CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Eicys' Bad Day

"This is all the hemlock I have," Tuima said, pressing the bottle into Eicys' unwilling hands, "but I've got enough herbs in my pack to make up a few more poisons that are almost as effective, if you give me a little time."

"But – hang on," said Eicys. "What do I need the extra for?"

"It may… come in useful," said Tuima, fiddling with her oversized pack.

"I'm serious, Tuima. What would I do with a bottle of poison?"

Tuima did not look up. "You might find yourself in a situation in which poison is better than the alternative," she said, her voice very low.

Eicys backed off several paces, staring. "You're crazy!" she said weakly. "Like what?"

Tuima finally raised her eyes. Eicys shied back another step at the expression in them. "You mean you can't hear it?" asked Tuima.

"Hear what?"

The Elf shivered. "Screaming," she said softly. "…Lots of screaming."

Eicys backed up another step. "You're making this up," she said, her voice shaking slightly. "You're trying to scare me. I can't hear anything."

Tuima turned away. "Just as you like," she said.

"Stop it!" Eicys said shrilly. "We're not going to die or be… or have anything like that happen to us! We're going to escape!"

"Oh?" growled Tuima. "Do you have keys? Weapons? A magic spell to put Saruman and his minions to sleep? Do you even know where the others are being held?"

"I'll find out! I'll get them! This will work!"

Tuima peered at her. "Elbereth," she said after a startled moment. "You actually believe that."

"Why shouldn't I?" Eicys demanded, a little too defensively.

"See above," said Tuima, "regarding lack of keys, weapons, vital knowledge, and grip on reality."

"Look, Miss Helpful," growled Eicys, "if you don't have something to contribute – "

Tuima held up a hand, cutting Eicys off in mid-sentence with an arrogance as thoughtless as it was effective. "Someone's coming," she said.

Eicys listened as hard as she could, and was rewarded with exactly nothing. "I swear you're making this stuff up."

"Just because your race is half-deaf does not mean I must suffer the same ignominy. You had better go. Can you find this cell again?"

"Of course I can," Eicys said stiffly.

"Good. Come back when you're sure it's safe." Something that was very nearly a smile flitted across Tuima's face like a departing spirit. "You may be sure of finding me here."

Eicys thought, as she stumbled through the blackness, that Tuima wouldn't have phrased her parting shot in exactly that fashion had she known how lost Eicys would end up. At this point, Eicys couldn't be sure of finding anyone, anywhere.

That didn't worry her nearly as much as the possibility of someone finding her. She was fairly confident that this was the last place on the planet where she wanted to run into –

A monstrous shape appeared at the end of the corridor, indistinct in the light of the smokey scarlet torch it carried.

Eicys skittered backwards, almost tripping over her stolen greave: that tree in Fangorn had bent it into a truly awkward shape. She groped along the wall until she found a cell door, and ducked in behind it.

The torch-bearer stopped. Eicys could see his shadow on the far wall, one massive fist moving toward his weapon, then away again. He cocked his head as though listening, and at last called out, very quietly: "Eicys? Tha' you?"

Eicys blinked, and edged – a little reluctantly -- out of her hiding place. "Ungrath?"

The big uruk relaxed visibly. "Here y' are, then," he said. "Y' were s'posed t' hand off y'r spear over an hour ago – what've y' been doing?"

"Oh, just… you know… exploring," said Eicys, with a bright smile.

Ungrath gave her a wry look. "Y' got lost, didn' y'?" he said.

"It's a freaking underground maze without any lights!"

"So, tha's a 'completely'," said Ungrath, smirking. "C'mon, then, we'll get out of here. Hand an' Eye, Eicys; y' need a lot of lookin' after."

"I'll figure it out," Eicys said, hurrying after him.

"By t'morrow?"

Eicys looked cornered. "Tomorrow? Why by then?"

"'Cause I had t' threaten three different people t' make sure y' kept y'r job, an' if I have t' do it again t'morrow they're goin' t' start gettin' suspicious. -- More suspicious," he amended.

"…Oh," said Eicys, slumping as the implications sunk in. She wouldn't be allowed to run around loose here; she would have to work with the system if she wanted to save her sister and friends. --And Tuima, who was (thank goodness) neither friend nor relation.

Then a few more implications sunk in, and she glanced up at the enormous uruk by her side. "Thanks, Ungrath."

"Er," he said awkwardly. "Yeah. Jus' don' let it happen again, a'righ'?"

"Okay," said Eicys, and added, daringly, "Maybe I had better explore some more tonight, then. Unless there's a map or something that you know of?"

He glanced sidelong at her. "Wha' are y' up to, Eicys?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Righ'," said Ungrath. "'Cause soft little human girls are always dressin' up like orcs and askin' for maps of Sharkey's dungeons." He folded his arms. "I'm big an' ugly, Eicys. Contrary t' popular opinion, tha' doesn' make me stupid."

Eicys almost backed into the wall. Having Ungrath fold his arms at you was not an experience to be taken lightly. From her much shorter vantage point, it eclipsed almost his entire face. "I'm not doing anything!" she protested, her voice a little too high.

A bitter expression twisted Ungrath's mouth. "Look, I'm not goin' t' hurt y' – stop lookin' at me like tha', will you?" He shifted his shoulders uneasily, and glanced behind him. "Jus'… jus' be careful, is all I'm askin'."

"I'm not doing anything," Eicys repeated stubbornly.

"Yeah," said Ungrath. "Sure. Whatever. C'mon, let's get ou' of here."

And he stalked off without looking back, leaving Eicys no choice but to follow. She scuffled along behind him, attempting a vaguely orcish lurch as she went, and tripped on her greave again. Ungrath glanced over his shoulder at the sudden clatter, and Eicys flinched backwards before she could stop herself. The uruk's face darkened a little further in the smokey light, and he turned away with a grunt. After that, Eicys followed him in silence.

That was why she heard the laugh.

She pulled up short, and looked down the corridor it had come from. "Someone's down there!" she said. "I missed that hall!"

Ungrath looked around just as Eicys turned down the yawning black entrance to the corridor.

"Eicys…" he said in sudden alarm. "Eicys, stop!"

"She can't be very far," she said. She was convinced it was her sister: Cebu was exactly the sort of person to find something to laugh at in a lightless smelly dungeon.

"No – wait – Eicys!"

Eicys blinked. Her nose was nearly touching Ungrath's breastplate, and her head was swimming from being jerked back so quickly.

And, most disconcerting of all, her feet were not touching the ground.

The uruk dropped her and backed away, flushing black. "Sorry," he muttered. "But y' shouldn' go near tha' cell."

Eicys rubbed her shoulder. "Why not?" she asked, annoyed.

"Th' prisoner down there is… He… Look, jus' don' go down there alone, a'righ'?"

"But how am I supposed to feed him? It's my job to bring the prisoners their food tomorrow!"

"He'll live until th' day after," growled Ungrath.

"Oh, come on, Ungrath – he can't be that bad!"

Ungrath folded his arms. "Yeah," he said. "He can. He's completely crazy, Eicys. He hates orcs more'n he likes livin'."

"But what could he do through a cell door?" asked Eicys reasonably.

"He got ou' once," Ungrath said darkly. "An' no one's ever done tha' before. I wouldn' put anythin' past him."

"Oh," said Eicys, in sudden realization. "Is that why you're so nervous down here?"

Ungrath glared. At Eicys' wince, he let out a little growl of frustration, turned back around, and continued walking. "There's jus' somethin' wrong wi' this place," he said. "Evil. Everyone thinks it's great."

"But you don't?" asked Eicys shrewdly.

The uruk grunted, and picked up the pace a little.

"Why not?" asked Eicys, hurrying behind.

"I jus' don'."

"You're not much like the other orcs, are you?" Eicys asked.

"What is it wi' you an' askin' questions?" demanded Ungrath.

"Your accent is different," Eicys pointed out relentlessly. "You even look different."

The uruk stopped walking. "Of course I look different!" he snarled. "I'm a Void-cursed experiment! Th' first thing I remember is wakin' up strapped t' a table! Wha' are y' tryin' to prove here?"

"I'm just trying to find out more about you," she said meekly.

"Y're jus' bein' Void-cursed nosey, is wha' y're doin'."

"Well, if I'm going to trust you – "

Ungrath snorted. "Oh, tha's rich," he said viciously. "Y' don' trust me an inch, an' we both know it."

"What – but – I – "

Ungrath waited for her to stammer herself out. She shifted awkwardly in her ill-fitting armor, wishing that he weren't quite as good at reading her. Perhaps it was fair – most of the time she could read him as though he were written in big block caps – but it was still extremely inconvenient.

Because he was right. She didn't trust him. He'd done an awful lot to help her, but…

But he's a freaking ORC, said her subconscious. What does he expect?

"I'm sorry," she muttered at last. It sounded sullen and false even to her.

Ungrath stared at her for a moment, then growled, "Ah, forget it. Everything's been wrong since th' minute I met you. Go find someone else t' lie to." He shoved the torch into her hands and turned back the way they'd come.

"Wait – Ungrath!"

"Th' exit's tha' way," he said over his shoulder. "First staircase on th' left."

And he left.

Eicys stood stock-still for a moment, watching him go. Her conscience pitched a howling battle against suspicion, canonical perceptions of orcs, and the primal fear of large threatening things with teeth, and won a narrow victory.

Eicys broke out of her stasis and sped after the uruk. "Ungrath!" she called. "Wait!"

Five steps later she tripped on her armor again and fell flat with a clattering bang that reverberated off the obsidian walls. "Augh!" yelled Eicys, close to tears. She yanked off the bent greave that kept tripping her up and hurled it against the wall. "Ungrath!" she called, scrambling to get up again.

But there was no sign of Ungrath anywhere. The dungeon was dark.

Eicys hesitated. The first staircase on the left beckoned: Eicys was exhausted, bewildered, and dizzy with hunger. And following an angry uruk into a lightless underground maze did not exactly make the top ten on her list of Clever Things To Do. Besides the obvious dangers, there was no guarantee that she'd ever make it out again without help.

"Ungrath!" she called again, despairingly.

Suspicion, primal fear, common sense, and general misery ganged up on her conscience and lobbied for an immediate exit from the dungeon. Eicys managed to overrule them until some underhanded corner of her soul pointed out: but you have to find Eredolyn. The fate of Middle-earth depends on her not blabbing to Saruman. And probably all our lives depend on it, too.

What's more important here, hm?

Her conscience finally caved. Eicys picked up her greave, turned, and trudged dolefully toward the first staircase on the left. When she got to ground level, she didn't stop: she just kept taking every staircase she saw. Eredolyn, she figured, would be kept somewhere high. Beyond that, she didn't have any sort of plan at all -- she was too tired and miserable. Climbing the Tower of Orthanc in rusty ill-fitting armor when you haven't eaten in two days would be enough to wear out an Olympic marathoner, which Eicys most definitely was not.

She was, however, stubborn enough to make a boulder look wishy-washy. She was even stubborn enough to occasionally impress Dilly, which was saying rather more.

Eicys kept climbing.

EREDOLYN

Eredolyn decided that all her dreams had come true at once.

She tucked her feet up into the huge leather armchair in Saruman's library, relishing the swish and rub of dark purple velvet. It was the world's most beautiful gown. It could not have been any more perfect if she'd designed it herself. Wide medieval-style sleeves, gold cross-lacing on the bodice, intricate Rohirric knotwork embroidered on every hem…

She snuggled deeper into her chair and bent happily over her book. It covered most of her lap, and its heavy parchment pages were filled with Eredolyn's obsession – maps.

In delicate calligraphy and rich, jewel-toned illustrations, the book laid out every detail of Eredolyn's other obsession – Middle-earth.

Which she was actually living in. She could look out the library windows and see Fangorn Forest.

It was all Eredolyn could do to keep from bouncing up and down out of sheer bliss. Her fingers traced the southern coastline, trailing all the way down to the exotically colored Far Harad. She shivered happily. When – if – she decided to leave Orthanc, she would like to see Harad. She should ask Saruman what it was like. He knew everything; it was incredible. She'd had a question about Frealaf, and Saruman had actually been to his coronation. Eredolyn had gone away suspecting she now knew more about the Rohirric King than Tolkien himself.

Life was good.

Which was why she did not appreciate having it interrupted by an ugly little goblin in dented, mud-caked armor, even when the goblin called her by name and seemed incredibly pleased at finding her.

"Can't you see I'm busy?" she snapped.

Underneath its oversized helmet, the goblin's mouth fell open. "What?"

"I'm reading," said Eredolyn. "Go away."

"But – " said the goblin.

"And you smell," Eredolyn finished. It was very true. How had the thing gotten up here, anyway? Up until now she had only ever seen human servants – brown-skinned Dunlendings, with scowling faces and soft staccato accents. She didn't like seeing an orc; it was an unwelcome reminder that Saruman might not be as wonderful as she liked to think.

"You try hiking through Saruman's dungeons for an entire day and see if that fancy perfume holds up," the goblin shot back. "Eredolyn, what's wrong with you?"

"Nothing is wrong with me," said Eredolyn, who had quite liked the perfume. She could barely smell that strange herbal scent anymore. "Who do you think you – "

The goblin pulled off its helmet. Eredolyn gaped at the exhausted, mud-smeared face underneath.

"Eicys? What are you doing?"

"Trying to save Middle-earth, apparently," said Eicys. "But I'll settle for saving you and Dilly and Cebu. I, um, I have something for you, from Tuima..."

"Oh, right, I forgot about Tuima! I want to ask her some questions about Rivendell."

"That might be difficult," said Eicys, looking at Eredolyn oddly, "since she's locked up in the dungeons and I have no idea how to find her cell again."

"Oh," said Eredolyn. "Well, that's okay. I'll just ask Saruman instead. He probably knows more about it, anyway."

Eicys stared at her.

"…What?" asked Eredolyn.

"Um. Did the word dungeons completely bypass what's left of your brain?"

Eredolyn was starting to get seriously annoyed. She had practically taken up residence in the library; who was Eicys to start insulting her intelligence? She pointed this out, and couldn't understand Eicys' resulting expression of mingled fury and fear.

"Okay," said Eicys. "Okay. Something's wrong here. Something is… Eredolyn, what about Dilly?"

Eredolyn suddenly became aware of a strange fog in her brain. She blinked a few times, and said thickly, "Dilly?"

"Your best friend?" said Eicys. "You two have been joined at the hip since… since forever! Don't you care that she's locked up underground?"

Eredolyn blinked again. "Saruman said she'd have her own rooms…"

"One room," said Eicys. "It's small and dark and has a giant lock on the door. Come on, Eredolyn, snap out of it!"

Eredolyn rubbed her forehead. "But Saruman said…"

"Saruman's lying. He wants the Ring, remember? Tuima's got a plan; I don't like it much – well, okay, I hate it -- but if I can't think of another way to get us out of here, then it's up to you, Ere." Eicys was talking too fast; she kept glancing behind her as though nervous.

"What's up to me?"

Eicys put her helmet on again and dug awkwardly underneath her armor to get at a pocket. "Here," she said. "It's…Um. Well, it's poison."

"For what?"

Eicys grimaced.

"What?" demanded Eredolyn. "Are you crazy?"

"We're hoping it won't come to that," Eicys said hurriedly. "I think if I can find the keys… I mean, well, I really don't want to kill anybody, but… I mean, he is the villain…"

"You're completely insane!" Eredolyn cried. "That's hideous! He's an old man!"

"He's a freaking evil wizard!"

"You're evil! Get out of here! And take this with you!" Eredolyn hurled the little bottle after Eicys and felt a savage satisfaction when it smashed on the stone wall.

"What's all this noise?"

Eredolyn spun around at the sound of that deep, melodious voice. "Saruman!" she said.

"Lady Eredolyn," he replied courteously, and Eredolyn felt that unpleasant fog in her brain fade away into the background, where she could ignore it. "You seem… upset," said the wizard.

"Oh – no," said Eredolyn lamely. "I'm okay, it was just…"

Eredolyn turned, unthinkingly, to point, but Eicys was gone.

EICYS

"Can anything else go wrong?" moaned Eicys, as she sprinted away from the library and the empty shell of her friend. The expression of vague unconcern in Eredolyn's eyes had been one of the most frightening things Eicys had ever seen. It was wrong.

How much had Eredolyn told Saruman already? How much longer would he let her live? Once Eredolyn had been thoroughly milked, the rest of the Immies wouldn't last much longer.

Unbidden, Tuima's voice floated through Eicys' mind:

Screaming. Lots of screaming…

Eicys screwed her eyes shut and shook her head violently. "There is no way this day can get any worse."

This is, of course, an extremely stupid thing for anyone to say; it is an obvious and irresistable temptation to fate. But for someone wandering the corridors of an evil wizard's orc-infested tower, it transcends mere temptation and is akin to slapping Fate in the face with a dead herring and screaming challenges. (1)

Things can always get worse.

In this case, they got worse in the form of a gang of goblins hanging around the bottom of the seventh staircase, jeering and snarling at each other. But they all stopped when they saw Eicys, and into each of their piggy eyes flicked an identical expression. It was a very nasty expression, and it managed to convey all sorts of equally nasty messages – the very kindest of which was: easy pickings.

"Oh, help," muttered Eicys.

A goblin with a missing ear sauntered up the staircase toward her. "Now, wot's a liddle baby guard doin' way up 'ere?" he asked.

Eicys said the first thing that came to her mind. "I'm looking for Ungrath!" she blurted.

The goblin hesitated. Close behind, his fellows exchanged wary looks. "It's that liddle whiner he's picked up," one of them growled.

"So?" snarled One-ear. "Stupid experiment isn't around, izee?" He turned back to Eicys. "Sorry, liddle snaga. Mammy ain't here." He shoved her, and she only just managed to keep her balance.

"Get away from me!" she snapped.

The other goblins crowded up. "Ooh, 'e don't like us talkin' bad 'bout 'is mammy."

"What're ya gonna do about it, maggot? Gonna kill us? Hey?"

Someone else shoved her, and this time Eicys went over backwards, landing hard on the step just behind. As One-ear closed in gleefully, Eicys kicked up and out with a strength born of desperation.

As it turns out, there are certain places that even orcs do not appreciate being kicked in. One-ear folded up with a funny little noise and an unhealthy cast to his skin. His fellows howled with unsympathetic laughter and landed a few kicks of their own on their way past.

Eicys didn't wait for them to reach her. She scrambled upright and staggered up the staircase as fast as her abused, aching legs could carry her. She gained the top and went hurtling down the corridor, five angry goblins on her heels.

Okay, she thought. Now things can't get any worse.

Then the first orc caught up with her.

I just had to think that, didn't I? Eicys asked herself as she was knocked heavily to the floor.

She struggled pointlessly, her flailing blows glancing off armor and gnarled, sinewy muscle -- but eventually she was overwhelmed. She curled into a fetal position with her hands wrapped around her head, and wished desperately that she was wearing twice as much armor.

An ugly eternity later, the goblins finally grew bored with the unresponsive wimp huddled on the floor. They gave her a few more kicks, for the look of the thing, and wandered off, already fighting among themselves again. Eicys heard their laughter upon meeting up with the still-recovering One-ear, and then they moved off out of earshot.

Eicys uncurled painfully and sat up, sniffling and dabbing at a shallow cut under one eye. "Aa-a- ow," she said, fighting tears. She tried to get to her feet and couldn't. "OW," she moaned, and tried again. "Ow – ouch – ow – Ohh." She wavered unsteadily and looked down at her badly dented armor. There wasn't a single inch of her that didn't hurt. Her already bruised ribs had turned into a solid mass of splintery pain; it would be a miracle if none of them had cracked.

Valiantly sniffing back tears, Eicys made her way gingerly toward the staircase. She just wanted to get out of this horrible stone tower. It had been the worst day of her life – and without Ungrath as guide and defender, it looked like the day was only going to get worse. She didn't even know how to find the mess hall, let alone –

Eicys tripped on her greave again.

Klunk clatter CRASH.

That did it. Eicys just lay at the bottom of the steps and cried, a bruised, gasping, exhausted heap that clattered with sobs. Tears poured down her face. I want to go home, I want to go home, she thought. Please, I just want to go home.

Heavy footsteps made the torches flicker. Eicys choked down her tears and scrubbed furiously at her face. Mud and paint smeared off onto her hand in thick streaks, and she stared at it in horror. Between the sweat from her exertions and her recent tears, there was barely enough of her disguise left to merit the name.

Terror rose in her throat until she choked. After all that, she was going to be caught and thrown in the dungeon – or killed, or –

"Ungrath!" she gasped.

The uruk startled. "Eicys? Where've y' been? I've been lookin' for y' all over th' – Hey. Are you a'righ'?"

It is a mark of how bad Eicys' day had been that the sight of a concerned face – even if it did belong to an eight foot tall Uruk-hai – was all it took to break her down entirely. She covered her face with her hands. "I'm – I'm sorry, Ungrath. I was a total jerk. I… I…" And to her shame, she started crying again, big heaving gulps that she couldn't talk through.

The uruk stared at her helplessly, his expression awkward, his eyes anxious. "Hey," he said. "It's a'righ'. I should never ha'… well, I mean, let's face it -- y'd have t' be pretty stupid t' trust—" He cut off with a choking noise. Because Eicys had stumbled forward into his arms, buried her face in his chest, and given herself over to sobs.

"…me," Ungrath finished, holding her like a man with a live bomb. "Um. Righ'."

Suddenly he stiffened. "Wha's this?" he demanded, wiping a trickle of blood out of Eicys' hairline. He tipped up her face, his thumb pressing painfully into a bruise on her jaw. Eicys hissed and jerked backwards. Ungrath let go immediately.

"What happened?" he snarled.

"Couple of goblins," said Eicys, smudging tears out of her eyes with the back of a hand.

"Where?"

"Upstai – no – Ungrath! Stop! What are you going to do?"

"Teach those pershogu a lesson they won' forget in a hurry – "

Eicys grabbed his arm and was dragged several feet before Ungrath noticed her. "What?" he growled.

"Don't go," she begged. "Please? Besides, what good will it do, beating them up?"

Ungrath halted reluctantly, his scimitar half-drawn. "Well, it'd make me feel a lot better," he said. "How – how bad was it?"

Eicys' face twisted a few times, but she finally managed to say, "Well, I had armor on, so I guess it could've been a lot worse, right?" She tried a smile.

Ungrath growled. "From now on, y' don' go anywhere withou' me, got it?" He paused. "Why're y' lookin' at me like tha'?"

"Thank you," Eicys said, and meant it.

Ungrath's ears went black. "Well," he said. "Y' need a lot of lookin' after."

Eicys' smile was a lot more genuine this time.

"C'mon," said the uruk, his face darkening a little more. "We'll get y' – " He surveyed Eicys' smeared and inadequate disguise, and quirked a grin. "—Dirtied up."

Eicys scrubbed the last few tears off her cheeks. "My life is so bizarre these days," she said, falling in behind him.

And Ungrath – who was having a lot of trouble focusing, for some reason -- glanced down at the tearstains on his tunic and muttered, "Y' have no idea."

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note (1): The herring is optional. But it definitely adds style.

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