls. Siege ladders landed hard against the wall. Orcs climbed up, hand over hand over the battlements, checking left and right before launching their attack on the defenders. A hiss came from the inner wall and a volley of arrows came down like rain and hit those who were still climbing the ladders.

Glorfangal watched as Ellsar, and his men rushed up the steps, their feet loud on the stone and attacked the Orcs on the wall. Barking orders, he returned to the south wall to see the progress there. The wall was overrun. “RETREAT TO THE INNER WARD!!! His men fled down the steps while the men on the inner wall covered their retreat. Arrows hailed from above, and with a loud thud, they hit their targets, but the men that weren’t fast enough were cut down.

From the northern wall came a bright flash and an ear-splitting, thunderous crash. Large pieces of rubble were hurled into the air in every direction, crushing those who moved too late to death. Waves upon waves of Orcs and Trolls poured through the breach in the wall. Their advance was halted only by a barrage of arrows from behind the battlements and arrow slits on the inner wall and flanking towers.

Feet clattered on the stone steps as a host of elvish warriors hurried down them. They quickly arrayed into five perfect lines outside the inner gatehouse to protect it. With their massive bronze leaf-shaped shields locked together, they held their spears out in front. A wall of shields and spears awaited the Orcs as they came crashing into it, but the lines of defenders held their ground. Suddenly a roar came from behind the Orcs and a group of large grey Trolls clad in an ink-black scaly spiked breastplate, vambraces, pauldrons and helmets charged forward. They swung their massive clubs and maces at the elves flashing through the night, bringing screams and death with every blow. Even the arrows from above hardly hurt them. One, by one, the elvish warriors were swatted aside as the Trolls broke through the lines of men until none were left standing.

Glorfangal’s eyes bulged from their sockets watching his fallen friends. Now, that the outer ward was completely overrun with Orcs, he turned and stared at his men. There were no words that would help. The sound below pulled his attention. Ellsar and his men fled back through the postern gate. “Rally the men together and meet me in the ward.” The order given, he strode away, his breathing hard and ragged. He moved swiftly down the steps where he joined the others behind the gatehouse.

If only he had sent for reinforcements, he could have defended the outer walls a lot better, but since his scouts had only spotted a single legion down in the valley, he had believed that he had more than enough men to protect the castle and didn’t see the need to send for reinforcements as they weren’t needed. Now, that he was being attacked from the north and south, he wished he had sent for them. “ELLSAR, GET THE MEN INTO FORMATION, WE MAKE OUR STAND HERE!!!”