Random Orcs, or We Fell to Middle Earth
Chapter Sixteen: Soaking Wet and Still Shorter Than Phred
by Galadriel Tolkien
I was wishing I'd had my boots on by the time I made Osgiliath west. My feet hurt, poked and pummeled by a hundred different rocks and pebbles and tree roots on my way back. The rest of me wasn't much happier. I was damp, I was chilly, and the fine trembling in my hands in no way could be attributed to a lack of food.
The gate guards thought I was a ghost.
Never under-estimate the power of the untrained mind to assume someone wearing a light colour, looking like she was dragged backwards through a bramble, is a ghost. I wasn't, but they were sure...
Luckily, before things could get really bad, Faramir appeared, demanding to know the cause of the sudden commotion.
"I am."
He blinked at me, eyes shocked. "My Lady Rainbow!"
"In the flesh." I grimaced, "The damp flesh. I don't suppose there's a pot of hot tea back there, and warm clothing?"
"Of course. Let her in, you fools!" He caught my hand as I came in. "You are all right?"
"Soaked through, and dying for some food. But otherwise, yes."
He nodded. "Come with me."
--
What felt like hours later, but was probably no more than a few minutes, I was wrapped in a large woolly blanket, my bare feet propped in front of a roaring fire. A large mug of steaming soup was cupped between my two hands, the steam warming my face. As I sat there, I contemplated quitting. Stopping this whole questing and saving the world business, and just settling down somewhere and quietly raising sheep.
But even as my lips quirked at the idea, I knew it wouldn't happen. Fate would never let me rest, never give me pause.
I sighed expansively. And wondered to myself that Joan of Arc must have wished for rain. Not that I was feeling particularly martyr-like. But my feet were cold.
"Lady Marya?" Phred's voice was tentative.
I looked around the side of my chair at him. "Yes?"
"Tell me of Boromir."
His face was rather blank, but I tried to read it nonetheless. I gave a slight shrug, then considered my words. "He was... He was a man. There were faults, but at the heart of him was his never-ending sense of duty. And he wanted to save his city and people."
"Was he a bad man, do you think?"
"No." I continued carefully. "Some might say so. I even think he was to some extent. But as I said, he was merely--human." I eyed him for a moment, then turned the tables, "What were your impressions of Boromir?"
"He was our Captain of the Guard, the son of our Steward."
"But would you follow him into hell?"
He shook his head, "For him, no. He could order me there, but... I loved him, I think." He looked away from me, his voice turning husky. "For all the good it did. He was, as you said, only human."
I essayed him a humourless smile. "And Faramir?"
"For him, I believe many of us would venture into hell without his needing to ask."
I grimaced, "And may have to, if this goes at it seems to be heading."
"Ah." Phred nodded slowly, then changed the subject. "And this Strider we have heard rumours of. What is he?"
"He's a man as well." A chuckle rippled through me, and I let it out. "Very pressed by his duty and destiny, poor man. I suspect life has not been kind to him. Someday..."
My words echoed in the air, and I could suddenly see it. Aragorn, old and grey with Arwen beside him. Crowns upon both their heads as they watched laughing children and grandchildren play and cavort around them. They were happy. I touched the image for a moment, gladdened by the promise it held. Then I let it go and smiled at Phred.
He blinked. "My lady?"
"It's nothing. Why do you ask, anyway?"
"For the knowledge, in case we live."
"We'll live," I assured him, standing and wincing at the cold that gathered into my feet from the floor. "I foresee a long future for you, many happy children."
He blushed, then looked at his feet. "My thanks, my lady."
"Marya. We're here to live or die together. Formality seems a waste of time."
He tilted his head, grey eyes studying me, then nodded. "Marya."
"Ex--"
I was cut off as a page burst into the room. "My lady!" he cried, panting.
"What is it?"
His speech was fragmented by his gasps for breath, but the gist of it was something like, "Captain *pant* Faramir *pant* the wall!"
I didn't wait to hear anything else. Instead I stamped my still-cold feet into my boots, slung the blanket around myself like a sarong, and took off. Phred followed me at a more sedate pace.
We arrived on the wall to find Faramir watching the east side of Osgiliath with a calm that the men milling around him did not display.
The orcs were constructing a bridge of sorts across the gap I had created. There were merely long, thin planks, for now, but I saw larger slabs of wood further back, and knew we would not have to wait long for them to be storming us in force. Soon enough, there would be a stable enough crossing for an army. And we had no arrows left to defend ourselves with. Sword-play would be massive suicide.
"Osgiliath will have to be abandoned," Faramir said, his voice soft and sad.
"Abandoned it may be. But it will not go quietly," I promised him.
He looked at me, then slowly nodded. "It is well that you are with us, milady."
"Probably."
A young guardsman came dashing up. "Captain Faramir! The Oliphaunts! They have forded the river and are coming down on Osgiliath to the north."
Faramir closed his eyes briefly, then opened them and began snapping out orders. Shortly thereafter, we were all piling into the saddle, the wounded in front (those that could still ride), or held between those of us on stretchers. Two carts trundled along with us, carrying those who were near death.
We had to abandon the dead. It was raining, too. I sent one silent prayer to any nearby gods to watch over the dead and not let them be destroyed in some manor by the evil that chased us.
As we left the last gate, a loud crash told the story of the bridge gate being broken. I touched Faramir's shoulder. "We have done all we can."
He still looked sad. "Indeed."
"But first, I think it's time to leave Osgiliath clean of the taint of evil, before we say goodbye." I turned Alayna and faced back the way we'd come, reaching for those floating threads of magic. They came eagerly to my hands--as if bored with the long wait--and I whispered a soft command as I laced them together.
Silence fell. It even stopped raining.
Conflagration shattered that silence as Osgiliath east (and a small portion of the west) went up in flames, the fire reaching for the sky and immolating over a thousand orcs and men. I know. I felt them die. My body sagged, the energy draining from me as I fought to bolster my shields against the onslaught of death cries.
I'd forgotten this part. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Death is too powerful for those of us with telempathy. We feel it in our marrow and every single one we cause haunts us.
'S what booze is for, sometimes.
Faramir caught me, holding me upright as I slowly regained myself. "Thanks." I said to him when my voice worked again. He nodded and released me.
The others were staring at us, shock and amazement in their eyes. Some even had fear and terror wreathing them. But I couldn't care right now. The enemy was still on the move, we had merely paused them for a short time. Beyond the ruins of Osgiliath, they were already re-gathering their strength to chase us.
"Let's go."
He nodded at me, and gave the signal. The horses surged into the dawn light, heading for safety and dry at the causeway forts.
--
It was later afternoon when we came to the forts. The rain was merely a drizzle now, more irritation than problem. The wounded were quickly unloaded and stored and dried comfortably in one of the larger halls the fort contained. I stayed with them a short time to assess that they were cared for properly. When one of the doctors gave me a scowl for daring to contradict him, I took myself off.
As the afternoon deepened into evening, I found myself contemplating this commander I had fallen into the command of. I finally decided that not only did I like Faramir, and preferred him to his elder brother, but I also liked his troops. They were rather courteous and accepting of a female warrior. And I shouldered my side of the tasks presented us. Maybe that was because most had actually seen me defending them and their Captain. There was a certain awe in which they regarded me probably due to the conflagration that had been Osgiliath. I could live with that, I hope. But it might also have been that Faramir was just a really nice dude and it wore off on them.
The causeway forts were slightly smaller than Osgiliath, but still marginally more defendable, due to the fact they basically sat across the road. I was down with this idea of defense. Although I suggested to Faramir that as many men as could be spared be sent on to Minas Tirith, since the fort wouldn't last, and the bloodshed could be great in the retreat.
He countered by ordering all able-bodied men to prepare wagons. There would be time to pack and send the wounded off before the front of the army reached us. After the destruction of Osgiliath, they would be more cautious. Unless what drove them to chase us was worse. I considered what I knew of Sauron, and decided that was fairly likely.
The wounded were nearly all packed into the wagons when I got a rather brilliant idea. I could weave spell-barriers in front of the forts. That would keep us safe, somewhat. I frowned as I considered the idea. The Witch-King might be able to break them, of course. But I would have a respite. Sleep.
Sleep was a damned good idea if I was to fight any more.
With that decision made, I made my way to the battlements and began. Just in time, too. In the distance, I could see the outriders of the army of darkness.
Meticulous thread went into the first barrier. A bit of give here, weft that tore there, until there was a shimmering hole from left to right and rather high up as well. I anchored it into the road 30 feet from the forts.
I began weaving another one as Gandalf arrived.
When I was done, I turned to glare at him. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"The Witch-King drives them. 'Tis fear which sends them so hastily against Gondor."
"Yeah. Got that. I had hoped we'd have more time to relax before they followed." I sighed; fear or no, these people wanted to destroy a land I had come to love.
"Hence the barriers," he guessed with a nod. He straightened, "I have been sent to assess the situation here."
"You didn't come just to see me, then? I'm saddened."
"Seeing you is a plus." He noted, a slight smile on his face.
"Damned with second place." I slipped an arm around his waist. "Still, it could be worse."
"How so?" His lips grazed my cheek and I turned to catch his mouth with mine for a time, drinking him in preparation for a long separation.
"You could be swearing off sex."
A coughing sound distracted us, and I looked over Gandalf's shoulder to find Faramir standing there, eyebrow raised while his lips twitched in amusement. "Mithrandir, you have come to aid us?"
He turned, the cold White Wizard again, and I sighed softly. "I have come to ascertain the situation, and I shall guard the wounded back to Minas Tirith."
"And you, my lady?" Faramir was looking at me gravely.
"Not going."
"Very well, Mithrandir. My heart is less worried knowing a wizard watches over my men." Faramir smiled at me, "And having the lady Marya to guard us shall lighten the spirits of many a man here."
I half-bowed, "I wouldn't leave anyway. I'm more use here." And distance would thin the barriers to non-existence, I thought. But he didn't need to know that.
The Causeway Forts were more recent than Minas Tirith, but almost as well built. Ancient craftsman had been good at what they did. I gave us a day until we were over-run. Less, if the Witch-King began knocking down my barriers.
Faramir and I saw Gandalf off with the last of the wagons, and I softly told him of my guesses. He nodded sadly, and agreed.
While the night began to pass, I walked the fort, leaving booby traps and spell-hooks to catch the unwary. Unfortunately, Sauron's troops *would* be wary after the trap of Osgiliath. It was highly likely none of my magic expenditures would do any good. But I had to try.
I finally collapsed into sleep sometime after midnight.
Minutes later (or what felt like minutes later) the first of my barriers was shattered, dragging me away from dreams of pain and horror.
I could be grateful for that, at least.
Faramir looked up as I entered his small office. He hadn't slept either. "They've broken the fir--" My voice stopped as the second shattered, nearly knocking me flat with the backlash resonance. "--second." I choked out, throwing a third and a fourth up, hastily reweaving scattered shards of magic into a cohesive half-whole.
He was standing, shouting orders as I turned back out towards the battlements, running as fast as my shaking legs could take me.
Corridors and people flashed by, some startled, others dodging quickly.
I took the stairs to the battlements two at a time and came bursting out the door to startle the wall-guards. "They're breaking through! Archers, prepare--"
The third and fourth barriers crashed down, and I went to my knees as the backlash washed over me, everything going numb for a moment before my instincts caught up and I channeled the streams of magic into a strike against the seething army.
Loud concussive blasts shattered the night air, followed by cries of pain and rage.
A bow was thrust into my hands, and I staggered to an opening, aiming and firing without paying much attention. Letting my instincts and body guide my shots as I dragged myself back from a mental abyss.
I let loose every arrow I had, then handed the bow off to someone and drew my sword.
The wait was short. The ladders which had been thrown up and repelled over and over stayed, and things swarmed up them. Some were probably even human. I was beyond caring, now. My sword went up and slid into the first belly, and I kicked its owner back down the ladder, taking his shield mates with him. If it had been dominoes, it would have been amusing.
But these were living, breathing creatures. And a small part of me cried as they died. It was, simply, us or them. And I was already damned. So it was them.
Somewhere nearby, I heard a scream for help. Our side. I turned, making sure my section was still covered, then ran. A small group had broken through, ten or twelve orcs making mincemeat of two unguarded archers.
A third lay on the ground, choking on his own intestine.
I screamed, wordless rage breaking through the fog as I twisted and turned, chopping indiscriminantly at the orcs. Five went down before they recovered enough to mount any sort of defense.
An arrow flew past me, taking out the sixth. With quick precision I cut the legs out from under the seventh and eighth, then jumped into the air and somersaulted behind them to whirl and behead the ninth and tenth.
The eleventh took an arrow in the throat.
I kicked the twelfth off the battlements, sending him falling onto his comrades below. The ladder I shoved back over, watching the six orcs on it fall back into the sea of arms.
--
Chapter Sixteen: Soaking Wet and Still Shorter Than Phred
by Galadriel Tolkien
I was wishing I'd had my boots on by the time I made Osgiliath west. My feet hurt, poked and pummeled by a hundred different rocks and pebbles and tree roots on my way back. The rest of me wasn't much happier. I was damp, I was chilly, and the fine trembling in my hands in no way could be attributed to a lack of food.
The gate guards thought I was a ghost.
Never under-estimate the power of the untrained mind to assume someone wearing a light colour, looking like she was dragged backwards through a bramble, is a ghost. I wasn't, but they were sure...
Luckily, before things could get really bad, Faramir appeared, demanding to know the cause of the sudden commotion.
"I am."
He blinked at me, eyes shocked. "My Lady Rainbow!"
"In the flesh." I grimaced, "The damp flesh. I don't suppose there's a pot of hot tea back there, and warm clothing?"
"Of course. Let her in, you fools!" He caught my hand as I came in. "You are all right?"
"Soaked through, and dying for some food. But otherwise, yes."
He nodded. "Come with me."
--
What felt like hours later, but was probably no more than a few minutes, I was wrapped in a large woolly blanket, my bare feet propped in front of a roaring fire. A large mug of steaming soup was cupped between my two hands, the steam warming my face. As I sat there, I contemplated quitting. Stopping this whole questing and saving the world business, and just settling down somewhere and quietly raising sheep.
But even as my lips quirked at the idea, I knew it wouldn't happen. Fate would never let me rest, never give me pause.
I sighed expansively. And wondered to myself that Joan of Arc must have wished for rain. Not that I was feeling particularly martyr-like. But my feet were cold.
"Lady Marya?" Phred's voice was tentative.
I looked around the side of my chair at him. "Yes?"
"Tell me of Boromir."
His face was rather blank, but I tried to read it nonetheless. I gave a slight shrug, then considered my words. "He was... He was a man. There were faults, but at the heart of him was his never-ending sense of duty. And he wanted to save his city and people."
"Was he a bad man, do you think?"
"No." I continued carefully. "Some might say so. I even think he was to some extent. But as I said, he was merely--human." I eyed him for a moment, then turned the tables, "What were your impressions of Boromir?"
"He was our Captain of the Guard, the son of our Steward."
"But would you follow him into hell?"
He shook his head, "For him, no. He could order me there, but... I loved him, I think." He looked away from me, his voice turning husky. "For all the good it did. He was, as you said, only human."
I essayed him a humourless smile. "And Faramir?"
"For him, I believe many of us would venture into hell without his needing to ask."
I grimaced, "And may have to, if this goes at it seems to be heading."
"Ah." Phred nodded slowly, then changed the subject. "And this Strider we have heard rumours of. What is he?"
"He's a man as well." A chuckle rippled through me, and I let it out. "Very pressed by his duty and destiny, poor man. I suspect life has not been kind to him. Someday..."
My words echoed in the air, and I could suddenly see it. Aragorn, old and grey with Arwen beside him. Crowns upon both their heads as they watched laughing children and grandchildren play and cavort around them. They were happy. I touched the image for a moment, gladdened by the promise it held. Then I let it go and smiled at Phred.
He blinked. "My lady?"
"It's nothing. Why do you ask, anyway?"
"For the knowledge, in case we live."
"We'll live," I assured him, standing and wincing at the cold that gathered into my feet from the floor. "I foresee a long future for you, many happy children."
He blushed, then looked at his feet. "My thanks, my lady."
"Marya. We're here to live or die together. Formality seems a waste of time."
He tilted his head, grey eyes studying me, then nodded. "Marya."
"Ex--"
I was cut off as a page burst into the room. "My lady!" he cried, panting.
"What is it?"
His speech was fragmented by his gasps for breath, but the gist of it was something like, "Captain *pant* Faramir *pant* the wall!"
I didn't wait to hear anything else. Instead I stamped my still-cold feet into my boots, slung the blanket around myself like a sarong, and took off. Phred followed me at a more sedate pace.
We arrived on the wall to find Faramir watching the east side of Osgiliath with a calm that the men milling around him did not display.
The orcs were constructing a bridge of sorts across the gap I had created. There were merely long, thin planks, for now, but I saw larger slabs of wood further back, and knew we would not have to wait long for them to be storming us in force. Soon enough, there would be a stable enough crossing for an army. And we had no arrows left to defend ourselves with. Sword-play would be massive suicide.
"Osgiliath will have to be abandoned," Faramir said, his voice soft and sad.
"Abandoned it may be. But it will not go quietly," I promised him.
He looked at me, then slowly nodded. "It is well that you are with us, milady."
"Probably."
A young guardsman came dashing up. "Captain Faramir! The Oliphaunts! They have forded the river and are coming down on Osgiliath to the north."
Faramir closed his eyes briefly, then opened them and began snapping out orders. Shortly thereafter, we were all piling into the saddle, the wounded in front (those that could still ride), or held between those of us on stretchers. Two carts trundled along with us, carrying those who were near death.
We had to abandon the dead. It was raining, too. I sent one silent prayer to any nearby gods to watch over the dead and not let them be destroyed in some manor by the evil that chased us.
As we left the last gate, a loud crash told the story of the bridge gate being broken. I touched Faramir's shoulder. "We have done all we can."
He still looked sad. "Indeed."
"But first, I think it's time to leave Osgiliath clean of the taint of evil, before we say goodbye." I turned Alayna and faced back the way we'd come, reaching for those floating threads of magic. They came eagerly to my hands--as if bored with the long wait--and I whispered a soft command as I laced them together.
Silence fell. It even stopped raining.
Conflagration shattered that silence as Osgiliath east (and a small portion of the west) went up in flames, the fire reaching for the sky and immolating over a thousand orcs and men. I know. I felt them die. My body sagged, the energy draining from me as I fought to bolster my shields against the onslaught of death cries.
I'd forgotten this part. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Death is too powerful for those of us with telempathy. We feel it in our marrow and every single one we cause haunts us.
'S what booze is for, sometimes.
Faramir caught me, holding me upright as I slowly regained myself. "Thanks." I said to him when my voice worked again. He nodded and released me.
The others were staring at us, shock and amazement in their eyes. Some even had fear and terror wreathing them. But I couldn't care right now. The enemy was still on the move, we had merely paused them for a short time. Beyond the ruins of Osgiliath, they were already re-gathering their strength to chase us.
"Let's go."
He nodded at me, and gave the signal. The horses surged into the dawn light, heading for safety and dry at the causeway forts.
--
It was later afternoon when we came to the forts. The rain was merely a drizzle now, more irritation than problem. The wounded were quickly unloaded and stored and dried comfortably in one of the larger halls the fort contained. I stayed with them a short time to assess that they were cared for properly. When one of the doctors gave me a scowl for daring to contradict him, I took myself off.
As the afternoon deepened into evening, I found myself contemplating this commander I had fallen into the command of. I finally decided that not only did I like Faramir, and preferred him to his elder brother, but I also liked his troops. They were rather courteous and accepting of a female warrior. And I shouldered my side of the tasks presented us. Maybe that was because most had actually seen me defending them and their Captain. There was a certain awe in which they regarded me probably due to the conflagration that had been Osgiliath. I could live with that, I hope. But it might also have been that Faramir was just a really nice dude and it wore off on them.
The causeway forts were slightly smaller than Osgiliath, but still marginally more defendable, due to the fact they basically sat across the road. I was down with this idea of defense. Although I suggested to Faramir that as many men as could be spared be sent on to Minas Tirith, since the fort wouldn't last, and the bloodshed could be great in the retreat.
He countered by ordering all able-bodied men to prepare wagons. There would be time to pack and send the wounded off before the front of the army reached us. After the destruction of Osgiliath, they would be more cautious. Unless what drove them to chase us was worse. I considered what I knew of Sauron, and decided that was fairly likely.
The wounded were nearly all packed into the wagons when I got a rather brilliant idea. I could weave spell-barriers in front of the forts. That would keep us safe, somewhat. I frowned as I considered the idea. The Witch-King might be able to break them, of course. But I would have a respite. Sleep.
Sleep was a damned good idea if I was to fight any more.
With that decision made, I made my way to the battlements and began. Just in time, too. In the distance, I could see the outriders of the army of darkness.
Meticulous thread went into the first barrier. A bit of give here, weft that tore there, until there was a shimmering hole from left to right and rather high up as well. I anchored it into the road 30 feet from the forts.
I began weaving another one as Gandalf arrived.
When I was done, I turned to glare at him. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"The Witch-King drives them. 'Tis fear which sends them so hastily against Gondor."
"Yeah. Got that. I had hoped we'd have more time to relax before they followed." I sighed; fear or no, these people wanted to destroy a land I had come to love.
"Hence the barriers," he guessed with a nod. He straightened, "I have been sent to assess the situation here."
"You didn't come just to see me, then? I'm saddened."
"Seeing you is a plus." He noted, a slight smile on his face.
"Damned with second place." I slipped an arm around his waist. "Still, it could be worse."
"How so?" His lips grazed my cheek and I turned to catch his mouth with mine for a time, drinking him in preparation for a long separation.
"You could be swearing off sex."
A coughing sound distracted us, and I looked over Gandalf's shoulder to find Faramir standing there, eyebrow raised while his lips twitched in amusement. "Mithrandir, you have come to aid us?"
He turned, the cold White Wizard again, and I sighed softly. "I have come to ascertain the situation, and I shall guard the wounded back to Minas Tirith."
"And you, my lady?" Faramir was looking at me gravely.
"Not going."
"Very well, Mithrandir. My heart is less worried knowing a wizard watches over my men." Faramir smiled at me, "And having the lady Marya to guard us shall lighten the spirits of many a man here."
I half-bowed, "I wouldn't leave anyway. I'm more use here." And distance would thin the barriers to non-existence, I thought. But he didn't need to know that.
The Causeway Forts were more recent than Minas Tirith, but almost as well built. Ancient craftsman had been good at what they did. I gave us a day until we were over-run. Less, if the Witch-King began knocking down my barriers.
Faramir and I saw Gandalf off with the last of the wagons, and I softly told him of my guesses. He nodded sadly, and agreed.
While the night began to pass, I walked the fort, leaving booby traps and spell-hooks to catch the unwary. Unfortunately, Sauron's troops *would* be wary after the trap of Osgiliath. It was highly likely none of my magic expenditures would do any good. But I had to try.
I finally collapsed into sleep sometime after midnight.
Minutes later (or what felt like minutes later) the first of my barriers was shattered, dragging me away from dreams of pain and horror.
I could be grateful for that, at least.
Faramir looked up as I entered his small office. He hadn't slept either. "They've broken the fir--" My voice stopped as the second shattered, nearly knocking me flat with the backlash resonance. "--second." I choked out, throwing a third and a fourth up, hastily reweaving scattered shards of magic into a cohesive half-whole.
He was standing, shouting orders as I turned back out towards the battlements, running as fast as my shaking legs could take me.
Corridors and people flashed by, some startled, others dodging quickly.
I took the stairs to the battlements two at a time and came bursting out the door to startle the wall-guards. "They're breaking through! Archers, prepare--"
The third and fourth barriers crashed down, and I went to my knees as the backlash washed over me, everything going numb for a moment before my instincts caught up and I channeled the streams of magic into a strike against the seething army.
Loud concussive blasts shattered the night air, followed by cries of pain and rage.
A bow was thrust into my hands, and I staggered to an opening, aiming and firing without paying much attention. Letting my instincts and body guide my shots as I dragged myself back from a mental abyss.
I let loose every arrow I had, then handed the bow off to someone and drew my sword.
The wait was short. The ladders which had been thrown up and repelled over and over stayed, and things swarmed up them. Some were probably even human. I was beyond caring, now. My sword went up and slid into the first belly, and I kicked its owner back down the ladder, taking his shield mates with him. If it had been dominoes, it would have been amusing.
But these were living, breathing creatures. And a small part of me cried as they died. It was, simply, us or them. And I was already damned. So it was them.
Somewhere nearby, I heard a scream for help. Our side. I turned, making sure my section was still covered, then ran. A small group had broken through, ten or twelve orcs making mincemeat of two unguarded archers.
A third lay on the ground, choking on his own intestine.
I screamed, wordless rage breaking through the fog as I twisted and turned, chopping indiscriminantly at the orcs. Five went down before they recovered enough to mount any sort of defense.
An arrow flew past me, taking out the sixth. With quick precision I cut the legs out from under the seventh and eighth, then jumped into the air and somersaulted behind them to whirl and behead the ninth and tenth.
The eleventh took an arrow in the throat.
I kicked the twelfth off the battlements, sending him falling onto his comrades below. The ladder I shoved back over, watching the six orcs on it fall back into the sea of arms.
--