Screaming and shrieking, Elfhild and Elffled splashed through the stream, half running, half stumbling, their frantic movements sending great plumes of water skyward. They clambered up the bank and broke into a run, never once looking back. There was no time to fetch their clothing, for they had left their garments on the bank upstream. The sisters mindlessly ran through the woods, their only thought to escape their foe, whom they feared was surely hot on their heels. Only four days before, the murderous Sharapul had held them hostage, and horrifying images of that monster filled their minds with dread and lent speed to their feet.

During their frolic in the water, the sisters had wandered some distance away from the hiding place of the slaver and his lieutenant. Although the men had been able to keep them in view, they had not been able to see clearly what had transpired on the other side of the brook. On their feet as soon as they heard the screaming, they watched in dismay as the two sisters tore past them and ran into the woods.

"Shakh, the women!" Ubri exclaimed as he gawked at the long blonde hair and luscious bottoms which were rapidly disappearing into the forest. "What has gotten into those two flighty wenches this time? By all the gods, surely they are not stupid enough to try to escape again!"

"Captain, perhaps they saw a snake and that frightened them, but who understands the idiosyncrasies of women?" Shaking his head, Esarhaddon shrugged his shoulders. "They are from a barbarian culture, and perhaps the women commonly run naked like the deer, clad only in their hair…"

Suddenly a movement across the stream caught Ubri's eye. "Look!" he whispered as he gripped the slaver's shoulder and pointed across the stream. "Did you see something move over there under the large leaning oak with the forked trunk?"

"Yes, Captain, I can see something! By the sheer bulk of it, I will wager that it is an orc!" Esarhaddon hissed, his face reddening in rage. "A damned orc has seen my women naked! The audacity of that bastard!" His eyes narrowing dangerously, the slaver put his hand on the hilt of his scimitar. "Do not let him get away!"

Quietly moving out of their hiding place, the men broke into a trot and hit the stream running, their scimitars drawn and ready for battle. First across the stream, Ubri cursed when he saw what appeared to be an unconscious orc with a bloody rag tied about his forehead. With a mighty roar, he savagely kicked the orc in the side. When there was no response from the intruder, the Captain turned the brute over onto his back. Straddling the orc, one foot on either side of his middle, Ubri pressed the tip of the wicked curved scimitar into the base of the orc's throat.

Puffing slightly, Esarhaddon slipped and almost fell as he climbed up the stream bank. "Where the hell is Ganbar?" he demanded as he scowled down at the orc. "I thought he was supposed to be guarding this side of the stream!"

"My lord, he was!" Ubri replied, glancing up briefly from the orc's prone body to look around.

Dead leaves crunched and twigs snapped as Ganbar emerged from the trees along the edge of the forest. "Hail! It is m-me, Ganbar! Here I am! M-my lords, forgive m-me! I - I was a little w-way back in the woods! I - I did not dare get any closer, lest I - I see the w-women! S-somehow the s-scoundrel must have s-slipped by m-me!" His face crimson under his tawny skin, Ganbar stammered as he apologized profusely. Since boyhood, he had attempted to master his stuttering, but unpleasant situations often made him stumble over his tongue. Frustrated and deeply embarrassed, Ganbar offered lamely, "A-at least the orc did no h-harm."

"Ganbar, you were derelict in your duty! The vermin could have done a great deal of harm," Esarhaddon cut him short. "Now search the animal! Then tie him up so he will cause no more trouble! We will take him back to camp with us!"

"My lord, we should slit his throat and bleed him like a beef!" Ubri grated out, hatred contorting his features.

"No, we will let him live," Esarhaddon replied, a cruel gleam hardening his eyes. "Let us see what this fellow was up to!"

Softly humming a joyous tune often played at weddings in Harad, Inbir had almost finished preparing the tea. As high-pitched shrieking burst through the peace and tranquility of the woodlands, Inbir was on his feet and rushing to his scimitar, which he had left by the base of a nearby tree. Not bothering to fasten his sword belt around his middle, he pulled the scimitar from its sheath and slid it beneath his sash.

He was halfway to the stream when his disbelieving eyes beheld two naked maidens racing through the woods in his direction. Inbir's breath caught in his throat and he could only gape speechlessly, his throat constricting painfully. "Such divine nymphs, like goddesses of paradise," his romantic soul proclaimed. "Should such dwell in the afterlife, death could hold no fear!"

Catching sight of Inbir, Elffled almost stumbled in her shock. Inbir had seen her naked! Shrieking, she pushed her sister behind a tree and then quickly vanished behind the mighty bole herself.

"Master Inbir!" Elfhild cried, her head peeking from behind the tree. "There is a horrible orc chasing us!"

"Please protect us!" Elffled whimpered, casting a furtive glance back the way whence she had come.

Things were happening too fast for Inbir to comprehend them. "What?" he croaked out, shaking his head to clear his muddled thoughts. Feeling awkward, he coughed to hide his embarrassment. "What do you mean?" he asked in confusion. When their words at last penetrated his brain, he remembered his scimitar and drew it from his sash.

"We were bathing in the stream," Elfhild explained, panting, "when an orc charged out of the woods and headed straight for us!"

"That is impossible!" he challenged. "The House of Huzziya has paid all the required tolls, taxes, tariffs and duties, and has been granted safe passage through these lands by the King of Morgul! We have no grievance with the orcs!"

"We still saw an orc!" Elfhild insisted.

A wary look crossed Inbir's face as his eyes darted nervously from side to side. "I suppose," he replied speculatively, "that one could have gone mad."

"Please, Master, give us your cloak!" Elffled begged. "We left our clothes by the stream!"

Although Inbir doubted the girls' stories, still he had heard enough strange tales about this valley to be unwilling to take chances. On the alert, Inbir moved by the tree where the girls were hiding. "Be still!" he sternly commanded. Skirting the oak, he walked away in the direction of the stream, halted, cupped his hand to his ear and then listened before returning.

"There is no orc here, nor any sign of one! You were imagining things!" he muttered gruffly. "You cannot go running around these woods naked! Here, clothe yourselves!" Slipping off his burnoose and tunic, he passed the garments around the tree trunk. "When you are dressed, follow behind me!" he ordered as he stomped off in the direction of the stream. "Both of you deserve a whipping for this little trick!" he called back over his shoulder. "Trying to run away again, were you? What a foolish thing to do! How far did you think you could get without any clothes or provisions?"

"We were not running away!" Elfhild protested indignantly. "In case you did not notice, Master, we were running in the direction of the camp, not away from it!"

"Silence, wench, and do not try to deceive me with your honeyed tongue!"

As they walked in uneasy silence towards the brook, Inbir found it difficult to keep his mind off the two barely clad slave girls. He was very aware of their presence. Hearing the gentle rustle of their garments, he was reminded of the milk-white breasts, slender waists, full hips, graceful thighs, and shapely calves which he had seen just a few minutes before. Occasionally one of the girls would murmur in pain as a dainty foot stepped on a stone, and he wished he could carry her in his arms so that she would not suffer.

Hearing a sound up ahead of them, Inbir halted and quickly pushed the sisters behind the trunk of a large tree. "Stay here!" he grated out before creeping forward, using the trees as cover. As the voices ahead of him drew nearer, he cursed fate that he did not have a shield or armor. His thin under-tunic would provide no protection in the event of an attack. He had never faced an orc before. There had been no need. Now as he considered the possibility that one had gone feral and run amok, terrorizing the women and possibly killing the other men, he was in a cold sweat. As his heart hammered in his chest, he clenched his jaw resolutely, prepared for the worst, and held his scimitar in readiness.

As the sounds grew steadily nearer, Inbir grinned when he recognized the voices of the slaver and the other men. How had he ever considered that any orc could overpower Captain Ubri? The Captain was far too devious and cunning himself ever to be taken by surprise by something so stupid and brutish as an orc. Chagrined, the young man knew that he had let his fears and uncertainty at traveling through this strange place influence him far too much.

Relieved at the sound of the men's familiar voices, the sisters cautiously peeked out from behind the tree. They gasped at what they saw. A big brute of an orc limped into view, prodded along by the swords of Ubri and Ganbar. The orc's elbows had been forced back, and a long, stout staff had been thrust beneath them. His wrists had been bound and his thumbs immobilized in an upright position, held by tight rope. A bloody rag was wrapped around his head and both eyes were black and swollen almost shut. His filthy surcoat was torn in a number of places, and dried blood had stiffened the tattered cloth.

"My lord!" Inir exclaimed as he rushed up to greet the returning party. "The women told me that there was a rampaging orc, but I did not credit their words as true!"

"They did not exaggerate," Ubri replied grimly. "We found this fellow back at the stream."

Stumbling, the orc went down on his knees. Both Ubri and Ganbar were quick to beat him about the head with the flats of their swords, bringing pleas for mercy from the orc's swollen lips. Once they had him back on his feet, they drove him forward with encouragement from their scimitars. Inbir drew to the side to wait until the small procession passed and then fell in beside Esarhaddon, the twins following behind.

Once back at their temporary camp, Ubri and Ganbar pushed the orc to the ground and bound his ankles together. The picture of desolation, the miserable creature hunched his shoulders and kept his eyes turned downward.

Elfhild and Elffled stared fearfully at the spectacle of the injured orc until Esarhaddon remembered that he had retrieved their clothing. With a gruff dismissal, he gave them their garments and told them to clothe themselves away from the sight of the men. Then they were to return Inbir's tunic and burnoose and retire to the campfire, which was at a discreet distance from where the orc sat, staring into space.

Their expressions angry and filled with hatred, the four men silently regarded the orc. Looking around at the other men, Ubri was the first to speak up. "My lord Esarhaddon, this filth deserves full retribution for his crimes!" He spoke in Westron, so that all, especially the orc, could understand.

"What do you suggest, Captain?" Esarhaddon asked as he folded his arms across his chest and eyed the orc coldly.

"Let the punishment reflect the severity of the crime! Gouge out his eyes with burning brands for daring to look at your women, and then smash his balls, which are filled with his lust!" Ubri hissed as he kicked the orc in the scrotum. The beast bent over double as a horrible wail poured from his throat. "Then kill him! Kill him!" Ubri shouted, his eyes gleaming with dark hatred, a drop of spittle catching on his beard.

"Shakh Esarhaddon, Captain Ubri..." Ganbar looked at each one as he scratched behind his ear, "why should we bother ourselves with discussing this? Just kill him! The orc is an animal, and one of his polluted race does not deserve to live! What he has done is an obscenity! Just kill him and have it done with!" Impressed with the weighty merit of his own words, Ganbar reflected upon them a moment, then pursed his lips and nodded his head in agreement with himself.

Inbir shot a look of utter contempt down at the orc and then looked at the other men. Raising his clenched fist in the air and violently shaking it for emphasis, he yelled, "This swine dung has defiled the virgins with his unclean eyes! Shall such a crime go unavenged? I say no! If he lives, our honor as Haradrim will be sullied! We must preserve our integrity and smite him! Let him die now!" His eyes gleaming with wrath, his features infused with violent fervor, Inbir's usually calm, handsome face burned with the fire of a zealot. He drew his scimitar from his belt and held it aloft in one hand, waving it menacingly.

His legs drawn up against his stomach, his head bent low, the orc rocked back and forth, moaning. "Not... look..." he managed to whisper. "Nar! Nar!" Indeed, he was telling the truth. The only reason he had ventured from his hiding place that morning was to seek relief from the fever and pain which tormented his mortifying wounds. Delirious and insensible, he had barely comprehended the twins' presence, being far more interested in slaking his unquenchable thirst.

"Silence, dog!" Ubri struck his head with the flat side of his scimitar, knocking the orc sprawling over on his side, where he lay, his body quivering every now and then from the chills.

"Shakh, shall we slay the stinking scum now?" snarled Ubri, his dark eyes burning with malice, his nose wrinkling in disgust. "His stench is an effrontery to our nostrils!"

Up until that time, Esarhaddon had listened to the angry words of his men with few comments. "Captain, what you have said is quite true. The brute deserves to die for his attempted violation of my women..." The exuberant shout of his men interrupted the slaver, and he allowed them to continue for a time. At last he held up his hand for silence. "However, as much as I want to kill this bastard, we cannot do it, for the lives of all of us will stand in jeopardy! Behold," Esarhaddon pointed an accusing finger at the orc, "the surcoat that he wears! Though filthy and torn, it bears the sigil of the pallid sickle moon and skull upon a field of black! Who here among us dares to shed this orc's blood?"

The men's eyes turned and riveted upon the orc. "Minas Morgul..." Ganbar whispered, sucking in a breath of air which whistled through the gap in his front teeth.