(for the previous part of the story, click here )
(First Age of the Sun, year 521, Thargelion)
"Grabghâsh! Wait!"
The orc with the long axe looked around once more, and hurried to reach his dark-skinned companion who looked up to the tall statue in the corner.
"Golug! da filth 's lookin' at us!"
The large orc almost choked on the first word, hatefully drooling.
"Grabghâsh, no!"
The orc with the long axe grabbed him.
"Don't do it!"
The dark orc turned towards him, with a twisted snort.
"And why not, eh? We won the war! Destroy 'em. Destroy their lands. Destroy ther filthy works! Orders from Lugbúrz!" he barked.
But his companion did not seem that convinced. He looked up at the statue. Tall was the elven warrior, holding spear and shield, his empty eyes fixed on the defiled garden. Suddenly, the orc was filled with a strange dread. These empty eyes made him feel very uneasy. The spirit of the defeated Golug was still lingering at this accursed place!
"Listen, Grabghâsh. D' ye remember the stories about Pomongôth?"
The dark orc uttered a short laugh.
"Damn you with your stories, Bubhôsh!"
"The stories are true! I swear it! The tall stones are dangerous. They say, Pomongôth comes for ye if ye dare to break 'em. They say, he watches through their eyes. He sees everything."
Bubhôsh gulped.
"Let's not antagonize the wraith! C'mon, Grabghâsh. Just let's get outta here! Don't you remember what happened to the black rat garrison? To the smashed slug boys? To Burzum-Skai and his unit? That was Pomongôth! He came for their arms. And once he'd cut off their arms, he cut off their heads and..."
But the dark orc freed himself.
"Oh spare me yer fairy tales, scum, will ye?! The Golug are defeated! We smash'd every single one of 'em! And the few ones in the south are afraid of us. We'll smash 'em soon enuff! They say, Lugbúrz will send the Ghâshgôth down here. You know the Ghâshgôth. They're never joking. They'll strangle ye with yer own damn guts if they see ye, scared rat!"
A third orc approached.
"What are ye maggots doin' here? Afraid of a stone? Ha ha ha!"
He drew his club.
"Shut up, both of ye! Look what I do with that filthy stone!" barked Grabghâsh.
He turned around and spat at it.
Bubhôsh's jaw dropped in fear.
The orc with the club grinned and showed his teeth, ready to dash the statue to pieces.
"Now where's that Pomongôth? Where is he? I see no damned wraith here! Do YOU see any?"
roared Grabghâsh, drawing a hulky blade.
Suddenly, they perceived the sound of two blades being unsheathed.
That was when they noticed the "wraith".
He was standing in the shade, silently, like a statue himself.
Stars were being reflected by his drawn swords.
Bubhôsh's eyes widened.
The orc with the club hesitated first, but then growled.
Grabghâsh frowned. Holding his blade firmly, he stepped forward.
"Golug Pushdug!" he hissed.
The elf approached slowly, as if this was a sort of strange ritual. He kept his eyes and his weapons lowered.
Then he spoke, using the black speech of Angband, with a deep voice, calm and silent, and something in this voice made the orcs listen:
"You defiled these lands. They do not belong to you. They do not belong to your master.
You spilled the blood of thousands, women, children. You tormented them, you ate their flesh.
You destroyed what others were building over hundreds of years. You defiled what nature was growing over thousands of years.
You smashed works of art. You smashed statues of stone."
The Noldo paused.
"But you will not touch this one.
I am its warden. I am Pomongôth, Lord of Statues. I have come to make you pay for the harm you inflicted upon Arda."
He lifted his gaze, and turned the edges of his blades. The orcs flinched. The eyes of the elf were burning like glowing coals, tearing down any opposing determination. A terrible wrath filled the air.
"You and your master - you hold no power here! This is hallowed ground!
Into the abyss with you - and your master!"
The voice of the elf had grown mighty in sound and strength.
Grabghâsh suddenly moved, breaking the trance he and his companions were held in.
"Glob!" he roared, and raised his weapon.
"Before we kill ye, we'll have some fun with ye, Golug filth!"
The others followed, their hatred being nourished again by the determination of the dark orc.
"An Fëanáro!" the battle-cry of the Noldo filled the defiled courtyard. He charged.
The orcs rushed towards the elf, roaring.
But this Golug was too swift for them, and he wielded his weapons with terrible strength and accuracy.
Within the blink of an eye Grabghâsh lost his sword, and before realizing it he had lost both arms. Black blood stained the ground.
Starlight mirrored in the blades of the Golug literally stung the mind - Bubhôsh felt his strength failing.
The club hit the avenger, but the elvish breastplate withstood the heavy blow.
The Golug executed the same deadly maneuver - the club dropped to the ground, the severed arm still holding it.
Then it was all over. The fight had only lasted a few seconds.
Bubhôsh crouched in front of the statue, filled by paralyzing fear. He stared at the heads of his slain companions, still rolling at the floor, leaving a black trail.
Then he felt cold steel touching his throat.
He lifted his eyes, his whole body trembling.
The Golug was looking down at him. His face was terrible to behold, his gaze caused endless dread and a burning sensation within the mind of the crouching orc.
Then Pomongôth spoke, and there was no mercy in his voice:
"You have seen what happens to those who dare to lay their filthy hands upon these lands, upon the folk of stars, upon these statues, made of firm stone.
You have seen what happens to those who dare to challenge the Lord of Statues."
The Golug suddenly sheathed his blades, and turned away.
"Go now, Snaga! Tell your master what you saw here. Tell your friends what happened."
Bubhôsh obeyed.
He stood up and left the courtyard, running for his life, his eyes widened in terror.
-
Beleriand was drowning in war, darkness and destruction.
The elves had lost their war against the north, the siege was broken, their armies scattered.
But still there were those who resisted. They rallied in mountains and in caves.
They engaged the enemy with many unexpected skirmishes.
They were a thorn in Angband's flesh.
Beleriand was drowning in darkness, but it had not yet lost all of its avengers.
One of those was Ráolor Ondomaitar, who had followed his Lord Maglor to Amon Ereb, after the defeat of the elves in the Nirnaeth Arnoediad.
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((continue to read the story here))
[Translation Black Speech - Westron:
Golug - Elves (Noldor)
Pomongôth - Lord of Statues
Burzúm - Darkness
Ghâshgôth - Lord of Fire (Balrog)
Lugbúrz - Dark Tower (referring to Angband)
Pushdug - Dungfilth
Glob - Filth
Snaga - Slave
Translation Quenya - Westron:
An Fëanáro - For Fëanor ]
