The Fight to the Death

Webber's callused, scarred hands roughly dragged out the only few battered weapons piled in a storage corner at the bottom of the Beacon Tower: a rusted machete with a rolled edge, several Wooden Spears sharpened to points, and even two axes used for chopping firewood. He threw them heavily in front of the civilians, who had curled up in frightened knots.

Metal and wood struck the stone floor with a piercing clatter.

"Pick up the weapons!" Webber's voice was hoarse, like an injured beast growling low. His bloodshot eyes swept over the pale, trembling elderly, women, and children. "Cry? What the hell is crying going to do? Can your tears drown the Sauron mongrels below?"

His roar lashed at their hearts like a whip. After a brief silence, the suppressed sobs were actually frightened into stopping, leaving only heavy, terrified panting.

"Listen up!" Webber pointed at the thick wooden gate, reinforced with heavy timbers and now booming as something slammed into it from outside. "We have nowhere left to retreat! The Sauron are all outside! If they catch us, the men will be beheaded and the women dragged away as slaves. That'll be worse than death!"

"If you want to die quickly, then brace that gate shut! Use everything you can! Tables, stones, anything that can be moved—pile it all against the door!"

His fierce gaze spurred several relatively strong old men into action. They crawled and scrambled forward, desperately pushing the scattered objects in the corner behind the gate.

"They'll have to step over the bodies of the four of us to get inside!" Webber pointed toward the narrow stone stairs leading to the top platform. "But if we can't hold them and we die, you're next! When that happens, anyone who wants to climb up, don't hesitate—use these