The Fellowship of the Fourth Age (Part 1): A New Beginning RPG

[Durelin]

“Yes, Vrór, yes. The tunnel worked just fine.”

The Dwarf smiled. Just fine. All his work had indeed paid off, and the battle had…well, it must have gone well if he was alive, Athwen alive, and… Who else? The smile disappeared. He had not even thought of everyone’s safety yet! Where was his mind? Only on himself? Well, on his work, anyway… Vrór opened his mouth, trying to form a question on his lips, to voice his concern and affirm his hope, but Athwen continued.

“I told you just now, you know.”

Vrór’s lips remained parted for a moment, and his brow furrowed in both confusion and worry. He wanted to ask if she was sure, but he knew that made no sense. The Dwarf was a very practical person; it was foolish to think for a moment that a young woman wouldn’t know whether or not she said something.

But…he hadn’t known…he hadn’t heard, or…something. She was not more than a couple feet from him! How could he not have heard? Vrór tried to remember what she had said just before he asked about the tunnel, but he just felt like he was getting more and more lost in a fog.

“Do you think you can get up and let me help you take this off?”

Still wondering about this “fog,” the Dwarf did not take this as a question but rather a command, and started to try and rise before he even considered whether or not he could. Using the arm he could move, he planted his hand on the ground, and began pushing himself up, his arm trembling as he did so. He felt Athwen’s strong helping hands on him. The firmness of her touch allowed him to look at her with clearer eyes.

“Thank you, Athwen,” he said, “A hundred, thousand times thanks.”

With the woman’s help, Vrór very quickly was sitting up, though some of his dizziness returned so that he desired to fall back again and shut his eyes. Something caught the Dwarf’s eye, even through the haze, and suddenly a young man, one of the slaves – or former slaves, rather – was beside him.

“Do you mind, sir,” the boy began a little hesitantly, “if I help you stay up? I mean…you’ve got to need it after that…” he trailed off.

“Thank you,” Vrór said, sounding a little breathless. It was much harder work than it should have been to keep his torso up. He definitely needed the young man’s support from behind, and could hardly argue with any help he was given, from anyone.

Soon his mail hauberk was removed, and he felt considerably more freedom of movement. He winced and had to grind his teeth together to keep from crying out, as it had been impossible to remove the garment without jostling and moving his bad arm a bit.

When the hard work, at least for Vrór, was over, he glanced around, and seeing some familiar faces he tried to remember what it was he wanted to ask Athwen. Then he was lowered back down, and he really felt the memory escape him. The young man sat next to him again, and the Dwarf searched his face looking for some sort of reminder. Soon he returned to his confusion surrounding his question about the tunnel, though he did not know what it had to do with the boy, and he frowned.

“Athwen,” he began quietly – subdued, “Did I ask you about the tunnel before, too?”

[Nogrod]

Ishkur flashed a look over at Makdush that was halfway between a grin and a grimace "And don't forget. Right now there's two of us and just one of you!"

With that, Makdush backed out of the tent.

Gwerr remained silent until he was certain that Makdush was far enough. "Okay you sparrow-brain! I hope you were not actually thinking what you just said about leaving."

"We had to get him out from sneakin' around somehow, you know that well enough!" Ishkur snapped back. But it seemed Gwerr was not listening.

"I know that my fool. But did your tiny little brain just tell you that we'd leave? What if the slavers come back? We can't leave our bloody mates, how witless or drunk they are. Listen to me now! If we two are the only survivors from this we will just become renegades with some money... But the dream we had! We need those others to build a settlement even they'd be lunatics and idiots... maybe we can raise more intelligent folks from their children when the time comes? But now we need them and can't leave them! So come up with solutions better than running away!" Gwerr looked at his mate seriously, challenging him to answer.

"It's one bloody disaster if the slavers come back soon, however concerned you choose to be about it", Ishkur replied sharply to his friend's outburst.

Gwerr let off the reins he had picked while Ishkur had been challenging the Uruk and lowered his head shooking it slowly.

"You're right my friend", he mumbled and then lifted his head to meet the gaze of his mate yet again. Suddenly a grin flashed on his face. "Think about it, Colagar fighting anyone right now..." He laughed and Ishkur laughed too. But it was a tense laughter to ward off the ghosts from their troubled minds.

Gwerr took hold of Ishkur's shoulder and started towards the ale-barrell dragging the not so reluctant Ishkur with him. "Fate stuff...", he said as they reached the barrell. "If they come, they come. And there's nothing we can do about it. You're right. So let's just hope the slavers won't come back until the sun has awaken those idiots and forced them to get back to the shadows." Gwerr picked Ishkur's goblet from the floor and filled it from the barrell. "I think this is a better place to wait for our fortunes than getting out anyhow". With that he handed the goblet to Ishkur and reached for his own.

"You ever been in a weak flank of an army?" Ishkur asked thoughtfully as he had taken a sip from the beer. Gwerr was filling his goblet but froze with the question. He nodded slowly. The memories were running through his mind forcing him back to that day of blood, sweat and tears.

But Gwerr recollected himself for a moment. "Yeah, the same feeling it is. If the enemy general has decided in advance that he will go for a breach on your side and then the cavalry attacks that weak flank... Well, there's nothing else to do than trying to stay alive then... It kind of redeals the future for you... But you can always hope beforehand that it doesn't happen."

Gwerr was still immobilised, stuck in those painful memories filling his mind. After a while Ishkur broke the silence. "So you were there then? At that grievous day? On the right flank?" Gwerr nodded lightly but remained silent, his head bowed down.

Now it was Ishkur's turn to grab his mate from the shoulder. "You're alive still my friend... I was in the center falangs that day but I heard about what happened and it made me feel sick and pained." Gwerr trembled a little but yet pulled himself together. He filled his goblet and turned towards his friend. "It was horrible... we were plain butchered there."

[Folwren]

The hauberk came off and Athwen, with Adnan’s help, gently helped the dwarf lay back. She smiled at Adnan, thanking him silently, and then her hands went to the dwarf’s arm again. She glanced up at the dwarf’s face now and again, wondering what he searched for as his eyes moved about.

Yes...that arm was broken, and his shoulder was badly dislocated. Something probably fell on him. She would have to set it, wrap the shoulder and splint the arm. A painful operation for Vrór. She had better set right to it.

“Athwen,” Vrór said quietly, stopping her abruptly. She looked at him quickly. “Did I ask you about the tunnel before, too?”

What was it that plagued him about that tunnel? She reached across him and took the hand of his uninjured harm and pressed it reassuringly. But she paused to reply. What was wrong? “Yes, you did. You asked me about it twice, but that’s alright, Vrór. You’ll be fine. Now wait here. I need to get somethings.”

She got up before he could answer and walked briskly away. She would need bandage and something to work as a splint. She would need help, too.

In a little while, she found someone to give her a helping hand, and she also hunted up a flat piece of wood nearly four inches broad. “It will have to do,” she said with a sigh, tucking it under her arm. She followed her helper back to the grove where Vrór lay waiting for her. There, she prepared her bandages, and checked the wood again. It was smooth and without splinter, worn so by wind and sand. She dusted it carefully and rinsed it with a little water to clean off the bits of sand that clung to it.

When she came again to Vrór’s head, he found the dwarf once more too unconscious to speak or be spoken to. It was better that way, Athwen figured.

With the help of the young man, she set the bone and bound the wood splint close to it Then with the utmost gentleness, for the dwarf had come back to his senses during the short operation, she set the arm in a sling and tied it up around his neck.

“So you don’t move it,” she told him as she bent over him. “No doubt you will move it anyway, if you're like any other man I know, but this will at least keep the movement limited.”

When she was through, she carefully gathered and wound the remaining bandage and tucked it away in her bag. She made Vrór as comfortable as she could and then left him alone so he could sleep and she went back to Dorran.

[Child of the 7th Age]

With the moon high overhead, Makdush had meant to take off from the camp and head back across the plains to the rock strewn cove where they had bedded down for the past few days. The Uruk had expected Ishkur and Gwerr to do the same. To his surprise, that had not happened. The two orcs had stubbornly decided to hang out inside the camp. They showed no signs of leaving, though it was now only a few hours more until the sun would rise.

Somehow Makdush could not bring himself to head out on his own. He kept his distance from Ishkur and Gwerr and sat by himself at the central campfire, occasionally peering over in their direction. This was more from curiosity than any feelings of anger or hostility. He had also kept away from the other Uruk-hai. He had even thought of hunting out a few of the women to find out what was going on with them. But the females and younger orcs were nowhere to be seen. He hoped they had not totally disappeared. Sometime after midnight, a few more horses had come straggling back into camp and Makdush had managed to snag one of these for his own. The horse was a rather ungainly creature, stocky and battlescarred, lacking the grace and power of Ishkur's mount. But at least the creature provided him with a way of getting around. The horse was brown in color with a thick black mane and tale daubed with mud and dirt. The Uruk had started calling him 'Grunge'.

Makdush still could not shake the feeling that someone would be coming back to the slavers' camp sometime later that day. He decided to go out and have a look. Mounting up on Grunge, he kicked the horse in the flanks and sent him galloping out of camp. He rode off in a westerly direction while keeping a sharp eye on the distant horizon.

**********************

Lindir

Lindir rubbed his eyes, stretched, and sat up in his bedroll. They had talked about leaving later in the morning, but several of the riders had expressed a desire to get on the road early, while there was still some cover of darkness. He gulped down a hurried breakfast of spring water and a small square of bread, girded his sword to his side, and quickly made his way to the eastern edge of camp where the riders had gathered and were now mounting up.

Lindir glanced apprehensively around the group. Several of the scouts still looked tired, wearing bandages, favoring an ankle, or rubbing at a nagging injury. Even the horses did not seem to be up to their best. The Elf gazed over at Azhar and Carl who had stopped to talk with each other. Both of them had strained expressions on their face, as if they were in pain or worrying about something. The girl was riding behind Kwell. He hoped the boy had learned his lesson, and there would be no more instances of someone running off without letting anyone know. Now, however, was not a time for lectures. Once Lindir had made sure they were all there, he beckoned with his hand that they should follow his lead. The group trotted out onto the plain, heading slowly but steadily towards the slavers' camp.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Makdush had ridden no more than half a mile when he noticed a small copse of scrub bushes and tumbled rocks, a sheltered enclave on the plain that offered a safe vantage point from which he could scan the entire horizon. Quickly pulling the horse inside and positioning his body behind the tangled curtain of boughs, he stared fixedly towards the west and immediately observed a cloud of dust no more than a mile distant. Someone was fast approaching the camp and, from the size of the dustcloud, this was more than a party of one or two lonely riders.

The immediate problem was what to do. Should he turn now and ride back to camp to warn the others of their immediate danger, or was it better to continue to wait and gage who these intruders were and what they intended to do? The party could be slavers returning to camp, or even a contingent of slaves, but it was also possible that they were simple traders making their way from the north back to the plantations in Nurn. Plus, if he pulled out now, there was the danger that the advancing party could not help but notice a large orc on horseback riding so closely in front of them. It would be better not to give them a warning like that.

With some misgivings, Makdush decided to stay and see what was happening. With most of the orcs drunk and asleep, there was little possibility that he could rouse them quickly enough to get out of the way before the men actually entered the camp, if that was their intention. Gwerr and Ishkur were in a different position. They were alert and awake and on the far side of camp, and he should have enough time to get back to them even if he waited to get a glimpse of the party that was approaching on horseback.

Makdush waited for the party to approach. He could see a small troop of men and also several females, all of whom had iron weapons strapped to their sides. The latter puzzled him greatly, Orc women did not normally carry or use swords or great throwing daggers. From what Makdush could gage, these people were slaves coming back to retrieve booty from camp. He decided to wait till they had passed and then skirt around to the south and approach the camp from that direction, heading straight back to Gwerr and Ishkur, who would hopefully still be in their tent.

[Durelin]

The party had set out as early as they could, though still weary from the previous day’s battle, and some also from the tears that followed. Those still able-bodied had collected the bodies of their fallen friends, and had placed them with deepest care and respect on the funeral pyre whether they had known them or not. Many still could see the flames when they closed their eyes, and Beloan wondered if any of his companions had slept any better than he had. He had slept, and it had not taken long for him to fall into empty dreams, but it had been far from a restful sleep.

When they set out it was still mostly dark, and no one welcomed the sun as it crept up above Ephel Dûath. They were guided by Lindir back to the slavers’ camp, and Beloan tried his best to be optimistic not only about their victory but also about the opportunity it had opened up to them. The Easterlings were not only looters of men but of anything that might be of worth, and there was no doubt they had left most of it behind. The former slaves and Fellowship would have to travel light as they continued their way North, but perhaps there would even be a cart of use to them, even a pack animal? Beloan hoped there would at least be food and water.

Despite their weariness the scouting party arrived at the slaver camp while it was still quite early in the day, a silent pride helping to maintain their strength. They had after all defeated their foe, even though such a battle was part of what they were trying to escape. The group’s spirits were high as they entered the camp, but an uneasiness spread quickly through each person when Lindir motioned for them to stop. Beloan softened his steps but did not stop moving, until he caught sight of bodies lying on the ground in the middle of the camp.

“They’re orcs,” Lindir whispered.

Beloan’s hand immediately reached for his knife. “Dead, or…?”

“Just asleep, it seems,” the elf replied.

Beloan crept forward, to see better for himself, and came close enough to see without doubt that the creatures were still breathing. He considered stepping from one body to the next and slitting their throats, knowing that if they woke up he and his companions might easily be overcome. He counted the orcs, and determined that the Men, Elf, and Hobbit would be in a dire situation if they had to fight: six full grown males against their tired twelve, which included younger members, was undeniably necessary to avoid. But he could not kill a sleeping enemy, particularly when this enemy had not attacked him yet. That would be too much like them, too much like these orcs, or worse.

It did not take long to realize why a group of orcs was passed out on the ground in the daylight, as Beloan noted the empty jugs and bottles around them. He smirked at the thought of how many men would be disappointed to learn that they would not be getting anything to celebrate with out of this camp. Suddenly Lindir was beside him, and Beloan was lucky he only jumped slightly, producing only a slight scraping noise from his boots. “Drunk,” Beloan whispered, and Lindir nodded. “Hopefully drunk enough to be hard to wake,” the man added.

The two quietly slipped back to the others, and were immediately faced with questions. Beloan gave anyone a murderous look who thought they should raise their voices above a quiet murmur, and his eyes darted around them and his ears strained for any sight or sound of possible friends of the sleeping orcs’. Lindir checked their surroundings as well before informing everyone of the new occupants to the camp they thought they had won.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Makdush waited till the company had passed and climbed up on his horse, heading in a southwesterly direction. Once he was out of eye range from the company, he spurred his mount in the flanks and raced forward to the tent where he had seen the two orcs earlier that day. Makdush quickly retraced his steps and then leapt down to the ground, running across the compound. By now the other riders would probably be entering the camp.

Throwing up the leather flap, the Uruk cried out excitedly to Gwerr and Ishkur: "Riders! Riders in camp! A group of twelve to fifteen. Men and women. Slaves or slavers, but probably slaves." Makdush's words tumbled out in quick succession. He did not even stop for an answer, but growled under his breath. "They're here for plunder and probably to stick knives in our backs. We need to get out now and save our necks!"

[Regin Hardhammer]

Ishkur heaved himself up and stared blankly at the tall Uruk who had unexpectedly stomped into the middle of their tent. It took a moment for the meaning of the words to penetrate his brain.

Ishkur's first impulse was to tongue lash the Uruk for trying to play a foolish game on them. Ishkur glanced over towards Gwerr and, seeing a look of complete bewilderment etched on his companion's face, stuck his head through the opening of the tent and stared westward. Barely visible on the far fringes of the encampment was a small contingent of horses and mannish riders that had already reached the portion of the camp where the other orcs were sleeping.

Ishkur's second impulse was to agree with Makdush, grab up his things, and hightail it out onto the plain to the south, putting a very large distance between himself and these intruders, whoever they might be. He wanted and needed to protect the gold they had found. That money held the promise to a new life. But before he could open his mouth and yell at Gwerr to leave the tent, another image came tripping into his mind. What good would all that gold be if he and Gwerr were on their own with no other orcs beside them? What kind of a life would they have? There would be no orc women to wait on him or do the cooking....no possibility of a mate of his own. Lately, Ishkur had been thinking about that a lot. He had also been thinking about how nice it would be if he and Gwerr could be the acknowledged leaders of the other orcs. To be truthful, he had really enjoyed the few times he had been able to stand up and speak for the group and get the others to go along with his ideas.

Turning towards Makdush, he growled, "You lowly toad.....afraid? Just like a Uruk...all talk and no action. Afraid that a bunch of riders--WOMEN riders--can take you down? I'm not leaving here. We came here to start a group of our own, a place where the bosses can't push us into the mud. Maybe you've forgotten that. I haven't. Maybe we can't save all the others. But I think we can make enough trouble that we can save some of them, maybe steal some of their horses, and get out of here, or maybe even run them through clean and take everything they have." Before Ishkur could say anything more, Gwerr had also joined in the argument.

[Firefoot]

In the past couple of days, Grask had run a full gamut of emotions – adventurousness, nervousness, curiosity, trepidation, satisfaction – but not until this point had he felt any true fear. His search for the females had been outstandingly unsuccessful; he had not even found a footprint or a bag left behind. To all appearances, they had simply disappeared. Grask wondered if they might have simply up and left, tired of the males’ drinking and lazing about. Up until a little while ago, he could have cared less, but now, with all the males held captive in the pit, it meant he was alone.

Completely, helplessly, alone.

Not to mention wet and miserable.

He had hunkered down beneath a squat thorny tree after his initial failure to locate any of the others, both in hopes of remaining hidden from the men and as at least a token shelter from the rain which had begun to fall steadily a little while ago. The tree was no match for a nice, dry cave however, and before too long Grask felt soaked to the bone and chilly.

Then he had heard what sounded like Orkish voices not too far away and felt a gleam of hope return. Before he could get up to join them, however, he heard more shouts and a commotion in the direction of the camp. After that he heard no more Orc voices or rustling in the bush. He could only guess that Ishkur and his mates had been captured like the rest.

And he could only guess that all the Orcs that had been captured would be killed. He did not know why they simply had not already killed them and had done with it, if that was what they were going to do anyway, and Grask saw no other alternative.

So where did that leave him? Even if he were not found, he would be left on his own out here in the wilderness. He had no idea where he was, and was not even sure of the direction from which they had come. Oh, sure, he could survive out here for a while, but without a larger group he wouldn’t last long.

He might die out here.

He was afraid.

[Tevildo]

Before stretching out to rest in her bedroll, Azhar helped Athwen care for the injured and made sure that the supplies were packed on the wagon so they could get an early start. Despite her exhaustion, she had difficulty falling asleep. Ghostly images of battle and menacing orcs came crowding into her head. She could not imagine what Lindir would do to appease all the different opinions in camp and make sure that the prisoners would not become a threat. Even if the elf agreed to have the prisoners executed, the main column of soldiers would turn up on the doorstep of their camp, curious to see what had happened to the missing scouts and likely hungry for blood.

To make things worse, a steady drizzle had fallen through the night, leaving the ground littered with puddles while the residents of the camp tossed and turned in discomfort trying to get some sleep. Azhar was not surprised by the weather. The wet season in Mordor was short and intense. Once the storms began, it was not unusual for there to be a steady downpour punctuated by intermittant storms three weeks or more. The rain had made it difficult to pack up quickly and get out of the camp at sunrise. By the time the long caravan had actually left camp, it was already late in the morning. With most of the party on foot and many still suffering in the aftermath of the fighting, it had taken them nearly three hours to cover the seven miles between the two camps. The steady drizzle had gotten worse and was now a heavy sheet of rain.

Wet and bedraggled, Azhar trudged into the slavers' camp, immediately presented herself to Lindir, and hastily explained, "We're here. All of us. I don't know how, but Athwen's managed to get everyone safely across the plain without losing any of the injured. But I have to tell you....there's one thing." Azhar's voice trembled as she struggled to find the right words. "It's the orcs. There are a lot of upset people in camp. They can't understand why you let the orcs live. They say it can only mean trouble. Lindir, I agreed with you. I didn't think it was right to kill them when they were lying there drunk. But what are we going to do? What can we do?" She looked up at the elf with a pleading look in her eye hoping to find some answers.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Lindir looked Azhar squarely in the eye and chose his words with care, "I'd be lying if I told you that I had all the answers. I am not sure what we're going to do, but I do know this. I could not live with myself if I had run those wretches through in their sleep. Elessar would have done no differently. All of us, myself included, are ultimately under his rule."

The elf sighed and continued, "You know, Azhar, sometimes what seems like the easiest course is not always the wisest. We'll have to go forward one step at a time and slowly try to figure things out. We haven't come this far to end up with swords at each other's throats. Otherwise the sacrifices made on the battlefield will have been for naught, and none of us want that. Plus, there's something else. There are dangers on the plain we have yet to face....perils which may be far more deadly than a pack of drunken orcs. Last night Aiwendil returned with some grim news, and it is this that I will share with the others when we consider what to do with the orcs."

"Go now," he added. "Run and tell the rest of the camp to gather near the entry to the pit that we may begin our discussions."

Azhar ran off and did as she was told. Within the space of an hour, a large group had gathered near the pit to talk about the fate of the orcs and to hear the news that Aiwendil had brought.

******************

Aiwendil had spent most of the morning sleeping, trying to regain strength after his hard trek over the plain with little food or rest. Now, he stood up to face the crowd. He hated speaking before large assemblies, but Lindir had asked him to tell the others what he had overheard about the threat of the olog-hai. Although the worst of the storm had passed, the rain continued to fall. The quiet stream that flowed beside the prisoner's pit had risen so high that the water was nearly out of its banks.

When the istar gazed out at the throng, he saw a number of sullen faces. Folk seemed to be in ill humor. The old man did his best, trying to explain the threat awaiting the group on its journey north. He spoke of the great size and strength of Sauron's trolls and how these giant creatures could withstand the rays of the sun even in the middle of the day. A few of the onlookers seemed openly skeptical, since none of them had seen trolls of this type. However, when the old man said how the trolls mentioned the need for more troops, several of the ex-slaves exploded, demanding to know if these trolls could already have sent for an army of orcs to help them.

Aiwendil shook his head, "We also wondered about this. Lindir and I asked if there could be an alliance between orcs and trolls, but neither of us believe this has happened. I heard nothing about orcs during my hours in the camp....only that more olog-hai would be gathering soon. Remember that there is no love lost between the different groups who fought us in the War of the Ring. Sauron could force orcs and trolls to cooperate, but that is not how they normally act. They naturally hate each other. If there had been an army of orcs coming into camp, I would surely have heard something. Most likely these orcs were telling the truth, or at least we can say this one thing they told us is not a lie.....there is no army of orcs. For some reason, this small group has set out on its own. Perhaps they are making their way back to the plantations in Nurn after finishing some errand in the north. That seems like the most likely thing. As such, they pose little threat to us."

At this juncture, Lindir stepped forward and spoke in support of Aiwendil, urging the group to come to some agreement. "You see how important it is for us to deal with these orcs quickly and go on to prepare for this larger threat of the olog-hai. I have thought about this problem at length. I recommend that we blindfold these orcs so they cannot see where they are going and then take them out a ways south of here. We leave them, bereft of weapons and horses so they can not do any harm even if they should stumble upon us by accident. At the same time the main camp heads out and continues the trip north, saving our energy for the larger threat that awaits us in the foothills of the mountains. I see no other way. My party was sent out under the command of King Elessar, and I am sure he would not slay even these despicable creatures, since they have done us no direct harm......"

[Durelin]

Khamir

It seemed a miracle to Khamir that they arrived at the slaver camp in one piece, but it hardly felt like a triumph. There was too much fear and hatred looming over them all for any small victory to matter, and the rain which would typically be welcomed as respite from the heat and the dry did nothing to help their spirits.

At least both Adnan and Vrór were doing well for what they had endured. Khamir, with Adnan’s help, had kept the Dwarf from walking as much as possible, though that was not always an easy task. The way the shorter fellow went on about how hardy Dwarves were, the Southron man was surprised that he had yet to try and get in on all the planning that seemed to be going on, mostly led by Lindir and Aiwendil.

Apparently Beloan had even made way for the two, which Khamir had to admit he did not find that surprising. He was too soft sometimes, too...accepting of whatever was. I suppose that was the only reason he ever listened to my command, the one-armed man thought.

So maybe this was the purpose of the elf and the old man: to lead and rule these poor lost slaves who have no order to them otherwise. With their wisdom they of course knew what was best for these people of Mordor. But they had already proven they knew nothing about this land, as there were nine orcs alive in this very camp.

Finally, though, it seemed they were going to do something about it. Leaving Adnan with a now sleeping Vrór at the back of the crowd, Khamir went to stand along the edge of the throng nearer to the front. Lindir would undoubtedly grant them his wisdom on the matter once again, but Khamir hoped now that with all the surviving slaves here sense would prevail, and he was prepared to make sure it did.

Expecting to hear only more about naïve and soft-hearted ideals, when Aiwendil spoke of yet another terror, Khamir felt all those lovely ideas of hope, freedom, and unity destroyed. Trolls? No…olog-hai. First monsters, now demons… At least orcs were of a size with men, but those… So those that were left, broken and bloodied after the Easterlings were defeated, who had already watched the lifeless bodies of their companions burned, were to have their bones crushed to dust.

And with less than a heartbeat’s pause in between, Lindir moved on to talk about just another of Sauron’s creatures as if they had rights, as if they deserved to live and breathe the same air as any of the good Men who sat here, most of whom had suffered much at the hands of the same animals.

Khamir almost laughed. It was suddenly all so absurd. Free slaves; Free Peoples sparing orcs’ lives; an Elf, a Dwarf, a Hobbit, and some strange old man from who knew were in Mordor; little underlings of ‘Elessar’ playing sovereignty in the land of Sauron; Sauron destroyed, and all over the Wester lands they had rejoiced and were thriving, but here…

“King Elessar’s laws do not apply in this land, much less his wishes,” Khamir spat angrily, not caring if he cut anyone off in their own attempt to speak up. “How can you think so carelessly, so selfishly? Is your ‘honor’ more important than an innocent person’s life? Can you really, with pure and noble conscience – far purer than my own, it must be – simply put those creatures somewhere else, to hunt and kill someone else, so you can sleep at night? Few other than who deserve whatever comes to them at the hands of orcs have weapons or horses.”

In a moment’s pause, though, Khamir’s raging diminished to a bitter laugh as a thought came to him. “If you are so concerned about keeping your or my or everyone else’s hands clean, then we do not have to kill them…but we can at least make use of them.”

The man smiled slightly, fond of his idea. “If we do run into those olog-hai, then surely it would be better for us if the monsters were interested in orc meat rather than our own?”

[Folwren]

Athwen busied her hands immediately when they reached the camp. She found the most sheltered place that she could and used it to the best of her ability while organizing the wounded. They were all tired after the journey between the two camps and they all moved quietly to obey her when she directed anyone anywhere. Soon, they lay in bleary heaps, trying to sleep in spite of the rain.

Athwen passed through them one more time, checking each one to make sure she could do nothing further for them, and then she turned and walked back towards the gathering of people grouped around one of the fires.

She drew near to the edge of them in time to hear Khamir’s upraised voice. He sounded angry. . .too angry, considering the circumstances. Why would he want to argue now?

“King Elessar’s laws do not apply in this land, much less his wishes. How can you think so carelessly, so selfishly? Is your ‘honor’ more important than an innocent person’s life?"

Athwen gently began to push her way through the crowd, saying nothing as she squirmed like a child between people's elbows. Khamir went on with his lecture. "Can you really, with pure and noble conscience – far purer than my own, it must be – simply put those creatures somewhere else, to hunt and kill someone else, so you can sleep at night? Few other than who deserve whatever comes to them at the hands of orcs have weapons or horses.”

Was the man actually making fun of Lindir and Aiwendil? Athwen reached the front now and she could see the elf and wizard standing close together, looking at Khamir as he spoke to them. Her brows drew closer together in confusion. How could anyone mock them? What had they said? But the sarcasm in the words ‘pure’ and ‘noble’ and a couple others had struck her ears rather violently.

Yet then his tune seemed to change suddenly. “If you are so concerned about keeping your or my or everyone else’s hands clean, then we do not have to kill them…but we can at least make use of them.”

Athwen stiffened instinctively. She disliked it when people discussed getting ‘use’ out someone. Especially when a person like Khamir was the one speaking. She waited, just like everyone else, in silence, feeling certain she would disagree with his idea.

“If we do run into those olog-hai, then surely it would be better for us if the monsters were interested in orc meat rather than our own?”

Athwen’s impatience with such hatred burst forth in an aggravated but quiet “Oh!” Her blue eyes flashed and her hands balled up into small fists and she was preparing to say more, when Aiwendil took it from her, speaking sternly, and looking as none of them had ever seen him look before.

[Folwren]

“Oh!” This time the explosion of vexation was loud enough for most of them to hear. Athwen pushed her way forward to the very forefront of the crowd, her face red and her eyes flashing blue sparks. “You speak of justice!” she cried, motioning towards Khamir, “and you throw it in the face of our honor! You talk of rightful vengeance,” she fumed, looking at Beloan, “as though vengeance and revenge were all that mattered here! You - my very husband - talk about killing them simply because long ago some other orcs killed your family. And you! You, a woman,” turning savagely on Shae, “a girl - you speak like a hardened warrior - or murderer - yourself! Ridiculous? To consider sparing their lives? Why? Do they not breath the same air as we? Do they not drink the same water? Do they not bear children and bring them up, in their own time and way? Beasts? Even a wild beast has a right to live when it has done nothing wrong!

“Oh, you all make perfect sense. ‘Let’s kill these because sometime ago some others of their race hurt and killed us.’ Perfect reasoning!” Athwen threw her arms up in the air. “Morons! Brutes! You’re as bad as they are! I’m not quite so oblivious as you may think,” she went on, her voice shrill with emotion. She stared hard at a couple who wanted to interrupt her as she continued to speak, and they shut up and withdrew. “I’m not quite so as untouched and unharded as you imagine. I, too, once lost everything I ever held dear to me. Every single thing and every single person. And not to orcs, but to men. Do you suppose we should despise and kill all men then? According to what your saying - yes, that’s exactly what we should do.

“And you may hate me if you like, after this. I’ve said what I have to say, but I wasn’t about to keep it all shut in. Their blood won’t be on my head, do you understand me? I won’t be-” but her voice suddenly broke and her mouth clamped shut. Sudden tears bleared her eyes - tears of fury, loathing, and fear. She saw someone approaching her slowly and the next moment, Dorran took her gently by the hand and drew her away from before all those people. They stood on the fringe of the crowd, and she huddled close to his chest, protected by his gentle arms. Perhaps he thought she was going mad, perhaps he imagined it was exhaustion taking over. He’d be wrong if he thought such things.

“Dorran,” she sobbed quietly, “Dorran, it’ll be just as bad as what they claim the orcs did to them. Can’t you see that? They can’t be pure if they kill the orcs now - not without a fair trial, at least.”

[Durelin]

Khamir felt the unbridled hatred he had allowed to fester for years - a deep-rooted hatred not only of Orcs, but of the day he was born and the family he was born into, the life he was forced to lead in captivity and then as a killer and a thief, the people of the West who sat in their ivory towers and thought of him as scum like the rest of his people - he felt it rise in him, wanting to explode. He hated so much of what defined him, he was only glad it left no room for him to hate himself. It filled him up, it kept him going.

It was obvious that simple words were not going to get through to this old man who Khamir was, who these creatures were, and what the laws of Mordor were. The only sort of person who could be so concerned with hierarchies of morality was one that saw the world through eyes distorted by wealth and intellectualism: exactly the sort of condescending do-gooders Khamir had expected to come from Elessar.

If he had to endure this much longer, he would kill every one of those Orcs himself, with his bare hand, with his teeth…he would make sure they felt pain.

But before he could say more or act on his anger, Shae spoke up, and Khamir felt his eyes glue themselves to her, watching and listening to her strength. Seeing her own anger was soothing, and the man found himself smiling. She…she defended him, stood up for him. He met her eyes for a moment, and found it difficult to turn away. His focus was still on Shae even when Beloan began what would surely prove a speech.

The man had some charisma, that was sure. He put value in inspiration as a leader, something Khamir never really did. He was practical and perhaps reckless, and was accustomed to having natural purpose driving him that did not need to be justified, explained, or encouraged. He supposed Beloan was more the sort of person many of these former slaves needed.

But was he ever kissing up to those Westerners, as if they determined who may speak, who may think. And at the word ‘forgive’ and at the way his name was used, Khamir’s rage was fully renewed, and he felt like a cornered beast in a mad world, not knowing who his friends or his enemies were. The one armed man’s breaths were quick and deep, and his hand was itching to tear something apart.

And then the woman started…the brainless, spineless woman who thought she could speak to them that way, who could not stand the weight of killing even someone or something out to kill you.

They didn’t know when to stop. They would persist with their nonsense until he broke. They were provoking him.

Morons! Brutes! Their blood won’t be on my head…

Her voice was loud for one so weak. Khamir would have almost pitied her, had she not also turned her lofty, insulting tone specifically on Shae.

“You can show me as much disdain as you please in your self-righteousness,” he exploded at Athwen, “and you can call me all the names a child would, but you do not insult my…my people! Shae speaks like a hardened warrior because she is one, and an excellent one at that. You watch your own tongue, girl!”

Suddenly Khamir felt a hand grasp his arm not roughly but tightly, and he turned to see Adnan staring up at him. The one armed man froze in surprise, and in that moment the younger man spoke softly.

“And how does vengeance feel?”

~/*\~

“Enough!” Aiwendil shouted with even more power in his voice than when he had spoken to Khamir. “We will decide this as people and not as animals. It is left up to us all, no one can avoid the responsibility of this decision…and so I call for a vote.”

As the old man called first for those who wished to spare the Orcs’ lives and then for those who thought they should be killed, Khamir watched those around him with a troubled mind. Holding up his hand as part of the second group, he did not need to count to know the verdict. But he could not feel smug. No, this was not the sort of battle that had a winning side.

“Sense prevails,” he muttered to Adnan.

“Then it is death,” Lindir announced, for Aiwendil stood in silence.

[Folwren]

Athwen came over the rise in time to see the orc child preparing to lower herself into the pit. Azhar stood quite near - Athwen could have sworn they had touched hands briefly - staring downwards with wide eyes and open mouth.

“What’s the matter? What’s going on?” Athwen called out as she continued to hurry forward.

Azhar turned about. “Athwen!” she cried. “The water’s rising!”

“Water!” Athwen reached the opening of the pit and looked down in horror. She took stock of the situation instantly, even the broken rope. At least four children were in there...more, including the other creature. Could she save them? Not alone, she instantly realized.

“Azhar, run back as quick as you can and get help!”

The girl set off immediately. Athwen looked down into the pit again. The water was dark. She heard frantic splashing, but no more cries. “What can I do?” she asked herself viciously. She needed rope, but there was none near. If she were to leap down into there without rope, there would be no purpose. She could not save all of them alone. But she might be able to save some of them...if there was anything to hold onto down there, just to keep their heads above water.

Athwen did the only thing she thought she could do. After tearing off her boots and pulling off her extra shirt she lowered herself down into the pit below and dropped into the water.

The scene below was strange, dark, and chaotic. For a moment, Athwen clung to the rock edge, getting her bearings. And then she struck out towards the nearest child in distress. The little boy, as soon as he felt her hand on him, turned towards her and clung frantically to her. His arms went around her head and her neck and they both were submerged.

Athwen twisted in his arms, turned her head and pushed him free of her, and then she approached him again, from behind. This time, she was careful that he could not face her as she swam both of them to the edge.

“Grab hold,” she gasped in his ear. “Quiet down, you’re alright, take hold of the rock, you feel it?” His panic calmed as his fingers clung to the rough rock. “Stay here,” Athwen commanded. “Wait for help.” And she turned to find the next child.

[Nogrod]

Beloan listened closely to the discussion. There were many points with which he felt he should break in but he held his temper and listened. At some moment he was distracted for a while when Hadith’s and Johari’s discussion became louder. Looking at them he managed to caught a glimpse of Hadith’s eyes looking at him ashamed like a ten-year old’s… Oh, Hadith… Sometimes you feel like a good man with a good heart… and sometimes like a little boy lost in this world we live in… Maybe these are no contradictory statements… after looking at the world we live in… Beloan shrugged and turned his attention back to Dorran. A sudden melancholy had taken over him.

After Dorran had stopped a weird silence fell over the people gathered around the elf and the old man. It seemed to Beloan that everyone was pondering the different possibilities Dorran had opened to them. As no one spoke in a while Beloan took the few steps needed to break out from the ring surrounding the two and walked towards them. He nodded to them both and as they indicated their will of wishing to hear what he would have to say he turned around and faced the ex-slaves and the rest of the fellowship.

“Friends, my fellows! Knight Dorran here speaks wisely. We have no other way but to go forwards. And we can not stay here even if it feels now that through a fight that took it’s toll and made us all suffer things most of has ever met we have earned our peace… It sadly seems we haven’t earned it yet…There will be no peace here.” He looked around the crowd with compassion. He was as sad of the situation as anyone else but he felt it possibly a bit deeper than many around him because he already understood there was no hope for them if they just stayed and rested which clearly was what most of them wanted.

“I know this sounds harsh to you… it sounds harsh to me as well. I’d like to sit back and enjoy the things we have found from this camp of the slavers and just to forget everything else… But that would be with the cost of our peril!” Beloan’s voice was raised as he pronounced the last words.

“We need to go forwards… not today but possibly tomorrow depending on how well our wounded are to travel and how can we carry them… There are orcs around as we all know. If there were these ten so would they be here alone? There probably are more somewhere very near… And as there was this slaver-party there will the next one soon enough… We need to continue! Let’s show we have not struggled in vain this far! Or that those who have given their lives or gotten themselves wounded fighting for our common dream have not suffered for nothing if we fail their sacrifice!”

Beloan’s eyes were on fire now. He quickly glanced at Lindir who nodded to him politely. Searching at the crowd for Dorran he finally caught him nodding approvingly as well.

“So there are some Olog-hai in between us and our dream? I know many of you have heard stories about those monsters. Now just remember, stories are stories and reality is reality.” Suddenly he got an idea and turned himself towards Dorran.

“Now think about your image of a knight of Gondor! What a magnificient fighter that is in the stories…” He pointed at Dorran while looking at him apologetically under his brows wishing he would understand why he was doing this… he would explain this afterwards if it needed to be done.

“Now look at Dorran here! A king’s chosen Rider of Rohan! A great soldier he is indeed! But many of you saw him in battle as well as us “worthless ex-slaves”… Now do you say he was riding over the battlefield with a flying horse leaving all of us others and the enemy in shade? Was he the invulnerable all-defining key to victory? Was he the one who alone lead us to victory? No and no and no! He fought bravely… and possibly worth two of us… or even more…” He glanced at Dorran once more hoping he was not upset with what he was saying. “It’s just that he’s no creature from the lore that beats everyone whenever he wishes… and neither are the Ologs! They’re flesh and blood just like Dorran… or just like you and me!”

Beloan had to take a breath. He felt so bad now having spoken against the special honour of a rider of Rohan and against his own fears about the Olog being really insurmountable enemies to them. And anyway he thought he had clearly overdone it. He just hoped it was foor the good. These people needed encouragement in the face of the inevitable… and with their only chance. That much Beloan had understood from Dorran’s speech.

“A final word, if you may?” He glanced at Lindir and Aiwendil and as they didn’t seem to protest too much he continued. “But what comes to the orcs… After seeing their brutality… indeed the evil and sick malice of them for too many years, I remember that from my first experience on I knew I was different from them. I would never fall to their level… But this situation is a bit different…” With this he turned to face Lindir and Aiwendil straight on. “I think I understand what you speak of being just or following an order larger than this world – at least a bit of it. My mother told me stories about that kind of things when I was young and I kind of believe in her still. At least I wish I could believe in them in this world.”

The ashamed face of Hadith came to his mind and he frowned. “So I hope you forgive the feelings of my friend Khamir, the many of us – myself included – who have suffered under the most cruel and savage rule of these ruthless creatures… Many a rightful vengeange would take place if we’d make them our baits and if that would help us overcome the Olog-hai. But I’m hesitant with this scheme… Anyhow, we just can’t leave them alive or free, they’d backstab us with their friends lurking around the next night… So I say we kill them and leave in the morning.”

With that Beloan bowed to Lindir and Aiwendil and walked back into the group standing around them.

[Folwren]

Azhar had asked for Athwen’s help with the children and Athwen had gratefully agreed. Perhaps the girl knew the way she felt and something in her told her to give the woman a way out. She quietly slipped away from Dorran, ignoring the reluctance with which he let her go.

“Azhar,” Athwen said, her voice somewhat hoarse with the recent overflow of emotion, “go and get the children, they should not watch the execution. I need to check on the wounded.” Her voice trembled towards the end, but it did not break, nor did more tears come to her eyes. She turned away and went to her charges. She made her passes and when she was satisfied that they were as comfortable as possible, she went out again to meet Azhar.

The girl had with her five children, all younger than eight. Athwen summoned up a small smile to give them before asking, “Is this all of them?”

“Three more are sleeping over there,” Azhar pointed. “And Kwell didn’t want to come. He wants to watch the executions.” Her voice was bitter and Athwen sympathized with her feelings.

“Kwell is just a boy,” she said quietly.

“That doesn’t mean he’s not just as responsible as any of the men,” Azhar said sharply. Athwen blinked and made no reply.

“Come,” she said instead. “Let’s not speak of it.” She stooped and took two of the children’s hands and led them away around the hill, out of sight of where the orcs were being hauled up from the pit and led to the edge of camp. They circled the slight rise of the land and came behind the embankment, where a few nights ago Carl and Vrór had dug Kwell and Azhar out of the pit. The girl pointed towards the embankment.

“That’s where we got out,” she said, “that night we were rescued from the slavers.”

Athwen nodded. “Let’s go and let the children play on the slope there,” she said. “I will sit and watch.” They did as she instructed and before very long the children were occupying themselves with a game. Athwen sat and for a while she did watch the kids. But slowly her awareness dropped. Her eyes lowered and she sat in silent depression, waiting for some noise from the proceedings of the execution to reach her and dreading it all the while.

[Nogrod]

When Lindir had announced the verdict a bunch of self-chosen ex-slaves took themselves towards the pit to execute the decision. None of the fellowship took part but stood back watching with the majority. Hadith tried to make for the company of willing executioners but Beloan’s strong hand landed on his shoulder to stop him.

“You’re a good man Hadith... and young. You have your life ahead of you unlike many of us. Don’t blood your hands and conscience with this.” He looked at Hadith with stern gaze. Hadith was about to open his mouth but Beloan cut him short. “This is an order Hadith. You will stay back here!” With that he took after those making to the pit.

The crowd was following the executioners' silent but resolute walk with an uneasy feeling when the party came to a sudden halt some ten yards from the caging.

“Look down there, at the low end of the bars!” Khamir said and pointed with his finger.
“Ropes! Tied to the bars...”, the giant man Qat continued.
“So they’re free and planning for escape”, Shae concluded.

Beloan had just caught up with the group and turned quickly around. “The orcs are on the loose! We need more men here!”

Hadith didn’t hesitate. After all Beloan had kind of cancelled his own orders. A dozen of the men and a few women came forwards unsheating their weapons as they walked.

The skirmish was short. The orcs had no chances as only Ishkur, Gwerr, Colagar and Makdush had had time to climb up over to the brink. Unarmed they were no match for the now furious ex-slaves. The four were beaten badly. Colagar’s left arm was broken and Gwerr’s eyebrow was bleeding heavily after a blow from Qat’s staff. Makdush was being forced to his knees by four men who kept on kicking him to the head and sides untill Beloan managed to make them stop. His body was bruised and his face was swollen.

“Let’s have some dignity! Beating and kicking someone to death is orc bussiness. We’ll behead them somewhere away from the sight of the children!”

The rest of the orcs had been climbing up when they heard their leaders caught and getting beaten. Griwzan and Zuhut made it to help their friends and were soon overpowered by the furious men. The five orcs left dropped down to the bottom of the pit but came up when threathened with burning. They showed no resistance after they realised that six already had been caught and tied.

The silent party of the executioners walked the orcs some hundred yards away from the slavers camp away from the crowd – even if some of the crowd did follow them to see the execution more closely.

“Let’s get this over with!” Khamir said in his straightforward manner. The orcs were lined up and forced to their knees. Behind every orc there was a man ready with his blade to perform his duty on the mark.

Beloan’s eyes met Khamir’s. The two men looked at each other waiting for the other one to give the order. It’s been a long journey from our childhood Khamir... We always stood side by side, you and me... what has happened to you these last days?... what has happened to us? It’s yours to give Kahmir, do it! The two stood silently their eyes nailed to each other. The men held their blades on the orc throats steadily but many of them started looking around in confusion.

Suddenly there was a weak and childlike wail that came from the thicket. Grask ran forwards with his revealed blade and shouted from the bottom of his small lungs trying to look as furious a nine-year old orc-child could.

Everyone froze. Had the situation been different it would have been a cause of a lot of merriment and produced a roar of laughter among the men and the women wittnessing the scene. But somehow it seemed to have almost the opposite effect of disquieting them all. It was a child. An orc child but yet a child. And a brave child trying to save his elders, his father perhaps? Beloan felt disturbed with the humanity of the act the little orc was making. Hadith was even more shocked. I didn’t brave to try and help my mother as they killed her in front of my eyes... but this one runs to a certain death to try.

Qat hadn’t ever been a tender-hearted man and he had no children of his own. On top of it he was already a bit frustrated as someone had managed to take Gwerr on his blade while Qat thought Gwerr belonged to him. With no one at his hands he frowned at the silent crowd around him and walked towards the onrushing orc-child. “I’ll take the little brat then”, he muttered as he went.

“Don’t kill him!” Beloan and Hadith called in unison after Qat. They looked at each other confused about their simultaneous reaction.

Qat didn’t seem to listen but dealt Grask’s swordhand a mighty blow with his staff sending the blade flying yards away. Grask screamed and was stunned with pain. He fell forwards to the ground. Qat picked him from the neck and easily raised him off the ground with his strong arm. “To the end of the line with this little vermin it is then?” he yelled back to the crowd with a smile. But the mood had changed.

There was an uneasy silence that had caught both the men and the orcs. Grask was groaning with pain silently as he hung in the air. There was a tear in Ishkur's cheek as he watched things unfold in horror, even Gwerr felt uneasy looking at the little orc been hung by the giant man. Lindir and Aiwendil were just coming forwards when there was a second surprise.

Out from the thicket from the other side of the gentle slope Grask had come from emerged two female orcs waving their hands in the air.

“Save him... save them... save us!” they yelled as they came forwards. Many a hand reached for a weapon in the crowd but no one made a move while the female orcs walked towards the execution company.

As they reached the kneeling orcs and their executioners they fell on their knees as well facing the male orcs a few feet away from them. They hung their heads low and knelt there in silence. The fellowship and the other onlookers had crept nearer to witness what was to happen. Even Athwen had rushed to the place.

Slowly the older one named Urga raised her head and let her gaze wander around the stern and confused faces of the men holding the orcs under their blades. Finally she found Beloan's face and looked straight at his eyes addressing him.

“We’re on the run like you are... we’re alone in this cursed land and afraid like you are... we just wanted to get out from the plantations and to live in freedom, as I believe you did.”

The other orc, Ungolt, broke in here. “We are just a small bunch of renegades. We tried to escape with a larger group but the guards of the plantation found our plan and caught the rest... They are dead now, our friends.” She swallowed as if searching for the next wise thing to say and then continued. “We will give you all we have plundered from this slaver-camp if you let us go. We have meat, bread, ale... valuables... just pick what you wish or take it all... But if you kill the males you’re practically killing us too as we wouldn’t survive the wilderness the five of us... or with the kid.”

“In that case you’d do well to kill us right here yourselves and not leave us to die to the hazards of the wilderness.” Urga added.

“Please, we have done you no harm. And the males were just trying to rescue their mates.” Ungolt said quietly.

Qat dropped Grask to the ground and took a twohanded grip from his staff.

Grask ran to the females and hid himself behind them weeping silently and shaking with fear.

[Child of the 7th Age]

There was an omenous growling from Gwella's stomach as the young orc crouched behind a large rock not far from the entrance to the pit and debated what to do. In all the commotion and excitement, she had become separated from the others. Her first instinct was to turn and run as far from this spot as her powerful legs would carry her. There was something terrible happening on the outskirts of camp. The entire circle of men and women had moved from their original spot and now stood some hundred yards downstream. The horrible man creatures were shouting and shrieking and brandishing weapons. Gwella could hear moans and cries coming from the male orcs and uruks who were now completely surrounded by their attackers.

No one paid the slightest attention to a solitary female who was so good at hiding in the shadows. If Gwella had been a year or two older, she would have had enough sense to disappear into the night and never return to this awful place, ignoring the others to save her own skin. But she was young and hungry and, because of that, she hesitated. When the others had been out pillaging the night before, the men had shoved her aside from the best prizes. She had not even managed to get a decent meal in her belly. She had begged a scrap or two from the other females, but it was not enough to appease the terrible gnawing inside her stomach that was becoming worse with each passing hour.

Just as Gwella was about to give up her search for food, a small group of man creatures ambled down to the stream bed not far from where she hid. These particular specimens did not look half as bad as the others who were yelling and screaming on the outskirts of camp. None were carrying weapons. A band of small ones scurried ahead while two others followed behind, looking to be slightly larger. Perhaps, thought Gwella, these were the ones in charge. The one older woman went and sat by herself, staring stonily towards the north, but had later leapt up and ran off in the direction where the larger crowd was gathered. The other woman was still trying to keep track of the children, but doing a poor job.

Gwella was fascinated by the mischief of the little ones who seemed to enjoy more freedom and less discipline from their elders than any orc child she had known. The boys had found a rope near the pit entrance and had retied it to the grating for a makeshift swing. One by one, they climbed onto it and dangled resolutely over the mouth of the cave. Another girl quickly joined their game and, daring the others to follow her, let go of the rope and dropped down inside the actual pit. It was only a short drop from the end of the rope to the muddy floor so that it would not be difficult to crawl up to the top again.

Gwella, however, was even more encouraged by the actions of the young woman who carried a bag over her shoulder. The woman opened the satchel and set out several portions of meat and bread on top of another nearby rock. Then she stalked over to the pit entrance, stared down at the children, and said they should shinny up the rope immediately and have something to eat. Gwella's eyes widened with delight as she considered the small feast spread before her. It was more food than she had seen all night. Her stomach growled appreciatively. The woman's back was turned. Even if the whole party came back, Gwella reasoned that she could easily fend them off. She was half uruk, half orc, and considerably heavier and stronger than any of the children or even the woman. On an impulse, she sprang up and hurried over to the boulder where the bread and meat had been set out, greedily snatching up the food with one hand and using the other to stuff about half of it inside her mouth.....

[Undómë]

Zagra peeked out from behind her sister’s shoulder. Her dark eyes went wide as the little drama unfolded. In a voice ragged with fear she whispered in Mazhg’s ear. ‘Bad men! Bad men! Cut their throats!’ she pointed a trembling finger at the kneeling line of Orcs, the last of their lives balanced lightly now against the men’s blades. ‘Kill them! Find us - kill us, too!!’ Zagra’s eyes rolled wildly as she clung tightly to her sister’s arm.

‘Quiet, little beetle!’ Mazhg drew her sister in close cradling her head against her shoulder, Zagra’s eyes shielded from the soon to be bloody scene. She pulled her down into a crouch, their small forms shielded by the leafy tangle of undergrowth at the base of the rocky outcropping. Sha! she spat out, contempt for Orc males infusing her features. ‘Stupid, drunken globs!’ she muttered. Mazhg’s eyes narrowed as she considered the possibilities.

Her first urge was to sneak quietly away with Zagra as quickly as they could. Light out on their own. Her head nodded at this answer. ‘Get away from these males,’ she reasoned to herself. ‘Man and Orc. Always trouble.’ She looked at Zagra, wondering how long the two of them would last on their own. Mazhg’s hand tightened on the haft of the sharp spade, her weapon a comforting feel in her small fist. Aside from that was just the little knife tucked in the waistband of her breeches. With a sigh she turned her mind away from thoughts of flight. Much as she disliked it, she and her sister would be safer traveling with a group.

But what could she do? Rush at the men with her spade? Foolish! Who would care for Zagra if . . . no, when she was killed. A distraction, maybe. And one leaving her and her sister enough time to run. That might work. If the dung-brained males would take advantage of it and run themselves.

‘Zagra!’ she hissed, giving her sister a little shake to focus her attention away from the fear. ‘See those biggish rocks there . . . on the ground by the bigger rock.’ She tipped her head, drawing Zagra’s gaze toward the stones. ‘Pick up a bunch.’ Mazhg gathered up the front of her tunic, indicating Zagra should do the same – use it like a little basket for the rocks. ‘Remember how we used to keep the crows from the fields? Remember how good your arm was. You always beat me . . . remember?’ Zagra’s mouth curved up in a smile, her simple thoughts relishing that recalled game. ‘We’ll throw them toward the men. Make ‘em drop their blades away from the males. Throw ‘em fast, and hard. Hurt the men just enough to make them squawk. Maybe that Ishkur isn’t so stupid and can figure out he needs to run. And then we run, too, Zagra . . . fast, fast!’

The two sisters crept as close as they could to the execution site, keeping a fair distance still for their own escape. With a nod to Zagra, Mazhg stood up, indicating her sister should do so, too. Her hands occupied, Mazhg’s spade lay on the ground behind her. Her arm drew back, making ready to let the first rock fly.

Crack . . . A twig snapped somewhere close behind them. A strong hand clasped her tunic tight about her neck. Wriggling wildly, she could see her sister pinned in a similar manner. Mazhg tried to reach down toward her spade, but the man’s boot was planted firmly on it. Eyes blazing, she glared at their captor, half wondering why he hadn’t simply killed them. For her part, Zagra was kicking furiously at the man’s nearer leg, a few hearty blows finding their target.

‘Nice plan! But I don’t think it would work. You’d all be dead at their hands, I think.’ He hauled them down, his grip still firm on them. ‘Now listen . . .’

[Tevildo]

Azhar stared down into the pit and waited until the one of the boys walked over to the rope and began to climb up. She could see his feet and legs were wet. Azhar sighed but couldn't bring herself to scold the first girl who had encouraged them to drop down into the water. The children had been so excited in those early days when they'd left the plantation, but since then had found little time to play. Azhar stepped away from the mouth of the cave and started back to the rock where she had set out the food. But she got no further than two steps. Immediately, she stopped, her mouth and eyes wide open in shock as she took in the young orc who stood stuffing food into his mouth. Fighting to keep her panic down, she glanced back towards the pit and in a stern voice ordered the children to stay exactly where they were.

Azhar's immediate thought was to look for a weapon to defend herself. Before she could actually do that, the young thief stuffed another handful of bread and meat into his mouth and began to dart off. With a shock Azhar realized the boy was no older than herself. She had seen the look in his eye many times before.....a child so hungry that he or she would do anything to swipe or beg a little food. Instantly she felt ashamed. The orc gave no sign that he was going to attack. She was no better than the ones down the river who had voted to execute the intruders even though they had done them no harm. "It's alright, boy" she called out. "I have more in my bag. Plenty more. There's enough for us all." I must be crazy, Azhar thought. If only Athwen was here, she'd know exactly what to do.

Gwella stared at the young woman who was approaching, not sure whether she should leave or stay. The girl did not look like much of a threat, and she was still very hungry. She stood unmoving on the plain. Not more than ten feet separated the two figures. Finally, the orc snapped back, "I'm no boy! I'm a girl. My name is Gwella. Throw that stuff over here if you mean it." Gwella imperiously jerked her thumb towards the canvas bag.

Azhar stood in absolute shock. A girl? She never would have guessed it from her looks. But what shocked her more was that this creature had a name. Somehow she had never imagined orcs having real names. Azhar wondered who had given her a name. Then she took three steps over to the pouch and drew out a small loaf of bread and tossed it towards Gwella. The orc did not step forward but neither did she run away. Gwella bent down, snatched the loaf, and began to gnaw at the end, still glaring suspiciously at the other woman.

Azhar was wondering what she should do next when something happened that put the orc out of her mind. A sharp childish voice filled with panic sounded from the bottom of the pit: "Help! Help! The rock moved. Ina's trapped. There's water....lots of water..." A tangle of childish voices and cries was followed by a deadly silence. Meanwhile, up the river some hundred feet, the meeting continued, with no one even aware of what was happening at the entrance to the cave.