Hass-ur wakes before dawn and crawls to the door of the barn. The pain in his leg is less. The maggot-child has served him well. Still, each movement is agony. I am Uruk-hai. The Uruk-hai do not fear pain. He pulls himself upright against the door frame, tests the splinted leg. It will not hold his weight.

Hass-ur growls, biting back the urge to roar his frustration to the dark sky. His nostrils flare. The smell of horse-flesh, a soft snort. Why has he not noticed the beast before ? He makes his way outdoors, leaning heavily against the wall. The horse grazes nearby. It tosses its head, rolls one large brown eye, then returns its attention to the grass. Hass-ur snarls. The third battle, the war-horse screaming, rearing high in the air, kicking, trampling. He touches the gash on his head. Pain. Confusion. He had not even noticed the horse, yesterday. Weakness. Failure. The thoughts rush through his mind. The horse has borne the children here, stayed nearby although it is not tied. It is loyal. The horse, watching him warily, snorts. Hass-ur echoes, a snort of contempt. Loyalty. More weakness. Stupid horse. The horse could be made to carry him, perhaps. With the girl-maggot. She can be used again. To make the horse obey him. As the boy obeys, for the same reason.

Hass-ur drags himself back into the barn. The human children sleep. He eases back on the straw, easing the pain in his battered leg, wrapping the girl-child's leash around his wrist. His hostage. His little whip, to make the others do his bidding. Soon, she stirs. Her face is tight with concern, her eyes wide. "I have to go."

"No. You stay with me."

She is standing now, shifting her weight from foot to foot, as far from the orc as the leather cord will allow. "But, I have to go." He shakes his head, jerks the leash. Her lip trembles. "I have to go now."

Oh. Is that all ? Stupid maggot. "So go."

River-blue eyes fill, threaten to overflow. "Not here -"

The boy-maggot is on his knees, scrambling close to Hass-ur. "Let her go outside for just a minute. We aren't going to run away from you." His voice is soft, reasonable. "We know there isn't any use."

"Good." The leather cord trails from his wrist. The girl-child retreats.

"Don't wander far, Freda," the boy says. Run ! Run far away, as fast as you can. Hass-ur reads the thought in the boy's eyes. They wait. Hass-ur can feel the boy tense, smell his fear, his courage. He catches the blue eyes with his own, reads the defiance there. Punch, kick the broken leg...draw the dagger, stab the leg...stab anywhere...slash the face...claw the eyes... Hass-ur reads each thought in the boy-maggots eyes, watches him abandon each as hopeless. Hass-ur laughs, pats the boy on the head. The eyes go flat.

The girl returns. The sun rises. She chatters, tethered to Hass-ur. He ignores her. She touches his face, hesitant. "You can't help it that you're ugly, can you ? Let's clean your face, maybe that will help."

"Stop it, Freda." The boy's voice is dull, defeated.

The girl-child ignores him, wetting a kerchief with the water-skin, wiping the orc's face. Little hands. Soft hands. Hands that do not compel obedience. That do not inflict pain. The thoughts confuse Hass-ur. He can find no words for the girl's actions, no meaning in them. He growls, bats the bothersome hands away, pushes the bothersome thoughts out of his mind. Horses' hooves, pounding, pounding. A patrol, not far away. Rage, hot and red. Hass-ur curses his weakness. I cannot run. I cannot fight. "Boy. Listen." Hass-ur pulls the boy-child back into the deeper shadows of the barn. "Riders come, soon. You get rid of them. Send them away."

"How ? I can't !"

"Send them away. Or else-"

The boy's eyes are opaque, without depth, without hope. His voice is sullen. "Or else you'll kill Freda. I know."

If the whip falls too often in the same rhythm, the flesh becomes numb to its sting. Hass-ur pulls the boy closer. Gently. He pats his arm. "No. I won't kill your sister." He licks his lips, struggles to find the right words. "She's a ...pretty little girl." Hope returns, blooms across the boy's face. His cheeks flush red. Hass-ur smiles, raises a callused, clawed hand to the boy's face. "I'll tear out her eyes." The color drains away, the eyes fill with horror. He caresses the side of the boy-maggot's white face. "Fail me, and your sister will live. Without her sight. Without her... beauty." One razor-sharp claw strokes the boy's cheek. Softly. Gently. "You're a smart boy. You can do this for me. For the girl. Send them away."

The voices of human men, the panting of horses. "This croft has been abandoned. Like the others."

"You there, lad. Where has your family gone ?"

The boy, just outside the barn door, his voice trembling. The reek of fear. "I-I don't know, sir. We fled our village. A day's ride back. Dunlanders attacked there, and fierce orcs..."

The mutters of the men. "Orcs-" "The wildmen-" "The villages, unprotected-"

The leader issues orders. "You. Take the boy's horse, it's rested. Ride fast as you can to Meduseld. Warn the King." Then, kindly, "Come, lad, you can ride behind me."

Terror. Hass-ur can smell it from his hiding-place in the straw, hugging the girl-child close. "I can't leave my sister, sir. Sh-she's sick."

"We can bring her along too, lad."

"No ! N-no, she's not well enough to ride. She's got a fever, bad," the boy-maggot babbles. "Her throat's all swollen, she can't talk. And – and she's all red and splotchy. D-do you think she'll be all right, sir ?"

A long pause. In Hass-ur's arms, the girl-child holds her breath. "Sure I do, lad. Sure. I'll send someone back to fetch you both tomorrow."

Lies. Why does the leader lie to the boy ? What does he gain from it ?

More muttering. "Red spots and fever-" "The girl- she's got the Red Plague-" "Keep back ! Keep away from the boy. Contagion-" "Poor little ones, they're done for."

Stupid, frightened humans. Hass-ur bares his teeth.

"Jarl, give the lad some food. Just leave it on the ground there. That's right. You pick it up after we leave, boy. These are war-horses, high strung. We wouldn't want you to get hurt, now, would we." The human's voice is strained, unused to the lies it is telling. Then the hooves pound away into the distance.

The boy staggers into the barn carrying a pack. His face, white, is drenched with sweat. He collapses in the straw. The girl releases the breath she has been holding, a sob. Hass-ur allows her to crawl to her brother. The children cling to one another. The Uruk-hai throws back his head in a silent cry of triumph. I live.