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Chapter Three: Flight and Fight

A sickening sight met my unready eyes. Thousands of Orcs and Uruk-hai were crammed in the chamber, nearly every one armed to the teeth with fearsome weapons. All of them were moving slowly toward another door at the far end of the room.

The apparent leader, a tall, bulky Uruk with a grotesquely mutilated face that resembled a large, pinkish glob of lumpy mashed potatoes set sloppily on top of a thick neck, growled out orders from between twisted, slobbery lips.

“Get going, you lot!” he snarled, as the orcs all shoved one another indiscriminately to get to the far door first. “Move out!”

He turned then as Lunk cleared his throat with a little wet cough. “Oh, it’s you. Got another recruit there, Lunk?”

Lunk nodded to the ugly Uruk. “Yes sir. He just arrived this evenin’. Didn’t speak a word after he came outta the pit; not even to swear allegiance. Bit funny, that.” He frowned briefly over at me before turning back to the commander. “He’s to join up with your bunch, sir.”

“Course he is,” the commander grunted irritably. “Why else would you bring ‘im here?” The Uruk’s beady eyes, which were almost completely hidden beneath baggy folds of skin, regarded me with an air of baleful contempt and disapproval. “He’ll do. He can be a tracker.”

The commander looked me in the eye, and muttered in a low voice something I barely heard. All I caught of it was, “Find the Halflings.”

Jerking his head, the commander motioned for me to join the mass of Uruks which were flooding out of the room. I stood frozen for a moment, then nodded and inched my way out of the room alongside the last few stragglers. I didnÂ’t know then that the events to come would turn my already drastically changed lifestyle upside-down.

* * *
Trudging along behind my “allies”, I noted the direction of our path. We were heading east and a bit south, across the grassy plains of Rohan. We marched in the direction of the palely dawning sun that peeked shyly at us over the crest of a large hill in the distance. The Uruks were relatively silent in that they did not talk much, but the dull, monotonous sound of their thumping footfalls was hard on my ears.

“Oi, you!” a voice growled in my ear as a fist thumped my back. “Get moving, Snarga!”

I winced as my back throbbed painfully, but I noted what the Uruk had called me. SnargaÂ… so that was my name now. Take away the r and it was Snaga, the Black Speech term for slave. The last thing I wanted to be. Loathing seethed within me, silently boiling. I forced it down, marching on without a word.

After awhile I noticed that the wiry Orc next to me was muttering under his breath in a low hiss; I strained my ears and caught snatches of his words of disgust.

“… Find the Halflings, huh. Bring ‘em back alive an’ unharmed… Wish we were allowed to kill ‘em. What’s Lord Saruman want with ‘em, I wonder…? I know better than to ask, though. Stupid questions’ll only get you your head lopped off…”

And so on it went. The horde kept their easterly course as the sun climbed higher in the rapidly brightening sky. It turned from midnight black to shades of crimson. Blood had been shed that night.

I began mentally formatting another plan for escape. This one would not be as rash and hasty as the previous ones, and it would be successful. All I needed was the opportunity to carry it out.

My chance came a few hours later, when about a dozen trackers split off from the main group, and headed in a more southeast direction. If I could only get away from the masses, I might stand a better chance of escaping. I breathed a soft sigh of relief as I moved further and further from the horde. My plan was working – so far.

A sudden brainwave hit me. Glancing around, I noticed that most of my fellow trackers were branching out into pairs, and some were alone. I took this as a perfect opportunity to flee. Swiftly I darted into a thick clump of trees nearby, and carefully buried my sword. Then I waited, not daring to breathe, for the other Uruks to run off, which they did eventually.

Once I was satisfied that I was alone, I gazed warily over my shoulder as I emerged from the scrub. The place was deserted.

Or so I thoughtÂ…

A moment later, I was surprised to hear footsteps approaching. I ducked back into the bushes as the sound came closer and closer, and a pair of figures came into view, one ahead of the other. One was a man, the other, a hobbit. A Halfling – one of the very creatures I had been ordered to find.

I didnÂ’t want them to be subject to the cruelty of Saruman, as I had. I made a silent vow to protect them if I possibly could. I hid in the trees and listened silently to their conversation:

“None of us should wander alone. You least of all,” the man was saying. “So much depends on you… Frodo? I know why you seek solitude. You suffer; I see it day by day. Are you sure you do not suffer needlessly? There are other ways, Frodo, other paths that we might take.”

“I know what you would say,” the hobbit replied, “and it would seem like wisdom, but for the warning in my heart.”

“Warning?” the man inquired. “Against what?”

He began to move toward the hobbit, who backed away. The man continued to speak as he advanced.

“We’re all afraid, Frodo, but to let that fear drive us to destroy what hope we have. Don’t you see, it’s madness.”

“There is no other way,” Frodo the hobbit said calmly.

“I ask only for the strength to defend my people!” the man cried. Then his voice took on a sinister tone. “If you would but lend me the Ring…”

“No!” Frodo cried, backing away further.

“Why do you recoil? I am no thief!” the man insisted.

“You are not yourself!”

“What chance do you think you have?” the man shouted. “They will find you. They will take the Ring. And you will beg for death before the end!”

Silently Frodo turned and strode away from his companion.

“You fool!” the man screeched. “It is not yours save by unhappy chance!” As I watched in horror, he walked toward the retreating hobbit, who glanced fearfully over his shoulder, then broke into a run. The man leapt at him, knocking then both to the ground.

“Give it to me!” he yelled. “Give me the Ring!”

“NO!” Frodo screamed. Frantically he squirmed about, trying to escape. Then he held up something I couldn’t quite see, moved it toward his finger — and disappeared!

I stared in shock as the man, who was now seemingly fighting with nothing, flinched as if he had been struck. He shouted angrily to open air.

“I see your mind!” he shrieked. “You will take the Ring to Sauron! You will betray us! You go to your death! And the death of us all! Curse you! Curse you and all the Halflings!!!”

Then he stopped, his breathing ragged, and whispered sadly, “Frodo? Frodo. What have I done? Please, Frodo…”

But there was no reply. The man cried out again, pleadingly. “Frodo, I’m sorry! Frodo!”

I gazed at the man, who scrambled to his feet and dashed away. I darted after him, wanting to find out where he was going. Careful to keep out of sight, I zigzagged across the plains, as there were hardly any trees to hide behind as I went farther and farther.

I hastily concealed myself as well as I could when the hobbit reappeared out of thin air, and stared around him warily. He and I both glanced up as another man walked toward the hobbit; not the one who had fought Frodo, but another one. He had a kingly face and kind, dark eyes that seemed as keen as the blade of the sword that he carried in his belt.

“Frodo?” he said, his deep voice full of concern. “What is it?”

“It has taken Boromir,” the hobbit panted breathlessly.

“Where is the Ring?” the man demanded.

Frodo backed away from him. “S- stay away!”

“Frodo! I swore to protect you,” the man told him.

“Can you protect me from yourself?” the hobbit cried. He held out his hand to the man and, from my hiding place, I saw something small and gold gleaming in Frodo’s palm: the One Ring.

“Would you destroy it?” Frodo continued, staring up at his friend.

The man knelt before the hobbit, closing FrodoÂ’s fingers over the Ring.

“I would have gone with you to the end,” he said softly and sadly, “into the very fires of Mordor.”

“I know,” Frodo replied. “Look after the others; especially Sam. He won’t understand.”

The man opened his mouth to speak, and in that moment I heard, faint but unmistakeable, the sound of Orc feet tramping across the land, coming nearer. The manÂ’s eyes widened.

“Go, Frodo,” he whispered desperately. “Run. Run!”

Frodo nodded, sprinting past his friend – in my direction. I jerked away as he raced toward me, barely missing me. As I waited for my heart to calm down, I saw the Orc-horde come into view. It was the very one I had just minutes ago been a part of.

The man drew his sword and prepared to fight them as they surged around him like a wave. Some of them came toward me; I couldnÂ’t avoid them, and they flowed around me as well, trapping me in the mass of bodies. I couldnÂ’t breathe; they were pressing so tightly against me, and their stench was nauseating. I choked and nearly threw up. Then I heard the leader shout.

“Find the Halflings! Find the Halflings!”

“Elendil!” the man roared, charging into the fray. He slashed at the Uruks, slaying three or four with every sweep of his keen blade.

Then two new figures appeared on the scene: an elf and a dwarf. They fought the Orcs alongside the man, using arrows and a battleaxe to cut down their foes.

“Aragorn, go!” the elf yelled as he loosed an arrow into the throat of an attacking Orc. “We’ll hold them off! Get out of here!”

The Uruks advanced relentlessly, forcing the three friends to retreat. They pushed me along with them, against my will and desire. I would never escape now, I thought. IÂ’d end up being slain as an enemy. What was one less Uruk to the Free Peoples? One less bit of worthless, vile scum, that was what.

My train of thought was broken by the clear sound of a horn, ringing through the air.

“The horn of Gondor,” said the elf.

“Boromir!” cried the man called Aragorn.

The two fought their way through the horde, while I tried to fight my way out of it. Both of our attempts were successful. The man and the elf struggled toward Boromir, whom I recognized as the man who had fought Frodo for the Ring. The man was fighting the Uruks bravely, but then an Orc archer notched an arrow to his bow, aimed it at Boromir and drew back the stringÂ…

I didnÂ’t want to see anyone hurt, no matter who they were. I lunged at the archer just as he loosed his arrow. The force of the impact knocked us both to the ground and left me breathless, but unharmed. The arrow whizzed through the air and zipped past the manÂ’s ear. The Orc, who was lying beneath me, thrashed and writhed as if in its death throes, crying out in a muffled growl of a voice. Its face was pressed firmly against the ground, and I was lying on its torso and head, squeezing the air from its lungs without even realizing it. Eventually the Uruk went limp. I had suffocated it.

I shakily got to my feet, but was immediately forced to duck as AragornÂ’s sword was swung in my direction. The man slashed at the remaining Uruks through a hail of elf-arrows. At last only a few, including myself, were left standing. The others were quickly dispatched by arrow and sword. There was only me and my adversaries.

Aragorn lunged at me, sword outstretched and aimed for my throat. I staggered back and fell to the ground, helpless. The tip of the blade was inches from my neck and getting closer. I let out a scream; a single word, the first word I could think of in my terrified state.

“Dartho!!!” **Wait!!!**

TBCÂ…