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The Lady's Orcs - Ashukh, Zlog, Gorgu

Zlog had made it first to the top of the crumbling chimney that had served the Lady’s fireplace in better days. He scooted himself to a comfortable position with his legs hanging over the sooted remains of brickwork. Gorgu followed quickly after. Ashukh came last, muttering all the way of heights and falling; though he was only a spirit now, his fear of being far off the ground still had him firmly in its clutches. His thirst to see for himself, though, what was going on, urged him on.

There were tall, live creatures in the courtyard. ‘Elves!’ Zlog hissed quietly to his companions his eye looking down to where Giledhel sat brushing her hair. ‘Live ‘uns and some of those what died down there, too.

Gorgu and Ashukh craned their necks round their companion, trying to puzzle out who these invaders might be. ‘There’s one at’s bleeding,’ said Gorgu. His eyes lit up at the prospect, and he rubbed his hands together gleefully. ‘Oh, what I’d give for one more go at one o’ them leggy vipers!’ He elbowed Ashukh in his excitement. ‘Stinkin’ Elvish blades can’t hurt us now!’

It was Ashukh who’d often sat with the Lady as she worked at her loom or drew up long lists of guests for parties that never happened and were soon forgotten. Her favorite parts were those of who would sit where – from the favored positions to those whose placement indicated her great disfavor. She would describe the guests in detail, their hair, their faces, what they wore, how they moved. She would speak at length of herself and her beloved Lord . . . Malris. And so it was with a dawning recognition that Ashukh leaned as forward as his fear of heights allowed and took in the details of the island’s visitors.

‘Oy!’ he exclaimed, pointing excitedly to the live Elves. ‘By the Dark Lord’s hairy . . .’ he broke off his epithet and looked guiltily down toward Giledhel, recalling she had extracted a promise from him not to use coarse language. His two companions looked expectantly at him. ‘Them’s what the Lady has got on her list for the party!’ he went on. ‘And look . . . see that short-haired fellow . . . black hair. See if you can see what he’s got pinned on his shirt front.’

‘Shiny star,’ grunted Zlog leaning out at a precipitous angle.

‘That’s Malris, for sure then!’ nodded Ashukh.

Gorgu’s eyes burned bright with anticipation at the Elf he’d spotted. He cackled loudly, not caring if Giledhel heard him. She would, he thought, in fact be glad at this chance to see this one again. ‘And just look at the little tart at’s still trailing in his lordship’s wake. All pale and goldy haired, the little sneak.’

The three turned their gazes on Tasarënì.

‘Make a nice present for the Lady, eh?’ Ashukh offered, his thick lips pulled back from his sharp yellowed teeth in an anticipatory leer. ‘Very nice . . .’