The Last Lords of the West
Prologue
Gimli blew into his hands and stamped his feet to encourage circulation. Standing on a low hilltop at the edge of the Weather Hills he wondered how it had come to this end. Staring out across the plain below he could see the vast dust cloud that accompanied the Easterling army. Like a giant snake it moved across the landscape, vast and seemingly unstoppable.
Gimli peered around at the Alliance Army. A rag tag army. Partly made up of the remnants of elves, who had refused to set sail for the Western Lands, less than a thousand strong. The dwarves, still defiant after many defeats, seven thousands strong. Men of Gondor, broken men who had unbelievably seen their beloved city of Minas Tirith torn from their grasp by the Easterling hordes, two thousand five hundred strong, a remnant of their former selves. Men of Rohan, still strong and proud with their powerful horses but landless having fallen back under the tide of the Easterlings, seven thousand strong. Hobbits, at last they had joined the war, their lands under immediate threat now, three thousand brave hearted and fresh would be miniature warriors prepared to defend the edges of the homeland. Others from the vast almost empty lands of Enedwaith, Minhiriath and Forodwaith had joined fearing for their lives, a mere thousand souls. In total an army of around twenty two thousand strong.
In opposition the Easterlings seemed numberless, scouts had estimated this northern army some one hundred thousand strong. Then there was the army coming up somewhere from the south that had defeated Gondor and scattered the Rohan, estimates varied from three to five hundred thousand strong. Nobody could say for sure. The Alliance had been two armies but now the shattered army's had joined forces for possibly one last stand. If by some miracle they could defeat the Northern Army of Easterlings before the Southern Army arrived there may yet be salvation.
The Southern Army was still estimated to be a month's march away, time to organise thought Gimli. General Gimli as he was now called. General of what, he mused to himself. General of a rag tag broken defeated rabble. Standing at his side were the other Generals. His old friends Legolas and Sam Gamgee and new faces, Aldred of the Rohan, grandson of King Thoeden, and Uthred son of King Aragorn. At their backs the Alliance Army, bloodied but unbowed, banners fluttering proudly in the breeze; ready to die a warriors death.
So how had it come to this? Twenty eight years after the War of the Ring the Easterlings had achieved what Sauron had been unable to. They had swept all before them. In an unprovoked and totally unforseen attack they had appeared out of the wilderness lands that separated east and west. In a two pronged attack on Gondor sweeping through Khand and around Mordor and up the coast ignoring the new towns and settlements that had sprung up and prospered since the fall of Mordor. Onwards towards the heart of the west, Minas Tirith.
In the north they had appeared like wraiths before the Iron Hills. A long bloody battle with the dwarves had ensued. The dwarves were routed, thousands upon thousands lying dead upon the battle field rather than facing the shame of retreat or surrender.
Unprepared and with no longer the need for a standing army Gondor had fought bravely but fallen with remarkable speed. Old veterans of the War of the Ring had quickly organised an army made up of merchants, traders and farmers. Proudly and defiantly they had fought on the plain in front of gates of Minas Tirith. Despite their general lack of experience they were arrogant, they had defeated Sauron in living memory; they would not cower behind their walls before this new foe. A foe that apparently had no magic or evil sorcery, however, a foe that was disciplined and obviously experienced in the art of war. A foe that was vast and limitless in its extent.
On the plain on that burning June day the Easterlings had feigned an attack on the right flank of the Gondor Army and when Gondor poured men to defend that flank the Easterlings launched their main force on the left, systematically rolling up and destroying Gondor's forces. Some escaped and retreated to the walled city, but they were too few and lacking leadership.
Two weeks previously King Aragorn had been struck down by a fever. At first it had sapped his strength but he battled against it to do his duty. However as the days passed he became too weak to stand and retreated to the palace leaving Faramir to run the affairs of Gondor. On the day when the Easterlings had drawn their army up on the plain in front of Minas Tirith Faramir had been seriously wounded by an assassin's arrow. Gondor faced a new and terrible threat with their two great talismen close to death. They were leaderless.
In the long years since the War of The Ring Gondor had flourished and grown rich. New towns and cities had sprung up along the coast and trade routes had opened up with the eastern lands. At first the caravans had been sporadic, travelling with huge escorts of warriors across the vast barren wastelands, populated by fierce tribesmen, remnants of the orcs and fierce creatures such as wargs, trolls, huge cave bears and other unnamed creatures of dread. But slowly and surely the wilderness tribes had been pushed back away from the trade route. Punished ruthlessly by the warrior escorts they had learnt to stay clear of the Ivory Road as it became known. The name came about because one of the principle trade items was Oliphant tusks. The wild creatures were still a problem if any dared cross the Ivory Road unescorted but their numbers had been thinned by years persecution by the brave hearted warriors of the road.
Trade had been brisk wth the Soderling, a friendly country of Easterlings two thousand miles to the east of Gondor. In recent years trade had slowed somewhat as news filtered through of a civil war in the Soderling lands between those who wanted to join an empire known as the Samhigh even further to the east and those who wished to stay independent. This was not news of concern in Gondor, it was a war nearly two thousand miles away. Gondor was rich and it could wait for the war to be settled before resuming trade with the victor.
But then came the dread news of a vast numberless army moving across the wastelands. Gondor was unprepared. The only warriors were the trade escorts, numbering in the hundreds they had to prepare to face thousands. Old King Aragorn prepared the best he could quickly recruiting an army fifteen thousand strong. An army of farmers, bakers, merchants and miners. They had moved quickly to defend the new city of Nurnhold within the old land of Mordor.
Mordor had become a green and beautiful land once the shadow of evil had been lifted. With a little help from the magic of Gandalf plains of lush grass and inviting forests of young oaks had sprung up within Mordor. Brave settlers had entered the lands and a city had grown up within the plain of Nurn to be called Nurnhold. Towns, villages and farms ringed the city and as it was the nearest city to east the army had rushed to its defence. The Easterlings had simply marched around Mordor, they were heading for ancient heart of Gondor, Minas Tirith. The Easterlings objective was clear enough for even the blind to see. If they cut off the head Gondor would die. The race was now on to retreat the army to the capital before the Easterlings Army could capture the defenceless city.
The army of Gondor arrived first by nearly a week, the smaller army moving at speed born of desperation.
On the day of the return King Aragorn was laid low with the fever that would only get worse as the days wore on. After two days he could no longer struggle to his feet and old Faramir had assumed control. Defences were set up to defend Esgaroth but from the first skirmishes with the vanguard of the Easterlings it was obvious that too many men would be lost and inevitably the Easterlings would cross the river. Faramir gambled all on one set piece battle.
The day before the battle Faramir had set up a squadron of twelve mobile catapults to bombard the Easterling forces that attempted to cross the river. Hundreds of Easterlings drowned of were smashed to pieces in their boats. It was nothing to them, a mere fly bite. Once the vanguard was across the catapults were hastily retreated behind the city walls.
On the morning of the battle Faramir had opened the gates and Gondor's forces streamed out in full pomp to the cheers of the citizens who lined the walls expecting an easy victory and started making a defensive line approximately half a mile in front of the city gates. Still inside marching through the streets Faramir was leading the veterans out through the gates when the assassin's arrow struck. Shooting from some unseen window from high above the street the marksman's aim had been good. Farmair fell heavily from his horse the arrow embedded deeply in his shoulder, blood pumping down his tunic at an alarming rate. His bodyguards ran to his aid but he was left unconscious and was carried away to the palace.
King Aragorn's son Uhtred was next in line for command. A slender young man of twenty years with a shock of thick black hair he cut a dashing figure. He had not known war before and lacked the intense broodings of his father. Untried in war his jovial nature would be tested. He had an idea of Farmair's plans for defence but in honesty had not taken much notice of the finer detail. Faramir was supposed to lead them to victory and Uhtred would slash a path to glory through the enemy ranks. Or at least that was supposed to be the plan. Now he had to think and think fast. How was he supposed to set up the Gondorian line. He should have listened at Farmir's briefing the night before, but had been more interested in the serving maids in the Great Hall. What would his father do? Aragorn could not help, he was in a deep coma now. Gondor's fate rested with the inexperienced Uhtred.
Before his illness King Aragorn had set the army up as it would fight today. Units of fifty men know as Talons fought together and they could form a group of ten Talons to become a Wing. Ten Wings made a fighting unit of five thousand known as an Eagle.
The three Eagles were set up to hold the two flanks and the centre. A small force of Cavalry would provide further defence. Due to the lack of regular soldiers Aragorn had set the Eagles up to reflect trades to give sense of pride. So there was the Farmers Eagle, the Miners Eagle and the City Eagle. The experienced soldiers had been split up among these Eagles to provide the officers for the Talons and Wings and the three Generals to lead each Eagle.
Uhtred thought quickly. First he had to secure the city and took a Talon from the Farmers Eagle to search the city for assassins. These men would stay in the city whatever happened to man the gates with a Talon from the Miners Eagle also making up this thin reserve.
Out on the plain the Miners Eagle was placed on the right flank with the Farmers Eagle on the left leaving the centre to be made of the City Eagle. Uhtred thought desperately on his fathers teachings for battle. Always have a reserve of men to plug any breaches was one of the essentials. To this end Uhtred ordered a whole Wing from the Miners Eagle to be placed some two hundred paces behind the centre ready to receive orders to move were they were needed in the heat of the battle.
By now rumour of Faramir's fall had reached the army. Unease spread as the full extent of the Easterling army emerged from the fog shrouded plain to settle into their own line. So many. So very many.
And so the battle came to pass. The Easterlings taking the initiative and pouring forward against Gondor's right flank. Uhtred panicked and flooded his entire reserve and most of the centre to the threat. Then he heard the horns sound on the left, the banners flying, the dust cloud of thousands upon thousands of men moving into the real attack. The exposed left flank was smashed with chance of rescue from the reserve who had already committed to the right flank. Within minutes the left crumpled as men streamed in panic for the city. Uhtred called a general retreat but it was a rout as thousands upon thousands died in a sea of blood before the city walls.
And so began the siege of Gondor