Chapter six
The next day, nine hundred soldiers and archers were ready and assembled. Boromir had watched them arrive. He came down from the wall. Seeing him approach, the men straightened to attention.
Boromir looked them over. Many were familiar friends, and others stood rigid. They were ready to perform their duty.
"Men of Gondor, you have been chosen to defend your country. Are you willing?" Boromir yelled out.
The soldiers returned with a great shout of 'Aye!' and thumped spears on the ground.
Boromir smiled, and blew his horn in answer. The sound could have been heard in Mordor, and it drowned out even the cheers of the men. Boromir drew his sword, "To Osgiliath!"
Just as the first companies started to march, there was the sound of a bugle, as the doors slowly opened.
Faramir rode in, followed by the rest of the garrison. At least what was left of it. At least a hundred men were missing. Not only that, but some were covered in blood.
"We were attacked' Faramir sounded as if he had experienced something terrified. ' It was a miracle that we managed to escape."
Boromir only stared. The situation had become much worse than before.
Faramir, still breathing hard, glanced at the companies of reinforcements, still standing to attention, "So, father has given these men to you?"
Boromir nodded, "He also demands that you return to your proper post.' He paused, 'while I, as your captain and older brother, order you and your Rangers to join our attack on Osgiliath."
Faramir was dumbstruck, and suddenly began to laugh. Boromir joined him. They were brothers; they knew each other well enough to joke even in times of danger.
"The march to Osgiliath' Boromir announced to all, 'is delayed." There were men who needed to be healed, and plans to be made.
Faramir wanted to go to Denethor and explain, but Boromir would not hear of it. Faramir went anyway, and returned with a sad face. Boromir didn't pursue the subject.
He was in a hurry to march. Every hour that passed gave the orcs time to regroup. But Boromir also wanted his veterans, and that meant to wait for them to recover.
The new soldiers were also eager to march, as every minute passed gave them the time to imagine what horrid creatures awaited them.
Boromir and Faramir, with the help of the veterans still fit, tried to still the worrying. But there were those troublemakers. One especially raised the men's doubts, except that Boromir could not trace the man.
Then on the seventh day, Boromir found the man. An older soldier, discharged from one of Gondor's outposts. Boromir found him, talking by a campfire. The others fled when he was visible, but the old soldier humbly bowed his head.
"None of that, you bastard. I know what you're doing. You've been discouraging the men with your lies!" He shouted the last word, so enraged was he.
The old soldier shrugged, "I only tell the truth, not lies. Sauron's forces could overwhelm us as if we were clumps of hay, being sheared by a horde of farmers."
Boromir frowned, "Have you no faith in Gondor's armies?"
The old man snorted, "What armies? We don't stand a chance. Only the Ring of Power could save us now."
Boromir paused," What?"
The man chuckled, "Isildur's Bane. The Ring of Power. Sauron's greatest weapon. He could have destroyed us during the war thousands of years ago, except that Isildur took it. None know where it is. If we could find it, we'd beat them Mordor forces back to the holes from which they was spawned."
Boromir lowered his gaze. Surely this was not true. Yet, if it were true… Then Gondor could use this Ring against Sauron. Osgiliath, Ithilien, and so much more could be regained!
His thoughts were halted when a voice broke in, "My lord?"
Boromir turned, and saw that Faramir and three Rangers had come up and were staring at the two men.
Boromir stood, "This man' he gestured at the old man, 'has been the one breaking our men's confidence. Put him under close watch for the rest of the night."
"Whatever you order, sir." The man behind Boromir gave an ironic bow and willingly went with the Rangers.
Faramir turned to his brother, "Is something wrong Boromir? You look as if you have something heavy on your mind."
Boromir blinked, then tried to shrug it off, "Oh its…nothing. Just tired. Come, brother, tomorrow we march."
Late that night, Minas Tirith slumbered. Even the sentries, who had sharp eyes indeed, did not notice an old man leave the city. He was robed in black, and agile enough to hug the shadows.
Riding a swift horse, the old man headed for Osgiliath.
An orc on watch saw the man coming, and signalled to his leader. The leader snarled and approached the man as he jumped off his horse, "You're late."
The man whom Boromir had arrested threw back his hood and grimaced, "I had to give them Rangers the slip, and they ain't blind, mind you. Besides, better that it's dark. I'm here to claim my reward from your master."
The orc opened his mouth to speak, but footsteps sounded behind him. The orcs turned and recoiled as a ringwraith strode through the ranks.
The old man shivered in fear. If he didn't have a good reason to be here now, he would have screamed and ran for his life. Even now, he had trouble from staying where he was.
"This had better be good, manling.' The nazgul's voice came out in deep, snarling rasps.
The man straightened up, "Boromir, the captain of Gondor, is filled with doubt. I have discovered how weak in spirit he is. The Ring is in his mind, and soon he'll succumb to its call."
The nazgul paused in thought, and answered, "News indeed. This young upstart will fall with his beloved country.' The orcs laughed until the nazgul silenced them with a wave of his hand, 'and yet, there is still his brother."
The old man nodded, "Aye. Faramir's no equal to Boromir in fighting, but he can think for himself."
The nazgul spoke again, "So, how large will the assault be?"
The old man chuckled. Gondor had once been the strongest nation in Middle-Earth after the fall of Numenor. Her armies marched by the thousands, and the fortresses had been in their prime. Now, however, the armies dwindled, the fortresses lay in ruin, and there had not been a king in Gondor for many years since King Eärnur fell. The Stewards had been far better than nothing, but many people knew Gondor was on the verge of being destroyed. Mordor was just too strong.
The old man answered, "Two thousand two hundred men march to Osgiliath, though where they strike towards, I do not know."
There was silence. The orcs waited for a reaction from the nazgul, but it just stood there, thinking. The old man guessed that the interrogation was over, "Well, I've told you all I know. Now I want the reward you promised me."
If it could, the nazgul would have grinned slyly, "Reward? I offered you nothing, but I'll certainly give you this!" As he uttered the last word, the ringwraith seized the man by the throat, lifting him a few feet so that he dangled in the air. The old man gasped and choked as he slowly started to turn blue. Then, at last, he went limp.
The nazgul dropped the corpse, "Once a traitor, always a traitor." He turned to the troop of orcs staring with some fear at the hooded and cloaked creature, "How would you like to taste some man flesh tonight?"
The orcs' eyes shone with longing and a harsh chuckle erupted through the ranks.
Boromir woke to a busy morning. This was the day scheduled to be the marching day for his men. And he was quite confident that the mix of fresh, strong men with experienced veterans would defeat the hosts of Mordor.
Gerhard brought in the last few men from the hospitals, so now the men of Gondor went to regain their pride, their fortress, and their confidence.
And Boromir would lead them to victory.
Boromir, at the moment was still thinking of what the old man had said to him the day before. It hadn't left his mind. But soon a roar of battle cries brought Boromir to reality.
Faramir waited for him at the head of the host. He wore the usual Ranger uniform, save for a pair of iron greaves. Boromir almost laughed in spite of himself. He could barely feel properly dressed without even a mail shirt, while Faramir would rather travel light. Only the threat of close quarter fighting could persuade him to where armour, and even then he did not always think to do that.
Boromir joined his brother at the head of the large force. Both Boromir and Faramir found it a pity that there was little vegetation between Osgiliath and Minas Tirith. The Pelennor Field was a flat plan, basically, perfect for a straight fight. But this would be no straight fight until they reached Osgiliath. So, camped just outside the walls, the two brothers planned the attack.
"If I remember correctly, there was a part here' Boromir pointed at the map, 'down by the river's west shore, that there was a bit of a courtyard left. It's covered with crumbling buildings, like the rest of the city, but there's also a ramp that leads to a bit of a bastion that can be used for archers."
Faramir looked grim. Osgiliath was a maze; men could hide for a long time in the great city without being discovered, it would be a dangerous mission."
Boromir nodded, we'll split up the troops into three attacking blocks. You, Gerhard, and I will each have one of them. And we'll destroy these orcs once and for all!"