***** Author's Note *****
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82
Zathra found himself alone in the silence of the night. The whispers of Alaesia's tense breathing faded with sleep, and the olog, worn as he was, contributed only a dull, persistent rumble, more vibration than sound, to the ambiance of the clearing. No owls cried out in victory of their hunts this night, at least not nearby. Nor did any rodent creep through the leaf litter. The silence told Zathra the snake was still lurking nearby; not a single creature in the area dared make a peep lest it attract the serpent's attention, and that put the orc on edge.
He couldn't hear its thoughts anymore; not that the mental thread allowing Zathra to detect the snake had been severed, but rather that it obscured and damned up at the very fringe of the clearing. The connection with which Zathra reached out, the range of his abilities, went about as far as the trees, at the edge of the plant growth, then simply vanished, as a light sucked into a bank of fog. The 'light' scattered and dispersed the further away he tried to reach. To put the sensation into words, Zathra might have described it as the snake's presence was everywhere and nowhere, all at once in an attempt to scramble his senses.
No doubt, the forest monster was weaving another spell of its own, running a blockade to obscure itself from his own supernatural sight. However, one crucial element differentiated this new spell from the sirenic song he had heard earlier; the serpent was on the defensive. That thing, Zathra had heard Alaesia's thoughts briefly refer to it as 'Ammatar' at some point in their escape, had tipped its hand while the contest between two mystical wills had just begun. The omnipresent fog of magical influence disguised the snake's movements, sure, but such a sweeping, blanket response indicated panic, an attempt to bluff an enemy with false mass and bravado.
But even if it indicated vulnerability, it was an effective tactic. It almost felt targeted towards the orc himself, as if the eerie creature, with its unsettling instincts, had detected in Zathra, his own magic, and strived to both thwart the defense the orc could provide and size up its other enemies. Zathra had no functional knowledge of such magic, nor any way to sweep away the cover of mist. For the moment, a stalemate held the breath of the forest in anticipation, waiting to see who would dare make the next move; a game of minds testing the power each held for weaknesses.
Zathra's calculating acumen was alight like a furnace and he weighed his options with care. He didn't have a significant amount of formalized military training or tactics, having only ever been a labor grunt barely higher in rank than snaga, but if there was one benefit of being an orc in Mordor, it was you either learned fast to scrap for your life using every wily trick imaginable, or you died fresh at the hands of much wiser, more cunning orcs. Zathra wasn't exactly short on years of experience.
On one hand, he could attempt to call the snake's bluff; play up his own magic as a tactic to intimidate the snake. But that was a dangerous game. Zathra's magic was unreliable and unpredictable, even more so over the last few days. And he had no idea the scope of this Ammatar's own magical abilities. If he tried to call the snake's bluff, only to fall short, he would be practically shouting his own weaknesses from a hilltop; orcs that shouted arrogantly from on high often earned themselves a quick demise. The only advantage the orc held for the moment was the fact that Ar-Tashk's attack that had taken the snake by surprise, which seemed to have both injured and unnerved the would-be predator. It would be a death sentence to show the snake any hint of weakness now. Zathra knew he couldn't make that mistake.
On the other hand and perhaps more underhandedly, Zathra did have one method with which to infiltrate and sabotage the bulwark of magic attempting to choke him off. One flash of consciousness penetrated the fog, permitting Zathra to breach the obscuration via the senses of the gray warg.
It had hunkered down a little ways off in some rocky hollow, reluctant to wander around while sore and exhausted. It too seemed aware that the clearing that had once been its pack's home, was beyond reclamation. It carried an instinctual drive to stay at distance, riddled with unease after the events of the last couple of days.
As he concentrated on the sight through the warg's eyes, Zathra finally found a moment to draw the pendant he had found from his pocket and examine it with a critical eye. The dimming light of the coals only slightly glinted off the complex metal form hanging from the length of chain in the orc's gnarled hand, and yet it seemed to have an odd glow about it, peeking from every surface, making it easy to see the masterful detail with which the pendant had been crafted.
Threads of whitish metal coiled and weaved in upon a central needle, much like ivy might grow wild upon a stone column if left unchecked. The tip of the pendant was narrow and fused all the threads into a single, sharp, quill-like point, whereas the top of the pendant where the chain was attached was a cage of intricate metal knotwork framing a single, solitary gem. It was a rough-hewn stone, faceted only where an artisan might seem necessary only for the sake of ensuring it was suitable for its fittings, but otherwise, it was left in the natural prismatic beautiful with which it had naturally formed. The stone had a swirling blue-gray color of smoke, but it too seemed to hold its own light.
That light, Zathra thought to himself, prickled uncomfortably at his eyes and skin the longer he held and examined the pendant, and yet he didn't want to put it down either. Plenty of orcs, the older, tougher survivors among Mordor's ranks had tales of ancient battles against elven-kind, where their foes wielded fiery weaponry that blazed with starlight in the presence of orcs and could sear any orcish flesh it came in contact with, without any hint of flame. Perhaps that was what had caused the burning sensation he had felt previously. The beautiful, silvery artwork was undoubtedly of elven workmanship; only an elf could bring out the perfection of nature's imperfect stones, or weave metal as delicately as lace. Zathra had no doubt in his mind of the pendant's origins and it made perfect sense that such a work of art would disagree with his touch.
But how might it respond to... He mused to himself, drawing upon his magic to summon his ethereal arm. He lifted a translucent claw to the needle-sharp point of the pendant. Wisps of mist siphoned from his ghostly fingertip toward the point, pulling at him, at his magic, and he watched in slight awe as the tendrils of metal started to shift in response; it was as if they were coming alive! The gem pulsed brighter, a more vibrant cerulean, briefly before Zathra snatched his claw away, but not of his own volition.
A pair of poisonous green and yellow eyes flooded his mind's eye before he could seal his mind shut, and a cruel, terrible voice uttered a command directly into his subconscious, Curssse-ed, foul, wretch-ed thief! Defy your blight-ed touch, Eldon!
Oh, now ya want ta talk... Zathra sneered as he felt the familiar presence of the snake invading his mind, directly now, just as he had tried to invade its head before. In an instant, the orc was on his guard as the serpent's command compelled him to pull his ghostly hand away from the metal-encased jewel. Ya got something ta say? Spit it out then, ya bleeding forest scum.
Final is your fate, reclaim-ed be your sssorcery, unworthy elf-shadow, This snake was clever... And powerful. If it hadn't butted in to stop him from toying with the pendant, which it seemed all too aware of, he might not have known it was even in his head; it seemed he had not been the only one attempting to spy through the other's eyes!
Ya can sense my magic, hm? Zathra cussed through his fangs and scanned the edge of the clearing urgently, trying to spy any movement that might indicate the snake was lying in wait to launch an ambush, but the fog of magic still obscured any such observations. All Zathra could do was latch onto the connection the snake had forged and hope he might be able to use it against him. Perhaps if he could keep it talking, the orc figured he could pinpoint its location or suss out whatever it might be scheming behind its mental obstructions. S'pose yer not just some dumb beast then, are ya? But still hardly more than a weed off Carnan's back, I'd wager—
Disssrespect courtsss your death! An indignant hiss spat back. The snake's voice reverberated in the chambers of Zathra's mind like a violent, untamed spark at his impudence, searching for something to set on fire. The blockade keeping him from accessing the snake's inner thoughts faltered for a split second in its emotional reaction and with that an image, a field of greenery submerged in the deep blues of night, in front of its eyes flashed briefly in Zathra's mind before the serpent composed itself and went dark again. Curssse-ed and corrupt-ed! Drawn your pain will be! Skiesss sssplit with orcish ssscreamsss!
Is tha' all? Yer threats mean nothin' ta me, ya overgrown worm. Zathra's upper lip curled defiantly. The brief glimpse through the snake's eyes gave him just enough of a sense of where he might start to search. A wordless command got the gray warg to its feet, where ever it had hunkered down off in the woods, to do his bidding. The question prickled behind Zathra's own mental shield; who would catch who first? He had to keep the serpent distracted if he could; just long enough to pinpoint where it was hiding.
Mock and crow, fool. Death comesss. It comesss! Ssswing by thieving Eldon'sss neck. Bequessst-ed and stolen, return-ed must be! another furied flash disturbed the magic fog, and with it flash another brief clue of the serpent's whereabouts, but more importantly, its influence seemed to weaken in the face of heightened emotions; something Zathra could work with. No orc of augury are you!
Orc of what...? Zathra lifted the pendant by its chain, and with a deft flick of his wrist grabbed it with his scarred hand and held it up before his eyes all while putting the mental imagery on blast. He was well-versed in playing mind games meant to distract, redirect, and deceive his opponents. Is this what yer throwin' a fit about? Mad I snatched it right from under yer nose?
He needed to taunt the serpent, to drive a wedge into whatever cracks he could find in its composure. They both were fully aware of each other's moves and countermoves, but Ammatar couldn't help it. The forest spirit's shielding magic stuttered again as his fury rose like the heart of a tempest. He was beside himself looking through Zathra's eyes and seeing the orc toy with the pendant; seeing it fall right into the palm of one of the Dark Lord's creatures. CEASE!
It's juss a silly trinket, No sooner than smirk passed Zathra's head, did the dam of the serpent's magic give way.
Simultaneously, the fog shielding Ammatar's location fell, and to Zathra's horror, it seemed the snake was truly everywhere, all at once, sliding through every branch, leaf, and root, encircling the clearing, constricting around it and lying in wait; and at the same moment, a vision burst upon Zathra's mind unbidden– a memory. The gloom of nightfall in the snake's sight had suddenly given way to glimmering cascades of golden light, and the soft melodic sounds of someone's voice.
"It is just a silly trinket," A delicate, unsullied voice of some unseen feminine figure murmured softly.
Zathra could perceive it all within his own head, as clear as if it was his own eyesight; some uncurbed memory that his words had unintentionally brought crashing to the forefront of the snake's mind.
"Ssseeking favor is that one. Tacarmatan, Caranya claimsss he to be, deceit and liesss speaksss he!" The memory of Ammatar hissed, low and petulant, to the figure, though he refused to raise his eyes to look at her; it was only from at the fringe of the vision a pale hand moved to assure the forest entity who drew away sharply from the hand's touch, "Sssword and blade a true smith makesss, not wasssteful adornment for unreturn-ed adoration. Not jewel-crafty, but tongue twissst-ed, coward is he."
Tacarmatan? Caranya? Zathra wondered silently. The familiar prickle of elvish teased at the back of his mind. They seemed to be titles of some sort, and yet, he didn't quite recognize such words immediately.
"Do not speak ill of Calanon. He is to be respected. Of course he worries when there is talk of more frequent orc sightings. His gift is just a precaution," the voice chided, though not in any way hard or critical. Rather whoever this lass seemed to be, she had a twinkle of amusement in her voice towards the snake. "And there is no need to be upset. Jealousy is unbecoming of a noble creature such as you, my sweet oak."
A bitter emotion crossed Zathra's tongue, but not his own; whatever Ammatar had felt at the time of this memory, it wasn't jealousy. A puff of pride filled the snake; whoever the pair spoke of, this Calanon person, had seemingly given the serpent great insult.
"Fang, claw, root, and sssnare, every breach is ssspill-ed with orc blood! Dare none to crossss my woodsss! Protect-ed are your bordersss!" Ammatar's memory drew itself up to his full height, barely reaching as tall as the memory of his companion, who he looked down his nose at, eyes narrowing on the pendant she was moving to clasp about her neck.
The woman's pale white face, framed by long locks of hair as black as night, was muddled in the memory, in Zathra's external sight. He could only just make out the downward arc of disappointment on her lips at Ammatar's words, "You promised you would stop this escalation, Nordorion. I cannot bear to see you harmed."
However, it seemed all the snake had cared about at the time, was focusing on the pendant she wore; seemingly the same one now in the orc's own possession. The sight of it had lit a burning rage within the snake.
"Ruin of you, ruin of ME. Such visionsss he speaksss! Fear bitesss as any venom. Sssting you, would he!" A hand, made of twisted foliage and tree-like bark, shot forward from Ammatar's point of view, snatching the pendant before she could don it and ripping it from her hands. "Needlessss of mad propheciesss... and GIFTSSS are we! Poissson must we draw! Cassst away what worry bindsss you!"
"Ah! Stop! Nor—" She cried out, attempting to snatch the pendant back, but Ammatar was too fast. The woman called after him, but the memory blotted out her words. Or perhaps, Ammatar realized just how deep into his inner memories Zathra had delved.
The serpent hissed with disquieted rage, mentally clambering to shield his mind once more, but Zathra had gleaned all the information he needed; in one way or another, the whole of the forest was under the spirit entity's thumb. He held command over almost every crawling thing, every creeper and vine. He simply had to lie in wait to ensnare the trespassers, should they allow their guard to drop once they stepped foot back into his woods.
***** Translations *****
Snaga - Slave
Eldon - Elf-bred (begotten by elves)
Tacarmatan - ?
Caranya - ?
Calanon - ?
Nordorion - ?