Elfhild and Elffled forced themselves to run faster, their feet flying over the ground, their hearts pounding out a rhythm as desperate as their flight. No matter how swiftly they ran, however, the twins could not keep up this pace indefinitely. Almost indefatigable runners, the uruks were far stronger and fleeter of foot, more than able to keep up a steady lope for hours.

The sun beat down mercilessly through the twisted, bare branches, and the heat reflecting from the ground seemed to rush up and hit the twins in the faces like the blast from a furnace. Merely breathing in the heavy air would have been exhausting enough, but they were racing for their lives. Their chests heaving, their bodies drenched in sweat, the sisters fought to keep ahead of the orcs, but the yards between the pursued and the pursuer were dangerously narrowing.

Still weakened from heat sickness, Elfhild was the first to tire. Her breath came out in desperate, ragged gasps, and as her feet pounded over the dry, dusty ground, she could hear her heart hammering in her head. The woolen hood which she wore felt like an oven about her head and the stray wisps of escaped hair stuck to her sweaty brow. She turned her head quickly to look at her sister, and she wondered if the look of stark terror that she saw written there was only a mirror of her own face.

They could hear the heavy footsteps of the orcs behind them, closer now, gaining on them by the second. As the orcs chased them, they yipped short little barks of excitement, punctuated by low rumbles that sounded like strange laughter or the growls of dogs hot on a trail. Elfhild did not have long to think about their pursuers, though, for suddenly the ground came rushing up to meet her. Her hand slipped out of her sister's grasp, and then everything was lost in the blackness of a swoon.

Elffled's momentum propelled her forward, but without her sister beside her, she had lost the will to keep running. In the few seconds that it took for her to slow her steps, a terrific weight struck her in the back of the legs as powerful, sinewy arms grappled her calves and dragged her to the ground. She tried to kick her feet back at the fiend who had caught her, but, laughing, he moved up to cover her body with his own, pinning her to the ground.

"There is no point in struggling," a jaunty, deep voice told her as he slipped her dagger from its sheath. "You don't need that weapon. You're caught, you know. Of course, if you want to keep struggling, I am prepared to take stronger measures." The brute's laughter was odd, strangely like that of a woman with a husky voice. "I'll squeeze your ballocks if you don't behave! Ohh, it thrills me to play rough sometimes!" Squatting over the small of her back, he reached around and began caressing and rubbing her buttocks with one hand. "What will it be?"

"I will... stop," she gasped and turned her head to look back at him. From the corner of her eye, she saw a very peculiar looking uruk. With his luxurious tresses and delicate, exotic features, he did not resemble the other orcs, and for a moment, she wondered if her attacker was a female. Yet despite all of his -- her? -- its? -- feminine traits, the creature had a distinctively masculine voice.

"That's better. Maybe I'll let you up." Grinning, the part-orc rose agilely to his feet and smiled down at Elffled, his eyes roving appreciatively over her round buttocks. "I'm known as Âmbalfîm the Handsome," he introduced himself, pride evident in his voice. "Don't you just love that name, sugar?" He fluttered his eyelashes and then slowly lowered one kohl-rimmed eyelid in a seductive wink before giving a quick, polite bow from the waist. "Please be so kind as to give me yours."

Slowly she rolled over to a sitting position and glanced furtively up at the uruk. "I - I am Swithulf," she panted, saying the first name that came to her mind, which was that of the brother of one of her friends back in the Mark. "Where is my brother... Eadfrid?" The name, of course, was that of her own elder brother. She did not know why she was still keeping up with the ruse; they were both doomed anyway.

"The other handsome lad is taking a little nap over there," he gestured to where Torû had just finished binding an unconscious Elfhild's hands behind her back.

"Please let me go to my brother!" Elffled begged, deepening her voice in an effort to sound more masculine. She struggled to her knees.

"Oh, no, you don't, pretty boy! Here, let me help you up!" Bending down, Âmbalfîm grabbed her wrist in a powerful grip and pulled her to her feet.

"Please let me loose! I must go to my brother!" She tried to jerk her arm away, but Âmbalfîm pulled her close to him, surrounding her with his strong arms. Panic filled her. It was so difficult to keep from acting like a girl, to cry out in fear and loathing at the closeness of this brute, or to burst into tears at the dismal hopelessness of her plight.

"Do not be afraid of me, gentle boy," his melodious voice cajoled. If the uruk were not the terrible, wicked monster that he was, his voice would be almost musical. "I have never held one of your kind before... not like this, anyway. Always before it has been in war, and I..." his voice trailed off, "I don't need to talk about that, little Swithulf. You would only be frightened, and you are such a tender lad, so young, and... endearing. You are almost," he chuckled, "delicate... like a flower, and I fear if I hold you too tightly, I will crush your beauty forever. Don't worry about that, though. I love flowers!" His handsome face brightened in a smile, his lips parting slightly to reveal milk-white fangs.

Elffled gulped and tried to ignore the uruk's prominent teeth. She attempted to summon up enough courage to act as offended as she knew that a boy would be at such words. "Tender? Delicate? Ha!" she blustered, inwardly wincing at how her voice kept squeaking. "You insult me, you scoundrel! I am the son of a soldier!"

"Strange," he commented skeptically, "you do not have a sword or bow in your possession. Let me look at your hands." He reached down, and taking her right wrist, he looked down at her palm. "This is not the hand of a warrior." He shook his head. "Apparently you did not follow in your father's footsteps."

"No, you rogue, I am far too young, and my father would never agree to let me go with him to the war!" Though she spoke bravely, Elffled was so terrified that she feared that her bladder would betray her and she would drench her breeches. She hoped that the uruk would not perceive her lie, and that her concocted story would not plunge her into even deeper peril.

"Swithulf, it matters not," he murmured softly. "Though you are a lad, you desire me, don't you?" he whispered into her ear. "You think I'm strong and handsome... I always know when a fellow fancies me. It is the tender look in their eyes that gives them away, that growing desire which they cannot hide. I can tell when only the sight of me causes a male's blood to rise and his loins throb with heat!" One of his hands stroked lightly over her rump, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Swithulf, though I know how you're drawn to me, I want your mind to be at rest. I would never introduce a fellow as young as you to the kind of love that only I could give. Still, we're going to be very good friends!"

"I do not know what you are talking about!" Elffled nervously exclaimed. "I am not drawn to you in any way! You are an orc and I am a man!"

"Then please forgive me, dear Swithulf, for presuming a feeling upon your part that did not exist. Be assured; I will not make the same mistake again." The uruk's voice was kind and apologetic, and he stopped caressing her buttocks.

What sort of orc was this? Elffled wondered. Masquerading as a boy, she thought she would be safe from the lusts of these fiends, but it appeared that her captor was a male uruk who had a fondness for other males! But - but - but how could this be? Only men and women could be lovers! There was some unwritten rule of nature that proclaimed this so. Why, the thought of two men or two women behaving together as a married couple was so alien to her that it was difficult even to imagine.

Maybe the uruk really was a female, just one with an abnormally deep voice. That would explain all the flirtations and barely concealed lust... What a horrible, loathsome woman! Only an insatiable, unchaste whore would attempt to seduce such a young, innocent boy! Elffled felt even more repulsed by the uruk's closeness, and struggled futilely to escape. She felt like telling this wicked strumpet that she was really a female. Ohh, she could just imagine the expression on the female uruk's face! But then the she-orc would be wroth with her because of her deception, and then she would punish her cruelly for it.

Elffled's attention was drawn away from her captor by the disgusted imprecations of Torû, who had just walked up to them. "By Melkor's sweating black testicles! Âmbalfîm, do you have to letch everywhere you go?" Torû roared in anger and then spat to the side. "Look, you damn fool, here comes Sharapul. What'll he have to say about your smelling around this boy?"

"Eavesdropping again, were you, Torû? Well, perhaps your ears are stopped up with wax and you cannot hear so well as you think you do. I was merely teasing the youth." Âmbalfîm winked at the other uruk as he gave his bottom a quick shake. "Want some, Torû?"

"Hell no!" Torû turned his head and spat again to the side. His eyes yellow pools of fury, he turned back to Âmbalfîm and growled, "I just want this whole business over with as little trouble as possible."

"Never know what your chaste purity causes you to miss, do you?" Âmbalfîm laughed. "Watch!" Squeezing Elffled tightly to his hard, muscular chest, he licked over her ear and then jabbed his thumb between her buttocks. "Admit it, Torû - you would like to have your prong thrusting right there, wouldn't you?"

"Damn you, perverse little filth bag! I want none of that sort of arse!" Torû's face colored in rage, and he shook his fist angrily at the effete charmer. Âmbalfîm smiled back at him and made an obscene gesture with his fingers behind Elffled's back.

"Shut your dirty mouth, maggot!" A low growl rumbled from Torû's throat, and his right hand moved threateningly towards the scimitar at his belt.

"Just teasing, just teasing!" Âmbalfîm held up a hand and laughed. "Don't make anything out of it that it's not." Bending his head down to Elffled, he whispered into her ear, "That's Sharapul heading towards us, and I must explain to you that I am his lover, his boy. He has promised me that he will not harm you or your brother and will let you go. Now go over and sit down by Eadfrid. Sharapul will be wanting to question you."

Releasing Elffled, he gave her a little push in the direction of Elfhild. Playfully, he swatted at her backside, but she scampered quickly out of his way. Rushing over to Elfhild, she first looked to Torû, who scowled at her but motioned to the ground beside the unconscious girl. She shrank away from his look and obediently sat down by her sister.

Into the small clearing strode a massive monster of an uruk. The muscles in his broad shoulders were as strong and hard as those of a bull in the first years of his prime. Set in the hump of tightly corded muscles was a thick neck, which he flexed, making the bones crack like a walnut shell in a nutcracker. Capping off the points of his shoulders were spiked pauldrons that made his mighty bulk seem even more intimidating. His black hair was wavy and tied back loosely with a strip of leather, and a short, wiry beard grew from his chin in a point. His yellow eyes gleamed like two fires, burning with the thrill of the hunt.

His massive chest was encased in a hard leather breastplate which was molded to fit his every contour, emphasizing his well-developed chest and abdominal muscles. As he walked, his ponderous bulk swung from side to side, sending the leather strips at the bottom of his cuirass swinging. His thighs were like the boles of two great oaks, and with each pounding step, his muscles flexed, his dark skin glistening in the light of the sun. His bulging calves were protected by spiked knee guards, warding against the stupid fool who would dare attempt to kick him there. As his brisk strides carried him forward, closer to the twins and the other two uruks, his feet hit the ground like two boulders, creating tiny earthquakes and marring the tortured soil with deep impressions made by his cleated boots.

The epitome of evil and raw brute strength, the mighty warrior known as Sharapul symbolized the golden age of Mordor's efforts to create an invincible, unconquerable fighting force, which would sweep aside all armies which dared come against its might. Now he had come upon a far less challenging quest - to claim two fragile maidens whom he thought were handsome youths.

Elffled could not bear to look at the behemoth who was bearing down upon them like a mighty avalanche from the mountains. Trembling, she turned her head and felt a wave of nausea bite hard in her throat.

The huge uruk halted, and after giving cursory greetings to the two other uruks, he surveyed the two captives before him. "Well, well," Sharapul's raucous laughter boomed out, "what do we have here?" His eyes gleamed with unbridled lust as they probed over the twins' bodies from their faces to their feet, returning over and over to linger at their crotches. When he saw the way that Elffled automatically recoiled in fear, Sharapul's breath quickened, and he murmured as though tasting a savory dish. "Mmmm, mmmm! Upon my honor, two lusty, well-formed youths! Neither one of them appear to be too robust, but they don't have to be for my purposes! Har har har!" Glancing to Âmbalfîm, who was walking towards them, he pointed to the girls, "Did you ever see such wanton delights as this pair?"

"Aye, my lord, they are indeed comely," Âmbalfîm admitted as his eyes rested on Elfhild, who had just awakened and was being helped to sit up by her sister. Elffled's eyes met Sharapul's burning gaze, and, blushing, she turned her face away.

"Oh no!" her twin gasped as her vision cleared and she caught sight of the uruks who surrounded them. They were in the hands of their enemies! Moaning, she called upon the protection of her ancestors and mumbled out the names of the Powers in Rohirric.

"Say as little as you can," Elffled admonished her gently in a whisper. "Because of our disguises, they think we are two brothers named Swithulf and Eadfrid. The one who looks like a woman claims that their leader will not harm us, but I do not believe him! Let me warn you: these orcs are insane! May Béma protect us!"

"Elffled, I have endured months of fear worrying that this kind of evil would someday befall us. Now that it has come at last, I cannot believe that this nightmare is really happening! I am terrified!" Elfhild whispered back, her teeth chattering. "I would like to be brave, but bravery has fled from me! See - I cannot even control my shaking!"

Sharapul rubbed his palms, which had begun to sweat. "I don't know which one to have first! Both of them stir an old uruk's blood to boiling!" His hand dropped down to touch the rigid protuberance which pressed like a dagger against the short tunic which he wore under his armor.

Holding his comments for as long as he could, Torû spoke up. "Look, Sharapul, I don't want any part of this... other males are not my inclination at all." He curled his lip in disdain. "I'm going to the woods to take a leak. You two settle this between yourselves. I'll be back later."

"Don't be in any hurry to return," Sharapul chortled, not taking his eyes from the twins.

"Don't worry, I won't," Torû growled and turned away, stomping stiff-legged into the woods.

Waiting until Torû was out of sight, Âmbalfîm moved to his master's side. "Sharapul, I don't like this. You said that we were only going to rob them and have some fun." His large green eyes pleading, he gripped the big uruk's forearm as he spoke quickly in Black Speech. "We've taken too long with this whole thing as it is. Can't you see how angry Torû is? All he wants is to find the escaped slaves so he can get his bonus. That's what I thought all of us wanted!" His voice was almost simpering as he pleaded. "Let's just take what valuables these lads have, and from the looks of them, I don't think they have anything worth taking. Then let them go! After they're out of the way, we'll strip the packs on the horses and get back to our mission!" As he gazed at Sharapul's profile, he saw the resolute set to his head, his eyes gleaming as they darted repeatedly to the two girls, his thick lips arching up at the sides in a lecherous leer.

"And let these two handsome young cockerels fly away without plucking a few pretty feathers and getting a taste of the meat?" Sharapul shook his head, his expression empty of anything except rank desire. "No, I'm going to have my fill of these two delectable boys! I know you don't have the cullions to join me, so stand back and watch! Maybe you will learn something!"

Roughly shaking Âmbalfîm's hand from his arm, Sharapul strode over to the twins. Pulling Elffled to her feet to face him, he gripped her shoulder in his powerful fist, sending searing flashes of pain through her shoulder and arm. "Now, lad, I want to see what I have in you!" he chortled as he seized her hood and pulled it over her head, revealing a thick blonde braid which trailed down to the small of her back like a long yellow vine.

"Stop please! You are breaking my shoulder!" She tried to squirm away from him, but Sharapul ground his fingers into her shoulder, twisting the flesh until she yelped.

"Will you look at this, Âmbalfîm!" he bellowed out a laugh, loosening the pressure on her shoulder as she ceased struggling. "Isn't he the prettiest little bud you ever saw in all your life? My loins ache to pluck him!"

"My lord, are you so blinded by your own lust that you cannot see that this is a girl!" Âmbalfîm blurted out excitedly.

"You damn fool, you should realize that I know the difference between a male and a female!" Sharapul stormed as he turned blazing eyes upon Âmbalfîm. Determined not to believe him, the larger uruk set his jaw and hunched his shoulders. "Prove it!" he challenged.

"My lord, if you will just be patient, you will soon know the veracity of my words!" Âmbalfîm exclaimed as he moved behind Elffled, gripping her around the waist and running his other hand between her legs. He pressed his fingers tightly against the material of her breeches and probed the mound of flesh which lay underneath. Pressed between the two brutes, one at her front and one at her back, Elffled felt hot tears cascading down her cheeks, and she sobbed wildly at this unholy degradation. "There is nothing there! Feel for yourself!" he cried triumphantly.

Sharapul's beefy hand stroked over Elffled's crotch. Startled, she could not suppress a sharp gasp when the huge uruk's exploring fingers dug into the tender feminine flesh hidden by her breeches. "By Melkor!" Sharapul screamed, flinging rank spittle into Elffled's face. "You're a woman! You have cozened us! You lying little strumpet!" He began to shake her hard by the shoulders, sending her head rocking back and forth on her neck. "She deserves to be taken right here! You opening her succulent rump and me deflowering her sacred virginity! ...That is, if she still has any!"

"Now, my lord," Âmbalfîm's eyes were pleading as he reached out a hand past Elffled's head to rest it tenderly upon Sharapul's cheek, "I am repulsed by the thought... I have never touched a woman that way! Would you cast me aside for a female? No woman could never bring you the comfort that I give you!" There were too many sensations bombarding Âmbalfîm at one time, sending his impulses spinning almost out of control. A virgin when it came to females, he had never even considered satiating his strong urges upon a female, orc or human. Somehow the idea made him feel dirty, unclean, sullied. What deviant perversions his beloved master suggested, what foul depravities! He feared if his lord forced him to do this vile thing, he would never feel clean again! "Oh, no, my cherished lord, do not, please do not!" his mind screamed in protest.

Ignoring the words of his love slave, Sharapul shoved Elffled towards Âmbalfîm, who caught her in his arms and turned her around to face him. "Here, dammit, you hold her! Maybe the other one is a male!"

Âmbalfîm cupped his hand behind Elffled's head and held her face against his chest. "Swithulf, be quiet now. You do not want to look at what might happen."

"Can you not make him stop?" she whispered between sobs.

"Make him stop?" Âmbalfîm laughed sarcastically. "I only wish I could!"

Leaving Âmbalfîm holding the crying girl in arms, Sharapul stalked over to Elfhild, who lay quavering upon the ground. Bending down, he tore her hood from her head and flung it aside. Seeing her long, thick braid, he grasped the golden treasure in his brutish hand and dragged her screaming to her feet.

"Oh, please, no!" she wailed, her hands automatically attempting to fly to her head, but stopping short for they were restrained by the ropes. The pain was ghastly, tearing through her scalp until she thought that he would rip her hair out by the roots.

Slapping her across the face with his other hand, he snarled, "That was just a gentle tap! No more than a bruise! You'll live! Now what in the hell are you?" His yellow eyes narrowed into slits and bored into hers, his great shoulders shaking in rage.

"I - I am a woman!" she cried out, her cheek stinging and already reddening from the cruel blow.

"You little bitch!" His face contorted in rage, Sharapul wound the braid around his fist and glared at her with eyes of a demon. Yanking the girl up by her hair as though it were a rope, the uruk lifted her until Elfhild was forced to stand on the tips of her toes. The muscles in her neck and back were stretched almost to their limit and pain raced down her spine like white hot bolts of agony. Enraged, Sharapul screamed, "Both of these dung-eating milksops - they are women! You little whores, what trick have you two tried to play on me? Who are you anyway?"

"We are the granddaughters of a good man whom you have killed, you wicked bastard!" Elfhild spat out between grunts of pain, certain now that there was nothing left to lose, for he was on the verge of killing her.

"I don't know so much about that," he snarled as he put his hand to her throat and traced a lighter ring of skin about her neck. "This is the mark of a slave collar! I can feel the rough skin where it once rested! You are escaped slaves! How did you remove your collars?" Panting, his yellow eyes bulging from his grotesque skull, Sharapul twisted her hair fiercely and tugged her up until her feet were dangling above the ground. Growling, he thrust his face up close to hers as he shook her back and forth as a dog shakes an old rag. "Tell me! I want to know! Was it the old man who helped you?"

Agony ran from Elfhild's scalp to the soles of her feet, cascading in fiery ripples like heat rising up from a stone. "He will kill me!" her brain screamed, and then she could bear no more. She slipped into swoon, left hanging by her golden hair from the hand of an uncaring monster.

"Sharapul! You are going to kill her!" Âmbalfîm interrupted, reverting to Black Speech. "Now that we know they are the escaped slaves, let's take them back and claim the reward! If we harm them, the slavers will kill us!"

"Shut up, Âmbalfîm, and let me think!" the huge brute barked out a crisp rebuke in the Dark Tongue. "You always were a slinking little whiner! At one time, your youth made your faults endearing, but now that you're older, you're not so charming! Maybe I'm going to send you away. Perhaps I've grown tired of you and want new meat, not the same stale old meal that you always dish up for me! Run away and cry the way you always do!" Supporting her collapsed body with one arm, Sharapul pulled Elfhild's braid back, forcing her head to stay upright and face Âmbalfîm.

Open-mouthed, his gentle eyes blinking in disbelief, Âmbalfîm stared at him in horror, dazed as much as if he had been slapped across the face with a hard blow. "You would do that, would you, Sharapul?" he choked out, his voice hoarse. "After all those promises you pledged to me? You would leave me for two women? What do they have that I don't?" Each word fell like a hammer upon a nail.

"You damn fool, you don't know? What a simpleton you are, Âmbalfîm! They come with two sweet holes and you have only one! Both, no doubt, are much sweeter than yours, and a lot smaller, too! I can breed imps off 'em, and short of a miracle from Master Melkor, I sure as hell can't do that with you, you worthless little prick-licker!"

Âmbalfîm recoiled as though he had been struck by a fierce bolt of lightning. "Run," he whispered to Elffled as he pushed her away from him. "Run, damn it, and do not look back for any reason!"

For a moment of time which seemed to last forever, Elffled could only stare dumbly at the uruk. Then whatever spell that held her feet firmly rooted to the spot was broken, and she turned and fled into the forest.