Chapter Two

Who Watches the Watcher?

Mid morning, Early December S.R. 1423

Though haunted by dreams of her brief journey into Mordor, Garlakh was not oblivious to the world around her. She was being stalked. Two nights ago she saw eyes and by the light of dawn this morning, the fresh tracks of one alpha warg, to judge by its size. Oddly enough it seemed to be only one alpha with no accompanying pack. The orc sighed as she dumped yet another sack of ore into her bin. She had faced wargs before, and it was never an easy fight. Hopefully, it would not come to that.

She changed into her mail again, even though she knew she'd not be going out until that night. Long years' experience taught that an unarmed and unarmored orc was soon a dead one. The only reason she did not wear her mail in the swamp was because she needed all her carrying capacity to bring out the ore.

Garlakh was careful to keep focused upon her task. Lately, any time her mind wandered thoughts of her recent trip into Mordor intruded and set her mood swinging between fear an inexplicable satisfaction, akin to that felt when working at the forge. Or perhaps, more similar to the feeling of rising from the ashes in her tribe's den far to the north. In dreams, she always yielded to her old master; often, she woke with the fear that she might again. As had always been true, her memories were clearest when at the forge. So as much for comfort as for need, to the forge she returned. She spent blissful hours working an ingot that would, when formed fully, be refined iron as good as any from her long missed mountain home, then took a nap in preparation for another ore run. Again her dreams were troubled, as the voice of her erstwhile master vied with images of eyes and tracks.

A similar scene repeated itself the next day as Garlakh returned from another trip with the knowledge that it was not only an alpha warg stalking her, but one with a rider. That, she knew, would make a fight more difficult if it came to one. She was in no mood to borrow trouble, though, and set to work again on the ingot, then on a bowstring, unaware at first that eyes watched her from the far side of a boulder-blocked passage.

In their explorations over the last few days, Warg and Nik had picked up several bits of knowledge. The lone orc appeared to be just that, alone, and had made no effort to meet with any other of her kind, nor with anyone of any other kind. They also found what ought to have been another entrance to her den. But one that was blocked. Whether by accident or design, they had not yet determined. Warg didn't like to approach the den due to the near constant use of fire and more than that, the unknown motives of the orc, but Nik decided they wouldn't get any more knowledge unless at least one of them did.

Leaving Warg napping on the narrow ledge, he crept down the tunnel and dropped into a crouch by a small crack between the wall of the tunnel and the large boulder that looked to have been placed there to block off the passage. The ceiling looked stable enough that it did not seem to be a piece that had fallen. He nudged the boulder once, then again a little harder. It didn't so much as wiggle, so he knew there would be no entrance for him this way. He put his eye to the crack.

Something like a shock ran through Nik. He blinked, looked again, realized he really did see what he thought he saw, then watched avidly. The first thing he noticed was that it isn't a 'he' at all. It was clearly a she. The females of Isengard had always been used for breeding. Sharku, as the wizard Saruman had been called, would never have thought to use a female for smithing. Nik was spellbound as he watched her collect a few brown rocks from the bin, melt them down and add them into what looked to be a rounded ingot, arms flexing rhythmically as sparks flew from the metal in response to each hammer blow. Clearly nothing had gone wrong in this one's breeding; she looked like she could do that all day and night and it was at least as hard as anything Nik had ever done, even when building the house with Teach and the rest of his friends from the Troll. He could just see her eyes if she turned a certain way, more intelligent and far calmer than he'd ever seen on an orc of any kind. Though she was dressed in battered mail with an old bow and several other weapons close at hand, she didn't have a menacing air. She genuinely smiled as she worked, what Nik had come to recognize since the war's end as a contented smile without malice. Nik had never seen that until he met Teach.

He continued to contemplate the stranger quietly. She was certainly pure orc, with no features to indicate any human cross-breeding. There were signs to indicate whether an orc had been bred and it was just as clear to Nik this one never had. That was odd. It seemed plain she'd have added something to someone's line if they'd bred her, but she couldn't have been constantly used both for breeding stock and forging. Still it was a bit surprising they never assigned her to take a year or two off at some point and see if they could have gotten some whelps out of her. And none of this answers who she is or why she's here, Nik reminded himself.

Suddenly the cave fell silent save the faint ripple of a stream as she left the metal to cool. She left Nik's line of sight for a moment, allowing a better view of at least a portion of the cave's interior, which seemed to be a simple but complete work area for metal, wood and leather.

The stranger returned with several lengths of animal sinew and a pot of water as the click of claws on rock and the brush of a wet nose announced Warg's approach from behind Nik. The orc took out her old bow and looked it over, seeming to decide it had had all the use it was good for and tossing it into the embers of the forge fire before reaching for a piece of wood she'd already shaped, inspecting it with a satisfied nod and laying it aside.

Warg, not in a position to look through the crack, whispered impatiently, "What do you see?"

"You're right," Nik answered. "One orc, alone, a smith of some kind. Female. That stuff she's gathering in the marsh is some kind of ore. I watched her work on an ingot. She did it differently than in Isengard."

"Anyone visit her while I was asleep? I don't remember any strange scents, but I was far gone for a bit."

"No one. She seems completely alone."

"Passed by another entrance and saw only one sleeping pallet. Wonder if Gubbitch knows her."

"Don't know. He didn't mention her when we were hauling stones last week."

"As long as she continues to not threaten the pack I'll be happy, but she'll have to meet Gubbitch and the Ranger boys sooner rather than later."

"Mm-hm. Rangers won't like knowing there's an orc smith set up out here and not accounted for. Depending on what she knows how to make, if she were to band with the wrong lads, they could be trouble for Teach, travelers or the Troll. Look at her."

Nik moved aside as quietly as he could so Warg could look closely at the busy orc through the crack. "The lads in Isengard during the war could only wish they'd had that quality of armor. Even as beat-up as it is, I figure it's lasted her for years and was made with more care than our smiths ever put into anything. I wonder what man she killed for it."

Warg looked and gave an indifferent canine shrug. "Second skins aren't my thing. I'm glad I don't wear one. I know that would be hard to bite through, and that's all I know about them."

"The only orcs I ever saw wearing armor like that got it off dead riders, or said they did anyway and always had to defend that boast with their lives."

There wasn't much to say to that and the subject changed to lunch as the orc continued working on her bow. She finished and moved out of sight, this time not returning. The last thing Nik and Warg saw her do was pick up a bar of unscented soap. They left in search of a good meal, agreeing they both wanted more answers before reporting back.

Garlakh, having listened silently as she worked, decided that if they were willing to let her live in relative peace as long as she caused no harm, she would not have to kill them. She was puzzled and troubled, though. Who was Gubbitch, what were rangers and what did the two have to do with one another? Were the rangers the tarks she avoided? Gubbitch sounded like an orcish enough name, but it seemed unlikely he was a ranger himself, if that were the case. She struggled with something almost like the panic she remembered from just after the downfall of her former master as she heard them talking about her having to report to this Gubbitch. The idea of having another master was frightening to her, especially since her brief sojourn in Mordor. Nonetheless she considered how to let them know she intended no harm as she gathered yet another load of ore that night, finally deciding that perhaps food would do the trick.

A couple of boars obliged her by trying to make her their own dinner, and as she struggled back to the cave with both ore and carcasses, she studied the sky by the light of another oncoming dawn, though it was dim behind piling clouds over the mountains to the east. She sighed, her breath misting in front of her face. It was going to be bitter cold in a few nights. She knew she'd have to finish up that blanket. What if they were still stalking her, though? By the look of the sky it was going to be cold enough not to be fit for tark, orc or beast. She decided she had enough heat from the forge and fire-pit that she could probably survive with her old cloak for a while longer yet. If they were still watching her, she would leave them the blanket. Still haunted by her dreams and fears, she dared not approach them even now, though the tracks in the snow led around the hill to what had once been the secondary entrance to her den. If they were smart enough to sleep there, so much the better for them.

"We slipped up somehow," Warg proclaimed as she dragged the carcass away a short distance with Nik at her side. "She hasn't done anything to the meat, though. Smells all right, so which parts do you want?"

They split the carcass and prepared it each according to their own liking. It was big enough for several meals worth and they noticed that the strange orc roasted some and smoked some for later in the winter when game would be scarcer. The meat was a guilty pleasure for Nik. He never got to eat meat with Teach, who dined on the meat of no animal except for the occasional indulgence of fish.

They continued to track her as she worked on stockpiling her ore and meat, learning that she could make both weapons and armor, including a length of what appeared to be mail like she wore when not in the swamp. She still made no attempt to meet anyone else – not even her stalkers, though she left them some kind of food every day and, to Nik's further shock, a blanket on a night that turned out to be especially bitter. It was made of a bearskin with the black fur still on, so Teach would likely not want it in the house. Nik first thought to trade it to Sevilodorf or Gubbitch, but it occurred to him that though she'd been here for months, the stranger's belongings were ragged enough that this was likely meant for her own bed. He decided he would return it when they left, though it didn't stop him and Warg from curling up beneath it and being very grateful for the loan of it. Warg was even willing to tolerate the scent of the forge for the residual heat that came through the crack.

With everything done but actually talking to the orc, Warg and Nik decided to head back home. The Rangers would be expecting a report, and Teach would be more than ready for a long uninterrupted sleep. The orc was clearly settling in, and they were in serious want of some hobbit cooking. The talking to her was going to be the hard part, but they would try it tonight while she was out. They had both caught the signs of troubled dreams when they lingered while the orc napped.