The small camp lay in the hollow of a gentle dell, surrounded by tall poplar, beech and oak. Sheltered around their trunks were the lifeless remains of ferns, briars, berry bushes, shrubs and the many other small woodland plants which had languished throughout the spring and summer drought. Meandering listlessly through the stand of trees, a small stream had carved its way down from the mountains to wind sluggishly towards the River Anduin.

Curling upward into the morning air, a whitish gray plume of smoke rose languidly from the small campfire. The sun had burnt away most of the fog which had risen from the stream the night before, and only a few traces of mist still lingered in the grove. Drinking coffee from tiny porcelain cups, four men sat upon mats around the fire. A short distance from them, a young black eunuch, a boy of twelve years, kept his alert brown eyes upon his master, waiting attentively for orders.

"Four nights and four days have we spent in pursuing the runaway slaves, and still they have not been recaptured!" Esarhaddon uHuzziya exclaimed angrily. Finished with his coffee, he placed his hand over the empty cup and handed it to the waiting servant boy. "No more, Ásal. You may leave us until you are needed again." Smiling and bowing, Ásal took the empty cup and added it to the other dirty utensils, which he would later wash in the stream. He slipped away to stand inconspicuously by a tree, close enough that he could hear his name if his masters wanted something.

Rising to his feet, the slaver faced his men. "If they are not found within the next two days, I will be forced to call off the search and let the wenches go to their fate! The house of Huzziya cannot afford to finance an endless search for four slaves who probably would not bring that much on the market anyway! Too much has been wasted upon this damn futile hunt for the Northern women already!"

"Shakh Esarhaddon," Ubri remarked placatingly as he rose to his feet, "I expect the tracker orcs will be returning with a report at any moment. Perhaps they have picked up the trail once more, and the chase will soon be ended." Ubri's eyes flashed excitedly, the kohl which he applied to his eyes every day to drive away flies giving him an intense appearance.

"Ubri, how many half-breeds do we have out searching now?" Esarhaddon demanded as he picked up a small chunk of wood. Tossing it into the fire, he watched with satisfaction as the eruption of fiery hot sparks and flaming embers shot into the sky.

"Shakh, not counting the pair that is attached to your own escort, three groups of uruks were sent out to search for the four Northern women while two groups were put on the trail of the three brothers. Since they set out four nights ago, nothing has been heard from the searchers who were trailing the brothers." His jaw set in a hard line, Ubri's eyes narrowed into a grim expression. "Shakh, I have concluded that both groups of uruks - whom I had questions about since they were hired - have turned feral. In spite of their mannish bloodlines, I believe they have slunk back to the wilds. If they have, there is nothing we can do." Exhaling, Ubri shook his head gravely and rubbed his hand over his jaw.

"By the hump of the first camel!" Esarhaddon brought his fist up and shook it bitterly. "I have never wanted to hire such vermin! The only reason I ever did was because they have noses like hounds! They will also work far longer hours than men. Their endurance is legendary, and their bravery is incredible!" He reflected a moment and then chuckled, his dark eyes glittering slyly. "An added bonus is that they work cheaper than men."

"Look, men, what is that coming this way?" Inbir, who had said little during the discussion, at last spoke up. He had been blissfully daydreaming about Aeffe, the beautiful Rohirric girl with the strawberry blonde hair. A movement downstream had caught his eye, and the look of bland disinterest disappeared. Suddenly rising to his feet, he pointed down the stream bank. The others turned their heads to follow the direction of his hand.

"Aye, Inbir, I see them, too, and they are not the uruks attached to your escort!" Ubri exclaimed, shading his eyes with his hand and peering into the distance at the two hulking uruks who shuffled along the listless water. "No, as well as I can make them out from here, those are the two who have been trailing the brothers. At least they did not turn feral as I had suspected. Perhaps we will learn something now."

Catching the scent of the men and knowing they had been observed, the two large uruks stepped up their pace to a smart trot. Reaching the Southrons, they bowed first to Esarhaddon as their master and then to Ubri, who was in direct command of them.

Ubri surveyed them coolly. "Zaanûrz and Farmak, I was beginning to think that the two of you had gotten lost. Where the hell have you been?"

"Masters," Zaanûrz, the leader of the pair, inclined his head as he panted out, "we call upon your sublime and gracious selves for mercy!" The other uruk threw himself to the ground, his forehead pressing into the dirt.

"Zaanûrz, you must first tell of the offense before I can judge whether mercy is warranted," Ubri replied sternly, folding his arms across his broad chest.

The large knot in his throat bobbed uncontrollably as the uruk fell to his knees and pressed the hem of Ubri's tunic to his lips. "We have failed, Captain! The track of the three slave boys has vanished! Though we searched most diligently, we were unable to pick up their scent after the rainfall of two days ago. Mercy, Master!"

"Such a show of grandiose obeisance becomes stale after a while. Just speak plainly!" Ubri gave the orc at his feet a look of cold disgust. "And remove your mouth from my sleeve!" These two had always revolted Ubri. Eager to impress the slavers, the uruks had picked up the elaborate mannerisms of Southern slaves, and it made them all the more obnoxious.

"Yes, Master!" The orc's head bobbed up and down as he released the sleeve as though it were the head of a poisonous serpent.

"Zaanûrz, Shakh Esarhaddon must decide if your punishment is to be death. I do not have that authority." The captain of Esarhaddon's men turned his eyes to his master.

"They ought to die for their incompetence, but I will let them live," Esarhaddon waved his hand dismissively. His eyes half-shrouded under heavy lids, he looked over the orcs' heads as though they did not exist. "However, since they have failed in their mission, they are to be dismissed from my employ. Now begone, both of you!"

"But, Master," Zaanûrz cried, "what will we do?" Frantic with worry, the uruk began to sweat, a foul-smelling substance that made the Southrons wrinkle their noses . Though Esarhaddon had proved a harsh master, employment with the slavers was far easier and paid much greater rewards than did the army, the factories, or even banditry. It was also a great deal safer than any of those professions.

"What do I care?" Esarhaddon closed his eyes, a totally bored expression upon his face.

Turning pleading eyes on him, the orc clasped his hands together in supplication. "But, Master, we have information!"

"Why did you not say so in the first place? Out with it then! Do not keep us here all day with your blathering." The slaver slowly opened his eyes and wearily regarded the orc.

"Last night, we chanced upon Torû, Sharapul, and Sharapul's catamite. They were camping deep in the forest over on yonder hill." Zaanûrz waved a taloned paw towards the west, where a high wooded ridge stood in sharp relief on the horizon. When he was certain that the men's eyes were following his motioning hand, Zaanûrz took a deep breath and continued. "Sharapul told us that they had lost the trail of the two females near the river, but they had picked it up once again. Master, as you know, the rainfall of the other day made tracking difficult..."

"You pissing mongrel! I have heard enough about the rainfall to last me," Esarhaddon put his hand over his mouth to stifle a yawn.

"F-forgive me, Master," Zaanûrz stammered. "While Sharapul said that he had found nothing definite, he intimated to me that he had a feeling in his bones that they would find the wenches soon."

"And we are supposed to count upon some supposed 'feeling' of that old bugger and waste more time, following some elusive will-o-the-wisp?" His eyes cold, his lip curling in contempt, Ubri laughed mirthlessly.

"But, Masters, please, Sharapul's instincts are often correct!" The uruk desperately looked back and forth from each Southron. "If I may be permitted to remind you of the escaped Gondorian slave boy last spring who had eluded all trackers. Just when the search was about to be abandoned, Sharapul found him."

"That is true," Esarhaddon acquiesced grudgingly. "Perhaps the Man-swiver will prove correct in this, too. He certainly does seem to have some sixth sense when it comes to finding his partners in pederasty." The slaver rubbed the small mole under his right eye as he fixed the uruk with a cold stare. "Very well, Zaanûrz, you and your fellow will now travel with my escort. This time you will serve me and make no excuses!"

"May praise be forever upon your head! Our undying gratitude to you, most merciful and gracious lord!" The two uruks rose to their feet and bowed several times from the waist. They stood looking expectantly towards Esarhaddon.

"Now remove yourselves from my presence! The two of you smell like billy goat piss!" Esarhaddon wrinkled his nose in distaste, and his men guffawed loudly. "Go over in the woods someplace downwind from us and wait until we are ready to depart." He waved his hand towards the grove of trees.

Hatred of their master burning hot in their hearts, the two uruks bowed in humility as they retreated towards the trees. Once they would have torn a man's entrails from his body for such insults, but they had sold themselves for gold, and hated the civilization that the Southrons forced upon them.

Taking a small leather pouch from his belt, Esarhaddon drew open the drawstring and took out a few dried leaves. Crumbling them between his fingers and palm, he rubbed a pinch beneath his nose. "Mint," he smiled cheerfully. "Nothing compares to its fragrance for bringing purity to the air."

"Elffled! We cannot stay here. We must flee!" Elfhild hissed through her teeth as she frantically shook her hysterical sister. The other girl clung to her, her fingers gripping her arms painfully, her head bent and her face buried in her shoulder. Her body quivered, trembling from her sobbing.

"Tarlanc is dead, too! I just know he is!" Elffled wailed. "Those orcs have murdered him! Oh, Elfhild!" Her voice broke, trailing off into incoherent mumbles mixed with sobs. Why was it that they must lose everyone and everything that was dear to them? Part of her mind could not accept that he was dead, but the other part knew with bitter certainty that it was true! Now the kind, dear old man who had been their friend was gone! Oh! All she wanted to do was mourn his memory! Why did her sister not have the grace to leave her alone and let her grieve for him in peace? The orcs could do anything they wished with her. She did not care! All was lost anyway!

"They will murder us, too, if we do not run!" Elfhild hissed, her head twisting around to look in the direction of the stream which lay to the east from them. Though they could not see them clearly, they guessed by the angry gestures and shouting that the orcs were quarreling.

"Oh, Elfhild, I am so weary!" Elffled moaned, sagging against the other girl in despair. "What difference will it make if we do flee? If we could run as fast as the roe or fly as far as the eagle, they would still catch us. Oh, it is hopeless!" She sighed heavily and bowed her head.

"I for one do not want to stand here and let them catch me, and since I do not want to leave you, you are coming with me!" Elfhild shoved her sister away from her and gave her a sharp slap across the face. Her cheek burning, Elffled gaped at her in shock and hurt. "I did not want to do that, but I had to slap some sense into you!" Elfhild's gaze darted to the side and her eyes went wide with fear. "Look -- the orcs have settled their quarrel and they are coming this way!" She shook her finger towards the stream, where the orcs were scrambling up the bank.

Numbly, Elffled turned to look, and her face blanched with horror at the sight of the two mighty uruks racing towards them. Her heart felt as though it had ground to a sudden halt in her chest. Little pinpricks of terror stabbed all over her body like tiny needles of frigid cold. Paralyzed with fear, she stood there helplessly, a mere observer to the scene of horror before her.

Cutting through the quiet of the morning rose a sound more horrible than the howl of a starving wolf upon a January night. Part bellowing war cry, part deranged shriek of a goblin, the thundering roar set the hair on the napes of the girls' necks as rigid as brush bristles.

"Run!" Elfhild screamed.

Elffled gasped as her sister seized her wrist and pulled her along behind her. Stumbling over the rough ground, she forced her frozen legs to carry her forward. She felt like she were in a horrible nightmare where no matter how quickly she ran, she could travel no faster than snail's pace, and she was always mere inches away from doom.

While Elffled struggled to keep up with her sister, Elfhild had her own battle to fight with herself. The urge to run blindly through the woods in her terror was like an irresistible temptation, and it was all that she could do to keep her mind clear. She forced herself to plot a course through the forest which would avoid obstacles such as large rocks and fallen trees. Her eyes scanned the woods for possible hiding places -- though in the back of her mind she knew there was no place to hide from creatures with noses like hounds. Sweat dripped from her forehead. She could not think about what would happen if they were caught!

The fiends bayed again, this time much closer, and along with its threatening menace, there was a new tone in the sound, a cry of elation, the thrill of the hunter as he draws nigh unto his prey.

They were doomed.