When Uglútz came round it was to all-over aching, an empty feeling, a shock of pain in her shoulder, a Maggot-scented weight snuffling on her chest, and a smell – she registered it as enemy and tensed, ready to attack. But another sniff of the air changed her opinion. Not an enemy. Something more complicated. What?
She opened her eyes to find the tark bent over her – it was him she'd smelt. His hands stilled where he was sewing up her torn shoulder. His grey eyes met hers: wary, but not yet alarmed. Far over his shoulder, she spied the elf and the dwarf on the battlefield, piling carcasses in a heap.
'Manflesh,' she hissed.
The grey eyes narrowed, and she remembered what she'd meant to do before she fainted. She hadn't sunk into the darkness for long; the fires still flowed somewhere inside.
Uglútz shifted against the ground, testing her body. This time, with her damaged shoulder, they'd tied her hands in front of her. Good. She could easily grab the tark and overcome him. But perhaps he would fight? Men were unpredictable at close quarters. Plus, he was armed, and she was hurt.
She came to a decision. It rankled to descend to this. But so be it.
She snatched a fistful of his tunic, dragged him forwards – only an inch, but his body weight now rested in her hands. She was in control.
The tark sucked in a breath. But he did not yell, did not panic; the steely grey eyes never left hers. 'Unhand me,' he said, quiet but firm. 'I do not wish to hurt you. But my companions will not be so merciful if they see you mean me harm.'
'Listen Manflesh,' she said, 'battle is over. Maggot is birthed. Now I am empty. You must fill me – let me make another maggot. Many strong maggots.'
His nostrils flared. His heart beat under her fist like a snared bird. The green stone at his neck glimmered.
She froze.
Terror closed on her mind like a trap. She was a maggot again, floundering under the whip of her first, hated overseer, lost and alone and terrified.
'Leave me be,' the man said, and his voice betrayed nothing. 'I am promised to one I love, far away. I will not do as you request.'
She snarled, still caught in horror. Her breath was harsh in her throat; her hands shook. What was this? Her reaction made no sense – the fear of an enemy should have been delicious, a stimulant, a promise of ready entertainment. The fear of even a fragile underling should have been disgusting, risible. His helplessness ought to have stirred her up to violence. Only the fear of a strong orc, an ally, should have taken her this way.
But her heart hammered and betrayed her.
She couldn't reason with this fear, couldn't press it back down. Her claws tightened on the tark's clothing; inadvertently, she drew him closer.
She bared her fangs and tried to wrest back her reason.
'I asked,' she growled. 'Like tark said. I asked nicely!'
'And I refuse. Now will you let me go, or must I stab you?'
She registered his hand, clasped on the hilt of his dagger. When had he moved? She was supposed to be in control!
A wave of feelings crashed through her. Loss, vexation, fury – worse, defeat. She had been thwarted.
She roared with frustration, and shoved the tark in the solar plexus.
He flew through the air and landed smack on his back, the air huffing from his lungs.
And for a moment she felt as she would have done if another orc had snatched Maggot and dashed her to the ground.
'Ai!' came a cry. 'Do not move!'
Uglútz turned her head to discover the elf's bow trained on her, his bright eyes burning.
She growled.
'Aragorn, how do you fare?' called the dwarf.
'I'm all right,' grunted the tark. He rolled over and coughed, hand to his chest.
Deep in Uglútz's ribcage, something ached.
She had hurt him.
But hadn't she meant to? Hadn't she wanted to?
Her breaths were still coming too fast. Her insides felt stripped away, raw as they hadn't been since before she was full-grown.
She did not know what she wanted.
Why was she so afraid of the tark? He was nothing. Wasn't he? Just a man. Why hadn't she just crushed him?
Under her breastplate, Maggot mewled and wriggled.
The elf did not stand down. Its eyes and its arrow remained fixed on her. 'Give me a good reason not to kill this creature, Aragorn. It has caused us nothing but trouble. Would not even Mithrandir—'
The man held out a hand, still catching his breath, and the elf paused. The man dragged himself to his knees, then stood. He breathed deeply, and spread his hands.
'See? I am unhurt. It was a misunderstanding, nothing more. Do not make me cut out more of your barbs, Legolas – I am heartily sick of it.'
The elf snorted like a warhorse refused battle, but his bowstring relaxed. The arrow disappeared back into its quiver with lightning speed.
Elf and man strode towards each other, and commenced a conversation in an unintelligible sing-song that hurt Uglútz's ears.
So, she would not die today. That was something.
She had been stupid just now. Miscalculated. That was all. She wouldn't make the same mistake again. The tark's companions were not fools.
She tried not to think about what he was.
She made herself relax, and stared up at the white bowl of the sky.
The dwarf stumped over and surveyed her through its beard. 'You were fortunate this time,' it muttered. 'But do not think to lay hands on him again. That is a mighty king of men, even if he looks nothing but a scruffy beggar. I for one will split your head if you continue to throw his kindness back in his face.' It grunted. 'The patience of dwarves may be legendary, but it still has limits.'
Uglútz showed her fangs. 'Khoz dirt-licker,' she sneered. But her heart wasn't in it.
A few hours later, when her wounds had knitted, they took Maggot from her, and made her run again.
She replayed what had happened with the tark, but it remained a mystery. The tark and dwarf's words beat in her ears as she pounded over the endless plain. But their sense eluded her, disintegrating like cobwebs every time she tried to grasp it.
She wondered how the tark rode with a cracked rib. But he was behind her, and she could not see.