Crack!
A man moaned in pain as a whip struck his naked back.
"Pick up the pace, dung-filth!" snarled a white-skinned orc. It sauntered down the line, gnashing its teeth together and threatening the slaves.
Huddled close to the crumbling soil was another man, whose youthful eyes still had many years to turn dull. His mother, Camilla, had named him Matthis. Lartzgàsh had named him Field Thrall C-5010, and the runes burnt into his chest proved it.
It was growing season on the plains of Núrn, in the shadowy land of Mordor. The sun's rays struggled to pierce through a thick layer of smog and volcanic ash, ever present due to the region's extensive industry and the eruptions of Mt. Doom. The slaves of Central Fields Camp, indicated by the "C" in their Field Thrall designations, worked tirelessly with small iron tools, planting seeds and covering the holes with soil. In several days, irrigation canals leading from the Sea of Núrnen would open, nourishing the crops with its tainted water. The slaves would cultivate their precious plants, and come harvest time, they would get to keep whatever food wasn't sent off to the Dark Lord Sauron's armies in the northwest. The orcs didn't bother properly distributing the extra food among the slaves; most lacked the mind for it, and if some slaves died from malnourishment, they could always get more.
After another day fearing the whip, the slaves returned their tools to the orcs (they were not trusted with them outside of work) and were herded through a massive gate dividing the fields from their thatched huts at the camp's eastern end. The orcs didn't provide this shelter to the Field Thralls. Instead, previous generations of slaves had constructed the huts using the sturdy plain grass. They had all died on these dry plains, in the confines of the camp. The huts, built in close proximity to one another in no particular pattern, were the only trace of their existence.
Once all the slaves had been gathered, about fifteen hundred in all, the orcs shut the gate to the fields and took up their guard posts. A rectangular wall made from the black igneous rock of the Gorgoroth plateau surrounded both the fields and the village, with the gate and its accompanying guardhouse dividing the two in the centre. Another gate was located at the western end of the camp, at the end of the fields. This was where harvested crops were picked up by transport convoys, and where new slaves were brought in.
Sentries wielding longbows and poisoned arrows manned watchtowers placed in regular intervals along the wall. The orcs on the night shift slept in the Guard Quarters north of the village. The orcs on the day shift were in small groups dotting the perimeter of the hut village. With most of the Dark Lord's forces participating directly in the war effort, the orcs didn't have enough strength to maintain the perimeter guard and patrol the camp itself. Thus, the slaves were free to mingle as they pleased.
Matthis knew most of the people living around his hut. The first- and second-generation slaves were mostly like him. They still had some futile hope left in them, and used their birth names when not in the presence of orcs.
Other slaves had lost their very sense of being. They had no name but their Field Thrall designation. They worked, ate and slept every day without the slightest thought.
Then, there was Fallothen. A Wood-Elf, he told his story to anyone who would listen: "When I lived among the elves of Mirkwood, my kindred, I spotted a silver elk in the forest, and could not bear to leave it be! I returned home with its great bulk upon my shoulders, proud as anything. But this race was considered sacred; one of their lords was the mount of my King, Thranduil. I was banished from Mirkwood forever! But perhaps it is for the best. I don't suppose I'd want to spend the rest of my immortal days among uptight folk like them!
"I settled in a village of South Gondor after much hardship on the road. But behold my fortune: a band of orcish slavers invaded from Mordor a few days after! I killed many with my bow, but the cowardly dogs nicked me with a poisoned arrow. When I awoke, the village was in flames, and the survivors were headed to the fields of Núrn! The orcs had given me the antidote while I was sleeping so I could still serve as a slave. 'The Eye greatly prizes elf-folk like your bloody self!' one said. 'You never die, so he can work you like a mule for the rest o' his days!' The filthy monsters!"
Fallothen confused Matthis greatly. His mother, Camilla (officially known as Field Thrall C-4185) told him stories about the elves. She knew these tales because she had been captured by orcish slavers along with his father, and had not been born in the camp, as he had. Her stories depicted the elves as wise, majestic, serious folk.
Fallothen, meanwhile, was a carefree sort, whose spirit had never been broken by the orcs. He called himself by name in front of them, and suffered great lashings for it. Some days, he outright refused to work, and the orcs beat him in response. He was always forming plans of escape, but no one dared to follow them. Matthis thought it was only a matter of time before the elf would be executed, immortal or not. He and Camilla had been the only two to offer Fallothen a place in their hut, as the other slaves were afraid of their name being linked to the elf's.
But Fallothen gave Matthis courage, especially in the face of an enemy deadlier than the orcs.
Some of the slaves were not of Matthis' sort, nor of the kind without a sense of self. Fallothen was their complete opposite.
These slaves had grown loyal to their orcish captors. As such, Lartzgàsh had rewarded them with absolute power over the other slaves. They operated the food stores and reported disloyal slaves. The orcs spared several guards to act as their personal thugs, beating any who resisted their rule and dragging the traitors they reported to the Guard Quarters to await Lartzgàsh's judgement.
Their ringleader was Field Thrall C-3701. He refused to call himself anything else, such was his devotion to Mordor. Many of the slaves, however, called him the Serpent. Grey-haired, he was one of the oldest slaves in Central Fields Camp, yet he was kept healthy and strong by the extra rations he allotted himself. Many a slave had been slaughtered or sent to mine in the Black Pits thanks to his corruption.
Rather than stopping at his own hut, Matthis made straight for the food hut. Thus, he was among the first there. As he approached, he listened with the other early-comers. The Serpent was speaking with one of his orcish guards.
"...made sure of it. He's coming in a couple days," stated the orc in its repulsive voice.
"You're sure?" demanded the Serpent. His voice carried authority, but there was a touch of honey to it as well. Many slaves had condemned themselves answering that honeyed voice's questions, and trusting its wisdom.
Matthis's father had been one of them.
"Positive. The boss is coming. And apparently, he's thirsty."
Matthis imagined the Serpent smirking. "I'm sure I'll have something to satiate him."
A sudden image appeared in Matthis's head. A massive scimitar was thrust clean through his father's kneeling body and slowly pulled out. The naked, broken man fell to the ground. The scimitar's owner brought the sword up to his dark lips. A dirty tongue licked the blood off the steel.
And then, his lips and fangs arranged themselves into a smile.
Matthis was shuddering and staring at the ground when one of the orcs came out from the hut.
"Oi!" exclaimed the orc. "Get yourselves in the hut! Or do you not want your supper?" The orc guffawed and returned inside the hut.
Matthis formed the head of a line in front of the Serpent and the other corrupted slaves. The Serpent sat on a large wooden chair. It was simple, but compared to the lack of furniture in the other slaves' huts, it seemed like a throne.
"Ah, Matthis," said the Serpent, smiling. "First to the meal, eh? Here, I'll throw in some extra. You're a growing boy, after all." He snapped his fingers. "An extra helping of beans for young Matthis, here!"
One of the corrupted slaves brought a piece of corn cob and a generous portion of beans to Matthis in a metal bowl. The young man knew he would not get another portion this size for quite a while - if at all.
"Thank you, Field Thrall C-3701," said Matthis, his eyes locking with those of the killer. Matthis injected as much venom as possible into his gaze, and beneath the Serpent's pleasant exterior, Matthis witnessed a flash of malice appear in his eyes.
Matthis left the hut, and the moment passed.
He walked to his own hut near the edge of the camp and waited for his mother and Fallothen to join him. They ate, and Matthis shared what he had learned.
"I overheard the Serpent talking to one of the orcs," Matthis said. "He's coming."
Camilla sharply drew breath. "How soon?"
"The orc said in a couple of days," Matthis answered through clenched teeth.
"I'm sorry," Fallothen interjected. "Who are we talking about?"
Matthis stared at the wall of the hut. "Lartzgàsh," he said, full of dread.
"Ah," said Fallothen, his voice faltering. "I've heard about him from around the camp."
"No doubt you have," muttered Camilla. "There are few families here who he has not caused pain." Her eyes closed, and she bowed her head.
"But he's only murdered so many thanks to the Serpent and his cronies," spit Matthis. "I promise, I will never become like them. I will never let a fellow slave die because of my actions. Not even the Serpent."
Suddenly, a loud thump came from outside - like something heavy hitting the ground. The three slaves listened, and less than a second later, they heard a second thump. Then another. And another.
The whole event took less than three seconds, and the three were very curious as to what had happened. Matthis and Fallothen ventured outside the hut, alongside others who had heard the thumps. Camilla stared out the doorway. A couple slaves were staring in the direction of the black perimeter wall. There, the three spied four orcs lying in a pile, each with a single arrow sticking out from their chest.
Matthis wondered who could possibly have done this - to do four times in three seconds what many slaves had dreamed of doing their entire lifetime. Not only this, but the visitor would have needed to somehow bypass the sentries and the wall to get the vantage point needed to accomplish this feat.
Matthis did not need to speculate long. A rope dropped from the wall, kept in place by a grappling hook. A single figure silently slid down the rope and reached the ground. The being was clad in a green, hooded cloak that blended perfectly with the grass. The cloak was quite a sight to the slaves, who simply dressed in rags around their abdomen, and for the women, one around the chest.
The figure ran inside the hut village, out of sight from the perimeter patrols. Once it was within the village's confines, it removed its hood. The sight was so startling, that Fallothen went to Camilla, and bade her come closer to the mysterious being.
A man with long red hair stood tall, his face now unconcealed. His features were young, but there was a firmness in his jaw, a furrow in his brow that told of someone who had aged far too quickly. He held a bow in his hand, and a green quiver hung from his back. At his side was a sturdy short sword. The strength and pride apparent from his stance shocked the Field Thralls, with their hunched positions and defeated faces. Simply seeing the man brought renewed vigour to the slaves.
"Please," began the man, "do not run. My name is Alledmir, and I am here to help you."
"I have seen your folk before," said Fallothen excitedly. "You are a Ranger of Ithilien, are you not?" Fallothen spoke of the southern order of men committed to preventing Mordor's armies from invading the kingdom of Gondor.
"It does not matter," Alledmir said with haste. "One of you - where is your leader?"
"His name is Field Thrall C-3701," said one slave. "He is in the large hut in the centre of the camp."
Alledmir ran off with great speed. Matthis, Camilla and Fallothen ran after him, but their undernourished bodies could not keep up.
"Wait!" Matthis called, careful not to alert the camp guards.
The Ranger paid no heed, and stormed into the food hut.
"What is the meaning of this?" exclaimed the Serpent.
"Please, keep your voice down," came the voice of Alledmir.
"Seize him!" barked the Serpent.
The Serpent's orc guards must have taken hold of the Ranger, for he cried out, and there were sounds of a scuffle. Alledmir howled in pain, and then the sounds stopped.
Fallothen was the first of the three to return to sense. "We better be going. If they see us out here after what just happened, who knows what conclusion their feeble little minds might arrive at!"
Camilla and Matthis saw the wisdom of his words, and raced back towards their hut.
When they got back, however, Fallothen's thoughts turned an altogether darker shade.
"The orcs the Ranger killed must have been armed," mused the elf. "Ah-hah! Let's pinch the weapons, quick!"
"What would you have us do, Fallothen?" asked Camilla. "Fight a three-person war against an army of orcs?"
"Details can come later - we must at least fetch their swords!"
"No," declared Matthis. "They will look for the weapons. If we steal them, they will find them; we have no place to hide them."
Fallothen's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Fine. If you won't render assistance, I will act alone. Keep your promise, won't you, Matthis?" The elf ran to where the orcs' bodies lay.
Camilla moved to call him back, but Matthis put his hand on hers. "When Lartzgàsh arrives, he will be executed - probably tortured first. I couldn't bear it if they did that to you, Mum."
The woman nodded, though a scowl spread across her face. "And I would be the same for you." The two of them retreated to their hut, hoping for Fallothen's safety and thankful for their sense.
At the same time, they walked with great shame, for Fallothen was doing then what neither Matthis nor Camilla had the courage for.
They sat in the hut in silence, listening to orcish voices searching for any other intruders. There was a hideous cry when the orcs came upon the corpses of their fellows - and then a gross sound of crunching and gnawing.
"Filthy orcs," said Camilla. "Consuming their fallen."
Then, they heard a yell from the centre of camp. They peered out the door, but saw nothing.
"Did they find Fallothen and his weapons?" wondered Matthis.
"Or, perhaps Alledmir has escaped!" exclaimed Camilla.
Other slaves were looking out of their huts as well. The orc howling grew louder and louder as the chase came closer to their area of the village. However, no one except Matthis and Camilla noticed when the hut they lived in shook as though a tremor had hit it. They also didn't notice the few strands of grass that fell off as the tremor continued to the top of the hut.
The two of them, feigning ignorance, returned inside their hut. Smart, mused Matthis. The huts are so close together that no one can see the top of one from inside the camp.
Then, Matthis frowned. But the sentries will spot him eventually. What is he planning to do?
Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, Matthis spotted Alledmir's short sword stab itself through the roof into the hut's interior. The gap widened, and the Ranger lowered himself through the crack and positioned himself on the hut's thatched rafters.
He looked at Matthis and Camilla and put a finger over his lips. They nodded.
Moments later, an orc poked its ugly head into the hut. Seeing no sign of Alledmir, it moved on.
The orcs' hunt ran far into the night, and they searched each hut in the village many times over, but they could not find the escaped Ranger. Still nervous about the missing Ranger, the orcs resumed their patrols around the perimeter, with swords and bows at the ready and ears listening closely. Their lit torches brought a slight fear to the slaves every time they passed by.
With the chaos at an end, Alledmir stealthily dropped himself down from the rafters of the hut.
"Thank you," he whispered. "I knew you were the right people to trust."
"What do you mean?" asked Camilla.
"I saw the elf go to you. I reasoned that any friend of an elf was a friend of mine, and I memorized the location of your house so I could speak to you and try to find him later.
"However, I foolishly assumed that the leader of the slaves would be someone trustworthy and knowledgeable - not a pawn of the Enemy! I escaped using a knife in my boot, and ran here. I trusted an elf's friends would not betray me. I was right, and for that, I thank you." The Ranger bowed.
"Why have you come here?" asked Camilla harshly. "Do you mean to become a slave yourself?"
"I am on an intelligence mission for His Lordship Denethor the Second, Steward of Gondor," said Alledmir. "He wishes to know the layout of the Enemy's land, and what his activities are in Núrn. I believe I have discovered that well enough. You are slaves, correct?"
"Yes," said Matthis. "This place is called Central Fields Camp. My mother, Camilla, myself, Matthis, and every being in this camp that is not an orc are Field Thralls," he finished contemptuously.
"We grow food for Sauron's armies in the northeast," elaborated Camilla.
"Hmm..." mused the Ranger. "My main objective is intelligence, but my commanding officer told me that any damage to the Dark Lord would not be discouraged. I wonder..." He began pacing back and forth. "Since I have been discovered, and my rope presumably torn down, I have little hope of escape on my own," stated Alledmir.
"Therefore, I need your assistance, not just to help me escape, but to strike at Sauron.
"We are going to stage a revolt."
Matthis and Camilla checked his eyes for humour. They found none, and spurred on by the Ranger's drive, the two slaves decided to take the path they had been too scared of only hours before.
"Do you have a plan?" asked Matthis.
"The beginnings of one," replied Alledmir. "I figure I could hunt down many of the orcs by stealth, and you could assist me. With luck, we could reduce the number of guards substantially - enough to ignite a popular uprising in the camp."
"How do you intend to slay the orcs?" asked Camilla.
"I have nineteen arrows left," said Alledmir. "I will be able to salvage some from the dead orcs. You can obtain swords from our first victims, if the bodies of my previous kills have been removed."
"I suggest we begin our hunting spree tonight," said Matthis. His co-conspirators looked at him in surprise.
"We have stayed up late tonight throughout the orcs' search," said Camilla. "I doubt we'll be much use at this hour."
"I fear many of my arrows might miss their mark if we strike tonight," agreed Alledmir.
"No, you don't understand," said Matthis, his voice pained. "He... he is coming in two days. We have to escape before then."
"Excuse me, but who do you mean?" inquired Alledmir.
"His name is Lartzgàsh," said Camilla, "and he is very powerful." The look on hers and Matthis's faces told Alledmir that he would get no more answers.
"Well, the weaker the enemy, the better," said the Ranger. He rose from the ground. "We may as well start our operation now." The two slaves nodded, and the three hunters left the hut.
In the darkness of the Mordor night, it was very hard to see, but this gave the hunters near immunity from the sentries on the wall. The sentinels relied on the torches of the patrols to see. As long as they kept from the perimeter until the ambush, they were safe.
Numerous patrols marched along the hut village's rectangular wall. The sentries were still deadly if alerted. Multiple orcs manned the guardhouses at both the village gate and the gate separating the fields from the rest of Núrn. Finally, a troop of orcs defended the Guard Quarters where the day shift slept. In all, there were around 350 orcs to contend with.
Alledmir's four victims and their weapons had been removed, so the hunters had to rely on Alledmir's own arsenal. Weapons in hand, they took up crouched positions next to three huts on the village's outer perimeter. They stared at the wall as they waited.
Camilla carried Alledmir's knife. She was to serve as the spotter and rear guard - alerting Alledmir when a patrol group was passing by along the wall, and hopefully catching any who ran backwards from the ambush.
Two huts to the side was Matthis, clutching Alledmir's short sword. He would skewer any who ran forward along the wall.
In the middle was Alledmir, bow drawn tight.
Soon, Camilla noticed the torchlight of an incoming patrol in the distance. She counted six - a larger number in an effort to impede the escaped Ranger. She signalled to Alledmir.
The Ranger watched from the shadows as the patrol passed in front of his hiding spot. Immediately after, he leaped onto the patrol route and shot at the orcs. Of the six, only three were still standing by the time they realized what was happening. One raised its head as if to yell, but Matthis leaped out and impaled it. Another was shot by Alledmir, and the last vainly attempted to escape the way it came. Camilla stabbed at it with her knife and wrestled it to the ground. Matthis ran over with his short sword to see the orc biting his mother's exposed left arm. Angry, he grabbed the creature by the throat and held its head to the ground before decapitating it.
Alledmir collected the three unbroken arrows, and the hunters admired their handiwork. All six orcs were dead, and they had managed to silence the only one that tried to call for help. They dragged the bodies off the patrol route. The torches were stuck into the ground in an approximation of the orcs' formation. The sentries would eventually notice that the torches were not moving, but Alledmir figured it couldn't be helped.
Matthis noticed the bite on his mother's left arm. The flesh had puckered up and become bright red, and blood flowed from the wound. Presumably, the orc's filthy mouth had infected the cut.
Camilla's left arm was her sword arm - a wound like this could end the hunt.
"Can you keep going?" whispered Matthis, concerned.
"Wrapping it in some grass will do fine for now," said Camilla, gritting her teeth. "There's no reason to end our hunting yet." A mad glee came into her eyes. It both startled and frightened Matthis. He had always thought of his mother as firm and strong-willed, but never bloodthirsty.
Maybe it's different for her, Matthis surmised. She's seen the world outside Central Fields Camp - I haven't. And when the Serpent sold my father out to Lartzgàsh, I lost a parent I loved dearly. But Mum lost someone who meant everything to her - she told me as much.
Again, Matthis thought of Lartzgàsh and the Serpent. They will pay, he vowed.
***
The patrols proceeded clockwise. To ensure they would eliminate the next patrol before the dead orcs were discovered, the hunters shifted their positions by several huts counterclockwise. Now, Camilla wielded an orcish short sword pinched off one of their kills, as did Alledmir. Camilla thought that hopefully, with a proper sword, her first real kill would be as clean as Matthis's.
The attack followed the same tactics as before. This time, one of the orcs retreating toward Matthis pulled its sword on him, but its blows were clumsy in its surprised state. Matthis easily dispatched the orc once he saw an opening. He killed the other one fleeing this way as well. Alledmir, meanwhile, felled three of the orcs, and Camilla defeated the final one in a surprise attack.
The three hunters were ecstatic at this second victory. Even Alledmir, a hardened Ranger, was pleased with their progress. They proceeded counterclockwise to the next killing zone quite confidently.
It was this boldness, perhaps, that can partially account for what happened after.
The hunters' next quarry proceeded along its route. Camilla signalled as before, and when the time was right, Alledmir crept out and shot at the group. The night had taken its toll on the Ranger, however, and while two orcs were defeated, another two of his arrows missed, buying precious time for the patrol to react.
One of the orcs charged straight at Alledmir, whose hands were encumbered with the bow. The Ranger reached desperately for the sword he had stolen off an orc's body, but his attacker was too quick. He was slashed across the chest, his sword and bow were viciously wrenched away from him, and he was forced into a kneeling position. Cold steel pressed against his neck.
One of the orcs saw Camilla out of the corner of his eye. As he ran at her, he screamed a warning to the sentries posted above. The orc's torchlight finally gave the orc archers the light they needed, and a poisoned arrow buried itself into Camilla's chest.
Matthis ambushed one of the orcs, slaying it with a clean thrust of Alledmir's short sword. But when he looked for another target, he found not an orc, but a man; a slave just like him. His mind raced frantically - was this person a friend or a foe? If he was a foe, should he kill him? Could he?
Matthis had no qualms about killing orcs. Most orcs are quite stupid; little more than animals. They were cruel, remorseless creatures who pillaged and murdered for pleasure.
But people... even the most sadistic and corrupt had good in them. As much as Matthis hated the Serpent, he had promised not to kill him. Surely this stranger deserved the same consideration.
It was this hesitation that let the other slave stab Matthis through the ribs. The pain was so intense that the young man crumpled to the ground.
The survivors of the patrol dragged the hunters along the ground, assisted by another patrol who had been alerted by the yelling. They took them to the prison in the Guard Quarters. Normally, the hunters simply would have been executed, but the mystery surrounding Alledmir and the imminent arrival of Lartzgàsh convinced the orcs otherwise. Lartzgàsh would want to interrogate the Ranger, and he would have fun torturing the other prisoners.
The orcs in the Guard Quarters jeered at the hunters as they were brought in. They spat at them, they kicked them, they scratched them.
The Director of Central Fields Camp, a tall, yellowish-skinned orc, stepped forward. "Now, now, you scum, leave more than just bones for Lartzgàsh!" The other orcs laughed. The Director was a Morannon orc, one of the highest-ranking breeds of orc. Most of the camp guards, meanwhile, were snagae, the lowest orc caste. As such, the Director and other higher orcs at the camp enjoyed a status of reverence. Despite the wonder they drew from the snagae, the Director and his peers enjoyed tormenting their underlings, which simply made the snagae even crueler to the slaves.
Lartzgàsh had chosen the Director not for his intelligence, but for his size. In truth, he was no more competent a leader than any other orc, but Lartzgàsh recognized the need for authority in the camp, and designating the largest orc as the Director fit this purpose nicely.
"Chain them up!" shouted the Director. The hunters were shackled to the stone wall. They were so tired, and in such pain, that they promptly fell asleep. The orcs' loud yells and crude jokes echoed around them, twisting their dreams.
***
A hard kick to the stomach awoke Matthis. He opened his mucus-encrusted eyes and pushed aside the terrible pain where he had been stabbed to see the Director's ugly face staring at him.
"Wakey-wakey, Field Thrall C-5010!" said the Director. "Where's your li'l elfy friend? My boys tell me he's not in the fields, and your mother's not been very helpful, even though we saved her from the poison!"
Matthis glanced at Camilla. Her eyes welled with tears, and her bruised body slouched in the shackles.
Matthis was silent, horrified at his mother's abuse. He considered his response and cursed himself for not thinking of this earlier. He felt the eyes of his mother and Alledmir probing him.
The Director was impatient. "Speak!" He kicked Matthis again.
"He... I don't know!" pleaded Matthis. "He wasn't with us last night."
"I bet you know more than that!" yelled the Director. He struck Matthis. "Tell me where he is!"
"All I know," said Matthis, "is that he stole some weapons from the orcs Alledmir killed and ran off, hoping to kill some more of you, or something. I swear, that's all I know."
The Director grabbed Matthis by the neck, having rejected Matthis's answer, though truth it was. "Well, if you will not tell me, perhaps you will tell Field Thrall C-3701."
Matthis suddenly shivered and grew pale.
The Director laughed and sent a subordinate to fetch the Serpent, who entered a few minutes later.
"Oh, Matthis!" he cried, running to the young man and holding him by the shoulders. "Camilla!" he exclaimed, and did the same. Then, he saw the Ranger.
"Tell me, Matthis and Camilla. How did this blight upon the Dark Lord's beautiful land bend your will to his own?"
"No," announced Camilla, broken from her stupor. "It was you who led us down this path when you took Dale away from me. When you took Matthis's father away from him."
The Serpent feigned offense. "I am a slave here just like yourselves," he declared. "It is my duty to report foul behaviour, as it is yours. Dale had stolen some of the poison for the orcs' arrows and put it inside crops being shipped to the Dark Lord's glorious armies. It was he who decided his fate."
"I don't remember Dale deciding to be tortured and butchered by Lartzgàsh!" yelled Camilla. "You look like a human, a slave like us, but you are neither. You are a demon of the foulest sort, who sells out his own for meagre reward."
The Serpent tutted. "You paint me as a demon, but I merely ensure peace. You spread death."
"Peace!?" shouted Camilla. "Sauron means to make war on the rest of Middle-Earth! Who knows how many he will kill? And here we slaves are, feeding his hunger for power."
Matthis did not expect the Serpent's next reaction: he began laughing.
"You cling onto some hope that the pathetic armies of Gondor have a chance of survival," chuckled the Serpent. "The Eye is the future. The Lord of the Rings' might moves mountains and breeds creatures out of thin air. He darkens the skies and sours the seas, and his fire scorches all. Forsaking myself for the Dark Lord's vision is the greatest decision I have ever made. But," he said with a wicked gleam in his eye, "for his vision to come to pass, sacrifices have to be made."
Matthis thought of his father, and rage overtook him.
He lunged at the Serpent and wrapped his unchained legs around the old man's body. He squeezed as hard as he could, trying to break the monster's ribs. For his father, for the victims before him, and for the victims after, he would eradicate this traitor to the race of Men.
The Serpent screamed, and two orc guards stabbed Matthis in either leg. The young man howled in pain and immediately let go.
The Serpent scrambled to his feet, dazed.
"Look at yourself," said Alledmir to the Serpent. "Do the orcs clothe you? No. You are just as naked as the other slaves. You are nothing more than a figurehead the orcs have chosen - a weak mind easily seduced by Sauron."
"BE SILENT!" roared the Serpent. "You know nothing!" He looked at the guards. "Make them SUFFER!" He turned to Matthis. "I'm going to watch you squirm, just like I did your father."
One of the orcs pulled up a chair for the Serpent. Smirking, he sat down and observed.
"Shall we begin?" asked an orc, licking his lips.
"Of course, boys!" chortled the Director. "Take the Ranger somewhere else. Hurt him good! But keep him fresh for when Lartzgàsh comes tomorrow!" Some orcs dragged Alledmir away.
"Now," said the Director, "for you two." He looked at the orc guards. "Get the branding irons!"
"If I may make a suggestion, sir?" inquired the Serpent. The Director nodded, and he continued. "If you torture them in turns, they can watch each other. Quite nice, don't you think?"
The Director grinned. "A fine idea, you old cur!"
An orc took a red-hot branding iron and applied it to Matthis's flesh. He screamed in pain, but he did not think it undeserved. He had told himself he would not kill another human, yet if the orcs had not intervened, and his attack was successful, the Serpent would have died at his hands.
But then, he saw the Serpent sitting in front of him, absorbing the spectacle with satisfaction. Matthis's remorse grew less with every second.
Finally, they finished with him, and turned on his mother. Already weeping from seeing her son tortured, she wailed as the branding iron hit her. Matthis heaved and shook as he watched her. He lunged at the orcs, but they jumped away, laughing. The Serpent laughed too. Defeated, he sobbed.
By the time the orcs were finished, the Serpent was giddy. "That will have taught them Sauron's power!" he declared. "Long live the Lord of the Rings! May his enemies be cast asunder!" He looked at Matthis, smirking.
The look the young man returned was one of death.
Startled, the old man retreated from the Guard Quarters.
The orcs moved Camilla to another cell, leaving Matthis alone.
***
In the fields the next day, the slaves were working hard when someone spotted a commotion at the gate between the fields and the outside world of Núrn. A small group asked for entry at the guardhouse. The gate swung open, and the group stood unconcealed.
The party appeared to be a collection of orcs of the higher castes and some corrupted men. The figure who drew the Field Thralls' attention, however, was the group's leader.
Mounted on a dark horse of Mordor, he was a Black Uruk, the highest caste of orcs. His skin was a sickly dark grey. He had fair blond hair that seemed out of place next to his grisly, distorted face. His eyes were narrow in their sockets like a snake's. His nose must have been squished, twisted, and finally, shoved onto his face. His mouth was a thin slit, curved into a cruel smile which revealed just the slightest hint of fangs at its edges. He was clad in armour of deepest night, with the emblem of Sauron, the Great Eye, painted in red across the breastplate. At his side hung a massive scimitar.
Lartzgàsh was no ordinary orc, even considering his race. It was said that Sauron himself had created him personally. He was highly intelligent, more so than the vast majority of humans, and almost able to match the elves in intellect.
But Lartzgàsh was not bred to be a human or an elf. He was bred to be an orc.
A regular orc's willingness to kill can be attributed to primal bloodlust - like an animal.
Lartzgàsh was not an animal. He was a man of the highest quality, but with one notable exception: when Sauron created him, he took away everything that made humans kind and good, fair and just. When the Dark Lord was finished, all that was left was the darkness in humans' hearts: the greed, the hate, the cruelty, and the evil.
It was this being, Sauron's Overseer of the Fields, that cantered forward on his steed toward the Director of Central Fields Camp.
"What is the current status of the camp, Director Azhug?" questioned the Black Uruk, flanked by his entourage. He spoke in a deep voice that promised tantalizing rewards to those who obeyed him, and agonizing death for those who did not.
"Thank Sauron you've come!" breathed the Director.
"What problems do you face?" said Lartzgàsh.
The Director pulled himself to his feet. "One o' them Ithilien Rangers has killed some o' my boys, and there's an escaped elf too! And lots o' slaves ain't come to work! Oh, what are we to do!?"
Lartzgàsh bristled with anger. "Incompetent fool!" he roared. "Where is the Ranger? And is the elf still in the camp?"
"W-we have the Ranger, Lord Lartzgàsh, sir," stuttered the Director. "I think the elf must be hiding somewhere in the village."
The Black Uruk laughed. "I will talk to the Ranger - then, I will deal with your elf problem." He turned to two Easterlings in his entourage - corrupted men from the vast lands of Rhûn. "Bring me two of the weaker slaves."
A woman and a young boy were each grabbed by an Easterling, screaming and hitting.
Finally, Lartzgàsh turned back to the Director. "And find me Field Thrall C-3701." The Director nodded, and the Overseer's horse trotted forward, with his retinue marching after.
Meanwhile, at the Guard Quarters, the orcish watchmen joked with each other as usual, the cacophony of their laughter echoing through the empty village.
Suddenly, a shadow fell upon them, armed with swords of their own design. The orcs yelled, and a few of the attackers were shot down by sentries, but the rest stormed into the Guard Quarters.
Matthis's lethargy was broken by an invading mass of bodies. They struck down the weary and sleeping orcs from the night shift all around him. It was a bloody battle, and many of the attackers were slain, but the orcs were entirely routed. The wounded were laid down on beds and told to rest.
A smiling face appeared in front of Matthis.
"Fallothen?" he croaked.
"Yes," the elf said encouragingly. He cut Matthis's chains loose with two sweeps of his orcish sword. Then, he grew serious. "Where are Alledmir and Camilla?"
Matthis pointed in the direction he had seen the orcs taking them. Fallothen rushed off with several of the slaves. The rest informed Matthis on what had happened.
Fallothen, hiding using his Wood-elf powers of camouflage, had distributed the swords he had collected to a few trustworthy people once the search for Alledmir was over. Deep into the night, he heard the sounds of the three hunters' raids with his excellent elvish ears. While he arrived too late to aid them, he collected and distributed the swords of their kills as well, but only to slaves who he was sure of being honest - the Serpent's network of informants was vast.
The elf had planned to liberate the Ranger, as he was instrumental to his plan of rebellion. Unfortunately, his army took two days to assemble, as he had to check the credibility of all its soldiers. This meant the revolt would have to take place today, when Lartzgàsh was there, or Alledmir would already be executed.
"Since Fallothen had to make sure we're all authentic, he still might not have enough people to secure victory," said a Field Thrall, "but I'll fight to the end anyway. Now, we get the Ranger to take out some more sentries until Lartzgàsh and his friends arrive."
Matthis readily joined the army, though his shackles still burdened his hands. He selected one of the dead orcs' swords and waited for Fallothen to return.
Fallothen and his troops arrived with Alledmir, Camilla, and other prisoners of the orcs. They had been imprisoned for disobedience similar to Fallothen's, but they had no elven status to grant them protection. With their inclusion, Matthis estimated the number of fit rebels to be around 135.
Camilla ran to embrace her son, and they held each other for a very long time, crying. As they did so, all the rebels armed themselves, and some were equipped with shields found in the armory.
Fallothen described the next phase of the operation. "If you have a shield, fan out in a circle in front of the entrance. Alledmir will be in the centre of the circle, and it is imperative that he be protected. He will tell you when to lower your shields so he can fire at the sentries." Alledmir nodded his consent.
"Good luck!" said the elf. The slaves with shields exited the Guard Quarters.
High above, the sentries immediately took notice of the slaves. They shot several arrows, but most of them missed in their panic to avenge their comrades. Alledmir returned fire with a carefully aimed arrow. The sentry with the best line of sight fell out of his watchtower onto the ground below. The slaves quickly covered Alledmir with their shields again. Several were wounded in the next volley of arrows, and while only two were outright killed, the poison in the arrows would spell death later on.
Fallothen realized his error, and yelled at the slaves inside the Guard Quarters to search for the antidote. They returned with a myriad assortment of bottles. Some might have contained the antidote, while others might have contained the poison itself. The labels were in meaningless orcish runes.
The group outside was ultimately successful - by a stroke of luck, Alledmir had dispatched every sentry with a view of the village. But almost all of his protectors were dead or poisoned, and orcish reinforcements would arrive soon, alerted by the sentries.
Several of the bottles were tried by the poisoned rebels. One rebel died upon ingesting one, but it was impossible to tell if the others would be saved.
Dismayed, but still bold, Fallothen led the surviving rebels to the guardhouses at the village gates. From the guardhouses, he meant to gain control of the wall, and use its height to attack remotely.
The army divided into two. One group led by Fallothen would attack through the northern guardhouse, while the other, led by Alledmir, would attack through the southern.
Matthis and Camilla joined the northern group. The guards were stabbed through the guardhouse's barred windows. A strong rebel broke down the door, and the army funneled through.
They climbed the stairs to the top of the wall, and Fallothen collected a bow and quiver from one of Alledmir's kills. He covertly shot down the sentries to his left and right, remembering his hunter days in Mirkwood, and led an attack on the rest of the sentries. The other troops also used the orcish bows, after being taught by Fallothen on their use. The rebels who had been poisoned earlier saw this as a way of being useful as they died, and they volunteered before the healthy ones.
Despite the rebels' attempts at stealth, the battle on the wall drew great attention from the slaves and guards below, as well as Lartzgàsh's group. Rebel and orc alike popped up and down, using the stone blocks around the wall's edge as cover. The other rebels snuck along the wall and stabbed the orcs. Many rebels were killed, but when one died, his bow was taken up by another. Matthis shot down an orc himself, to his great satisfaction. Soon, the wall belonged to Fallothen's troops.
But by now, the slaves were at a great numerical disadvantage. The force that had attacked the Guard Quarters had been around 180 in number. Fallothen estimated there were 80 left.
The orcs, meanwhile, despite their losses from the hunters' raids, the attacks on the Guard Quarters and guardhouses, and the sentries' eradication, had a strength around 140, plus the strength brought by Lartzgàsh and his party.
Fallothen immediately sought to rectify this. He ordered his archers to fire at the orcs below, and his total fell to 130. But then, Lartzgàsh's two elite Haradrim archers - warriors of the desert of Harad - opened fire. Four slaves were killed, each arrow having hit its mark.
Alledmir slew one of the Haradrim with an arrow to the throat, but the other took notice of him and forced him into cover.
The host below rushed to assault the rebels' positions. Lartzgàsh directed his mount to and fro and yelled to try and preserve order, but the orcs paid no heed; they were keen to taste human flesh.
However, the orcs of the higher castes joined him, as did the Serpent and other corrupted slaves. Lartzgàsh directed their efforts, and in the midst of the battle, their actions went unnoticed.
The orcs poured into each guardhouse, and many used the guardhouses at the gate leading outside Central Fields Camp. An archer stood at the top of the staircase leading from each guardhouse.
Matthis flanked the archer positioned at the top of the nearest staircase, alongside his mother. Camilla smiled at him, and he managed a smile back.
He peered into the staircase's dark depths, and heard orc cries. His heart pounded as he waited, and the shouts became louder and louder. Finally, an orc popped his head out and was shot by the archer. Another rebel shot the next orc, and as he did so, the first archer fit another arrow to the bow. There were four of them in this cycle, and between them, they killed several orcs.
Eventually, however, the orcs' lines overran them. A camp guard beheaded the nearest archer, and a battle erupted between the orcs and the twenty-one rebels.
Matthis swung his sword this way and that, dodging the orcs' enraged blows. Suddenly, the pain from his earlier wounds returned, and he was slashed along the ribs in his distraction. His opponent raised his sword, but was struck down from behind by Camilla. He looked at her gratefully, and she returned his glance.
But then, as if time had slowed, one of the orcs crept up behind Camilla and stabbed her in the back. It looked at Matthis, grinning, and for a moment, its face seemed to morph into the Serpent's.
"NO! MUM!" shrieked Matthis as she collapsed onto the stone, dead. He howled as he charged at the orc and threw it over the wall.
The skirmish continued, and soon, it was only Matthis and four orcs. He ran to the top of the next staircase, where Fallothen was posted. The elf rushed at the orcs and cleaved one in two. Another two were slain by the rebels' arrows. The final orc killed a slave, but was subsequently stabbed itself.
The survivors rushed to join the other fronts on the wall. The attacking orcs were destroyed, but now, the rebels were only around twenty in number.
The remaining rebels took aim with their bows to kill the enemy forces below, when suddenly, the voice of Lartzgàsh bellowed, "STOP!" They all watched the Black Uruk.
Still on his horse, he held a man by the hair, his scimitar pointing towards him. "I am the Overseer of the Fields, and I command you to lay down your arms and surrender. Should you choose to disobey, fifty of you will be executed." The rebels atop the wall looked around. Each camp guard who had followed Lartzgàsh's orders held a weapon over a slave, and their ranks were filled out by Lartzgàsh's party along with the Serpent and his corrupted slaves.
Matthis gazed at the Serpent, and his eyes burned with hatred. The Serpent found Matthis among the rebels, and looked at him with a loathing, triumphant smile.
"Perhaps we can negotiate," came the voice of Fallothen, but to Matthis, it was a whisper on the wind. His entire being was focused on the Serpent, who held a dagger to a little girl's throat.
It was this man who had his father killed, and who had watched and laughed as he and his mother were tortured. It was this man who had spread distrust and fear among the slaves. It was this man who grovelled before Sauron and took the company of murderous orcs; orcs like the one who had butchered his mother.
And it was this man who would die.
As Matthis grasped his bow and pulled back the string, it was if his arms were guided by a higher power. He released the arrow, and it sailed through the air into the Serpent's skull. Field Thrall C-3701 fell forward, his blood dripping out onto the fields of Núrn.
And then, the remaining servants of Sauron slaughtered their prisoners. Forty-nine men, women and children fell to the ground. Lartzgàsh spurred his horse forward and sliced the little girl the Serpent had been holding captive in two.
Matthis roared a battle cry, and threw the swords of the corpses on the wall to the slaves below. The other rebels joined him. The slaves in the fields picked up the weapons and swarmed toward Lartzgàsh and his soldiers. The bodies of slaves fell left and right, but gradually, Lartzgàsh's forces were thinned.
Matthis ran down the steps into the nearest guardhouse, blood flying everywhere from his wounds. By the time he got there, the battle was nearly over. The corrupted slaves had surrendered once a few of their number had been killed. The camp guards were routed. It was down to Lartzgàsh and his followers.
With the death of the last Easterling, the battle was over. The slaves in the fields had rounded up every corrupted slave that they knew of, and had lined them up.
One of them looked at Matthis, who had earned himself authority by being one of the last of the original rebels, as well as one of the hunters who had motivated the rebels to begin with.
"What should we do with them?" asked the slave.
Matthis looked at the pawns of the Serpent one by one. He remembered his mother's screams, and his helplessness to end her agony.
Then, he smiled.
"Kill them," he said.
The slaves needed little encouragement - many had lost family or friends thanks to one of these traitors. Matthis took one of them, a young man his own age, and cut him to pieces. Only when Matthis had heard enough of his howling did he deal the final blow.
When the bloodbath ended, Matthis looked around. Dead orcs lay everywhere, accompanied by the bodies of slaves both pure and corrupted. Both wore the same expressions of pain and terror.
Children flocked around the bodies of the corrupted slaves Matthis had ordered exterminated. Their tearful cries for their dead parents echoed across the fields.
Matthis looked up at the smog-filled Mordor sky, and he laughed uncontrollably.
And as his knees collapsed and his body shut down from loss of blood, he was still laughing.
***
The slaves only noticed the absence of Lartzgàsh and his steed a few minutes later. They were disappointed at his survival, but still set out from Central Fields Camp, led by Fallothen and Alledmir.
A day into their great trek, Lartzgàsh led a force he had accrued from an orcish outpost and routed the entirety of the slaves. Alledmir was crushed by a troll, and Lartzgàsh invited Fallothen to face him in single combat. He disarmed the elf easily, and pondered what to do with him.
Then Lartzgàsh remembered Matthis's impressive display at the end of the uprising at Central Fields Camp. He had watched the massacre of the corrupted slaves from beyond the gates, having used a secret entrance in the wall. In particular, he remembered Matthis's treatment of his own victim, zooming in on the scene with his enhanced vision. He remembered how Matthis had ripped apart the young man before killing him.
And truly inspired, the Overseer did the same to Fallothen.