As the light died, the steady boom of drums continued to sound in the darkness, torches began to appear on the plains, and the most fearing part, the rhythmic roar of the orcs marching. Faramir stood on the right of the largest contingent of his rangers with Damrod beside him. They all stood on the abandoned balcony of the town hall, their bow strings half drawn, only one word was necessary for them to wreak their ranged havoc.
Faramir's mouth seemed to dry out as he saw the number of orcs growing with every breath he took. At a guess there were about fifteen hundred of them, almost three times the numbers of his own men. Then again the Dark Lord did seem to go for quantity over quality but still, three times the soldiers!
" Stand fast! Let them know the taste of Gondorian arrows!". Faramir knew that his attempt to increase the moral of his rangers was futile. What was worst was the fact that his men knew this. His rangers knew what to do, they needed no more encouragement, they would do their best and nothing less. Each of them had been trained so intensely that every arrow was another orc dead, they wouldn't miss.
Then came the silence. There was no noise, not a man nor beast nor orc stirred. Suddenly there a cry from across Minas Morgul and as one the orcs moved into a run, charging towards the waiting barricade. It had begun.
As the orcs neared bow range, the rangers of Gondor, handpicked for their skill, drew their bows as one, Faramir among them. The moment came and Faramir uttered on shrill word, a word that was so loud it could be heard a mile away.
"Loose!"
As one, the long arrows left their strings and rose quickly, had their been a sun, it would have been blotted out. Then, they plunged. Arrows ripped through mail, flesh and mail again. Orcs screamed in agony as the first few rows of the enemy were completely decimated. Orcs lay already dead, speared to the ground by the long shafted arrows. But that wasn't it for the rangers, as soon as the arrow had left the string each ranger reload their weapon with speed and skill that it seemed as though it was like breathing to them. None looked to see if their arrow had hit a target. Each volley flew in perfect unison. As the arrows flew from the sky, the orcs started to learn to raise their shields to block the arrows. Faramir noticed this and decided to beat the orcs in a much easier way.
" Half company volley, other half direct!" The rangers knew that half must fire into the sky, forcing the orcs to raise their shields, while the others rammed their arrows directly into the orcs from the ground. So as half of each company formed a two-row line the first half fired their volley. It worked perfectly. As the orcs raise their shields, the second half company fired a volley straight into the unprotected fronts of the orcs. The screams of pain were terrifying. Orcs had arrows punched through their armour and were speared to their comrade behind them, only to be peppered by the arrows from the first company as each wounded orc lowered its guard. This followed a few times until the area one hundred and fifty yards away from the barricade was strewn with the bodies of the dead and mortally wounded.
But numbers proved a terrible advantage. The rangers had wiped out perhaps three hundred orcs, but now the first orcs closing into fifty yards of the rangers.
"Archers to the ledges." Rangers all moved to the ledges that had been found especially for when the fighting got close. Neat lines of men stood ready, either in the glittering garb of the Gondorian soldiers or swathed in the greens and brown of the rangers of Gondor. Faramir gave Damrod his bow and said to him
"Take command of the rangers for now, for I remain here, make sure no rangers kills one of our own men, for that will be one man too many that we can afford to loose in this fight." Damrod nodded in understanding and walked to his post. Faramir drew his sword and fell into line with the other men. This was when the fight really began.
As the orcs closed the gap, Damrod gave an order and yet another volley ripped into the orc lines. The front few lines went down with arrows in their eyes or in the middle of their forehead and Faramir felt a surge of pride for the skill of his rangers. The last few feet closed and the great crash of armour was heard. Faramir immediately swung left to avoid the blow of an orc, then ramming the sword to the hilt in the orc's belly twisting as he did so to avoid flesh suction. He ripped the blade sideways, and in the process dug the steel sword into another orc's arm, letting another man stab the orc in the chest. As the orc fell Faramir checked the position of his men. They were holding well, too well it seemed. One member of the citadel guard was taking down orc after orc with his long steel spear until he was sadly overwhelmed for he seemed to be a fine warrior. The battle raged this way and that. Faramir ducked, swung and stabbed many a time while the rangers continued to pour arrows into the orcs. Faramir dodged left and rammed his sword under the orcs armour and out his head, followed by a twist that forced the blade out. Faramir stood breathless for a few seconds when an orc lunged at him. Faramir parried the blow and swung his sword towards the orc's chest, however the orc blocked the swing and quickly lunged again. This was no mere orc; this was a captain and a good one at that. Faramir shifted his body left and swung his sword round to the right forcing the orc off balance because of the power of the tempered steel. Faramir whirled about and felt the blade's edge sink deep into the orc's waist. Even as the orc fell, several arrows fell past Faramir's ear straight into the orc's face. Faramir then checked his men's position, after seeing the horrible death of their captain, most of the orcs seemed to not want to go near him. Many orcs had perished, but there were a few glazed faces of dead men in shining armour among the orcs. Faramir continued to hack his way through the orcs when, as the rammed the hilt of his sword into the face of an orc repeatedly he heard the scream, the scream that chilled the heart of even the bravest of his men.
"The Witch-King of Agmar arrives, with him present this is a fight we cannot win. Retreat to the horses!" The men scattered. Some were hacked down as they ran, but this helped in that it saved many others because the orcs preferred the easier target. As they mounted their steeds, Faramir looked behind him, The Witch-King, perched on his fell beast, seemed to be watching Faramir from atop the town hall that had been owned by Gondor just a few minutes earlier. Faramir was brought to his senses by a shout from Damrod.
"Faramir! Let us go, if you wish your men to live!" Faramir jerked to his senses and, while upon his rearing horse said.
"Then I disobey my father's orders!" Faramir knew what Damrod said was right, he just couldn't disobey his father's orders.
"Do you wish the blood of your men to be less important than the corrupt will of your father!" Faramir thought for a moment and finally said.
"You are right, my friend, and so will I face the wrath of my father. Come, my soldiers of Gondor, let me see the meaning of haste in you. For now we ride! To Cair Adros!" With a great cheer, the remain three hundred and fifty soldiers galloped east, veering over the hills, pursued only by the jeers of the orcs left in the city.