Uglútz's hatred for the golg had been festering since the battle, and as the sun rose higher and she ran on, she decided she loathed it more even than the plaguesome light which smote her eyes. The golg was keeping Maggot wrapped securely about its chest, and every time she was handed Maggot to feed, she smelled golg-stink, sharp and taunting. Driven by the maddening stench, she concocted long, drawn-out fantasies of torture and death. She only wished Maggot were a little larger, with teeth better-grown and filed sharp. Why did Maggot not bite the golg? Had the golg drugged Maggot? Bewitched Maggot with its filthy songs?
She cursed her ropes, and she cursed the golg. But she could not free herself to strike him. It chafed worse than warg-leather.
It would have been better if she hadn't also been half-sure something was following them. Whoever the trackers were, they were quiet. But shadows flickered in the marshes, and the shoulder-high grass felt as though it was holding its breath. Uglútz tried to scent the pursuers, and couldn't. She'd have dismissed her concern but for the fact the golg also appeared to sense something amiss. It stood on the leading horse's back, and for once its eyes pierced not Uglútz but the hazy fens. Its bow remained loose, but its hands were poised and ready; every so often it fingered the white fletching of its arrows, as if counting them.
No wonder she couldn't smell their pursuers with that in her nostrils. Curse it!
As they were winding through a patch of head-high reeds, the golg raised a hand. The party halted, standing as they were amid the hissing grasses; Uglútz's ropes pulled her up short. Her ears twitched; she swung her head from side to side, sniffing.
A horse stamped.
They were surrounded.
And still, all she could smell was golg.
Curse it.
A warbling, musical cry echoed in the air.
What was that? Not orcs. Horse-boys?
The golg responded in kind, and with a glad cry leaped from its horse and darted towards the figures that emerged from the reeds – figures clad in grey-green, tall and fell and girt with silver.
Uglútz roared.
Golgs. A whole pack of them.
No wonder everything smelled so bad! Let her put her teeth in them!
She threw herself at her restraints. The horses neighed and danced; behind her, the tark cried out.
The golgs cast Uglútz a look, but carried on talking.
But no matter how she fought, she was too far away to strike the golgs, or even spit on them. She could only watch impotently as they spoke, and the stinking Maggot-thief passed Maggot – Uglútz's Maggot, hers – to one of the newcomers. The newcome wretch nodded, peered under the cloak, and smiled at Maggot – a filthy, pretty, golg smile.
Uglútz howled and cursed, and wrestled with her ropes. The golg could not look at Maggot like that. Scum-filth!
Behind her, the tark said something. The golgs responded; an argument ensued between the tark, the golgs and the khoz. But Uglútz didn't listen, too busy with her fury. She must get Maggot back. The golgs would regret touching her!
And as suddenly as they'd arrived, the golgs left. Taking Maggot.
Gone.
They faded into the reeds like they'd never been.
For a second, it was unreal. Then Uglútz screamed. She threw herself on the ground, thrashing like a monstrous fish on a line.
The horses bolted and dragged her through the fen. Her fresh-knit wounds burst, festooning the earth with sprays of black. Still, she screamed. She screamed while the tark and the khoz reined in the horses, and she cried and howled and cursed all golgs as they pinned her down.
Maggot was gone. Stolen.
But no matter how she shrieked, the golgs never returned. They never brought Maggot back. They left only that lingering, taunting scent and the fading mockery of their laughter.
With a restraining hand on Hasufel's bridle, Aragorn watched the trussed orc writhe and scream, and silently berated himself.
He should have foreseen this. Legolas' overprotective attachment to the orc-child had been no secret. Neither had the murderous jealousy of its mother. Why had he allowed his worry over the state of the orc to take precedence over the morale of his friends? Why hadn't he utterly cast down Legolas' claims about the child's parentage at the first chance he was given? No matter Elrond's terrible hints regarding the lengths orcs would go to in their hatred, Legolas was wrong – wrong about the child's father being an elf, and wrong to snatch the infant from its mother.
One did not take a child from its mother. Even if that mother was an orc.
Uglútz howled and bucked, churning the earth to a bloodied mire. Her torn shoulder gaped, the stitching ruined. She did not seem to feel it, but Aragorn ached at the sight; he looked away and found the sun hanging as a silver coin in the mist, already nearing its zenith.
They had missed Gandalf's deadline. Bringing the orc to Meduseld was going to be all but impossible. She would not run for them like this; indeed, they would be hard put even to drag her. Should he abandon the orc, and cut their losses?
No. She would track the party of wood-elves who had taken her child. He would be responsible for whatever happened next. In ordinary times, he would not fear for a group of elves trailed by a single goblin. But Uglútz was no mere goblin. His skin crawled at the remembrance of her in battle. The elves would never reach the Grey Havens if she caught them.
There was only one remaining option that made sense.
And yet, he could not bring himself to kill Uglútz.
His ribs throbbed; he brushed at them distractedly.
Gandalf, why did you entrust me with this task? It appeared simple, but I am not equal to it.
Why do I hesitate to do what must be done?
Gimli approached, giving the bellowing orc a wide berth, while Legolas stayed at Arod's head, comforting the misused horse with low words. Aragorn did not doubt the necessity of the elf's work – Arod's legs still trembled and he twitched every time the orc cried out. But still, it was no coincidence the elf chose to remain too distant for conversation.
'A pretty mess,' Gimli commented.
Aragorn dipped his head in acknowledgement, if not assent. The dwarf's staunch optimism had carried them through many trials; Aragorn did not wish the rest of the party to know of his conflicted thoughts, least of all Gimli.
'And a mess we do not need,' the dwarf continued. 'We were meant to meet Gandalf yesterday, and we are leagues away! When he left, he urged haste. We should not delay leaving any longer.'
'Then what do you advise?' Aragorn ironed the irritation out of his voice. Though they had disagreed vehemently over the matter of the elves taking the child, Gimli was trying to help. 'If you are offering counsel, know I welcome it.'
Gimli tugged his beard. 'Well, I have little experience with horses, but I do not judge that we are so far from our destination all has become impossible. A speedy run across this plain will surely bring us close enough to meet Gandalf by nightfall.'
'And how do you suggest we move at speed?' Aragorn nodded towards the orc. 'At least one of our party is indisposed.'
'Could not the horses bear a little more weight? They seem strong beasts, and they are used to this land, even if I am not; they do not stumble.'
As if sensing the direction of their conversation, Hasufel flattened his ears and snorted, eyes rolling in the direction of the orc.
'These horses have been bred to hunt orcs,' Aragorn said. 'It is unlikely they would consent to carry one as passenger.'
'But does not Legolas have a way with the beasts? If he were to ride, and take the orc as baggage, I think we could manage.'
Aragorn eyed Legolas, who steadily ignored him, and turned his gaze back to Uglútz. She stilled in her writhing and her yellow eyes met his. A snarl rose from her lips. Her fury beat against him like the heat of a wildfire.
'You think it wise to place Legolas so close to danger?'
Gimli grunted. 'I see no danger. The orc would be securely bound. And Legolas is…' he paused, mulling over his choice of words, 'a fair fighter,' he conceded. 'And not unversed in the ways of orcs. Would that I could ride alone – I would gladly take our prisoner. I fear no orc! But I have no way with horses. Such is not the remit of a dwarf.'
Aragorn considered Gimli's words. It was true that there was no other way they could readily make for the Golden Hall. And this option gave him more time in which to make the decision he feared he would be forced to, in the end. Yet the thought of placing Legolas in close proximity to one harbouring murderous intentions sat ill with him. No matter their disagreements, Legolas was a good friend, and not as indestructible as he liked to make out.
'We could at least ask the elf,' Gimli urged. 'Time presses, Aragorn!'
Reaching a decision, Aragorn gave Hasufel a final pat and handed the bridle to Gimli.
Legolas remained gazing at the mountains as Aragorn approached. The ranger wondered what he could see so far distant, but did not feel inclined to ask. Gimli was right – they were late, and could not afford more delays. Not even for pleasantries with an affronted friend.
'Gimli believes you could ride Arod and take the orc as baggage,' he said, without preamble. 'What think you?'
Legolas' nostrils flared, but he met Aragorn's look. 'We would do better to kill it,' he said. 'But I suppose you will not want to agree to that.'
Aragorn fought to keep his voice level. 'This is not about what I want. We were given a task – we must do all we can to fulfil it. Can you and Arod take the orc, or can you not?'
Legolas' eyes turned sharp as his gaze lingered on Uglútz. She had obviously overheard them, and was emitting a low growl that echoed through the ground. Arod shivered and tossed his head, and Legolas ran his hand along the horse's nose to quiet him.
'It can be done,' he said finally.
Aragorn sighed. 'My thanks.'
'It can be done, but if I am threatened, I will act as I must.' Legolas' narrow gaze met his.
Aragorn inclined his head and, after holding Legolas' eyes a long moment, turned away. He could not order his friend to forgo safety in favour of their prisoner. Not even for Gandalf.
'Need you help arranging your "baggage"?' he called over his shoulder.
'Nay. Gimli's aid will be sufficient. You had best look to your own mount.' Legolas nodded in the direction of Hasufel, who Gimli was having trouble restraining. 'He seems to disapprove of the horsemanship of dwarves.'
Aragorn threw the elf a quick look of chagrin before walking away.
They were set, then. Inwardly, Aragorn breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps, as Gimli said, they would gain Meduseld before the sun set.
He glanced aside at the orc. She was watching him with a leer of calculated malice, lips drawn back over yellowed fangs.
Foreboding chased along his spine, but he made himself ignore it.