With the speed Nagîthas held, Záhovar reached the Imlad Morgul on the
evening the day after she set out from Barad-Dûr. Now she let the mare walk
slowly into the valley, humming a slow tune for herself. At the bridge
however, the mare halted and refused to go further. Having spent many weeks
at times with Nagîthas as sole company, she knew how to read the mare's
signals. Something was wrong here. Záhovar's sensitive ears picked up a
rustle from beneath the bridge. She made the horse sidewalk to the edge of
the bridge.
"Whoever hides under this bridge, come forth!" She called. The mare snorted approvingly.
Things were silent at first, then something moved under the left side of the bridge. Záhovar gripped the hilt of her sword, ready to strike if it would attack. "It" appeared to be a frightened little snaga. She sighed and let go of the hilt. Then she eyed the creature up and down.
"What were you doing down there?"
"H-hiding."
"From what?"
"I. didn't know what you were."
"Who is your master?"
"Master? I don't. have a master."
"What? A snaga must have a master."
"I'm not a snaga!" it said with a stubborn look and climbed up on the bridge.
"Are you telling me that you are an Uruk?"
"Yes. an Orcling."
"Oh. then I understand. But what are you doing out here?"
"I was curious. I wanted to see what's out there," he said and pointed. Záhovar began to take a closer look at the small Orcling. He had huge deep red eyes, grey pink skin. that was odd for a Morgul Orc. Most were black or grey with pure red eyes. She only knew of one Morgul Orc who had this combination of colours.
"Are you Gothmog's cub?" The Orcling looked up, surprised.
"Well. yes. Or I'm supposed to be."
"Supposed to be?"
"He doesn't seem to care."
"He hasn't spoken with you at all?" The Orcling shook his head and looked to the ground. Záhovar smiled.
"Come here," she said and stretched out an arm towards him. "What?"
"Come up here." He took a quick glance towards Nagîthas and looked unhappy.
"She will not touch you. Come now." He edged slowly closer, all the time he had his eyes fixed upon the mare's head. Nagîthas stomped her left hind leg as if to show him she could be dangerous in other directions as well. The Orcling tried to leap away, but Záhovar leant over and grabbed his arm, easily pulling him into her arms. Then she dropped him into the saddle in front of her. Nagîthas, who didn't like Orcs at all, immediately began to prance and buck.
"Nagîthas! Be still," Záhovar commanded. Then she turned to the Orcling, who was now shivering with fear of being held.
Erishnak was terrified. He had done something forbidden by venturing out of the city, and now this strange and horrible monster came upon him, questioning him and grabbing him and pulling him up onto the terrifying beast it was sitting upon. If it was a beast, maybe they even were one and the same being. What was it? Were the stories his mentor had told him true, about the monster from the mountain that ate bad Orclings?
Záhovar rested her hands on the saddle horn while looking at the shivering cub. Gothmog had been one of her few real friends in Barad-Dûr before he left for Minas Morgul. A cruel and tough Orc captain, but also at the few times he could really relax and put off his heavy duties, almost childish.
"What is your name?" she asked.
"E-Erishnak."
"Erishnak. That is an odd name for an Orc."
"Err. Is it?"
"Yes. Anyway, this is no place for a small Orcling."
"Ehm... what's your name?"
She did not answer. Instead she took the reins, spurring Nagîthas into a short gallop. The mare leaped forward, racing down to the gate. One of the Orc guards peered over the edge, calling out to them.
"Who goes there?"
"A messenger from Lugbûrz*." The guard looked around the hills nervously.
"How do I know that?"
Záhovar sighed audibly and called out in the most authoritative voice she owned.
"I am a High Officer of Barad-Dúr and a servant of the Dark Lord! I order you in His name to open the gate or send a message to the Lord of this city that Zí-Záhovar wish to enter!"
The guard recoiled at the naming of the Dark Lord and yelled something to someone on the other side. Quick footsteps could be heard on the stones when a messenger ran up to the main tower of the city. After a while the footsteps returned with the message: Let her in immediately! The guard yelled an order and the gate swung open with a clang. Záhovar spurred Nagîthas forward. As she passed the gate she rolled her eyes in the guard's direction and muttered:
"Orcs! Dorût**."
Then she galloped up to the Tower; Erishnak still sitting in front of her in the saddle staring wondrously around at the awed and fearful gazes he got. Záhovar smiled inwardly. The Orcling probably had never got this kind of attention before, nor had he understood before now that the one picking him up at the bridge was one of the "Top Ones", as the Orcs called them, the High Officers and the Hands of the Dark Lord. Now he was stiff as a frozen branch as she clutched him tighter.
Now she had reached the inner courtyard right outside the Tower of the Moon, the former capital of Gondor, now the head quarter of the Nazgûl. The Lord of the nazgûl was already standing in the doorway to the main tower as she came. As she galloped under the gateway Nagîthas stopped short and skidded almost to the middle of the huge courtyard. Záhovar leaped out of the saddle before the mare even had stopped skidding and landed a few paces away from the horse with the terrified Erishnak in her arms.
No surprise or any kind of expression could be seen in the blackness of the Nazgûl-Lord's hood. Short gasps of surprise could be heard from the crowd standing outside the tavern on the left side of the courtyard when they noticed the Orcling in her arms. One of the Orcs yelled something in through the tavern door.
Then suddenly another Orc burst through the crowd and ran out towards Záhovar. One glance upon the left side of his head, and Záhovar knew who it was. Gothmog. When she turned to face him he stopped short aghast.
"This is your cub?" Záhovar asked.
"It is." he answered.
"Good. Look after him better next time," she said and threw Erishnak into his father's arms. When Gothmog was busy grabbing hold of his son so that he would not fall she strode up and pinched his good right ear, pulling him closer.
"These here do not know my identity, do not reveal me to them," she hissed into his ear.
"Aye, master," he answered, grinning secretly. Then he looked down at Erishnak.
"What has he done to upset you, my Lord?"
"He has not upset me, warlord, but obviously he was attempting to desert. I found him under the bridge. His answer to my question of what he was doing there was that he wanted to look at the world," She said and laughed coldly. Gothmog laughed as well, slowly putting Erishnak back onto the ground, and then placed a hand on his shoulder.
"You come with me, lad," he said. "We have things to talk about." He turned to Záhovar.
"Will you join us, my Lord?"
"Nay, I must leave my message to the Nazgûl-Lord. After all, that is my reason for being here." With that she turned and left.
Gothmog saw her leave with mixed emotions. He was glad that she was finally back after this long time. And yet... He looked down at Erishnak who nervously shifted under his hand. He had not spoken nor touched his son since the evening he was born. Long had he watched him grow from a distance. Gothmog had wanted to take the cub with him when he first had got his hands upon it, but the old Orc females had said no. Reluctantly he had left the child to the caretaking first of its mother, then of a mentor, an Orc of lower rank who would teach the child the basics of fighting and warfare.
But now things had changed. 'Take care of him better next time'. That could be seen as an order from a higher ranked officer, could it not?
"Well," Gothmog growled, causing Erishnak to jump. "Shall we?" He motioned his hand towards the tavern. Erishnak looked up at his father, then nodded. They began to walk towards the tavern. When they reached the crowd in front of the door no one made any sign of moving. Erishnak stopped reluctantly and looked at his father.
"Step aside," Gothmog growled to them.
"Why should we step aside for an Orcling," one of them sneered. Gothmog narrowed his good right eye and slowly walked up to the one who had spoken. Swifter than anyone could react he had grabbed the others throat and pushed him up against the wall.
"That Orcling," he said, "happens to be my son. Speak like that to him again, I dare you, and I will cut your ears of with a rusty fork!"
The other croaked an answer and Gothmog let go of him. The Orc fled out through the gateway, all the way covering his ears with his hands. Gothmog looked around on the others, baring his fangs.
"Anyone else?" The others moved aside surprisingly fast. Gothmog nodded to Erishnak.
"Come on laddie. Let's go in and see if they try to stand in our way in there as well."
Notes:
* Lugbûrz = the Dark Tower. ** Dorût = cattle.
"Whoever hides under this bridge, come forth!" She called. The mare snorted approvingly.
Things were silent at first, then something moved under the left side of the bridge. Záhovar gripped the hilt of her sword, ready to strike if it would attack. "It" appeared to be a frightened little snaga. She sighed and let go of the hilt. Then she eyed the creature up and down.
"What were you doing down there?"
"H-hiding."
"From what?"
"I. didn't know what you were."
"Who is your master?"
"Master? I don't. have a master."
"What? A snaga must have a master."
"I'm not a snaga!" it said with a stubborn look and climbed up on the bridge.
"Are you telling me that you are an Uruk?"
"Yes. an Orcling."
"Oh. then I understand. But what are you doing out here?"
"I was curious. I wanted to see what's out there," he said and pointed. Záhovar began to take a closer look at the small Orcling. He had huge deep red eyes, grey pink skin. that was odd for a Morgul Orc. Most were black or grey with pure red eyes. She only knew of one Morgul Orc who had this combination of colours.
"Are you Gothmog's cub?" The Orcling looked up, surprised.
"Well. yes. Or I'm supposed to be."
"Supposed to be?"
"He doesn't seem to care."
"He hasn't spoken with you at all?" The Orcling shook his head and looked to the ground. Záhovar smiled.
"Come here," she said and stretched out an arm towards him. "What?"
"Come up here." He took a quick glance towards Nagîthas and looked unhappy.
"She will not touch you. Come now." He edged slowly closer, all the time he had his eyes fixed upon the mare's head. Nagîthas stomped her left hind leg as if to show him she could be dangerous in other directions as well. The Orcling tried to leap away, but Záhovar leant over and grabbed his arm, easily pulling him into her arms. Then she dropped him into the saddle in front of her. Nagîthas, who didn't like Orcs at all, immediately began to prance and buck.
"Nagîthas! Be still," Záhovar commanded. Then she turned to the Orcling, who was now shivering with fear of being held.
Erishnak was terrified. He had done something forbidden by venturing out of the city, and now this strange and horrible monster came upon him, questioning him and grabbing him and pulling him up onto the terrifying beast it was sitting upon. If it was a beast, maybe they even were one and the same being. What was it? Were the stories his mentor had told him true, about the monster from the mountain that ate bad Orclings?
Záhovar rested her hands on the saddle horn while looking at the shivering cub. Gothmog had been one of her few real friends in Barad-Dûr before he left for Minas Morgul. A cruel and tough Orc captain, but also at the few times he could really relax and put off his heavy duties, almost childish.
"What is your name?" she asked.
"E-Erishnak."
"Erishnak. That is an odd name for an Orc."
"Err. Is it?"
"Yes. Anyway, this is no place for a small Orcling."
"Ehm... what's your name?"
She did not answer. Instead she took the reins, spurring Nagîthas into a short gallop. The mare leaped forward, racing down to the gate. One of the Orc guards peered over the edge, calling out to them.
"Who goes there?"
"A messenger from Lugbûrz*." The guard looked around the hills nervously.
"How do I know that?"
Záhovar sighed audibly and called out in the most authoritative voice she owned.
"I am a High Officer of Barad-Dúr and a servant of the Dark Lord! I order you in His name to open the gate or send a message to the Lord of this city that Zí-Záhovar wish to enter!"
The guard recoiled at the naming of the Dark Lord and yelled something to someone on the other side. Quick footsteps could be heard on the stones when a messenger ran up to the main tower of the city. After a while the footsteps returned with the message: Let her in immediately! The guard yelled an order and the gate swung open with a clang. Záhovar spurred Nagîthas forward. As she passed the gate she rolled her eyes in the guard's direction and muttered:
"Orcs! Dorût**."
Then she galloped up to the Tower; Erishnak still sitting in front of her in the saddle staring wondrously around at the awed and fearful gazes he got. Záhovar smiled inwardly. The Orcling probably had never got this kind of attention before, nor had he understood before now that the one picking him up at the bridge was one of the "Top Ones", as the Orcs called them, the High Officers and the Hands of the Dark Lord. Now he was stiff as a frozen branch as she clutched him tighter.
Now she had reached the inner courtyard right outside the Tower of the Moon, the former capital of Gondor, now the head quarter of the Nazgûl. The Lord of the nazgûl was already standing in the doorway to the main tower as she came. As she galloped under the gateway Nagîthas stopped short and skidded almost to the middle of the huge courtyard. Záhovar leaped out of the saddle before the mare even had stopped skidding and landed a few paces away from the horse with the terrified Erishnak in her arms.
No surprise or any kind of expression could be seen in the blackness of the Nazgûl-Lord's hood. Short gasps of surprise could be heard from the crowd standing outside the tavern on the left side of the courtyard when they noticed the Orcling in her arms. One of the Orcs yelled something in through the tavern door.
Then suddenly another Orc burst through the crowd and ran out towards Záhovar. One glance upon the left side of his head, and Záhovar knew who it was. Gothmog. When she turned to face him he stopped short aghast.
"This is your cub?" Záhovar asked.
"It is." he answered.
"Good. Look after him better next time," she said and threw Erishnak into his father's arms. When Gothmog was busy grabbing hold of his son so that he would not fall she strode up and pinched his good right ear, pulling him closer.
"These here do not know my identity, do not reveal me to them," she hissed into his ear.
"Aye, master," he answered, grinning secretly. Then he looked down at Erishnak.
"What has he done to upset you, my Lord?"
"He has not upset me, warlord, but obviously he was attempting to desert. I found him under the bridge. His answer to my question of what he was doing there was that he wanted to look at the world," She said and laughed coldly. Gothmog laughed as well, slowly putting Erishnak back onto the ground, and then placed a hand on his shoulder.
"You come with me, lad," he said. "We have things to talk about." He turned to Záhovar.
"Will you join us, my Lord?"
"Nay, I must leave my message to the Nazgûl-Lord. After all, that is my reason for being here." With that she turned and left.
Gothmog saw her leave with mixed emotions. He was glad that she was finally back after this long time. And yet... He looked down at Erishnak who nervously shifted under his hand. He had not spoken nor touched his son since the evening he was born. Long had he watched him grow from a distance. Gothmog had wanted to take the cub with him when he first had got his hands upon it, but the old Orc females had said no. Reluctantly he had left the child to the caretaking first of its mother, then of a mentor, an Orc of lower rank who would teach the child the basics of fighting and warfare.
But now things had changed. 'Take care of him better next time'. That could be seen as an order from a higher ranked officer, could it not?
"Well," Gothmog growled, causing Erishnak to jump. "Shall we?" He motioned his hand towards the tavern. Erishnak looked up at his father, then nodded. They began to walk towards the tavern. When they reached the crowd in front of the door no one made any sign of moving. Erishnak stopped reluctantly and looked at his father.
"Step aside," Gothmog growled to them.
"Why should we step aside for an Orcling," one of them sneered. Gothmog narrowed his good right eye and slowly walked up to the one who had spoken. Swifter than anyone could react he had grabbed the others throat and pushed him up against the wall.
"That Orcling," he said, "happens to be my son. Speak like that to him again, I dare you, and I will cut your ears of with a rusty fork!"
The other croaked an answer and Gothmog let go of him. The Orc fled out through the gateway, all the way covering his ears with his hands. Gothmog looked around on the others, baring his fangs.
"Anyone else?" The others moved aside surprisingly fast. Gothmog nodded to Erishnak.
"Come on laddie. Let's go in and see if they try to stand in our way in there as well."
Notes:
* Lugbûrz = the Dark Tower. ** Dorût = cattle.
