The Tale of Eiadric – Part II

The steeds galloped with heavy strides across the water up the flat bank and reached the horde of uruks with just enough speed to break through the first three ranks, but no more. At once the orcs swamped the Riders, slashing and hacking, and immediately, four of the Riders were unsaddled and pulled screaming to the ground and were stabbed or beaten to death. Hearing the desperate screams of his friends chilled Éiadric to the bone and he cursed the gods that his life would end this way.

His powerful horse now reared onto its hind legs and kicked two uruks in the face and at the same time he thrust his blade into the throat of a smaller orc that had stabbed him in the leg with a dagger and frantically tried to scramble onto his saddle. It didn’t take very long before uruk spears and blades were thrust into the horse’s front and belly sending it into a slow backward topple. At this Éiadric instinctively pulled his feet out of the stirrups and prepared for a heavy fall, turning so that he would roll away from his horse. He hit several orcs on his way down and lost his grip on his sword. In the tumult he was bashed over the helmet and hit on his chest mail and sunk down to the ground in a daze. Groggily looking up he saw several of the orcs poised to strike. Their snarling faces were distorted into a monstrous sea of fangs and dark eyes. At this point he knew his life was over.

But suddenly he heard a loud orcish howl from within the mob and he saw them all hesitate, and then reluctantly back off. The large uruk whose voice he had heard forced it’s way through the crowd surrounding him and walked slowly up to him. Without warning, it kicked him in the face, planting him flat on his back in the blood-covered mud. It stepped onto his shield-arm and stood above him motionless while the others hung back and watched. Éiadric laid there helpless and could do nothing but look back up at the large uruk. His face was a bloody mess with his nose broken and one of his eyes swollen shut. Two of his ribs were cracked, his right leg was wounded and his whole body was battered and sore. He had no idea what had happened to all the other Riders. He just hoped that his death would now be swift, and he bitterly regretted that he couldn’t see his sister’s and parents’ faces once more before the end. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

But the final blow never came. The large uruk just spat on Éiadric hitting him square in the face. The thick brown sputum trickled down his eye and cheek. It then turned around and shouted orders at the others while gesturing that they should prepare to move out. At that point Éiadric blacked out.

When he came to again he noticed that it was midday. The uruks were on the move and he was swinging freely as they carried him along, hogtied on a pole. He felt excruciating pain in his whole body and found it almost impossible to lift his head and look around. He blacked out again.

The next time he woke up he was laying still on the ground. It was dark and he could make out several campfires all around him. Some near by, others further away. He struggled for a moment to remember where he was and then it hit him. He lay there in pain but his head was starting to clear and thoughts from the days events came swirling through his mind. He had been taken by orcs. He remembered that it had struck him as odd that the sun didn’t seem to bother them at all. Éiadric had heard reports from other scout riders that the Uruks didn’t fear the sun but somehow found it hard to believe. He had fought orcs his whole adult life and thought he knew all there was to know about them. But he had been proved wrong today. And the white hand… Whose banner were they fighting under? And the ambush… it was too well organised to be a normal band of orcs.

“You look like shite…” he heard a voice whisper nearby.

He squinted in the direction it came from and could barely make out Aethelwold through his blood-crusted eye. His fellow Rider was sitting there chained hands and feet to a stake in the ground.

“Aye” he whispered hoarsely. “as do you brother. And yet you haven’t a scratch on you”.

Éiadric body pierced with pain as he chuckled inaudibly. A sense of pure joy and relief flooded through him. “Thank the Valar you’re alive brother. You cannot understand how it gladdens me”

Aethelwold nodded “As it gladdens me to see you. But believe me when I say that you are lucky that you have been unconscious these past two days. I would trade with you if only I could”.

“Two days?” Éiadric showed his surprise.

Aethelwold bowed his head. “These are not normal orcs brother. We have been on the move for almost two days without rest. Half of the time on a run. In my state I only managed to stay on my feet the first day. Then they carried me as they have carried you. They have beaten me, stabbed me and burned me with embers Éiadric. For no reason at all but to see me suffer.”

Éiadric suddenly felt a sting of guilt for his earlier comment and Aethelwold could tell by his silence. “What I fear is not what they have done my friend. It is what they intend to do. There is a reason for keeping us alive. Or else they would have finished us off at the ford.”

At this they both fell silent and tried to push the dark thoughts out of their minds.

The orcs soon broke camp and marched for what Éiadric thought must have been a day. They were not far from the mountains and by nightfall he could tell by the guttural grunts and general excitement that they were reaching their orc camp. ”How could they hide an outpost so close to Isengard?” thought Éiadric. “Our ally in the tower will have to be warned if we ever get out of this alive.” “Alive… hah” He sneered at his naiveté at this last thought.

After an hour their path rose and led them up along the shoulder of a rocky mountain slope. As they reached an open ledge a deep valley spread below them in the dim light. Éiadric gasped at the sight he saw. This was no camp. A gigantic orc city spread below them like a dark insect’s nest for miles. Encircled by an enormous ringed wall, with a dark tower in the center. Small fires dotted the valley as far as he could see. There was activity everywhere and smoke rose thick and black into the night sky. The putrid stench that carried up to where they were was nauseating.

It all hit Éiadric with the force of a stampeding auroch. “Saruman had ceased being an ally a long time ago. And the Mark is now fully exposed to the north.” Éiadric was overcome with rage and despair. “By Béma. There are enough orcs here to lay all the lands between the Isen and the river Anduin in ruin.”