The Tale of Eiadric – Part IV

He was back in his cell. He had been there for the better part of two weeks. The torture had continued for six long days. Every day they would ask him the same questions. And every day he would give them the same answers. The truth of the matter was that he didn’t know anything that they wanted to find out. He was never given any information on the grand scale of things in the Mark, or the state of the Rohirric defences. And why should he? He was just an outrider unit leader. Eventually the orcs believed him. And as terrible as the torture was, they always made a point of not going so far as to kill him. “You should be glad that the masters need you as a slave” one of the smaller orc guards had said one day in the westron speech “you would be better roasting on a spit if you ask me. You’d make a tasty meal”. And so it was that he was put to work. Hard work in the mines and furnaces of the orcs. There were other men there. And he was put in a larger cell with a few of them after a while. But the men in the cells changed from day to day and they didn’t speak to each other much. It was as if they all understood that there was no point in getting too close. No point in making friends in a place like this where it could all be taken away at a moments notice. They were all doomed men waiting for their final death-blow. One day however, Eiadric was taken aside at the end of his laborious day. He was taken to the edge of the orc town and shoved into a caged wooden cart. And after a while he, along with some other men, was driven out of the great orcish settlement. It was a caravan of several carts laden with both slaves and other materials, most notably weapons. Small orc columns marched in front of, and behind, the carts. Looking back after a distance he noticed that the great wall they had exited through curved away to each side forming what must have been a huge ring, with the tower of Orthanc in its centre. They travelled for days and Eiadric recognised that they travelling through the gap of Rohan, hugging the northern borders of Isengard moving north into Dunland. These were not parts that the Rohirrim would ever enter willingly. The Dunlendings and The Mark were in a perpetual state of hostility, although no big battles had been fought for generations. Eiadric wasn’t sure who he hated more; the wild hillmen of Dunland or the vile orcs holding him captive. During the trek Eiadric studied the orcs carefully. They ranged in colour from black and brown to dark green. Some were hairier than others. And although very different to each other in appearance, they all had thick, powerful legs and muscular long arms. None of these orcs were of the fighting uruk type that took him by surprise at the ford, but they were no less impressive. They moved roughly across the land but with great ease and without any sign of fatigue. After a few days they reached a town and were greeted by rough, wild looking men. Eiadric understood that they were being bartered as slaves. Many carts of produce exchanged hands and he and the other slaves were examined carefully before they were chained and taken away into the town. A slight glimmer of hope rose in Eiadric’s mind. He would not stay here for long, he vowed. He would escape, or die trying. He grinned for the rest of that day.