Our company, probably forty strong, broke camp and left the next morning, on a march east toward the Black Gate. Our camp was very near the Gate of Mordor, my old captain assuring that we would reach there before nightfall. This march was somehow quieter and more formal than the one to Dol Gulder. Perhaps this was the old Easterling tradition of meeting battle with a clear head at work, even with the faith of the Dark Power of Mordor strong among the soldiers.
Whatever the reason, it gave me time to think. What was Sauron? I could not, even when I tried, disbelieve the power of a god was at work. Magicians could do the same thing through trickery, a fact I reminded myself of in weighing the idea Sauron was not a god. Yet working any magic, much less something so impressive, would take most of a lifetime to learn properly, and Azire was scarcely older than I.
The idea of a god like Sauron, rewarding service to him instead of some simply doing good deeds, was foreign to a man who believed in the old gods his whole life. Indeed, with this Sauron seemed to be something beyond good and evil. With him, the only thing that mattered was power. Perhaps this was not a bad thing. Power over oneself at the very least was a desire of all Men, so who would call the will to power evil? Moreover, Sauron made the promise of mastery over death, which held a sweet ring to one who came so close to death battling Daemons back in that dark forest.
I was pulled back to reality when I heard the swish of an arrow past my head. The company fell into confusion, each of us grabbing the pikes we held tightly I hoped reverently not to be faced with Daemons again. After looking around frantically and seeing several more arrows shoot into our midst, I spotted our attackers: six Men of Gondor, standing atop a nearby hill. Our archers tried to read their bows and aim, but any archer will say it is difficult to hit a target above, especially when they were partially concealed as these were. Another barrage of Gondorian arrows brought screams of Easterling agony. We quickly reassembled into a line of pikemen and charged at the enemy up the hill. Moving uphill made us perfect targets, and more of our number fell dead to their arrows.
When we neared them, three turned and fled. The remaining three Men dropped their bows and pulled from their sheaths long swords, which they held with both hands. Two were impaled upon our pikes before they could act, but the third parried the charge of the Easterling attacking him, who happened to be my friend Kazuo.
Kazuo attempted to bludgeon the enemy with the shaft of the pike, as the whole weapon was too long to use in a melee. However, the Gondorian struck first. With the force of both hands, he thrust the sword through the armor's weak point, the gaps between the plates. Kazuo cried out in agony, but as he did several pikes stuck into the enemy, killing him nearly instantly.
I wish I could say the same for Kazuo. He didn't die right away. We stopped our march to look after the wounded. The veteran soldiers knew how to bandage wounds and we were told to watch them and learn. The wound in Kazuo's chest was easily enough covered, but the blood kept pouring. I knew his time was short.
"This is the end," he told me with a cough as he lay on the ground, clad only in his robe with his armor beside him. He fumbled through his pack until he found a small bottle. He swore as poured the contents of the bottle, a reddish powder, over his wound. "Dulls the pain," he managed to say as he dropped one bottle and pulled another one from his pack. He pulled the top off, then fell quiet for a while. Finally, he put the bottle to his lips, then swallowed. "The end..." he muttered as whatever he drank put him to sleep, which he never awoke from.
Azire, clad again in the black dress, lit a fire. It was still early evening, but the gloom, over myself at least, made the light seem darker and the fire brighter. "Behold!" began the priestess Azire. "We have seem death. Our Lord the Necromancer is the master of death, and demands lives as a sacrifice, both the enemies' lives and our own. Look!" She motioned to the corpses of the Men of Gondor behind her. "We give their lives as a sacrifice to the Dark Lord." She motioned to the six dead Easterlings, one of which was my friend before he died. "These Men died, that we may overcome death."
I saw what happened to Kazuo. If there was any way to keep that from happening, any way at all... If following the Dark Lord Sauron was the only way to attain it...
Whatever the reason, it gave me time to think. What was Sauron? I could not, even when I tried, disbelieve the power of a god was at work. Magicians could do the same thing through trickery, a fact I reminded myself of in weighing the idea Sauron was not a god. Yet working any magic, much less something so impressive, would take most of a lifetime to learn properly, and Azire was scarcely older than I.
The idea of a god like Sauron, rewarding service to him instead of some simply doing good deeds, was foreign to a man who believed in the old gods his whole life. Indeed, with this Sauron seemed to be something beyond good and evil. With him, the only thing that mattered was power. Perhaps this was not a bad thing. Power over oneself at the very least was a desire of all Men, so who would call the will to power evil? Moreover, Sauron made the promise of mastery over death, which held a sweet ring to one who came so close to death battling Daemons back in that dark forest.
I was pulled back to reality when I heard the swish of an arrow past my head. The company fell into confusion, each of us grabbing the pikes we held tightly I hoped reverently not to be faced with Daemons again. After looking around frantically and seeing several more arrows shoot into our midst, I spotted our attackers: six Men of Gondor, standing atop a nearby hill. Our archers tried to read their bows and aim, but any archer will say it is difficult to hit a target above, especially when they were partially concealed as these were. Another barrage of Gondorian arrows brought screams of Easterling agony. We quickly reassembled into a line of pikemen and charged at the enemy up the hill. Moving uphill made us perfect targets, and more of our number fell dead to their arrows.
When we neared them, three turned and fled. The remaining three Men dropped their bows and pulled from their sheaths long swords, which they held with both hands. Two were impaled upon our pikes before they could act, but the third parried the charge of the Easterling attacking him, who happened to be my friend Kazuo.
Kazuo attempted to bludgeon the enemy with the shaft of the pike, as the whole weapon was too long to use in a melee. However, the Gondorian struck first. With the force of both hands, he thrust the sword through the armor's weak point, the gaps between the plates. Kazuo cried out in agony, but as he did several pikes stuck into the enemy, killing him nearly instantly.
I wish I could say the same for Kazuo. He didn't die right away. We stopped our march to look after the wounded. The veteran soldiers knew how to bandage wounds and we were told to watch them and learn. The wound in Kazuo's chest was easily enough covered, but the blood kept pouring. I knew his time was short.
"This is the end," he told me with a cough as he lay on the ground, clad only in his robe with his armor beside him. He fumbled through his pack until he found a small bottle. He swore as poured the contents of the bottle, a reddish powder, over his wound. "Dulls the pain," he managed to say as he dropped one bottle and pulled another one from his pack. He pulled the top off, then fell quiet for a while. Finally, he put the bottle to his lips, then swallowed. "The end..." he muttered as whatever he drank put him to sleep, which he never awoke from.
Azire, clad again in the black dress, lit a fire. It was still early evening, but the gloom, over myself at least, made the light seem darker and the fire brighter. "Behold!" began the priestess Azire. "We have seem death. Our Lord the Necromancer is the master of death, and demands lives as a sacrifice, both the enemies' lives and our own. Look!" She motioned to the corpses of the Men of Gondor behind her. "We give their lives as a sacrifice to the Dark Lord." She motioned to the six dead Easterlings, one of which was my friend before he died. "These Men died, that we may overcome death."
I saw what happened to Kazuo. If there was any way to keep that from happening, any way at all... If following the Dark Lord Sauron was the only way to attain it...