Splint
Chapter Thirty-Eight: Tooth and Nail
AN: So much italics in this one! Sorry, eyeballs...
Pat, pat, pat. A small, cool palm was touching his face.
Pat, pat, pat. Another little hand on his belly.
Grunting, Thraangzi blinked awake to twin sets of amber eyes. Seeing their gentle nudging had worked, his young sons grinned at him, their sharp little smiles gapped in spots where their baby teeth had been lost.
"Whadda you two want," he yawned, picking up his head from where it was pillowed on his arm. Behind him, his shaûk growled and rolled over. Zgurzna wasn't ready for company just yet.
"Breffast," Maudur rumbled while his brother, Maufrûm, pointed to his open mouth and made a number of inarticulate uhn, uhn, uhn noises.
"Eh? Hungry?" The twins nodded emphatically. "Where's yer mum then?"
"Sees still got 'at wisskin bint wit' 'er," Maufrûm grumbled as he pinched his nose. "It's stinky in dere. Mum tol' us ta bug off."
"Gar," Zgurzna huffed from his place beside Thraangzi. "I can think a better things ta do wit my dinner 'en waste it on fuckin'."
The orclings giggled and crawled over their father to perch on his shaûk. "Mornin' uncle Zna-zna," they chorused.
"The fuck I tell you 'bout callin' me that!" Zgurzna snapped and favored them with a low, dangerous rumble.
Thraangzi snatched the pair off of him, setting them on his belly. There was no one Thraangzi trusted at his back more than Zgurzna. They had fought together since they were lads, and it was Zgurzna that had dragged him, bloody and half conscious, off of Pelennor Field, but Zgurzna had a short fuse when it came to brats waking him up in the wee hours before morning.
"Oi, sprogs," Thraangzi yawned as he scratched their shaved heads lightly, hoping to settle them down, "give yer poor dad a minute and I'll rustle somethin' up fer ya." He shut his eyes for what seemed like a moment, but ended up falling asleep again, because when he woke the twins were between him and Zgurzna. Maudur was using his arm as a pillow while Maufrûm lazed on his uncle's belly.
Zgurzna fixed his shaûk a half grin. "They ain't so bad when they quit yappin'," he rumbled sarcastically.
"You like 'em," Thraangzi replied with a quiet chuckle. Zgurzna chuffed and closed his eyes, feigning sleep.
In all actuality, he was pleasantly surprised Zgurzna had warmed up to his sons as much as he did. Once, Thraangzi had even caught the lankier Uruk wrestling with them while he had been out hunting. Though he was never sure if Zgurzna was humoring his choice to breed with Ilzkaal or if he really liked the brats, Thraangzi appreciated the effort. They were shaûk, after all, and if Zgurzna really couldn't stand the mites, Thraangzi would have told them to bug off. He was secretly pleased they had managed to endear themselves to Zgurzna, despite the grim-faced Uruk's reluctance.
Thraangzi always liked kids, himself. Between his parents, he certainly had enough younger brothers and sisters running around Orthanc. Thraangzi had entertained, briefly, asking Ilzkaal to call one of the boys Rukhash after one of his favorite siblings. It was a good, strong sounding name, but from what he recalled, it was a female's name among goblin folk.
Besides, it was bad luck to name a sprog after someone living, and Thraangzi liked to think that his sister was still alive somewhere, giving some poor bloke an earful for pissing her off. For such a scrawny thing, she sure had a mouth on her. There were times that he truly missed having her around. How old would she be now? Nearly seventeen, he guessed, and grown, though how much grown was debatable. She had always been so small. Seeing her dragged into the breeding pits of Lugbúrz while he was sent to the barracks had been hard, especially after loosing so much of their kin to the flood; but then, they hadn't had much of a choice in the matter at the time...
Frowning, Thraangzi put those thoughts out of his mind. There was no sense in dwelling in the what was or maybes or might-have-beens. Gazing across the cave to the wide mouth, Thraangzi sighed. The sky was lightening, casting harsh, white light across the sea of sleeping bodies on the cavern floor. Sprogs were practically living sun dials. Considering he hadn't yet made good on his promise to feed them, Thraangzi decided to see what he could come up with before they woke up. Moving Maudur next to his brother, Thraangzi stretched and pulled on his breeches.
Navigating the maze of half sleeping Uruk hai was always a challenge after a big, celebratory night. Sleeping pairs had simply dropped where they were, half tangled in complicated positions or cuddling in corners. As celebrations went, last night had been brief, since everyone was so exhausted. Thraangzi was still sore from the long march, the constant doubling back and wading through streams and hiding their tracks, but Chief Puzûr was the overly cautious sort, and it didn't hurt to be cautious with so many enemies about. They would probably move the whole clan in the next few days, if the chief's grumbling was anything to go by. Furtun's whelp was old enough to travel, and it would be safer for them to winter in the mountains. That pattern had served them well since the War ended, and with new tark settlements popping up like daisies every year, heading to less occupied territory for a stint was better for all of them.
Stepping gingerly over Horgash, who was hugging a jug of draught like it was a long, lost lover, Thraangzi managed to come across part of the meat they dragged back with them, a severed goat leg. It was half chewed and rank, and he decided that would probably not be the best breakfast for the kids. A quiet whimpering alerted Thraangzi that Ilzkaal hadn't killed her tark yet. Leave it to her to let the thing languish for days, but then, that wasn't any of his business. Ilzkaal always did have a taste for red-heads, and had more than earned her keep during the last raid. She could do what she wanted with her share of the spoils.
Speaking of spoils... Thraangzi's attention settled on the little tark girl that was, technically, his. He had forgotten all about her in the excitement of the night before, but she seemed like just the thing he needed now. Thraangzi didn't have much interest in tarks, himself, unless it involved a meal, but he may as well let the boys have a go at her. They were already killing rabbits and field mice like it was their business. They should have a chance at something a little larger.
Feeling particularly pleased with his fathering, Thraangzi made a beeline for the dark haired girl cowering in the corner. Her clothes were practically rags at this point, and her ankles and wrists were bound tight, leaving them bright red and bloody. Thraangzi was a little amazed she was still in one piece. After the mess the lads had made with some of the girls, he would have expected his tark to be a pair of thin, pale arms hanging off of someone's neck by now. Someone was being mighty thoughtful last night.
It was a shame they had passed over so much livestock to the goblins that had joined in with them in favor of the Women they dragged back to the den. Pork would have been less trouble than the gaggle of whimpering, squirming whiteskin girls, but chief's orders were chief's orders, and most of the others were particularly interested in man flesh. Thraangzi wouldn't have minded some mutton for all their trouble, but he was usually a minority when it came to that sort of thinking.
Besides, meat was meat and this tark would do in a pinch. Grabbing the girl by her dark, curly hair he lifted her bodily from the ground. She shrieked and struggled and he backhanded her, knocking her unconscious. Stupid bint would wake up the whole den with her jabbering.
A flurry of movement in the corner of his eye caused Thraangzi to turn just in time to see Furulk's wide head go tumbling from his shoulders, shorn by the mirror bright blade of a sage-cloaked Ranger. With horror Thraangzi realized there was a host of them emerging like silent wraiths from the early morning fog, popping off heads left and right.
"Tarks!" he roared as his slumbering comrades startled awake. The poor bastards in the front were lost already, but the remaining Uruks jumped to their feet in short order, shouting and roaring and grabbing for any weapon they could find nearby.
Dropping the whiteskin girl, Thraangzi hefted a heavy axe near his feet and hurtled forward, burying his weapon into the first Man skull he came across. The bastard dropped like a stone, but one of his fellows managed to take a good swipe at Thraangzi before he could wedge the blade out. With a strangled roar he razed his claws against this second Man, throwing him to the ground.
Maudur's screeching warcry reached his ears, and Thraangzi turned in time to see Maufrûm kicked into the middle of the battle while Maudur, who had attached himself to a man's back, was crushed as the Ranger he attacked threw himself against the cave wall. Zgurzna was already at the bastard's feet, bleeding out through a gash in his throat.
A red rage filled Thraangzi as he watched his son fall limply to the ground, and he cut a path clear across the cave, pushing anyone –man or Uruk – out of his way in the process. Grabbing the ranger by the hair he lifted him into the air and smashed his face into the cave floor, right into the rocks surrounding one of their fires, before he could take a swing with his fancy sword. Somehow, the prick was still alive, so Thraangzi drew back his head again, intent on repeating the pounding. Quicker than lightning there was a burning log in his eye, and Thraangzi lost his grip, stumbling back.
There was a moment, when Thraangzi opened his good eye to find the tark still on the ground in front of him, that he committed this man's face to memory. It was not a conscious thought, but as he stared at the tark, his face covered in blood from a deep gash in his brow, that Thraangzi decided that this one he would not forget. Grey eyes, dark hair, the hideous, strait nose of a tark, he wanted to remember this man's face as he killed him.
An arrow in his arm startled him out of his trance, and then there was another in his back. Suddenly aware of the battle being raged around him, Thraangzi realized they had lost. There were a handful of his comrades still fighting, but even as he took his next breath they were falling under whiteskin blades. Grabbing Maudur where he lay next to the stone wall, Thraangzi made a run for it. He was marginally comforted by the fact that he could still feel his son's soft breath against his chest. If Maudur managed to live, that alone would make turning tail worth it.
There were two archers outside. Thraangzi barreled into the first one, swiping at his head hard enough to make it swivel to the side with a sickening snap. The second archer barely had his sword out of his sheath by the time Thraangzi reached him. One swipe of his claws against a soft throat and the man fell. Free of obstacles, Thraangzi sprinted into the forest, heedless of anything but the soft whimpering his son was making and the steady, burning pain in his right eye. Halfway up the sloping ridge, just as he came to a clearing in the tree cover, Thraangzi became aware of heavy footfalls behind him.
"Thraangzi!" It was Ilzkaal. Turning his head without stopping, Thraangzi realized she had her tark trophy tucked under her arm. Of all the stupid...
"Drop the bint, you idiot!" he roared.
Suddenly, Ilzkaal was in the dirt, the whiteskin woman thrown clear to the side. Turning on his heel, Thraangzi caught sight of the tark he had pitched headlong into the cave floor, his grim face a red mess of blood. The bastard was threading another arrow and too far to reach in time.
Swearing, Thraangzi continued running. There was no telling how many of those Rangers were on his tail. An arrow whistled wide to his right. Lucky. He managed to reach the far tree line, his legs churning.
Thraangzi didn't stop running for nearly an hour. By then he had no idea where he was. The landscape had become rockier and more barren, and Thraangzi assumed he was nearing the mountains. Following his nose, he went looking for water. It was nearly nightfall before he found a stream, and by then his eye felt as though it was on fire. Laying his son on the riverbank, Thraangzi ignored his own pain, the burning in his eye and back, and concentrated on his son's head wound.
It was bad; the worst Thraangzi had seen in a long while. A long, vertical gash opened his skull, like it had been cleaved by a dull, wide axe. Thraangzi could see the grey, bloody bits inside. At a loss, he stripped of the lower leg of his breeches and covered the gaping hole in Maudur's head before pulling out the arrow in his back and arm. Those injuries were not so bad. Once the arrows were out, the wounds would heal in their own time. He kept one eye on his boy as he splashed the other, burned one with cold water. It helped for a second before the burning started up again. Frustrated, he dunked his whole head in the icy stream; coming up for air twice before dunking his face again.
This helped only marginally, but it was enough to clear his head. Sitting cross-legged next to his son, Thraangzi gently pulled the boy into his lap. Maudur's breathing was shallow and slow and his body felt colder than when he held him moments before. Anxious, Thraangzi rested the lad's head against his shoulder, cradling him close in an effort to get him warmer. He felt the boy's weak breath against his neck. Thraangzi was reminded, briefly, of when Maudur was a whelp. He would hold him similarly, trying to get him quiet so Ilzkaal would quit snapping at him. Feeling his throat go tight, Thraangzi swallowed roughly and continued to hold his son.
Maudur made it until nightfall. By then, Thraangzi's legs had gone stiff and numb. He had been still for so long, his shoulders popped as he moved to lay his boy on the cool ground. He stared at the Maudur's still, sleeping face for a long while before the smell of death started settling in. By then the moon had risen and the red streak of dusk had vanished from the horizon. He should have killed that tark instead of running. If his boy was going to die anyway, he should have been avenged.
Rising to his feet, Thraangzi walked into the night, leaving his son on the bank of the river.
How long had he dreamed of this? Of avenging his boys and Zgurzna? Years of wandering alone, and then with Lugat; years of dead whiteskin after dead whiteskin that was never enough, because they weren't him. Thraangzi looked down at the bruised face of the man in his possession.
Skai, but he was an ugly bastard. Just as ugly as Thraangzi remembered him. Raising the wide, narrow branch above his head, Thraangzi thrashed the switch across the Ranger's bare back again, relishing in strangled gurgle he made, the bloody spittle leaking from his mouth, the new welt blooming on his ribs. His breathing was becoming labored, and Thraangzi paused, not quite ready to kill him. A few lashes were paltry punishment. The Ranger was doing his best not to scream, and Thraangzi didn't like that at all. This tark would beg for death by the time he was done with him.
If only he had been more attentive to his grandfather's lessons. Thraangzi had been more interested in sword fighting and battle tactics than torture when he was younger. Geth's instruction would have been useful now. Thraangzi simply was not sure how to kill this tark slowly enough.
Glancing towards the fire, he felt a jolt of inspiration. He lifted out a chard log, its end a fiery cinder. The man struggled as he approached. Thraangzi grabbed his hairy jaw in his palm and tapped his thumb lightly on the triangular scar above the Ranger's eye. "I think I'll finish what I started here," he said with a dark smile. "One fer one, an' all that."
Thraangzi thrust the dull, burning end of the log into the man's eye. Finally, he screamed.
It was smoke that drew them to the village located in the mountainous foothills of South Ithilien. Cadoc was heading a large party of Rangers that year, nearly thirty men in total, into the Wild lands near the Poros River. They had already headed off a group of Harad slavers come north for exotic merchandise. Now, it was the remnants of a raid that they came across.
In the foggy morning of late summer, Cadoc found himself riding his mount through piles of broken, severed corpses piled along the main road of what was once the beginning of a town center. The meeting house in the center had been burned to the ground, and twenty more bodies were found among the charred remains.
Nearly five years after the War, many men and their families braved the untamed land of South Gondor and Ithilien. Though most of the orcs in this area had been cleared over the years, more still remained, but the desire to claim this land as their own pushed many Men to ignore the fact that this area was still dangerous and wilder than the territories further north.
Cadoc may have questioned the wisdom of building a village this far from civilization, but that did not excuse the mass murder done here. The condition of the corpses were telltale signs that this raid was perpetrated by orcs. This was confirmed by the trio of survivors they found in a root cellar half buried in charred debris. A pair of children and their grandmother recounted the events with vivid horror.
"They took some of the younger women with them," the elderly woman told them in a shaking voice as she held her granddaughters to her chest. "They were screaming, and I didn't... there was nothing we could do."
Cadoc regarded her haunted, sunken eyes with pity. She was nearly the same age as his own mother. "No one would expect you to do anything. It is enough that you were able to save these girls from such a fate," Cadoc told her. He laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "We will find this band and the women they took with them." In truth, Cadoc assumed that the captives were most likely dead already. The old woman bowed her hand in thanks, and Cadoc promised himself that these people and their daughters would be avenged.
"Perhaps we might bargain for the women," Dellon suggested as Cadoc organized their party into searching groups.
Cadoc blinked at him, dumbfounded, but it was Hedon who corrected him. "Are you out of your damned head?" Hedon barked as he mounted his black stallion. He motioned to the burning remnants of the village and the small group of men digging a mass grave. "Look around you! Do these look like folk that would be interested in striking up a bargain?"
Dellon swallowed anxiously in the wake of the older man's outrage. He and Hedon had never gotten along. "I want you with Tingion," Cadoc told Dellon sternly. "Take those poor women to the station in the North and see that they are properly cared for."
They did not need green Rangers on this mission. The tracks left behind would suggest a group of nearly twenty orcs had been through here, and there was no knowing how many would be back at their base camp. Cadoc thought, briefly, that seeing the aftermath of an orcish raid might clear the notion of peaceful negotiations with orcs out of Dellon's mind, but that hope was dashed immediately by his naive statements. Cadoc wondered where that boy got such outrageous ideas.
The duty of a ranger was to protect the people of Gondor and Ithilien, not to entertain philosophical thoughts of peaceful relations with the enemy. That was the work of intellectuals; men who had nothing better to do with their time than contemplate ethics and ideals. Here, in the thick of things, Cadoc needed men who could act. Tingion probably didn't require Dellon's assistance to escort and old woman and two girls, but Cadoc was in no mood to listen to the boy's fanciful notions.
"That is what happens when you have a scholar for a father," Hedon grumbled at Dellon's retreating back as Cadoc mounted up next to him.
"Never mind it," Cadoc sighed. "We have more important things to worry about. I want you to take Cullas, his two brothers, Belegorn, Thonor, Tathar, Pellilasdir and the Ferphen cousins east to follow that smaller group that has broken off of the main party. I will take the remaining men south to follow the larger group." Cadoc turned to the men filling in the grave. "Amathon, Círon, finish up quickly. You are with me." The pair nodded brusquely, buried the heads of their shovels in the ground and hurried to secure their horses.
Hedon turned his steed east with ten mounted Rangers behind him. Cadoc and the men following him rode into the dense, dark forests of South Gondor.
They had been tracking the raiding party for nearly a week, and Cadoc had lost hope that they would find any of the women taken from the village alive. These orcs were clever, Cadoc would give them that. The Rangers nearly lost their tracks twice where they doubled back through shallow streams. On the morning of the sixth day, just when Cadoc began to fear that they would never catch up with them before the trail ran cold, they came upon the raiding party's destination: a low, wide-mouthed cave situated in the side of a high cliff and surrounded on all sides by heavy tree growth. It was nearly invisible from the ridge they were on. If not for their sharp eyed scout, they might have missed it altogether, and rushed headlong into an orc den without any warning.
"Well done, Rivalon," Cadoc praised. "Did you spy any guards?"
"One," the scout confirmed. "He is located in a thicket not far from the main entrance. I am sure that I was not spotted. We are fortunate the air is damp and heavy today, or I might have feared that he would have scented me. He has the look of an Uruk hai, Cadoc."
Cadoc nodded grimly. Uruk hai soldiers, especially in large number, were dangerous opponents. Though, in some ways, if the whole number of orcs here were Uruk hai, it might be a mixed blessing. They were larger and stronger than most orcs, barring the Black Mordor Uruks, but their way of fighting was more manlike and easier to predict. Cadoc and his Rangers would not have to worry about goblins dropping down from the ceiling of the cave, or hiding in tight corners, waiting to attack. From what he could tell of the tracks they followed thus far, the whole of the orcs were wearing toed boots. Normally, smaller orcs would not bind their feet so, allowing them to climb more easily. The more he pondered it, the more Cadoc was sure it was a group of Isengard Uruks they would be confronting today.
"I could see no alternate exit from the cave," Rivalon continued, breaking Cadoc from his thoughts. "Though the fog did make it difficult to see inside the cavern, I counted at least five, distinct figures."
Frowning thoughtfully, Cadoc turned to address the men with him. "We should assume there are more inside than that," he said. "There were at least thirteen on the trek back here." Pausing Cadoc tried to decide the best course, and could think of only one abysmal prospect. There was a collective breath from the group as they waited for his orders. "We will slay the scout quietly," Cadoc confirmed, finally coming to a decision. "Unfortunately, our only option at the moment is a frontal assault. The longer we wait, the less likely we are to find those women alive. Amathon, Círon, Tonnor and Calon will hang back and provide archery support."
Hiding their horses in a dry gully, the Rangers snuck towards the cavern up ahead. It was Cadoc that drew the longbow that slew the scout. As the orcs fell with a dull thud into the soft undergrowth, the Rangers passed his prone form on silent feet, sifting through the misty forest like vengeful ghosts. They paused at the edge tree line, spread out at even intervals. Though the fog obscured the men furthest from him, turning them into bleary shapes, Cadoc knew his order would be passed along the line. Raising his hand, Cadoc waited, peering across the narrow clearing into the orc den. There was a subtle movement towards the back and the unmistakable shriek of a Woman. Folding his palm into a fist, Cadoc ordered the Rangers forward.
For the Rangers of the South, silence was golden. Their style of guerilla fighting had served them well over the centuries, and they were not in the habit of running into battle screaming at the top of their lungs like a soldier might. They attacked the Uruk hai den without uttering a word.
The Uruks lounging at the mouth of the cave were caught completely off guard. Cadoc cleaved the head off of one of them before he was able to open his eyes and a second before he could sit up straight. There were more of them inside, starling awake with groggy comprehension of what was happening, and there were far more than five. The entirety of the cave floor seemed littered with dark bodies. Cadoc was able to kill three massive orcs without trouble before the whole of them were organizing themselves, rousing with guttural shouts and grabbing nearby weapons.
The soft whistle of arrows sounded and Cadoc watched two orcs in front of him fall back, felled by archers' arrows. His eyes continued to scan for the women here, but all he could see were ghastly parts, a pale, disembodied leg or arm or part of a torso. Cadoc did not allow himself to dwell on the horror of it, and silently hoped that there were a few still hale and whole somewhere deeper in the cave.
A tall, slender Uruk with blood red eyes brought a mace down at him. Feigning left Cadoc's sword sliced through the soft wooden handle and his swing continued around to catch the Uruk in the throat. With a gurgling roar the beast continued to charge and managed to push Cadoc back several feet before succumbing to his injury. With a loud, high pitched war cry of "zna!" a smaller body attached itself to Cadoc's back while another wrapped itself around his leg. Cadoc felt the sharp sting of tiny teeth on his shoulder and lower thigh.
Swearing, Cadoc twisted and kicked out, sending the imp on his leg flying into the fray with a startled yelp. He lost sight of it after it was knocked out of the way by an Uruk locking swords with Rivalon. Throwing himself back against the cave wall, Cadoc managed to dislodge the other imp. It fell off of his back with a squeak and curled in on itself before going limp, a deep gash turning the side of its head bright red.
A hard fist grabbed him from behind by the scalp, lifting him bodily from the ground. Cadoc felt his hair tear as he was turned towards an enraged, dark face; amber eyes glinting murderously. With a roar the massive Uruk plowed his face towards the ground. The world seemed to stop for a moment as the cavern floor rushed up to meet him, and Cadoc was very sure, when all was said and done, he would not have a face left.
Fortune must have smiled on him, because he crashed into the uneven stone in such a way that most of his face was spared direct contact. His left eye bore the worst of it, a sharp ridge of gravel cutting into his brow. The Uruk had him pinned on the right side, his sword hand useless. Struggling to remain conscious, Cadoc reached towards the nearby fire with his free hand as the Uruk brought his head up for another pounding and managed to twist himself quickly enough to gouge the creature in the eye, sending bright sparks flaring in all directions.
The beast roared and stumbled back, releasing Cadoc, and the Ranger finally had a good look at him. Much taller than a man, with a row of short spiked hair down his head, he was naked from the waist up. Cadoc stared at the orc and in those brief seconds that seemed like hours the orc stared right back, as if memorizing face. Before the Uruk could lunge at him again, and arrow lodged itself into his bicep, followed quickly by another in his shoulder blade. He reared back with a snarl and, after briefly surveying the scene around him, turned on his heel. He snatched up the prone imp as he headed out of the cave.
Dazedly, Cadoc turned to see what the orc had seen, and realized why he ran. The den was completely overrun. The few orcs still standing were being overwhelmed. Cadoc's brief surge of triumph was dashed by the sight of another orc fleeing. This one had a woman tucked under its arm, her pale legs flailing as she tried to scream for help over the din of battle.
Rolling to his feet, Cadoc followed. He nearly tripped over the bodies of Círon and Tonnor where they had been felled outside. He wasn't sure where Amathon and Calon had gotten off to, but right now they were not his concern. Spying the pair of Uruk as they bounded up the ridge, Cadoc grabbed a bow and quiver where it rested next to a fallen Tonnor and hurried after.
Ignoring the burning pain of blood dripping into his eye and the dizziness that threatened unconsciousness, Cadoc managed to close the gap between himself and the Uruk hai enough to make a decent shot. The trees had cleared somewhat, and there would be nothing to obstruct his arrow.
Drawing the bow, Cadoc aimed for the Uruk carrying the woman. His vision danced with angry, black spots, but his arrow flew true, and the orc dropped to the ground, a grey shaft sticking out of its back. The second orc paused briefly, took stock of his fallen comrade and caught sight of Cadoc as he threaded another arrow. With a sneer he turned and continued sprinting up the ridge. Cadoc's vision blurred and his shot flew wide, missing his target. Berating himself, he hurried forward to where the dead Uruk and its victim lay. The woman was still, but Cadoc could hear her hiccuping sobs from where she was curled up. The other orc had vanished into the tree line on the far side of the clearing.
Pulling his cloak from his shoulders, Cadoc laid it over the naked woman. She was covered in blood, much of it most likely her own, judging from the gashes and bruises all over her body. She screamed when Cadoc touched her shoulder, and he withdrew his hand immediately.
"Ma'am," he soothed. "It's all right. I will not harm you. Are you hurt?" Even as Cadoc asked it, he realized it was a foolish question. "Can you stand?" he asked, dizzier now that the adrenaline was leaving him. "I am not sure I can carry you back."
She finally opened her eyes, a startling green, to look at him. Her face was as bruised and bloody as the rest of her body, her wild red hair stuck to one side. She looked so similar to his wife, she could have been Ingrid's younger sister. Troubled by that realization and her fearful, dazed silence, Cadoc tried to reach her again. "Can you walk?"
"You are covered in blood," she said in a horrified whisper.
Cadoc reached out to her and managed to coax her into a sitting position, tucking the cloak tighter around her shoulders. "I need you to stand," he said allowing her to lean against him as he stood, supporting her waist as he urged her to stand with him. Her legs were wobbly, but no more than his.
"You are covered in blood," she repeated, staring at the gash on his brow.
"I am all right," he assured her and began leading her back towards the cave. Cadoc blinked back the blood in his eye.
In the end, Cadoc did have to carry her part way. Eventually her broken words had turned to whimpering and her legs folded underneath her. With a sigh Cadoc picked her up and trudged the rest of the way back. The several hundred yards he had run to catch up with the orcs seemed like miles on the return trip. By the time he reached the scene of the battle, it had already ended. Amathon caught sight of Cadoc returning with the woman, and rushed to meet him.
"You are injured," Amathon said anxiously as he eyed Cadoc's bloodied features.
"Never mind me," Cadoc argued, exhausted but less dizzy than he was earlier. "Take her to Nethron and see she is tended." He had to pry the girl from around his neck, but once she had released Cadoc, she clung to Amathon just as vehemently.
Pulling a half bloody handkerchief from his vest, Cadoc doused it with water and tied it around his eye before seeking out Rivalon for a report. He found their scout overseeing the burning of the orc corpses near the front of the cavern. The bodies of two men were laying nearby, covered by their cloaks. The thick smoke of the pyre left a black streak across the sky.
"How many did we loose?" Cadoc asked the scout as he came to stand next to him.
"Four," Rivalon confirmed. "Mudrion, Círon, Mithron and Tonnor; Richon and Tiethrion were badly wounded, but most other injuries were light. Nethron has Tangarion to assist him."
"And the women?" Cadoc asked, dreading the answer.
"We found two still living, though one of them kept asking us to kill her. Nethron gave her something to settle her down." Rivalon cleared his throat uncomfortably. "The others were all dead. I believe there are about seven of them."
Frowning, Cadoc regarded the distraught look on Rivalon's face. "You believe?"
Rivalon turned towards him with a grimace. "We are still sorting through the pieces," he said, disgusted, and spat towards the burning pyre a few feet away. "There were bones inside as well," he added. "They were mixed in with animal bones. I told the men to separate the remains of men from the animals. I think it would be better to take them with us. Bury them somewhere away from this wretched place."
Cadoc nodded. "That would be for the best," he replied somberly. The pair of them stood for a long while in silence while the orc corpses crackled in front of them. The sun had risen considerably, burning off the morning fog. It looked like it was going to be a beautiful day. "How many orcs?"
"More than thirty," Rivalon replied.
"I lost one on the ridge," Cadoc admitted.
"Should we send out a group after it?" Rivalon sounded concerned.
"No," Cadoc said, shaking his head. "He is long gone by now, and injured. We should see to things here and be on our way." A few, light-hearted shouts caught his attention, and Cadoc turned towards the cave. "What is that all about?"
"I am not sure," Rivalon shrugged.
Intent on investigating the commotion, Cadoc led an equally confused Rivalon into the yawning mouth of the cavern. It was a moment before his good eye adjusted to the gloom inside, but once it did, he felt outraged by the scene before him. A few of the younger men were severing heads from the bodies and piling them separately. They were grinning and laughing – almost jovial – as though they were on some manner of merry holiday.
Furious with their callous lack of reverence for the quantity of death here, Cadoc approached the group. "What are you doing?" he hissed.
"They will fetch a good price in the northern province," a dark haired youth said as he tossed another Uruk head into the pile. He seemed confused by the animosity directed at him, and that only served to make Cadoc more enraged.
"We are not bounty hunters," Cadoc growled. "We serve under Lord Faramir's banner! Put those heads in the fire with the rest of the bodies. No one should profit over the misery we have found here. You have lost comrades today. Would you dishonor their memory by exploiting their deaths?"
A chastised look passed across their faces. The young Rangers shuffled uncomfortably under Cadoc's glare. "Sir..." one of them mumbled.
Rivalon whispered quietly at his back. "It is the enthusiasm of youth, Cadoc," he argued.
"That is no excuse -"
"Cadoc!" someone shouted from the back of the cave.
"Clean this up," Cadoc snapped at the youths in front of him, gesturing to the collection of heads on the ground before fixing Rivalon with a pointed look.
Turning his attention towards the sound of his name, he headed to the back of the cavern. Calon waved him into a narrow tunnel towards the back. Sucking in a breath to squeeze through the narrow opening after his comrade, he cleared the tighter section of the tunnel and to another, much smaller cavern. Two men, Tognir and Thavron, were gathered towards the back, staring at something on the ground. There was a pile of furs and random leather coverings strewn about, but other than that, Cadoc could not see anything of great importance in here. The orcs and the remains of their victims were all located in the main cave.
"What is it Calon?" Cadoc asked, suddenly exhausted. It seemed as though his second – or was it his third? – wind was leaving him.
"We aren't sure what to do with it..." Calon swallowed uncomfortably as he motioned towards the pile of furs. Pushing past the men blocking his way, Cadoc discovered what had Calon so troubled. Crouching above the bundle on the ground, Cadoc shifted anxiously on his heel.
Laying on top was an orcling. The squirming, black skinned infant was making small, barely audible mewling noises, as if it wished to vocalize its discomfort, but was afraid of someone hearing. This was not something Cadoc expected to find here. He had come across imps before, but none this young and helpless. Normally, even the smallest orc would launch themselves at an enemy, attacking with teeth and claws, and it was often difficult to tell if it was an orcling or simply a smaller adult you were fighting until the battle was over and the bodies were looked over. Nothing in his training had prepared him for this situation. Cadoc's thoughts went briefly to the imp he had kicked off of his leg earlier and the other that the fleeing orc took with him.
"I told Calon we should toss it into the fire with the rest," Tognir huffed.
"You want to burn an infant alive?" Cadoc asked darkly as he continued to stare at the tiny Uruk. "Have we become no better than orcs ourselves?"
"I said the same," Calon confessed, running his gloved hand through his messy brown hair, "but I am not sure what else could be done with it. I cannot think of any orphanage willing to take in an orcling."
"Nor I," Cadoc admitted. The little orc chose that moment to open its eyes. It stared at Cadoc for a long while, its red, catlike eyes curious at first. For some reason, it did not seem to like what it saw and began to gurgle and growl, its face screwing up with displeasure.
Cadoc had no idea what to do. To simply leave it here would be to invite the poor creature to die of thirst, starvation or exposure, or worse, to be preyed upon by scavengers. They could not bring the orc with them. Who would take it in? Cadoc was not willing to expose his young son to such a threat. The little Uruk seemed helpless now, but what about a year from now? Two years from now? A decade? Hedon was the only person Cadoc knew with anything close to experience with orcs on a more benign level, and from the stories he told, they became dangerous at a very young age. But was that their nature or the influence of their vicious parents? Cadoc wasn't sure, but he also wasn't sure that was a chance that anyone was willing to take upon themselves. Certainly, it was not a chance he was willing to take; not with a family back home to think about.
The little orc hissed at him, waving its tiny clawed hand in his direction, and Cadoc finally came to the only, horrible decision he could think of. "I will take care of it," Cadoc told the men standing behind him. "Go out front and see if Rivalon requires any assistance."
Cadoc listened to the other Rangers shuffling out of the cavern and took a steadying breath. He felt, suddenly, very tired, but this was not an order he felt comfortable passing onto one of the men under him. If there would come some consequence of this choice, either in this life or the next, then it was only right that he was the one who would pay it. As if sensing what was coming, the orcling growled dangerously at him. "I'm sorry..." Cadoc muttered under his breath and covered the creature's little face with his gloved hand.
Spying Rivalon as he tossed several heads into the fires, Cadoc paused briefly to address him. "If I find any man carrying heads back to Ithilien," Cadoc told him, "I will have him brought up on charges of disobedience." Nodding sharply, Rivalon spared a confused look at the bundle under Cadoc's arm, but chose to say nothing as he passed the pyres and headed into the nearby forest.
Cadoc ordered Tangarion take the worst of their wounded and the women to the Ranger's station being built a day south of their location. The new station would not be as fully stocked as the forts further north, but the trip was much shorter, and they were far better supplied than Nethron was at the moment.
After being sure that the remains were being seen to properly and his other orders were being carried out, Cadoc finally conceded to Amathon's insistence that his wounds be tended. Now freshly bandaged, Cadoc had taken Nethron's stern advice and was resting in the shade of a tall pine. It was past midday, and the cool morning had turned into a warm afternoon. Cadoc allowed himself to drift a moment, thinking of his son and wife waiting for him back home, his sister and her newborn son, of places in the world that were not filled with misery.
Familiar footfalls were approaching, followed by a grunt as someone settled onto the lush grass. Cadoc did not need to open his eyes to know who had come to sit beside him. "When did you get here?"
"Moments ago," Hedon replied. "I am sorry I could not get here sooner. I hear it was a rough time for you."
Cadoc opened his good eye to gaze at the small plot of upturned soil beneath the tree across from him. It seemed unfair to toss that tiny creature in with its more vicious brethren. That orc was too small to have harmed anyone. "No rougher than usual," Cadoc lied. "How did things go for you?"
"We found the orcs after a day," Hedon informed him. "They had taken mostly livestock. There were no women with them."
"Were there children?" Cadoc asked, his voice soft.
Hedon was quiet a moment, noticing Cadoc's distant look. "You mean orc-children?" Cadoc nodded silently. "No, there was nothing like that." Hedon paused, thoughtful, as he regarded his long time friend. "What troubles you Cadoc?"
Cadoc shook his head, shutting his eyes briefly. There was a time, when he was younger, that he thought age and experience would make him less affected by the horrors he had faced over the years, but it seemed every new year had a new horror in store for him. Even the War's end did not seem to stem them. "I am looking forward to better times," he said at length. "When the Shadow is finally gone forever, and our Order is no longer needed."
Hedon fixed Cadoc with a small, humorless smile. "And what will we do, when there is no further use for us?"
"I do not know," Cadoc said, staring up at the blue sky above. A pair of birds darted between the treetops, and Cadoc smiled quietly to himself. "But I am sure we will think of something."
In the darkness of the rear tunnel, Lugat looked down on his work, pleased with himself. After what seemed like an eternity of struggling with her, Thraangzi's wriggling sister was tied up tight. There was no way she could slip out of this. Bound at the ankles and wrists, Lugat also wound the rope around her middle, pinning her arms down. Her Ladyship couldn't have done a better job!
Unfortunately, the orcess's amusing writhing and cursing had dissolved into tears the moment he had her tied. Lugat sighed as she broke into another round of pitiful weeping. She was worse than a tark woman! He couldn't believe Thraangzi was talking about keeping her around. Sure, having a female on hand would be fun, but not one as watery as this. She'd been fucking whiteskins, for goodness sake. She probably caught some weird disease!
"Oi," Lugat poked her with his toe. "Cut it out, you, or I'll give ya somethin' ta cry about!"
The orcess began wailing in earnest and Lugat rolled his red eyes skyward. Thraangzi had been very clear that she wasn't to be harmed or roughed up, so Lugat was somewhat at a loss as to how he could make her stop. Her brother had nearly taken his head off after he knocked her out in the woods, and Lugat was not in the mood for a beating. This was no fun at all. Here, Thraangzi was having a right good time with the tark out there while Lugat was stuck babysitting a living waterfall. He couldn't even play with her! That, at least, would have passed the time. She had nice tits for a scrawny bint.
He would even welcome a swearing match at this point. Crouching, Lugat rapped her gently on the forehead. "I said stop," he hissed. She kept crying, her whole face a wet, snotty mess. At this rate, the back cavern would be a lake by morning.
A hoarse scream echoed through the cave. The orcess suddenly paused her weeping and listened intently, her ears pitched forward. Another, weaker shout quickly followed. "Sounds as though they're having a good time out there, eh my girl?" Lugat nudged the orcess cheerfully, glad that her wailing had finally stopped.
Again, she started crying, and Lugat decide enough was enough. She wasn't going anywhere. He might as well see if Thraangzi wanted any help with that Ranger.
Rukhash kept up the waterworks until the Black Uruk had disappeared around a bend in the tunnel. She knew he'd get bored if she kept it up long enough. It had been a risky bet, crying in front of her jailor, but something told her Thraangzi was being sentimental. If he didn't care about her fate she would be either dead already or witnessing whatever it was Thraangzi had planned for her shaûk. Calming her breath, Rukhash felt gingerly around the knot Lugat had tied at her wrists. She blinked at the darkness around her, somewhat dumbfounded. It was a slipknot. For a moment, Rukhash wasn't sure if she should be thankful Thraangzi's lackey was an idiot, or completely insulted.
Her Ladyship: How some Mordor orcs refer to Ungoliant. [LOTR]