Chapter 15 Reviews:
Hel – I'm telling you now, they'll never be this lucky ever again! I haven't actually thought much about this part of the story, but rest assured that I am going through it again and making it as interesting as possible before I post it. And any time is a bad time for Yutshrug to start thinking!
A/N: After all of that action in Moria, I have now fallen into a 'storyline depression', where I really can't think of many more exciting things, and action all of the time would get boring in the end. Let's see if the storyline suffers because of it, shall we?
~Chapter 16~
Nrismusk opened his eyes. He no longer felt tired; he felt scared. His ears had long since grown acute to the steady rustling sound nearby in the bushes, and the steady plodding sound that was concurrent with it. It wouldn't be an orc; no orc would even attempt to be so quiet. He awoke Krashlug next to him, who wasn't very pleased.
"What you be wantin'?" Krashlug thrashed out at him, more than half asleep.
"There's something out there, in the bushes," Nrismusk whispered urgently.
"Prob'ly jus' some orc, takin' a leak," his friend replied sleepily, his voice tainted with annoyance.
"No, no… there's something out there in the woods, hunting us. I'm sure o' it!" Krashlug harrumphed, turned over, and tried to go back to sleep. The bush nearby rattled again, and this time Nrismusk did not bother to whisper. "There's something out there," he whined, "And it's going to hurt us – it's going to kill us!" Nrismusk picked up his sword and charged into the bush, screaming wildly. Krashlug sat up and watched the bushes, his rage growing at his timorous friend. The screaming suddenly cut short, and the forest was filled with an eerie quiet. Krashlug contemplated why his friend had fallen suddenly silent, came to the conclusion that an Uruk-hai had shut him up, and happy with this conclusion, he went back to sleep.
*
Morning came, and the mutilated body of an orc had been found. Grôltakh immediately suspected the Uruk-hai, and gave them some stern 'advice'. He was so pissed off with them that when one of them questioned his orders, he instantly hacked his head off. Grôltakh had not lived for over three centuries because he'd let subordinates walk all over him. Uruk-hai were not meant to be afraid of anything, but whatever Grôltakh saw in their eyes after the beheading, it sure came close to it.
The rest of the day was spent following a very rough path out of the forest. The path was so old that grass and flowers were growing on it, and the only way that you could tell that it did not belong to the rest of the forest was that brambles did not completely cover the ground. Moods soon turned sour again when food became low, coupled with the fact that there was a long trek ahead and Grôltakh's quick-thinking and good leadership (and luck) back in the mines of Moria had been forgotten. The forest exuded an eerie presence that ate at the most solid confidences and fearless hearts amongst the small army.
And so, they marched in silence, their rhythmic footfalls the only sound they made – and even then it was unwillingly. The march reminded Yutshrug of the glorious Uruk-hai that had marched from Isengard to Helm's Deep less than a month ago; the only differences were that they did not appear nearly as splendid, nor did all of them have weapons. The weapons they had had been counted for: Three whips (including Ragnäkah's old one – now belonging to some orc that Ragnäkah had not found – and his new one), five lances, three large metallic Uruk-Hai bows, thirty-six crossbows, nineteen normal bows, twenty one daggers, eleven swords (including Grôltakh's, and the nameless orc's) and six scimitars. One hundred and four weapons in all, amongst more than two hundred soldiers, but considering the circumstances in which they had been gathered, Grôltakh was quite pleased with how many weapons had been accumulated.
There was a rustle in a nearby bush, and Grôltakh just had enough time to turn his head and watch as a lone orc was grabbed and pulled through the thorns and brambles. There was a wailing scream, which cut short shortly after the orc was out of sight. Everyone reacted instantly, drawing swords – just in time for the full onslaught of the Druadan. They emerged from the overgrown woodland and dropped from the trees, surrounding them. Those that did not have weapons were targeted first, being killed on the spot or dragged deeper into the woodland.
"Druadan!" Ragnäkah screeched. "It's the Druadan!"
"But I thought they were only a legend!" Yutshrug replied, using his dagger to stab at anything that came close to him. The fury lasted only minutes, before the attacking Druadan were either dead or had retreated. Grôltakh looked back at the carnage the Druadan had done, his sword still firmly grasped in his hand. There were too many dead; at this rate, none would make it to Gondor. He couldn't understand it – they had started off so well!
"We move until nightfall!" He commanded, knowing that the Druadan would be less happy attacking orcs at night time, when their eyesight was better.
He pressed them hard, moving through the forest as quickly as possible. When they did stop, Grôltakh made sure that a decent number of Uruk-Hai were on each watch. For the first time, he was actually glad that those pompous, vain, masses of muscle were with him – they had done well fighting off the Druadan – much better than the snaga had done. Even when they were resting at night, they were still attacked – not only from behind, front and sideways – but from above. The Druadan had pulled three snaga and even an Uruk-Hai up through the trees, and returned their bodies to the ground only moments later. Grôltakh did not sleep well that night, nor any other night in those woods. Not only was he afraid that the Druadan might kill him, but he did not trust his followers either. It would not take more than a dagger from the nearest orc to put an end to him, and he had noticed three orcs take a special notice in him – and their weapons – as of late. He knew that his tiredness would have a direct effect on his decisions, but he valued his life more than his sleep. He could nap or catch up on sleep later on.
The days passed by, each one the same as the one before, and the following, until at last they passed from the woodland and into a grassland. And to their south, further east, they saw Minas Tirith, with the forces of Mordor already massing at the city's walls.
~End of Chapter 16~