Upon reading back a few of the chapters for relevant plot points for the story, I've noticed I've started calling Taelan's warg Greyflood, when she was originally Silverflood. I hadn't noticed this, and am now not sure what to call her, but I think I'll go back to 'Silverflood' as it sounds more feminine, however, if someone feels particularly strongly about it, feel free to let me know. Therefore, from this chapter onwards, Taelan's warg is called Silverflood, please disregard any reference to 'Greyflood' in previous chapters.
Liberation
Chapter 11
By FractiousDay
"What have you done!?" yelled an angry Nine, falling into a crouching stance, hand on a knife hilt at his belt, the wargs on either side of their group continued to streak past, the morning mist shredded as they ran through it, the vapours dissipating into the sky.
Behind him the children had gathered together, the goblin, Snaga looking ready to bolt at the first opportunity, the two smaller children clinging together, the taller boy standing in a ready stance, head held high, only his wide eyes betraying his fear.
"I've cried havoc and let slip the dogs of war." Replied an arrogant Taelan, perched on his grey-coated warg. "Now mount up, and let's get out of here!" with that explanation Silverflood bounded away, baying and howling like the rest of the wargs.
With a muffled oath of 'By the Light!' Nine looked frantically round for his own mount, just as he started to despair, the familiar brown animal raced up, barking at him, muzzle red with blood, a hungry look in his eye. "Call more!" Nine shouted to it, watching it bark to a few other wargs, momentarily noting his own warg's intelligence in comparison with the others.
He quickly loaded up his charges onto different animals, and jumped aboard his own, then ran off, there was a slight pile up at the gate, where some of the wargs had been stopped (briefly) by the guards, but after a crowded run through the tunnel they emerged out into the dawn, making their way rapidly down the road, the packs spreading out across the land, the faster wargs scouting ahead but never going too far. They crested a hill and in the now full light of dawn Nine saw a veritable tide of fur covering the valley, seeming to flow like water along the paths of least resistance. Nine saw a figure on a large black warg further down in the valley, and urged Charlie forward with his heels, glancing behind him to make sure the others were still mounted.
O oOo O
Taelan swung himself up onto a branch, his thin muscles burning with the effort, the bark was rough under his fingers and slightly slippery with moisture left over from the dew that had accumulated overnight. Moss grew up the trunk which made climbing up more difficult, and Taelan's shoes slipped as he scrabbled, trying to get enough leverage to swing himself fully up onto the branch. He heard a sigh from above him, and a hand reached down, easily lifting him till he was sitting, not too comfortably, in the wedge between the tree and the branch.
"Are you quite alright?" a mocking Nine asked him, having regained his languid position on a higher, and inexplicably, thinner, limb higher up in the foliage.
In answer Taelan shot a gout of fire toward the human, scorching the trunk near Nine's feet. Nine swore under his breath, edging away from the now burning tree, Nine took a grip on the top branch, then levered himself off, swinging in a vertical arc, Taelan watched in horror as Nine straightened out, legs shooting forward and catching Taelan in the chest, hitting him off the branch, and as Taelan felt toward the ground he saw Nine standing on his branch, laughing at him.
"Stop." Vark's voice rang out, and Taelan felt vines wrap around his leg, halting his descent, he was lowered gently to the ground and dumped unceremoniously on the floor, the vines dropping and hanging back to their previous positions, swaying in a slight breeze. Taelan pushed himself off the floor, dusting off his robes, ragged as they were, they never did see about getting new clothes.
"Well," remarked Nine from the branch, "we ran away, stole their cavalry, and killed some guards." He smiled, "What do we do now?"
Taelan shot him an angry look at the insinuation of cowardice, they had not run.
Vark did not reply at first, his gaze wandered out over the wandering animals below them, Silverflood had lead them to a large clearing, a standing stone at the centre, certainly not a natural rock either, it jutted out of the ground with a smooth face, like a pulpit, Vark sat cross-legged at the edge, Blackbite and a few other large warg's guarded the bottom edge of the stone, whilst smaller beasts milled about at the bottom and in the eaves of the forest. Taelan was interested to note that the darkness of the coat seemed to correlate directly with the size and power of the animal in question, Blackbite, was, as his name suggested, black, and easily the largest and most powerful of the group which numbered at least two thousand, if not more, many had spread out amongst the woods, the rest staying in the clearing, the rest were brown for the most part and tended to be more stocky and broader, but not as large as their darker cousins, Nine's mount tended toward this type. The greys were the most uncommon, Taelan had seen only a few of that coloration in the whole pack, they also seemed to be faster and sleeker than the others, more like actual wolves than hyenas, they had longer tails as well, presumably to keep them balanced as they ran, the greys being faster than the others, they would, no doubt, require more balance.
"We talk." Replied Vark laconically, finally looking at his friends.
Nine dropped forward, somersaulting of his perch and landing neatly, he walked forward; Taelan had already taken up station at Vark's feet, a few steps away from the standing stone. The masses of wargs parting around him like a river. They receded once he went on, and Nine joined Taelan at the base of the rock.
"Well that was the main aim of coming here wasn't it?" Nine asked.
Taelan shook his head, "No," he replied "Our aim was information. Which, in some part, we have acquired, and before any plans are made I would suggest we go over this information." Vark nodded once at this, and Taelan went on, "The obvious first; Vark, where are we?"
Vark looked pensive at this. "About twelve miles south of Isengard." He replied.
"Lovely" said Taelan back to him, "When are we?" then, seeing the confusion on their faces, clarified his question "I mean what's the date?"
Vark apparently had no idea and continued staring off into the distance; Nine was counting on his fingers, eventually reaching an appropriate number he looked up, "The 3rd of November?" he asked hesitantly.
"I thought the 2nd, but maybe, we're still not sure when we arrived, so we don't know, then we took slightly longer than a week to get here, then arrived the day before yesterday, stayed the night, then rode out at dawn, and took around a day to get here, now its morning again." Replied Taelan, various metaphorical cogs and gears moving in his head.
Nine nodded, then remembering his SI:7 training, went back to the style of briefings he was familiar with. "Objective?" he asked, looking up at Vark.
"Isengard" replied the Orc.
Nine nodded again, no reason to say more on that matter, "Assets?" he asked, again looking up at the Orc.
Vark looked down at them, stroking a short beard he had grown over the last few days, "Us, powerful and skilful individuals" here Taelan snorted at Vark's modesty, "that is, one shaman, an assassin and a magic user of various disciplines." Said Vark, disregarding Taelan's antics.
Taelan spoke then, "Couple 'a thousand wargs, mostly battle trained." Taelan 'ummmed' for a few seconds, glanced up at Vark and shrugged, then motioned toward Nine, "All your hidden killy things." He said grinning slightly.
"Equipment in general then." Replied Nine in a condescending tone. He then took out six knives and daggers of various sizes, throwing them point downwards on the floor in front of him, then, reaching to the small of his back and bringing out two engraved rectangular slates, he placed these more carefully on the ground, almost reverently.
Vark added a short curved sword to the pile, unstrapping it from the underside of his forearm. Taelan contributed his ritual knife, a small yellow crystal a large grey metal ingot, and after some awkward squirming under the others gaze, his ring. The jewel lost its lustre after leaving Taelan's finger, the ruby ceasing to glow no longer giving out the light it did when attached to Taelan.
Nine looked over the supplies, sighing, "Not much." He said, nudging Vark's sword with his toe.
"Enough." Replied Vark, stepping down from the stone where he was seated. He saw several items of interest, and pointed at the ingot, the surface shining oddly, like a bird's wing in sunlight, colours shifting on it. "What metal is that?" he asked.
"Swiped it from Saruman," replied Taelan, "It looked interesting so I took it when his back was turned, then showed it to one of the forge hands, before I met you, they fell over themselves then told me it was some incredibly valuable metal, called Mithril."
Nine immediately seized the bar, turning it over in his hand, the spy then picked up a long and particularly pointy dagger from their stash on the floor. He bashed them together a few times, then looked at the results. "It's better than our Mithril." He finally remarked, pointing out the new scratches on the dagger, but the lack of any marks on the ingot. "That was one of my best daggers, had it for years, never seen anything scratch it before."
Taelan looked moderately interested at this stunning revelation, "It only comes from one place in the world at the moment, which means that whoever controls a former dwarven stronghold called Moria has access to a mineral ten times more valuable than gold."
"Noted." Vark said, he did not think this would be particularly noteworthy at the moment, and continued to the next item. He had noticed the small crystal Taelan had contributed, and picked it up, turning it over in his hands. Taelan watched him, then began to explain its functions:
"Again, swiped that from Saruman," he explained, "apparently he defeated another wizard and took his staff, of which that was a part. I assume a Wizards Staff in this world is more important than a staff in ours, at least, something more significant than just magical foci. He tried to get me to use the thing, and it felt..." the elf paused, looking uncomfortable, "it felt wrong, like putting on clothes that were the wrong size."
Nine looked impatient at this theoretical discussion, and made his displeasure known. "And? Then what?" he asked, indicating the crystal, "And how does that factor into it?
"The staff exploded." Replied Taelan lifting his bandaged hand, he reached forward and snatched the yellow rock from Vark. Upon contact with his hand it started glowing, emitting a soft golden light in the shade of the trees. "And this." He said, wiggling the crystal, indicating its function. "It glows when I touch it."
Nine reached out, taking it from him, it stopped glowing. He touched Taelan's hand to it, it glowed. This process was repeated a few times, and it was concluded that the stone must be in direct contact with Taelan's skin to work, but that he could, for want of a better word, 'charge it up' so that it would keep glowing for a while.
"Wonderful." Remarked Nine flippantly, tossing the crystal back to Taelan, "We have a light source, that will be useful for when we run out of sun."
Vark chucked, whilst Taelan glared at him, cradling the rock protectively. "What's this about explosions?" the Orc reminded the others.
"Oh, yes, forgot about that," replied Taelan, settling down on the grass as he told his story. "So, this other wizard was defeated and I think Saruman assumed I was the same sort of creature he was-"
"Wait, what?" interrupted Nine, "I thought he was human!?"
Vark shook his head at this, "No, he was some kind of naturally magical species, think, a whole race of arcane-attuned people. Like the Highborne before the Shattering."
Taelan nodded at the Orc's explanation, "Exactly, I believe they use their staffs to focus the latent energy around them , which is why the defeated wizard's reacted so unfavourably to me. Also, they seemed, or at least Saruman did, to have their power given to them, rather than naturally acquiring them."
Nine put his head in his hands, "I thought you said they were a 'naturally magical race'?" he asked, running his fingers through his hair.
"I felt it too." Said the normally taciturn Vark, speaking for the second time in the discussion, "Saruman was certainly capable of magic, in the same way that anyone who manipulates energy is capable of magic, but it was like a magical crutch, it felt, and I agree with Taelan here, unnatural, so I don't doubt that anything he was using wouldn't work for him."
Nine thought this was far too complicated for him, his standard modus operandi being 'what is it, how do you kill it, how much are you paying me to do so?' and felt instead that he wanted something to eat soon. His train of thought all but careering off the rails into a pantry or similar food repository.
"We're getting side-tracked, lets finish the briefing, and then we can have a break." He said, turning to Taelan, "What did Saruman say to you after we left?" he asked.
Taelan launched into another story, describing Saruman's interrogation about his origins and purposes, occasionally interrupted by either of his companions, interjecting with a question of clarification. A point of contention came up at the mention of 'Dökkálfar'.
"Now where have I heard that before?" asked Nine, stroking his chin thoughtfully.
"Deep elves." Replied Taelan, waving him off, "It's the name the High Elves gave to the Kaldorei, especially the ones that inhabited the druidic barrows in Ashenvale, I assumed Saruman wouldn't be able to make any assumptions toward out origins, so I made something up. He then went off on some rant about lamps and shadows."
Vark looked amused at this, knowing exactly what Taelan was talking about because of his previous connection with the planet, but not feeling the need to say anything, as it was largely irrelevant.
"And these." Said Nine finally, picking up the engraved rectangles of metal, "Are my last portal devices."
Vark looked immediately distrustful at this, obviously he still held some grudge against the magic that stranded them on Middle Earth.
Taelan however looked at them almost hungrily. He reached out for them, fingers curling, until Nine put them down again. The elf shook his head, clearing it, his vision coming back into focus.
"Leave them." Vark commanded, "We can work out what to do with them later. The Orc then squatted down in the dirt, and explained about the military functions of Isengard, as far as he had observed during their brief stay there, using one of Nine's knives to draw in the ground.
"Here we have what Lurtz called the 'Wizard's Vale'," he explained, drawing two parallel lines in the dirt. "In the north is the Ring of Isengard," a circle was added to the top of the lines, "and in the middle the tower of Orthanc," Taelan's crystal was placed in the middle of the circle. He drew a erratic curved line along the side of the diagram, "and this is-"
"A snake?" inquired Taelan, studying the map dutifully.
"A river." Replied Vark, an annoyed look on his face. "The Isen, now running much more slowly than it normally does, Saruman seems to have dammed it or is in some other way drawing from it. Lurtz informs us that he's put up water wheels and various other industrial devices along the bank to divert it." Vark stabbed the knife into the dirt further down along the river, "This is the Ford of Isen, the only way into Isengard from the East, and therefore of large strategic value, the Rohirrim, who live on the other side don't go there, for some meaningless unexplained reason, but Lurtz suspects Saruman will move to secure it sooner or later." He then pointed to an area south of Isengard "We're round there somewhere." Using his finger to vaguely indicate their area.
"What is the standing strength of their army?" asked Nine, memorising the 'map' Vark had drawn out.
"Saruman is, for want of a better word, 'growing' orcs." Replied Vark, seeing the look of confusion on Nine's face he continued, "Lurtz took me down to a set of pits, in each one there was at least one hundred Uruk-hai, which we know are Saruman's own breed, and superior is size and strength to the other types of orc here, now, Saruman appears to have been planning this war for a least two decades, perhaps more, he puts the young Uruks in these pits which have this odd gloopy substance that grows over their bodies and makes them in turn grow faster, this cocoons the Uruks and smaller breeds watch over them while they grow. Therefore, Lurtz, who was the first to come out of his 'pod' is only about a year old, technically."
Taelan whistled appreciatively, thinking about the potential uses for a method of army production like that.
"Which," Vark continued, "leads me to believe that there are…breeding quarters somewhere. However, I have seen no female orcs here, nor has Lurtz mentioned any. So I assume Saruman has them locked away." He spat, disgusted.
Even Nine, far from the most scrupulous individual, looked uneasy at the suggestion.
Vark paused for a moment, contemplating the map again, "At the moment there is about eight hundred Uruk-hai alive, the firstborn of their race. Lurtz commands them, and a scout company has been formed that he has direct command over, the rest are the guard force of Orthanc, and seemingly quite loyal to Saruman. Apparently," said a grinning Vark with a quick look toward Nine, "he feeds them man-flesh, and they are quite taken with it."
Nine was now looking distinctly uncomfortable, Taelan meanwhile was giggling to himself, given that he regularly practiced blood magic he did not find the idea of cannibalism particularly repulsive.
"The next batch of Uruk-hai will bring the strength up to ten thousand, that will be the Host of Isengard, fifteen years in the making, Lurtz has gleaned from Saruman that the production can be sped up, and the next two armies have similar numbers, each batch taking as little as a year to grow, but there are certain side effects, depending on the growth time." Vark held up a hand to forestall questions, "I don't know what they are, Lurtz wouldn't tell me, but I want Taelan to have a look at them, see what kind they are." He looked to the elf, recovered from his amusement.
Taelan nodded. Vark repeated the gesture and continued.
"An unknown number of wolf riders." Said Vark, gazing around the clearing at the wargs milling about, "Their hierarchy is more tribal, and they live in the mountains, reinforcements may come, or they may not, but this is what we have at the moment. Finally, the Dunlendings, again, tribal structure, an alliance has yet to be formally recognised, but their chief is coming to Isengard shortly to cement it." Vark sat back, having finished his explanation he now wanted his friend's opinions.
"Well," mused Nine, "The tribal orcs seem to be the ones you need to reach out to."
"How so?" asked Taelan.
"The Uruk-hai will follow anyone that feeds them, they have no purpose but to obey, that seems to be what they were bred to do." Replied Nine, "I watched you talking to Lurtz, he seems reasonably intelligent but I could tell he didn't know what to think of you. Then you have the Dunlendings, in my skulking about I picked up a few things about them as well, pretty much all they want is in Rohan, so they'll follow anyone to give them a means to get back the lands that were 'stolen'" Nine using hand gestures to display his opinion on that. "If you can get all three forces to work together you can win easily, judging by what I've heard Rohan has, although I doubt the veracity of my source."
Although Taelan didn't know what the word 'veracity' meant, he did notice an odd turn of phrase that Nine used, "You make it sound like you won't be there." He asked.
"He's not." Broke in Vark.
Nine nodded, "I'm a spy, Vark will no doubt deploy me somewhere, where I can blend in, where I can be of most use in the immediate operation area."
"So?" asked Taelan, "In other words, Rohan?"
Vark nodded, on their flight from Isengard Vark had been contemplating the uses for their 'assets' as Nine had called them, Nine was one such asset, infinitely more valuable out in the world doing his job than stuck in Isengard. Therefore, Vark had decided that on the earliest opportunity Nine would infiltrate Rohan. He explained his reasoning to the others.
"I can't guarantee you reinforcements, or even assistance, not that far out." He said.
"And I," replied Nine, "can't guarantee you regular information, not without a proper network."
"Your objective is infiltration, nothing else, no targets of opportunity, in fact, kill only to keep your cover." Reiterated Vark, looking the spy in the eye.
Nine nodded passively, gathered up his weapons, and withdrew from the group, making his own plans, he sat against a tree, his brown warg joining him some time later.
Vark and Taelan sat in silence, their thoughts their own, propped against the standing stone at the centre of the clearing. They saw no reason to speak, having had only each other to talk to mostly for two years, they knew the others moods well, and neither was feeling particularly verbose. Taelan absentmindedly fiddled with the much worn hem of his robes, promising himself he would become better apparelled when they took Isengard. Vark on the other hand was ripping large strips from his shirt, and binding them around his arms and fists, he sat bare chested, green skin rippling with the movement of his muscles, surprisingly few scars, owing mainly to Vark fighting using strategy, rather than charging head on at the enemy, axe aloft, war cry on his lips.
Although he occasionally did that too, after all, if the tactic didn't work, it wouldn't be used would it?
Happy with his new gauntlets, Vark relaxed back, momentarily forgetting that rock can be cold when in shade, and jerking forward with a hiss, Taelan chucked at him, and Vark went to sit round the other side of the rock, leaning back against it, after checking it had been sufficiently warmed by the sun.
"When do we set off?" called Taelan, his voice muffled slightly by the acoustics of the clearing.
"Dusk," replied Vark, "I want to be Lord of Orthanc by tomorrow morning."
A suspicious short laugh sprang from Taelan's direction, "Another thing I'd forgotten," he smirked, "Did you ever find out what they were calling you?"
Vark grimaced at that question, there was another uncomfortable thing to contemplate, "Yes." He snapped harshly back.
"And it was?" asked the sly voice on the other side of the rock.
Vark mumbled something under his breath, shifting his form to a more comfortable position laid out on the rock.
"What was that? I couldn't quite hear you." asked Taelan again.
Vark sighed, then finally answered more loudly. "Warchief." He said, "That was what they were calling me."
"Oh really?" drawled Taelan slowly, leaving no doubt in Vark's mind that the elf had known perfectly well what 'Nar-Zhâda' actually meant. "Well I'm sure Thrall won't mind."
oO oOo Oo
"Taelan, how can we understand each other?" asked a thoughtful Nine as he rode beside his friend, their mounts picking their way over tree roots.
Taelan looked at him oddly, "You're speaking Common aren't you?" he asked quizzically.
Nine nodded.
"Well then." Replied Taelan, giving a 'that explains it' gesture, bringing his hand out palm upwards.
"Yes, but then how do we talk to the 'natives'?" the spy asked.
"Ah," responded Taelan, "I see what you mean, well as Vark explained it when we first met, Water has something to do with it, apparently it's the basis of language."
Nine wasn't sure he understood that, and put it down to 'A Wizard did it'.
Taelan continued his lecture, "When I first met Vark, I only spoke Thalassian, that being the only language I knew, however, he was instantly able to talk to me, see if you understand this, Ano Alah'ni Shari'adune Da Osa." The last part of the phrase was spoken with an odd accent, and Nine felt the sound resonate around his head.
"What did you do then?" asked Nine.
"I spoke in Thalassian, but intentionally, rather than just talking to you." Replied Taelan.
"So, if I understand correctly, when we came here something happened to us so that we understand anyone talking to us?" he asked, "Regardless of language?"
Taelan nodded, "Effectively. I think it's something to do with this connection with the planet we've acquired. Yours is going to be weaker because you're not naturally magical, unlike Vark or I, we get a power boost with our spells, makes using the elements incredible easy, observe." Taelan sat back in his seat, then held out his hands again, he pressed them together, palms facing each other, then slowly drew them apart, a small flame leapt into existence between them and grew in size to about an apple's diameter, Taelan casually passed his fire ball between his hands, throwing it up and down as he did so.
Nine sat amazed, as a matter of course he knew that something so controlled like that just was not possible. Not unless the practitioner was an Archmage anyway. He watched as Taelan eventually became bored, and snuffed out the flame, turning toward Nine again.
"I'm not sure of my theories yet, I need to talk with Vark first, but I have my own ideas about why." He said, smirking at the look on the human's face.
"And how." Replied Nine, gradually shaking off his amazement.
Taelan nodded his head in acquiescence, "Whilst I can do that, you might have some more esoteric abilities, do some meditation or something, might help you discover them," at Nine's look of distaste at this suggestion he continued, "Alternatively you could just keep wandering about as you have so far, and accidently discover them?"
Nine shrugged, no longer interested in the conversation he directed Charlie away from Taelan, searching for his errant flock, he was pleased to know he might have some interesting new technique to try out, that would distract him from the monotony of his various illegal pursuits for a while.
OOO ooo OOO
Said flock were currently loitering around a completely different clearing, about half a mile away from the others, they had attempted to direct their transportation with varying degrees of success, and come eventually to their present location, and were sitting down, eating some berries they had picked on their way.
The tallest, a youth called Morac, sat on a root of a beach tree, his leg swinging below him, tracing the scar that ran down his neck, it had become somewhat of a habit since he got it, he didn't think it had healed properly, and it sometimes felt like the skin was too tight and limited the movement of his neck. He supposed there was nothing he could do about it, unless he were willing to open the wound again to let it heal properly, and he was not willing to go digging about in his neck with a knife. Or trust anyone else to do it for that matter.
Then next oldest was another human, Loras, currently clutched in the arms of his sleeping surrogate sister, the boy was fairly apprehensive, having been led out of their orphanage under the pretence of being a servant to a visiting lord, they had then been loaded up onto giant wolves and bundled away, Loras now had no idea where they were, but assumed that the wolves would let them know when it was time to leave. He remembered his new master's face, he looked very cruel, sneering, and he thought his eyes were glowing, and from the other man's reactions, his new master had released the wolves. This was worrying. Lehah moved beside him, clinging to his shirt, she had not had a good night, her wolf stopped to eat one of the guards at the gate, Loras knew that must not have been nice to watch. He wondered what she was dreaming about.
Snaga watched the others. He was crouching, eating a rabbit his warg had caught for him, he didn't have a fire, but he had eaten rat before, and this was actually better. He had quickly made friends with the warg, and was trying to think of a name for it, but was so far unsuccessful. It was a mangy animal, probably the runt of the litter, just like Snaga then. He patted it on the head, and offered it a piece of the rabbit. The goblin sat, contemplating his so far short life. All in all, recent events had been one of the most interesting parts so far. He sat back, a contented smile on his face, running his long fingered hand over the mane of his mount.
ooooooOOooooooOOoOOooooooOOo ooooo
Nine felt a hand on his shoulder, he turned to see a hooded face looking at him, eyes shining from below the brow of the hood, the figure shook its head and motioned for Nine to stay back. Nine followed the elf back, waiting for him to explain.
"Don't, I'll talk to him about it soon; just keep them out of sight for the moment." Taelan said, whispering, wary of Vark overhearing them.
Nine gave him a questioning look, peering behind Taelan at the campfire where they had made their bivouac; Vark was sitting there, back propped against Blackbite, warming himself by the fire. The sun was beginning to set, and during their day they had moved northwards, up towards Isengard again, this was the first stop of the day, and Vark had mentioned resting the wargs before they reached their destination.
"There are many things you do not know about him." Said Taelan, an odd look on his face, something…remorseful. "I know him well, better than anyone, even his father."
Nine didn't see what this had to do with introducing his new followers. After all, they were there to serve, surely they could help out in some way, preparations or other tasks to complete. He looked over his shoulder to Vark, who sat unmoving against his warg. Nine had noticed that Vark seemed to have formed a much deeper bond between himself and his animal, much deeper than Nine himself had anyway. He shot Taelan another look, eyebrows raised.
Taelan looked reluctant, "There was an…unfortunate incident. Being around children brings back the bad memories. So let me talk to him about our newest companions first." Seeing Nine expectant look he sighed, and continued. "As I understand it his father sent him to live with an uncle whilst he was out campaigning, a few months passed and everything was fine, then one day he was out buying supplies in Orgrimmar, when he got back he found the uncle dead and the other children working on the farm that he had befriended missing." Taelan paused for breath, looked nervously back at the campfire, "Guards arrived, traced it to a Burning Blade encampment, Skull Rock, but couldn't do anything because they didn't have enough men."
"What happened?" asked Nine quickly.
"Two days later six graves appeared on the boundary of the farm, no one knows if there are bodies under the head stones, guards didn't care enough to check, they assumed that the graves were empty."
"Were they?" asked Nine quietly, remembering the friends he himself had buried over the years.
"Spirits reside where their bodies do as a rule, Vark visits the graves occasionally, I followed him there once, saw him sitting chatting to them. All violent deaths, but, then you ask, 'how did the bodies get there?'" said Taelan, leading the human through the conversation.
"Well how did they?" hissed Nine, glancing again at the campfire.
"Vark's father was Kor'kron, bodyguard of the Warchief," explained Taelan, "Vark's father begged the Warchief for leave to find his brother's killers, and when the group arrived to cleanse the cave they found it already done."
Nine's eyes widened, "Vark killed them?" he asked, looking slightly frantic.
"In all probability, yes." Responded a serious Taelan. "That's at least thirty fel orcs, demons and warlocks, and he handled it by himself, with help from the spirits. They saw a vessel and a cause, and used them to make their will known. The Warchief hushed it up, and Vark got sent away to shaman school, I met him as he came out."
"How old was he?" questioned Nine.
"Twelve." Replied Taelan, "He's been training to make himself stronger ever since, he worries about not being able to save people. Which is why you can't tell him about those children you brought along till I talk to him about it! They will distract him on the eve of our greatest confrontation since our arrival, and distractions breed mistakes." The elf said wisely.
Nine warily turned toward the fire. He had heard stories from veterans of the First War, stories of empowered orcs, eyes aglow, tearing through armoured formations like tissue paper, so could well believe that even a young orc could kill that many, with the strength of the elements on his side.
OOooooooooooOO
A thin black rope snaked down the rock face, Vark glanced upwards, seeing a dark figure silhouetted against the night sky, blocking out a small patch of sky. He couldn't actually see the figure, more a figure shaped patch of darkness, but he knew Nine was up there, and for once, trusted him. He grasped the rope, putting a foot on the rock, he slowly pulled himself upwards. The cloth on his hands providing more grip than normal, the cold wind whipping at the ragged leather skirt and trousers he was wearing. The Orc pulled himself up the wall, one hand at a time, arms burning at the exertion, but he ignored it. Pain was all in the mind, and powerful as it was, he would endure it.
He realised now their flight had been dishonourable. A real Orc would have confronted the old Wizard, and faced him in single combat. Not ran like a coward, a thief to steal away into the wilderness after a successful heist. But, the young shaman realised he also had to balance the demands of his oath to Blackbite's folk. That oath was now fulfilled, the wargs were free, their tormentors dead and devoured. Their people avenged. But the victory was not complete; the final objective in their mission lay in the dark tower ahead. Jutting out from the plain of Isengard, a sharp fang, crowned in spikes, banners fluttering in the wind, wreathed in the smoke from the fires of Industry.
Vark hauled himself over the parapet, landing on the balls of his feet, crouched, hand on the black knife at his back, half drawn, prepared for the alarm to be sounded, for men to come running to kill the intruders. A hand tapped his shoulder, Vark turned, seeing Nine struggling with the body of a guard, he grabbed it by the tunic, sneering at the white hand branded over the chest, then hefted it over the rampart, listening for a few seconds while it fell the hundred foot drop. A crunch echoed softly from below, and the corpse was dragged away by a warg, Vark felt two tugs on the rope, and, winding it around his arm, began hauling it up, one foot braced against the wall, Nine paced anxiously behind him, dagger drawn, and finally, after what seemed like an inordinately long time, Taelan's blonde hair emerged, Vark grabbed him and set hi down, somewhat ruffled but otherwise fine.
"Stage Two." Whispered Nine, taking the rope from Vark, he abseiled downwards, rope paying out behind him, feet scuffling on the wall as the spy made each successive leap backwards and downwards. Vark took the rope again, feeling the now familiar tug he made his own descent, considerably less graceful than Nine, but manageable. He thudded down at the bottom, staggering slightly as he dropped the last few feet, the rope only barely being long enough. He gave his own tug, and felt the thin cord loosen, dropping quickly in a pile. He wrapped it up, winding it over a shoulder and under his arm, the coil resting diagonally across his chest. He glanced upwards, the clouds mercifully shrouding the full moon. He would have blessed a full moon, on any other night, now the need was for stealth, even as dishonourable as it was. Skulking like rats. As he gazed skywards he heard a rustling of cloth, then, heard a whistling sound, Vark kept looking up, creeping forward slowly, he followed Nine, his hand never straying from the knife at his belt.
Something glided overhead, and another figure dropped into a roll as they hit the ground. Vark darted to it. The figure stood, then released a light white feather from its hand, which drifted toward the ground, coming to rest on the grass.
"Stage Three." Taelan hissed, drawing his cowl further over his eyes, and checking his ritual knife in its sheath. Vark and Nine both nodded once to him. Faces set. They crept forward, wraiths in the shadows, skirting around the vents in the ground, using the foul smelling vapours to mask their movements. Three pits passed without incident, the three sprinting between them, one covering the other, heads bent low, at the fourth pit they found a trio of smallish goblins. Bowlegged and squint eyed, they were tossing small stones into the pit. Nine tapped the others, signalling a stop. The assassin tapped his knife hilt, then held up three fingers, stabbing them toward the group. The others nodded, and Vark drew his own knife. They crept forward, and in the brief exposed moonlight three arms rose, and seconds later three daggers fell in harmony, one a slender poniard, a matte appearance to keep it from shining in the darkness, one a larger and cruder, but not less effective serrated iron knife, and one a broad blade, slightly curved, a heavy hilt of bronze. The goblins fell dead, black blood oozing from their necks, and the three wraiths continued on, the largest hauling the bodies over the edge of the pit, dropping them into the furnaces below, then jogging after the others.
They soon reached the black tower itself. Orthanc, the Cunning Mind of Isengard, formerly a stronghold and bulwark of Gondor, now subverted by the Wizard Saruman, the white tree and seven stars replaced by a white hand, its fingernails red with blood.
Vark caught a glow from the balcony above, he subtly indicated it to Nine, the human looked upwards, contemplating the climb, he pointed to the others, then made a cutting gesture with his hand whilst shaking his head. Vark understood, he was not to climb the tower, this suited him fine, he put his back against the stone, his hands cupped, Nine nodded to him, then stepped back, taking a run up, he sprinted forwards, Vark hurling him into the air, using the leverage and speed on the run to force the man against gravity. Nine soared a good twenty feet, grasping a ledge, then began free climbing up the tower, traversing on the harder parts, using the natural architecture to aid in his ascent. Vark nudged the elf next to him, never taking his eyes off the climber. "Stage Four."
Vark watched for half an hour, hidden in the shadows at the base of the tower, his neck craning backwards to watch his accomplice climb. He was little more than a vague impression of a person now, dark clothing blending perfectly to the dark obsidian of the tower. The moon appeared several more times during the time, each occurrence marked a freeze from Nine, stopping suddenly in whatever position he happened to be in. One particularly skilful stop happened on the last part of Nine's ascent, he hung one handed, attempting to find power and speed to swing across a gap, finding purchase on a smooth ledge, an angle between a balcony's awning and the wall, but at that moment the moon peered through a gap in the clouds, Nine froze, his toes just finding the ledge, his hand still attached to the previous handhold, his body braced, stretched out, his abdominal muscles working far past overtime to maintain his position. But luckily, before the strain became too much, the moon faded once again, and Nine flopped onto the ledge. He stopped there for several minutes, resting before the final push. Then jumping and twisting to catch another ledge, he continued upwards.
The glowing balcony was in sight, Vark could see Nine pull himself up by the railing, not coming all the way up, but perching on the edge, looking inwards. He made a complete survey, all the while perching on the edge, then, slowly and carefully, made his way back down. The descent was surprisingly quicker than the ascent, possibly owing to the new familiarity with the climb, or to the fact that gravity was not on Nine's side. He finally dropped lightly onto the ground, breathing heavily but quietly, hands on his knees, legs shaking slightly.
"He's in that room, like we thought." Hissed Nine after a few shaky breaths, "the room to the right of the throne room, fourth floor I think." Nine shook his head to clear it, the cool air scorching his lungs, he sighed, taking more deep, but steadier breaths, and straightened up. "Facing away from the doors, which were open, the glow is coming from a ball on a pedestal, he has his hand over it." Nine shuddered, "There was a fiery eye there, I couldn't move for a moment, good thing I had a grip or I would have fallen. I don't know what it was, but it scared me."
Vark thought the human looked in need to a stiff drink, but the Orc had no explanation for the fiery eye, or for the fear of the normally unflappable cold-blooded killer in front of him.
"We've got to get up there." Taelan added, speaking softly, "And quickly, we have no idea what he's doing but by the sound of it, whatever he's up to is bad news for us."
"There's an understatement." Muttered Nine.
"Come." Commanded Vark, this would end tonight.
The three ghosted around the tower, moving forty five degrees around the circumference, coming to the steps on the door, Nine peered round, then swiftly stepped back. "It's our old friend the gate guard," he whispered, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder, "looks like he's been promoted, from the look of the contingent he's got at the moment."
"How many?" asked Vark, keeping behind the wall, the temptation to look around it and spring out upon the helpless humans building slowly.
"Ten or so, we can take them, but not quietly." Nine replied.
"I can." Came a soft voice from behind both of them. Taelan stepped forward, "They won't stay down for long, but long enough." He said. Vark nodded, Nine raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Taelan stood, waiting, his companions drawing their weapons. The elf's eyes began to glow behind their lids; the light piercing through the skin, a forceful purple glow came from his hands as well. The elf suddenly darted out, hand held out, eyes wide.
The guards turned quickly, hands on their weapons, one drew breath to shout but before he could complete his breath Taelan pointed at the group. Snarling at them, his hair seemed to float around his shoulders, his skin eerily white. "Fear!" he hissed, hand clawing, the light in his eyes flaring. The guards were struck down, writing and crawling on the floor, Nine and Vark darted forward, knives drawn, and began ruthlessly slashing the throats of the fallen soldiers, the first being the guard captain who had received them previously at the gate. Eventually the soldiers were all dead, and the group proceeded wearily toward the door, Taelan panting at the exertion of psychically attacking so many individuals.
They started up the tower, padding softly on felt shoes they had scrounged and sowed from Taelan's cloak, Vark paused by a weapons bracket, several ceremonial and formal weapons held there; Vark took a large two handed battleaxe, wide silver blades on either side, the haft braced with leather bindings. The Orc was very pleased with his new weapon, it was much more orcly than a knife he thought. They reached the landing, then kept going, farther up, till they reached the level with the throne room, the tall black chair dominating a corner, the rest of the room given over to an audience chamber of sorts. Nine skirted round the corner, poking his head through the door to the Palantír Room. The doors were wide open, not a particularly clever move thought Vark, but it worked to their advantage.
Saruman stood within, chanting, hand over the glowing ball, the fiery eye showing slightly under his arm, his fingers curled and grasped, long nails playing over the surface of the ball. The three stepped out into the chamber, Vark raising his axe.
Then, abruptly, the chanting stopped, and the White Wizard whirled around, grasping his staff, he held it across his body in a guard position. "So my friends." He said, his voice once again with its odd melody, persuading the listener as to the speakers good intentions. "You have returned."
Vark's eyes darted around the room, the baleful light of the Eye bathing the room in a dark red, flickering and shifting like a fire. Nine stood on his left, hand palming a knife, the tip peeking out from between his fingers, Taelan on his right, hands ready, ritual dagger loosely held in one, the other ready for a magical attack.
"It seems that you have betrayed me, oh 'Messengers of Mordor'" said the voice, mockingly. "The Dark Lord Sauron tells me that-"
"Enough talk!" yelled Nine, flinging his knife under arm, the blade flying tip first toward the Wizard who barely dodged. Vark leapt forward with a cry, axe held high, blood singing in his ears. As he ran Taelan aimed a burst of fire from his hand, but the Wizard brought his staff around, absorbing the fire with the white jewel at the top of the black stick. Vark swung his axe down, Nine executing a forward roll to the right of the Wizard after a flash of light scorched his cheek as it flew past. The Wizard raised his staff, a white bubble of energy shining around him, Vark's axe glancing off it, jarring his arm at the arrested motion. Taelan renewed his assault, sending lightening toward the Wizard, but it rebounded of the white shield, striking a lamp, sending boiling oil all around the room, much of it splashing on Taelan who screamed at the burning substance coating him.
The Wizard dropped his staff downwards, catching Vark across the chest with one of the sharp points, luckily he leant backwards, so only received a shallow wound, but Nine struck from behind, and jammed a knife into Saruman's shoulder, aiming for the neck, but missing. The Wizard staggered forward, lashing out with a hand, sending Nine flying at a wall with a thunderclap, he hit it and bounced off with a thud, his weapons disarrayed and clanking on the floor. Nine attempted to push himself off the floor, but could not move his left side, he took out another knife and threw it at the Wizard, now contending with Vark's scavenged axe, it pin wheeled through the air, whistling, the Wizard ducked just in time, and the dagger clattered off the opposite wall. However, the miss brought time for Vark, who hooked the black staff on the underside of his axe, wrenching it away from Saruman, who floundered, the battle taking its toll on his elderly body.
Taelan ran back towards the room, sending another wave of ice in the Wizard's direction, catching an arm, the robes freezing immediately, the rest of the hand covered in frost, preventing its movement, but Saruman was still active, if diminished, he intoned a Word of Command, spelling the doors shut before Taelan could reach them, he vainly tried to open them by force, but could not. Vark saw that he must end the battle quickly, his companions being either unable to help, or neutralised, in the case of Nine, who had passed out, Vark noticed blood forming a pool by the man's head.
Saruman looked unsure now, his eyes narrowed in pain, he was trying somewhat unsuccessfully to re-heat his hand, thawing out the ice that prevented the movement, he looked up, seeing the huge, hulking green Orc in front of him, Vark bared his teeth and rushed forward again, but the old man dodged, robes spinning, swirling around him, the Wizard extended his hand over the ball in the middle of the room again, placing it fully on the rounded glass this time.
"MY LORD!" he screeched in desperation, "SEND-" but Saruman could not say anything more to his master, as Vark's silver axe descended on him, hacking his hand away at the wrist, the ball flaring, actual heat emanating from it, scorching the severed hand black. Saruman reeled back, meaning that Vark's following strike landed on his head at an angle, tearing a portion of his scalp away, but not beheading him as Vark had planned to. The Wizard collapsed to the floor, one hand blackened with frostbite, the other absent, the stump squirting blood with each beat of the Wizards heart. His shoulder too was bleeding, but not as strongly as Vark had believed the wound would merit, the knife being stopped somewhat by the thick robes the Wizard wore.
As Saruman lay bleeding, his enchantments faded, the doors opened in the room, Taelan rushing in, ready for battle, he took in the scene, nodded to Vark, then went over to Nine, rolling him over, he checked over the spy's wounds, and finding only the head wound to merit immediate attention, used a strip of his shirt to make a bandage.
The fiery eye narrowed, the severed hand still resting on it, held there, in defiance of gravity, the eye blazed once more, incinerating the hand, ash tumbling onto the pedestal and floor, then the eye faded, the stone returning to its normal state, the cloudy depths seeming to suck in light, whilst tiny stars within reflecting it.
Taelan propped Nine against the wall, bandage secure in place, then returned to Vark's side, the burns from the oil were fresh, but only stung now, a throbbing pain, rather than the sharp one before. He looked down at the remains of Saruman the Wise. It was a pitiful sight really, for one held in such high esteem, the Wizard's robes were torn and burned, his front soaked with blood, his white hair torn away and his beard singed, pinned under his cradled limb.
However, Taelan was not a pitying person, he assumed Vark had not ended the creature's misery for a reason, and made it his duty to keep the Wizard alive. Therefore, the elf knelt down, and gently taking the arm, he laid his own hand over the stump, then smiling horribly, his lips taking on that oh so familiar cruel twist, he pushed power into his ring, the Wizard screamed as his arm was cauterised, and finally passed out cold, whimpering pathetically in his unconsciousness.
Vark turned from the scene, fully knowing his friend's capacity for malice upon his captured enemies; he had never discouraged it, as it was the right of the conqueror to do whatever he so pleases to the conquered, but sometimes the brutality made him uneasy. No matter, he would address it at a later date. Their battle was won, and it was an honourable victory, Vark chased his doubts away, finding himself rather enjoying the sight of his first real enemy, his house and schemes, not to mention his hand, all in ruin. But the circumstances of the Victory worried him, only with beneficial odds, and a distraction were they able to defeat the White Wizard, and Vark was uneasy.
Nine staggered over to them, clinging onto Vark's arm for support, still woozy from the blow to his head, he looked down at Saruman, then spat to the side, blood flecked phlegm landing on the floor. "Now?" he asked hoarsely.
Vark only smiled at that, "You must stay here, as you are the most injured amongst us. Watch him, and if his condition changes for the worst, call me, and I will heal him. No matter how unpleasant an activity."
"Thought you wanted him dead?" asked the still hoarse Nine, coughing again.
"I did, but then I thought we might interrogate him." Replied Vark looking specifically at Taelan now, who was smiling rather unsettlingly at the mention of 'interrogation'. Nine accepted his duty, and slumped against a wall, letting out a pained breath, one leg propped up, the other stretched, he massaged his ribs, wincing slightly at each one.
Vark frowned, broken ribs could be dangerous if left untreated, he knew little of the restorative arts of Shamanism, but decided he would try and heal his friend if he could, he knelt and put his hand on Nine's chest, willing the bones to knit back together, Nine's breathing slowed, and became less laboured, and Vark stood, moving swiftly out of the room, waving off Nine's thanks.
Taelan paused for a moment, and then gingerly stepped over Saruman's staff, "Don't touch the staff." He called over his shoulder on his way out. Nine nodded, and settled down more comfortably, eager to continue healing from being flung against a wall. The door closed, and Nine kept watch, testing the growth of his new ribs ever so often.
oOOoooOOo
Lurtz rushed up the staircase, his squad, First of the First Company following on his heels, the sounds of battle had been heard by one of the servants, and the entire Tower had been sealed off, the doors closing by themselves, one unfortunate had been caught between two, and would have to be mopped up later, but Lurtz was not concerned with that, there were enemies at hand!
They had run in as soon as the doors had opened, the alarm was raised some time ago, when three goblins tumbled down into the main foundry, landing in a vat of molten steel, being melted instantly, then it was discovered that one of the sentries was missing from the south wall, Lurtz had been going to investigate when the battle of the Tower had started.
"Who's Sharkey fightin'?" asked a voice from behind him, it was Uglúk, his second in command, he ignored the question, powering up the steps. They came to the Wizard's throne room, Lurtz remember the audience chamber, despite only having been there a few times, and he knew that there could be any number of enemies inside, as it was quite large. He readied himself, checked that his troop was behind him, then shoulder barged the door open, surprised by the lack of resistance. He staggered up, sword ready, but the sight that greeted him shocked him.
Upon the throne sat not Saruman. But the Nar-Zhâda, he was bloodied and fierce looking, fangs bared, blood running down his face, making it look like he had eaten someone recently, which, Lurtz admitted, was more than likely.
"Keel before your Warchielf!" yelled a voice, Lurtz switched his focus to a figure standing next to the 'Warchief' it was the bloody handed elf, actually bloody handed now, his eyes looked like they were glowing, and the slight figure seemed to frighten Lurtz more than the abnormally huge Orc seated comfortably on the throne.
His troop were all growling at the pair, spoiling for a fight, one stepped forward, Thraka, he snarled at the elf, "Where's Sharkey?" he demanded, hefting a spiked mace.
Their answer was in a most definite form, the green form on the chair moved, standing, chest slowly coming forward, a new wound emphasised, the physique glistening with drying blood. He was easily the most powerful Orc any of the Uruk-hai had seen, and they believe themselves to be the most powerful. Vark stood tall, then, reaching down, he held aloft a silver battle-axe, the normally two handed weapon held easily in one hand, the blade on one side black with more dried blood.
The Uruk-hai realised what that meant and Thraka ran forward, screaming incoherently, eyes furious, Lurtz made a grab for him, but missed, the Uruk already too far away, Lurtz could only watch as the silver blade swept down, then up again, fresh black blood on the other blade.
Thraka fell to the floor in two pieces; the 'Warchief' had cleaved him in two, right shoulder to left hip. His head and arm on one side, his shoulder and legs on the other. The rest of the Uruks stepped back fearfully, eyes wide at the display of power.
"Man will no longer rule Orc." Spoke the Warchief, his voice easily carrying around the large room. Lurtz wondered at the words, he had often thought them himself. "Orc will rule Orc, I am the strongest, will any of you challenge me?" Vark asked, his eyes seeming to scour their souls, if they had one. Vark looked directly at Lurtz, and Lurtz feared him, if the Nar-Zhâda spoke the truth, he had taken Isengard with a sweep of his axe, and taken the head of Saruman with it no doubt as well. Lurtz shook his head minutely, he would not challenge, and without him, none of the rest would, he gripped his sword more tightly, and knelt, as no Orc will do willingly, unless they have been beaten in battle. Lurtz laid his sword at the Warchief's feet, bowing his head. Behind him he heard others kneel, their metal knee guards hitting the floor with a scrape, their swords clattering on the stone floor. The new Warcheif sat back in his throne, smiling, one hand on his chin, the other grasping the handle of his silver axe.
OOooooooOooooooOO
And so we finally, after many trials and tribulations, get to the part where they get Saruman, this is also my longest chapter so far, at about 10,000 words, which is part of the reason it took so long to get out. But anyway, hope you all enjoyed it, this marks a turning point in the story, several new characters/perspectives are going to appear in later chapters, and the story is going to be focusing more on the effect of our 'heroes' (for want of a better word) have on the world around them, rather than just their own, private adventures. Reviews as always, are welcome.