[Child of the 7th Age]

Ulrung cursed under his breath and warily eyed the Captain whom the others had called Glûtkask. Things were not going exactly as he had planned. Whoever this monstrous soldier was, he was no mere Orc. The beast sent a chill through his heart. There was something about Glûtkask's manner and voice that reminded Ulrung of Lord Angoroth or even of the Dark Lord himself. All three smelled of the past, ages rotten and long gone, as if each had been alive for several thousand years. Ulrung did not know exactly what the common thread was between the three, only that these dark creatures of shadow were a great deal more than simple Men or Orcs. And he was tired of bending a knee to such demanding types: he desired to be a commander in his own right.

His own effort to instill fear in the hearts of others was second to no Man but, compared with these masters of evil, he was but a novice. Perhaps the greatest difference was this. The Easterling was willing to use the most bloody means at his disposal to achieve his desired goal: land, riches, control over others. Yet the tools of murder or war were nothing more than that. He had no special love for killing in itself. If Ulrung slaughtered a man, he did it for a reason, not for the sheer love of bloodshed. These shadowy three were clearly different: they revelled in spilt blood and blackness as if these were the sweetest delights in all of Arda.

For a tiny instant, Ulrung hesitated. He was only a man; these beings operated on another level than he did. Perhaps he would be better off feigning illness and slinking back to Rhun where he could live in comparative peace and safety bludgeoning and exploiting those poor underlings who dwelled within his land . Angered by his own lack of resolution, Ulrung felt his backbone stiffen. I will not be a coward. That way lies weakness and defeat. Whoever or whatever these creatures are, they walk now in a world of men, and, however great they think themselves, they will someday be beholden to us. One way or another, our Age will come. The only question is what form it will take. I must make sure that I and the other wainriders come out on top.

Staring coldly at Glûtkask, the Easterling answered in a flat voice: "Surely, you can not be asking me about these negotiations? From the look of you, your bearing and your mien, you are more than a simple Orc. Indeed, there is something about the way you speak that puts me in mind of the great Angoroth himself. Surely, you are not stooping to ask a lowly Man the Dark Lord's secrets? You must know these things yourself. But as to the negotiations, I overheard them speak of Rings, amulets of great power and control, that must be returned to the Dark Lord. But, of course, I tell you nothing that you did not know."

Underneath his breath, Ulrung cursed a second time. One way or another the Age of Man was coming. All the ancient prophecies of the Rhun foretold it. Even more, he could feel it in his bones. Ulrung hoped he would live to see these high and mighty creatures of shadow ground into nothingness, replaced by himself and his friends, all men of the same ilk. Glaring back at Glûtkask, the Easterling dared to say more, speaking in a silken voice, "But perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps you do not know such things. Perhaps you have lost the favor of the Dark Lord and must now turn to me for help. Someday indeed, you and others of your type may pay homage to the race of men who shall yet inherit the reins of power. I go now to Angoroth and to the Dark Lord. Tomorrow we battle, and the forces of Mordor and of Sauron shall prevail. But who the final victor in Arda will be, I do not think either of us can say."

Feeling better than he'd done in a long time, Ulrung leapt upon his horse's back and called out "Do what you will then with the escaping Orcs." as he gestured for his men to follow him back to camp.