[Manôphazân]

As if by an invisible hand, the smoke parted in front of Lan’kâsh, revealing the tall wall of the fortress just as it toppled inward. A great plume of dust and flame climbed into the burning sky, and men screamed in fear and agony. The dark colors of Harad swarmed forward again, but they did not yet cross the perimeter of rubble and corpses. For as they charged, several blood-smeared, armored Gondorians rose from the ashes to meet their advance. The two forces shouted in fury as they met in a ferocious metallic clamor.

Lan’kâsh walked slowly forward, searching in the melee for a specific target. He had no doubt that the escaped officer would be among the last defenders of Poros. His spear swung left and right, creating a line of focus for its owner to sight his prey. Back and forth it went as the lieutenant approached the skirmish, until it finally stopped, pointing to the far left of the Haradrim line. There he was, slashing away at the pitchfork wielding Harnen farmer. The man’s dark sword stabbed out, and the unlucky conscript crumpled to the ground. Three others quickly replaced him, and the Winger was forced to step back.

“Oh no!” bellowed Lan’kâsh as he began to run. The officer was his to kill, and there was no way he would be allowed to fall to anyone else. He pushed his way among his troops and met the eyes of his opponent, but he did not stop. Without even a polite nod of acknowledgement, he sprang forward, driving the tip of his spear in a violent lunge at the Gondorian’s stomach.

“Go kill the rest,” he shouted to his men behind him. “This poor fool is mine!”