Chapter One

West and a Little North

"C'mon, ye lazy clods!"

Crrack!

The whip's end flicked close to Ghashae's ear. He didn't wince, but obeyed the command, standing up. He had only been sitting for a few minutes. After all, they had just stopped for a quick breather before they took off in the direction of Isengard.

Ghashae fell in with the others, picking a pocket on the edge of the group, where he could easily keep pace with them. He gave a quick scan of the area as they moved along, noting that the flatlands were slowly evolving into rocky hills. Good. Soon they would pass the forest and be clear on their way to Isengard.

Kúrgzlag, the commander of the Uruk-hai band, was out in front, still with his whip wound about his thick waist. He always had it ready in case it was ever needed. While his followers obeyed him without question, he enjoyed laying about them all. His cruel nature and high ranking entitled him to a bit of sadistic fun.

Ghashae fell in beside his fellow Uruk, a heavyset Orc by the name of Gaborg. The two had become slightly acquainted, but were not friends. Uruk-hai don't have any friends, even among their own kind. But they do have comrades in arms.

"Any clue on when we reach Isengard?"

Gaborg shook his huge, misshapen head, speaking in a breathless voice, "No…but I reckon it'd be another day or so."

Ghashae nodded, feeling slightly relieved. It would be better once they arrived in Isengard. No more running, and no more threat of the horsemen. They hadn't run across many in the small village they had raided, but it was always a danger. But they were almost out of the horse country for good, and Ghashae would be glad to see the end of it.

Ghashae heard a whip crack behind them, followed by a shrill yelp. He smiled cruelly. Probably Boldûr belaboring one of the prisoners. Pity he couldn't watch. He liked to see the captives tormented. Sometimes he even participated.

Gaborg looked over his shoulder, laughing maliciously, "Ha, Boldûr givin' those captives what for? I allus liked 'im, ye know…

Ghashae smirked, "Aye, but it don't take much t' make a female mortal squeal. Just lookin' at one'll make 'em break down in tears. It's good sport."

"I thought they were s'posed t' be the bravest, strongest horse girls. Isn't that what Saruman wanted?"

"Kúrgzlag found what 'e could. All these horse people are strong fighters…though they don't stand a chance against us," Ghashae said, still keeping up the good pace. He was able to speak normally whilst running. Uruk-hai are hardy warriors, and they rarely feel fatigued.

Gaborg grinned cruelly, "Ye're right…silly o' me to ask a question like that. Who wouldn't be afraid of us, anyway?" His harsh voice was filled with almost a haughty air of superiority. They were one of the strongest races in Middle-Earth, even if they weren't very numerous. But they had incredible durability and fought with the strength of ten members from the race of Men.

That was why it was so easy to take ten Rohan maidens captive.

Behind in the group, near the end but not quite, was a clump of quite different creatures. If you had been watching the Uruk-hai band from the mounds above, you would have seen what you would expect from Uruks; broad backs, misshapen heads with shaggy black hair that fell in disarray over broad, armored shoulders. But near the rear you would have seen a contrast.

You would have seen an assortment of blonde and light, honey brown. Long braids and fair locks, almost hidden by the taller heads of the Uruks. And these heads of hair belonged to fairer faces.

Ten young maidens from Rohan were lashed together at the neck, herded close together and connected by short lengths of rope. The bonds were cruelly tight and movement was hard, but they had to keep up the pace set by the Uruks. It took a good amount of communication between them, keeping their movements even so as not to cause one of the maidens to fall and be dragged.

They spoke, when they had the breath, in their own tongue, a language unknown to the Uruks. Their tones were filled with despair, and they all looked as though they had survived some great tragedy, which was true. Their village, a small settlement near the Gap of Rohan, had been attacked by the band of Uruks. All the fighting men were away, called by Éomer, Third Marshall of the Mark. Who could defend them when their fighters were away?

True, the women of Rohan are hardy and capable of combat, but the Uruk-hai were enough to slaughter a band of horsemen. The women and children stood no chance.

The ten young maids were each bearing signs of the horror they had lived through. Each was covered with grime and blood, blackened by smoke from destructive fires. And now…exhausted, hungry and frightened, they were forced to run, tethered together, like a herd of horses.

Boldûr was keeping them moving, licking their heels every now and then with his bull whip, reveling in the torture he was inflicting on them.

The ten maidens bunched tightly together, all clasping one another's arms and trying to make it easier on themselves to run together. One of the girls, probably nineteen years of age, was the tallest of them all, with long hair the color of pale sunlight, her skin white and fair, but her eyes shock blue like ice, fringed with gray. She seemed to be the strongest of the group, as well as the oldest. She was near the front of the tightly packed group with two younger, smaller girls either side of her. She stood between them, tall and straight, like a young tree between two saplings. She had either arm around the two younger girls' waists, supporting them against her and lending them the strength of her arm as they ran. Her face was set in a grim expression, though her fatigue showed through her mask of stoicism. Scars crisscrossed her cheeks, and blood dripped unceasingly down her breast from a hideous gash across her shoulders.

Boldûr liked to aim most of his blows at this particular maiden. She seldom cried out, but often took most of the blows that were aimed at her fellow captives, shielding the younger maidens' bodies with her own.

No halt was called for a good six hours. Some of the Uruk-hai were grumbling, wanting to take a short halt. The Rohan captives were all flagging, their faces ashen and strained with pain. Several of the girls had been wounded in their attempts to flee or fight, and the strain put on them from running was taking its toll.

Finally, one of the Rohan girls fell heavily, her legs giving out underneath her. She brought the two nearest girls down as well, which brought the whole group of them crashing down, causing turmoil and confusion. Several Uruk-hai who were not quick enough stumbled over them, crashing on top and causing damage to the captives and one another.

Kúrgzlag made his way back to the pile of writhing bodies, snarling out, "Get off those prisoners, maggots! The master wants 'em alive an' whole, not crushed! Get yer sorry bulks off!"

The fallen Uruk-hai managed to remove themselves from the tangle of armored limbs, and the Rohan maidens were left on the ground. None of them attempted to rise, all too exhausted and welcoming a chance to get a rest, no matter how uncomfortable.

Kúrgzlag sneered down at the captives, scorn in his voice as he snarled down at them, "You horse people are a weak race. Can't run without the help of your precious animals?"

The tall maiden, the one in the front, had managed to roll over onto her back, unable to sit up because of her neck rope. But she propped herself up onto her elbows and looked up at Kúrgzlag, her eyes narrowed. Kúrgzlag met her gaze steadily, undaunted by her cold eyes. But she didn't look away either, unafraid of him.

"Get up, snaga," Kúrgzlag growled, prodding the girl's blood-soaked breast with his whip handle, injecting a cruel use of his hideous language into his command. He didn't know the speech of the horse people, so he spoke in the Common Tongue.

The girl glared back up at him, speaking back to him in the Common Tongue, "If I could move freely, it would be easier to run. At least give us longer ropes. We can't manage with leads this short!"

Kúrgzlag laughed savagely, grabbing her by the front of her doublet and hauling her up. Her head was angled back sharply, and the girl closely bound to her had to scramble up quickly, pulling those closer to her up as well. Soon the entire company was on their feet again, but the one who had collapsed was leaning against one of the older girls, breathing heavily, her eyes shut as blood dripped down the side of her temple.

Kúrgzlag cracked his whip again, "Right, now move, all of ye! We don't stop until nightfall!"

The company jolted off again. When the wounded girl refused to move, she was cut loose from the others and slung across the shoulders of one of the Uruks, carried like a limp sack. The rest were then free to move at the same pace as the Uruk-hai.

All the while, the tall maid in the front continued to support the two younger girls, her limbs staying strong, though she felt her entire body on fire from fatigue. Her eyesight was leaving her from loss of blood, and her sweat mingled with the grime in her open wound, causing it to sting and smart. But she didn't speak, but continued running. Always running.

Nightfall at last.

The Uruk-hai stopped in the shelter of a rocky hill, and the ten captives all flung themselves gratefully onto the ground. Three of them had been cut loose and carried due to blood loss. Now they were laid out beside the others and tied securely once again.

Ghashae sat nearby, watching the captives. Boldûr sat beside him. He gestured to the one who had fallen earlier in the day, "That'un…think it'll live?"

Ghashae shrugged, "Who knows? An' who cares?"

Kúrgzlag's growl was heard behind them, "The Master cares, that's who." He was carrying a skin of a foul liquor the Uruks drank. He tossed it to Boldûr, "Give that to th' wounded ones."

Boldûr obeyed, going to the girls that were lying unmoving on the ground. He took the youngest one, forcing her mouth open and pouring the rank liquid down her throat. She gagged, retching up the odious drink, but Boldûr continued to force it down until she swallowed it.

The tall girl tried to struggle up, crying out, "Leave her alone! Don't-"

She was seized in a vice like grip. Ghashae slapped her hard across the cheek, and she sucked in her breath as his mailed fist drew blood. The Uruk snarled down at her, "Leave th' wounded to us, horse girl. We need you all alive. If we didn't, we would've killed ye long since."

The girl glared up at him balefully, "I don't doubt it, maggot."

Ghashae laughed mirthlessly, thrusting the girl back.

Kúrgzlag now called out to the whole company, "Now eat sparingly from yer vittles an' get a few hours sleep. We'll post sentries. Oi, Brídurz, get yerself over here…you too, Yamag."

The group of captives huddled together, seeking comfort in the closeness of their fellow prisoners. Boldûr gave them each a strip of some sort of meat. The captives began tearing at the food, hungrily wolfing it down without any regard to the fact that it was raw and surely belonged to something vile.

When they had eaten the meager fare, the captives all curled up in as comfortable a position as their chains would allow and slept, some going to sleep immediately, some lingering in a type of half-sleep, and some unable to relax, even in their state of absolute exhaustion. The tall, pale-haired girl was one of the number to stay alert, her eyes closed only to slits and her palms pressed flat to the ground, as if she was ready to spring upwards at any moment. But at last, even she was overcome by her weariness, and slipped into the realms of fevered dreams, plagued by the shadow of reality.

When the moon was halfway through her journey across the heavens, the sentries spotted a figure running towards them. Yamag was armed with a short Uruk bow, and pulled back an arrow. But Brídurz put out his hand to stop him, "Don't shoot! It's one of our own! Can't ye smell it?"

Yamag lowered his bow, and the two sentries waited for the runner to reach them. When he did, the Uruk threw himself down at their feet, gasping for breath.

Brídurz knelt next to the fallen Uruk, his hand coming in contact with blood. He lifted the runner's head roughly, slapping him into consciousness, "Oi…what were ye doin', so far behind?"

But when the Uruk looked up at him fully, he recognized him.

"Lugdush?"

The Uruk nodded weakly, "Aye, it's me…"

Yamag knelt down now, his voice filled with surprise, "But ye were sent out with Uglúk to catch the Halflings, weren't ye?"

"The horse people…ambush…" Lugdush could only gasp out a few words at a time.

Brídurz spat scornfully, "A few horsemen got th' better of ye? Uglúk was allus a fool."

Lugdush tried to push himself up, but fell back, growling in protest, "It was the lads from Lugbúrz! They caused trouble!"

"Ah, th' little mountain maggots?" Brídurz said in mock pity, "An' they're such a tough band compared to us. Fool. If Uglúk had any brains, he'd 'ave killed 'em all then an' there."

"Y'know, we tried that," Lugdush growled, but his last words were cut off sharply by a coughing fit. Yamag was the sensible one who gave him a swig from his flask.

The sound of Lugdush's raised voice had attracted attention, and some of the Uruk-hai began gathering around, until Kúrgzlag broke it up. He turned to Lugdush, raising an eyebrow, "Ye're th' last o' Uglúk's band? Whatever possessed ye to run?"

Lugdush lowered his head suddenly, heat filling his face. Brídurz snorted in derision, "Aha! A coward! Th' White Hand's got a flaw in th' system!"

Harsh laughter greeted this statement. Lugdush snarled, forgetting the pain from his wounds. Kúrgzlag looked down at the blood staining his side and leg, "Go see Boldûr…'e'll fix ye up. We'll take ye back to Isengard with us, an' ye can make yer report." He turned, throwing a sadistic remark over his shoulder, "We'll see how Saruman handles yer news…an' th' fact that ye ran from a fight."

Lugdush muttered some foul oaths in his own language behind Kúrgzlag's back, pulling himself to his feet and going to find Boldûr, who managed to fix him up with the foul poultice an Uruk uses for any ailment. However, it worked, and Lugdush felt his strength returning with the regular sting of the substance.

Boldûr pointed roughly toward the center of the crowd, "Go an' sleep somewhere over there…an' this time, if there's a raid, stay an' fight." He laughed harshly, pleased with his joke.

Lugdush growled, heading toward the center of the group, still limping slightly. He was exhausted from all the running he had done, and no one had offered him any food. He raided a sleeping Uruk's pack of vittles and wolfed down several strips of raw meat. He then found a space big enough for him to lie down in and gingerly lowered himself to the ground.

Lugdush let out an expansive yawn, turning onto his side. He found himself facing a strange sight. Not three inches from his face was another face, which would have been unrecognizable due to the mud and blood had it not been for the mane of wild blonde hair.

Supporting himself on his shoulder, Lugdush observed this muddied object. He could tell at a glance that it was of the race of Men…but such a thin, bedraggled specimen! Then he realized that it was female, and judging by the hair and the fact that they were just over the border from Rohan, it was a Rohirrim female. He noted the rope tied snugly around the female's neck, and craned his neck upwards. Ten such females lay roped together, all asleep, or unconscious. Some twitched and whimpered feebly, but some simply lay like stones, as if dead. Maybe they were dead…who knew.

Lugdush rolled over onto his side, smirking quietly. More captives of a weaker race. This would be fun.