Disclaimer: The world, the orcs, etc. are not mine but Graldor, Caldrion, etc. are mine. Somehow I like to imagine that you all would know that already, but if you didn't, you do now. As with the Vandal Root tea in the last chapter, this chapter utilizes a joke about Arwen and Glorfindel that, I am told, belongs to alliwantisanelfforchristmas.
Responses to my two very kind reviewers, whose reviews are most appreciated by this poor, unworthy fanfic writer.
TreeHugger: I wouldn't call you slupid- you were the first reviewer for Ch. III and, let's face it, in fanficland, I don't care when someone reviews as long as they do. You've nailed Graldor's (and human) nature perfectly. Chilling but seductive- I need to remember that; it describes the Nazgul in a nutshell. Ah, the ring. It'll take awhile to really get to Graldor, but it has already begun. Everything is fortuitous for awhile… but it can't last forever. Graldor isn't as good as Elrond at picking advisors (note Fremus), and they won't be making his life as easy as they should. Ah, Sirgo- a mystery wrapped in an enigma with a side of ambiguity (or something like that :-) Alright! I actually succeeded in establishing some tension with the Lurgk scene. Thanks for giving up your evening to read all this stuff.
Dragon-of-the-north: Everything happens for a reason. Some are more obvious than others. Regarding the nomads, see what I told TreeHugger about Sirgo. Glad you liked the battle description- such things are tough to write. Ooh, you liked my realistic detail about Graldor's, um, drive. We'll get more of that and more exploration of the moral angle in the next two chapters. I'm glad you liked the orcs- I was quite worried that some people would take offense that I gave them some 'humanity' and you wouldn't think I'd given them enough. Thank you.
Wings of the Storm, Chapter IV- Hell Hath No Fury…
[I have often wondered why my father ever told us this story. It is true that I enjoyed it, and that it does teach an important lesson about greed, ambition, and misplaced trust, but it is also very adult just in terms of its general subject matter. And specific parts are not at all for young children. Most of the events in this chapter were either glossed over or not mentioned at all in the three or four times I heard this story before reaching adulthood. Like my father's statements about the orcs' reaction to the invisible Graldor, I heard this part told this way only once, when he retold this story one last time before he left so that I could eventually replicate it for my own children. This part of the account unquestionably contains subjects (the foul tongues of orcs and the post-battle lust of warriors) that I would not tell to young children, but for the purposes of recording this tale as something possibly approaching history, they are necessary to fulfill the complete meaning of the story.]
Other than the invading army, which held remarkable order considering that it had just won an impressive victory, nothing stirred within the walls. For a fleeting moment, Caldrion feared that the slaves had been slaughtered. There was no blood or other signs of a struggle, however, and there had been no non-orcs present among the enemy ranks, so that at least was not a possibility. Sirgo leaned over, as though to advise Graldor, but Graldor, still smarting from the usurpation of his authority, instead proclaimed his presence to any beings in the huts. "I am Graldor, King of Aratur. I hereby claim this… settlement as part of my domain. Any enslaved in this place are hereby liberated, and made citizens of Aratur."
A few weak cheers emanated from the huts, but there was otherwise no reaction. Graldor, ignoring Frealine's restraining arm, drew his sword and proceeded to the nearest hut. Within the dirt-floored structure, all but completely devoid of ornamentation, he found two men of about his age, clad in decaying garments and bound by straps of cloth. Both seemed skinny, though not terribly emaciated, but they looked quite faint, as though they had been recently beaten and/or had not eaten in a few days. As his advisors entered the tent behind him, Graldor, his face contorted in disgust, drew his dagger and sliced through the bonds. Neither slave showed serious signs of moving until one of them brought his head up slowly and muttered, in a barely audible voice, "Thank you." Graldor looked over his shoulder. "Neblis, have one of the men bring some food and water." As Neblis moved to obey, Graldor, after taking one last glimpse at the beneficiaries of his efforts, turned around and stalked out of the hut.
Graldor then addressed his troops, who had patiently waited outside. "Break into small groups and go to each hut. Cut the slaves loose and give them some food and water. When they are in a position to talk, gather whatever information you can from them. Report any significant findings to Sirgo." Then, in a lower tone, "Caldrion, come with me." The first hut the two of them entered was empty, but the second, right up against the river, contained what Graldor sought.
She was a young human lady, but if not for the rounded ears she could have passed as an elf. She had blonde hair approaching waist length. Her features were angular, casting half-shadows across her face in the dim light of the hut. Caldrion did not find her especially attractive, but then that was probably just as well. The disheveled state of her rags left little to Graldor's imagination, and as she looked up and met his eyes, it was as clear to her as to him what he intended to do. He was tall, strong, and handsome, though sweaty and with a face slightly contorted by lust, but he didn't look a day over twenty-five, despite the fact that he had passed that particular milestone almost ten years ago. Without so much as a whimper, she lowered her face in acceptance.
That was all the encouragement Graldor needed, though at this point, fresh off his first serious battle since the founding of Aratur, he probably didn't need any. As he knelt to loose her hands, he addressed Caldrion, who was still standing behind him, without looking at him. "It just occurred to me… We haven't found out what our own casualties were. Why don't you go find those out for me and see that our wounded are taken care of? After you do that, have Neblis organize a watch on the stockade and then find out from Sirgo if we've learned anything useful."
Caldrion nodded and wordlessly departed. Being unfamiliar with women, he did not realize that Graldor's orders were cover for more sinister actions rather than merely normal, if forgotten, post-battle commands. He proceeded forth, still trying to come to terms with what was his first real combat experience, and was wondering who in this company was best equipped to deal with the wounded when he almost literally ran into another man. Caldrion, shaking his head, reasserted his air of superiority. "Watch where you're going" he said, at almost the same time as the other said the exact same thing. Caldrion looked up, ready to chastise the soldier for rudeness to one of his commanders, and saw that the man was not a soldier but Neblis, commander of the cavalry.
Before he could mutter an apology, however, Neblis opened his mouth. "Pardon me, Caldrion. You seem a bit preoccupied. Do you know Lord Graldor's whereabouts? I have a preliminary casualty report for him."
"Oh, good. That's one of the things he sent me to do. How do they look?"
"Pretty good. Of our hundred, four are dead, and another three are hurt critically and may or may not survive. Of the rest, few are without cuts or scratches or bruises of some sort, but none are incapacitated."
"That's better than I might have expected, considering how many of those bastards we faced. Do you have any idea how many that might have been?"
"There were about eight score, but only three score or so were well equipped, which explains why they gave us so little trouble. Of course, without Graldor and that magic ring of his, things would have been much uglier."
"Speaking of Graldor, he wanted me to ask you to organize a watch on the…"
"…stockade. Already done."
"One less thing for me to deal with. Would you mind coming with me to see if Sirgo has discovered anything noteworthy? He doesn't particularly like me at the moment."
"I would do so happily, but it looks like Frealine may have already anticipated your inquiry," Neblis stated as Frealine made his way toward the two of them.
"Where is Graldor? Sirgo needs to talk with him straightaway. The situation may be more complicated than we thought," Frealine uttered, his voice conveying an urgency that seemed unnecessary in the aftermath of such a decisive victory. It was also a tone that would brook no resistance, especially considering that Caldrion was younger than both these men and was sufficiently unsure of his own standing that he would willingly defer to either Frealine or Neblis. Neither of them rubbed Caldrion the wrong way like Sirgo did.
Caldrion naively led the two of them back to the hut from which he had just recently emerged and quickly learned quite a bit more about Graldor's motivation. What few rags the girl had been wearing lay beside her, and what looked like a new rip clearly pointed to Graldor's role in her unclad state. Graldor himself was in the process of liberating his manhood from beneath his clothing and armor. As the three subordinates entered, Graldor almost turned all the way around to confront the intruders and then, realizing that he was partially liberated, elected only to turn his head to see Caldrion within the hut and the heads of Neblis and Frealine peeking over Caldrion's shoulders. Caldrion's mouth was agape in shock and surprise, Frealine had a sly look that seemed to indicate both approval of the lady and disapproval of the man; and Neblis appeared to be genuinely appalled and disgusted. As the two groups wordlessly stared at each other, the woman decided that she probably ought not to be naked in front of these other men and so scrambled to restore her rags. Her movement drew Graldor out of his indignant silence. "What do you want that couldn't have waited?" he muttered, before turning back to address his own state of exposure.
"I'm sorry, sir," said Frealine, "but Sirgo needs to see you right away, before this wounded orc meets his maker."
Graldor glared at him, but the moment for action, at least in this hut, had clearly passed. Shooting the woman a glance that said 'I'll be back later to finish the job,' Graldor got up and stormed out of the hut, biting back furious words against his squire. How did Caldrion not know about such important facts of life? As he stepped back into the sunlight, he decided that soon, perhaps after the next battle, he would have to address that deficiency in Caldrion's education.
Caldrion and Frealine, seeing the murder in Graldor's eyes, turned and followed him, but Neblis remained behind. As soon as the others were out of earshot, he put a cloak around the girl's shoulders and led her to the hut where many former slaves were gathering for rations and interviews.
As Graldor, Caldrion, and Frealine approached, Sirgo turned back to the orc lying at his knees. "Repeat for them what you just told me." The orc glared back at Sirgo as the others came around and stood over him. He wanted to defy this pompous man, but he had already spilled his guts once, figuratively, and if he did so again they might give him the coup before he spilled his guts literally from a nasty stomach wound. With a sharp intake of breath, he began. "The reason there were so many of us was there was a group of maybe fifty orcs that came from further east, Mordor perhaps, (cough) about a week ago. I never got a (cough) chance to talk to them, but the rumor was they were sent, and we were to join them, to go (cough) west and capture some king or something and take him back east."
"Who were they supposed to capture?" This from Caldrion.
"What king?" Frealine.
Graldor just stared, wondering why this was worth getting him away Jesseor.
"That's all I know, except that you sure scared the (cough) shit out of us this morning with that ring in your pocket, and (cough) that you'd better get back to (cough) Jess before too long. Wow, that (cough) bitch had a mind of her own. She's some fun, though."
The orc's cough was cut off by the sudden appearance of Graldor's knife at its throat. Before anyone else could move, Graldor had drawn the knife across. "Go to hell, you dirty orc!" he spat, and spun his heels in the other direction.
Sirgo stared angrily at Graldor's back. "Damn that man's impatience," he muttered. "We could have perhaps pried more information out of him." Then he turned to Frealine. "Who's Jess?"
But Frealine and Caldrion were looking at each other, as though reading each other's thoughts. "How did that orc even know that Graldor was with a girl, nevermind specifically who?" said the former, but the latter uttered "Forget the girl. How did he know that Graldor had used a ring to become invisible? Even knew that he keeps it in his pocket!" They looked at each other again, and then, as one, turned to Sirgo, who by his expression had answered his question about Jess.
"I don't have any answers. I might, were it not for our precipitous friend, but who knows? There may be other orcs. I know it was Graldor they were supposed to go after, but he needs to hear that from the lips of an orc before he will understand. He has great ambitions, but along with great ambitions come great enemies, against which he must arm himself. But he will not accept that until one of those enemies declares himself to his face, which is what this orc could not, or would not, do. Well, there will be others, if not in this camp then in the next."
The remainder of the day was spent gathering information, nursing the wounded and the slaves, and preparing the settlement for full occupation that night. As dusk fell, everyone gathered around a bonfire to eat the closest thing to a celebratory feast that the troops could manage. The liberated slaves were given a more detailed report of the town of Aratur and the invitation to reside there if they so chose or to join the army. There were, indeed, a couple of much-abused elves among the slaves, though, at this point, neither were in much of a state to do anything but sleep to recover.
Several of the huts had been cleared out enough for human use. Neblis and Caldrion would share one, Frealine and Sirgo another, and Graldor got one for himself, though all of them knew he would not be alone. Sirgo had prevailed on Graldor to keep the troops away from the female slaves for that night, because most were still recovering from the abuse they took, but he made no attempt to stop Graldor from taking Jesseor, knowing that such a fight would only lead to a longer-lasting conflict between them. However, Neblis, having already made his feelings on the matter known, pursued Graldor all the way to his hut, trying, without success, to persuade him to leave the girl alone. When they reached the hut, Graldor went in without looking at Neblis, but the girl gave him a nasty look before following her partner into the darkened hut.
Sometime during the middle of the night, Caldrion awoke to the sound of low voices talking heatedly around the smoldering ashes at the center of the camp. He recognized one as Neblis, but he could not identify the other voice, which came as little more than a whisper through the still night. Both voices grew silent, and he heard footsteps coming toward the hut, presumably Neblis. There was a sudden metallic thwack followed by a sickening thud. Caldrion bolted upright and strode out of the hut.
In the flickering light, he observed a very strange sight. Neblis lay on the ground on the near side of the fire. The girl, Jess, stood on the far side, breathing heavily and leaning on a shovel. If she saw him she gave no notice. She was naked. Caldrion overlooked that at first, staring at the shovel. "A shovel? Where had she gotten a shovel?" he thought. "And come to that, how is she strong enough to hit Neblis with it?" He started to move toward her, but she pulled up her hand, looking at something in her palm, at the same time letting the shovel fall to the ground.
As she stood, bathed in the warm light and shifting shadows, Caldrion began to see what Graldor had liked. His eyes were drawn to the lovely curves of her breasts and hips, and as his loins tightened he understood the sour look Graldor had given him earlier. Without even thinking, he proceeded slowly toward her, his eyes, indeed his entire being, focused only on the wonders of her torso. He stopped only a few feet from her, when she looked up from her hand and finally saw him. Their eyes might have met, but at her movement his eyes shifted to look at another of her curves… the one sitting in the palm of her hand. It was silver, with what looked like an emerald- Graldor's invisibility ring.
And that quickly he forgot all about the lovely woman in front of him. From the first time he saw it, he had wanted it like nothing else, but he had never seen it outside of Graldor's reach, and his devotion was sufficient to keep his desire in check and unacknowledged consciously. Not tonight. Tonight he could take the ring, disappear, and go north, east, south, somewhere away from everything, away from Vinyalonde, where the Numenoreans had stifled his desire to live free, away from Aratur, where the ignoble nobles saw him as a stupid, foreign boy despite the fact that he was closer to thirty than twenty, away from this army, where Sirgo rejected every brilliant idea he had. For the first time in his life, true freedom to be his own ruler was within his grasp. It was that simple. Just take the ring (the girl had already spent whatever resistance was in her) put it on, and go. But what about Graldor? asked the still, small voice in his head. What happened to loyalty? "Bugger Graldor," he muttered, as he reached out to take the ring from her hand.
A blood-curdling war cry rent the air, halting Caldrion in his tracks. Before the girl could even turn in the direction of the cry the sword cleaved through her neck. As her head fell bloodily to the ground, the dispassionate part of Caldrion's brain noted that her face had not even had time to register surprise.
Even before the decapitated body could fall, Graldor had reached out to take his stolen ring from the now dead hand. As several others began to run toward the fire in response to Graldor's yell, he leaned over and spoke quietly but angrily to Caldrion. "The orc was right. That bitch stole my ring while I was sleeping" Then, as Caldrion chuckled darkly, he continued, "I never thought I'd live to see the night I was praising an orc rather than a woman… Well, damn, she hit Neblis too. He was right, but for the wrong reasons… Now, I killed her trying to defend Neblis. You need say nothing of the ring to anybody. Oh, and when he comes, tell Sirgo to look after Neblis."
"Understood, my King," replied Caldrion, cursing the weakness and disloyalty he had so willingly contemplated just minutes before.
Then Graldor straightened up, his face a mask that only barely hid the blood wrath still simmering within him, turned back toward his hut, and, with a call of "Goodnight" to all the puzzled soldiers standing round, slipped on the ring and melted back into the darkness from whence he had come.