ith a fearsome cry, he ran to meet the foe. His sword, always at the ready, seemed somehow sluggish as he swung it at the nearest opponent. The orc parried the blow easily and grunted. It was obvious the foul creature was confident that this would not be difficult. Hoyamir was stunned. Normally, he could fell two or three orcs before any of them could even hope to defend itself. Today, however, this was not the case. He struggled to match the ferocity with which the orc attacked him. And then, he saw them. In his peripheral vision, he saw two more enemies approaching, their piggish faces contorted with what passed for glee among their race. In moments, they would be on top of him, and that would be it for Hoyamir Saxalein, elite bladesman, Ranger of Gondor, and utter failure.

oyamir awoke with a start. Of course he was in his bed, in the small apartment he rented from the blacksmith, Thendel Isenborne. The battle sounds that had made his dream so real resolved themselves into the early morning sounds of the smithy's shop: the sharpening of tools, the first ringing notes of the hammer shaping hot metal, the hisses and pops emanating from the forge. For several nights now, Hoyamir had been roused from his sleep by disquieting dreams of failure on the battlefield. In one, he watched helplessly as the King and Queen fell victims to the darts of an unseen assassin. In another, the White City itself was overrun, and he alone was left to face the enemy hordes. This most recent nightmare was the most realistic, as it was a scenario which every Ranger replayed in the back of his mind before going into battle.

e was up earlier than usual, the only benefit of his troubling dream. As he knew it would be impossible to return to sleep, he began his day. He washed himself in the basin on his nightstand and ran his hands through his sandy blond hair. Dressing in his black tunic and pants, he pulled on his boots and donned his flowing cape with its stylized representation of the White Tree and Stars. With a nod to Thendel and his apprentice, Hoyamir left the shop and headed toward the Rangers' Headquarters.

orning, Trey," he said to the Captain, as he entered the compound and checked the board where the Duty Roster was located. Seeing that he was not scheduled for a patrol, Hoyamir headed out to the stables to check on King, his trusty steed. He had just fed and watered the stallion when the unthinkable happened. The air was pierced by the shrill cries of the Tower Guard. "Enemies approaching from the East! To arms! To arms! Minas Tirith is under attack!" The cries were picked up along the city walls and the general alarm had been called within minutes.

s they had trained to do for years since the Battle of Pelennor Fields, the people of the White City prepared to repel the invaders. Parents grabbed their children and hurried with them from every level of the city to the Library, where they would be protected by guards from the royal palace. Once their offspring were secure, those who could not be spared to remain with the children returned to their homes and took up what weapons they had, ready to face whatever challenges would come.

nly under the most dire of circumstances would they be called upon, though. If all went to plan, the citizens of Minas Tirith would never even see the enemy. It was the job of the Rangers, the sworn defenders of all Gondor (and especially the White City), to dispatch the foes before they reached the city's outer wall.

t Headquarters, the Rangers had sprung into action at the initial alert. There was controlled chaos as weapons and armor were quickly equipped. Within minutes, every available Ranger was assembled in the courtyard, awaiting their orders. "Intelligence tells us that we are dealing with a company of orcs roughly three hundred strong. We will receive significant air cover from the walls, but the combat will fall largely to us. I want to see you maintain your formations whenever possible, forcing the orcs to spread their ranks and allowing us to deal with them in smaller clusters.

emember: if you get into trouble out there, you should signal those around you. We lose more Rangers to heroic displays of hubris than we do to the skills of the enemy. If we all work together, we should be able to come through this with a minimum of casualties." Having said this, their Captain dismissed the Rangers. She knew that they required only a bare bones outline of a battle plan, as their training had prepared them to think and act independently in the field.

rom their headquarters, the Rangers quickly fanned out as they took the field. Hoyamir and the rest of the Hyandaner were arranged across the middle of the battlefield with the Peleconner. While the Roquen harried the orcs from the flanks and the Cuner laid down covering fire from a hill in the shadow of the city wall, these two divisions, with the Ehtyar to their right and (to a lesser extent) the Muinamacar to their left, would bear the brunt of the foul creatures' assault. As he always did before a battle, Hoyamir mentally assessed his readiness. Almost unconsciously, he felt for his weapons: Cristo, his longsword, hung sheathed at his side; his family's shortsword, Salazar, was slung across his back; at his belt were the serrated dagger and throwing knives that would be his last options should all else fail. Content that he was armed and ready, he turned to face the enemy.

nbidden, the final image of his morning's nightmare flashed before his eyes. Once again, he saw the three orcs bearing down upon him, ready to finish him off. Blinking and shaking his head briskly, he forced the image down and away, forcing himself to focus on the situation at hand. Halloran, on the line next to him, noticed Hoyamir's momentary lapse but dismissed it as preparation for the coming battle. His mouth a firm line, Hoyamir turned to Hal and asked, "Ready to get dirty?" "Aren't I always?" Halloran responded with a grin. With that, the two friends joined their fellow bladesmen in charging the orcs.

he rush of adrenaline is both an asset and a liability, and Gondor's finest certainly felt it as they prepared to engage the filthy creatures. It heightened their senses and reduced their reaction times, but it also made them less cautious and more prone to errors. For this reason, the Rangers spent a good deal of time training to master their emotions on the battlefield. They were the picture of control, moving as a unit while remaining completely aware of what was occurring on all sides of them. The orcs had no such training regimen in place, and the sight of the charging Rangers was enough to send them into a frenzy of excited activity. Grunts and howls could be heard as the orcs broke ranks and raced to meet the men head on.

econds later, the battle was joined. The fastest of the orcs reached the Rangers, and they paid a heavy price for their haste. Running headlong into the company of Rangers without the benefit of their comrades, these first orcs fell quickly. One of the ugly creatures was barreling straight toward Hoyamir, and the Ranger stood ready to receive it. As the orc swung its sword, Hoyamir knocked it away in one motion and then followed through with a slash that separated the orc's head from its shoulders. Following closely behind the initial wave of overbold victims came the main body of the enemy force, and a great clamor erupted on the field. The song of sword coming into contact with sword or shield rang out time and again as both sides fought mightily to gain and hold advantage. The sickly sounds of flesh being struck by heavy clubs and rent by sharpened blades assailed the ears of the combatants and mingled with the shrieks of orcs as they fell. And everywhere over the battlefield hung a tremendous stench. The tang of ozone from metal meeting metal, the ferric scent of blood as it escaped from freshly received wounds, and the ever-present odor of the hygienically-challenged creatures mixed and mingled to create a singularly unpleasant aroma. Hoyamir made a silent prayer of thanks to Eru, for his work in the stables had trained him to ignore all but the most foul of stenches.

he Roquen were playing their part masterfully, attacking from the flanks and from behind the company of orcs and sowing confusion throughout their ranks. The Cuner, unwilling to fire into the throngs where they might potentially injure a fellow Ranger, were content to pick off stragglers and those groups of enemies that were withdrawn from the fray. And there, in the midst of the melee, the ground troops went to work.

oyamir found himself in the thick of things, with fellow swordsmen on either side and a horde of angry, pig-faced enemies pressing them in front. His body moved almost without thinking, drawing from his experiences on the Training Fields and in past battles. He needed only to see the enemy commit to an action before his body would move to nullify it and then counterattack. Slashing, parrying, thrusting and even backpedaling when necessary, he proved to be a formidable obstacle to the orcs. But they were no straw dummies from the Training Fields, and they fought back with the ferocity for which their race is known. Several of them acquitted themselves quite well, and more than a few Gondorians had been carried from the field with wounds that would require quick attention from the Master Healer. Hoyamir's concentration slipped for a mere moment as he thought about the wounded, and that was the opening a particularly adept orc needed. With a feint that drew Hoyamir slightly off-balance, the orc was able to make a hacking chop at the Ranger's left arm. His shirt of mail prevented the blade from severing the limb, but it did draw blood and fiery pain immediately erupted through the arm. Yelling in pain and frustration, Hoyamir ran the creature through and then kicked the still-dying body free from his blade.

or a moment, injury and rage clouded his judgment, and he allowed himself to break ranks and advance to engage a small coterie of orcs that had been biding their time, waiting for the proper moment to begin their assault. They realized that they were not likely to have a better chance than this, and they moved as a group to take on the lone Ranger. In a flash, Hoyamir saw the three coming toward him, and his mind allowed the dream to once again bubble to the surface. It couldn't be! His dream was not a prophecy! Or was it? He began to doubt himself, and he felt the strength in his sword-arm began to falter. The lead orc's menacing leer was enough to steel his resolve, and he straightened to face the threat. Falling back on his training, he did what he had been taught to do.

anger, ho!" He called out, loud and clear above the din of the fighting. These words, simple and direct, were more potent than even the most powerful protection spell that an Istari could weave, for they called not on the elements for assistance, but on the nearest Ranger. "Ho yourself!" Halloran yelled back, as he dispatched another vile foe and came running to Hoyamir's side. With the odds now three against two, the orcs were vastly outnumbered, and they fell almost without mounting a fight.

hat's another one I owe you," Hoyamir said to his friend, as they retook their places and readied themselves for another assault. "By my count, that's another two you owe me," responded Halloran in mock seriousness. "Or are you going to claim that third orc as one of your kills? I knocked him down - you just finished him off." Hoyamir responded in kind, saying "Isn't that just like you? Always thinking about yourself, never about the group. If all Rangers thought like you, we'd have a tally board back at Headquarters to keep track of our kills!" "Wait a minute!" Halloran protests. "That sounds a lot like one of your early ideas, oh Selfless Teamplayer!"

s was their way, the two carried on this lighthearted exchange while repelling the attacking forces. To see them in action, one might wonder whether they were even paying attention to the battle, as they were quite caught up in their teasing. But their concentration never wavered for a moment, and it was simply a testament to their rapport that they could banter so easily without losing focus on the task at hand.

t a lull in the fighting, their division leader, Heron, motioned them over to her. Standing at her side was the Grey Death, the Muinamacar who was known as Mathen Nors. "Alright, you two. It appears this thing is winding down. We are dealing with the orcs that are too stupid to run, and those that are smart enough to flee are being picked off by the Roquen and the Cuner. But the King and Queen will want to find out what brought this attack on, so we're going to need the orc leader, and we're going to need him alive. I'm sending the two of you with Nors, as it shouldn't be too tough and will be an excellent chance for you to show what you're made of."

ith that, the two Hyandaner and the assassin set off along the length of the Rangers' forces. When they reached the left flank, the swordsmen stayed close to Nors, following his lead and making use of the skills they had learned as Scouts to stay as hidden as possible. In this manner, they were able to make their way along the outskirts of the battlefield and eventually found themselves behind the orcs' rear guard, who were busily preparing for a hasty exit with their captain.

he leader, a burly creature with a pronounced underbite and sharp fangs that rose like stalagmites from his jaw, was clearly nothing more than a military commander and certainly not a leader among his race. For this reason, he was guarded by only a half-dozen of his fellows. His martial background had kept him hanging around the battlefield far longer than his defenders would have preferred, and the Rangers were now prepared to make him regret that decision.

t an unspoken signal from the Muinamacar, Hoyamir and Halloran burst from their cover into the clearing, each of them dispatching a guard in the process. The remaining four, alerted by the clamor caused by their dying comrades, quickly drew their swords and moved to engage the Hyandaner. This was exactly what the Rangers wanted, and they each moved to engage a pair of orcs.

oyamir taunted his pair, feinting at one and growling at the other. He withdrew Salazar, his shortsword, and allowed the grunting guards to advance upon him. For a time, they seemed to have the upper hand, as the Ranger was backpedaling and giving ground readily. Naturally, this emboldened the foul creatures, who pressed their advantage at every opportunity and forced him further and further back. Unbeknownst to them, however, they were playing right into the hands of the Rangers.

n the opposite side of the clearing, Halloran was doing exactly the same thing with his pair of guards. Consequently, the orc captain was left entirely unguarded. Against a solitary opponent, this was not a bad thing necessarily, as the orc had attained his rank by distinguishing himself in numerous battles against men and elves. But he did not have the luxury of squaring off against his opponent, and he fell without a sound, knocked out by a dart from the assassin. Quickly, Mathen Nors swept in and bound the unconscious form, then looked around to assess the situation. Seeing Hoyamir holding his own, he turned to Halloran. Hal appeared to be having some difficulty, so Nors came to his aid and the two finished off the pair of orcs.

eanwhile, Hoyamir was able to see the orc captain go down, and he knew that meant it was time to stop playing. His injured left arm moved more slowly than his right, but he proved himself up to the challenge of facing two foes. He sought to always keep one orc in the way of the other, thereby preventing them from attacking him in tandem. By this strategy, he was able to tire them both out without having to exert himself too much. Finally, when the time seemed right, Hoyamir struck. His blades glinted in the sunlight as he slashed the first orc's throat with Cristo and then stabbed him in the chest with Salazar. Without pausing to assess his handiwork, he spun and parried the second orc's attack with his longsword. Letting Salazar fall to the ground still embedded in the enemy, he drew out his serrated dagger and jabbed it into his off-balance opponent, doubling him over. The nasty-looking blade did further damage as it was removed, and the orc died painfully, his insides ripped to pieces. Turning back to the first enemy, Hoyamir finished him off with a thrust from Cristo and then retrieved Salazar from the twitching body.

fter cleaning their weapons and marking the site for further examination after the battle, the trio retraced their steps back to the Rangers' line, hampered by the bulk of the unconscious orc captain. Depositing him unceremoniously in the makeshift cell that had been carted onto the field, they reported back to Heron and Trey with news of their success. As expected, it was well received.

ithout their captain, the orcs showed even less organization, and the final count showed more than three hundred orcs dead and fifty-one captured (including their captain). The Rangers had fared far better, with only a dozen Rangers dead and twenty with wounds that required the attention of the Master Healer. A sense of pride filled their ranks as they headed back inside the gates of the White City. They had done their duty, and Minas Tirith was once again safe.

eflecting on the battle afterwards, Hoyamir paid special attention to his mistake that had almost proved fatal. He would not soon forget the lesson it had taught him, and he would certainly talk to Heron about exercises that could train a Hyandaner to deal more effectively with multiple enemies when next he saw her. In the meantime, he was grateful to have escaped with only minor injuries and a bruised ego. And he was happiest to note that the nightmares had ceased. Whether they were prophecy or mere nerves he would likely never know, but he did know that he wouldn't miss them.

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