Chapter Three

Escape From Mordor

The Witch-King came down at noon.

Peg and Gwigolla had joined a company at Dwardof and set off at a good pace towards the Black Gate. There were actually only about two hundred of them together, as the others had moved on already. The last group had been unavoidably delayed, of which circumstance Gwigolla had taken advantage when she went to find Peg.

Dron, Kyrnakh and Defmog had moved on with another group towards Osgiliath, but as Gwigolla had said, the last company was setting off towards Isengard, and they seemed to be actually hurrying. Peg had feared to be tied down by such a crowd, as he always ran faster alone, but the heavy-set Uruk-hai in the back was plying the whip enthusiastically, and they were actually making good headway.

Until the Witch-King came.

He came at the head of another body of orcs, from the south towards Minas Morgul. Peg had seen them approaching for some time before they actually drew near, but since so many bands were moving that day, neither he nor anyone else thought anything of it.

But as the other orcs drew close, and the stale air of Mordor suddenly brought to his ears the clashing sound not of travelling, but of attack, Peg knew something was off. He looked at Gwigolla, and saw confusion on her face. The Uruk-hai looked over his shoulder several times, wonderingly.

But they kept moving onward, this time a little faster, drawing closer and closer to the Gate.

The Witch-King and his horde were faster, and in a few minutes they were bearing straight down upon them.

All of Peg's company were now looking over their shoulders, snarling and snorting. Peg turned as he ran and saw the host but metres away. Their eyes were wide and angry. The Witch-King was black, huge, and dangerous.

And then the orcs behind began swinging their swords.

The Uruk-hai fell immediately, and the Witch-King's host came on, striking at the hindermost ranks of Peg's company. They began to fall, and the attackers kept moving right over them. Suddenly, the bare fields of Mordor had become a battleground.

'What is it?' hissed Gwigolla. 'Why? Is it allowed?'

'Run away!' cried Peg. 'They will kill us all. Run!'

Gwigolla froze in hesitation. They had all turned around and the orcs behind them were beginning to pull out their swords, ready to defend themselves. But there was no defence against the Witch-King. He would have his way.

Rank after rank before them was falling. Peg shoved at Gwigolla, and realised he was making most horrible noises in his fear.

And suddenly there was a great orc before, wielding a giant scimitar. He swung at Gwigolla, and, with an orc-scream, Peg jumped forward. The blade slashed him across the chest and he flew off screen, to land among the rocks some metres away. For a moment everything was noise and giddiness and blinding pain. He tried to struggle to his feet, but he couldn't do it. He raised himself on the palms of his hands and hung his head down between his arms, trying to clear his head of the pain and the sickness and the smell of blood. There was screaming and clashing and chaos nearby, but he could not focus on it. His helmet had fallen off beside him, but he could not lift it. He dragged himself forward on his palms until the noise seemed to die down and he could sense the safety of rocks around him. And then he lay down and looked out between two boulders, and he saw a terrible sight.

His company was gone. All that had been travelling with him lay on the ground in various attitudes of prostration. They were dead, and the orcs that had attacked were putting up their blades and moving backwards as the Witch-King advanced. He moved over the dead orcs, restlessly, searchingly, stooping low, and then he rose to his full height and looked all around. Peg shrank very small and hid his eyes. Then, suddenly, the Witch-King let loose a horrifying scream, jumped on his horse, and sped forward toward the gate. The live orcs followed him, and soon they were all gone.

Peg lay for a time amidst the rocks and shivered. Besides the deep cut across his chest, he had smashed his head against a rock and had torn a slash in his ear. He felt terrible, as if he should be dead but for some reason wasn't. He knew he simply couldn't go anywhere, but he raised himself to his feet and came out from behind the rocks. He wanted to look again and see if there was any sign of life from his recent companions. As he stumbled out his toe bumped his helmet. He reached down for it, and looked into it. The paper the Mouth had given him was still there, and on top of it lay that shiny gold ring he had found just that morning. He reached in and picked up the ring, and suddenly something strange happened.

He didn't feel weak any more. In fact, he felt very strong, and though the pain was still there, he felt as if he wasn't even wounded. What a strange thing!

He balanced the ring in his hand, and then decided. It might fall out if his helmet fell off again. He would find a better place to put it. He took a thread from his shirt, put the ring in his torn ear, and sewed it carefully up. Now it wouldn't get lost. It was such a pretty thing, he'd hate for that to happen.

He rose to his feet and clamped his helmet on. The Gate was not far, and now that he was alone, he could make it much faster. He looked one last time at his erstwhile companions. But this was life. The life of an orc.

He thought just a moment about Gwigolla. But no, he would not look for her. He didn't want to see her, to see her – dead.

He ran his hand under his nose and faced north, lifting his chin. Once more he started running.

He made the Gate half an hour later. It was only opened every hour, so there was a great multitude gathered behind it waiting for it to let them out into the world of men. Peg joined the crowd and trotted through it, waving to a few orcs he knew. Nobody thought anything of the fact that he was very bloody and dirty. That was how most orcs were all the time. But as he moved through the masses he suddenly heard two orcs talking together, and what they said made him pause and listen.

'We killed them all, I tell you,' said the one, 'but ve Witch-King was terrible put out. 'E said we 'ad gone and missed the right one.'

'Who were you looking for?' asked the other.

'Some scrawny tyke carrying a gold ring,' said the one. 'I says, what would a snaga be doing wiv a ring? But vat's what 'e said. Said 'e stole it from the Tower, 'e said.'

Peg shrank away and pushed through the crowd until he was standing just before the giant black doors. He sat down in their shade and looked back over the land of Mordor.

He could just make out a speck against the mountains that was Dwardof. He could see the great smoking furnace of Mount Doom, and there, there was Barad-Dûr –

He gave a little start when he saw Barad-Dûr. It was tall and evil as always, and the flaming Eye above it was looking out as usual, but this time it was looking directly at him.

'Rah!' said the Eye.

He shrieked like a mouse, and tumbled backwards as the Gate began to swing open. He squeezed out as soon as there was enough room and went running across the barren waste, not east towards Isengard, but northeast to he knew not where.

And he didn't really care.