Tugratz poked his head up carefully from the cover of the embankment. The sun was to rise soon. Oh how he hated the sun and its horrible light. It did not matter. The Master had called him and his company to fight. He had not shed human blood for centuries. Just the thought of running a pathetic human through with his half-sword quickened his blood and made his saliva start.
His lieutenants waited dutifully for his signal. The orcs around them were fidgeting anxiously but the uruks held their ground by sheer will. The moment he let them loose they would pounce upon the hapless men like wargs on deer. Then they could have fun.
Far off in the distance a warg howled ominously. That was the signal. All along a twenty-three mile front orc companies would begin the invasion. His was but one part of many crucial units. Nonetheless he knew all too well how easily replaceable they were.
Silently he raised his sword and motioned forward. His command split into three flanks and advanced slowly. In the early morning dark they could see much better than the Gondorian men on the other side of the bridge. His men would rely on stealth and speed to overwhelm them, unlike the others.
As the bridge came into view Tugratz saw his flanks fall behind cover. He followed their example and scanned the bridge. A lone sentry patrolled the bridge, sword swinging lazily in his hand. Blast.
With unvoiced agreement the flanks crept out and continued their advance. The archers on the left found cover behind the raised banks of the river and prepared to take him down. The right flank continued forward unabated.
Tugratz raised his hand to halt the flanks and crawled forward. When he was close enough he motioned for a silent kill. They hesitated slightly before nodding in agreement. A silent kill meant more of them would make it out alive; and it meant more dead humans.
With practiced ease the right flank crept up within feet of the bridge, unnoticed by the tense and agitated sentry. They were about to rise and rush him when a sharp pain stabbed through Tugratz's leg. He collapsed on the ground in a heap and bit back a curse. It was too late. The sentry spun around and scoured the area with his sword ready. Thankfully he didn't see the orcs sitting just a stone's throw away.
Tugratz clutched his leg and grimaced in pain. His old worn scar burned with an intensity he had never felt before. The magic from that cursed elven blade continued the job that its owner had failed. It was slowly and deliberately killing him. He had taken the wound over two thousand years ago and it had gradually increased in severity since. Nothing could heal or bind the wound. Nothing could relieve the pain that haunted his every step.
It seemed like ages before the sentry gave a final sweep of the area and turned around carefully. The uruk Flirsgar was on him before he could sheath his sword. The uruks heavy blade crashed down on the sentry's unprotected back with enough power to break him in half. Ill fate had it that Flirsgar stumbled on some loose marble that littered the bridge. The fatal blow slipped from his grasp and instead glanced off the side of his arm. The weight of the blow, however, rent his shield from top to bottom and slashed through the armor protecting his forearm. The sentry managed to let out a terrified and agonized scream before the other two orcs descended on him with hungry blades. His lifeless body tumbled over the railing and splashed into the freezing waters below.
The orc archers fired a suppressive volley at the fires dotting the edge of the ruined guard-tower, pinning down the men by the fireside. Tugratz leapt to his feet and urged on the orcs beside him. They noiselessly sprinted to the bridge and carried on past Flirsgar's men as they recovered from the combat. A second human appeared at the far end of the bridge. Without thinking Tugratz hurdled a small barrier and plunged his sword into the man's chest. He gazed in wonder at the blade protruding from his chest. Then an axe-head crashed down on the side of his head. His head tumbled off backwards and rolled to a stop at the feet of the stunned men following him.
An arrow whistled by his head and caught one of his orcs in the throat. The orc gurgled painfully and dropped like a rock. Tugratz contemptuously spat on the arrow and pushed the dead soldier's corpse off of his blade. The scent of blood aroused his senses and pumped pure adrenaline into his veins. The war had begun.
The orc force charged off of the bridge like a wave and thrust deep into the ranks of the stunned men. Flirsgar took his hand-picked orcs and split off from the main group and headed for the guard-tower, ladder in tow. They knew what to do. The rest of the orcs fell upon the men with relish. Through the fray Tugratz saw a captain directing his troops in a desperate effort to hold off the advance. Hurgk, one of Tugratz's best soldiers, rushed through a gap in the line and drove his spear into the captain's stomach. The blade pierced the metal breastplate with ease, but the hilt of the spear snapped under the pressure. Weaponless Hurgk could do no more than throw himself at the captain with raking claws before the captain split his helm with one powerful blow.
The orcs following Tugratz's column dropped their ladders at the sight of the human soldiers. They rushed into the fray gleefully and added their weight into the melee. The men's courage failed at the sight of the reserve orcs and they turned to flee. Tugratz urged his men onwards and chased off after them. The orcs pushed themselves to the limit as they gained ground. The blood lust was in all of their eyes.
The captain rallied his men at the foot of the tower-hill. With surprising speed he closed the gap between the sides and smote one of the frontrunners with a mighty backhanded swing. The orc's inert form collapsed instantly. Spurred on by the sight of a fallen comrade, Tugratz and his orcs fell on the men with vengeance. Tugratz himself slew the banner carrier that hefted the flag of Minas Tirith. He paused only for a moment to slash the flag into ribbons before moving on after his fellow soldiers.
The Gondorian soldiers quickly were separated and slaughtered as they tried to retreat to the safety of the guard-tower. A solid oak arrow flashed through the darkness and pierced the unprotected thigh of the captain. He stumbled against the wall of the tower and valiantly held off the orcs that surrounded him. Tugratz pushed his way through the throng around him and faced the captain.
His armor dented and scratched from numerous hits, the man fought off his attackers with strength that could only stem from fear. Tugratz got a good look at him as he raised his sword to a guard position. He was fair skinned, and well proportioned, with dark blue eyes that glistened with life. He probably would have been called handsome in his home city. That made him even more despicable.
"Die in fear, human."
Tugratz leveled his sword and feinted a thrust. The man stumbled forward as he attempted to block it. Tugratz seized his chance. He slipped in behind the man and sank his fangs into the man's unprotected neck. His sword slipped in underneath the man's breastplate and slid easily into his stomach. Rich warm blood spewed into his mouth as he pressed his fangs in deeper, relishing the taste. The man's agonized screams were refreshingly clear. When he had enough he drew his fangs out slowly and snapped the man's neck with a great twist. The man's corpse dropped limply to the ground, Tugrat'z sword stuck deep in his gut.
Flirsgar limped up from the guard-tower and saluted. "We took out the remnants. We caught them on the ladder and finished them all off. None escaped."
Tugratz snarled as pain shot down his leg. "Well done, Flirsgar. The Master would be proud. Put out sentries and gather everyone together by the bridge. It's time for a feast."
Tugratz turned his back on the jubilant orcs and reached for his sword. The handle was slippery with blood and gore. He licked off the blood and grinned devilishly. This would be a good war. Much food lay before them and they had but to reach and grasp it.