[Arry]

‘Careful, Snik! Step lightly now! Those Uruks have got themselves all worked up over something . . . and we wouldn’t want them working it out on our hides, now would we?’

Gromwakh held his game bag with a tightly clenched fist. Hung over his left shoulder, it bounced heavily against the small of his back with each step, throwing his gait a bit off. Snikdul had drawn near him, his right hand gripping his stout iron bar. With surprisingly light steps for such ungainly looking creatures, they eased past the company of Uruks. A moment of rank fear brought them to a sudden halt when one of the brutes cast his red gaze their way, throwing back his head to catch their scent. ‘Mountain maggots!’ he growled at them; then, dismissed them with a toothy sneer as his leader said something which caught his attention. The two Orcs slipped quickly behind a clump of thorny bushes and hunkered low until they felt safe to move on again.

‘Close ‘un, that!’ whispered Snik as they started off again. ‘Hurry up!’ rasped Gromwakh back at him, one bulgy eye keeping track of the Uruk group. ‘I don’t plan to share our catch with the nasty blighters.’

The small band of Orcs they belonged to was on the fringes of the great army, tucked away beneath the sullen canopy of some darkling, twisted trees. Thick layers of dark leaves, new barely discernable from the dead, held back the sun’s rays, affording the Orcs a modicum of respite from the hated light. Mottled twilight it was that prevailed in the little copse . . . smoky twilight, rather, as a few of the band had started a little fire in hopes of a hot meal soon to come.

And come it did with the arrival of Gromwakh and Snik.

Skinned, spitted, and charred, the rats provided a tasty bit of meat for the hungry Orcs. All washed down with swigs of brackish water from the nearby stream. A little later, as several flasks of Orc-draught were passed about and the fiery liquid had set their bellies glowing pleasantly with its fire, the company discussed the rumors they had gleaned that day from other groups. Snik offered his comments on who would lead them, and many faces turned sullen at the mention of One-eye. ‘Him! . . . hunh!’ swore one, following up his assessment of the Uruk with a glob of spit toward the dying fire. The embers hissed and popped in protest of the sticky missile, and others of the group looked furtively about as if the great Uruk and his followers might be leering over their shoulders.

‘Best we just keep close to the shadows when we can,’ said Gromwakh, echoing the unspoken thoughts of many of his companions. ‘Out of sight, out of mind so to speak.’ A number of the Orcs nodded as he went on. ‘Do our job quick as we can when the big push starts. Give them the glory. Leave the foul swine and the fouler Men to finish off the cursed Elves.’ He raised his chin, pointing toward the northwest. ‘While we make for the dark ways beneath the mountains . . . and home.’

There were grunts of support for this little speech as it came to its end. The last of the firelight glinted off the ragged, yellowed fangs of the Orcs, their dark lips drawn back in ghastly smiles of approval.