“Volley!” Irgzar’s voice thundered through valley, piercing the noise of the ongoing battle. Hearing their commander’s order the Orc crossbowman launched dark bolts towards the castle that sat atop the North Downs. Many found their target and wounded soldiers screamed in pain as they took the fall from the high walls. Reserves immediately assumed their positions and the garrison’s defences returned the favour launching long white-feathered arrows that rained death on enraged Orkish lines. It did little to stop the charging beasts and only moments later ladders were resting upon the walls.

“Draw swords,” Arantar shouted throwing the longbow on his shoulder and pulling a silver-hilted sword from his belt. This was the third night in a row the keep was attacked and the young captain wondered if their defences would hold this time. “Rear guards, bring them down!” Defenders with poleaxes swiftly moved to front lines pushing the ladders down, killing those unfortunate that stood underneath. Arantar managed a small grin and signalled the archers standing in the castle’s courtyard to launch another volley across the walls. Arrows sang as they flew through the air and screamed as they pierced the armours of their targets.

But the attack was not hindered. Each pushed ladder was replaced by two more and each slain beast only deepened the rage of the others. The commander screamed even louder, chanting foul battle songs on their black tongue, the drums were striking on a steady beat and the first Orc managed the climb and stood strong on the white Arnorian stone. He released a fierce roar that was sharply interrupted by a strike from Arantar’s sword. He managed another grin as said to himself, “That’s ten.”

The defences held for a full hour but as the battle went on their left flank started to buckle. A group of Orcs have secured several ladders resisting all attempts of Arnorians to repel them back. Spotting the breached section Angband rushed without a thought. He raised his right fist as he ran, signalling a group of sharpshooters to direct their wrath to them. Arrows flew hitting their marks and the odds were evened a bit. Arantar charged right into them, his sword cleaving a path through the foul horde. With a strong kick a ladder fell and another just after it until only a handful of Orcs stood and a single ladder leaned against the white wall.

Enraged and without a place to retreat, the Orcs released a fierce cry and charged into the lone captain. Arantar ducked the first blow hitting the Orc on his standing foot. His sword continued to move with grace and another Orc fell followed by two more. Sweat was pouring into Arantar’s eyes clouding his vision and he breathed heavily gasping for the much needed air. He wiped his brow just in time to see the last Orc was upon him. With a desperate reflex Arantar blocked the strike and managed to find just enough strength within his arms to launch a swift counterattack into Orc’s helm, shattering it and slaying the beast. Turning around he saw the walls were clear of Sauron’s minions. Arnorian knights were standing with weapons raised high, inspired by their captain’s valour they sang his name. A third grin appeared and he though, “We might just make it…”

The thought disappeared as a blunt sound echoed the keep, a battering ram. The keep door stood stubborn, resisting the ponderous blow. “Archers!” called Arantar, “Set that thing on fire!” A lieutenant approached him, “Sir, our arrows are spent. We have nothing to throw at them.” Arantar cursed, “Send some boys to the armoury, find something, toss bloody potatoes at them if you have to, I want that thing down!”. The lieutenant nodded and left. Arantar turned to the Orcs below, his eyes piercing through the darkness trying to estimate the remaining number of the attacking force. His heart clenched – there were too many.

Once more the ram hit the gates and this time wood surrendered to the mighty blow. “Lancers to the gates, form up!” Arantar commanded, then rushed himself toward a staircase that connected the courtyard with the northern wall. He ran down the stairs, tripping and almost falling as his strength was nearly spent. One thing was left to do, Annúminas must learn of their situation.

He rushed over the courtyard, white stones smeared with blood of his knight. As the lancers formed a line behind him, the young captain entered a small tower in the southernmost part of the keep. Climbing the steep stairs he reached the Palantir chamber and removed the cloth that covered the Seeing Stone. A flick of light appeared in the stone and soon he could see the Tower of Sunset and the face of his King. “My Lord,” he said, “We are overrun”. The King looked down and was silent.

The doors crashed, battering ram announcing his victory over the hardened gate. Orcs came. Huge pewter cauldrons were turned from above the door, spilling hot oil that burned through the skins of the advancing force. Those that followed were greeted by a forest of white lances, but still more came. The knights fell, their spears broke and the lieutenant issued one final order, “Fight for your lives…”.

Arantar stood next to the Palantir, his sword in hand and ready to die to protect the valuable artefact. Footsteps echoed down the stairway and a dark figure appeard at the chamber’s entrance, Irgzar came to claim his winnings. The huge Anband bred Orc stood in front of the captain, an evil grin on his face revealing sharp yellow teeth. “Give me the stone,” he snorted in the common tongue, “and you will die quickly”. The captain said nothing. His mind travelled to the homely streets of Fornost, to his wife and daughter eagerly waiting for him to return. A tear appeared in the young captain’s face but it was immediately wiped by a strong burst of anger. He clenched his sword and with a shout “Valandil! Valandil!” charged for the Orc’s left flank. His strike was repelled with a flash of a curved scimitar after which followed a strong punch that caught Arantar in the face. He fell to the ground unconscious.

Irgzar took the Stone and covered it with a piece of black cloth. “Bind that man.” he ordered to the two Orcs that were standing behind him. “We take him to Angmar for questioning. Burn the keep.” The Orcs saluted. He turned and started walking to the door “Arnor will wither,” he thought, “Master will be pleased”.

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