They were still moving through the night. They're quarry becoming ever more illusive with every passing minute, and with every passing minute they were finding themselves ever more lost. They were in a wilderness of trees, tall oaks tightly packed together with no road in sight, yet Pyrocen was sure there was a small dust track that led from a small village, the same village they had passed, the one that was now a smouldering mass of wood and flesh. "All those broken little bodies" Caldir had said morosely when they passed through the village. They had been tracking a group of orcs for the past few days. The team had been attacked during the night when they were on patrol. Pyrocen, Caldir, Hasan and about ten soldiers from the sealgair battalion in the light troops had set up camp for the night and were unsuspecting victims to a night attack. The orcs outnumbered them four to one, they had killed the soldiers, but the three captains had held them off, killing at least fifteen between them, and now they tracked them, hoping to finish them off. It was that same band of orcs that had attacked this village and left it burning. "All those broken little bodies" Caldir said again, remembering the ghastly sight of the slashed and scorched bodies of children.
"We're lost" Hasan said, in a disheartened tone. Pyrocen just growled in reply, he knew he was lost, he knew he shouldn't have pursued the orcs, but pride and anger urged him on, and he was too proud to now confess his faults.
"We've lost them, there's now way we are going to find them now" Hasan corrected himself, this time Caldir growled in reply. He tried again.
"They're gone Pyrocen, lets just go back"
Then there was a flurry of roars as the orcs attacked.
They came from in between the trees in all directions, hoping to catch the three men off guard. They came at them, charging, twirling they're falchions above they're helmeted heads, shrieking like banshees. They smelled victory and were racing towards it. There was only one problem, Pyrocen knew they were there, so did Caldir, they could smell them, but Hasan was too busy worrying that they had lost them to notice that a different, strange smell had appeared, he didn't realise that Pyrocen had drawn about an inch of steel from his scabbard, that the growls from the two men were meant to hush him because they had heard something, and when the orcs attacked Pyrocen turned with a sudden speed, his scimitar rasping from the throat of his scabbard. He slashed in a wild hay making blow, checking the charge of three orcs and giving him enough time to recover his poise. He sidestepped a lunge from an orcs falchion and replied with a singing backswing to the head. Two more orcs came straight towards him, slashing. He parried one swing, dodged another, kicked the second orc in the knee and followed through with a finishing blow to the chest, stabbing down with enough force to break the ribs. He heard the first orc coming at him, he twisted to the right just in time to see the falchion scythe past him, then, before the orc had time to withdraw its sword, Pyrocen drew his knife and slashed it across the orcs throat. Caldir was fighting the orcs off easily, when they first attacked he stabbed his halberd into the ground and threw his javelins with such force that two orcs were skewered so half the shaft of the javelin protruded from the backs of them. He then retrieved his halberd and charged to meet the orcs with the tip. He stabbed one, and then slashed to the left so that the axe blade sliced into the neck of another; he then parried a swing that was intended to sever his arm, and stabbed forward in a short, powerful and professional thrust. Two orcs charged at him at the same time, hoping to put this gigantic man down, but he parried the attacks effortlessly, smiling sadistically, remembering the old phrase "the point beats the edge". He stabbed one in the throat and was replied with a gurgling noise, he slashed the other orc with the spiked side of the halberd, skewering it into its arm, knocking the orc off balance, and then he stabbed forward, killing the injured orc instantly, piercing its abdomen. He felt it jar on the orcs ribs; he tried twisting to stop the flesh gripping it but it wouldn't come free. He cursed, he knew didn't have time to retrieve it now, he saw there were three orcs coming at him, he drew his broadsword, hacking with it in a swing as wild as it was deadly, thirty-four inches of heavy, single-edged, newly sharpened steel sliced across the chest of the forward-most, opening it to reveal the bone. The other two, seeing their companion go down charged in a rage-hazed frenzy, which Caldir avoided easily, skipping back. He slammed the hilt of his sword in an orcs face sending it reeling back, he was about to finish it off with a hammering blow to the head with his sword blade when an arrow flew past him into the left eye of the orc he hit, snapping its head back in a flurry of blood. He was shocked by the sudden killing of the orc, not that he was taken aback by it; he was more shocked that someone dared rid him of a kill. He took his frustration out on the other orc. He hammered the blade down on the top of its head, immediately killing it, though he was unsatisfied so he severed its head with a swing that sang through the air. Hasan wasn't getting much action, he was taken aback at the fact that their prey had turned it round so that they were the predators, again. He was stood there, his short sword drawn waiting for an orc to come close, the only problem was, none were, Caldir and Pyrocen were killing them all! Three orcs had got through the barrier of the two soldiers and came at Hasan who had killed them with fast skilled slashes, then no more came at him, he saw Pyrocen was fighting easily, every swing rendered an orc dead or injured, while Caldir was faced with three orcs, he saw them lunging, and saw too that Caldir seemed to be struggling. He watched as Caldir killed one of them, then he took his short bow from the sheath on the side of his quiver and drew an arrow. He notched the arrow on the string and pulled it back until it was taut and aimed at the chest of the orc nearest to Caldir, released it and saw that when he let go he slightly raised his bow so that the arrow took the orc in the eye. He swore, he could never get his arrow tip in the exact place he aimed it. He was looking for more orcs to shoot into, he had instinctively drawn another arrow and notched it on the string, and now he was looking for another target. He turned and saw that most of the orcs were dead. There was a mass of orcs in front of Pyrocen, he shot his arrow into the crowd then drew his short sword, bow still in hand and ran forwards.
"Leave some for me!" He shouted at the top of his voice then charged forward to fight alongside his cousin.
"What have you been doing?" Pyrocen asked in between breaths, looking at Hasans blade that only had a bit of blood on it.
"I've been fighting" he said defensively.
"What? Your shadow?" he asked after he parried a thrust from an orc
"No, just you and Caldir have been killing most of them" he retorted in mild reproof.
Hasan was now fighting steadily; showing his skill with his sword, making every swing look easy, and every parry and riposte look effortless. They were only faced with a half-dozen orcs now, which they cut down easily. Then they heard a scream behind them, it was more of a furious, blood curdling scream rather than a scream of terror or pain, but it still made the two cousins whip round. Pyrocen saw that Caldir was unhurt, but the orcs in front of him were startled and started edging back, fear on their faces from the massive noise which erupted from the man that towered over them. Caldir charged into them shoulder barging the orc directly in front of him to the ground, then slashed side to side with his sword killing two more orcs. Pyrocen and Hasan loosed a couple of arrows into the orcs, who had evidently had enough because they turned and fled. They had attacked with twenty five, but by the end of the fight, there was fewer than five. The three watched the orcs retreat. They didn't pursue them any longer they had done what they wanted, though Pyrocen shot one last arrow at the retreating orcs, bringing one down with an arrow in its back. After the orcs were out of sight they collected some firewood and lit a steady fire, when it was ablaze they cleaned their weapons, letting their rage and tempers die down, before settling down for the night.
The fort was a mess, the walls had decayed and large sections of it were missing. The northern gates were nonexistent and the southern gates were battered and splintered. There were no more defences and the houses were destroyed. The fort of Minoas in the south of Gondor had been a deserted city, built in between two cliffs. The citizens had long since fled to Minas Tirith and the soldiers with them. But Ecthelion had ordered them back again. The last thing he had wanted was the soldiers of Rhun and the Haradrim to attack him from the south. He had known the state of the fort but it would have had to do, as he didn't have the time or the patience to deal with repairs. As long as it was serviceable that was all that mattered. Then he had turned up. He had come from the north and was followed by nearly nine thousand weary soldiers, and behind them, twice the number of weary families. Carpenters, masons, blacksmiths, surgeons, masters-at-arms, siege operators, and their wives and children had all followed the strange army who had came to take refuge among the people of Gondor and offer their services where they were required. Ecthelion had been wary of these new soldiers, but he was calmed when the leader identified himself as Pallocen, king of Beadosveld. Ecthelion had heard of Beadosveld, in fact most people in Middle-Earth had heard of that city, the reputation was phenomenal. Beadosveld was a renowned city in the small realm of Härdor. Its fighting skill had reverberated around Middle-Earth. They had been attacked for years and every year they had held off the onslaughts. Their archers were the main body of the army; they were Pallocens pride and joy and had trained his archers to the highest levels a Man could train to. And now that same king had arrived at Minas Tirith, looking for residence. That had been forty years ago, but he still remembered how Ecthelion had wanted to know everything that had happened in the great battle before his cities walls, and had sent him to the ruins of the fort called Minoas, where, once Ecthelion had left him, he spun into a rage about having to live in and protect a fort that was down in the dumps, a fort that all the men in Gondor couldn't protect. It was a shambles, but over forty years Pyrocen had rebuilt the fort and brought it to a new strength. The walls were rebuilt twice as high and twice as thick with flat bastions all along the wall. The city was prone to rockslides and over the years boulders of all sizes had fallen, which the Beadosvelian stonemasons had shaped and mortared into place. He had made his new home nearly as strong as his last. It was a concentric castle; the outer curtain walls protected the citadel which in turn protected the keep and the city hall. New gates were created, twice as thick and twice as heavy as the last, studded to make them stronger against ram battering rams. Trebuchets were constructed. Ballistae created and wall towers and bastions erected. The fort was rebuilt and looked stronger and better than ever. The homes were recreated, farms ploughed behind the fortress and soon the city finally looked like a city and not ruins. That was when Pallocen was still alive, he had died through the night, he had been ill for many years, and the wounds he had taken from the battle in Härdor hadn't helped. His son still didn't know. He was out on patrol with some soldiers from the sealgair battalion the night he died and he hadn't been back since. And just then the citadel gates opened.
The three captains had camped for the night exhausted from the skirmish between the orcs. Most of their food had been destroyed when the orcs attacked them, but what they had left they rationed. Pyrocen decided there was enough food for two days, though he hoped to be home by tomorrow night. They had settled down by the fire while Caldir was cooking three steaks of fresh venison taken down by one of Pyrocens expertly shot arrows. Though there was a slight cold breeze blowing through the trees, the night was remarkably warm. The stars shone overhead, no clouds in sight, apart from over Mordor and the pillar of smoke that still rose from the village that lay to the east. Pyrocen could see the clear form of Orion in the midnight sky. Well at least he thought it was midnight, it couldn't have been any later, and judging by the position of the moon it wasn't earlier. It was quiet in the forest, and peaceful, more peaceful than it had been in a while, the only noises to be heard were the light hooting of the owls, the rustling of animals travelling through the grass and the steaks sizzling in the pan.
"Caldir, Caldir! The steaks are burning!" Pyrocen shouted, startling the big man out of his reverie.
"Huh? Ah, blasted!" Caldir shouted, turning the steaks over. He was a massive man, seven feet tall with massive muscles and a hard face. Yet he was the most compassionate man Pyrocen had ever known. He was also a remarkable cook, only tonight his thoughts were trapped in one place. And Pyrocen knew where, he would have been thinking of the village and all the dead bodies, women and children alike cut down indiscriminately. Caldir might be a compassionate man, but inside him was a hostility that was rarely hidden, and only showed who he really was to his closest friends like Pyrocen and Hasan whom he had known for nearly sixty years.
"Ah it will have to do, we don't have enough food to pick and choose" Pyrocen said. Hasan looked despairingly down at the burnt and shrivelled meat, he was tempted to leave it, but his hunger took control and he ravaged it leaving the other two in the dust with shock on their faces as their, normally, graceful and pleasant ally had gulped down the steak.
"I thought elves were supposed to be pleasant." Pyrocen asked, galled at the sight.
"Aye, they are, but he's only a half elf, so he's still got our traits." Caldir replied with a smirk. Hasan just looked away, embarrassed.
The next morning they had set off, going the way they came during the night, keeping the smoke in front of them. They had left in silence without anything to eat, they were alert. When they awoke, they were surrounded by a thick fog, which anything could be lurking, waiting for an unsuspecting passer-by. They were travelling for close to half an hour, and their silence was only broken when they emerged out of the forest, the fresh air rushed at them, filling their lungs, glad to be out of the humid and clustered space in the forest. But when they emerged, there was another smell, a sweet smell that stuck in the back of the mouth, lingering in the air. The three men had fought in enough battles to know what that smell was. It was the smell of death. The village was directly in front of them now and to the left of it was Pyrocens renegade dust track he had been following. The village was now a pile of ashes. Blackened wood lay strewn about as if a child had knocked it over in frustration, the reed roofs had been incinerated. And in amidst that wreckage lay charred and blackened bodies, young and old, men, women and children. And every time the three soldiers passed it, they were filled with an uncontrollable and relentless rage.
"Damn those bloody orcs!" Caldir roared, clasping the staff of his halberd ever tighter.
"Calm down Caldir" Hasan tried to soothe him, but to no use; they both knew that trying to calm down Caldir was like trying to stop a raging bull. Pyrocen kept quiet, he felt the same as Caldir, they had all lost someone close when their city had been over run with orcs, and now they are seeking revenge on every orc and other forces sent by Sauron. They passed the village in respectful silence. Hasan was mouthing a prayer for the villagers, while Pyrocen and Caldir were mouthing revenge.