In An Age Before – Part 293
Now 24 Gwirith dawned and the settlers were occupied with the tending of their wounded and the burying of their dead. The Tatyar aided them in collecting the bodies of the slain Yrch and burning them in a field deemed too rocky for cultivation. I wager that column of smoke can be seen even upon Methedras, Helluin thought as she watched it rising lazily through the still air.
On that day and the next, the Noldo found that the farmers had no walnut drupes in that season, and of woad, they collected some from the uncultivated lands 'nigh the 'outer bounds', (meaning the dyke and wall outside of Angrenost), an unpopular chore for their fear of the fortress. Within weeks, the leaves had been boiled and used to dye cloth, but that was in autumn and so they had no surplus to offer in spring.
Helluin nodded in resignation and instead collected soot from their lamps and chimneys and with it dyed her cloak black. Once again, she would resume the appearance of a Nazgûl and terrorize the Yrch of Methedras as the Ghâshgûl.
On the 25th, with all their labors complete, she and the Tatyar took their leave of the farmers and returned to their camp within the dyke and wall. There they recovered their travel supplies and then Helluin bid them farewell for that time, charging them to return to Norðr-vestandóttir Bý.
"I shall rejoin ye after emptying the warrens of Methedras," she told them, "though I know not how long that task shall take. Fair travels to ye, my friends."
Celigbedin accompanied them, though he was unhappy to leave.
So then, we part ways here, Helluin? he asked, and she nodded 'aye'.
Thou hast no place in this campaign, my friend. I shall be long 'neath the ground and no fodder grows in the dark caves and tunnels of the Yrch. Pray enjoy thy days in the sunlight where the grass is tender and the water clean.
I shall do so then, and pray we charge to battle again one day.
As shall I, my friend. Be well.
Helluin watched them mount up and begin their ride east, and then she headed for Dol Baran to find the Orcs' trail and backtrack the raiding party to their caves in the mountain. Blessed to be able to walk both day and night, she came to the high trail during the night of the 26th and found an entrance just ere dawn on the 27th. It lay roughly a third of the way to the mountain's summit and to Helluin, 'twas familiar from Narbeleth of 1973. Unlike in her last campaign of extermination, this time, she would start from the top.
Now the Noldo came to that entrance with her full stealth, silent afoot and cleaving to the fading shadows of the night, and there she found a company of four sentries standing watch o'er their lair. The Uruks were hardly attentive, deeming that none would approach, (as none had done for centuries save their own folk), and they sat clustered 'round a small fire just within. The dancing light from the flames was imperceptible from without, for the floor descended from the mouth of the cave and boulders standing outside obscured the opening.
The Uruks were wholly preoccupied in conspiring o'er a scheme, (well 'nigh their only form of interaction save bickering), and had no inkling of Helluin's presence. She paid heed as they plotted how to enrich themselves by raiding the lowland on their own behalf. There were also many insults voiced against the raiding party that had gone aforetime and many suspicions as well, for from the high path they had seen the distant fires in the hamlet, yet none had returned to share fresh meat or plunder.
From the shadows, Helluin listened to their complaints and their developing plans. It seemed that they had 'friends' amongst the sentries of the next watch and together as a party of eight, they hoped to chance a foray downslope. They fantasized about the gorging they would do and the riches they might obtain, and perhaps they would ne'er return to their warren at all, but rather set up on their own elsewhere. Maybe they could even convince those on the previous raiding party to join them.
'Twas as ignorant and self-serving a plot as any the Noldo had heard aforetime and 'twas just as doomed to fail. She resolved that ere the relief watch arrived and there were eight, she would take the four presently seated 'round their fire. A cold grin shaped her lips as she set aside her travel bag, bow, and quiver, and then moved forward.
Helluin cast the Sarchram as she charged through the mouth of the cave. Seated, fire-blinded, and unaware, the four Uruks barely reacted ere death found them. The Grave Wing slit the neck of one seated with his back to the entrance, deflected slightly to hew the face from a second seated 'cross the fire, then shot off to ricochet from a side wall ere burying herself in the chest of a third. The last was just reacting to the spray of blood from the first when Helluin clove his skull asunder with a down stroke of Anguirél.
After cleaning her weapons and recovering her travel bag, bow, and quiver, Helluin dipped her hand in the Orcs' blood and wrote, Vrasuztakûrûk¹ and Ghâsh gijak-ishi²on a wall, then disappeared down a tunnel easily recalled from her prior visit. ¹(Vrasuztakûrûk, I killed them all = vras-(v. kill) + -uz(1st or 2nd pers, past v. suff, I killed) + takûrûk(dat. 3rd pers. coll. pl. pron., them all) Orkish) ²(Ghâsh gijak-ishi, Fire in the Blood Orkish)
Along the route of her descent into their lair, Helluin encountered the relief detail, four more Uruks heading for sentry duty at the entrance. They were jogging upwards and making so much noise that she heard them long ere they appeared. In the wavering light of their torch, it seemed to them that a shadow parted itself from a rough spot in the passage and revealed a swift black sword that whipped 'round in a circle of decapitation. In their blood, the Noldo repeated her slogans on the tunnel wall, and then she extinguished their torch and moved on.
As she had done 'twixt 1851 and 1974, Helluin made her assault on the lairs of the Uruks with patient and meticulous violence. Parties of sentries disappeared, details roaming the tunnels in search of their enemy she hacked to pieces. Within half a year, there were passages and chambers where no Orc dared to venture. There were cave entrances that none dared to use.
Despite the passage of centuries, Helluin found the political situation in Methedras the same as during her earlier foray. The population was made up of many mutually contentious and antagonistic tribes that kept to their own warrens and sets of tunnels and used their own entrances. Had they joined forces, t'would have made the Noldo's mission far more difficult, but confederation was not in the nature of the Uruk-hai. No commander would cede power to another, for that was tantamount to self-deposition and suicide, and so suspicion, enmity, and division continued to rule their interactions.
Slowly, during the summer and autumn, Helluin diminished the count of her foes within Methedras, wreaking havoc on their numbers and moral. And at each engagement, she left the same messages scrawled in blood in the Orkish tongue, 'I killed them all', and 'Fire in the blood'. Those words even the most ignorant of lore amongst them soon came to recognize.
In the face of renewed predation by the Ghâshgûl, the Uruks lost faith in their leaders. Mutiny, murder, and desertion became increasingly common. This had the effect of removing those arguably most capable of command and elevating dimmer, more fearful lieutenants in their stead. These proved no more effective than their predecessors in stemming the slaughter. They had no answer to the threat of an enemy they could not see, could not hear, and could not defeat. Those who fled Methedras that autumn displayed the only wisdom, for sooner or later if they remained, they would be slain.
Soon 2713 faded to winter. The raiding parties that went south or west in search of meat oft failed to return, with some choosing to take their chances in Dunland. The few that came to Drúwaith Iaur vanished, and eventually that land, like eastern Eriador, acquired a dark and fearsome reputation. To the east, the Uruks fared little better. Rohan was a vast, open land and sparsely populated, and though they might come upon some isolated homestead, just as oft they were discovered by Riders of the Westfold and chased down to their deaths. At first, they deemed 'twas simply bad luck, but even after they realized the horses could smell them at a distance, they were disinclined to bathe.
As the cold months approached and the season for forays into the lowland ended with little reward, the Uruks increasingly turned to their only source of sustenance. A knife in the dark, swift and silent, slew those least favored so that all might eat. To retain what little fealty the commanders could, they took it upon themselves to cull their companies and provide meat for the rest, hoping thereby to ensure their submission for another day. The strategy half worked, for though glad to be fed, each member of each company now feared the more for the treachery of their leaders and some struck back preemptively. Still, the stench of burning flesh wafted down tunnels and in the dark, Helluin allowed herself a grim chuckle, for her foes were doing her work themselves. And the only good Orch is a dead Orch, she thought to herself yet again.
Now as was said aforetime, when Helluin had come to Methedras towards the end of her prior time in the Hithaeglir, she had begun her campaign of extermination in the lowest inhabited levels, and thereafter worked her way upwards. This time, she had begun at the top and was working her way down. She soon discerned two effects of this strategy. The first was that when the weather allowed, more Yrch fled, for word of her had spread and there were more entrances towards the base of Methedras. Low in the mountain, more individual tribes lived in close proximity, and they saw her threat as added to the existing threat of their neighbors. The level of danger soon grew intolerable. The second effect was that her pace slowed, for despite the desertions, winter had come, flight was less possible, and each lower level was progressively more populous.
By Narwain of 2714, the Noldo felt as if she was wading through a waist high ford of snowmelt. It had taken her 'til mid-Nórui to slay e'ery Orc in the topmost level where she had entered the mountain and 'til early Narbeleth to clear the level 'neath it. She had spent the three months since then to eradicate two larger tribes on the third level down, and she reckoned that accounted for only about a quarter of the inhabited space. In the back of her mind, the pages of a calendar turned and she deemed that t'would be Nórui ere she moved on to the next lower level.
I suppose I should chaff not at the time required, for aforetime, I had no schedule and no expectations, she thought to herself ere realizing that, though there are seven levels, I still have no schedule to keep. I shall be finished when the last is slain and Methedras lies empty again. At least this time, I am no longer frustrated by the lack of answers to my questions.
With that thought, she pondered the possibility that perhaps there were some questions worthy of asking these Uruks. Whence had they come and when? Did they serve a greater master, or were they wholly on their own? Had they any goals beyond survival? She simply had to remember to ask ere hewing off their heads.
Now in a comfortable warren within the southeastern face of the third level skulked a troop of Uruk-hai numbering four dozens give or take. Their count was uncertain even to the leader Zímzêmar¹, who his loyal troops also referred to as Glu Ong-thlûn² when he was beyond earshot. Some had deserted during autumn and others had selflessly 'volunteered' for the stew pot during the winter. Deeming them all untrustworthy snakes and one as worthless as another, Zímzêmar hardly bothered to count his company from day to day. ¹(Zímzêmar, Beerheart = zím(n. brew) + zêmar(heart) Orkish)²(Glu Ong-thlûn, Piss Bucket = glu(n. piss) + ong-thlûn(bucket) Orkish)
Their home had the dual virtues of a stunning view down into the Circle of Orthanc and an entrance well hidden 'neath the tree canopy so that firewood was abundant. The first they esteemed not at all, but the second they appreciated greatly as the weather grew colder.
A well-obscured path led to their door. By twisting ways, it ran through a creek ere joining a larger trail descending into the lowlands, and so they had remained undiscovered for centuries. In this, Zímzêmar recognized his good fortune, especially with the Ghâshgûl roaming 'nigh Methedras again. Unlike those in the levels above, he was determined not to be taken at unawares, nor his holding invaded and his followers slaughtered.
At first, Zímzêmar detailed seven to guard the entrance at all times in rotating shifts so that 'twas defended day and night. He reckoned seven enough to defeat an attacker, but not enough to threaten a mutiny.
"Stay awake an' ready t'strike quick as an adder," he warned the sentries, "cuz that's the only way we'll stave off the Ghâshgûl. If ye fail, it'll enter an' gut us all."
The great irony was that most of the company believed their commander when he told them the Ghâshgûl would try to invade from outside. Fear kept them within their tunnels so that the sentries seldom dared venture out for firewood any longer. Their lair grew chill and the fires miserly for now there was little to cook o'er them.
Alas for Glu Ong-thlûn, the Ghâshgûl struck from within the mountain and guarding the cave's entry accomplished 'naught save to serve as a distraction. Within Methedras, or Thop-jundaut¹ in the Orkish tongue, the rooms and tunnels joined in a haphazard web with those leading to other lairs. By long-standing agreement, (augmented by long-standing threats), none visited their neighbors. Each warren distrusted all the others, just as all the members of a company distrusted their comrades. Mistrust, suspicion, and enmity were constant and the Uruks accepted this state as normal. Helluin understood their mindset and paid no heed to their borders. Besides, she was equally feared and unwelcome where'er she went. ¹(Thop-jundaut, Last Peak (lit. Peak Last) = thop(peak) + jundaut(last)Orkish)
Narwain crept on and the Uruks of Zímzêmar's company disappeared, one here, a couple there, and on occasion, whole patrols vanished. Sometimes their screams were heard echoing through the tunnels, but the direction was uncertain, the voices indistinct, and the violence brief. More oft, they simply ne'er returned and if any trace was found, 'twas a curdling puddle of blood on the floor and fell words scrawled on the walls. 'Vrasuztakûrûk' and 'Ghâsh gijak-ishi' seen by wavering torch light made the viewers quail ere they fled back to crowded spaces, wondering jealously if the missing bodies had been eaten. Reckoning they would receive no thanks for bearing ill tidings, they withheld what they had seen from their leader.
The slain, Helluin hacked into manageable pieces and then dragged to the empty chambers on the level above. By then, the topmost level housed the remains of its residents and many residents of the second level. The second level was accumulating the body parts of the inhabitants from the third level. The dark Noldo had decided to proceed thus in order to hide the count of those she had slaughtered whilst denying their meat to the living. She preferred her foes weakened by their hunger and more vicious to each other because of it. Besides, she reckoned that she had time. The days dragged on, the Yrch felt their hunger e'er more acutely, and Helluin stocked her larder without pause or remorse.
As expected, the stench was becoming intolerable despite winter's natural refrigeration. 'Twas a torment to the Noldo with each deposit she made, and she longed for the activated carbon filter masks that the Dwarves of the Lonely Mountain had crafted to combat the stench of the Reeking Dragon, Biraikhgirul-Uslukh.
And where is a Dragon when I need one? she carped to herself in the stinking darkness of the Uruks' tunnels. Would that I had a hungry Wyrm of Morgoth to dispose of all this fetid meat. A small young one would do nicely. I would esteem it as a pet and keep it well fed, just as the Eorlingas treat their hunds. Alas, there were no Dragons in the Hithaeglir.
On 7 Nínui, a party of four scavengers vanished from Zímzêmar's lair, reducing his company to a score and fifteen, barely more than half its count of the autumn past. The commander was at the end of his patience, and suspecting that desertion was running rampant, recalled the watch at the entrance and browbeat his subordinates unmercifully. Answers he demanded of them and hopefully confessions as well. At the very least, he expected the living to accuse the missing of flight, but they surprised him with their candor. Those who had encountered puddles of blood and mottos written on tunnel walls finally broke down and revealed what they had seen.
Old Mikbork-sum¹ shuddered as he spoke, saying, "In farer tunnels we seen the words o' the Ghâshgûl writ in the blood o' the slain." Beside him, three of his known accomplices nodded their heads in agreement. ¹(Mikbork-sum, Rat Breath = mikbork(rat) + sum(n. breath) Orkish)
Zímzêmar regarded Mikbork-sum with a jaundiced eye. Covered with scars and retaining only five teeth, he had survived many battles and knifed many rivals. He had the ear of many in the company and these seemed to survive fights more oft than the others because of Rat Breath's advice. This was usually to avoid enemies 'til the odds tipped in their favor. If any amongst his depleted company posed a threat of deposing him, 'twas Mikbork-sum.
"An' when were this discov'ry made?" the commander asked.
"Discov'ries," the old Orch corrected, "thrice we seen 'em since Bûrz-Gûjat¹." ¹(Bûrz-gûjat, Long Night (lit. Night Long, aka the winter solstice) = bûrz(night) + gûjat(long)Orkish)
"A score, seven, an' ten days an' ya thunk not t'inform yur commander?" asked Zímzêmar, leaning forward in a threatening manner.
"We troubled thee not cuz the bloods was old, the enemy long gone, an' 'naught t'be done for it. Reckon'd our commander has more pressin' worries, what with scarcity o' food, firewood, an' so many disappeared," Mikbork-sum said with obsequious mien.
Zímzêmar squinted at the old Uruk, deeming his toadying feigned and missing not his recitation of their most pressing deficits. 'Twas just the stuff that passed for a subtle challenge to his authority, and being as his patience was strained, he reckoned his survival best served by eliminating the threat. Yet his leadership position was tenuous and Mikbork-sum had followers of his own in the company. Stabbing him outright would be chancy. Perhaps he could keep his role as commander and his life too, if all went well.
"With the disappearance o' the last party o' finders, the threat is not ended an' the enemy is not long gone, but lurks in the tunnels yet, I wager," he said. Fear of the Ghâshgûl prompted others to nod in agreement. None had seen its dead body and the slaughter continued. Even some of Mikbork-sum's henchmen nodded as if by reflex. Zímzêmar tried to hide his smile and wound up with a twisted grimace on his face instead.
"Thou've long experience an' ken many enemies, Mikbork-sum, an' I'd have yur knacks," he said. "Choose a half-dozen ya'd trust in a fight an' seek for our foe. Succeed an' we'll be safe. Bring me its head an' I'll make ya lieutenant."
Neither of them was deceived by the commander's gambit. Zímzêmar sought to rid himself of a potential rival by assigning a suicide mission that would encompass Mikbork-sum and his closest supporters set against the Ghâshgûl. Beerheart regularly sent those he deemed least loyal to scout the enemy or lead charges. Rat Breath deemed he was being gifted an honorable escape from a failed company.
For his part, Mikbork-sum dipped his head in apparent acquiescence whilst intending to name his most loyal accomplices to accompany him as far from the Ghâshgûl and Zímzêmar, (who he deemed doomed), as possible. Once they found some haven from their enemy's predations, they would wait 'til spring when their lair was either emptied or its company so degraded that they could seize control and execute any survivors loyal to the current leader. 'Twas a plan with prospects that made e'eryone happy.
With a glint of glee in his eyes, Zímzêmar said, "Take yur leave at once. There's not a moment t'lose."
With a glint of anticipation in his eyes, Mikbork-sum nodded to his six most trusted followers. They armed themselves, lit a torch, and after a final dip of his head to the commander, Rat Breath led them off down a tunnel. Once out of earshot, they held a quick council and decided the least sightings of the words, 'Vrasuztakûrûk' and 'Ghâsh gijak-ishi' had been seen on the back route upward to the second level.
"We're lucky scraps, we are," he told his followers with a chuckle. "Piss Bucket let us go an' I thunk we'd 'ave t'chance killin' 'im ere he was the death o' us all."
"Already half the boys're gone," one said, "an' I know he hates us 'special. We'd 'ave been next for the bath¹, like as not." ¹(An Orkish euphemism for winding up as meat in a stewpot.)
"Better together than a few at a time," a second agreed. "Now we got a chance t'see spring."
"When we get upstairs, we'll go to Hon-grishûrz¹," Mikbork-sum told them. "He's got 'imself a li'l troop o' late. We'll tell 'im we left Piss Bucket ere he could knife us for the stew pot." ¹(Hon-grishûrz, Bloody Bowel (lit. Buttock Bloody) = hon(buttock) + grishûrz(bloody) Orkish)
"Ya know 'im, Hon-grishûrz?" the second Uruk asked.
"Aye, we've hated each other since Moria, but he knows me 'an that's somethin' these days."
"We heard Moria's two hundred years past," the second said. "Ya sure he'll remember ya?"
"He'll not 'ave forgotten me," Rat Breath said. "Only seven o' us escapedHokurzêmar, the Tarks, an' the straw-heads." Unconsciously he shivered, recalling when he was driven to the Field of Celebrant by the Werewolf. He did not, indeed still could not bring himself to mention the Ghâshgûl, but having seen it in the battle, he and Hon-grishûrz shared a bond of terror.
Slowly and carefully, they advanced through tunnels they knew but rarely took. Their fear of encountering the Ghâshgûl vied with their fear of Uruk-hai from rival tribes that were scarcely friendlier. When their torch guttered and they were left in the dark, they continued by feeling the walls at their sides and the incline of the rock 'neath their feet. The faint chill of sinking air on their faces grew stronger, colder, and more putrid. By all these signs, they reckoned they were heading in the right direction. The tunnel narrowed and ascended more steeply with walls more roughly hewn as though 'twas seldom to be traveled and the labor of digging was more grudgingly spent. When they intersected a level way much broader, they rejoiced that they had safely reached the second level.
"Ahhh, here we be," Mikbork-sum whispered, "level, less dark, an' more rotten."
"They waste meats up here," one of the others muttered, angered for the grumbling of his belly.
"Could be victims o' the Ghâshgûl," a second whispered, "left where they fell outta fear."
At that, the others looked 'round, but 'twas too dark to see 'aught and the tunnel remained silent save for themselves.
"Hon-grishûrz an' his boys're on the west side," Rat Breath said. Alas, he had no idea of whether to turn right or left to go west. Still, old wisdom gave him the confidence to tell them, "We goes left." The veteran Uruk reckoned he had a half-chance of being right and 'twas worse to be indecisive than wrong. He and his company shuffled off down the passage.
Mikbork-sum's choice turned out to be correct, proven after many turns and many hours of sneaking through the mountain. By then, he and his company had spent 'nigh an entire day walking and had met none. Whilst the company was glad to have encountered no foes, Rat Breath was worried. He had expected to meet others and had hoped that his party of seven would provide enough advantage in numbers to forestall a fight. Throughout their travel, they had studiously avoided known lairs. Yet they had not merely avoided danger; they were passing through a deserted wasteland or more likely a slaughterhouse from the smell of it.
The stench of rotting meat was constant, though it varied in intensity. The reek grew strongest 'nigh known or suspected habitations and remained weaker in the tunnels. Their nervousness rose and fell with the malodor. Yet at last, their leader recognized a juncture of three passages where one joined at a sharp angle from above and another led off north on the same level.
"Almost there," Mikbork-sum whispered to his followers, "an' now we gotta be…discreet."
They crept along the right side wall in single file, minding their steps and trying to keep their armor from scraping against the stone. Chill air and the scent of death grew stronger 'til they came to an intersection whence both a cold breeze and the exhalation of a mortuary flowed. A broader tunnel carried a dim light from the outside and they carefully stepped through a short passage into a low-ceilinged cavern where an entrance to the outside pierced the left wall.
Whilst the Uruks at the rear of the column breathed sighs of relief to have arrived unscathed, Rat Breath and the pair right behind him exhaled in shock. The floor lay knee-deep in body parts.
"Best reception we coulda had," one of the Uruks observed after they had found none living.
Rat Breath and the rest of his company grunted their agreement. Their leader spared little sorrow for the loss of his fellow escapee of two centuries aforetime, having recognized his badly decomposed head 'nigh the center of the cavern.
"We've some edibles here," one of the Uruks announced from just within the entrance where the freezing air of winter had preserved some of the slain. He poked at severed arms and a torso with the tip of his scimitar and nodded to himself after finding them frozen solid.
"They even left us firewood!" another Orc exclaimed after kicking aside a cadaver that had been heaved onto a woodpile.
The rest gathered round and shortly later, their jubilant cackles joined the crackle of flames from a hastily kindled cook fire. They used the dead's swords as spits, heedless of ruining their temper. Mouths watered at the scent of roasting meats.
The company deemed that night the best since last autumn and was gleeful despite the Ghâshgûl. Mikbork-sum's followers were happy and soon to be well fed, and their confidence in his leadership had ne'er been higher. Subtly challenging Piss Bucket and winning their exile had been his best move in decades. He chuckled to himself. Worries about their enemy could wait 'til their bellies were full, for all prospects seemed better after gorging. He could not have been more fortunate in his timing.
A level down and towards the eastern face of Methedras, Helluin was stalking through the tunnel whence Mikbork-sum and his party had snuck a half-day aforetime. On the way, she had slain a group of four Uruks who had been holding a whispered council out of earshot of their lair. From what was o'erheard ere slaughtering them, she marked that they had been vacillating o'er the possibility of desertion, to follow someone named Rat Breath. She asked them no questions, deeming them underlings with no valuable knowledge, for she sought the leaders of warrens.
Silent and invisible in her black cloak, she crept onward 'til she stood outside the entrance of Zímzêmar's lair. Slowly, she leant forward 'til one eye cleared the threshold, providing her a view within. Helluin counted twenty-four Yrch who appeared despondent and sullen as they clustered 'round a meager fire in the corner furthest from the external entrance of their cave.
As she remained motionless, whispered complaints and curses came to her ears. Bits of speech she picked out and she recognized the typical whining of demoralized troops o'er lack of food and lack of firewood that were typical of a dwindling company beset by irresolvable threats. Those topics were safe to speak of no matter what army the soldiers belonged to, yet surely there was more that was taboo to mention. At times, one or another cast a fearful glance to the blackness of the tunnel in which she stood, but seeing 'naught, they returned their attention to their comrades and the scant flames of their fire.
They have 'naught to cook 'til the next is murdered, Helluin realized, and that shall likely be the first unfortunate to doze off. By the nodding of a few heads, she reckoned t'would not be long now and so she remained in place to see who would administer the culling.
In the meantime, Helluin pondered the whisperings of the four Orcs she had recently slain in the tunnel. They had been weighing the possibility of defecting from their group to join one called Rat Breath, whom the Noldo could only presume was the leader of a rival company. She wondered where his lair was located and when she would find his company as she worked her way down the insides of the mountain.
Her attention snapped back to the group in the cavern when one stood and said, "The lizards Thachtalum-korlash, Kûrr-Opash, Thlûnblaugh, and Dhomaj¹ are late. They've betrayed me jus' like Mikbork-sum an' his lot." ¹(Thachtalum-korlash, Thigh Gap = thach(leg) + talum(upper) + korlash(gap); Kûrr-Opash, Slime Lust = kûrr(slime) + opash(lust); Thlûnblaugh, Soft Belly = thlûn(belly) + blaugh(soft); and Dhomaj, Maggot Orkish)
The other twenty-three Uruks seated at the fire said 'naught as he paced in a circle 'round their backs, for they understood the statement was rhetorical. Helluin understood that to speak was to draw attention, but more than this, 'twas tantamount to confessing collusion with their leader's rival, for certainly the one speaking commanded this company. She also understood now that Rat Breath and the four she had recently slain had been from this warren as well. The Noldo watched them all carefully and waited on what choice the leader would make next.
Zímzêmar made his choice without warning, swift as a snake. His dagger was a blur as he slammed it into the neck of one of his companions that had been nodding off aforetime. In the tunnel, Helluin heard the popping wrench of gristle as he twisted the blade, parting his victim's neck bones ere he withdrew the weapon. The Uruk fell forward face-first into the fire and the change in posture compressed his chest, forcing the exhalation of his last breath to fan the flames.
Beerheart announced, "Supper's served, boys."
In the tunnel entrance, Helluin shook her head in disgust at the feeding frenzy that followed. The gluttonous Eagle Meneldor had ne'er feasted with greater barbarism. The Uruks dove into the carcass of their murdered comrade, rending his body with knives, teeth, and bare hands. The wet, ripping sounds as they tore meat from his carcass carried through the cave as blood and urine trickled 'cross the floor. The smell of it when it hit the fire came to her nostrils on the inbound breeze from the exterior entrance.
'Twas 'naught but brutal savagery driven by starvation and none deigned to cook 'aught ere stuffing their mouths. Indeed, so preoccupied were they that their small fire sputtered out as the split body fluids drowned it and none seemed to notice. In the sixth part of an hour, the feast was finished leaving rags and bones and a score and three surviving Uruks glutted and content. The growing cold and their full bellies left the company lethargic save for the leader who sat a bit apart, splitting long bones with a hammer stone and plucking out the marrow.
Sated for the first time in days, none had expected their supper to become dinner theater. Very softly at first came a harsh, grating voice from the tunnel, but its volume increased with each word 'til the Yrch, though still dulled by their gluttony, were fixated upon it in horror. They had become enthralled by the power projected in her song. Helluin serenaded the Uruks with slowly chanted words that even the Goblin King of Kâpul Ulot would have been proud to perform. Indeed, the Noldo had taken inspiration from her memories of him.
"Sing a song of winter,
The starving Goblins cry.
Four and twenty Uruks,
To eat, one had to die."
During the first verse, Helluin had revealed herself, pirouetting and slipping toward them with fluid movements that the Uruks found hypnotizing. Fouetté turns interspersed with long, dipping steps and sweeping arm movements shrouded by her ragged black cloak focused e'ery eye. 'Twixt the macabre image of the Ghâshgûl dancing with eldritch grace from the shadows into their midst and their heart-stopping terror, they remained rooted in place, scarcely able to breathe. She deployed her weapons during the second verse and the slaughter commenced.
"When the murder's over,
And the company's well fed.
Then the scary Ghâshgûl comes,
And strikes them all stone dead!"
Her final words echoed to silence as the last of the Uruks died, and finally she turned one more pirouette to place Anguirél at the side of Zímzêmar's neck.
"I have questions for thee, commander," she rasped. The song's spell broke and the Orch dropped his dagger. He barely managed to remain on his feet for his shuddering.
"Whither went Mikbork-sum?" Helluin asked. "The Master of Flesh and Bone seeks him."
At first, Beerheart could only gibber, but eventually he mastered himself sufficiently to answer.
"Don' know where he went, 'im an' his boys. They left yesterday."
Helluin nodded. She had not really expected him to know where the deserters had gone, but as a lead query, it deflected from what she truly wanted to know.
"Who is Mikbork-sum to thee? Whence came he?"
"He's jus' an ol' Uruk that's been here when I came," Zímzêmar said. "Dunno where he was b'fore."
Helluin groaned silently to herself. This leader knew 'naught of real value, though she was not surprised that he had only minimal knowledge of his followers. After all, they were not friends.
"How many followed him when he left?" the Noldo asked.
"Six went with 'im seekin' thee," Zímzêmar said, and then, hoping that t'would win him favor, for the Ghâshgûl had said that the Master sought him, he added, "I sent 'im."
"The Master thanks thee," Helluin said, "and I have but one further request."
Zímzêmar nodded enthusiastically. If the Ghâshgûl needed 'aught else of him, 'twas thereby implied that he would be left alive. "What's needed I'll do for the Master," he declared in a transparent satire of loyalty that equaled any Helluin could recall for many centuries.
The Noldo nodded to him in approval and the Black Sword slipped 'cross his neck on her return to her scabbard. A geyser of blood fountained from Zímzêmar's arteries as he dropped to his knees. The last thing he saw was the Ghâshgûl dipping its hands in his pooling blood, and then writing on the wall, 'Vrasuztakûrûk' and 'Ghâsh gijak-ishi'.
In the aftermath, Helluin dragged the bodies close to the entrance where they would freeze and contribute the less to the reek. In this case, she was not willing to drag two dozen corpses up to the second level. Rather, she resolved to begin her search for this 'old Uruk' Mikbork-sum, for perhaps he had the answers Zímzêmar knew not. At least he had been wise enough to leave this company behind, and just in time, as it had turned out.
Now Helluin sought for Rat Breath as she continued her genocide within Methedras, but methodical as she was, she was simply headed in the wrong direction. One by one, she emptied the lairs of the third level and then proceeded down to the fourth. The seasons turned, years passed, and then a decade came and went. The fourth level was cleared and she began her hunt on the fifth level, but ne'er did she discover the warren and company of Mikbork-sum, for he and his boys had slipped behind her 'battle lines' and were ensconced on the second level, enjoying peace and prosperity after their fashion. So too went her extermination on the sixth and seventh levels, with more questions asked and no valuable answers received o'er the following seasons.
The year 2725 was growing old when Helluin completed her eradication of the Yrch of Methedras. The last warren in the seventh and lowermost level of the mountain lay silent and empty, its denizens hewn and piled in the caverns they had inhabited. Raiding had ceased in the lowlands 'nigh Orthanc and the farmers had recovered their numbers. Their fields grew bountiful and their livestock multiplied. The children sang of cats and witchcraft. The Noldo had spent a dozen years 'neath the mountain and it had been far less pleasant than her time in Erebor.
Ere she took her leave to walk east, back 'cross all of Rohan to the South Undeep, she resolved to make a last survey of the entrances opening onto the high path that led up to the trail running along the east faces of the Hithaeglir. That trail, she knew from experience, wound from Methedras in the south at least so far as Barazinbar and the Caradhras Pass to the north. From there, broken trails led past sundry lairs to the High Pass. Helluin had explored there 'twixt 1851 and 1974, but recently she had only walked a short length of that section when she had hastened south from the High Pass to rescue Celebrían. Perhaps it also connected with trails leading from the High Pass and Kâpul Ulot all the way to Gundabad, but if so, most of it beyond Goblin Town was unknown to all but the Uruk-hai.
The day was o'ercast, with grey skies frowning on mild, damp air that promised an autumn storm. 'Twas 7 Ivanneth and the autumnal equinox was a week past. During that morn, Helluin had ascended the high trail that she had followed whilst backtracking the raiding party of 2713, and shortly after noon, she reached the topmost entrance, the same cave opening she had first entered to inaugurate her slaughter. She expected to see none, for she had met no one thus far, and yet, seated upon one of the boulders that obscured the cave mouth, she found a single Orc, staring out o'er Isengard and the lands to the east as if in wistful contemplation.
"Been too quiet downstairs o' late," he said without turning. "Wondered if we'd meet."
He turned his head then and looked at her, his shock at confronting the Ghâshgûl only briefly manifesting on his face. For the first time Helluin's face was visible, for her hood was pulled back to expose her head. He drew no weapon nor recoiled from the sight of her, but sighed as if in resignation. Not a Nazgûl after all, but I know ya from long past, he realized.
"Heard ya been lookin' for me a while now," he said. "I'm Mikbork-sum."
The whole situation was so unexpected and indeed so strange that the Noldo stood stock-still examining him for a long moment. Old and scarred he was, with only three teeth left now. Then she sighed and took a seat on a boulder close by facing him. A swift glance she cast towards the cave entrance, but he shook his head 'nay'. There were no others still living to interrupt them for he had eaten them one after another.
They spoke in the Common Tongue and Orkish, for they each knew both languages, but some names Mikbork-sum seemed to know only in Orkish.
"I have sought thee indeed, and no other has eluded me so long, nor perhaps has answers to questions I would ask," she said, still marveling at having an actual conversation with an Uruk.
Rat Breath nodded to her and his eyes slipped away to gaze out again o'er the valley that would one day be known as Nan Curunír.
"I like it here," he said softly, as if to himself, "'tis restful, strange as it may seem t'hear such from one o' my kind. I s'pose many views're like, no bloodshed if seen from far enough."
"Like the passage of many years, many miles make troubles seem small," Helluin agreed. "Distance offers a perspective that does the heart good, much like the respite that sleep offers to mortals."
He nodded in agreement, for so it felt to him. Of late, he had needed such surcease more oft and so he had come to understand that he was simply tired of all he knew.
"I've lived long for one o' my kind," Mikbork-sum told her. "Seven centuries past I fled ya at Kodar-dushob¹. Left Kâpul Ulot later an' escaped again when ya slew Werewolf Hokurzêmar." ¹(Kodar-dushob, Hill of Sorcery (aka Dol Guldur) = kodar(hill) + dush(sorcery) + -ob(sing. gen. suff, of sorcery) Orkish)
He nodded 'aye' at Helluin's look of astonishment. The last time she had set foot in Dol Guldur had been in 2063 when she and Mithrandir had routed Sauron, and she had slain Hokurzêmar at the Battle of the Field of Celebrant in 2510.
"T'survive I've fled many losses an' started anew, feasted on many foes an' hungered after, slew many enemies an' had many plans, o'er, an' o'er, an' o'er. Done it all t'death an' it's got old…jus' seems pointless an' hardly worth the bother anymore. I'm so tired." He heaved a sigh, well 'nigh theatrical.
Helluin nodded in acceptance of his words and found there was little she could say. 'Twasn't as though he could turn o'er a new leaf and become an artisan or scholar, or a writer of children's stories. The prospects for an Orch were rather limited in Middle Earth. Even if he managed to somehow embrace a new life, his enemies or his masters would find him and put an end to his aspirations soon enough.
"What would ya ask o' me?" he said, meeting her eyes with the lack of fear of the doomed.
"Hast thou abode here since fleeing the battle where Hokurzêmar was slain?" Helluin asked.
"After flight through the grasslands, aye," Mikbork-sum said.
"Whence came thee aforetime?" she asked and saw him shiver with some old fear.
"Pafundbûrz¹," he whispered. ¹(Pafundbûrz, Black Chasm (aka Moria) = pafund(chasm) + bûrz(black) Orkish)
"Thou went thither after leaving Kâpul Ulot?" Helluin asked.
"Aye, me an' many others hopin' 'twas empty, but we learnt it already had a master," the Uruk barely whispered for his shaking. "We found many Warg riders ruled by Werewolves."
"So Moria was ruled by Hokurzêmar?"
"Nay, Hokurzêmar was lieutenant. Naur Gijakûrz-kargor¹ is Lord o' Moria," Mikbork-sum said. ¹(Naur Gijakûrz-kargor, Werewolf Bloody Fang = naur(werewolf) + gijakûrz(bloody) + kargor(fang) Orkish)
'Were they many?" the Noldo asked.
"O' Warg riders an' Uruk-hai, hundreds an' hundreds. O' Werewolves, a dozen. Hokurzêmar drove us to battle Tarks an' straw-heads, snappin' at our heels the whole way."
Helluin gritted her teeth, the thought of a bespelled and o'ergrown wolf claiming lordship in Durin's halls vexed her. Yet the Werewolves were an ancient kindred, fell and fearsome servants of Sauron and Morgoth though as she had discovered, greatly diminished in these latter days. She had defeated Hokurzêmar with guile, but if she faced the remaining eleven together, that strategy would be lost in favor of fierce fighting.
Another aspect of opposing the Werewolves of Moria was that she would likely be forced to confront them in their own realm where they would be supported by hundreds of Warg riders and other Uruk-hai. Despite the Eagle's ancient prophecy, 'twas not a battle she favored. Still, Helluin knew her next stop would be Nanduhirion and the east gate of Khazad-dûm. During the time of her thought, she had fallen silent and Mikbork-sum had watched her as the wheels turned in her head.
"Yur gonna seek t'destroy 'em," he said with certainty, "an' maybe ya will. I'd not wager 'gainst ya, but I'd rather a landslide trapped 'em all inside t'starve."
Helluin snapped her eyes to the Orch and admitted, "That is far from a bad idea, Mikbork-sum. Victory without confrontation. Thou art a survivor indeed."
"Few Uruk-hai live so long," he said. "Was young an' fled the Nazgûl in the north. My first good choice."
"Thou escaped battle in Angmar?" Helluin asked, thinking he had defected in 1975.
"Aye, when yur Elvish host put the Nazgûl t'flight."
And there it was. He had been part of Tindomul's army in 1409 when Helluin had projected the phantasm of Gil-galad's host at Dagorlad into the Ringwraith's mind and shattered his moral. Well 'nigh e'ery soldiers' eyes had been looking at her on that ridge top and they had seen the same vision she had shown their master. The Host of Angmar had fled in the Witch King's wake and many had escaped. O'er thirteen centuries had passed since that day. Mikbork-sum truly was old for one of a kindred who were most oft bred as blade fodder and seldom survived a century in their masters' wars.
"I've escaped ya o'er, an' o'er, an' o'er. A lifetime runnin', but no more," Rat Breath said, and it sounded to the Noldo that perhaps 'twas with relief. "Seems like fate an' no shame t'die on yur blade at last."
Helluin nodded to him and drew the Black Sword. Ere he presented his neck, Mikbork-sum made one request.
"Grant me a pyre, ancient enemy. Burn me so I'm not eaten. Let me escape one last time."
'Twas a boon that Helluin felt he deserved, strange as it might have seemed, and yet 'twas not without precedent. She had built a pyre for Âthtram at the mouth of Imlad Morgul after defeating him in a duel with daggers in 2003.
"I give thee my word that it shall be so," she said, and Mikbork-sum dipped his head in gratitude.
"I'd favor dyin' lookin' out o'er this land o' peace," he said.
Helluin nodded to him as she came beside his seat on the boulder. An abrupt swish of air marked her stroke and the old Uruk's head dropped from his shoulders. The Noldo raised it up and set it next to his body, and then she cleaned Anguirél and sheathed her.
The afternoon of that autumn day was waning as Helluin stacked wood and she built Mikbork-sum's pyre high amidst the boulders. She laid his body atop it and then waited on dusk. In the gloaming on the eastern side of Methedras, she kindled the fire, knowing that t'would be visible for many miles 'round in the lowlands. Finally, by starlight she took her leave, marching north.
To Be Continued
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