Chapter 2: Toward Home
Mahulda had been walking for only a day and a half, and already fear and loneliness threatened to close in on her and crush her courage entirely. She remembered how she had determinedly dried away the tears that had trickled unchecked over her cheeks after Tashuk's departure and had begun to walk briskly towards her old home, but what she had seen during this short time frightened her deeply.
Inexperienced in these matters as she was, the stench of war had caught her unware; the smell of unburied and unburnt corpses of both men and Uruk-hai sickening her to the core, nearly unbearable even in the cold winter air. She could avoid the sight of bloated and slashed bodies for the most part, but the horrifying reek stung her nose, made her stomach roil and her head swim. She feared it would settle in her clothes too – currently her only valuable possession, taken from some slain man by Tashuk.
She had to reach her brother's home. Unless her blurred memories of the Uruk-hai raid were faulty, his village should have been spared by the pillaging horde of Saruman's cruel servants. It had to be! Mahulda's sanity was hanging on this thin thread of hope. If he and his family were dead as well... Her mind steadfastly refused to complete the thought. It would not even acknowledge the mere possibility.
Pulling her cloak closer around her shoulders, the young Rohirrim woman marched on. Sometimes she saw people in the distance – peasants returning to their fields and gardens, people of her folk slowly resuming their everyday life. In spite of her loneliness she did her best to pass them unnoticed. She knew that the idea of foreign eyes upon her would cause panic to well up in her.
Strangely enough, she always thought of Tashuk whenever she saw other people, recalling the Uruk's warm, faintly trembling body against hers, as well as the gentle love-bite as they had bid each other farewell. She then had to will Tashuk's image from her mind. But deep in her heart she already held the knowledge that she was going to miss her unlikely friend for a long, long time.
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At nightfall Mahulda had reached the end of the gently sloped country that marked the outskirts of Rohan. The rim of a large forest loomed in front of her, appearing solid like a wall in the dark. This was the very forest where the Uruk-hai had camped, the very forest where they had taken her again and again until she had been bereft of her senses with pain and humiliation; her body cold and bloodied.
Doubtful of her courage, she stood in the open plain for a long time, chilled to the bone. Stars began to twinkle in the cold winter sky, and her breath formed white clouds before her face. She did not dare to enter – not at night anyway. Shivering, she turned to look back at the gentle slopes she had just crossed. No, she would rather spend the night in the open.
Her gaze wandered over the big rocks that were randomly scattered all over the plain like a handful of marbles thrown by a giant's child.
I can rest close to a rock, she thought. It will neither shield me from the cold nor from the eyes of one who looks close enough, but it will suffice for a few hours.
Mahulda was well aware that she would not be able to sleep at all this night, but that she could handle. Tashuk had taken care of her for almost another week, leaving her alone to rest in the cave for long hours, but always faithfully returning with food in spite of her increasing restlessness. The woman's wounds were healing well, and walking had ceased to hurt some days ago.
The slender woman turned sideways where she had spotted a large hill not too far away. A handful of rocks, almost arranged like a stone imitation of a bird's nest, huddled against its base. This would be a good place to rest, protected from windchill and unsuspecting eyes, lest there be anyone around, which she doubted after her long, lonely walk across the plain.
Mahulda pushed her tired body forward, her eyes watering from the increasing wind. She pressed her chin to her chest and did not look left or right after she had chosen her direction, until she sensed a presence.
The sudden appearance of a dark, broad face caught her completely off guard. Yellowish eyes glared at her from a considerable height, and she screamed on top of her lungs, scrambling backwards, her hands raised before her face in a futile gesture.
Her body and mind knew melted into fear when she fully realized it was indeed an Uruk-hai's face, the coarse, black hair and the rough, broad features with the gaping, fanged mouth unmistakeable. Her legs turned substanceless, and she fell to the hard ground in hysterical, heaving sobs.
Nothing stirred but the wind.
Those hideous eyes, impassive and cold, continued to stare at her. The creature's expression had not altered. The cruel mouth had not distorted into a menacing snarl, and it did not attack.
A strong gust of wind whipped across the plain, and a wisp of long, black hair caressed the dark, unmoving face. It wrapped itself playfully around the angrily wrinkled nose, its loose end waving cheerfully in the now gentle breeze.
Everything was quiet except for Mahulda's whimper as she crouched; expecting death or what she feared worse...
An eternity seemed to pass. The human woman was still alive and unhurt. When she was finally able to breathe more easily, Mahulda slowly lifted her head.
Yes, it was an Uruk-hai's face. But there was no massive body, and no strong, clawed hands brandishing weapons or trying to grab her. It was only a head, impaled on what seemed to be an abandoned spear; the creature's dead glare inevitably meeting the eyes of those who walked by. Still hostile, but powerless.
Shakily, the Rohirrim woman picked herself up. Unthinking she edged closer to the horrible thing, looking at it in morbid fascination in spite of the disgusting stench. The skin was already slightly wrinkled, but still leathery and tough. The outlines of strong jaw muscles were clearly visible; the gaping mouth frozen in an unfinished, defiant roar.
Of course it had died fighting.
Now that her panic had dissipated, Mahulda noticed that the yellow eyes were glazed over and turning whitish-grey. As they had begun to sink deeper into the massive skull, the slain creature's expression had become even more animal-like.
It must have been here for at least ten days, yet no bird of prey or other scavenger has touched it, not even to peck out the eyes. When they find something dead, they always go for the eyes first..., Mahulda mused abstractedly.
Another gust lifted more of the matted black hair. Mahulda flinched but made no sound. Instead, she raised a hand toward the head to take the strand that was still caught under the creature's nose with two trembling fingers and set it free. Although it was completely dark now, she could make out a thick crust of blood under the Uruk-hai's wide nostrils. There was dried blood in its mouth too. She could see it clearly when she raised herself on her toes.
With a sigh, she stepped back. Farther away she recognized a dark, oddly shaped hill – a pile of bodies, most of them distorted and burnt beyond recognition. Without looking any closer, she somehow knew that among this festering amassment of death were the bodies of those who had captured and tortured her. But she did not feel any relief or satisfaction, just emptiness.
My people have done this. They set up this hideous thing.
Suddenly, a blond warrior on a sunlit battlefield appeared before her eyes. Confident and proud in his well-kept, shimmering amor, he reached down to the dark, heavy body of the one he had just slain – the last of them. With a satisfied, grim smile on his face he drew his dagger and begun to cut through the still warm flesh, determined to claim his trophy.
It was over. They had won, and nobody would deny him the satisfaction of doing this. Let the firm, resilient flesh of the dead monster fight his dagger in vain! His kind had prevailed!
The sickening, wet sound as he propped the head onto the sharpened wood did not diminish the pleasure he took in the sight before him, nor did the long-lasting dribble of thick, black blood – blood that seemed strangely unwilling to part with its owner.
With a shudder, Mahulda blinked away the disturbing vision. Puzzled and weary with all she had seen, she turned away from the Uruk-hai head and wandered over to the hill she had chosen as her resting place.
***********
Tashuk moved like an arrow released from a bow: swift and full of purpose. Never mind that her target was moving, probably almost as fast as her. She would find them! Her heart beat excitedly, and it felt good to move with a destination, knowing that she would no longer have to go in circles all the time, always returning to the sad and weak human she had saved. Bringing her food. Bringing her drink. Bringing firewood. Tending to their fire.
Oh, she liked the human, although she would not have been able to say why. There was, after all, some strength and resilience in her, in spite of her habit to make funny, whining noises all the time, her tiresome habit of curling up when confronted with unpleasant things – as if that would help, ever! – and in spite of her soft, frail, muscleless body.
It just felt good to be totally free again, to run fast. And it would feel good to return to the familiar smell of their camp, to hear raucous laughter and roars of battle-fever instead of sobbing, to roughly tease and be teased by other strong, hot bodies. That she had missed most during her stay with Mahulda. The human was so afraid of touch, she had rather shivered besides a dying fire, doing her curling up-routine than allowing Tashuk to lie by her side to keep her warm. Strange and complicated human.
But Mahulda's image began to fade fast from Tashuk's mind as the solitary Uruk-hai came into landscapes ravished by war, fields still telling of slaughter. The Uruk's nostrils widened, and she shivered with discomfort whenever the stale smell of long-slain, long-burnt Orc flesh assaulted her nose.
Her exuberance was entirely sucked out of her when she started to realize that there were many more corpses of Uruk-hai than of men. Running mostly at night, she would sneak close in the dark and inspect them without alerting anyone to her presence. The experience left her bewildered, as she had not even known there were – had been – so many of her kind.
Zigzagging through these ghostly fields of death in the dark, anxiously prodding and sniffing some of the bodies that looked vaguely familiar, soon added agony to her bewilderment. Upon realizing they were not of her group. she felt relief, but even that relief did no longer lift her spirit, since she had lost the scent that had still lingered in the air when she had parted with Mahulda. Now it was completely lost in the pervasive stench of murder.
Tashuk realized that it would not make sense to simply run further into the barren North-East without a clue where she was going and who she expected to find. Rohan did not offer much shelter in the shape of woods, but if there were any Uruk-hai or other Orcs left, they would have gone to find shelter among trees or in caves. She bowed her head, ashamed to think of her people retreating and hiding.
Yet she hoped she was right.
***********
"Stay where you are!"
The voice was rough and deep, resonating in Tashuk's near-empty stomach. Words uttered in a strange dialect of Black Speech, and an Orc's voice, but it was none she knew.
"Who are you to give orders?" she shouted back. She stayed between the short bushes, half-hidden and knowing that any attack would be hampered by the thorny vegetation. Her dagger rested heavily in her hand, well-balanced against her palm. Every fiber in her body was ready to attack, to lash out at the unknown owner of that voice, but she was also weary and hungry and did not crave a fight.
Instead of an answer, a tall and wiry Uruk came forward. A familiar looking, black-feathered arrow was notched and halfway ready for release, but then the bow was slowly lowered. The hard glare of narrowed, disturbingly bright and cold eyes scanned her body. Tashuk endured it, wordlessly meeting the scrutinizing glare, doing her best not to appear angry or defiant.
"Morlúkh. Of Mordor."
Tashuk inhaled slowly, and she had to force herself not to gawk. She knew that other Uruks existed outside Isengard, had existed before her. This knowledge had always been there, in the back of her mind. It had never mattered though... until now.
His eyes still held hers. Expect for the piercing and black, slit pupil, they were almost white, with a greyish-blue tint. There was no warmth in them. He emanated danger.
"Tashuk... Fighting Uruk-hai of Isengard," she introduced herself, trying to sound dignified and cool.
"Fighting Uruk-hai," he sneered. "Aren't we all?"
If it had not been for the faintest trace of bitterness in his voice, Tashuk would have been at Morlúkh's throat in one leap. She swallowed her anger, but her grip on the dagger tightened further.
Morlúkh noticed it though – the mere shifting of weight, the faint shadow of a twitching sinew.
"Leave it where it is, unless you want me to hurt you," he rasped, "and follow me."
Tashuk gasped, fishing for words, but she was too tired and slow. Any effort to assemble a delayed retort would look stupid. Also, Morlúkh was already walking away from her, the bow relaxed in his hand now. She was no coward, and she would not attack him while he had turned his back on her. Although it would be easy to get him to turn around...
Forget it, she thought. He is leading you somewhere. At least he has a destination. You don't.
***********
Morlúkh was greeted without enthusiasm by a small, badly scarred Orc, who immediately craned his neck to look around at Tashuk. Then he scuttled closer to walk beside her and lifted his head, jagged teeth bared in a grimace of disgust.
"Great! Just what we need. Another green Uruk newcomer who probably doesn't know his ass from his ears, but wants to be fed all the same."
The Orc, who did not even reach up to Tashuk's hip, jumped in front of her and spat, barely missing her. Without thinking, her body responded, and a well-muscled leg lashed out. The Orc doubled over with a scream that turned into a prolonged hissing howl. Satisfied she realized she must have hit some parts he held very dear.
"Snaga!" she snarled. Not very creative, and it did not even sound especially disgusted or hateful.
The Orc picked himself up, moving closer to Morlúkh, still howling with pain between muttered words: "I tell ya, Morlúkh, 'tis going too far, I've had enough of these stinkin' Uruks from around here."
"Very well."
Before the echo of Morlúkh's words had faded, the Orc's head rolled away from the crumpling body. The latter twitched in a too late impulse to escape, and black blood gushed out, pooling in the short grass.
"At least some of us won't go hungry tonight," he said haughtily.
The Orc's death caused some commotion among the mixed group of smaller and Great Orcs. Some approved and some disapproved of Morlúkh's deed, but nobody was without an opinion, and quarrels broke out. Soon harsh and loud voices tried to overshout each other, arms groped, booted feet kicked, and somebody even threw a knife at an opponent.
Tashuk stood back, suddenly grateful to have Morlúkh stand between her and the others. At least he could not see her confusion, her shame about what was happening before her eyes. Her group had had brawls as well, but it was clear that these Uruks and Orcs had no longer a purpose. They served no common goal which would help to bring them back to order and unity. It pained her.
A giant, black-skinned Uruk came forward, ignoring the chaos and simply shouldering the others out of his way.
"Uzgur!" Tashuk cried out.
The pitch-black features distorted into a toothy grin which almost split the broad face. Tashuk quivered with the urge to charge her friend and punch his ribs with joy, but knowing Morlúkh between them and strangers in Uzgur's back, she restrained herself and simply did her best to match the other Uruk's grin.
"He was in your band?" Morlúkh inquired, deliberately ignoring their obvious delight at seeing each other.
Uzgur nodded, the grin slowly retreating from his face.
"Where does your friend come from, then?"
Tashuk shifted in Morlúkh's back; an annoyed snarl escaping her throat.
"I can speak for myself!" she protested.
Strangely enough, it was Morlúkh's use of the small word 'he' that aggrevated her more than his display of authority. It reminded her of another issue she would have to deal with yet. Travelling alone, she had merely become Tashuk again, one of Isengard's Fighting Uruk-hai, and since she had left Mahulda she had not been thinking in terms of sex.
The feeling of Morlúkh's hot breath on her face brought her thinking to a grinding halt. Slit, ice-colored eyes bored into widened, golden ones.
"...and you will – when asked," he growled menacingly.
Tashuk's gaze flicked over Morlúkh's shoulder for a split second. She could only catch a glimpse of Uzgur's eyes, and they had become hard and angry. She could also sense that he was ready to charge, the tenseness in his body somehow transmitting itself to her. Right now, this was all she needed to know...
Unwilling to acknowledge Morlúkh's leadership, she planted her feet stubbornly, preparing for a blow. She remained silent, unable to consent as well as unwilling to provoke the Mordor-Uruk any further.
"I see – another arrogant Isengarder," Morlúkh hissed after a while, grabbing the smaller Uruk's chin, bringing his face even closer to hers.
Tashuk's body began to tremble with a deep, hostile growl, but Morlúkh was not impressed. He did not move. He took another deep breath, and suddenly his eyes widened, as if he were surprised or confused by something.
"This – shall be – interesting..." he hissed. Then, unexpectedly, he released Tashuk's chin, flung her head to one side and marched off, ignoring her as well as Uzgur.
"What was this all about?" Tashuk asked her friend, the growl still in her voice and humiliation clenching her guts, replacing the hunger she had felt all day. She rubbed her whiplashed neck resentfully, silently cursing this ill-tempered Morlúkh-bastard and swearing to seek revenge.
"He is just his usual, cheerful self," Uzgur replied with a hearty slap on her back that made her lungs momentarily collapse. "We could fare worse... He is a not a bad leader, though it might take you a while to realize that. The newcomers are beginning to get on his nerves. Has to prove himself over and over again. Of course Morlúkh would be the last one to admit it, but I think he is getting tired of it."
Tashuk shook her head in confusion. It had only been... maybe ten, twelve days since she had freed Mahulda. Could things change so fast? Her eyes came to rest on the mutilated Orc. No doubt they could, and with some finality too.
Uzgur noticed that she was looking at the dead Orc.
"Hungry?" he inquired.
"You eat snaga meat?" she replied, shaking her head once more.
"Too good for you?" Another punch, this time lighter. Tashuk, still lost in thought, stumbled.
"You do need food," Uzgur laughed.
She nodded, simply trotting along. Red, grey, golden and white eyes looked her up and down while they approached the now much quieter site of the camp, which was not too well hidden in the short, thorny bushes. Obviously nothing permanent. Tashuk watched out for Morlúkh, but she did not see him anywhere. None of the others said anything offensive while she passed them. The newcomer was with Uzgur, and in spite of his good-naturedness, this Uruk-hai warrior was not one to be crossed.
Uzgur produced a slab of reasonably fresh looking meat from a hide and handed the whole piece to Tashuk. She took it without a word and started ripping into it with unconcealed greed, plopping to the ground while chewing and gulping. Horse meat, somewhat hard and stringy, but the best food she had had in days nevertheless. And a lot of it!
The other Uruk sat down to face her, his expression calm but thoughtful. Tashuk looked the same as he always had, except for a different pattern of leftover, sweat-mingled warpaint in his face. No fresh wounds, no scabs. What had happened when they attacked the horse people? It had distracted him that his fierce friend had not been around; even in the heat of battle. They had been an excellent team, whether they hunted for manflesh or other prey.
"Where have you been?"
"What...?" Tashuk's muffled voice replied.
"What happenend during the fight? You were not there."
"Not now, Uzgur... I'd rather not tell you here, not if you want to hear the truth – "
"So something does stink," he interrupted in a low voice.
Tashuk lowered her head. This day had brought nothing but shame and doubt! Then, in a sudden flash of anger, she threw the leftover piece of meat back at Uzgur. He half-heartedly grabbed at it, but it still landed on his broad, leather-clad chest with a smack. The assailant stared at him, hoping he would get angry, so that she could use teeth and claws against him, but he simply frowned and slowly, ever so slowly, wrapped the meat back into the hide.
With an angry snort Tashuk got to her feet and walked away to the outskirt of the camp. Eyes followed her, but she did not meet the curious gazes, nor did she heed the tall shape of Morlúkh against the twilight sky. He was watching her from a distance and snarled under his breath when he saw that she walked proudly, with her chin raised.
Deliberately ignoring the voices and sneers that reached her even in the remote corner she had picked, Tashuk settled on the ground and curled up against the cold, knowing that her sleep would be light and fitful. Never before had she felt unsafe among her own kind. Never before had she felt lonely or truly miserable. She was not supposed to feel all these things, that much she knew.
And while she tried to get some rest, a voice whispered in her mind that Saruman was defeated and that the Uruk-hai had lost their master's war.
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