The crumbling forest border had given way to faint signs of life (the kind that didn't have fur or wings) despite the low desert surroundings, and Razashûk stalked the trail of newly-stirred dust that stretched in front of them, while Durgrat hung back in case this turned into another second-rate Ranger situation. Soon a plume of smoke was visible in the distance, and his ears caught a hint of chattering voices. He motioned for Durgrat to catch up, and they crouched behind a boulder on a slight rise that provided a decent vantage point.
Several wagons laden with sacks and crates were parked in a half-circle around a few crackling fires. A couple dozen Mannish-looking figures shuffled around. "I smell meat," said Durgrat. "What's going on there?"
"It's a trade caravan," said Razashûk. "Once in a while something like this would pass by the mountains and we'd barter with them. Most folk like this are willing to deal with Orcs; their loyalty lies with money, not any kingdom. It's likely they're heading to Mordor, or somewhere near it."
The Uruk narrowed his eyes. "What about those big bastards with swords?"
"They're here to protect the goods. We don't give them trouble, they won't bother us either." Durgrat looked skeptical but Razashûk prodded him. "Come on, maybe we can hitch a ride for part of the way."
The pair approached with slow steps and their hands held up, empty. A stocky Man with a round, pale face and a straggly beard called out to them. His accent was so thick neither of them quite caught what he said, but the "Get over here" wave of his arm was clear enough.
He barked out what Razashûk assumed was at least a semi-friendly message, judging from his body language, and ended with a wide smile. He had about four or five teeth, which didn't help clarify his diction. A second Man, with hard-edged features and a slight limp, had strolled over during the mangled greeting.
"Cram it, Gerald." He turned to the Orcs. "Don't know why he insists on being the welcome wagon with that mush mouth of his. Or how he's always so damned chipper."
"Anyway, feel free to sit a while. Don't know where you're headed but we'll be passing near the Black Gate in three days' time. Doubt anyone will care if you end up tagging along, just so long as you don't start anything." He paused and yawned. "Forgive me if I'm not feeling too chatty myself. We can't all be Gerald. Thank fuck," he added with a mutter as he slouched back towards the wagons.
Razashûk jabbed Durgrar in the ribs. "See? I told you. We'll figure out some way to repay their generosity and then be on our way when they get close to where we're going."
"Repay them? Oh no. What if we have to sleep with Gerald?"
Razashûk sputtered and spat. "What is wrong with you?! Never mind, we don't have an entire week free to discuss that."
The brewing squabble was cut off by another voice calling to them. "Orcs! Come over here and listen a moment."
The woman had already caught Razashûk's eye because she stood out among the hardscrabble crowd. She wore a dark rust-colored dress that harmoniously complemented her copper skin, and her hair was an explosion of deep brown corkscrews. Gleaming bangles jingled at her wrists, and a delicate golden chain embellished with tiny glass jewels rested across her forehead. She was perched on top of a large wooden chest and looked like a reasonable facsimile of a minor noblewoman fallen on hard times.
"I am Nahla. You are welcome to sit at my fire, fellow travelers."
Razashûk accepted the offer and plopped down, eyeing her makeshift throne. "Hauling anything interesting? Jewels from Lake Town? Fancy tapestries? War hammers?"
"Ah, no. I happened upon this caravan by chance in my journeys. I have no mind for business, sadly. It would be much easier than the burden of my gift."
"Huh?" said Durgrat. Razashûk silently agreed.
"I have the power of future sight. I can see the inner essence and path that lies ahead," she set a hand over her heart and heaved a deep sigh, "for anyone but myself."
"Huh?" said Durgrat.
"I can tell your fortune." Nahla smiled. "Normally, I merely ask for a few coins, a pittance to make up for taxing my spirit. But I like the color of your aura, so for you, this first one's free."
Razashûk internally questioned her supposed lack of business acumen.
Nahla closed her eyes, and put her hand on her forehead for a moment, then looked back at Durgrat. "Oh, road-weary child of the hinterlands' least beloved fortress. You have so much to learn." She reached up and patted him on the shoulder. "You've lost someone, haven't you?"
Durgrat cast his gaze at the ground and nodded.
"The pain will ease eventually." She turned her attention to Razashûk, "As for you, sad-hearted wanderer of no particular import,"
His reaction was jammed between an indignant "Hey!" and an amazed "But how did she know?" as his lip curled up and bared his fangs.
"...you will find what you have been looking for, but not without a great price." She bowed her head in a slow nod. "Keep your senses sharp on the road ahead." Pivoting to face them both, she beckoned the Orcs towards her, grabbed their hands, and pressed them together. "Before your journey ends, shadows of your past will catch up with you. Tread carefully, sons of Morgoth."
Then, as if she'd just shrugged off a sack of bricks, Nahla's posture lightened. "I'm making tea if you'd like some."
"Er, maybe some other time," said Razashûk. He found a decent spot on the ground, not too close or too far from the guards, set his belongings down, and then realized Durgrat had already wandered off.
He decided to take advantage of being ignored and touch up the map, and scribbled a faint path representing their current location. He also added his best attempt at an angry eagle over the dead forest, and crossed out an old well that had turned out to be full of nothing but snakes.
Just as he was finishing up, Durgrat returned. Razashûk grabbed the Uruk's arm and pulled hum aside, lowering his voice. "We need to have a discussion about your sticky fingers."
"I'm not sure what you're talking about. I touch a lot of sticky things."
Razashûk glared. "You're not as funny as you think. When that strange bint was telling my fortune, I was startled, but not startled enough to miss you cutting her purse-strings while she had her eyes closed."
Durgrat snorted. "Some mind-reader, huh? Didn't see that coming."
"I'm serious," Razashûk said. "There aren't that many people here and someone's bound to notice things suddenly disappearing ever since we showed up, and trust me, that's a puzzle even you could solve."
Durrgrat huffed and kicked at the dirt. "Don't worry about getting caught. I already traded away most of the coins to a weird old guy."
"Terrific. What for, magic beans?"
Durgrat grunted and reached into the satchel at his side. He shoved his purchase into Razashûk's hands while refusing to look him in the face. "I don't want to talk to you for a while," he said as he spun around and stomped off in the direction of a pair of ruffians throwing dice by their campfire. Razashûk grumbled and dragged himself back to the spot he'd claimed to investigate what Durgrat had risked getting stabbed for. This better be good.
The book was heavy even for a tome of its size, bound in thick tooled leather that had definitely seen better days but still held together remarkably well, with no real damage beyond a few surface tears and scratches. Someone, more likely several someones, had evidently taken very good care of it over the years. Razashûk untied and unwound the cord holding it shut, and slowly bent the cover back, causing a faint creak. A scattering of dust fell from the edge of the pages.
He drew a sharp inward breath at the sight of the faceplate. The thick parchment was decorated with a scene drawn by a somewhat crude yet admirable hand, making up for any lack of skill with obvious passion and patience. A solitary figure stood in a desolate field with one hand raised up and holding a metal rod, posed as if about to step forward, its features completely concealed by a black cloak. It was flanked by a pair of stylized trees that didn't quite resemble anything Razashûk had seen in reality. Several large, pointed stars floated in the deep blue sky overhead. The border around the drawing was filled in with intricate tiny patterns. Something about it unsettled him, and he caught himself thinking iIt's only a drawing. It's only a drawing/i, as if he were a child who'd just been spooked by a flickering shadow on the wall.
That was enough of that. The next page was written in an equally careful and imperfect script. Razashûk recognized most of it as very similar to the Morgul-runes he'd learned in his youth, and figured it must be some older dialect that had fallen out of use. To the best of his ability, he guessed it read something like "Household Guide and Manual: On Plants and Their Uses, Omens of Nature, Star Patterns, and Other Information." A few more cautious page-turns revealed what appeared to be a foreword, which Razashûk didn't have time to pore over and suss out the meaning of at the moment. The random pages he flipped through were covered in esoteric diagrams and vivid illustrations.
Something nudged Razashûk's back and he jumped, barely holding back a squeal. He looked up to see Durgrat glowering down at him.
"Can I sit with you? Or is this area for perfect rules obeyers only?"
"Stop being like that. All is forgiven. At least by me, and for now." He patted the space next to him, then held up the book. "This...this is fucking fantastic. It probably belonged to a rich Mannish family with a personal sorcerer, at the very least. I don't think that geezer selling it knew what he had here."
Durgrat jolted as Razashûk pounced on him and wrapped an arm around as much of him as possible."Thank you," the Orc hissed, soft as a baby viper slithering through cotton blossoms.
The Uruk shifted and kept his eyes fixed downwards. "It looked nice and you're good at reading. I thought you might like it, is all."
And old man waved at Durgrat as he staggered by. "Hello again, big'un. Your sweetheart enjoying that pretty little diary, there?" he asked with a snicker.
Razashûk crossed his arms. "I am, thank you."
The rest of the evening passed without incident, and the two settled into a tentative peace as it grew quieter. They were on their backs, Durgrat staring up at the sky while Razashûk buried his face in the book.
"Found anything that can help us?" Durgrat asked.
"No, but I learned that a child born with an extra arm means a neighboring kingdom plans to plunder the autumn harvest."
"Well, if I see one I'll warn the nearest king."
Razashûk exhaled and shut the book, shoving it in his bag. He rolled over to face Durgrat and dropped his voice to a whisper.
"You know, I don't think she's got any mysterious gift. I mean, obviously she's traveled a lot, so that's how she knows what an Isengarder looks like, and of course you're tired. Everyone who travels on foot is."
"And you can tell just from looking at you that you're sad," Durgrat helpfully added.
Razashûk ignored him. "And whose past doesn't catch up to them at some point? Who hasn't had someone up and die on them? Of course the road ahead is dangerous. We're Orcs. Yeah, she's full of shit."
"If it puts your sad heart at ease, sure."
Razashûk settled into an anxious heap in his nest, and cursed himself for looking over so much of the Household Guide before trying to sleep. His mind kept flashing to thoughts of burning landscapes, incurable diseases, and phenomena in the sky that ultimately did nothing except look strange, but that put his nerves on edge nonetheless just by their unknowable nature. The book contained plenty of pleasant and encouraging information too, but because he was Razashûk, he didn't retain it nearly as well.
He shuffled closer to Durgrat, who was already drifting off. The sky remained clear and the only thing burning was campfire embers.