Chapter 2

A small ruckus erupted from a group of Orcs. One shook his deformed hand threateningly at the other, who responded by slapping his hands on his chest, inviting him to attack. Trouble was brewing and Búbhosh would have none of it.

Pushing through the circle of shouting onlookers, the Orc captain shoved apart the two potential combatants.

"We will have none of this fighting," he roared, causing most in the vicinity to involuntarily take a step back.

"We wants fresh meat," one cried.

"Man flesh! Why not attack those walkers," another asked, though he knew he was perhaps overstepping his boundary.

Búbhosh had forbidden the attack of the group of four riders, who were heavily armed. An attack on travelers, especially while they carried such an important item, was just inviting disaster. What would be the consequences if he lost several of his soldiers? They had to be moving soon, under cover of darkness. They had no time for an elaborate meal.

But the smell of the men was tantalizing. He pushed through the Orcs again and low crawled to the peak of a tall knoll. From his vantage point, he could see the travel-worn road below in the fading sunlight. The group had made camp for the night, tying the horses nearby, and had even lit a small fire despite the significant lack of trees. It seemed that they had no clue of the Orc's presence.

'Man flesh,' repeated itself in his mind, intensifying the powerful desire to taste warm meat.

A plan formed in his mind and soon Búbhosh was moving down the hill. He directed the group to split in half. They would wait until the group retired, then proceed to surround the campsite and decimate the four travelers. The odds were highly placed in their favor.

Búbhosh knew, however, that if he alone survived, it would be that much harder to complete the task he had been given.

Night soon fell, deep and dark, with little light from the cloud-masked Ithil. The Orcs had little need of the light, though, since they could plainly smell the burnt wood and the heady smell of the men.

One well-built man remained awake, though he stared unconsciously into the dying flames of their campfire. It seemed that he was unaware of the dark creatures approaching. Búbhosh silently drew his sword and commanded the first group into the campsite.

The man erupted into action, immediately drawing his bow and loosing an arrow before an Orc sword felled him. The three other travelers woke with a start, but were unable to overcome the amount of Orcs who attacked. The group was quickly dispatched and Búbhosh and his Orcs enjoyed a feast of raw and roasted meat that night.

(OoO)

The Elf had been traveling nearly three days strait since crossing the Glanduin River. Goldir had taken to higher ground then, both to find better cover among the rocky terrain and to see across the lands better. The dark glimpse of the mountains he had seen in his vision seemed to match some of the peaks in the southern stretch of the Misty Mountains, but he really couldn't be sure.

In the distance, Goldir could see the Southern Gap, and down in the valley, the road that went through it. The Gap was still a few day's journey, but Goldir was becoming worried. He had seen no sign of Orcs, despite the good line of sight. This had happened before; a vague vision had led him the wrong way.

Tucking away the despairing thoughts, the Elf found a shaded nook and rested there. The sun was high and no Orc would be roaming about at this hour. He took out his sword and knife, a rag and oil and began cleaning the blade.

Goldir had only started when he heard footsteps. A few seconds of listening revealed that the steps were coming from a horse that was steadily approaching. Risking a glance from behind the rock, the Elf saw a brown stallion trotting around in the hilly terrain. It was riderless.

He was still wary; it could be a trap. Goldir remained behind the rock and allowed the horse to roam a bit before he decided to approach it. His eyes scanned the area for risks as he slowly walked up to the horse. The stallion shook his head, but made little other movement. There was no saddle, only a bridal, but he could see markings where a saddle had been placed.

'A horse of Edain,' he thought as he touched the nose.

"Calm, my friend, be at peace. I mean you no harm," he said slowly.

He ran his hand down the sleek muscles of the stallion's back. The horse whinnied. Goldir removed the bridal and tossed it on the ground for later. He lightly leapt up on the stallion's back, but he had barely settled when the creature bolted. Hanging on for dear life, Goldir struggled for a more solid hold.

The horse was moving down the gentle up-slope of the western mountains, toward the road he had been avoiding.

"Halt! Slow, go slow friend, halt!" He tried to stop the out-of-control horse, but to no avail.

They descended to the road very quickly and then ran along it to the south. Finally, the horse began to slow and Goldir was able to sit upright. In the distance, he could see light wisps of smoke rising. They came to a halt next to a well covered camp sight. Goldir dismounted and looked around the flat clearing. It was in a shallow valley, with small hills and boulders sparsely distributed. When he found a foot step, he recognized it was not from a man, but from an Orc.

The Elf realized that whoever had been camping there had been attacked by Orcs, and they had covered it well. There were no other traces of a scuffle, only the footsteps and a black mound of dirt where a fire had been and heat still rose.

Looking back at the horse, Goldir also figured the stallion had probably been with the unfortunate travelers.

"You have no home," he whispered, "Allow me your back and I will give you a home."

The horse shook his head, his dark hair flinging around, and he stamped the ground. Goldir took it as an acceptance. He returned to the campsite and began searching for the smallest clue. First, he had to determine if the Orcs who had attacked were part of the group he sought, and second, he had to find out from which way they had come, and which way they had gone.

He finally found a trail that lead up the hill behind the camp. There were several prints there, and more than one sign of bodies being dragged. After a few minutes, Goldir determined there were between ten and fifteen Orcs who had dragged four bodies, likely the owners of his wayward horse, and two horse bodies.

"Those Orcs had a feast," Goldir murmured when he realized the toll.

Goldir backtracked to the camp. He still had no way to know if the Orc group was indeed the group he hunted, and the only way to find out was to attack them and search the bodies. The main problem with that course of action was Goldir against possibly fifteen heavily armed and angry Orcs on a mission. He had no plan that would work against those odds.

He thought to ride ahead and ambush them in the wooded areas just past the Southern Gap, and since there was little else he could think of so far away from Elven assistance, Goldir mounted the stallion and began riding.

Sighing, Goldir knew he would have to leave the horse if he wanted to keep his secrecy, but he had to admit that it was nice to ride after running for so long.

(OoO)

"Búbhosh," the Orc scout reported, "There is a tracker. One Elf follows."

"When," the Orc Captain asked.

"From the camp we attacked. He searched around there and rode south."

Búbhosh cursed. He had taken great pains to avoid the discovery of the campsite, or at least cover their part in the disappearance of the four men. Two horses had run off, but he had figured they would be found or killed. Still, it was only one Elf, and the twelve Orcs could take on one Elf. Unless this Elf was a scout for a larger party...

The scout was somewhat patient as Búbhosh pondered over what to do with their supposed solitary pursuer. Likely that the Elf had happened upon the campsite and knew nothing about the important prize they carried, which was their advantage. And considering the possibility that he did know and was part of a bigger group, he couldn't know where they were taking it.

"Yes..." Búbhosh his murmured thought out loud.

He had an idea.

"We continue to the Gap, and then split. Six go east, six go north. He will follow the east group," Búbhosh concluded, feeling quite proud of himself.

The scout beat his chest once in acceptance and walked away. They would part just after crossing the Angren (Isen), one group heading toward Calenardhon, the other northward, to their real destination.

(OoO)

As the sun was setting, Goldir looked at the clouds, trying to determine if they were moving away or if a higher level would block the moon. The Orcs would move during the night, and the light of Ithil provided enough light for him to see clearly for leagues. He just hoped the trees wouldn't block too much light.

"Elbereth Gilthoniel, give Ithil leave of these clouds this night," he murmured a prayer.

The narrowest part of the Southern Gap was half a day's ride from the spot Goldir picked to camp. He let the horse, which he had named Gwaedh in honor of their oath, run free for the night as he had the previous night. He felt comfortable resting and looking for the Orc group from a high perch during the night now that he had a mount. Any ground lost would be made up on Gwaedh.

Goldir sought out the highest tree he could find and climbed to the upper branches. Pulling his green cloak close around him for cover, he began searching the ground for any movement. The Orc group would have to cross the lower road at some point, and that would bring them into the open. It was this point that Goldir hoped to get a good look at them, from numbers to vague images left over from his vision.

Anor had gone down and Ithil had risen through half the sky before Goldir saw any unnatural movement. He saw one shadowy figure quickly run across the road to his right. One by one, twelve figures crossed the road and disappeared into the woods.

'Twelve,' he thought, 'That number is within my first estimate.'

The wooded area was relatively thin. The width of the woods, from the road to the steep incline of Dol Baran, was an two hour-long walk across. Its length was much longer, surrounding the southern stretch of the Misty Mountains, gapping at Isengard, and reforming into Fangorn Forest.

Neither the Orcs nor Goldir wished to enter Fangorn.

As Goldir contemplated his attack plan, he noticed approaching footsteps and crunching noises.

'The Orcs!" He thought with sudden panic.

He was not afraid of battle, just very wary of an unplanned ambush. Reaching for arrows, Goldir quickly thought out a plan. One or two shots, then off to another tree, where he would get a few more. By then, they would figure out where he was and then battle would be on the ground.

Goldir was reaching for his arrows, but found he could not calm his pounding heart. He stayed very still as the first Orc came into his view from the lofty perch. A second came, and then a third. Quickly, all twelve moved under the Elf, none showing any awareness of his presence.

When he could no longer hear the noisy Orcs, Goldir still could not calm his heart. Fear had choked his actions, but perhaps the attack would have gone ill and it had been his unconscious judgment that had halted his actions.

The Elf thought this a lame excuse for an inexcusable deed, but he climbed down the tree and looked at the tracks carefully. He determined they were the same Orcs who had attacked the four travelers.

He thought to follow the group until the first light of dawn, after which he needed to be careful not to stumble upon the resting group.

'Walking upon a beehive,' he likened the experience.

Gwaedh was nearby; he could hear the horse approaching. Frowning, Goldir wondered what he should do with the creature. He preferred to attack the group in the rocky openness of Calenardhon, where his Elven stealth would be advantageous, but a mounted assault wouldn't be a bad idea in the wooded area.

Leading Gwaedh, Goldir silently followed the obvious trail. The woods began to thin and Goldir realized that the patch wasn't as long as he had thought. His keen ears picked up running water from the Angren. He doubted the Orcs would make the Fords of Angren before dawn since, even as he thought of this, the first rays of Anor were glowing in the east.

Goldir halted behind a large tree and peered out across the down-sloping land. The Orc trail was plain to see, but the hill crest blocked any further view. Sighing, Goldir crept out into the open and down until he could see the Angren and the only ford through the Southern Gap. The trail led there, crossed it, went up the hill and disappeared over its crest.

"Speed was their ally this night," he muttered in shock.

Anor crested the horizon and any sight over the opposite hill was lost in the light. Determined, Goldir leapt onto Gwaedh's back and galloped down the hill and through the shallow ford. He slowed as they climbed the hill and the Elf picked up the trail again.

Goldir dismounted and slowly walked the rest of the way up the hill, an arrow nocked and ready. What he found at the top surprised him. The Orcs had stopped, perhaps as a rest, but once they began again, there were two trails as if the group had split.

There were two paths, two trails, and Goldir had one decision to make. Follow the eastern heading trail to a likely destination of Mordor, or the northern trail, to what could only be Dol Guldûr.

(OoO)

The Orcs ran until the light burned their eyes and their skin was scorched. Only then did Búbhosh allow the group to rest in the shade of a dark and gnarled forest. They were cautious and quiet and left the trees undisturbed. Only their captain knew they had taken refuge in the outskirts of Fangorn Forest.

The two groups of six had split a good five hours earlier and Búbhosh's best fighters had gone north with him. The more expendable Orcs he sent east across Calenardhon, with orders to take a fortnight circling the plains, and then head north to their stronghold in the eastern Misty Mountains. If the Elf caught up with the six and killed them, they would not be hindered. If the Elf managed to follow the group to the stronghold, well, it was obvious what would happen.

Búbhosh smiled greedily. He had nearly accomplished his mission, capturing this ring for his masters. Not that he was eager to please anyone but himself, but he hadn't really had a choice when the Nazgúl had given the order nearly eighty years earlier. Once he had the ring, he was told to take it to the only Orc stronghold in the Misty Mountains, which was north of the Gladden River, and wait there until the Nazgúl thought it safe enough to approach Dol Guldûr without repercussion from the watchful Lórien or Greenwood Elves.

Those Elves were his current problem. The mysterious trees of Lothlórien were extremely dangerous, and Búbhosh would not risk following the Anduin along its borders. They would have to cross somewhere along the treacherous river. That risk was not as great as the Lothlórien borders. Once they crossed the Anduin, he had to worry about how well patrolled the Greenwood borders were. It was long since he had been near Greenwood, almost one hundred years, and even then he hadn't felt a strong threat there.

Shrugging it off, Búbhosh leaned against the tree, trying to find a more comfortable position. They were safe for now, even if that safety was relative.

(OoO)

Gwaedh trotted steadily over the vast plains of Calenardhon as Goldir rode in deep contemplation. He still didn't feel quite right about going after the eastward moving group. There was no logical northern destination for the Orcs, save Dol Guldûr.

Goldir had ruled out that course after much contemplation and racking his memory for snippets of information about reoccupation of the tower there. That didn't mean that evil things wouldn't soon reclaim Dol Guldûr, but Goldir had no current information on the matter, and therefore, had to assume it was still empty and guarded by his Sylvan kin.

That left a much more sensible destination of Mordor. While still guarded by the Edain of Gondor, Goldir knew there were several other ways into the barren lands of Mordor.

Goldir had been there before, on the very footsteps of Orodruin, and he had absolutely no intention of returning. His plan left the Orcs no chance of coming within a hundred leagues of Mordor. The Orcs knew they were being followed; their separation proved this. Still, it wasn't the most intelligent thing to do, because Goldir knew he could take on six Orcs with much less trouble than twelve Orcs.

In the distance, Goldir could plainly see the six creatures trudging along under the pale light of Ithil. They had to know they were being pursued, and eventually they would probably try to set up an ambush. He would outsmart them. When they stopped for daybreak, Goldir would keep riding, circling the group to set up his own ambush on a strategically sound hill. The Elf could take out the six Orcs with his bow and never even have to draw his sword.

Daylight broke and Goldir watched the Orcs halt. He dismounted Gwaedh and lay unobtrusively upon a rock, taking note of their positions and location. One Orc remained quite visible, the single guard of the group. The land around them was relatively flat, but large rocks stood above the knee-height grasses.

Goldir climbed down the rock and removed his pack and weapons. He then removed his clothing until he was naked. He then turned and looked at Gwaedh rather conscious of his nakedness.

"Likely you have never seen one of my kind clothe-less. I must fight this way because my clothes smell of you and the Orcs will know I approach," he explained.

He quickly twined together several of the grass stems until a crude circlet was made. With this, Goldir pulled up his dark braided hair so it would not interfere. Taking up his quiver, he attached his knife to the inside and then slid the leather thongs over his head and adjusted the straps until it was secure against his back.

The Elf leapt up to the rock once more to double check on the Orc's location. After making sure it was the same, he ran off among the rocks.

It took Goldir a better part of the morning to make a wide enough circle around the Orcs. He needed to come at the back of the guard Orc, who had been facing where Gwaedh and his clothes were. There were sharp stones hidden in the grass, and Goldir had stepped on one more than once, but he ignored the stinging as he silently approached the Orc camp.

One head stuck up from the rocks, facing away from Goldir. The Elf drew his knife as he leapt on the rock, grabbed the Orc's greasy hair and slit his throat. The dying creature made a few gurgling sounds as black blood poured from the wound. Without missing a beat, Goldir left his knife stabbed into the dead Orc's eye as he drew arrows and began firing at the sleeping Orcs. Two awoke suddenly and reached for their own bows, but Elven arrows found their mark before the Orc arrows had a chance.

Goldir dropped his bow and retrieved his knife. He went around to each Orc, finishing off one whose arrow hadn't done the trick.

The adrenaline rush was still pumping when Goldir realized he was finished. He laughed out loud, "A pitiful band of Orcs you are, to be killed so quickly by one naked Elf. Now, show me the ring you carry."

There were only two packs among the six, and a thorough searched revealed nothing. Goldir went through their clothing, their weapons, every single place a ring could be hidden, he searched. Until Anor was setting, the Elf searched in growing frustration. He was left with only one explanation.

With an enraged outcry, the Elf dropped to his knees and slammed his fists on the ground. He had been tricked, outwitted, by a group of Orcs.

"I should have attacked them that night. Curse them! Curse them to a fiery chasm from which they will never be born again," Goldir shouted and then hung his head low in despair, "What am I doing here? Alas that I ever left the comforts of Elvenhome and the Sea. They were right and I refused to listen."

Hot tears of shame pricked his eyes as he remembered the frightened eyes of the child, and the anguished cry the adult had uttered as he cradled the dead youth.

"I refused to listen to them because I know I must do what I can before I leave these shores," he whispered as he stood.

He owed it to the dead Elves of that town, he owed it to their spirits housed in Mandos' Halls, to return the ring to its rightful owners, or at the very least, see it taken to safe quarters.

Goldir stacked the Orc bodies in a crude pile and set them on fire. Once he saw the flames had taken, he left at a swift pace, arriving to where his belongings were just as the final rays of light dipped down past the Misty Mountains and Southern Gap. He quickly redressed and attached all loose articles to his person. Gwaedh was missing, but he found the stallion after a quick search, and the two galloped off into the night.

"They must be going to Dol Guldûr, Gwaedh, but for all the stars above I do not know why," he despaired, "Ride, my friend, we must make haste to catch them before they cross the Anduin."