[Arry]

‘I will not do anything for you until you have proven yourself in earnest,' Ambarturion hissed. 'If you will not cut my bonds, cut the bonds of my young companion. He is unconscious and presents no threat to you. Cut his bonds, and give him the drink in that flask, and perhaps I will tell my kin not to slay you.’ The words were barely out of the Elf’s mouth, when the loud insistent bark of command cut off Gromwakh’s response.

Gâshronk had come back to inspect his troops. ‘What’s going on back here?’ he demanded stepping near the back of the wagon. ‘You maggots are slowing down the wagon. You need to put your backs into it!’ He shoved Gromwakh and his three companions away from the back of the wagon, replacing them with four of the Orcs who’d been marching up front. Gâshronk gave a satisfied look at his new arrangement and was about to turn away when something shiny caught his eye. ‘What’s this?’ he snarled, turning on Snikdul who stood nearest him. ‘Thinking to keep this for yourselves, were you? Mountain scum like you have no need of such fancy things.’ He snatched up the flask and shoved it deep into the pocket of his breeches. Handsome present for the Captain when we get back . . . he thought to himself.

The grey eyes of one of the Elves unnerved the Uruk as he hovered near the back of the wagon, wondering if there were any other treasure about the prisoners that might be had. Gâshronk motioned the other six Orcs from the front to him, ordering them to get in the wagon and turn the Elves onto their stomachs, faces down; he’d had enough of their foul stares, he said. In the course of rolling the bigger male over, it was discovered his bonds were loose. Forced down with the tips of sharp blades to his neck and those of his companions, the Elf’s hands were rebound tightly with new, braided leather cord behind his back; and the rope securing his ankles was adjusted tightly also. Other rough hands saw to the tightening of the other Elves’ bonds.

The wagon started forward again. Gromwakh and Snikdul found themselves marching in front now, just behind Gâshronk, who’d resumed his place at the head of the raggedy column. The Captain’s broken, yellowed nails tapped against the flask in his pocket in an oddly syncopated rhythm.

Snikdul sidled close to Gromwakh and nudged him on his arm. Grom’s face was an Orcish mixture of resolve and resignation. ‘You going to try to talk with the Elf again?’ Snik whispered. Gromwakh pursed his lips and shook his head, recalling the self-calculating look he’d seen on the Elf’s face as he’d considered Gromwakh’s offer.

. . . perhaps I will tell my kin not to slay you . . . His sneering arrogance had struck a chord in the Orc’s thoughts, reminding Gromwakh of his other “betters” – the Southrons, the Uruks, and all the infernal Captains that went with them.

‘Best we look after ourselves, Snik,’ he answered quietly. ‘He’s naught but some Uruk in fancier clothes . . .’