To her utter relief, in two days Halla got her period.
She was feeling a little safer for other reasons as well. Ailith was ever polite, giving no sign of having connecting the blooming bloody roses on Halla's coral gown with Finnan's suspicions. And Halla made sure to be seen by someone on the property all day, each day. She kept Ailith beside her constantly; without any fear of discovery, Halla found she enjoyed the sensible woman's company. Having worked as a cook, a lady's maid, a stable-hand and even in a brewery in Edoras, Ailith knew all manners of impressive and interesting things about the wider world.
But Halla longed constantly for Maukurz. His absence was an ache that woke her in the night, when she was surprised to find herself tossing and turning in her sleep, gripping the flesh of her inner thigh tightly as if trying to remind herself of Maukurz's hard, possessive touch. Life seemed dead without him. An oppressive heat settled that week, stifling Halla, bringing dark, ominous clouds that reflected her mood without Maukurz.
And then, after seven days had passed, Halla woke to the sounds of the Riders thundering away from the manor. Halla hurried to her window and threw the shutters open, watching the Men galloping north along her land. She couldn't see if they entered the woods or climbed the mountain. She could only hope that they didn't.
She startled with Ailith opened her door, bringing in Halla's breakfast of warm bread, rich butter, and small ale.
"What's happening?" Halla asked, skipping all greetings and pleasantries.
"Scouts found some raiding party to the North, I think. And Ailen said something about the forest, though he was too excited to make much sense." Ailith set the tray on the small table before the cold, dead fireplace. "Hopefully all this business will be over soon."
Halla closed her eyes, not knowing who she should pray to, for surely none of the powers would talk Maukurz's side over the warriors of Rohan. She sat down to her breakfast but found herself unable to choke it down.
"Are you ill, my lady?" Ailith asked solicitously.
"The heat…" Halla said vaguely. She finally pushed the wooden tray away. "I can't eat this. I need to get some air." She stood up and pulled on her blue robe. "I'll be right back."
Halla hurried down the stairs. She pushed the door open and stepped out into the yard, her eyes to the peak of the mountain where the last of the thin snow-cover was melting away, flooding the streams and river. Somewhere in the high pine-forests was Maukurz's camp. Halla wouldn't be able to see if Riders were heading that way, under the dark cover of the forest. Let him be safe…
The day dragged brutally. Hot and dark, with no sun yet no relief from rain. By the end of the afternoon there was a thundering sound in the distance, and Halla ran to her window in time to see the eored spilling over the high meadows of her land. Soon her property was roaring with warriors and the boasting calls of victory. She ran her eyes over each horse and rider, looking for black blood. The only bloodstains Halla saw were red, on the bare arms of Riders, drying thick and dark on the blade of an axe.
Either way, there has been death, Halla thought grimly. But the Riders' numbers were not diminished. Halla looked about in the crowd for her husband, unable to find him. For a moment she feared that he fell, which would grieve her, even though there was no love lost between them. Halla's eyes landed on Edwyn, setting aside his helmet and pouring a bucket of water over his golden head. He was laughing, and Halla felt relief. Only then did she see her husband, trotting alone away from the camp, onto Halla's land, towards the woods where she had found Maukurz.
"Where is he going?" she mused out loud.
"Pardon, my lady?" Ailith asked, looking up from the flowers she was arranging into vases to spread about the bedchamber.
"My husband has left his shield-brothers, and is riding alone for the forest. Come with me, Ailith! Let's get out of here for a moment, and see what he's about. We can find out what happened today…" Halla hoped Ailith couldn't hear the desperation in her voice.
They ran outside together, hearing a low rumble of true thunder coming from behind the mountain. "Maybe we will have rain," Ailith said hopefully as they crossed the drying, dying grass of the meadow. "Crops aren't ready to come up, and this heat's liable to burn the harvest at the root."
"I should hope not," Halla said. "We lost last year's harvest to fire in the War. The villagers can't endure another poor year—"
Halla stopped in bewilderment once she reached the crest of the hill. Against the woodline, bare-chested riders in breeches were hammering spears into the ground, each a good twenty paces apart. Lord Finnan was supervising. Two riders were hauling what looked like a sheet between them-a blood-soaked sheet-which they set down before the first stake.
One rider withdrew something from the sheet, something he could hold in his hands. He raised it to the top of the shoulder-high stake and rammed it on. Then he backed away, and Halla screamed.
It was the unmistakable dark head of an Uruk, spit on the spear, his long dark mane hanging listless in the thick, motionless air.
Ailith took a look and clutched her hands to her throat. "They're back," she breathed in horror. "They've come back."
Finnan had heard Halla's scream. He motioned for the warriors to continue their grim task, turned his horse, but before he could come to her, Finnan saw Halla running to him, her skirts hiked immodestly to show her slender legs. The woman Ailith followed behind with deliberate, strong steps.
"What is this?" Halla gasped as she reached him. She closed her hand on Finnan's reins, a gesture that set his teeth together on edge for some reason. Ailith marched straight past them, walked to the decapitated Uruk head, and set her hands on her hips. Finnan heard the woman spit. He turned back to his wife, who was utterly horrified.
"Don't worry, Halla. There were only a few of the beasts about. Our battle was with a raiding party of Dunlendings: look for yourself down the line. But we'd found traces of an Orc or Uruk in the woods: a torn blanket, clawed up trees. So we set the hounds to a little hunting, and found a bunch of them, quite weak and ragged." Finnan sighed at his wife's womanish terror. She was chalky pale and teary eyed. "I can assure you—"
Halla wasn't listening to him anymore. She dropped the reins and hiked up her skirts again, and ran to join Ailith. She was terrified to see Maukurz, the golden eyes drained of fire and life…
But as soon as she got close she knew it wasn't him. Wasn't anything like him. In fact, this Uruk was like none she'd seen before: far paler, with bulbous rounded features. Odd red eyes—glazed with death—stared back at her. She hurried to the two others, seeing that they were quite distinctly regular Orcs.
"That there's a Mordor Uruk," Finnan informed the women. "Likely a straggling survivor of the last battle, travelling with several more of his kind, at the two smaller imps."
"Where are the rest?" Halla demanded, breathless.
Finnan frowned. It was uncommonly ghoulish of Halla to want to see the severed heads. "We burned most of the bodies… These will be left on my land for the next week or so, as a warning."
I'll never know. Not until he comes to me. And if he never comes back… Halla bit her lip, tasting the sourness of bile in her spit. She was sure she'd vomit, or collapse in tears. No one seemed to notice her distress, as if she didn't matter at all.
"Were there many, my lord?" Ailith asked. She had forced herself to look, to confront it, and was now glad to turn away.
"About six, Ailith, but hardly a scouting or advance party. The War is over. You should have seen the bodies on these foul creatures: all ribs and bones. They were barely alive as it was."
Though, Finnan thought, it was odd and disturbing that we found Orc-sign so close to home, then lost the trail, then found these quite far to the north of here. Almost as if they were not the same...
"Well done, my lord," Ailith said.
Finnan bowed his head chivalrously. "It should be all over now, Miss Ailith. We combed the area for miles around, sparing nothing but the eagles' nests."
Halla gasped softly. She looked pointedly away from the lofty mountain rising before her, feeling some small bit of hope. Finnan smiled politely at her, glad to see that she'd recovered her composure. "It is well time to get this land yielding a little income, don't you think, madam?"
"I don't…" Halla shook her head tightly, anger replacing hope. "I don't like this. I don't want heads on my property. It's repulsive. Crebain will come, and all sorts of scavengers. It will stink of death."
Finnan straighted up, irritated that she would criticize him, especially before the help. "It is not in your remit, Halla. This grisly fence is a warning to whatever raiding party, or anything else, that would seek to come onto my land. It will not be left up for long. Comfort yourself with that."
He wheeled his horse around and trotted away, towards where the two warriors were spitting the pale heads of Wild Men.
"Sometimes it's hard to know the War is over," Ailith murmured.
"Is it?" Halla asked softly. Her eyes blurred as she looked at the thick black hair of the dead Uruk, blowing in a sudden hot, dry wind.
"You gonna let someone try that bow, or are we gonna keep livin' on birds' eggs and leaves?" Shatauz motioned to the bow as he sat down, offering Maukurz water from an Isengard-issue canteen.
Maukurz drank gladly, but he was in a grim mood. He missed Halla in his guts—and other throbbing places. And he'd seen Flaguz sniffing around Baiurz one time too many. He'd caught Flaguz staring at him, and sensed the threat hard. And he was all but completely immobile, relying on the help of others even to have a sip of water, or take a piss at the mouth of the cave.
He eyed up Shatauz: the two of them had fair history together, locked in at night in the bull pens of Isengard. Shatauz was a remarkably resourceful Uruk, a master of manufacturing or obtaining Isengard's black market weapons, food, or contraband—which meant damn near any item save a tunic, breechclout, and sandals once those gates locked for the night. Maukurz didn't think robbing birds' nests was near good enough for one of Shatauz's cleverness. But he hoped Shatauz wasn't being too clever for his own good now. He hoped he wasn't conspiring with Flaguz. "You askin' me for my weapon?" Maukurz asked.
"Nothin' like that, Cap," Shatauz said quickly, showing submission with hunched shoulders and open, upturned palms. "Just hungry for some meats, like you said you'd get us."
"And I will," Maukurz growled. "When I can walk again. In the meantime," he said, leaning around Shatauz and raising his voice, "I might have to shoot somebody in the fucking throat soon!"
Flaguz was outside the cave, roasting a two day old fish he'd found floating in a stream. He kept his back turned to Maukurz; but his ears pricked backwards, missing none of the arrogant Maukurz's taunts.
"He's still sore about that fight you had," Shatauz said, shaking head.
"He thought he'd take my place… dunno what good he thinks it would do him out in the wild. That ass-ugly scheming little shit face got more than he asked for jumpin' me."
"You beat him pretty thorough, Maukurz," Shatauz replied. Narzum walked in then, carrying the half-eaten leg of a mountain goat he'd found near a lynx trail. Shatauz bobbed his head in greeting, his mouth watering even though the meat was old and tough and stinking of rot. Then he looked back at Maukurz. "But it was that other part that got him hatin' you for life, I think. Prolly rather you killed him than did that while he was down."
Maukurz laughed. "What? He wanted to get fucked, but I wouldn't fuck him with your cock!"
"Talkin' about cum-face?" Narzum chuckled quietly.
"Maukurz won't give up his bow so we can hunt. Gonna shoot cum-face in the face. Again!" Shatauz cackled cheerfully… but softly enough. He had no desire to take on the burly, ill-tempered Flaguz himself.
"Narzum," Maukurz said, waving the lean Uruk over. "Forget that maggoty, fucked up looking goat leg and go get us something warm and bloody."
Maukurz locked eyes with Narzum, nodding sharply. He passed over the bow and a few arrows. Narzum's grin spread ear to ear, and he plucked the string with his fingers. "Sorry Shatauz," Maukurz said, "You ain't nearly the shot Narzum is."
"So long as I eat something fresh!" Shatauz declared, but they all knew the truth: Maukurz wouldn't have trusted anyone but Narzum with his bow and arrows.
"I'll be nice and give Flaguz the asshole of whatever Narzum kills," Maukurz said.
"Hey, you said that's what he's sad about anyway…" Shatauz laughed. He settled down near Maukurz, and began to sharpen one of his hand-made knives, this one made from a piece of an old akrum flaggon.
"Lemme get see that when you're done," Maukurz murmured softly.
Shatauz nodded without even looking up. He had five knives for himself, and he liked keeping the Captain's favor.
Maukurz leaned back, his mouth watering already for fresh meat. Meat that didn't need cooking, soft meat that slipped right off the bone. How long had it been? Maukurz couldn't stand being crippled anymore. He bent his left leg at the knee, and gritting his teeth through the pain, tried to put his foot flat on the ground. "Wish we had some drink!" he grumbled, growling at his pain as he forced his heel to the cave floor. There was nothing at all for Maukurz to do, and so he spent a good long while testing himself, feeling around the split Halla had made, and wondering if there was some way to hurry up his healing. When the pain in his leg got too great, he lay back and thought about Halla: remembering her smell, her smile… the way she felt taking him in. But rather than being pleased by these thoughts, and maybe giving himself a nice little hand job, all he could think about was whether or not she was safe, and missing him as he missed her.
Maukurz jerked up at the sound of footsteps, hoping Narzum had some quick luck. But it was old Baiurz with his grey-streaked hair and blotchy skin. Flaguz hurried behind him, skulking in the Commander's shadow.
"Guess what we got now, Maukurz. Riders all over. Out on the steppe below, and even in the woods!"
"That white-skin told," Flaguz said, narrowing his eyes at Maukurz.
Maukurz shook his head angrily, wishing he could put a quick end to the stocky fuck. "She wouldn't," Maukurz insisted, looking to his superior. "I already told you, sir, she's mine all the way through. She wouldn't rat me out."
"She's a white-skin!" Baiurz barked. "You can't trust them!"
"The Riders are out looking for Dunlendings," Maukurz said. "That's why she brought me back here, because she knew they were gonna be out in force. She saved me. I can trust her."
"Trust!" Flaguz laughed, thinking Maukurz had gone soft.
But the Commander narrowed his eyes and said, "You'd better be right about that, Captain. Or we're all gonna pay for your mistake."
Narzum came back into the cave then, a deer slung over his powerful shoulders. "Who wants fresh meat?"
Baiurz glared at Maukurz for another long moment, shaking his head. He liked Maukurz a great deal, thought the young Uruk was strong and well trained. He wondered what in the world could have happened to make such a steady, heartless warrior trust anyone, let alone a white-skin. It wasn't just good cunt, Baiurz was sure, no matter what Flaguz said. Maukurz had had enough of that to last ten lifetimes, and he knew the young captain wasn't above a little play with his fellow warriors when he got hot. Yet what else could a white-skin offer? Baiurz was stumped on it, and deeply curious to understand. "Go ahead, eat up," Baiurz sighed, and Narzum tossed the fresh, warm corpse to the ground.
That night, a waning moon illuminated the mouth of the cave just enough to help Flaguz's keen eyesight. They'd not dared a night-fire with Riders about, which was better for Flaguz. He slid the long, sharpened stake he'd made into his hand, then crept silently to the back of the cave.
Thankfully—and rare enough to be surprising—Maukurz slept alone. Narzum and Dagalur lay together, sprawled all over each other. Shatauz had rolled towards those two in his sleep, resting his head on Dagalur's calf. Maukurz lay unguarded, and totally exposed on his back. Stupid cocky fucker, Flaguz thought, grinning. Think you're untouchable, that it? I'm about to prove you dead wrong, you miserable maggot!
Flaguz dropped softly to his knees, crawling forward with stealth, eagerly envisioning ramming his stake right through Maukurz's guts. He'd like to ram it other places—that would serve the long dicked sack of shit just right—but he knew he had to kill Maukurz quickly.
He crept so close he could feel the heat coming off Maukurz's nearly naked body. He held his breath, though he was feverishly excited. Flaguz raised the fire-hardened stake over Maukurz's stitched belly, ready to ram it in with all his might.
But at that perfect moment, the golden eyes opened, confusing Flaguz. The stocky Uruk didn't have a chance to think about it. With one quick motion, Maukurz knocked the stake away and grabbed a hard hold on Flaguz's hanging tunic, yanking Flaguz on top of him. Flaguz squealed and shrieked in pain as Maukurz stabbed up into his guts over and over again with Shatauz's makeshift shank.
The entire cave came awake in an uproar. At first they thought it was Maukurz's black blood they scented filling the air, until Flaguz somehow flew up in the air and then hit the ground as limp as a gruel sack, his intestines hanging out of a hundred different crooked gashes. Maukurz sat up growling fiercely, his body slicked with Flaguz's blood and his cock hard from the kill.
"You're fucked nice and sweet now, ain't yuh?" Narzum murmured in Flaguz's dying face, staring gleefully into the tan eyes until they went blank. "I knew it was coming."
"Maukurz!"
Maukurz, panting, lips curled in fury, looked up at the Commander. He expected full punishment, and had no intention of going down easy. He spread his arms open, clutching the bloody knife tightly and waiting for Baiurz to jump on him.
Baiurz looked at the other three Uruks, relieved that the scent of blood hadn't triggered them to tear each other apart. "Stupid fuck," Baiurz hissed, giving Flaguz's body a sharp kick. He looked furiously at Maukurz. "And you too, goading him on! Don't think I missed your shit-talking! Now we're five. And unless you whelped that sharlob and she has a mind to join us, we ain't getting' no more! And I for one don't feel like watchin' the last little bit of our kind doin' each other to death!"
"What could I do?" Maukurz growled. "He was comin' for me some time, no matter what I did! I'd rather get it done in my time, not his!"
Baiurz hissed nastily, furious but unable to do anything about it. It wasn't so much Flaguz's loss—he was a pain in the ass anyway—as the fact that they were a dying breed, and Baiurz was running out of the will he needed to keep them going each day, without anything in sight but death. He looked at the other Uruks. "You all with Maukurz on this?"
Narzum spread his hands and said, "Flaguz jumped him. Twice now."
"He had it comin', sir," replied Shatauz.
"And you?" Baiurz asked Dagalur.
"I'm with Cap'n."
"You're a lucky little fuck, Maukurz. But worthless as a cock growin' out the back of yer head! You better get your crippled self together, pushdug. At least Flaguz would have been able to fight if those horse boys come sniffin' around up here."
Shamed, Maukurz bowed his head, nodding.
Baiurz turned to the others. "Since you fucks are fine with this, you get to clean up the mess. We ain't eatin' him neither! He is—was—one of the last of our kind, and I ain't rewardin' you all with flesh-spoils. Bring him to the wolf caves, and leave him there. Now get it done!"