Uruk-hai, or the journey there...

[Olmer]

Here I decided to put on your judgment a beginning of my translation of a story about orcs, hobbits and other familiar characters.
I am doing it just for my friends, so bear with my English.

All rights on this story and its translation are RESERVED.

Uruk-Hai, or the journey to there…
by Alexander Bayborodin


Foreseen, but not imprinted way,
And the footpath is twisting...

Instead of the Foreword
This won't be the tale about Hobbits, to be exact, it will be about them too, but, basically, not about them...

I
The sunny hills of Hobbiton. They are covered with soft silky grass. They smell of honey and caress eyes with gentle shades of meadow flowers. Heads of cream and white clovers are scattered over a dark green carpet. Little suns of daisies are shining here and there. Cornflowers are nodding their clear-blue heads. A lungwort joyfully opens deep violet flowers towards diligent, unhurried, heavy bumblebees and to hasty bees. An imperceptible shepherd's purse, all covered with little white flowers, luxuriates under an easy breeze. Soft whisks of broom-grass are bending and caressing a face. You can lay in this grass for hours! The wind rumples hair and brings smells and sounds: sweetness of flowers and bitterness of wormwood, rustling of grass and hum of insects, smoke from a distant fire of a charcoal maker's kiln, squabbles of children playing under the hill and a distant creak of wheels.
The sunny hills of Hobbiton… It's been a long time since I saw them.
Probably, since that fateful day...

I quarreled with my father at that time. Quarreled, because he decided it’s time for me to get married. I just have turned thirty-three, and ,as they say, have already “came of age”, so the father resolved that it is time for me to have a wife. To tell the truth, hardly having left “tweens“, I did not want to marry at all, but he did not ask me.
In any way it is not in hobbit’s custom. It’s been a traditional practice that spouses for children are being chosen by parents. In our small population almost everybody knows each other and almost everyone is connected by complex relations. For that reason, the parents, while choosing, for a long time are tracing who the groom and the bride are to each other. But for even longer time they are determining of what would be the bride’s dowry, and what kind of a homestead will have the groom. If the parents will decide that the bride and the groom do not fit each other, then the young people will never get married.

I think that Grandfather Sam would have never married to Grandmother Rose, even if they loved each other. Who was he? The son of a gardener who even did not have his own garden, when the Cottons family was prosperous. But Grandfather got lucky. They say, that the old Cotton, giving the consent to a betrothal, thought that Sam has returned from a journey not as a poor man, just like it have been with the master Bilbo Baggins, who, undoubtedly, was not poor even before the voyage. Contrary to his believe, my grandfather, upon returning from the distant lands, couldn’t lead an idle, lazy life, not working at all, as Bilbo has lived.
So, Cotton has decided that Grandfather Sam, too, has brought a chest with coins on the back of his pony. Daddy Cotton was mistaken about that then, and was regretting his decision, but to terminate a betrothal is almost like to take away a wife from the house of her husband - it would be against any customs.
Anyway it happens that Cotton did not have to have regrets for long. Grandfather Sam was not dumb. The Grey powder, that the Elven queen has presented him, made him both rich and respected. Everyone wanted Sam the Gardener to work over theirs grounds. And when King Elessar, all of a sudden has arrived in our remote areas and politely asked the Elders to select a Mayor from someone of his friends, the old men have thought not for long.
After an overseas departure of the master Frodo Baggins, Grandfather Sam has remained the most senior and the most sensible of all three friends.
Certainly, I do not remember it, for then I was not born yet, but in his advanced years Grandfather Sam used to chat with grandsons. The events, described in the Red Book, he recollected infrequently, and did not like to do it, as well as the Grandfather Peregrin, by the way. On questions about those times both of them were saying that the master Bilbo Baggins already has written it all better than they can tell.
But often Grandfather Sam was telling how he married Grandmother Rose and how they have started to live together. He liked very much to recollect it.
It was understandable. No matter if you tell or write about whatever heroic feats have been done by the grandfather in another lands, only gullible little kids will believe in it, and only until they reach “tweens”, and then they will begin to laugh too, just as adults. Or even worse, they might cease to respect , because wandering in the distant lands is not a respectful hobbit’s engagement. Of course, they will not say it straight to the face, but will gossip a great deal behind the back .
A history of marriage is another matter. My grandfather has managed to marry a girl whom he loved and who loved him. Up till now many of young hobbits, and not only the young, speak about it with envy. Obviously, with the secret envy. Who would speak openly about such thing? You can talk about it only with close friends, and in whispers. But all in all, many were envying them secretly.

Anyway, my father has decided to get me married, and I had no reason to count on being lucky enough, just like my grandfather, to pick up the bride by myself.
It’s not that I was grieving too much about it. I have been around young girls, but none of them has touched my heart, and I even thought, that it is not that too important of who of them will become my wife.
But my father has chosen Nastursia Furfoot for my wife! I cannot deny, that Nastursia has had not simply good, but an excellent dowry - a part of Furfoot’s grazing land in the Brandywine’s river meadow. Far not every hobbit’s family, even a very respectful one, has the meadows in Brandywine’s grassland. The Brandybucks, for example, have it, but us, the Tooks, don‘t. Everyone knows that from a sunken meadow one could get three times more grass, than from the usual one. Which means that you can have more livestock.
The Тooks are far from poor, but even to us it would be unacceptable to miss such riches.
So the dowry after Nastursia was outstanding, and a relationship between us was very distant, almost none. In prosperity the Furfoots almost conceded the Тooks. And that fact that the Furfoots are less prominent than the Тooks is even better for a marriage.
All it so.
But for a whole life to tie myself up with this stupid old broad, whose face is even more repelling than her attitude, and whom so far nobody wanted to marry despite of all her dowry?!

When the father declared to me, that in a week we will have an introductory dinner party with Nasturtia and her family, in a half-year - an engagement, and in a year - the wedding, I unloaded on him everything what I thought of Nasturtia and his decision, slammed the door and, since a pony has been saddled and stood in a court yard, has jumped in a saddle and was gone.
If I would know then in what it will result, I would remain at home.

From time to time fidgets are getting born among us, the Tooks, who at the first suitable occasion are ready to go off into the blue, just like Grandfather Peregrin. Because of this, all the others consider us not as quite levelheaded hobbits, though don't speak aloud about that.
But I’m not like that. I am the most ordinary Hobbit, it would never come into my head to leave the beloved Hobbiton and our comfortable hole-house. I have been mad at the father, but, honestly, deep inside I understood, that Nastursia is not the worst choice at all .
Yes, she is not that clever and utterly unattractive, but unwise the one who searches for brain in the woman, and beauty is a thing, that spoils quickly. As for a bad attitude, they say, that such thing often happens to girls, whom for a long time nobody wants to marry, but it changes, when they will get a husband. Besides there is the dowry…

But I jumped in the saddle and raced my pony on a dusty well-trodden road. The pony was fast and fresh. It flew over the road, and his for a long time uncut mane fluttered like a banner. The hoofs are spiritedly thudding, raising up clouds of dust behind.
And in this thudding, seems, was heard as the road itself cheerfully calls out: "Away, away, away!"
The wind forced to squint the eyes, bushes and trees on the roadside were flashing by, and the dirty ribbon of the road was twisting way away to a horizon. A far! Seems like it called up to go where the sun is arising, where the wind is swooping over, and where, still, many more roads unbeknownst to you.

Truly the old folks had a saying: "Be cautious, choosing a way when you step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where it might lead to.“
I was heading towards another river bank of Brandywine, to my friend Teddy Brandybuck.

In Brandybuck’s family they love stately names like Fortinbras, Meriadoc, - and, since returning of Meriadoc the Magnificent, they have grown fond of Rohan’s names. So, Тeddy is short for Тheoden, but his regal name is hardly correlates with him. He is an impulsive and high-spirited guy. For certain he would have liked to be in my present place.
They all, the Brandybucks, are like this. Even thought that us, the Tooks, have been considered not quite levelheaded, the Brandybucks far surpassed us in this irrationality . Some even call them " Braldabecks" behind the back, hinting that they are perpetually drunk from theirs dark “brald” and therefore, accordingly, have such characters. But to call like this somebody from the Brandybucks in the face, means to get severely beaten for sure.The Brandybucks do not forgive insults. You have to be a swashbuckler to dare on such bravado, but we don’t have the swashbucklers in the Shire. Of course, if you won‘t count the Brandybucks themselves as the swashbucklers, but then again, who would dare to say it aloud about them.
Then, just to think about, would more respectable and conscientious Hobbits be able for fifteen generations protect the borders of Hobbiton? Everyone can sow wheat or to shepherd goats. But how many can live at the very Hedge, every year moving it further and further into the Old Forest?
How many, when troubles come, without wasting time on unnecessary doubts, can take axes and bows, and fight without any regrets about their life? The Brandybucks can. It has happened many times in all existence of the Hobbiton.
Much is already forgotten, but everyone remembers that the white wolves of the Long Winter have been stopped by the Brandybucks. Also a fight with Orcs, in time of youth of both my grandfathers and Teddy’s grandfather, is still alive in folk memory.

There is a book about those times in Buckland, and Тookborough both. It's called the Red Book because of its red soft leather cover. Teddy and I often would take ours or theirs book and run off onto the hills, and up to darkness read it aloud to each other. Mesmerizing has been this reading. Heroes and magicians were rising up from pages, and it was strange to come to realization that our own grandfathers have been among these heroes. When all around you just a peaceful land and pastures, you don’t want to contemplate that somewhere there's a fire and blood. And it is absolutely impossible to imagine that hands, which gently stroked you head in the childhood, once had held a sword, and that the one, who rocked you on the knee, is the warrior and the hero.
While Teddy and I had been in “tweens”, it amused us very much, but the time goes by, and one day you are realizing that you are already an adult, there are no any battles around, and, simply, you have to live as everybody lives.

Тeddy was my friend. With whom would I share my grief, if not with him?
But that evening Тeddy was more cheerful than usual. His father, the same as mine, has declared to him about an impending marriage. But for a wife for him has been chosen Lukretsia Sackville-Baggins, from those Sackville-Bagginses that now live in the Bag End, the former Bagginses manor. And Lucretsia is the one-and-only heir of all manor, what is rarely happens in Hobbits families, as we, usually, having lots of children.
Besides, the matter was not only in the dowry. Lucretsia and Теddy for a long time have been “making eyes” to each other, and at every casual and not casual meeting were attempting to squeeze in together somewhere away from somebody else's eyes.
I already told about how we choose brides and grooms, and the fact, that the choice of Teddy’s father has matched with the choice of Теddy himself, could be a smile of fortune. Could be, or could be not. The Brandybucks often behave in a way different from the others. So, Теddy was very cheerful or, to tell more correctly, " fairly tipsy ", and did not share my grief .
Anyway, we took a pair of kegs with beer, a considerable quantity of snacks from a pantry, loaded all this on my pony so its legs began to buckle, whistled for a company to about a dozen of lounged around young Brandybucks and Boffins and went to the grove on the river-bank on the bachelor party.
At the Brandybucks they are always winking at the frolics of young hobbits, and therefore, on the occasion of forthcoming of mine and Teddy’s engagements, nobody interfered with our party, and such thing as a small loss of beer, in any way, won’t affect the extensive Brandybucks stocks.

Perhaps, you know, that Hobbits are extremely thorough people, and everything what we are doing we are doing thoroughly.
We drank thoroughly too, and one of the young Brandybucks had to ride to the pantry on my pony twice .
We have begun with a light beer from Bree, because it was the mildest. Then we have given due to our Light, from Tookborough: it’s darker than from Bree and has more tart taste, but does not differ at all in its potency.
But, obviously, most of all we drunk the dark Brandybuck’s brald. And I shall tell you, it is rather a virile beer. It’s dark in color, same as Brandywine‘s water, for what it jokingly sometimes called as Bralda-wine. On taste it is bitter-tart, but pleasant. As for a strenght... We have got used to it. Usually Hobbit’s stomach quickly digests everything what has got in it . But it will quickly make a head spinning for the one unaccustomed to such beer. I, once, still being in “tweens“, was with Teddy and his father in Bree, and in there I happened to see, how one of the Big Folk got knocked down off the bench and under the table from just three mugs of “brald“. We, at that time, have brought the beer to the Butterburs for their "Prancing pony ". Recently Bree is growing out, as a dough in the kiln. More and more of the Big Folk are moving in, and all of them are not fools to drink. So, the “Brald” brings to the Brandybucks a considerable share of their income, and to us, the Tooks, our “Light “ brings too.

By a sundown the beer was already sloshing in me somewhere up in between ears, and I was afraid to bend, being worried that it will pour out. Teddy was even “better“. He started to celebrate the future marriage even before my arrival. The young Brandybucks and Boffins also barely stayed up. Somehow, it imperceptibly darkened around: it was a time to go home.
And right at that time I felt an urge to go to the bushes. You know, how it happens when you are drinking too much beer? And we, also, have eaten a lot .
I walked away, but the light from the fire, which has been kindled by one of the young Brandybucks, extended far enough from the glade, and I walked away a bit more. Probably, if I would be more sober, I would notice that I walked too far from the light, but I was hardly seeing through the beer in my eyes, and, besides, when you are sitting with lowered pants, you won’t look around too much . I have already started to button up, when something have crackled behind, and I got knocked out cold with something heavy...

[Olmer]

II

The first, what penetrated into my consciousness, was a murmur of brook, and then an irritating, hardly audible dripping of water .
- Came around, the little one?
The voice was quiet, cunning. The sound was coming just from the right of me and a little above. More to the left someone was noisy snuffing and snorting .
- It is good that you came around, because of you I already wanted to tear someone’s ass to pieces. Open your peepers, don’t dawdle feigning a fainted girl, I see your eyelashes quiver; means, you came out.
I was sitting, leaning on a wet earthen wall. Seems like all my clothes: both the jacket and the waistcoat, has become drenched with cold sticky moisture. I was violently shaking and shivering, all my back was wet, and from the wall an irksome little stream of water was trickling down into my collar and straight on the neck. The darkness around was so thick, that you can cut it with a knife. What eyelashes has he managed to see? I couldn’t see at all even him himself; just hardly felt it as a dark bulk beside.
- Good! Not queasy?
I shook my head and right away threw up.
- Here goes, - said the same voice, already irritably, - all boots have got fouled. If you, snaga, shook his brains, I will beat out through your ears that dung you have instead of brains, and force to chow it down. Understood?
- It is from the fright, - the second hoarse voice answered and snuffed again .

They were speaking on Westron, but the first was speaking as anyone of Big Folk usually speaks, while the second - as if sounds were being pushed out of a throat, and the words were so deformed, that I had a difficulty to understand it.
- From the fright and from overeating. Did you see, how much they have gobbled up? Fifty our guys could eat up for three days. In the size of a rat and where all this goes? And beer also... - the hoarse voice has enviously sighed.
- Forget about beer and about food forget also.
- Yeah, right, forget... What a life they have…Never in my life I saw such eats. And the amount of beer! We should brain all of them. Still a lot of it left out, would be a feast for our throats.
- I will please your throat with teeth if you won’t slam your mouth. To you, snaga, thinking is harmful for health, you can bite the dust still being a snaga. What has been told? To take one, warm and unharmed, and to deliver as such. And we will do as it has been told. If one of them will be gone - they won’t search for him right away. And if they will find on the shore a dozen of stiffs - we won‘t get away..
- I did not mean it…Just hungry as a wolf...
I heard the sound of whack, and the first voice has continued:
- To whom I have told to slam the mouth? Gag him, so he won’t scream, and let‘s go.
A firm cold paw has blocked-up my nose. I have tried to inhale through a mouth, but instantly in there have been deftly thrust a slippery leather pear. The narrow ends of the pear were sticking out of the mouth and had long strips, which have been pulled together at my nape. The leather glob filled up my mouth so tightly, that I could not even moan, not mention of speaking. It was impossible to spit it out: the strings are not letting to do it.
- Can you breathe? - asked the first voice, - Don’t have a snot?
I shook my head.
- Breathe. Good. You won’t choke. If you will start to choke, don’t suffer - waggle your head or kick him with your heel. All right? Come on, snaga, take him.

Only at this instant I understood, that I’m swaddled, as if in a baby's wrap, without any chance to move, save to bend over and to nod a head. It was not painfull for me; I have not been tied up, but namely swaddled. My hands and legs and all my body has been bound up with wide strips of a rough, prickly sackcloth fabric in the way as we are swaddling babies, only less restrictive. As for me I could not move at all, of that I became aware immediately after having tried to move my hands.
- Do not twitch, - has warned me the first voice from the darkness, - The knots will get tightened. You will press on your cords - blood will cease to flow. We will have a long run and it is no time there to untie you. What to do with you if a hand or a leg will become lifeless? Only to finish you off. Do not twitch, if you want to live. It will be a halt in a couple of hours and there we will make it looser.

Above the head silently, without grating, a cover was cast out, and a small circle of starry sky has become visible . The stars were as large as wood nuts, and bright. They have never happened to be like this when you look at them from a house window.
It did not add too much light, but it became clear, that it is only three of us in this crude, damp and tight earthen den.
I, still, was not distinguishing faces of my kidnappers; even the rest of all was difficult to make out. Also, it was not clear what their height was, but I have understood at once: they were not hobbits.
Besides, I discovered that they are armed. When the one who talked to me, stood up and pushed out the cover, in the star's glimmer right in front of my nose I have glimpsed a blade. The blade was strange, dark as darkness itself, and I did not see it as much, as felt the cold of metal and its smell. The stars were silvering a thin strip of the honed edge and the blade, almost shimmery in the gloom, has been crookedly bent forward. There was something menacing, predatory in this ridiculous bend. For an instant it even seemed to me, that now this black creature will launch on the neck, seize it with a sharp edge and will start to drink upgurgling from a ripped up throat blood.
Two black hands stretched upwards past me, I heard the sound of push-up, and the snuffing and snorting have moved outside from the den. Then I have been pulled by the collar, pushed from below, and, too, came out on an open air.
Besides the stars, there was also a moon in the sky, which was allowing to look around. And this is what I did. We were in the woods. Black bulks of trees were crowded around us, concealing almost everything from sight . It smelled of dampness and moss. A brook murmured nearby. It seems, that it‘s sound I have heard in the hole. The hole was visible as a black spot on the dark mossy ground. Out of it have appeared a head, then shoulders, hands - and in instant besides me was standing one more kidnapper.
Together they cautiously transferred me far away from the hole to a tree, laid me down on firm knotty roots and began to put back the cover. Directly on the cover grew a small bush. My kidnappers lifted it and carefully lowered on a black spot of the manhole, so the black spot of the hole became completely invisible. Besides that, they have straightened branches, with palms have smoothed moss around, and collected fine lumps of dirt, which, probably, were got scattered when the cover had been open from within. Then they strew leaves around this bush, getting them from a bag, watered the moss with water from the stream, and, at the end, sprayed the bush with some liquid from a small canteen.
All of this they did without a single word, even without a sound, if not count for a sound of hardly audible rustlingat five steps away, which, anyhow, sometimes was reaching me through the silvery murmur of the stream. But this rustling did not disturb even a night birdie, twittering above my head .

Having finished, the kidnappers came over to me, and one of them has tried to lift me up. And could not do it.
- Ghash, - a confused hoarse whisper has sounded in the darkness, - it does not let him go.
The one, who was called with this strange whether a name, whether a nickname, has given to the whispered a thwack on the head and has shown a fist. The hoarse one waved his hands and pointed downwards, on me. Ghash sat down and begun to grope around me, sliding hands from top to down. I could only look, but it was a bad visibility in the darkness under the branchy tree’s canopy, and, in addition I, also, have been wrapped up in something dark. I could only feel as the firm palms were running over my body. The palms have reached a waist, attempted to pull something wrapped around it, move lower, but seems have found nothing more. Ghash looked further around me, and then he stuck his lips to a rigid bark of the tree.
- Listen to me, a walking stump, - he said in quiet, but distinct whisper, - or you will release him now, or, I swear on my name, I will cut you on fine splinters.
The tree has squeaked, as if answered, rustling with foliage, though there was not even a feeble breeze in this damp low land .
- I don‘t give a damn what you want to do with him, - Ghash have whispered again, angrily pressing on some words, - you can crush him, tear apart, squash or suck out dry. But if you will kill him, I have to look for a new one, and it’s long and dangerous work. Did you get it? You are getting in our way. And I do not like those, who are getting in our way.
The tree has again become agitated, rustling. It seemed to me, what even its branches began to move.
-You,the stump, don’t threaten me! I am Ghash and it means - Fire. I am quick-tempered myself. Either way, or we will agree, or I’ll waste you on fire-wood. And all your offspring too.
The tree was rustling its crown, as if in a thunderstorm, swaying, creaking, jerking branches, and the root, twisted around me, compressed more strong, so it became difficult to breathe.
- I have already told you, I don‘t give a hoot about his life, but if you will kill him, it’s means, that you are getting in our way. And I don’t joke. While your friends will reach us, you already will be giving the light to the whole this area, and the dampness won't help you: I can kindle you in the water and the water itself too. You know us, if needed, we can convert all woods into coal, just in case that some of your shoots unintentionally won’t be forgotten. Release him, or it will be a different talk.
The root has painfully squeezed my ribs and breathing became absolutely impossible. The tree frantically creaked, swayed and swung branches.
- All right, the log , it is useless to talk with you, - unexpectedly in full voice suddenly declared Ghash. - Snaga, we are leaving.
He straightened up; a black curved blade has silently fluttered out of the sheath and has squawked two times on both sides from my waist. Snaga pulled me off the root, tossed on the back, as if a sack, and we began to run.

That is, of course, they have been running, and I have been rattling on snaga’s back, with my nose being stuck into covering it fur which was stinking like a dog . But at least it was possible to breathe.
Snaga and Ghash were breaking through bushes like wild boars, not choosing a road, snapping branches and crackling everything that happen to get under the feet.
Behind us something hooted, creaked, grumbled and heavily stomped. Branches were swaying and whipping the runners so hard, that even I have got some of beating. And I even cannot tell how much more fell on Ghash’s and snaga’s share .
Then the crunching under their feet has disappeared, but there was a sloshing and squishing, and in a little while cattails canes began to rustle around .
- Stop! - sounded tired, out of breath Ghash’s voice - Broke free, they won't get into a swamp - too heavy. We shall overstay here till sun is up, they are calmer in the afternoon. And then we will leave. You can speak, snaga, if you are yearning to. Here the cattails muffle all noise. But only in a half-voice, do not shout.
- I **** my pants, - croaked Snaga and lowered me in a dirt between two clumps of grass, so I could see only fading stars on a graying sky .
- It happens, - humorously responded Ghash, - especially at the first time. Take off pants and rinse in that water-hole, while it has not dried up. You, shorty, probably too has got in your pants from beer, jolting, and from scare. Even the weathered one would make in the pants from this scare. … Can you imagine! The darn wooden dummy said it’s got tired of drinking only water and wanted some live juice.
How are you managing to live next to them? They are staying in rows along your fences. People say, once it used to be ordinary trees, did not prowl at night and did not jump on anybody.
All of this because of the pointy-eared…It's good that they did not get an idea to wake up stones, then we would have bigger troubles. On another hand, maybe they thought it up, but it has not turned out their way.
- And you, Ghash, got scared too , - Snaga’s voice got carried through sounds of rinsing, - became so talkative. All the time kept mum and for each whisper - on the neck and in the teeth. And now you sing as a starling .
- If I wouldn’t teach you, you already would be done. You, rustlers, are audible for a league in woods, for two - in the fields... Our business loves silence. Will be more silent - will live longer. But it is true that I got scared. Do you think that I’m meeting these roving stumps every day? We have got lucky. His rootlet was thin, seems only now it has been grown out and was cut off with just two strikes. And I was talking the tree away. It could wring out the small one, and me with you at the same time. I saw once, not here, in other places, what they were doing with our brothers. Gruesome. I’d rather not even talk about it, a recollection makes me sick.

- Maybe, we shall rinse a little rat too? - Snaga came over and, probably, stretched out down beside. - He is stinking, possibly all in his own juice.
- Would need to, only we can’t. For this we will have to untie him. And what if he, suddenly, will scurry aside to somewhere ? We won't find him. They, as rumored, can hide even in your own trousers so good, that you won’t be able to find. It is better not to risk, let him bear with it for a while. We will wash him when we will meet the others. And will shave his legs ...
- All right. You are the boss, you know better. Is it allowed to sleep?
- Allowed, if you want to. I won‘t. Well, you are some guy! Took this one cleverly! And did not hesitate at the willow, has pulled him at once from the roots. How mothers were naming you?
- One - Ghurghy, and the others - Ghurgha.
- Is it for a temper or what?
- Just so that anything won’t cling on.
- Sounds well. Ghurgh…Such name for you is rather premature. I shall call you Ghu-urghan (1). Is it good?
- You asking, Ghash. Certainly will be good! And will you call me so at the presence of guys?
- I told you. I will call at the guys presence. And I will order to the guys. And I will tell to the Ghoy-Iteremi (2) .
- Wow! Means, I’ll have the name?
- You will have, if we will survive.
- We will survive. Now I’ll certainly survive! And I myself will haul this one on my back to the home .
- I have somebody to haul him without you. This task does not ask for too much brain. You’d better to keep close to me. You are a sharp guy. I would make a good shaghrat of you. Only you are snuffing with your nose, an unneeded sound.
- But it was wet it the hide-out. I have got this from there. But you are not snuffing and the little rat too.
- The feeding is better - the health is stronger. It’s all right, we will feed up and you too. For now take a shaghy (3) to feel better, - I heard a gurgle and sounds of swallowing. At once the crave for drink became intolerable. I found out that already for a long time the tongue has dried up and swelled, and I don’t have saliva in my mouth. Besides, there is the gag also…
- Easier, buddy, easier. You will drink up all of it, and I still need you. You’d better give a drink to the little one. He is suffering from a hangover now .

The pale sky got obscured by a shadow and I saw a face. Or, to tell it better, a muzzle. Or not. It’s better to say - a snout. The wide, cross-eyed and thin-lipped snout, with peeling skin covered by smears of brown-green dirt. The snout has blinked with yellow, widely-spaced eyes, revealing his small crooked teeth in seems to be a smile, snuffed, snorted back a green snot which just appeared on a tip of his flat, with wide nostrils nose and has said in a hoarse, cheerful voice of snaga Ghu-urghan: "Did not get bored, yet, the little rat?"
A wide, like a shovel, palm, squeezed in under my head and slightly raised it, and under the snout, there, where the chest should begin, I discovered a dense grey fur, with a familiar dog‘s stink. The second paw, which has appeared in sight, covered with thick hair, but for some reason tawny instead of grey, with wide claws-nails, whether broken off or whether chewed off, held a flat flask, fitted in a brown leather, which slightly resembled a reduced round of cheese. I did not have time to think how they gonna make me drink without taking the gag out, as it turned out that the gag is perfectly customized for such tricky matter. Cool refreshing liquid went down right into my throat. The water. I didn’t have even to gulp, and, anyway, the gag was not allowing to make any swallowing movements.
Then the brown flask was replaced by a small green, and the throat got burnt, as of a liquid fire. The heat went in streams under my skin, and the head has begun to spin and run somewhere.
The sensation was even pleasant. Though that the head was spinning, the thoughts has ceased to hurry around and, at last, have started to adhere one to another.
I did not know, has this horrible fiery drink affected me, or the beer has stopped clogging my mind, leaving my body by some different ways, but in my head, finally, all these strange names-nicknames have got connected together into a one picture. The bent forward curved blade in color of black night, clothes with a wolf’s fur outside, and a cross-eyed painted snout. Orcs!

They were the orcs! The Orcs about whom I have read in the Red Book and of whom thought that they all up to the last one have been wiped out. How to describe to you those feelings which then have begun to boil in me?
Try to imagine, how would feel a small, defenceless hobbit swaddled, as a baby. The hobbit, who only once in his life for couple of days has left the Hobbiton’s borders. The hobbit that alone has never left the house longer than a half of day. The hobbit, a homebody and a bookworm, which has been stolen, who was snatched directly from a friendly party, almost out of the table.
I knew, nobody will search for me. Everyone will simply decide that Took’s blood has got the best of me because I have got offended and I run away. They will wait for my return for a few days, and maybe, even weeks. Then the father will disinherit me and will betroth with Nasturtia one of my younger brothers. She already has been waiting long for a marriage, and will wait for couple of years more. You cannot let go of the sunken meadows because of the silly offences. What offence!
With pleasure I would marry Nasturtia even without any dowry and, I swear, would live with her in content and peace up to the end of the days, for only not to feel nearby these two comers from a becoming alive nightmare.
The abovementioned nightmare did not hesitate to appear, and I have fallen in viscous sticky nothingness, as in a well, in which the huge shaggy spiders with the snouts of Ghu-urghan for a long time have been trying to ensnare me and, eventually, I was caught. And eaten up. I was eaten up!

[Olmer]

1. At that time, of course, I did not understand a meaning of the talk. The thing is that in the Dark speech nicknames are ending up on vowels, while names are ending on consonants.
Recognition of the name means that its possessor is quite independent in his behavior and can answer for his actions. But far not everybody has got recognition of the name. Even a quite adult uruuk-hai might not to have the name, by being a snaga - a forever subordinate.

In here I have mentioned two names - Ghurgh, which could translate as a “demon”, and Ghu-urghan - “the spirit of wolf’s pack”.
Besides, to understand the game of words, you should know that there is two different sounds of a vowel “U” in the Dark speech. The first “U” is strong and short, and the meaning is - ” a death”, “ an evil”. The second “U” is weak and long and means “many”, “multiple”. The runes of Westron doesn’t present this sounds, therefore the weak “U” was written in the book as “UU”.

2.Translates as a “Judging mother”. It is not a title, it’s an acceptance of the wisdom.

3.An alcoholic drink, literally means a “burning evil”.

[nokom]

Did you write this or is this a trans. of one of those Rusian books?

[Olmer]

III.
I woke up for the second time from a cheerful subdued roar of Ghash.
- Wake up, Ghu-urghan, enough of snoring. And wake up our little friend. I see he has absolutely languished from shaghy. It is time to leave.
- You are a scumbug , Ghash, - rasped a plaintive, almost childish voice of Ghu-urghan, - For the first time in three days I have got my eyes closed, and right away you are waking me up.
- Right away? The sun only began to ascend when you have fallen asleep, and now is a midday. I managed to run all over half of the woods and all around the swamp while you were squashing your cheeks. It is good that I looked up for the swamp beforehand, otherwise where would we be now. Uragh and guys are on the other side. I saw a marker. And there are no elms or willows in the woods: only maples and ashes. Take the shorty, and let‘s go.
- What about eating? What is the rush? Let’s have a bit of rusks. And we shall feed this one too, he, probably, wants to eat.
- His yesterday's meal still has not digested. Get up, before you'll get a whack on the neck! Take him, and go.
The face of Ghu-urghan has appeared over me. Really, it was the face. In a bright sunlight it did not look like a snout any more.
On the brown-green cheek was a clear print of grass-blades and a head of some marsh flower. Seems, he slept having put the cheek on a grass knoll. Slanting eyelids were silly blinking, a snub nose is snorting just the same, and his entire look was giving the impression of an offended child.
- It’s always like this, - he complained to me, as if I was his friend. - For a week eating almost nothing, for three days not sleeping, crawling through bushes and ditches, as mice, had such a fright, got into dirt and water up to the neck, and you can neither eat, or to have a sleep...
- Eating and sleeping is a pig’s job, - in the same cheerful voice interrupted him Ghash. - We will eat and sleep, and do whatever we need to do together with the rest of our group. Are you ready or not?
- Yes, I am ready, ready, - grumbled Ghu-urghan. - And you, ratty, have been bitten so badly by mosquitoes! All swelled up. Or is it from a hangover?

He heaved me up on his back. In the daylight it become visible that I am entirely, except for a head, stuffed in a long bag with straps. And now I was laying with my back to the back of Ghu-urghan, so I could only look on what was behind and a little bit on the sides.
Though, behind was not of anything remarkable: sickly marsh trees, cattails and reeds. Nothing left to me but to look at the bright sky and clouds in it. But it was not many clouds. Only diffused feathered spreads in a far height had occasionally coming across.
From time to time scarce birds were dashing by, and for a long time I was following them with my eyes. How much I wished to shout to them, asking to pass on the news about me to my dear Hobbiton!
But the mouth has been stuffed up with that awful leather gag. And, anyway, I cannot speak in a bird's tongue.
Under me Ghu-urghan's feet was squishing on mud and he was heavily sighing. Sometimes he was muttering something under his nose, and from time to time was heaving higher up the slipping down bag, and then it was becoming even more painful and more inconvenient to me than before.
But he has hardly considered my inconvenience. Most likely he thought of not to slip off a barely visible footpath.
Nevertheless, once he has stumbled, and we fell heavily into a warm, smelling of algae water of a small water hole. He has got out quickly and without Ghash’s help, who was not audible, or visible.
I only had a time to get scared, but the fright has quickly passed, and I even got annoyed that we stayed in the water for such a short time.

The sun already passed a midday, and now was shining from the western side, and directly on me. But the sweat, which was flooding my eyes, was not the biggest annoyance.
Ghash was right about the scare, the jolting, the beer and the great deal of what has been eaten and drank… And I was not able even to ask for...you know, this!
I was not concerned about stinking worse than a pigsty, this could be endured. But a caustic mix of a heated up filth began to abrade my skin, and all lower half of the body was terribly itching. I tried to turn and twitch on the back of Ghu-urghan, but he, having removed me a few times and having made sure that nothing disturbs my breathing, was again throwing the bag on the shoulders. It did not even come into his head to take out the gag and to ask what the problem is.
So two or three hours have passed like that. There is no worst thought, than the thoughts about your own suffering. It strengthens the agony and makes it intolerable. If, at sometime, you will get into a trouble, then better think about what is dear to you, and this will give you a power to go through everything.
I did not know of it then, and pretty soon I began to hate not only the orcs, -thought even before that I did not have any love for them, - but also myself, the sun, and the entire world around.

However, eventually everything comes to an end, and the walk through the marsh has ended too. The squelching and squishing under Ghu-urghan’s feet have ceased. The usual, full-grown trees replaced the thin, bended marsh trees, and ferns have begun to appear instead of cattails and reeds.
The orcs switched to a run when they have got on the dry ground. The movement became faster, and now I was rattling, as if riding a pony without a saddle. But it was to the best. The fabric, saturated with the dirt, which was stuck to the body, has moved from jolting, and the itch became not so grueling. Besides in the woods, unlike in the swamp, was breezy and a slight waft was cooling the skin, carrying away the smell. The sun, which has disappeared behind the wide treetops, was less disturbing too.
Nonetheless a hunger started to gnaw on. My stomach was growling already for a long time, but, while suffering from the itch, I did not pay a big attention to it. When the itch became not so bothersome, the stomach reminded me of its existence.
Hobbits can sit down at the table for seven times in a day, if on that table would be something to eat. And I did not eat since yesterday's evening. All my meal for almost a day was of some gulps of water and a drink of a fiery brew.
Can it be called a good food? Or even simply the food?
Orcs can stay long without meal. But I am not the orc!
My grandfather Peregrin and Меriadoc the Magnificent were being fed when they were in orc’s captivity.
But, seems, nobody have been thinking of feeding me, and, probably, they have no intention to give me much of water, too.
I imagined myself dying on the back of Ghu-urghan of starvation and thirst and this idea somewhat has grieved me. I, still, would like to live for much more.
I did not count on any feats, like both of mine grandfathers had been having, - it’s quite difficult to think of the feats in my position, since the thoughts itself were jumping on a piece of pie with a good mug of ale and a hot bath…
But still, it was too insulting to die here so plainly, in a filth and stink.

Being busy with such uncheerful thoughts, I did not notice that we have stopped. Ghu-urghan removed the bag with me from his shoulders and lowered me to the ground. Not so carefully, I shall note, but in my position you should be glad to any change. He put me with my back to a small earthen escarpment, and I could look around.
The sun, dropping to the horizon, did not burn any more, but was shining bright, and a twilight was still far away. Directly at my legs, in about ten steps, a slanting slope was ending into a blue transparent water of a little, in my fifty steps, lake.
Immediately I became queasy from dryness. Right now I would greedily drink even smelling of warm dirt and algae marsh water, but this one in the lake was giving a sensation of coolness and freshness.
To wash off! To wash off myself from all this nastiness, to relax, to stretch out a becoming numb body and to sway on this silent blue smooth surface.
I have learned to swim from Teddy. Actually, he forced me to learn, and right now I would dearly pay to take an advantage of his lessons.
A gray even through the brown-green smears face bent over to me and in Ghash’s voice has told : "To drink and to wash? Right?"
I nodded.
- Now we will untie you, you will swim, rinse off the dirt, then we shall eat. The gag we will take out too, here you can scream as much as you like - only trees and ours guys will hear. But I will tie a long cord to you with a dead knot, which is possible only to cut, so you cannot escape. But better not to try. There are not many of kind souls among us. It can be bad. Understood?
I nodded again.
Ghash untied the strings of the gag and took it out of my mouth, but the mouth has remained open. Then from the fastened to the left hip scabbard he took out a jagged dagger in a length of one and a half elbow, with its tooth hooked on to a fabric at my throat and with one yank sliced down to the knees both - a bag and my wrap.
Turned out that under the wrap I am a stark naked. It was no shirt, or a waistcoat, no jacket, or even trousers. Nothing! Only a defenseless naked body. I have tried to cover myself, but my hands have not obeyed me. The numb muscles are languidly twitched, but the limbs were not moving…
- It‘s okay, - told Ghash, - you will ease off in the water.
He was not suffering from fastidiousness. He has quickly wrapped a thin twisted cord around my waist, has tightened the knot, and pulled out my powerless body from the remainders of the unstitched bag. With the same bag and wrap he has wiped off the most of filth from me, and has carried me into the water.

The water only looked cool, actually, it was warm. Warm, soft, gentle and tasty. Try in the heat to not drink for the whole day and you will discover the real taste of water.
I was immersing in it at the very shore and feeling how my blood again starts to flow and a power comes back into a weakened body.
Nearby, in four steps away, Ghu-urghan was splashing, same naked as I am. His back was wide and wiry, all covered with small freckles, as of the smith from the Waymeet. When he has turned around, I found out that his face, washed from the dirt, is sprinkled over with the freckles too..
- Here, - he gave to me a piece of something dark-brown, - this root is like a soap, rub it - the dirt will get washed off better.
And he went to the shore, to put clothes on.
While I was rubbing myself with the root and washing off a sticky gray film from my skin, he and Ghash have switched over. Now Ghu-urghan is holding the cord and guarding me, and Ghash was going into the water.
He swam like an otter, without any splash. In one dive he crossed the entire lake, emerged at an opposite coast, and in four strokes has come back.
I thought that even Teddy won’t measure up to such a swimmer, and as for me, I decided not to swim and humiliate myself. I just simply finished washing and gave the soap root to Ghash.
Ghu-urghan, getting dressed, was sitting on the shore and reeling up on his hand the end of my cord. But as soon as I got out from the water, he jumped up and wrapped me in a piece of a gray soft fabric, and sat me up in the same area, under the ledge, only not exactly in the same place. Then from his waist bag he has got a small cup, made out of birch-tree bark, which smelled rather sharp and not so pleasant.
- It’s a medicine to protect the skin from getting any lichens, - he explained and has begun to daub me with this smelly grease, carefully searching for the red inflamed places.
So my skin was quickly become covered with a black greasy disgusting film, especially on the legs, the bottom of my stomach and on the back. However, though this medicine had a terrible appearance and an awful smell, it has calmed an itch at once. I felt a pleasant heat in those places on which it was smeared..
Having finished with the treatment, he, again, has wrapped me up and I was given a small hard piece.
- It’s bread. Chew this for a while, we have nothing else. Here is the water, - and he put nearby the already familiar to me flask in a brown leather. The inside of the flask was, probably, of a birch-tree bark too, because the neck, definitely, has been made from the birch-tree bark. The water was cool and fresh.
I was sitting, gnawing on the hard bread, washing it down with the water and contemplating, whether the Adventure can begin the way like this?

It was led to believe, that once in two generations it happens to one of the Тooks. Probably, now it’s going to be in my destiny. After all, I am a grandson of Peregrin Took. But I was very disturbed by one aspect: if it is the real Adventure, and not a simply stretched out terrible dream, than it has begun in an absolutely wrong way.
Those Adventures, about which I have read, were beginning with an arrival of a wizard, instead with a blow on the head.
On the other hand, just to think about it, is it all Adventures are supposed to begin in the same way? And the blow on the head is similar to the appearance of the wizard. Anyway, it also occurs unexpectedly….
If it is the Adventure, then I don’t like it.
Probably, they won’t be hitting me on the head anymore; it was no signs on such notion. Seems, that nobody is going to kill me, otherwise what for to drag me on themselves for such distance and then to feed.
But all this thoughts were not calming me at all. I may very soon die of starvation on my own, if further on I will be fed once a day with a piece of stony-firm black and sour bread, which in Hobbiton was never seen, not even to mention that was ever eaten.
Right now, instead of cold water, I would prefer a mug of warm goat milk with bread. Or better not. A half-pound of fried bacon, only from the Cotton‘s farm, salted, with duck eggs. I like Cotton's bacon more than ours: they are having some special secret of feeding. Then I would have several of freshly smoked Waymeet’s sausages, fried on goose fat with onions, garlic and vegetables. In the Waymeet they are making them very thin and smoking in a smoke of a marsh alder. What else they are adding in the meat - nobody knows, but the sausages are melting on the tongue, you don’t even have to chew them.
Bread, certainly, needed too: ten toasts of our white wheat loaf will be sufficient. Only it needed to be not fresh baked, but of three-days old, when it’s not so fluffy and soft, so it’s easier to cut into thin slices, as it should be done for the toasts. On the prepared toasts you need to put just a little of butter: the bacon and sausages are fat enough.
After the sausages you can move to the beer. It’s better to start with ours Tookborough‘s. ''Brald” is also good in its own way, but I’m not the Brandybuck, and extreme measures are alien to me, so I prefer the light beer.
And with the beer it would be not bad to have fresh crawfish, but not from the Brandywine, those are small. It’s better to get them from the Thistle brook; over there the crawfish are very large and tasty. You don’t have to do anything special with them, simply cook with dill and parsley and eat, while they have not cooled yet, washing them down with the beer from a cooler. The difference of tastes is remarkable.
Also good with beer is smoked trout from Stockbrook, and I even love it more when it not smoked, but slightly salted and sun-cured ...
It would be quite enough for a light supper…

Eventually I finished the given to me piece despite all my tries to gnaw on it more slowly, stretching the time. It was an agonizingly small. The last crumb has fallen down into my stomach, but it has not filled its emptiness at all.
I gulped down more water, but it did not added a satiety too. To get distracted, I began to scrutinize the orcs, since both of them now were sitting in front of me. Up until now I did not have an opportunity to have a good look on them.
To tell the truth, now both of them have reminded me more of the usual Big Folk, than the orcs. I even have doubted, whether orcs are they? Neither of them you could call a handsome, anyway by hobbit’s measures, but similarly looking persons I saw in Bree, and over there none of them have caused a suspicion in anybody.
Ghu-urghan, at least, had slightly slanting eyes, but Ghash’s eyes were even the most usual. They, perhaps, were short for the Big Folk, though in height they both were much more taller than me: Ghu-urghan - on two inches with something, and Ghash - almost on two and a half. But both were wide in shoulders, and Ghu-urghan was even wider than Ghash, what was giving him a burly look.
They have been wearing gray, up to the throats sleeveless jackets with fur outside and without cuts and seams. The kind that must be put on by pulling it over the head. Pants were with fur too, but they were brown.
Much later I have learned, that they are making it from tarred goat’s skins, and in such pants you could easily walk up to your waist in the water and won‘t get wet. At that time I have only thought, that it must be too hot in this fur.
Also the boots, which both of them were wearing, caught up my attention. Hobbits do not use footwear, save for the Brandybucks. They are using dwarf’s boots on an especially wet and cold weather. I saw such at Teddy‘s.
But the fashion of the orc’s boots was little of the similar. They have been made of thick rough leather and even at glance looked strong and heavy. Two metal plates, - on a toe and a heel -were visible on a sole of each boot, and the wide thongs with blued iron fasteners were tightly clasping the ankles and short, barely higher the shins, boot-tops.
However the weapons of both my kidnappers were different. Ghu-urghah had a straight, two-foot length sword in a new wide leather scabbard.
But Ghash has carried a little shorter, curved forward sword, that same what I saw in the earthen den. Its worn out hilt was sticking out behind Ghash’s left shoulder. And both of them had daggers on left hips.
Also, on them were many of all kind belts with clasps, to which, in turn, were fastened different bags, feedbags, pouches and sacks. I should remark, that they had a frightening look in this leather-iron harness.

From time to time glancing at me, they were with enthusiasm smearing themselves alternately with brown and with green greasy dirt from two birch-tree bark cups, like the one I already saw.
- It’s for being not so noticeable in the wood, - has explained Ghu-urghan, intercepting my glance, - and mosquitoes bother less. We will smear on you too.
I got shuddered.
But they did not pay any attention. Gradually the bare skin of hands and faces has disappeared under multi-colored streaks, and when Ghu-urghan looked at me and showed the teeth, probably smiling, I saw again that dreadful orc’s snout, that so frightened me in the morning.
The smile, if it there was a smile, did not promise anything good.
- Smearing yourselves? - sounded above my head so unexpectedly, that I jolted.
- If you see it, why are you asking then? - calmly answered Ghash. - Couldn't hold yourself back ?
- Aha. The watchers gave a sign that there are three of you. And then I heard that your were splashing like ducks, and decided to see by myself.
- I saw their sly eyes under the fallen tree roots. You will explain to them, that the place should be chosen unremarkable. And if your guts took the best of you, the crackers needed to be wet with saliva and chewed carefully, instead of crunching on all woods around.
- Understood, Chief, I will punish.
- It’s aside from it. But, firstly, you will explain to them.
- Understood, - a newcomer has jumped off the ledge and appeared beside me. I saw only a black big-headed and long-armed shadow against the setting down the horizon sun.
The shadow bent the head to me, and I saw what I was afraid to see most of all. The short, split-up upper lip did not hide curved canines, the nose has been flattened, as from impact, and yellow-green eyes, shone in coming twilight, has appeared looking in different ways. Even the painted snout of Ghu-urghan was looking like an infant’s face in comparison with this wolf’s muzzle.
The muzzle has come closely to my face, exhaling stink, and in a terrible whistling whisper, stretching words on vowels, has told :
- What, ratty, shall we have a fun? "

[Olmer]

4.
It has been told in such a voice, that it has crumpled me into a shivering ball, and I felt as a cold trickle of sweat runs along the spine. Pictures, one is more terrible than another of how he will be “having fun” with me begun to roll on before my eyes . At once the body started to ache, responding on not yet felt pain, teeth began to chatter, a nausea came up to a throat, and I got an agonizing urge to release myself of just drank water.
- Uragh, hold your tongue, - Ghash’s voice has cut through my fears. Strange clanking sounds were in it. Ghash stood up, hands rested on his hips, and stooped his head. There was something horrid, wolfish in his demeanor, even his eyes, as it has appeared, got lighted up with a greenish cast. Or it could be, simply, a last flicker of the sun.
- Not a big deal, - lazy filtered through his teeth the one who was named Uragh, straightening up and moving away from me. - Just joked a little, he needs to be somehow entertained.
- One more joke out of place and out of time, - has warned Ghash with the same metal pressing in the voice, - and you can lose something!
For some reason I have thought, that he spoke about the head.
- You will be hauling and protecting him up to the very end. And, if it’s will be needed, will carry him on your back, - continued Ghash. - So sift your barks, but better tie up your tongue in a knot and, until asked, keep mum. You answer for him with your head. Clear?
Uragh has not answered. He was staying, having stooped, ruffled up as if a fighting rooster and, as it was ordered, kept mum.
- I have asked, clear?! - I thought that now Ghash will jump and will seize Uragh’s throat. With teeth. Or will snatch out his curved sword and chop him on three quarters, as if to cut pork for a salty roulade. Even the hilt above Ghash’s left shoulder began to quiver, asking to get out.
Uragh has straightened up, and at once became not simply the big, but the huge, on a head above Ghash. The hands stretched along the body up to knees. I do not lie, the word of honor! And he has rapped out:
- So it is! Clear! To haul, to protect, if necessary to carry, be silent, answer questions! You order - I submit!
And he has boomingly knocked a fist on the jut out chest.
- That‘s it, - already with almost usual cheerful voice has answered Ghash, and, too, has put a fist to the chest, there, where the heart is, - Relax. Ghu-urghan, give him the rope. What’s on in a camp?
- Everything is alright in the camp, - has grumbled Uragh, accepting the cord from jumping up Ghu-urghan and reeling it up on the fist in the size of my head, - not any unneeded rustle for all week. This morning Turogh killed a young deer, two-pointer; today we will eat a roasted meat.
My mouth instantly filled up with a viscous saliva, and a delightful, charming vision has appeared in my mind. A roasted deer’s leg was laid in front of me on an oblong brown clay dish. The leg was stuffed with strips of pork fat and slivers of garlic, garnished with parsley, strewed over with caraway seeds and seeds of dill, and a burning spicy steam was coming up from it . My nostrils has got tickled by a sharp smell of a sauce with onions, rosemary and basil, and to it has been adding an aroma of a hot wheat loaf, cut in large slices that laid directly on a table near the dish.

I was returned to the reality by a rough chuckle of Uragh: "Ghu-urghan! You, guy, are growing! Will you celebrate with friends? "
- In a way, - has responded Ghu-urghan, suddenly for some reason in a dignified bass, but it seemed to me, a bit shyly, and he even blushed. However, I cannot be sure about "blushing": for certain it was impossible to make it out under a layer of a frightening paint in the beginning of a twilight. For me it just looked like it.
- I will let everyone to have by one swig, the rest - at home. Pick up the little guy, Uragh, and let‘s go to the guys, and you, - Ghash turned to Ghu-urghan, - tidy up here after all of us, then come to the camp.
Ghu-urghan has pressed a fist to the heart and rushed to bury my bag with smelly rags. I still have had a time to notice, that, instead of a shovel, he has got from some of his bags something like a leather mitten without sheaths for fingers, but framed with a flat iron rim.
- Why to carry him? - Uragh has asked Ghash, easy, as if I did not weigh anything, grabbing me as it was, entangled in a coverlet, and jumped up on the ledge. - Can‘t he walk by himself?
- He is naked, I have scattered his clothes back there in the woods. In a viciously torn condition. When they will find it - will think, that animals had eaten him.
At these words I pitied my clothes: a brand new jacket made of a good material from Bree, a Fornost’s thin linen shirt of, also, Fornost’s dressmaking. The shirt had an excellent lacy collar. Nobody has had like this. Тeddy has envied me terribly, saying that I am an incorrigible flaunter. But I know that he, simply, would like very much to have such shirt too, to show off before Lucretsia, but his father, as well as all Brandybucks, an uncomplicated man, considers lacy collars as an excessive luxury and a waste. He says, that to them, the Brandybucks, it is too expensive. In my opinion, he is feigning. The Brandybucks are not poorer than us, Тooks. At desire they could not only put the Fornost’s laces on themselves, but also dress up in it all theirs ponies.
But especially I pitied the vest. My father gave it to me on his last birthday. An absolutely new orange vest embroidered with silver thread and with eighteen silver buttons. On every button around the rim was hammered out a "Тookborough" and my name - that it would be easier to find, if it will be lost. If you understand what I ‘m talking about.
- But one can tell if it torn by canines, or cut by a knife.
- You are offending me. I was personally tearing it with teeth. And has squeezed out five squirrels up to the last drop, nearly twisting them. So all his rags are in blood, dirt and s...t. Everything is as it must be.
- And bones? The bones are missing.
- Animals took away the bones. It won’t deceive a good scout, but they are not that kind of hunters. There they have barred themselves from woods with a fence, rarely going past it. I did it just in case if they will search. We have taken him drunk yesterday, already after a sundown. There were a dozen of them on the shore celebrating something. By that time they were going to go home, but this one strayed off. Nobody even had noticed that he is missing. They were so boozed up that even can’t count each other.
If they will miss him, it will be only this morning. For a day they will be looking for him inside the fence: maybe he is lying somewhere, looking green about the gills from a hangover. They won’t go in the wood at night. Over there they have such forest, that even to wolves it is better to not run there at night. Tomorrow they will search for him in the woods. It is, if they decide that he went in the woods, and not that he went for a swim, being drunk, and has got drowned. His clothes, maybe, won’t be found in one day. I carried it far away from our hiding place. We swept up all traces, and have carried him all the time, so, from him it's no any traces at all. We have a couple of days for sure. We shall leave in the morning, and by the day after tomorrow we will be already past the Barrow Downs. Even if they will guess what happened, it will be useless to search for us.

All this time I was dangling between them, as a sack, in Uragh’s left hand. They talked between themselves about something else, while walking, but I did not listen any more. I was thinking that the sly, cautious and practical Ghash has been mistaken in some things. Actually, Hobbits are good hunters. It doesn’t matter that they seldom go into the Old Forest. Only Brandybucks are prowling over there on their own will. In the Hobbiton there are another forests for hunting. But this is not the matter. The matter is that Teddy and his father are quite very good hunters and scouts. Тeddy once bragged that he has managed to track down a lynx, and stealthed up to it on fifteen steps for a sure shot from a bow. However, he doesn’t show the skin.
It’s still a question whether the Brandybucks will be afraid to search for me in the forest at night. The problem is: whether they would want to search? Teddy is not Aragorn, the drifter-pathfinder from the Red Book, whom he loved and has been playing him while being in “tweens“..
Besides, Aragorn knew for certain that his friends were stolen by orcs. Teddy does not know it. For him I have simply disappeared, and, probably, he even doesn’t remember how it has happened. We have drunk much, and the “Brald” is a deceitful thing even for the accustomed to it Brandybucks. He would simply think that I have left. He will recollect how I had been crying to him for a half-day that I don’t want to marry Nastursia, and will resolve, that in me is more of Took’s defiance, than of a hobbit’s prudence. Even, though, he was always insisting on the otherwise...
No, it would be better if Теddy would be getting this Adventure. He would show himself a worthy Brandybuck. I do not think, that he would be just dangling in this converted into a bag coverlet ...
And what would he do? Also what can I do? Not much. I even do not know at all where we are now. How far to the Hobbiton from this place? And in which way? And, if the orcs would, suddenly, decide to release me, how to get to there naked. Only, not likely they will do it. By their words, they are going to drag me "up to the end ", and who knows where is that "end"? In Mordor? This is the last place I would like to get to. Those horrors, which I have read about this place in the Red Book, made more than enough of bad impressions on me. And I don’t have a desire to get new sensations of such kind by my own experience, it would be worse than getting to the dear Hobbiton through the Old Forest naked!

At the thought of Mordor I became downhearted from sadness and disgust, and again my thoughts returned to the small firm rusk, that Ghu-urghan have given to me. Whatever you take, but the ordeal by starvation is above a hobbit‘s strength. I would give anything for that small rusk!
Only nobody was offering it to me. Uragh said something about the roasted deer… Whether I will get at least a tiny slice? As I remembered, the orcs have offered a meat to a grandfather Peregrin. He, then, has thought that is not known whose meat it was, and has refused. Besides it was hard. I would not pay any attention on firmness now, even if orc’s bread was such, that only good for breaking teeth, but it was eaten any way. And here - the meat...
If only they would give some! Especially if there is no a tormenting question to whom it belongs. The deer is a deer, no matter who has killed it. At the hobbit’s the deer’s meat is a rare food, for the rich, or for those who hunts, like Brandybucks. Only they are seldom hunting in the Old Forest. But I have happened to eat venison, last year at Теddy’s birthday party.
The aroma of roasted meat hit the nostrils, and a stomach has got knotted, tightened up to a throat. I have thought, that again I was visited with a previous dream vision, but the aroma was different, the real one. It was a smoked smell of some unfamiliar to me grass, baked ground and the MEAT. By the smell, the meat was slightly burned, but because of it seemed even more tasty. I do not know how I did not lose my consciousness from this intoxicating aroma. Even my nose began to move itself, turning in the direction of the smell.

- Do not twitch, - Uragh jerked me up, - in a couple of minutes we will come to the camp, and will eat. Why he is so hungry? Snuffling with his nose like a dog.
- He did not eat anything since morning, and yesterday's snack we have shaken out from him. We ourselves don’t have anything. The guys, who made that hideout in autumn, have erred, and everything, what was left, was gobbled up by mold. Two of us have pulled through the week only on rusks. At the lake Ghu-urghan has given him the last one. I myself have a nausea from the smell of food.
- Soon we will come and will give a chunk to each. You will fill yourself up to the rim.
- Feed the little guy. You answer with your head for him. I can fall asleep with food in my hand. For the last three days we were scoured without sleep, now goes the fourth. If I’ll sit down - I ‘ll fall asleep. Ghu-urghan dozed off from the dawn up till noon, but I was running, looking around.
- If you will fall asleep - then you will finish eating later.. Should we awake you in the morning or should we just take off?
- If I won’t wake up by myself, then don’t, pick up and leave. Turogh knows that to do.
- Is he will be ordering?
- Yes. It was settled a long time before.
Straight before us, between trees, I have noticed a wattle fence in Ghash’s breast height. The gate has opened in the fence.
When they brought me inside the fence, I have noticed, that the wattle fence is doubled, all in a half-foot width between two barriers has been filled up by soil and turf. Thus the fence at once has got a look of a small earthen citadel. It represented by itself as a circle in the size of no more that lake in which we have bathed, but from the beginning I did not see anything inside. Then, by a reflection of flame, I guessed, that in the middle there is a fire fenced by gray coverlets, just like in which I have been carried, stretched out on stakes. And only when around us the orcs began to appear from nowhere, I have noticed, that the same coverlets are stretched out under an angle to the fence. And the orcs were resting under these canopies-corners .

Since we have got a chance, as we start talking about it, and in order not to name this thing “a gray coverlet” all the time, I shall go a little ahead and I will tell about it.
This thing called a buurgha (4) . It’s look like a rectangular piece of fabric, in length and width is more than an extent of hands of the owner on two palms. Actually, a buurgha sewn in two layers.The external layer is from a rough hemp’s sackcloth of a mousy color, usually imbued with a special compound from which it becomes a little rigid and does not get soggy. From inside it is a bluish-gray thick cloth of goat or sheep wool and it is much softer that the outside layer. It is difficult to explain, what the buurgha means for Uruuk-hai, as it is difficult to describe all ways of its utilization.
They are carrying the buurgha instead of a raincoat, fitting it around the head and shoulders with special strings sewn right in the buurgha.
By wrapping up in the buurgha you can sleep on a bare ground, and sometimes on a snow.
With the buurgha you could screen yourself from a view or block the wind, or make a canopy from the rain.
Having connected a few buurgha together, you can make a tent.
If you will roll a buurgha into a tube, fill up with cattails or straw, or branches, bend and tightly fasten the open ends, you can make a raft on which you can transfer a small cargo, or cross the river and lakes by yourself, even with a weapon and in a chain armor.
Out of it you can make sails for bigger rafts.
Also from the buurgha they can make traps for birds or entraps for fish.
When there is no a shield, the buurgha is tightly reeled up on a hand and with it you can block off impacts of enemy’s weapons. Arrows are getting stuck in it, and blades also, even spears… And it is possible to ward off an axe, only you need to place the hand at an angle, under a haft of the ax.

Since it weighs a good deal, it is possible to make a fighting club by having reeled up a buurgha on a thick stick. Especially, if it’s wet.
My present buurgha, even when it’s dry, pulls for five pounds, and Ghash’s - on all eight. With such soft bludgeon I has been knocked off by Ghu-urghan. Believe me, an iron helmet or a chain armor won't protect you from such an impact. With them on it won't be anything of external damage, but pretty much could get disjoined inside of you... A tightly packed in a special way buurgha, even without a stick, is a quite good weapon.
From the buurgha you can compile a knapsack or a bale for dragging something heavy on two poles.
In the buurgha, rolled in a pipe and pulled on a pole, two persons can carry of some frail cargoes, and, also, sleeping or wounded men and tied up captives. And the capturing can be made with use of buurgha, too, by throwing it on a head or by a sharp whip on legs.
To carry wounded men from a battlefield the four corners of buurgha are having pulled on two spears, and, if it is not enough force, one can put the wounded man on a buurgha and drag along the ground.
You can sleep in the makeshift hammock, not being afraid to be noticed, by suspending the buurgha by corners between branches high in a tree’s crown.
A buurgha serves also as a cover to hide. It is difficult to see someone in woods in the buurgha. The eye habitually searching for a familiar form of a body, but the buurgha hides and deforms it. In ten steps you cannot see a motionlessly sitting man, and in fifty - even a walking one. At night you can trip on the laying in a buurgha. And if things occur in mountains, even in daytime you can mistake a gray buurgha for a stone, until you sit down on its owner.
For walking in the wood the outside of buurgha’s panel sometimes is getting smeared in spots with a multi-colored dirt, like one that they use for a face and hands. More often the buurgha is simply getting sprinkled with a dust of suitable color, or branches and bunches of grass are getting tied to it; there is special strings on it for this purpose.
On a march the buurgha is usually carried atop, as a long rectangular, having lain so that the bag is completely covered. Then the part of the buurgha protects the bag and things from rain, and the part lies between the bag and the back, softening the weight.
When you don’t have a knapsack, then more often a buurgha is getting rolled in the tight tube and fasten up below the back, then it’s possible to sit down anywhere without being afraid to catch a cold: on a wet ground, on cold stones, even on a snow, or on a heated ground of Mordor without being burnt.
Before the battle a buurgha usually fastens up on shoulders, behind a neck to protect it from cutting impacts.
The buurgha is the first thing which Uruuk-hai receives exclusively for his use. Even rattles he is getting later. He spends all his life with the buurgha, learning to use it even before learning to walk, just when he is hardly having learned to sit.
Newborns with just tied up an umbilical cord are getting wrapped in a buurgha, and, also wrapped in a buurgha, they send the dead on their last journey.
For certain I did not say everything what was needed to be told. But I don’t know in what words it is still possible to tell about it. For Uruuk-hai the buurgha is all his life.

So, in here, the orcs have got out from under these buurgha, and stood around us like a wall. Later I have learned, that in аt-a-ghan (5) (this how a group of Uruuk-hai calls ) contains few dozens, but then it looked to me as few hundreds. They stood, looking at me, slapping each other on shoulders and backs and have obviously been pleased with my arrival.
I have thought, that such joy is strange enough. It is not too much enjoyment, when you are getting examined with everyone's eyes. Especially when the examiners were looking so disgusting. I already understood that the horrifying appearance is mostly a deceit, but I was getting shivers just from one sight of many of them. The night’s twilight, unsteady flickers of fire and a skilful painting transformed whom into a wolf, whom into a bear, and whom into a dreadful distorted creature for which you won’t even pick up the name.
When they smiled, and some of them smiled, they looked even more terrible. In the darkness the two white strips, drawn from corners of a mouth and bent at a chin, while smiling, were making an impression of two-inch canines stuck out of the mouth. I was lucky, because I have had a time to get a better look on Ghash and Ghu-urghan at the sun, and saw how they were painting faces, otherwise I would receive a shock from such an amount of terrifying masks.
Uragh was, probably, the only person in this crowd without a painted face, but he looked frightful even without it. I have tried to imagine as he would look painted, and understood, that I shouldn’t do that. There is a limit to hobbit’s self-confidence.

In the meantime Uragh gave the rope to someone from the camp and, waving a stony fist in front of his nose, told him to guard me more than an apple of the eye. I have been quickly carried to a fence, where from two buurgha they have built a small house over me. Then they showed in my hands three hard bread-crackers, put next to me a big, more than a pint, birch-tree bark mug with smoking dark liquid, brought on a huge burdock’s leaf a piece of juicy, smelling of smoke and grasses, deer meat, have put it on my knees and... left me alone.
Certainly, in a relative peace, but nobody was pulling the cord, and now they were looking at me only occasionally, stealthily. And as soon as everyone has got the meat, nobody was looking at me at all, being busy with chomping and crunching. And I did not look at anybody.
O, what a pleasure to sunk hungry teeth in a hot, exuding blood, half-raw chunk of meat. And the rusks have appeared not too firm. And a sweetish grass brew on a taste appeared to be absolutely delightful.
It is a pity that it was very little of the meat. I only have had a time to have a bite and start to enjoy the taste, as it was finished. And I would eat more rusks too. Only was a lot of the grass brew, and, when I have drunk the first glass, they quickly have brought the second to me. From the hot drink, the meal, not plentiful, but nourishing, and from everything what I lived through, I fell asleep.
I was seeing soft homely dreams, and through the dream someone with a voice of Ghu-urghan was excitedly telling, what a fright he had in a wood of walking trees, and other voice regretted, that here Ghu-urghan has volunteered for the hunting, when Ghash has called, and now he will have the name, and he has got afraid and, now, seems forever will be a snaga. The voice of Ghu-Urghan was reassuring, speaking that is still far to the end of their trail, and it will be the chance to get a noteworthy, just do not stand behind other's backs and be more courageous. Because, everyone is having more trust in those, who are stepping forward.

[Olmer]

4. This word has a remarkable meaning. The base comes, undoubtedly, from a word "buurz", that in the Dark speech has many meanings, but in the essence it signify “a ground“, “a house“, “a society“. In "BUURGHA" the magic suffix "Z" is replaced by "GH", which means thing, not person, and ends up with an impersonal vowel "A" means, that this thing has no independent existence. Buurgha was called a BUURGHA when it has the owner, otherwise it just simply a piece of fabric. A part of the HOUSE, a part of the SOCIETY, a part of the WORLD -this is what a buurgha for Ur-uuk-hai. It is a rather rough interpretation, and the true meaning of the word is deeper and more important.
5. Literally - " we are together " or " as one", but it is better to translate like a "brotherhood", a "team".

[Olmer]

18
In the evening of the same day, when Ghash and I were camping for an overnight rest, I, again, have listened to myself: maybe something inside will begin to protest.
Maybe my conscience will say that I am wrong.
Maybe all of the sudden my guts will ache or groan from a bad premonition.
Nothing! My inner voice kept mum. My body quite obviously was enjoying life.
However, at the beginning, back then in the afternoon, when I have told Ghach that I agree to be a burglar, someone inside me, timid and hesitant, has begun to whine: "What for? If he is letting you go, then leave as fast, as you can, while he has not change his mind. It’s not hobbit’s business - the breaking in. And for the sake of what? You should go back home!“
But it whined only for a short time. Someone another, rough and arrogant, probably the same, who at the bog has ordered to a hungry stomach not be too fussy, cut short the whining: "Stop it! What was decided means it is decided! "
After that I went on my further journey as the Burglar, being employed by the Shaghbuurth of Uruuk-hai people.
The Shaghbuurth, in general, is "a community of fire". I was about to define it as "a clan", but Ghash proclaimed that those, who has never had any relations, commonly live in a buurth too, and so, if I so insistent on a right translation, there will be - a "community", though it is inaccurate and inexact.

And so it has been written down. Yes. We wrote it down.
Because I am a common, ordinary hobbit in a sense, and the ordinary hobbit will not get employed without a written contract, especially for such dangerous work. Especially, to work for such unreliable employers, as orcs. In spite of whatever Ghash has been telling me about being the Uruuk –Hai, I did not see the big difference then.
As you understand, we did not have paper or parchment, therefore for the contract we tore out one more piece of my sackcloth sleeveless jacket. Now my outfit was looking like one of my juvenile brothers’ bib, but I did not feel any remorse about it, I was still wearing Uragh’s wolf-fur vest.
We wrote the contract with blood. Don’t be frightened, and do not look for a special, ominous meaning. We did not have an ink, and the blood was not mine, and not Ghash’s. It belonged to one faltered raven which I had hit with a stone.
Yes, me. Because Ghash, with all his shaghrat’s expertise and skills, couldn’t manage to come close to the ravens without scarring them off, let alone to hit one of them.
Under the contract I had agreed to open a certain door, which will be shown to me in due time. Accordingly, the Shaghbuurth should provide my daily livelihood, treatments, if I’ll get sick or wounded, and a protection up till my return home, and, also, to pay a reward in two hobbit’s ponies and such amount of silver in coins and bullions, which the above mentioned ponies can carry away. If I would not manage to open the specified door, my compensation will decrease down to one pony and quantity of silver, respectively.
We agreed upon the contract for one year. And I have insisted that if the required door will not be shown to me within one year, my full compensation all will be duly paid to me anyway without regard to this sad fact.
Is not it a quite good agreement?
Uruuk-hai can’t bargain at all! Even such Uruuk-hai, as Ghash, who is rather proud of being the shaghrat, and all his work is based on dealing with the outer world.

Obviously, we came to bargaining terms not right away.
After Ghash has told this word - the "Burglar", I sat for some time, as if I have been suddenly hit, and stupidly looked at him, like a ram on a new gate.
Thinking.
Do you understand what I am talking about? Ghash doesn’t resemble the kind grandfatherly wizard Gandalf, no matter from which side you look at him. He even doesn’t look like any kind of grandfather, or a nice or mean wizard too. And to tell the truth, I am not that trusting as was Bilbo Baggins. I, if you remember, came from the family of Тooks, and the Bagginses are our distant blood relation.
Besides on Ghash’s face was such naughty grin, that I could not understand is he talks seriously, or just jokes.
If he jokes, then what for?
Does he, possibly, know the story of Bilbo and thirteen dwarves?
Actually, after his words I was getting back to myself for almost a quarter of hour.
For a whole this time Ghash has not uttered a single sound, only looked at me. I couldn’t understand at all what his eyes were expressing and I do not understand even now, but he does not wish to tell me what he was thinking about then.
- I am a hobbit, - I have uttered finally, - What kind of burglar you can find in a hobbit? For this, as I understand, you have to have a skill to open locks. Without the key. But in Hobbiton we don’t have locks at all. If we are closing the door, it means the dwellers of the house went somewhere. Sometimes they would stake the door with a stick to keep from accidentally swinging wide, and to let others know that nobody home. Whence in Hobbiton you can find the burglar? For this you have to look in Fornost, or even better in Minas-Tirith. In there, probably, are handymen of all kind.
- We have our own handymen, - Ghash has told in boring tone. - Oghrs, you know, can do such great iron work! They will open or make to you any lock. There was a time when they picked up the keys to Isengard’s tower. This is not the matter. We need a special burglar. Do you understand? The BURGLAR. - he singled out the last word.
- I do not understand, - I shook my head. - Why - a special? We don’t have such in Hobbiton. We don’t have any! I am explaining to you, we do not lock the doors. We don’t have the locks. Nobody will think to break into the house, if it is no answer to the knock. Couldn’t you find a better place to look for the burglar?
- O, yea? - Ghash chuckled sarcastically. - And isn’t one of your guys broke into the Dragon’s Lonely Mountain hundred and fifty years ago?
As it appears, he heard about Master Bilbo.
- They say inside the mountain was filled with gold up to the top. Then there was such brouhaha that in Khazatbuurth for fifty years there was nobody to cry for. In our parts up till now they are telling tales about this event. The scary ones.
And seems that same guy has abducted ten captives of bearded, right from the pointyeared’ dungeon in the Mirkwood. They say that he made off with them straight from the throne hall.
It is a lie, of course.
And what about hundred years ago? At the time when Lugbuurth have got destroyed.
Is not two of your people have walked by Shelob on the Pass of Cirith Ungol in the Mountains of Shadow? One of them had so fondly treated the old woman, thus after that she did not live even to eighty years.
And who has entered the fortress of Cirith Ungol? By himself. He passed by the two Stone Watchers, as if they were house cats at a doorstep, but not the Guards, who have been bewitched by the Nazg-krimpatul.
Let alone that later no one alive have been found in this fortress.
There were two full ataghans - more than one and a half hundreds guys. And believe me, there were not some snagas, but the Uruugh, each and everyone. Shaghrat, Gorbagh - you can’t get such names for nothing!
So don’t tell me the tall tales here. “They don‘t have the Burglars“... But you have an enormous luck. We all can’t amass that much as what is given to you. In all these days you have walked so many times on death’s edge that it was enough for the whole my ataghan. From seventy guys I am only one alive, and only because you did not walk past me. I did not believe in all this stuff, when they were telling me all about your good luck. And now, after dealing with you, I know, only among yours people it’s possible to find a burglar like we are looking for. Anyone other will not do the job.
- But why me? - I have asked. - Me personally. Why?
- It‘s not about you, - Ghash shrugged the shoulders, - From the beginning we wanted to abduct nobody. Too many hassles. We wanted to employ somebody. Doesn’t matter who, he was needed not for a skill, but for a good luck.
I was in Bree, has stayed there for a whole last summer and a half of fall. How much beer I have drunk - ten our guys won’t drink so much in all their life! They won’t smell it even. I became fat, as a wild boar on a pasture, and all to no avail.
The fat-bellies were coming, but it was nobody to talk with. All conversations are about food and about prices on the market. I am offering silver to them, and they, as will hear that it needs to go somewhere further than Bree, at once turning their faces away, saying that silver is good, but is it possible to do the job somewhere close by. You will say: it is impossible - and that’s all conversation ends. It is not accustomed, they are saying, for a decent hobbit to be dragged to the other end of the world. And where you will find the indecent one?
I have met one in the autumn, very young looking, younger than spring grass. Such a chipper guy. You know him. You had walked on the shore together with him. He has Rohan’s name and the last name like "shaghu", only on your way.
- Brandybuck, - I said gloomy. Anywhere you spit - Teddy was already there! - Theoden Brandybuck.
- Exactly, - has confirmed Ghash, not paying attention to my gloominess. - I sat down at his table, and after few beers we began to talk. I said, would you, mister hobbit, be interested in some mischievous affair?
- Swine Teddy! - I have thought. - Has not mentioned even a half-word about it!
- And he answers me, - Ghash continued in the meantime. - And what is that affair?
I am whispering in his ear: "They say, hobbits are masters in breaking in. There is one door nearby. What about to walk to it? I am just looking for a company for that, and I would pay a good advance to a good master. And if somebody would give a hint to whom to turn with such delicate matter, I would reward him too.
I saw as an eager light has begun to shine in his eyes, but he regretfully looked at me, saying that he would love to, for he likes walks in a good company, but he did not come to the age, yet. If he will leave, his father will take away his inheritance. And there is nobody to recommend; such kind of employment is too rare in this region.
I, probably, would talk him into it, but he has been called. Obviously, his daddy has finished discussing his business with Butterbur. And then they have left.
In the tavern I asked people around; to whom by buying a beer, who wants to chit-chat - just start asking.
I have been told a lot about these Brandybucks: they are this and that…. Their grandfather in youths went somewhere up to the very Rohan. Absolutely indecent hobbits.
Well, I thought, to us he is just right. I have found out where they live, and have decided that in the spring we will take this Тhеоden, and then we will come to an agreement somehow.
- And what for you have taken me? - for some reason it very much angered me, that for a burglar was chosen not me, but Teddy.
Why Teddy is always the first? He is not better than me.
So what if his grandfather went up to the Rohan . And where has been my grandfather at this time? Side by side with his grandfather!
And it should be seen whose grandfather was more brave then, by the way!
Not to mention my grandfather Sam!
-It is my fault, - Ghash confessed - I have not told to Ghu-urghan after whom we are. I have thought that it’s no need to get into details.
A snaga is a snaga. Half of the ataghan is like him; for the first time went on the trek to get names to themselves.
I took him just for the heck of it, for not to get bored by crawling alone in there, on your river bank. If I would foreknow what kind of wood over there, I would pick up someone experienced. So, I have asked, who will go, and he was the first to volunteer. To me it would be not too tedious, and it’s good to him to get some experience in an uncomplicated affair.
We watched the household for a week.
The big household.
Some our farmers, looking on such things, would hung themselves from an envy. You even do not know from what side to approach: the dogs in size higher than owners are running everywhere. The paling is as in a good jail.
Workers by dozens are running here and there in the court yard. Evidently, that the master of the homestead is ill-tempered. It’s unthinkable to come close to the house in the afternoon, but at night it is even more dogs.
So a week has passed without result.
Then, lo and behold, our handsome has gathered buddies on the shore’s grass. For the first time for a whole week he has left a court yard.
A stroke of luck!
I said to Ghu-urghan : "We should take one of them. I will be on this side, you - on that". But I did not warn him not to get ahead of himself.
Your company already was preparing to leave, but an opportunity to take Theoden had never come about. All the time he had stayed with the others, got drunk as a skunk, but never stepped aside.
Suddenly I hear Ghu-urghan is giving a signal: the job is done. I was wondering what was going on? And he took you.
What was I to do with that? To kill you and to tell him that he is too smart for his own good?
It‘s my fault, the guy is trying to earn a name, going out of his limbs. I should explain to him the details.
On the other hand… Do we need a hobbit? Then here is the hobbit. What the difference - who? So it happened to be you.
- By the way, - I have told, hardly having listened to the end of this story, - my grandfather too... - and I unloaded about grandfather Peregrin everything that I have remembered from the Red Book.
Ghash sat blinking, bewildered, and with a slacken jaw.
- You are not lying? Aren‘t you? - he asked, when I stopped to take a breath. - Does not happen like this. Well, that both of you... Who would believe?
- Oh, yeah? - I was offended - You spoke here about Shelob and the Pass of Cirith Ungol in the Mountains of Shadow. To your information...
And I took up on the tale about Grandfather Sam.
All, from the beginning and up to the end.
It has finally done him in.
On the contrary, I have got keyed up, drawing on the ground for him a lineage tree of relations between Тooks, Brandybucks and Gamgies, explaining who the Thains of Shire are. Told about the invention of golf by Brandobras Took, here for some reason Ghash’s face has darkened slightly, and also told about many other things in the Red Book.
I do not know for how long I would go on, but he has interrupted me.
- Wait a minute, - he has told, - I have already understood, that of all guys, who I could choose in yours backcountry, you are the most suitable. That no matter how long I would be searching, I have found the best, and that guy, Teoden, he is nothing to compare with you.
Listen. I am an Uruuk-hai the Shaghrat of Shaghbuurth, my name is Ghash. And I am telling you we need the breaker in. Will you undertake this business? At your free will?
I hated to drag you around on the chain, but the importance of the mission did prevail.
And now, when you have pulled me out of the grave... I won’t force you. If you want to go home then go home. I cannot see you off up to doorsteps, but I will walk you to the Southern highroad. It is a straight road, you can’t get lost. We will find someone another to ourselves. We are patient people.
- Conditions? - I have asked.
Ghash again has opened his mouth. Then he closed the mouth. Then opened it again, and run into a state similar to which I have been shortly before that.
Seems, the idea of conditions of our agreement has never came into his head.
But in my opinion this is a normal thing. If you are hiring a hobbit for a dangerous and important work, then the first what is necessary to discuss is about conditions.
Besides I did not doubt at all that work will be important and dangerous; it should be a damn good reason, if seventy soldiers were got wasted for the sake of one person - me.
However, for some reason it seemed to me, that all this will be less dangerous, than the marriage to Nasturtia Furfoot, but, for certain, more fascinating.

Not every hobbit dreams of an Adventure. To tell without preambles, it is difficult to find such dreamer among hobbits.
Actually, it is impossible.
We love our small cozy Hobbiton and we do not have an aspiration to leave it.
And I am a very ordinary hobbit. If somebody in the Hobbiton would approach with the offer to become a burglar, I would only burst out laughing. It doesn’t matter who he would be: a hobbit or a Big Folk. I understand that Ghash was pretending to be the Big Folk, when talked to Teddy. He wouldn’t be drinking beer in Bree in orc’s outfit.
Even for Gandalf it would be hard to persuade me on such thing.
But now how can I just turn around and go back, given that I ended up in such unbelievable distances from the dear home and fate has brought me on other side of the Misty Mountains?
It is not that I felt I had not had enough of hardship in days of my captivity and in the subsequent days too. But that was the captivity and the despair of loneliness, and, at any rate, the captivity can be considered as the Adventure only when it will end. It is pleasant to recollect, but not to endure, and therefore it’s pleasant because it’s only a thought about the past.
My captivity, fortunately, has ended, and now I was free to choose roads by myself.
Since the road has got me so far, then why not to walk on it a bit more? The Bagginses are not better than the Тooks.You can consider my choice as a surge of Took’s blood.
The concept of making an agreement with the orc did not bother me at all.
It is not in the matter of distinction between Uruuk-hai and Orcs. Right now I know, that for Uruuk-Hai duty calls are above own life, and Orcs are appreciating only momentary aspirations of theirs capricious lust. The fact that they can be borne by one mother, as Ghash and Ghashur, changes nothing.
I did not know it then, and Ghash’s words that he is not an orc, but the Uruuk-hai were empty phrases to me. But I had happened to watch Ghash in different situations, and, believe it, or not, I liked him.
I began to like something in him in that an unimaginably far-away first day of my capture on the shore of a small lake in the wood.
Besides it became to me simply difficult to leave him: we are easily forgetting acts of kindness made to us, but we remember for a long time good deeds made by us, because they boost up our self-esteem. For me it was difficult to leave someone to whom I save the life, even if it came as involuntarily and not counted on.
But it wouldn’t be in hobbit’s custom to set on a farther journey and did not bargain out something for himself.
And it wouldn’t be in Took’s custom too. If the Adventure has destined to fall on me, what has happening to someone from the Tooks once in two generations, then why not to get some benefit from it?
Ultimately, all hobbits, known to me, who went through the Adventure, have got a lot from it.
Except for master Frodo Baggins, perhaps, but he was always somehow strange, or so they say. It was, probably, because he was spending too much time with wizards and Elves.
It is a known fact: tell me with whom you hang out and I will tell who you are. And the wizards are such… they are having their own agendas and care not about our little troubles…

We were writing the contract for the whole day.
First, Ghash did not want to write it at all , but I have insisted. Each part of the deal has been discussed long and in details, and Ghash, clapping himself on the thighs, was continually exclaiming:
-What it for? No, explain, what for you need to write it down? Is not it already apparent?
And I had to explain.
I can’t imagine how Uruuk -hai can do without written agreements.
Of course, they are often putting in writing what they had agreed on. But it does not mean anything, it obliges to nothing. For Uruuk-Hai such record is not a contract, but more likely a note, a record-reminder on what precisely they have agreed, because a very record for them is only a cause for further negotiations, explanations and contracts. Any agreement has never happened to be a final.
To me this is one of the odd peculiarities of Uruuk-Hai’s life.
Among them, if you wish to achieve something, it is absolutely essential to consider, continuously, a dozen of different opinions, even of those who, apparently, were not connected with your pursuit by any way. For the real Uruuk -Hai, I mean for the one, who was born and grown up in a buurth, this kind of skill comes naturally, as if it was absorbed with mother’s milk. They even did not think of it at all.
This rule has only one exception: the leaders of military groups, ataghans, seldom waste time on explanations and discussions.
More often at war you don’t have a time for it. Soldiers know it and trust the one who gives orders, especially if you take into consideration that they are choosing a commander by themselves.
But when an ataghan is just getting formed, its future leader will be into a lot of explanations what for he needs a squad.

Even now continues to amaze me a degree of Uruuk-hai’s trustfulness to "theirs kind", just as a degree of distrustfulness to "another's". Sometimes it seems to me that they do not comprehend at all how it is possible to have a deal with those who you do not trust.
Saying "trust, but be on guard" for them only mere words. The Uruuk-hai trust heedlessly to whom they consider as " theirs kind".
The most amusing that it is not too difficult to become of "theirs kind " for them.
To anyone who openly does not cause them harm, soon enough they start to relate as to "our guy" . Everyone, who has not demonstrated himself as "another," has an opportunity to become for them "theirs kind", which is extremely appealing for everyone who managed to know them closer. And I am not talking only about myself.
This trustfulness also distinguishes them from orcs.
But be wary to deceive this confidence.
For Uruuk-hai there is no crime more heinous then the deceit of trusted, therefore the "wolf’s" аtaghans ruthlessly and without remorse are slaughtering orc’s free gangs.
The pure orc, from Mordor for example, or any undisguised enemy can count on mercy. But here is no life for traitors, the one who became the orc at its own will. For them there is only death.
But with all that the Uruuk-hai themselves often enough are using trickery and all sidesteps.
At war. But this is the nature of the war - the tactics of deceit.
- "Enemies should be cautious, - once has told Ghash. - If you are an enemy to someone, then it is your responsibility to be on lookout and not to get yourself deceived. And if you have been deceived, then you have to blame only yourself. The enemy should be sly and mean ".
But, apparently, I again have going ahead of myself.

The drawing up of the contract took a lot of time.
Therefore we have decided to get under way on the next morning, and for now to sort out of what we have and better distribute a load between two of us.
Ghash spread out mine buurgha and shook out on it everything that was in Uragh’s harness.
It was a lot of stuff.
To my shame Ghash found half-a-dozen crackers in one of the bags. It was disappointing that for all these past days I did not bother to found time to look at what I was dragging.
If I would find these crackers earlier, all my story, maybe, would go on another way. But I did not found them.
On the other hand, I even did not look for it, what was probably all for the best.
Also two dozen of various tips for arrows and a box with feathers and three spare bowstrings have turned out.
Ghash chuckled with satisfaction and asked whether I am able to use a bow and was very much delighted, when I told him that I had been shooting from the bow and even hunting with it.
In addition an unfinished beech-bark cup with poison from which I almost got burned down had lain on the buurgha.
Ghash sniffed it, looked at me and declared that henceforth I shall use this stuff only under his personal supervision.
I said nothing, but to myself have thought that without an extreme need I will never put this muck in my mouth, with supervision or without it
On the buurgha were cups with multi-coloured clay for a war paint, and a familiar mitten with iron rim, - a "mole’s paw ", Ghash has explained to me, - and an empty bottle of shaghy, and many more various trifles: from coils of different threads with a set of needles up to those steel rings that Uragh has removed from big fingers before death.
Rings, as it has appeared, served not only to pull up a bowstring of bow and to direct an arrow, but also as a sparker.
Ghash has shown it right away by striking the ring on the right hand with the ring on the left - it gave a generous amount of sparks.
Also the tinder was stored here in a small leather bag.
Among others was a thin rope, more likely as a cord in my little finger’s thickness. Same that Ghash had been tying me up with. The cord was plaited in a thick braid, and turned out in length of almost twenty foots, when Ghash unraveled it.
- A Spider-thread, - has told Ghash, weaving it back into the braid, - There is such grass, very rare. Inside of its stalks are fibers, thin as a cobweb and as just the same strong. You can hang a mumak on this rope, and it won’t break.
A purpose of some other things that were left on the buurgha was unclear to me, like several wooden tubes and flat dishes, not simply tight covered, but also smeared with pitch around the cover, so that eliminates any holes.
Without any explanations Ghash took these things into his possession. When I have got affronted and demanded to tell me what is this for, he hesitated and then answered, that it is a “smoke”.
-To give a signal, - he hesitated a little more and added, - Or to smoke someone out. You don’t know how to use it, anyway, and to teach you takes a long time..
I have thought to myself that the smoke, probably, poisonous, and, as later it turned out, I was not mistaken.

Packing of all this goods has taken away some time too, mostly because Ghash was also explaining where and what should be stored, and why. Then he carefully adjusted shoulder belts to my height, forced me to jump a few times, and fiddled with some bag, which is, in his opinion, too loudly banging against my hip.
At the end he has shown the right way of folding a buurgha for being carried, and how to fasten it to belts on the top and on the bottom.
Also he gave me his buurgha, saying that it is lighter, and has taken mine.
We were ready to move on. But the sun already was about to roll behind the mountain peaks, and we took to the road on next morning.

[Olmer]

19.

The mountains. I’ll never love them. It is nice to admire them from a distance, especially during sunrise or sunset. At that time theirs gloomy majesty brings thoughts of eternity. The low sun, while going down, paints icy, wintry fangs of tops in all shades of red, from softest pink to dark-purple. The sun slowly moves and eternal glaciers are changing imperceptibly for an eye: pastel pink gradually turns into bloody-scarlet and crimson becomes almost black, nobly maroon in order that the tops of the mountains in the same subtle way could wrap themselves in a dark blue moiré of night.
At the sunrise a first timid glimmer appears at the very ends of the tops. It doesn’t give light to anything, because the sun is still far beyond the horizon, and this ray is only a harbinger of new day, but still it is not a declaration of that day. Stand still and rest your sight at this ray and you will see how hypnotizingly-slow the stained with blood fangs of the mountains creep out to light, moving apart darkness of the night. Look at them, do not tear your sight away and, maybe, you will get fortunate to catch that moment, brief, as a blink of eyelashes, when the blood will run down from the glaciers in violent streams, merging in neighboring gorges, and the pinnacles will blaze with blinding, dazzling-white light.
Now till the sunset they will be glowing above the world with its pure silvery, glassy and chilling armor, and indifferently watch how two-legged creatures, as tiny as grains on boots, are busily moving about under the feet of their massive monoliths, solving theirs also tiny business, as the real, not painted by sun, blood densely stains the ground. But what’s all for these unapproachable mountaintops? They won’t grow higher from such irrigation, nor will they dry up.
I like to look at the mountains during sunrise or sunset, but sometimes I am being visited by a strange feeling, that it is not the sun paints glaciers in red color, but it’s simply just thawed out blood that soaked these mountains for countless thousand years.

I like to look at mountains, but I hate to walk on them.
On sunny slopes as scorching hot, as on a frying pan, or as on grates of grill. The sun is like an executioner, who out of boredom ruthlessly amusing itself with driving in nails of the beams in the same point - in an unevenly pulsing spot on the right temple, just above the corner of the eye.
When the sun is having a rest, hidden behind clouds, all of the sudden from nowhere rushes an icy, damp wind. The air become so chilly, that teeth begin to ache just from one gasp and a frenzied-spitting cough would come up from the chest. Then the sun appears again, and you again start to feel like a chicken on the grate. A lame chicken.
Try to walk all day on the steep slope of the mountain and you will understand what I am talking about. All the time your left leg is above the right, and a step of it is shorter. You are painfully desperate to do even steps and put legs on one level, but it did not come well without a long time practice. You start to sway from side to side trying to put legs as straight as walking on tightrope. Eventually at some moment you will swing a bit more forceful than it is necessary, and it’s good if you will tip to the uprising side - you won’t fall too far… Or you will stumble over own leg - and you will have a painful nosedive.

Each step is getting more difficult as the sun is getting closer to zenith. By now for a quite while the soles of my feet were bruised and bloody. Each talus slope awakes a dull melancholy about soft, sandy paths around my house.
Also you begin to understand, why uruuk-hai were wearing heavy boots with a thickest outsole, and why in the bottom bag on a left shoulder belt are getting stored spare sole’s metal plates and nails. Feels like, you would get them out and attach straight on your own heels to give legs several moments of relief.
Sweat, caustic, as acid with which Waymeet’s smith removes scale from horseshoes, eats out eyes for already a long time, and they see, if anything at all, just a spot of a grey fur on an unremittingly swaying back ahead of me. Not greens of grass, nor blue of the sky or whiteness of clouds, it is only the grey as a stone swaying spot.
Sweat is still pouring, getting in the eyes, and in order to see something, at least even this grey spot, I constantly have to wipe it away. But the sweat is not stopping, and it is nothing to do but simply to close eyes and go on a sound, because all day long the grey back is droning in undertone the same over and over again and after having finished, at once starts to repeat anew. Words of a hoarse voice fall down under the feet, and their meaning is terminally fusing into a consciousness, like a nazgul sword dropped into a soft from underground heat stone on a slope of Mount Doom.

Under battered heels of our boots
Marshes, sands or a path in the woods,
Stones of mountains that reach for the sky,
Grass of fields, where the wind freely flies.

We can look at the sun not just once,
But it gives all its warmth not to us.
Unafraid to be harmed by the light,
Still we move through the darkness of night.

We were looking in lands far away
For our destiny, our place to stay.
We were walking on many footpaths,
Where kids are being frighten with us.

We didn’t find our land West and East
Everywhere being chased like beasts.
Heavy boots threading dust on the roads
Bear eons of fruitless search loads.

There is no sign of where else to go,
Where to find other way, other road,
But eventually we will discover that path
To the land that is retained to us.
Under battered heels of our boots…

And so on day after day. Day after day. You start to feel like you are going crazy, because only a madman can voluntary subject himself to these tortures. But blessed nights come between those days. You are collapsing on a spread out buurgha and drifting off even while falling, oblivious to almost nothing. Only a pungent smell of black ointment disturbs nostrils and someone's careful fingers softly tickle your foot. At some time in the morning you are discovering that legs are densely redressed with the rests of my sackcloth wear, that the bottom of the wolf’s west became shorter and there is a pair shaggy leather loafers with rope tie-ups next to you.
From a tiny campfire is wafting out the smell of fried bird, forcing a stomach to constrict spasmodically from delight and anticipation. The half of a mountain pigeon, dripping with juice, baked in coals and torn by hands, a cracker, water from a mountain stream, a mouthful of the ent’s draught before setting off, and a new day is beginning…
Somehow, suddenly, you notice that sweat does not eat eyes any more, and you even not perspiring as much, as before, that feet are walking softly, and your eyes see not only grass and sky, but also places where is better to put a foot. Where there should be a pride of hobbit, a tummy, there is a waist, and the waistline belt should be tightened up, but shoulder belts, to the contrary, should be adjusted on a longer length. The skin, exposed to the wind, and darkened whether from the sun or from dirt, became rough and not afraid any more of neither heat, nor cold, and under it on thighs became visible a twine of muscles, hard and as taut as strung ropes.
Only Ghash’s song does not change. One time, at a night halt, I have sung to him " The Road goes on ". Ghash has approved the song, but told that it is too sad for a trekking, and still continued on humming the "Road of Uruuk-hai". To be honest, to me it does not sound more cheerful. Later I learned that this song has been written by a well-known wise orc’s folklorist and bard Gimbagh.
-Listen, Ghash, - I asked in his back on I do not know what day of our march. – Where are we going?
-Everything in its own time. - has answered Ghash, stopping to sing, but not turning around. – Under the heaven there is a time for every task. When the time comes, you will know.
-Why not to tell now? – I was affronted. – Am I the Burglar, or not? Should I know where is that door which, by the way, I have to break in?
- What for? – Ghash waved away. – At the door you will see where it is. But how to get there is not your problem.
- Mine, - I firmly answered. – Are we a team or not?
Ghash has stopped so suddenly, that from unexpectedness my nose bumped into his back, looked at me top down and said:
- Is it not enough that we have the contract with you? I can tell you where we are going, but you might run away.
- What for? - his doubts have made me laugh. – I did not run away till now, I am not planning on it any more. Earlier I was intending to do so, because it was so oppressive to me. Were you planning on to wear me out?
- O, yeah, you will tire out. - grinned Ghash. – I was just checking you up on toughness. A long and hard road lies ahead for us. - and he derisively sung: -

“In a Black desert
At the midst of black sand
The Tower blackens
To scare everyone”.
-- To the Black desert? - I asked again.
He nodded, and I became terrified. – To the Mordor?
- I do not like words of Pointyeared, - frowned Ghash. - To the Black Country. Why you are turning pale?
- You are mistaken, - I told firmly. – If to the Black Country, then to the Black Country. I have dreamed for a long time to take a look at it. My grandfather was there, and I was not. So, and I, too, shall visit. What we will be looking for?

- Sit down, - said Ghash instead of the answer, - anyway we have stopped. Let’s not uselessly tire legs. The rest. - and he has thrown off and unfolded the buurgha without waiting for me. – Come on, sit down ... You are asking what we shall look for? We will rummage around cellars. Nobody now lives there.
Hundred years ago, during the war, an eruption of Mountain Doom has happened. Whole city of Lugburz was buried under ash. Only the Tower of the Red Eye still sticks out, but there is a possibility to get into a city’s underground through it. All vaults in there are connected, and we need to get precisely into these vaults.
- And what for? - I asked, carefully pushing deep down my fears. - What is there? Gold?
- Gold? – Ghash was surprised. - It is Bearded who are ready to get into a dragon’s mouth for the sake of gold. Maybe, it is there. I do not know. Should be. A treasury was, too, somewhere in the underground vaults. The city, they talk, was buried in two days. Should not be enough time for plunder, because, simply, there was nobody to do it. It was such air during eruption, that half of living creatures in a desert have got expired. I am not even talking about dwellers of small villages. We will find the gold in there, if it is so important to you. But we are looking for something different.
- Don’t drag your feet, - I became angry. –Why you are beating around the bush? What shall we look for?
- Books, - Ghash simply answered
- Books? - I asked again. - Magic?
- Who needs that magic! – Ghash waived away. – A good blade could be made without any magic. The magic is a toy for the Pointyeared. But even with it they have finished badly in that war. No, there are other books.
-What kind of?

Instead of the answer Ghash pulled out of a sheath his kughri.
- You see, - he said. - This is not mine blade. It only belongs to me. And the buurgha is not mine. And clothes. And wives, all six, are not mine. A house, back there in the north, everything in the house – all of this is not mine. It only belongs to me, because all of this can be taken away and possessed. Believe me, on this account our people have an extensive experience. Do you know what is impossible to keep hold of?
- No, - I shook my head, not understanding what he is drawing to.
- It is impossible to keep hold of that I know, - Ghash answered the question. – You cannot retain my skills and knowledge, it is impossible to possess my feelings and my experience. It is my life and it cannot be own.
- But you can be killed, - I objected.
- I can be killed, - Ghash easily agreed. – But it is impossible to have my life. The one, who kills me, will get neither my knowledge, nor my thoughts. He won’t get my life. I can pass what I know, I can tell about my feelings and memoirs. I can teach what I am able to do myself. I can share the experience of my life. I won’t become poorer from it. Knowledge, skill, feeling, memoirs – it is all the experience of life. It’s only ours, without any leftovers. It cannot be taken away. For it we pay any price, regardless of what the destiny would demand from us. It is impossible to refuse this payment.

- And books? - I have reminded.
- Books... - Гхажш sighed. - The city of Lugburz stood for many thousand years. All this time it’s been inhabited with sometimes more population, sometimes less, but still inhabited. All this time they were writing books.
The shaghbuurth has lived in Isengard for only sixty years. Or the whole sixty quiet years without a constant watch of the horizon: whether murderers from Rohan are coming? Without scrutinizing the greens of bushes: whether a pointyeared is hiding? Without pinning ears back in darkness trying to perceive whether the iron of bearded rattles?
There were many books in Isengard, but ten thousand uruukh were lost under roots of the wandering woods, and now it is a swamp on the place of Isengard.
We extricated these books from mud one by one. By a page. By a half-page. Up till now they are digging and diving in there. The books are almost impossible to read. But someday we will read all of them. We are of patient types.
So, what we have to do until then? It is bad, when children learn about the past of their ancestors from songs of these, who has killed their fathers. There is a book-depository in Lugburz. Nobody knows how many books in there, but they were collected through thousand years. There is the past of all Middle-earth. There is an experience of hundreds generations lived before us. Not only of Orcs, but of People too, and of Pointyeared, and of Bearded. There should be their books too. We need those experiences, because we are young nation, and we have to learn everything anew.
- Are you sure, that there is no lie of the Dark Lord in these books? - I asked.
- Certainly, it is there, - he agreed easily. – Do you know how the word "Lugburz" translates on Westron? The Dark Place, or the Realm of Undead. In general it is the ground where they live and reign according to their rules. How else to name a buurth governed by nine undead? It is a lot of lie in those books, falsehood and evilness, but not in all of them.
There are also other books. We have some, and there is many in Gondor’s book-depositories... There are songs. Legends. Tales. We will compare and we will assess. We will filter them word by word. We will try all of them... The useful we will keep.
- And do you need me just for the sake of it? - I asked.
- Yes, - he answered. - For the sake of it. I am familiar with the book about the Ring. I read it in Gondor, in a royal book-depository. Two guys from your folks have reached the Mountain Doom and did something that nobody believed in. You, probably, yourself do not know about it, but your kinds have a capability to do unbelievable things. The things in which nobody have a faith. As well as my kinds are capable too…
Once old women of several orc’s buurths came to Isengard, where was resided the White wizard Saruman – the leader of the five great mayar, who came to Middle-earth to contest Sauron and to remove the remains of his sorcery, and have made an agreement with him.
For sixty years we bought and stole little girls, raised them up and gave in marriage to our men. Nobody, except for us, believed that something good will come out of this idea. Even the White wizard.
But the old women were persistent; they did not abandon what they have begun. Before dying they have found those who agreed to carry on the task. For sixty years all babies, who resembled orcs more, than people, were being killed. Girls sometimes are getting killed even now. And still we are kidnapping and buying too.
For these sixty quiet years we have given ten thousand lives to the White wizard when he has asked. And five times more lives were lost in Isengard, when the Wandering woods had come. Only a few hundreds families have managed to flee.
But we have achieved what we wanted. We won’t become elves once again, but we have destroyed the magic of the First Liar. Now each of us can choose who to be: orc or uruuk-hai. This campaign is a small possibility for our people to become better. Very small. Because on this way it is much easier to die, than to walk to the end, and let alone to return. But we have got used to fight the death.

When he finished this speech, I was silent long for a long time. Very long. So long, that twilight had time to get condensed into nightfall. I was mulling about it.
Ghash did not disturb me in my thoughts. He was busy with an accommodation for the night.
-Ghash, - I asked, finally. - What is in there for you? Why you want to become like people? Why all of a sudden orcs want to turn into people?
- Not suddenly, - easy answered Ghash, continuing to kindle sparks in a small earthen depression fenced by stones. -Do you know, why elves hate orcs so much?
- They consider them evil, - I shrugged shoulders.
- Aha. And they are pure goodness, - has grinned Ghash. - They hate them because can see into who can turn a noble Firstborn. Because the orcs are their descendants. As well as I am. The Elves eternally proud of being the Firstborn, as if it makes them better than others, born after them. They consider as The Great anyone who carries even pair drops of their blood. As the present king of Gondor. But in orcs flows the same blood, as in elves... Orcs - a malicious First Liar Morgoth's mockery of the elves pride. The First Liar knew what he was doing; he himself is full of self- conceited arrogance and does not take lightly his own derogation.
- And people?
- People, and only them, are creation of Eru – The Impartial One, no matter what elves fibs you have heard.
They have the Gift of Eru – the right to create the world at their own discretion. They decide for themselves who they will be and for that they will pay with their lives.
Because Good and Evil are not outside, they are inside of us, and though all your life you have to separate them and decide which side you are on. All the others... orcs, elves, dwarves…are false notes in the chorus of Ainur.
For that reason we wish to become people.
Lie and Death will not disappear from the world up to the end of the time. And up to the end of the time they will be at war with Truth and Life. But in this war we want to make choices by ourselves
- But what about me? - I exclaimed with despair. – I am a hobbit!
- So what! - smiled Ghash.- If all would be as sad, as you have now thought, Orcs could never become Uruuk-hai. It is not blood what matters, but the Road which you have chosen. Simply you have to go on proving with all your life that the Gift of people is intended for you too. As well as me. As well as any of us. That's all.

[Olmer]

24
You never know where you can find, where you can lose. If I would know then, at the well, how it all will end ... However, I think that I am abusing this expression too much. I did not know about many things then, but I won't get ahead of myself and will tell all by the order of events. The Strudy, who wished to "trim" my ears, somehow looked entertaining, maybe because of his belligerence. Or, maybe, because of a confidence that he can do it with his toy-kughri, despite the fact that I'm armed. By the hobbit's standarts this fellow would be just "coming of age", not by years, but by life experience. With an adjustment for a difference in our lives's length he can be my contemporary. He stood before me, all so fit, stocky, ruffled like a rooster, only without a sticking up cookscomb on his shaved head, looking so funny that I could not help but smile.
- What for you are grinning? - Strudy immediately got cross with me. - Is your teeth asking to get out? I can help.
- I'm trying to be civil, - I told him. - The one who left me under protection of the water, ordered me to be polite to the locals.
On this Strudy did not know what to say, but the second mention of the "water protection" probably piqued him. He began to pace in front of me, agitatively shaking head and looking askance at me, but, however, did not come closer.
- I will sit down - I told him and sat on the step of well's stairs. - Give a rest to feet. Besides it's easier to talk while sitting. How do they call you?
- Call?!! - Strudy has stopped and for some not particularly long time kept on opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of the water.
- For this "call", the overgrown rat, I will trim not only the ears, but your tongue also! - And not only his face, but a shirtless torso, too, slowly began to get covered with large red spots.
- I'm sorry if I said something wrong - I tried to pacify him. - I hardly know the local customs. I did not mean to offend you.
- Who? You? - Strudy laughed with his mouth wide open. His teeth were so smooth and white, that I even envy him. - You? Offend me? It's me who will offend you! The protection of the water is not forever. It will end. And then I'll so offend, that you have not seen, yet, such grievances! Got it, stuffed scarecrow?
At this moment he looked not funny, but rather scary. If we were in Hobbiton, he would have, perhaps, frighten me.
- What are you two talking about? - Ghash have such capability to appear suddenly, as if from nowhere.
- About my ears - I snitched. - He is promising to cut them off.
- Not cut, but to trim, - muttered Strudy looking at Ghash upwards. Since Fangorn's time Ghash grew up on one and a half feet and became noticeably wider at the shoulders, which has impressed even Berol, who himself did not look small. - Explain the difference to that rat.
- I will explain, Ghai, will explain... - Ghash said amiably. - But if you want to hear my advice, then I would suggest you to look after your ears. This guy right in front of me without any weapons knocked the bearded off his feet and then picked up somebody's kughri and cut him in a half. Along with all iron things on him. If it comes to trimming the ears, most likely yours will suffer. But he forgives you. Is that right, Chsham?
I was not immediately aware he was talking to me and, when realized, just nodded.
- I do not need anyone's advice, - Strudy muttered again, but now he did not look so arrogant. - I have my own head.
- So, use it. - said Ghash. - We are being awaited. Let's go Chsham.
And we left the strudy fellow pensively standing at the well.
- Why do you call me Chsham? - I whispered to Ghash when we walked away.
- I did not call, I named, - he corrected . - They "call" those who have no names, only nicknames, get used to it, please. And do not even think of saying to anyone "I am called... ", with this you put yourself in the position of snaga, or even worse. Only - "My name is ..." In the swamp I said that you have a name, and you're a warrior of Shaghbuurth, otherwise I would have to drag you here as a prisoner, bounded. And in here you would be treated as a captive. Believe my words, it's a little pleasure in this. It's better that you will have a name. Shaghbuurth is far away and I myself can grant the names to my fighters, or refuse the name, without asking for a permission till return back home. I decided to accredit to you the name Chsham .
- What does that mean, Chsham? - It was hard to pronounce without a practice.
- You pronounce it good - said Ghash. - How do I know what does it mean? It's yours grandfather was named so, not mine.
- Mine? - I was amazed. - I am sorry, but one of my grandfather's name is Peregrine, and the other is Semius, or Pippin and Sam.
- We have a legend - Ghash stopped at the door of a low log house - about a guy from your people, who wore the Ring of Power. The one that defeated Shelob and trashed the Cirith - Ungol fortress. You yourself boasted that it was your grandfather.
- It was my grandfather Sam - I tried to explain to him. - Semius.
- And in the legend - Chsham - said Ghash . - And take my word, every one of our people, who will hear the name Chsham, will have a much greater respect to you, than if you would be somebody named Semius. This is simply no one will understand. Each of us had heard a legend of Chsham, even back in an infancy. Come in. - And he pushed the door open.

Inside the house was dark, stuffy and hot. Air and light barely penetrated through narrow slits of windows . On the left of the entrance from behind of a thin wattled partition was coming sounds of soft mooing, grunting and smell of manure. It seems that the owners are living under the same roof with their cattle.
On the right, in the back of the house was towering a structure, in which I did not immediately recognize the stove. It was too huge. In Hobbiton we do not have such stoves, we prefer open hearths and fireplaces. The ceiling in the house was so low that Ghash had to duck, however, for hobbits low ceiling is a usual thing. What struck me, even at first glance, it's just a general wretchedness of an interior decoration.
There is nothing has been spread on the earthen floor. Narrow windows were not closed even with a bull bladder, and of all visible things of furnishing my attention attracted a sole, very broad, low platform along one side of the wall, made of half-logs, and a low and narrow table, the same made of half-logs, which I, at first, took for a sleeping bench. At the table was no chairs, apparently it was supposed to sit on the ground. Compared to all this, the poorest hobbit's smial would look like wallowing in a luxury.
Despite the summer heat, the stove in the house has been fired up and near it a very young woman in a simple dress with an apron and a kerchief on her head was doing something. Quite an ordinary looking young human woman. With the height I grew up, calling her as one of the Big Folk would be just stupid. I did not notice in her nothing special, "orcish ". In my opinion, she had quite an attractive appearance .
When we walked in, she stopped her work for a moment and said something to Ghash.
- We have to wait - Ghash translated her words . - They all will come soon .
Who "they all" he did not explain. Instead, he took off his bag and gave it to the girl, and then threw a rolled out buurgha on the ground, sat on it, legs folded up and confidently leaned on the table. I followed his example. The sitting has not been comfortable, all the time I wanted to lean on the back of a nonexistent chair.
The girl pushed aside a flap of the furnace mouth, took an oven fork and dragged out on a hearth a huge crock pot . Though she did not look fragile, it was evident that it is heavy for her. I jerked to get up and help, but Ghash shook his head and I remained seated. Meanwhile, the girl took off the lid of the pot and hot, dense and spicy smell drifted around the house. A minute later she presented us with a bowl of porridge, put two wooden spoons next to it and separately, on a small towel, a half-loaf of rye bread. I must tell you that fresh, still warm rye bread - is not the same thing, than boring hiking crackers. A hot buckwheat porridge flavored with herbs, vegetables and small pieces of fat was simply delicious.

We were still eating, when old women began to walk in the house. The ordinary old women, comely as aunt Lily, only wrapped in shawls to the eyes and in more scruffy clothes, and every single one with a buurgha. The old women one by one were scuffling past us to the platform, unrolling their buurghas and making themselves comfortable, who is sitting, who - reclining. They did not interfere with our meal, just silently and attentively watched us.
It is quite unpleasant when someone is so expectantly looking at you, while you are eating. When the girl brought tea of stewed berries from the oven, I started to drink it fast, in order to finish sooner this silent waiting, but Ghash almost imperceptibly shook his head. I began to drink just as he was doing it: slowly, steadily, constantly blowing on the surface of the liquid. It was a necessary precaution, as the stewed fruit tea in a wooden mug was bubbling hot.
When we finished with hot drinks, Ghash waited until the girl got removed our dishes and whisk crumbs from the table. Then he turned around to the platform, leaned on the edge of the countertop, as on the back of the chair, stretched his legs and, with a nod, indicated me to do the same. All this time the old women was silent and watchful. When I got settled next to Ghash, one of them opened mouth and croaked something questioningly.
- He does not understand, ghoy-iteremi - Ghash said. - We'd better speak on Westron.
- Why he did not understand the Dark speech? - Asked the old woman, but it seemed to me that they already knew the answer. - He was not born in the buurth - calmly replied Ghash, but I already knew him too well to see that he was worried. - He was born and raised in other nation.
- But you said - the old creaked - that he is "uragh shaghabuurth globatul." And he repeated it.
- Yes - Ghash confirmed, nodding. - I said so. And ready to say it again.
- The soldiers of Uruuk-hai have never been born outside of the buurth. - The old woman said accusingly, and the rest nodded their heads in an agreement. - Once there was not Uruuk-hai themselves. - Ghash said. - But if one who was not born a ghoy can enter the buurth and bear warriors, then the one who was not born a ghai, may enter in the buurth and become an uragh.
- Uu-ghoy are coming to the buurth when unable to walk or talk. - The old woman smirked, again others nodded in agreement. - How he came in?
- I'll tell you - I thought that Ghash was a bit hasty to say it.
- No, - the old woman shook her head. - Now you will be silent, let him tell. - She looked at me.
- Who are you? - Chsham, uragh shaghabuurth globatul, - I replied.
- No use to say the words, the meaning of which you do not understand. - The old woman bared her chipped teeth in an unpleasant smile. - Who are you? Where were you born? How met him? - Her finger pointed at Ghash. - And how you became the uragh? Tell me everything from the beginning.
- I'm a hobbit, ghoy iteremi, - I said. - People call us Halflings. I was born in the far west, behind the Misty Mountains, in the country which is called Shire. - I've heard of Halflings. - The old woman nodded . - I hate that word, because it sound somewhat humiliating for whose who height is less than human. Therefore, as we speak, we will refer to you as a Hobbit. - She looked around, and the rest of the old women nodded . - Do not get offended by old women quirks.
- I am far from being insulted, ghoy - iteremi - I shrugged . - That's what we call ourselves. I mean that is how my folk are being referred.
- You are striving to be courteous , - Said the old woman, and it seemed to me that for a moment a derisivenes flickered in her eyes. - A rare quality for a warrior. You'd better say "u-u- ghoy", because you are talking not only to me, but to all of us .
I simply nodded.
- And how are you, Hobbit of the Shire, became the "uragh shaghbuurth"? I thought over and looked at Ghash in a hope that he will give me some sign. But Ghash motionlessly sat cross-legged, with back unnaturally straight and hands laying on hips. His eyes were closed, only the face, whiter than a birch-bark, stood out in the gloom.
- Do not look at him, - the old woman advised. - He won't help you. You have to tell yourself.
- It's a long story, u-u-ghoy, - I said. - Very long. - It's o-key. - The old woman chuckled, and others too smirked with the corners of their mouths. - We outlived the years metered to us and we were in no hurry. And we still do not know whether you should rush. Tell us.
I looked again at the pallid Ghash, breathed in deeply and began to recount everything, beginning from the day when I, offended by my father, jumped on a pony and rode out on the road.
It was the long story. Long and difficult. The ent Fastwit with its " more, more" was far less inquisitive that these old ladies. At some moments they were asking me almost in unison, and often they were getting occupied with details which was not settled in my mind, like how many ravens was sitting on boulders around dying Ghash.
They made me to tell about Ents draught not only what I have experienced myself, but everything I read, heard or thought about it.
Several times I was interrupted and returned to what has already been told. For example, when I mentioned how I was tied to a pole by beorings, they stopped me and made to tell again about Ghashur and a torture in the Barrow-downs underground. I did not stop until they pulled out of me everything: that I felt then and what I was thinking. They let me finish only when I lead my story to the door of this house.

The windows were dark. I felt wet, like a mouse in a beer, and exhausted as a mug of Waymeet's blacksmith at the end of the binge .
- Shaghrat! - The chief of the old women called Ghash . - Are you here or still converse with the Impartial One?
- Already here, - after a pause, replied Ghash, slightly relaxed - Ask, uu-ghoy.
- I beg your pardon, ghoy-iteremi if I behave inappropriately - I interfered, - but I would like to go out for a while.
- Go - The old woman nodded. - In the barn there is a door to the backyard. See him out! - She told this to the girl, that all the time during my story was sitting as quiet, as a mouse. - Do not be long, Hobbit of the Shire.
The girl led me out through the barn with two calves and a pig and pointed to a wooden building at the corner of the yard. I rushed to there, silently cursing all these talks, all stories, the asking and re-asking.
When I came out, having regained the ability to sense the environment, the moon, as green as an eye of varg, shone in the sky and large, like walnuts, stars are glittering above. After the stuffiness and the heat of the house the air was cool .
A shadow got separated from the wall of the house, the girl came up very close to me and, looking slightly upwards, peered into my eyes.
- You're amusing. - She said suddenly and lifted a hand and stroked my cheek with her thin fingers. - And strong . Pity if the old women will sentence you. I would like to have a husband like you. Let me give you a kiss . And .. she kissed me! Right on the lips!
I ... I do not know how to tell about it, I thought that I am experienced in kissing girls. Even now, when I recall it, I still feel thrilled and languished inside, and I want to fall down and squeal with a puppy delight.
Seems, I looked silly and very embarrassed when I returned to the house, because at my appearance the old women started knowingly to smirk and exchange glances. Even Ghash, glancing at me with cold eyes, slightly raised corners of his lips .
- You can go to sleep, Hobbit of the Shire - The ghoy - iteremi pointed me to the corner. - We will be having a long discussion .
It's been said in such tone that I did not dare to object. I wrapped in the buurgha and fell asleep on the dirt floor under a monotonous talking of Ghash.


When I woke up, a red glow of dawn was penetrating in the windows, the old women in the house were gone, and Ghash was sitting at the table, slurping some brew.
- Go wash up and sit down to eat , - he said glumly . - The washer is behind the stove .
I walked around the oven and found a jug with a long spout suspended on a rope. Under the jug was a large tub with some dirty water on the bottom. Nearby, on a shelf, lay a piece of gray soap root, and a canvas towel. It was no washbowl in there.
- Where is a washbowl? - I shouted to Ghash. - In what to wash?
- Under the jet - sounded from behind the oven. - It's not Gondor, in here you wash under the spill. The jug has a cord on the spout, pull and it will bend over.
I pulled the cord, the pitcher obediently tilted and water flowed from the spout.
- Food is in the oven - Ghash said, when I again has appeared before him, fresh and clean. - Bread - on the table. Don't fill your stomach too much, it can be a hindrance.
- And where are the old women? - I asked, sitting down next to him. - They went to ask Ghai how you bickered with him at the well.
- I did not bicker with him, - I replied. - Very politely talked.
- That's what you think - Ghash mused. - I wonder what they think ...
- All done? - He asked, when I finished with the soup. - Put on the harness and let's go to the well. We were told to wait there.
- What about porridge? - I tried to argue. - I have not eaten the porridge.
- Without porridge! - He snapped. - If you won't be stopped, you will eat till evening. Get ready quickly! I had never seen him so nervous. He looked calmer even when Berol told him that I was caught too.

At the well we saw a big tumultuous crowd, mostly of women and children. The crowd of men was smaller, and they stood alone. When we came closer, the noise got hashed and the crowd parted to give us the way. In silence followed with wary glances we walked to the well. I tried to find a familiar face among women, but did not find it. Ghash, too, was looking for somebody, but among men.
- Ghai, - he said, when they saw the one he was looking for. - What is it over there? - I do not know - said already familiar Strudy, briefly stepping out of the crowd. - They did not ask me much. Now are arguing between themselves, - he looked somewhat embarrassed.
- Did you hear what is about?
- They're talking on Black speech so quickly ​​that I cannot understand them. I am not a ghoy. There Mavka helps them at the table, maybe she tell when she will come.
Ghash nodded and told me:
- Sit on the steps! Let your feet rest. And relax.
It is easy to say - to relax. But how? I did not like all this it all. I did not like an increasing silence of the crowd, and the strudy Ghai, who is covertly casting on me scrutinizing glances.

The sun managed to climb over the tops of the forest on the whole fist, before the old women have appeared
- They quickly came to an agreement - Ghash frowned. - Go down the stairs, give them a way.
Groaning, the old women climbed to the top of the well and the oldest stepped forward. - Take off your weapon, Hobbit of the Shire, - she said, suddenly, with pealing voice and its sound spread out over the area. - and come up to us.
I unbuckled the belt, gave the harness to Ghash and went upstairs.
- Listen everybody. - Still loudly proclaimed the old woman. - Listen and watch. In front of you is standing a comer of the country called Shire from the far west beyond the Great River and beyond the Misty Mountains . He was born and raised in the hobbit people that live in this country, and at the beginning of this summer had not heard anything about the people of Uruuk- Hai. Shaghrat shaghabuurth took him as a prisoner for the cause of which there is no need to talk. And the same shaghrat shaghabuurth brought him here, free and with weapon , and he vouched by his name that the Hobbit of the Shire is the fire-warrior named Chsham .
The crowd below us growled menacingly. The old woman raised her hand, waited a moment and continued .
- I know what you are outraged. - She said. - Never before the stranger was becoming a warrior of Uruuk-hai. We have questioned the Hobbit of the Shire and the shaghrat for a long time and then deliberated also for a long time. Hobbit of the Shire was captured as an enemy, and striving for a freedom, he escaped from captivity. He was caught and put on a chain, but when all his guards were killed and he became free again , he did not walk past the dying shaghrat. Cunningly, he lured the wandering tree into giving him a magic potion that heals wounds and brought shaghrat back from the edge of death. Who of you can manage at least to survive upon meeting with a wandering tree? Who of you will be so merciful to save the live of dying enemy? The Hobbit of the Shire did not pass the uragh test, but his kughri he had received from the hands of one commiting sheopp. Each of us knows what does it mean to have such a gift. In his first fight Hobbit of the Shire has killed the bearded .
Who of you can brag with the same? Hobbit of the Shire, being free and armed, voluntarily agreed to help to shaghrat in the mission, important for all the people of Uruuk-Hai. He did not give out the shaghrat when the two of them were captured by descendants of the Bear, even when he was at the pole, prepared for a torture. And he knows what the torture is , because without a groan he stood at the torture pole of urruugh u-at-a-gha, traitors and enemies of our people. Anyone, who wants, can find traces of their knives on his chest. - The old woman paused and looked into the crowd.
Nobody rushed to look at my chest.
- I told you everything I know about the valor of the Hobbit of the Shire. But never before the one, who was born not in the buurth, was a warrior of Uruuk- Hai people. We, uu-ghoy, who are standing in front of you, have discussed about it. - The other old women came forward from the back . - And came to an agreement. Hobbit of the Shire ... we recognize you as an uragh.

Dead silence fell over the crowd. I saw Ghash became less rigid and leaned the shoulder to the well's frame. And I, honestly, was greatly relieved too.
- Hobbit of the Shire, - the old woman continued. - When yesterday morning you stood under the protection of water, did the warrior named Ghai approached you?
- Yes, ghoy-iteremi, - I replied.
- Did he promise to trim your ears?
- Yes, ghoy-iteremi.
- We recognize you as the uragh. You have to act like uragh and let the Impartial One to decide if we're right in your decision.
It was a mystery. I had to do something and I did not know what. - Can I talk to my friend? - I asked hopefully, fearing even to imagine what will happen if they will refuse.
- You can. - The old women have a compassion.
- Ghash, - I whispered to him, after running down the stairs. - What should I do?
- He promised to trim your ears, - said grimly Ghash. - Uragh can not forgive such thing. You have to challenge him to a duel.
- And what does it mean about the ears?
- Slaves got the ears trimmed . - Snagas? - I asked stupidly. - Or gha?
- Snagas are not slaves - Ghash winced. - Where did you see a snaga with trimmed ears? They are commoners, workers. Those who have done nothing to deserve the name. And gha are not slaves. They're just living things that do not have their mind, like the innocent children, for example. Gha may become snaga and earn the name. A slave will always remain a slave. This fate is worse than death. - And if I did not challenge him? - It's hard to come up with more stupid question, but I must have been at my best.
- Then you're not the uragh, he will do what he promised, and I would be, at best, expelled from the island without a guide, and at worst - drowned in a swamp with your ears.
- Understood.- All this made ​​me very upset. - How do I challenge him?
- Take off your boots, undress from the waist up, come to him for five steps, point on him with the blade and call his name, then wait, not dropping hands to the sign of the fight. Then fight .


In Ghash's explanation it seemed easy. Very simple. I only had to do it. Just do it. And I began to take off the boots. The crowd immediately spread out, leaving lone Ghai a few steps away from us, who also was hastily pulling off his boots. Barefooted and half-naked, I flexed slightly to relax the muscles. I have to do it. Have to. Just do it. It is so easy: walk five steps, raise kughri and say one little word. Step. Another step. And another. I raised my outstretched arm, guided the tip of the blade to a someone bare chest and said " Ghai ." My voice never wavered . Only the hand was slightly trembling .
The guy threw aside his stuff and pulled his hand back, someone ran out of the crowd and placed a handle of kughri in the open palm. Ghai took two steps, stretched out his hand in front of him, and our blades touched - subtle rattling resounded over the area.
- Listen, - The old woman's voice rang in the ears. - You'll fight until someone's blade does taste the blood. And no matter how much it will be. The winner decides if he will take the life of a loser or trim his ears. Be prepared and start when you hear the cry of the warrior.
-" U-u-u-u-u... " - the crowd began a familiar monotonous note, and I looked into Ghai's gray eyes. They were empty.
- Do not look into them - Grandfather Sam's mocking voice came to life inside of me - You will get drown. Look through.
I dutifully looked at the crowd through Ghai. Momentarily something flashed in his eyes, and then they become empty again. But not so scary .
-"R-r-r-agh!" - breathed out the crowd and Ghai rushed to me like an airborn onagh's stone. It is now I know that the stone thrown by the onagh almost invisible in the fly. Then I just found Ghai is not where he has been and the tip of his blade is within an inch of my body. If not for a natural agility of hobbits, he could have my chest ripped open with this first move.
Good thing, that at the breakfast Ghash did not let me fill my stomach. I did hot have even a moment to move aside, I just bent sharply back and stood on my forehead. This one is of the most difficult moves of the springle-ring dancing. It's good, that I have had a sufficient practice with beornings, otherwise I would break my back.
Ghai could not stop the motion of his jump and slid over me by a sweaty fish. I saw how he rolled on the ground, but when I straightened up and turned to him, he already was sneaking to me, holding the kughri in front.
- You're good, Hobbit of the Shire - he hissed. - But you did not have a time to bar the blade. So you are not very good.
- The guy is right. - The grandfather 's voice has got involved in a conversation . - If you would put out the sword, he would cut himself open from a throat to his ... - Grandpa meant groin.
Ghai again rushed to me, and I managed to dodge again, but this time he almost got me and I did not get him. The kughri was just hindering me. It was made for Uragh, and to me, even already quite grown up, it was heavy.
- You will die, Hobbit of the Shire - continued to hiss Ghai. - Your tricks will not help you. Your first blood on my blade will be your last .
He rushed, our swords met, and mine, ringing, flew over the heads of the crowd. The crowd burst out in different directions, like a flock of frightened sparrows, opening the way for me to the fallen kughri, but Ghai had interceded the path. I did not have time, just jumped back from the blade swished in font my face. Between me and Ghai was five steps .
- That's all, Hobbit of the Shire - grinned Ghai . - You are jumpy. They say, such jumpy rats are living in the black desert. But you're not born there, RAT. I still think I should trim your ears - and he started to move towards me with a slow, smooth pace.
The sharp line of his black blade glinted in the sun, and I imagined how my blood will run over this blade.
- Do not look at the sword! - Said anxiously grandfather's voice. - Hacked to death! Look at your feet and get ready. You will have only one chance. When he will rush at you .
Ghai rushed. I guess he expected me to jump aside or run from him. But I ran to him ... dove under the flying in strike blade and, sprawling in the air, put the elbow in front of me.
I have never done this thing in a full force and with such rapidity, especially for a partner, who has not had a time to stop the movement and hovered on a tiptoe, leaning forward. Hobbits , when dancing with me the spring-a-ring, usually have a time to dodge. Ghai had not. When the elbow hit him under the ribs, he exhaled, released the hilt from a weakened grip and flew five steps backwards.
The crowd gasped. I picked up a kughri, slowly falling in the air, like an autumn leaf, grabbed the handle and unhurriedly moved towards lying Ghai. It was absolutely no need for the rush. Ghai could neither breathe nor move. He is just powerlessly digging his bare heels in the ground trying to crawl to where my sword lays. The crowd kept the way open, but it was useless. He even did not crawl a step, when I approached him .
- "Now decide yourself" - Rustled inside grandfather's voice and got silent. And I so needed his advice now! I looked around and found Ghash. He was almost next to me.
- Put out. - Silently whispered his lips. - Put him out.
Ghash stood near the girl, who kissed me. Probably of all directed at me stares only in hers could be seen kindness and compassion. Ghai has ceased his futile attempts and only looked at the blade in my hand with haunted, doomed stare. I slowly raised my left hand, then the blade, and, slowly, move the blade across the forearm.
I did it too much, because the blood flowed immediately and abundantly. Spreading the arms to the sides, so everyone could clearly see how blood flows along the arm and dripping from the blade, I said:
- His sword tasted my blood! - The voice echoing pealed over the silent crowd. - He won! You can decide: to kill me or trim my ears. I did what I wanted, and I do not wish other. I , CHSHAM, URAGH SHAGHABUURTH GLOBATUL! "

[Olmer]

25

I said and, dropping my hands down, threw the kughri into the dust near Ghai. Blood run down the forearm and the palm and started to drip from fingertips on the ground, curling up in the dust into wet, sticky black lumps.
Everyone stood around in stunned silence, not moving, and seems not even breathing. A completely implausible quietness spread over the area. Seemed I was hearing the sound of fused heartbeats of others, hollow and frequent, but could not get the understanding of what lies behind this silence. Some thought was spinning on the edge of an empty mind, not materializing, as if afraid of something.
-Your word, Ghai, - pealed over the area from the well. -Your word!
Ghai could not talk.
In boy's fights I had been hit like this, in the guts, though not with such force. I know that in such situation you are not up to the talks. You would be a happy to inhale a small fraction of the air.
Ghai could not speak, but, with difficulty, first slumping on his side, then - on his knees, he managed to get up. He stood in front of me, hunched over, hugging himself with his right hand between the chest and abdomen. He glanced at me with an expressionless look gasped for the air, struggling, straining muscles, to push it into his lungs, and held out his right arm back and to the side, same as he did before the fight, when he asked for his sword. A moment later, the handle my kughri laid in his palm, almost like the kughri itself got out of the dust and flew through half of the area. With his free hand Ghai grabbed my grazed left arm just above the elbow, raised his sword and slashed the blade across his trembling forearm. A few drops got splashed on me, and Ghai tried to say something. He couldn't, but I understood the meaning of his mumble and took his shoulder just as he held mine. Our wounds touched.
Everyone around roared!
- "Now I will be torn on hundreds little Chshams" - I thought: so many hands immediately reached out to us.
But nothing happened. Dozens of hands tossed us into the air and raised above their heads. The air trembled and rippled from a jubilant, enthusiastic roar.
I do not remember how I came up on the well. Perhaps they were just thrown me up here. I was slightly dizzy, because the blood from the forearm is still dripping, and no one thought of stopping it. Ghai was sitting right there at my feet, leaning shoulder to my knee and still gasping for air. He was oblivious to nothing.
The ghoy-iteremi raised her hand and the crowd quieted down almost immediately. For the mayor of Hobbiton with all shiriffs of Shire it would take much more time to calm down such crowds.
- You did not get your name in vain, Hobbit of the Shire, - the ghoy-iteremi said slowly, drawling. - Just like a warrior of the legend, you know how to distinguish good from evil, light from darkness, and truth from falsehood. You can find the ways, even where it was never existed, and your wisdom is beyond your age. You are - truly Chsham. Listen all! Henceforth: as she, who was born outside the buurth, can be a mother of uruuk-hai, then he, who was born outside the buurth, can become an uruuk-hai, if desires it. We, uu-ghoy-iteremi oghrbuurth said so!
Again the crowd downstairs roared something ecstatically joyful.

Later I sat under the well on a concaved wooden trough for livestock watering and, diligently holding funneling consciousness, watched as THAT girl, joyfully smiling, was putting a bandage soaked with black ointment on my forearm. She was doing it easily and deftly, as if she has been learning it for a half of a lifetime.
- What is your name? - I asked her. The voice for no reason became unexpectedly low. Almost hoarse.
- I have no name, yet, - she said, smiling. - A ghoy gets the name when her first child is reaching one year old age. And I have no children and no husband yet. She carefully looked me up and continued:
- But I think next spring I will have children.
She giggled into a fist, looking straight in my eyes with bated mischief. I even choked and coughed in order not to show my embarrassment.
- And how can I refer to you? - I asked her. - While you do not have the children.
Now she got embarrassed.
- You can call me Mavka, - she said. - It means "living in the lake."
- Nice, - I appreciated. - Take me to the house where we are staying, Mavka. I lost quite a lot of blood and now, going by myself, I might get lost. And can you tell me where is Ghai and where has disappeared Ghash ?
- Ghash is talking to Ghai's father, - she said, helping me up. - Ghai's brothers are blowing the air into Ghai. And I'll certainly help you to get to the house. The ghoy-iteremi instructed me to look after you, but I would have done it without her order. I like you.
- Really? - I asked, dumbfounded. In Hobbiton it is quite different and a hobbit-girl would never say such thing so easily and openly.
- Really, - she said simply, throwing my hand on her shoulders. - Hold on tight, and let's go. You're interesting and strong, even more than I thought.
The shoulders under her dress were round, hot and unexpectedly firm.
- Will I offend you, - I asked cautiously - or break some customs, if I'll say that I like you too?
- No, - she said very seriously and intently. She tried to step up with me, but it turned out bad. - You won't break and won't offend. I will be very pleased.
- Then I'll say - I breathed in deeply, trying to calm the racing heart. - I like you very much too, Mavka. Especially kissing.
- Yes? - She beamed, as if I really said something very pleasant, and, without removing my hands from her shoulders, turned to me, so we were standing face to face, almost touching noses. - Really?
- It is true - I tried to nod, and we bumped heads together. Not much, just touched.
- Then ... - she ran her fingers through my hair and pulled my head a little closer to her. - Since you like ...
I have been already dizzy, but now ... all around flashed and swam before my eyes. I found myself lying on my back in the dust.
The rest of the walk to the house we have done swiftly and silently, maybe a little faster than it should be for the wounded warrior hanging on the shoulders of a pretty aid. To tell the truth, I was hugging these shoulders a bit harder and closer than it would be expected from the "wounded warrior." In the house we somehow have quickly forgotten about everything.

- Wow! Well you do! - I did not even hear how Ghash has entered. Mavka squalled in fright and flew off to somewhere behind the oven, on the run adjusting a dress on her shoulders. - We're here not even a day, you just almost got killed, and already you are kissing with the girl. With the most beautiful on the island, as well.
From behind the stove came a satisfied giggle.
- Where have you been? - I asked, because I had to say something, and because I wanted to distract Ghash. - I am bleeding, you even did not help me to bandage.
- I saw that you are in good hands, - Ghash grinned. - and decided not to interfere. Somehow you're not looking like one who lost a lot of blood. Mavka, how is he? Did he bleed a lot? Can he move?
- He can. - squeaked behind the oven. - Can barely stay on the feet, but the hands are moving all right .
- Here you are! I see you are not wasting your time, - Ghash chuckled. - And the girl likes you. When did you manage? That's right, Mavka, a guy like him will not come to your swamp for another hundred years .
- Ghash, - again, I tried to distract him. - Will I have such interrogation in every village now? And will I have arranged fights?
- No, - he said, sprawling beside me on the platform. - By the evening everyone on the island will know your name. In other buurths it will be as it comes, but if you have got the oghr's acknowledgement, than in other places you will be accepted too.You are even not realizing how well you did it all. In here a tale about this will be recounted for another hundred years. Maybe even longer. Mavka, you will feed us?
- All in the oven - Mavka said, coming out and shrugging.
She put her white hair under a headscarf, got washed and stood fresh and beautiful. Slightly swollen lips not a bit spoilt her looks.
- Cooked for three days .
- We are waiting for guests - said Ghash, sitting up. - Come on, look after us, the rough men. Is one pot of porridge will be enough for fifteen people? Or is our guy bad? - He nodded at me.
Mavka grunted, lifted her nose and went into the yard. For some reason I did like how Ghash talk to Mavka. I even wanted to say something hurtful to him, but nothing came up.

And then the door got opened, and a half dozen men barged into the house. Armed.
This was nothing strange. I've already gotten used to the fact that everyone in the village carries weapons, even women and children. Even the old women. Even on Mavka's chest hung a small double-edged knife, like a wide willow leaf, on a thin cord threaded through the hole in the handle.
The strange thing was that all men were staying leaning their hands on the hilts of swords, and among them was Ghai. For some time the newcomers stared at me grimly and silently, then a thin gray uragh, who stood to the left of Ghai, raised his arm and with all his might dealt him such a cuff on the nape of his neck that Ghai even swung forward.
- At least bow, stupid, - said uragh. - And thank him. Such a warrior took you as a blood brother.
I did not understand what it's all about and looked at Ghash. He showed no concern and frankly enjoyed the scene, while his smile, in my opinion, was stretching up to his ears.
- It's still has to be seen who took, - Ghai grumbled, rubbing his head. - I could not let his blade to drink my blood.
Right away he got the another slap.
- Then, I would drown you in the swamp with my own hands from a shame on my gray head, - the uragh barked. - Forgive this fool, frea Chsham, - he turned to me. - Junior he is at us, from my third wife. Six times she gave birth, but then a miscarriage, then gave a birth, but the child won't live even an year. On the seventh time she was given a birth to this blockhead. Seems spoiled this fool in a childhood, did not flog him enough while he was running without pants, so such a dolt grew up. I am a father of this idiot. Tulagh is my name. And here are my sons, his brothers.
All nodded.
- We have come in here to thank you for being merciful to this fool. You saved him while you yourself was walking under the death. When I saw how you dodged from him at the first time, I thought my guy have done with running any more. His mother next to me gasped, thought you will play with him and then slaughter for his stupidity. But you turned everything in such fine way!
He bowed to me low and the rest of them bowed too. I felt my ears got flushed.
- Please, sit down, - I invited them at the table. - It is no good when the guests are standing at the threshold.
- Thank you, - Tulagh confidently walked up to the table, sat down at the very center and from somewhere behind put on the table a voluminous clay bottle encased in a leather weaved holder. - Do not disdain our food. Smoked frogs, salted fish, mushroom salads. Our women are diligent.
Others too, having sat down on buurghas around the table, began to put on the various edibles from theirs bags.
- We won't disdain, Tulagh, won't disdain, - Ghash intervened, rising from the lounging platform. - Will try everything. Come on, Chsham, sit down at the table. Mavka, will you at least give us a bread? Or in the guest-house we won't find the bread for our guests?
- Not only the bread, - Mavka said at the oven (When she has time to come back?)
- You do not drink this stuff - she pointed at the bottle, wrinkling her nose, and beckoned to the one sitting at the edge of the table. - Come on.
While I was making myself comfortable at the table sitting between Ghash on the left and Ghai on the right and thought about where Mavka took that man, she has already returned. The man was holding two generous loaves under his armpit and on his shoulder carried a small, no more than a half-bucket, keg, all covered with dried brown mud.
- Wow - Tulagh said, looking at the barrel. - Where is this from?
- This morning the ghoy-iteremi ordered to get out of the swamp, - Mavka said with an audible superiority in her voice . - Even before the fight, and said to give it to you, if you'll come here.
- Wow - repeated Tulagh. - And for how long it has lain in the swamp?
- The ghoy-iteremi said, - Mavka answered with all the same superiority in her voice. - For forty years.
- Wow! - All said at once, not excluding Ghash. - I have not drunk anything older than five years, - Tulagh looked at me with undisguised respect. - And here is - forty. - Ghash, will you pour?
- I'll pour without spill, - Ghash said. - Let's get it in here.
He took the barrel from the guy, smartly hammered a dagger into the bottom, turned it a few times and, without removing the blade from the holes, bent the barrel over a large dipper that Mavka had time to put under it. In the dipper, right over the dagger blades, flowed dark like swamp water liquid, and around the house floated a thin aroma's mixture of peat smoke, tar, oak leaf and ripe cherry.
- Here you go, Chsham. - Ghash handed the dipper to me. - Today you're the first .
I took the dipper and thought that I should probably say something, but nothing came up, so I just saluted to the others by lifting the dipper and then took a couple of sips. The liquid had a nice taste: tangy, with light resinous tartness.
- Send around, - Ghash prompted and I passed the dipper to Ghash.
In the head and the body I found a familiar effect of shaghu. Only without his nasty taste on the tongue. While I was listening to my feelings, Ghai said something, and then, too, took a sip and handed the dipper to the next. So the dipper went around the circle, followed by short speeches in my honor. It was nice and quaint. What did I do to deserve this celebration? I did not kill Ghai. I did not see it as a merit, and don't see now.
The swamp shaghu of forty-year of age produced a strange effect. I did not feel drunk, but with each round was getting merrier and the head still remained clear. It was slightly spinning, of course, but, rather, from the blood loss and from those glances that Mavka threw at me from the stove. She sat there on some stump, not coming to the table and not interfering with our conversations, and only occasionally was glancing askance at me. From each of these glances I was going then hot, then cold, they were piercing me as with an arrow. Through. I would love to quit this feast and ran with her somewhere away from prying eyes. Once I even caught her eyes , jerked to get up, but Ghash casually putting his arm around my shoulders, easily pressed me back into the place, and Mavka almost imperceptibly shook her head.
So this is how have passed the rest of the day: in a futile absorption of food and listening to drunken praises of my non-existent virtues.
I felt relieved only when Tulagh and sons were gone. Just then a deceit of easy to drink, pleasant to taste swamp's shaghu has got revealed. The head only seemed to be clear, but at the first attempt to stand up it betrayed me. The eyes and the thoughts fled in different directions, all around got fogged, started to spin and I realized that I can not move on my own, and inside of me left the only desire - to sleep. And I fell asleep.
I dreamed that on my hot chest, on the heart, lies a cool and narrow girlish hand.

I woke up with the sunrise, on the bed and wrapped in buurgha. Boots were under the stove bench. The head, surprisingly, did not hurt, but it was empty and sonorous. No one was here.
- Do not look around, - Ghash said , coming from the back of the oven and wet to the waist . - She is not here.
- Will I see her again? - Maybe it seems silly, but for me it was important.
- You'll see her. - Ghash nodded, rubbing his wet body with some cloth. - But not today, at least not during the day. Now we would have a breakfast and will go to the oghr's workshops. Also, today we must see someone in there.
- Is today so imperative? - I did not want to go anywhere.
- Are you going to spend here all your life? - He replied with a question. - We are on the march. Do you remember? We will get equipments, stock provision and will hit the road again. To Lughburth we still have a lot of land to cross. Go wash and get ready.
Saddened, I trudged to the back of the oven, just like Ghash washed myself from the waist up, but it did not improve my mood. Breakfast too. In addition, I found that the shirt was gone.
- Do not look for. - Ghash said, when guessed the reason of my tardiness. - It 's in the laundry. Do not put on a jacket and a harness too. Simply put a dagger into your boot and a kughri in a sheath on your shoulder. Let the girls to admire your scars. Also, at oghrs you'll be looking cool.
So I went outside naked to the waist and with a sword on my shoulder. To tell the truth, no one was admiring my scars. Not when we walked through the village, nor when we came out of the gate. The village was empty, and past the gate, if one of the women pulled herself up from the vegetable rows, it would be just for a second.
- Are we going to the city? - I asked Ghash, when we were far behind the gates.
- The city - is the whole island, - he said. - All villages, shops, gardens - all this is the oghr's city.
- What? - I did not understand. - Are all those people, who live in the village, oghrs?
- Not all, - said Ghash. - This is the village of sentries. Only few becomes oghrs from here . They are mostly warriors. Those one, who have names. But most of the population prefers to live as snagas. Less hassles.
- Wait a minute, - I did not understand again. - Is Oghr the name of the people? Like Uragh? I thought they were like trolls.
- No, - Ghash laughed. - Trolls are ologhai. They are by themselves. They have no cities, no villages. Live like savages . The oghrs are the same ghai, like me, only they have a different job. You will see everything by yourself. The pond is visible already. Do you hear?
Ahead of us, really, shimmered a blue surface of the pond and in the air was rolling out that same sound that till now felt only though the earth tremors - a thumping sound of a huge hammer.

[Olmer]

26
Mist over the marshes can be beautiful. In the moonlight it spreads multicolored pliable strands: pale-greenish, or violet, or sometimes whitish. These colors do not mix, but split into many small threads, intertwining with each other and forming bundles and clumps of completely unimaginable, indescribable colors. All of this colorful splendor is twisting into a slow, barely moving swirls, dancing over the brown bogs and enchants you to a complete stupor. Mist over the marshes can be beautiful. Especially when you sit fifty paces from it on a spread out buurgha hugging the girl's shoulders, hot even under the dress, when should just turn your face and your lips would be happily greeted with girl's lips, soft and submissive, or greedy and demanding. I won't talk about it any more. There are things that a man should keep quiet about. Some secrets should remain secrets, even when they were known to everyone. Besides, it has happened late in the evening or early night. Whatever. Before that was a long and hectic day filled with varieties of totally different occurrences.


The oghr's hammer was really huge. The handle was thicker than the girth of my hands, and I could not say, even approximately, how much weighed the head fitted on it, which was longer than my height and in the width of the length of my open arms. An anvil was matching the hammer: a low, rectangular granite boulder, covered with enormously thick iron top.
If I were an elf, I would compare this room, full of red-hot air, flashing crimson glow of the flame, with smells of iron's calx, coal smoke and sweaty bodies, with dungeons of Udun. If I were a dwarf, I probably would bring to mind a memory of the forge of Aule - the First Blacksmith. But I'm not an elf or a dwarf, the first thing that came to my mind is a comparison to the Waymeet's forge. With my mouth open I have spent many hours in there, looking like deft and strong hands of the blacksmith turn rough pieces of iron into useful for a homestead things .
Here, in the workshop on the marsh island, everything was almost the same. Except for a size. Everything in the oghr's shop was made for giants, not only the hammer with the anvil.The furnace was huge, immense air bellows, moving as if by themselves, even the blacksmith tongs were more than my height, they were suspended in the middle air on a thick chain from the tremendous in the thickness ceiling beam. But not even a single giant was here. The people in the workshop were solid, thickset, but in appearance or size no one looked even like a troll. Rather, they much resembled our Waymeet's blacksmith - lean and muscular and in leather aprons on sweaty half-naked bodies.

When Ghash and I have entered the built with ancient logs workshop, where was as hot as in the oven, nobody paid attention to us. All of them were too busy getting a bursting with white heat bloom from a huge furnace.
Four sinewy uu-ghais jumped to hanging on the chain tongs, clung on both sides of the handles and, by turning them towards the forge, opened up its gripping jaws. The piece of crude iron was in size no less than myself, and I thought that they would not be able to cope with it. But the workers, without any procrastination, grasped the red-hot piece of ore with tongs, piled all the weight on the handles, and the bloom slowly rose over the hearth table, majestically swinging in the air.
Without even a moment of delay uu-ghais again turned the tongs around and began to push them in the direction of the hammer and the anvil. The chain, wretchedly screeching, was sliding along the beam, and very soon the dripping with slag and strewing calx in all directions iron chunk was under the hammer striker. When it was laid down on the anvil, a short, stocky guy, who stood nearby, leaned on some lever and the hammer crashed down.
A low humming sound filled the entire space of the workshop, reflected off the walls and got wrapped around our shoulders. It felt like a war cry of the Dwarves. Under the impact of a gigantic weight the chunk splattered fiery drops all around and got flattened.
The stocky moved the lever to the other side, behind the wall something began strainingly creaking, and the hammer started to rise again. The workers with the tongs made an effort and turned the piece on the other side. The hammer struck again.
This was repeated seven or eight times, and then the oghr at the lever gave a piercing whistle, waved his hand, and the piece of iron, which got reduced in size on a half , again was dragged to the furnace.


When we walked out from the dry heat of the workshop and into an open air, it felt like getting out of the steamy bath and into an icy water. From all this creaking and thundering my ears got clogged as with ear wax. This is why I did not immediately hear that somebody is talking to me. It was the stout guy, that stood at the lever controlling the hammer.
- Hi, - he shouted in my ear, seeing that I did not catch it the first time. - You Chsham, I know, and I ...
He said something very long and tricky. I shook my head and tried to repeat, but broke down somewhere on the third syllable. -No one can, - the Stocky laughed satisfiedly. - Even him. And he pointed on Ghash.
- You can call me just "Oghr". I like it.
I nodded. Three of us have moved away from the workshop and sat down at the edge of the pond. The pond was not very large, maybe a little bigger than the Bywater Pool. From the place, where we were sitting, it was clearly visible the rotating wheel of the mill. Probably, it is setting the hammer and bellows in motion .
- Listen, Oghr, - began Ghash, - We need to reforge the blade for the guy. It's heavy for him.
- I cannot - responded Oghr. - Would do, if you would order to make five hundred of cart axles, even better - a thousand. But the blade - I cannot.
- Come on, - waved Ghash. - The work for a half - hour.
- I cannot, - repeated Oghr. - We don't do weapons in here, the iron is bad - from the swamps. We are doing all sorts of junk: axles, bolts, sickels, plows, all sorts of farm tools. But we do not do the weapons. It is on the Oghr's plateau or in Ghazatbuurth.
- What's the difference! - Ghash was amazed. - I'm not asking you to do a thousand blades. Just one to reforge. Like you don't have a hand smithy in here! - We have. But it won't do any good, - said Oghr. - To reforge a blade, it needed to remove the hardening. Then to temper. And I do not know how they do the quenching on the Oghr's plateau, there they have their secrets. I'll reforge it, but it won't cut the iron. The blade will get notches after each impact. Do you need like this?
- No, - thought Ghash. - We don't need like this. And what you can offer?
- I can give a new one, - shrugged Oghr. - We have a stock from Ghazatbuurth. We can pick up the one suitable for him.
- No, - I interrupted their conversation. - I do not need another.
- I understand - agreed Oghr. - Sheopp. Can, also, try to put fullers on this to make it lighter. But it takes five days : while we will pick up the right swage and while we will put on the fullers. Then, would be needed to even it out, all of this has to be done on the cold steel - so much hassle. Will you wait for five days?
- No, we will not, - said Ghash. - Already so much time got lost. You, Chsham, better to exercise your hands in wielding this kughri.
I shrugged, of course Uragh's kughri was heavy for me, but I was not going to trade it .


- Okay, Oghr, - spoke again Ghash. - It is a small thing. Are you going with us?
- As we agreed, - calmly replied Oghr. - I have everything prepared. Appointed who will be doing my job . Only left to do is to go home to tell the wives and on the road.
- You better think again, - warned him Ghash. - A lot has changed since the time when we agreed. The "Wolves" will not be with us. Consider just three of us will have to go, no one knows what is waiting for us in there.
- Don't take me for a fool, - steadily replied Oghr. - I know without your warnings that all has changed. Only you intention to scare me is futile. I will go anyway. Another chance like that I won't get in my whole life.
- Well then, - it seemed to me that Ghash became happier. - My job is to warn.
- Consider, you warned me, - waved Oghr. - Tell me something, is Ughluk going with us?
- I do not know - said Ghash. - I have not seen him yet. I do not even know whether is he on the island.
- He is on the island, - confidently said Oghr. - Of course, no one would tell me about this, but I have seen his thrall with my own eyes a week ago. In a trading village. When we were delivering our forgings.
- Are you also trading? - I was surprised.
- Of course, - said Oghr as it's something self-evident. - We ourselves don't need so much of that iron junk. There is a Market village on the north of the island, from it to the edge of the forest made a channel in the swamp, and from there it merges with the Swift river. By this river all our work is getting carried from the Market Village on barges.
- To whom are you selling all this? - It's not fitting my head, that Uruuk-hai can trade with someone .
- It depends, - shrugged Oghr. - Wainriders need various things for carts and horse harnesses in exchange for meat, leather, wool, and dried milk. Esgarots prefer to pay with silver. They, basically, take different tools for farming, horseshoes and ask to put on the stamps of Erebor's bearded. We do not mind, since it sells well. Beorings bring grain, lard, honey and coal. We need a lot of coal. And the foodstuff too. Only a turnip grows well on the local sand, no matter how hard our women work.
- And the Beorings too? - I was amazed. - What are they buying?
- Axes, plows, heads for arrows and spears. Half of theirs troops walk with our spears. We don't care. We are forging what will be ordered.
- And you said you do not make weapons in here...
- We don't make OUR weapons, - Oghr emphasized the word. - The weapons which can cut through the bearded's iron. Here is the swamp's ore, no matter how long you gonna forge the bloom, you won't get rid of all dross.
Our hammers are heavy and even from the local iron a lot of goods can be done, but we can't make such weapons as in Ghazatbuurth or at the Oghr plateau. There they are mining pure mountain ore and their black rock coal gives stronger heat than ours charcoal. In there oghrs are treating billets with soot without air and then forging almost cold. And I do not know in what and how they are quenching it.
We have been doing a lot of different experiments, and I, and other oghrs before me, but never succeeded in making the blades of such strength. This is why all kughri on the island, small and large, have been brought from Ghazatbuurth.
But for the Beornings seems and our iron is good enough, if they are buying. With their hand-forges, even if you force all blacksmiths in Carrock to work from morning to night, still it will take two years to make weapons for their army. Whereas we have made in two months five thousand spears, the same amount of knives and fifty thousand arrowheads.
However, the Beoring's king thinks it is the work of the dwarves from the Iron Hills. But we don't mind, we are not a losing and the merchants also got their profits.
- What about the merchants? Do not they know with whom they are trading? - That was a silly question.- How do they trade with orcs? That is, I wanted to say that they have to take you for the orcs.
- They know, - Oghr laughed. - All of them know. It's no fools among merchants. Only which merchant will refuse an additional gain? If he knows that the product is good, sold cheaply and he can sell it for twice the price he bought , will he refuse such profit? If he will, he is not the merchant. Between themselves they keep it under the wraps, but just whistle ...
- Aren't you getting offended? - I asked. - To give such goods for a cheap price?
- It depends on how you look at it. - Oghr grinned. - For our iron we are getting so many of different things, that here on the island, it can ever be made or grown. I am not an expert in bargaining, my business is iron making, but at the trading village already fourth generation is doing that. They are considering that while in the hand smithy the blacksmith forges a one horseshoe, in our workshops we would do a hundred.
- But the blacksmith is one at the forge, - I said, - or with an apprentice, and here are so many workers.
- There is even more of us. - Oghr said. - You just saw a bloomery workshop, but below the creek are still many ponds, and at every of them is the smithy. The same on the other streams. Almost the entire city works with the iron.
Only the matter is not how much we have. The matter is that, while elsewhere a one horseshoe is being done by the smith, we would make ten, or even more. Therefore, we can sell it three times cheaper the regular price and still won't lose.
- I do not understand - I confessed. - How it can happen?
- It is needed to be seen, - Oghr shrugged. - I cannot explain on fingers. - Then go and show, - bored Ghash intervened in the conversation. - I'll go to take care of the equipment and food for the road. Keep him entertained, since you love to talk about your iron things and he is curious about it.
- I love my job, not the iron's things. - Oghr said. - My job requires keenness. It's not like swinging a sword and running around the steppe .
- Everyone has its own job - Ghash said peacefully. - Someone has to wield the sword, so you could sit peacefully with your hammer. Chsham, do you want to see the shops?
- You're asking? - I was surprised. - I have never seen such things. Did not even know that it existed. Of course I do!
I was not pulling the wool over eyes by saying that. Since my childhood I loved to sit in the Waymeet's smithy and look at the iron red from the heat . Sometimes the blacksmith even was letting me to help him a little. But that, what I saw in the oghr's smithy, surpassed all my imagination, and since I have got an opportunity to see more, perhaps just no less exciting, I did not want to let it slip away.


The rest of the day I spent with Oghr, and I was not having regrets about it. I have seen as through a complex web of wheels and chains the power of falling water is moving hammers and forge's bellows.
I saw as a huge crude iron ore, perforated like a piece of cheese, is getting converted into a tight iron ingot under the blows of the hammer. And then this brick turns into tens or hundreds of different goods, from an axis of the horse carriage wheels to the tiny nails.
Oghr was not lying or joking, I saw with my own eyes that while the waymeet's blacksmith would make a one horseshoe, in there would be made a few hundreds. And the matter was not in the power of the water. It did not surprise me. After all, there are water mills in Hobbiton. The water turns our millstones, but here it was also used for a variety of other things. But that was not the main thing.
The most exciting and surprising for me was that how oghrs organized their own folks. I even can not find the words to tell about it. The waymeet's smith in his smithy was doing everything by himself. He had a helping hand, who did the same as the blacksmith do, when have been ordered. Oghrs are doing it differently.
In here, each employee is doing something particular.
In the knife production shop even sharpening of the blade is being done by ​​two different worker! One is sharpening the blade from one side, and the second - from the other. It was about fifty of them in there. Fifty of still very young snagas, almost like boys. The first one takes out of the delivered to him box the small, elongated iron ingots - the future knifes - and puts them on the furnace table. The last one with a chisel imprints a stump on the finished, burnished and sharpened knifes - a sign of a swamp lily - and threw them in the box. Seemed like they all were a one alive many-armed instrument, in which each pair of hands is occupied only by the certain task.
I was in the knifes shop for just a few minutes, and during that time at least a dozen of ready knives fell in the box. Oghr showed me the one, that's when I saw the stamp.
It's funny, but in the Tukboro kitchen there are several of such blue-black knives with the lily at the end of the hilt. Only everyone believes that it is work of the dwarves.

I saw that day a lot of surprising and unknown to me before. Not just once I thought to myself that if I would be born uruuk-hai I would be an oghr.
- I think, this is for you, - Oghr said, when we came out of the next workshop.
Not far from the door stood someone tall, with a shaved head and in awkward rags. The awkward, because that rugs, in which he was dressed, were in complete discord with a noble bearing and a strict turn of the head. Seeing us, the skinheaded took a step in our direction and bent into a humiliating bow . We got closer, and I flinched, because I had not seen anything like it before. The skinhead's ears very accurately explained the meaning of the expression "to trim." They were not cut off completely, but trimmed, shortened. Simply put, all of their upper part was cut off. Such mark was impossible not to notice on the shaved head.
The skinheaded looked up, and I startled again. It was an elf.

[Olmer]

27
You recognize an elf immediately.
I do not think you've ever seen the Firstborn, now is so few of them in Middle-earth that it is easier to meet a bear at your own home. But if you still happen to see the elf, then you for certain will understand who it is, no matter how he looked and whatever he was wearing, even if he does not make any sounds. Just simply look into his eyes.
The eyes in which there is nothing of earthly care of this world. Only a detachment and depth, which are some people considering as an indifference and emptiness.
Uruuk-hai and others, as far as I know, afraid to look into the eyes of elves. For me the elf gaze does not cause a fear, but still I feel something what may be called a light trembling.

When the bowed before us elf straighten up and turned his gaze on us, I felt it a tremor. The tremor of the skin. Not just the body, only the skin. Oghr, seems have been a lot worse. He managed to contain a shiver, but cheeks and shoulders were covered with perspiration, and his fists clenched involuntarily.
- What do you want, ghama? - Oghr hissed in a drawl, stubbornly not taking his eyes off the endless pupils' depths of the Firstborn with trimmed ears. The Elf again lowered eyes down and said in a voice low, but melodic:
- Can I speak with someone who has the name Chsham?
Oghr took a breathe, he probably thought that he was doing it discreetly, and nudged me.
-You can, - I said dutifully.
The first shock of such surprising meeting was beginning to fade.
- I am Chsham.
- The one whose name Ghash Azoghan asks Chsham to return to a ghanaka, - the elf spoke the words of Black speech with an obvious effort, and it was noticeable as he flinches at every sound.
- What is ghanaka? - I asked Oghr.
-The guest house , - he said. Now that there was no need to look in the elven eyes, he coped with his inner turmoil. In any case, the sweat on his shoulders began to dry up, and his fists unclenched.
- Ghash asks you to return to the house where you stay.
- Understood, - I said, and looked at the elf.
He was still standing in the humiliated half-bow looking at the ground. I did not want to return to the village with him. Also, I wanted to ask Oghr about something, and I made a decision.
- Go and tell Ghash I'll come soon.
The elf bent his head slightly lower, without straightening up, took two steps backward and only then unbent and said:
- I understood, Chsham conveys to Ghash that he will come soon.
And he was gone, vanished like a mirage in a swaying stuffy haze of the late evening. Immediately became much easier to breathe.
- What is that word - "ghama"? - I asked Oghr. - What does it mean?
- It means - "left the home," - said Oghr, shivering. - Only not who had left himself , then it would be "gham", but exiled or stolen. Slaves were called so
- So, this elf is a slave? - For me it seemed astounding and impossible that the Firstborn could be a slave. With a such stare!
- Who do you think he is in here? - Oghr became amazed. - In here a living pointy-eared can only be a slave. If not for Ughluk, he even would not be a slave, but a corpse.
- Ughluk? - I asked. - I've been hearing that name for the second time. Who is he?
- You'll see - vaguely promised Oghr. - If in there this crop-eared has appeared, then you will definitely see Ughluk.
Then I parted with Oghr and went to the village, and he said that he will go home. His home was somewhere near the bloomery smithy.

The streets of the sentry village, lit by the setting sun, were full of people. The a day of work was over, the inhabitants were returning from their jobs and around me ran the living river of male and female bodies.
If something is making me to stand out of the crowd, it would be the height. Also, I was one of the few who is carrying a sword.
The majority were carrying knives. Not combat daggers, like mine, and not small kughri like the one that Ghai showed to me . The regular blades. Their handles were sticking out of the men's boots, from the sheath on their belts or hips.
Women were carrying the knife in its scabbard hanging on a chest.
Children were also running around with their knives in hands and most of the children's plays, that I could see on the way to the guest house , were affiliated with knives. It is nothing to wonder. The knife is the second after buurgha object that the uruuk-hai gets in his undivided ownership. And he ever does not part with it. Even in his dreams.
I was walking down the street and constantly catching somebodies stares on myself. Then hidden, then open, then scrutinizing, then friendly.
The men were looking at me askance, as if by chance, women were throwing curious glances, young girls were making eyes and kids just stared.
But among hundreds of multi-colored eyes around me I won't notice the only eyes that I would like to see.

The door in ghanaka opened quietly, apparently someone oiled the hinges. I walked into a cool dimness and stopped to get the eyes to adjust to it. From behind of the oven came a quiet conversation. I did not see who were talking, but recognized the voice of Ghash.
- I've got pretty frightened when the old women decided on the sparring, - said Ghash. - I knew that they cannot deny the guy of his name, since I declared him a warrior of our buurth. But I had not foreseen the fight.
- You cannot foresee everything, - murmured in response the old voice. - You did everything to avoid accidents. It's not your fault that Ghai intervened in it. Why was he in the village during the day?
- He came back from the swamp and should be sleeping, but obviously he slept through the night at the sentry post. Fortunately, it is quiet now. So, from the boredom he was sauntering through the village. Because of this idiot the whole project almost got screwed up. Because of him, and because of the old women.
- Do not blame the uu-ghoy. They did what they were supposed to do. They are deciding which traditions are still necessary and which should be abandoned. Thanks to them our people exist. Exactly the same uu-ghoy, as this, at one time had allowed to marry human women and made an alliance with the White wizard. If not for them, we would have remained as the "unseeing the sun."
Uu-ghoy could be difficult to persuade, but it's not because they are evil or without understanding, but because they understand their responsibility to the generation differently than we do. We're thinking about the future, but they will remember that not all was bad in the past and they are able to bind it both. I think their decision was right.
- Ghai could kill the guy and it would have disrupted our operation. Do you call this right?
- You yourself forced them to deal with this problem. By an agreement, they had to give a shelter for the "Flying wolves" and you made them to think about whether not born in buurth could be a warrior and to have a name. They had more than enough to get perplexed over.
- What could I do? The "Wolves" were killed, there was no one left to stay with him in the woods. Alone in the Mirkwood he wouldn't live even a night, you know. Anyway, I had to go here to get Oghr, and so it happened what happened. I could not drag him in here as a prisoner and then to go with him to the end.
- It is dangerous for a shaghrat to have affections.
- I know. But the matter is not that he saved my life. I just like him. You know, just like. He's a tough guy. A lot tougher than he looks. Many of our guys might learn from him.
- I understand. In my youth, I had to deal with such as he is. Therefore, I'd say to you that you blame old women in vain. You left them a chance to arrange the checking on the guy, and they used it. In the end, only that convinced the buurth that the guy has his name not for nothing.
- You're probably right. But our plan was under a danger of failure.
- It was under the danger, and it is your fault. Such things are not to be done in a hurry. Remember that, otherwise some day you will part with your head. Do you understand?
The bench creaked and Ghash voice said:
-Yes. I understood. My heart is in your hands.
- Sit down, - the old man murmured. - We need to think that we will do farther. The "Wolves" are gone. It is unlikely that we will be able to bring together a new such at-a-ghan by the end of the summer, or to call for another one from Gundabad or Carn-dum. Besides, Ghazatbuurth is preparing for a war, each blade is accounted in there.

I coughed softly.
- Who's there? - Asked Ghash.
I came out.
- Oh, it's you - Ghash was not looking surprised. - We were just talking about you.
- I heard.
- So much to the better, less to explain. Meet.
On the platform sat a shriveled, wizened old man: hunched shoulders, scarce feathers of gray hair on his head . He was looking like an old wind blown dandelion, if not for a wrinkled beastly looking face and the gaze. There is a saying - a "tenacious stare." So, the stare of the old man was not just a tenacious, but, I would say, clawed.
The old man looked at me, and it seemed to me that I felt like his pupils ripped my skin on the chest.
- Recognizing Ghashur's hand, - he said. - You're lucky kid, after him usually can be found only cut in ribbons skin.
"Kid". It is even insulting. He was not much taller than me.
- Why are you silent? - Asked the old man.
- What am I supposed to say? - I asked in turn.
- Usually a junior introduces himself, - said the old man. - You are now an uragh, you have to get used to our customs.
- My name Chsham - I said. - And please forgive me if I inadvertently offended you. I do not know well the customs of uruk-hai. I did not have much time to know them better.
- No need for apologies. My name is Ughluk. If the sound of Black speech is difficult for you, you can call me Nightmare.
Actually, as I learned later, his name means not a "nightmare", but a "reappearing dead and evil phantom" existing independently from your will or imagination. But at the same time it is not a "wraith". The wraith is an "ull" in the Black speech.
- The sound of uruuk-hai language does not daunt me, - I shrugged. - Ughluk. Am I pronouncing it correctly?
- That's right - the old man nodded. - But this is not important. Our nation has been scattered apart for a long time. What's right in here may be wrong in Gundabad or Ghazatbuurth. Do not give it much importance even if your speech will sound strange to someone's ear. What's important that you are being understood and it depends not so much on words, as on your deeds.
- Until now, - I said - I was able to find the understanding in others.
- Try to keep this way further on. You wanted to tell him something, Ghash.
- Yes, - Ghash turned to me. - Ghai is asking to go with us.
- Why you are asking me? - I was surprised. - You are the shaghrat, and you decide who goes with us. Until now you were not asking.
- He is your blood brother, - patiently explained Ghash. - He believes that now he must protect your back, this is the custom. Therefore, you must decide if he goes with us or not.
- What is your advice?
- Ghai is a good fighter, in Lughburth his blade can be useful. We can take him, if you are not harboring a bad feeling.
- I have nothing to be angry at him, let him go with us.
- Then tell him about it yourself. He is in the back yard. Flirting with Mavka .
I did not like "flirting". Perhaps it would be really better if Ghai would go with us.

When I showed up in the backyard, Ghai and Mavka sat side by side on the log at the distant fence. Ghai was lively telling something, animatedly gesticulating. Mavka was trilling with laughter.
This picture was not to my liking even more than Ghash's words.
When Ghai saw me, he jumped on his feet and Mavka stopped laughing and covered her mouth with her palm, but you can see that in her eyes still stays a remnant of laughter.
- You are going with us, - I said to Ghai. - Ghash and I have decided so. Will you be allowed to go?
- Me? - Ghai started to get outraged, but caught himself. - The old women won't mind, if my father will find a replacement for me in the swamp, and with him I already talked. He believes that it would be useful for me to see how the world looks outside of the marshes.
- It's big, - I said grimly. - Very big. So go get ready for the long road.
- I'm ready - Ghai did not get the hint. - The kughri got sharpened, the backpack my wives got prepared.
- Do you have wives? - I was surprised. I did not manage to get married even once and he spoke of the "wives".
- Two, - Ghai said as something taken for granted . - I am an uragh. Even if I would not have time to get married while being snaga, it's hard for the uragh to stay unmarried. I have the wives and they will cry for me while I'm on the road, - he finished proudly.
- Go, give a good farewell, - I advised him - So they won't start to cry while you're still here.
- What, are we already leaving? - Ghai got worried. - Right now?
- This can happen at any time, - I wanted to send him back home. - Ghash says that we lost a lot of time and we will not linger.
After these words Ghai finally realized that it was time to leave and walk away much to my relief.
Mavka and I silently sat on a log.
- Do not be angry, - she said, and patted me on the arm. - I cannot talk to no one at all while you are not here. We just talked.
- I saw, - I grumbled.
-No, you did not see, - she said and stroked my hand again. - I am a woman. Of course, I am happy when the men pay attention to me, but I do not like him. He's strong, but stupid. And you're smart, and you're much stronger than him, everyone have seen it.
- You were laughing, - I said.
- Yes, - Mavka smiled. - He told a very funny thing. He told me how he was afraid when he was fighting with you.
- Was he afraid? - During the fight I did not think so.
- Of course. You killed the bearded in your first battle, and Ghai had not even once seen them . He with his father and brothers is guarding the trail. They often have to fight with marsh spiders, with animals coming to the marshes and sometimes with people. But he had heard about the bearded only in fairy tales. We have a lot of horror stories about them.
- I got it.
Mavka continued to stroke my hand, and I already did not want to be angry at all. I wanted something completely different.
But when I hugged her and started to kiss her, Ghash has appeared in the doorway of ghanaka .
- Get distracted, - he said sternly. - There is a thing to do.
He would not listen to my objection. I had to leave Mavka alone.

"The thing", in my opinion, was not so important to interrupt me so rudely from a communication with the girl. I just had to try and fit a new equipage, which has appeared as from nowhere.
But you need to know Ghash, of course, he wouldn't be satisfied with just the fitting of new belts.
Several times he made me to lay down and disassemble the backpack and all bags, each time carefully checking whether I remember where is everything has been put. If I hesitated even for a moment, all the equipments again were being mercilessly unpacked and spilled on the platform and the assemblage would begin anew.

Mavka, of course, left long before the end of this tedious job.
By the time when I was able without hesitation to get out any nail for any boot protection plates, I was angry at Ghash as Gollum at Bilbo after the ring's theft .
But Ghash efforts were not in vain: the harness sat like a glove over my beoring's garb. I moved in it like in a second skin, feeling only an increased body weight. Everything was fitting perfectly.
I especially liked the new sheath for a kughri and its attachment to the backpack.
At first I thought that I did not have enough arm's length to pull the blade from behind the shoulder, but it appeared that someone thought about it before me. When grabbing the handle, it needs only to hook up with a thumb the loop fastened to the sheath. With a little pull the sheath flew themselves off the blade, freeing it for a fight. To put them back in the place required a little more time, but Ghash said that usually you have time to put the blade back the sheath, but it is never enough to get the sword out.
I also had to practice in getting the sword out and fitting it back into the place, so we had dinner at dusk.
- Where can I find Mavka? - I asked Ghash when we were already finishing the stewed berries tea.
- Where is the guy should look for the girl? - He answered with a question. - At the well. When you will go - leave the harness and take buurgha. Will get handy.
I followed the advice, especially since buurgha was new and just to my height. The old one, greasy, many times burned by the campfire, just has disappeared somewhere.

At the well was a lot of guys and girls, but I've noticed Mavka immediately. She was sitting, serious and concentrated, on the livestock's watering trough, and on her shoulders, like on mine, was a tightly rolled buurgha.
- Will we go on hiking? - I joked, walking up.
- Yes, - she said seriously, firmly grabbed me by the arm and led to the gate, to the exit from the village.
- Ghash said in here bears roam at night, - again, I tried to joke, when the gates were left behind and my boots began to clatter on a black wood of the road.
- They well fed in the summer, - in the same serious tone said Mavka and went off the road and along the edge of the swamp. - They will not disturb us.
From a cloudy sky the moon was winking to us with a yellow-green warg's eye. An iridescent fog was swirling over the marshes...The bears, if they were somewhere nearby, did not disturb us. We even did not think of them ... Ghash was right, buurghas were useful to us. Both of them.

The uruuk- hai's morning begins an hour before the dawn. I found about the fact that it is morning, when from the side of the road came a loud trilling whistle. The eyes were closing, I unmercifully felt sleepy , but Mavka poked her head out from under buurgha, rose and also trilling and loudly whistled something in return. After a minute between trees, like a dark ghost, has appeared a shade and said with Ghash's voice :
- Get dressed, Chsham. We are leaving.
And I began to dress up, confusing boots and not getting my hands into the sleeves in the dark and hustle . Mavka, wrapped in her buurgha, stood nearby with bare feet in the wet grass.
- Will you come back? - She asked quietly, when I got up.
- I do not know, - I said softly.
- I will cry for you.
To this I could not find the answer and only kissed her. Her lips were salty. Cheeks and eyes too.
I do not like "goodbyes". Did not like then and did not like in twenty years that passed since. I went away not even say to her a "goodbye."
- My heart is in your hands, - I've heard when I was far away. I wanted to look back, but hard fingers of walking behind Ghash, took me by the back of my head and turned the head back on its place.
- No, - he said. - When you leave, your heart should be taken with you, so it won't die of yearning in a separation.
He paused and added:
- It is good when someone is crying for you while you're on the road. This means that someone really wants you to stay alive.

[Olmer]

28
Ghai helped me not to die from the yearning after we have left the Swamp Island. The least of him was to expect a sympathy and he was not in a rush to show it, but he distracted me from the sad thoughts. Ghai've got occupied with "tricks" that I beat him in a fight at the well. I could not resist his spirited insistence. Through the entire first passage I had to tell him about the springle-ring dancing and to show some steps at the evening stops.
We were walking not being particularly in a rush, stopping for a camping before dark, so some energy for dancing was still remained. When I asked Ghash why we are not in a hurry, he said that it is dangerous to rush before reaching the River, but on the river we will make up for this. So it was more than enough time for my lessons with Ghai.

However, Ghai's springle-ring dancing was not coming that well. You can give him a credit for his perseverance, he was tierelessly repeating the moves, but he was lacking of flexibility and softness. I do not even talk about his jumping. The simplest capers are coming out sloppy. Ghai, nontheless, did not lose hope and bravely endured my rod's blows and taunts of the audience.
The spectators were Oghr and a dozen of young uu-snaga that on their shoulders carried two boats to the river.
Gradually the viewers got tired of just watching and they too began to take a part in our training. So it was Ghai's turn to have a good laughter.
The young snagas turned out to do better than he, though not quite well, but Oghr's dance was being so awkward and amusing, that once even the crop-eared ghama smiled with a corner of his lips .

Yes, the elf-slave also went with us. He carried Ughluk. It turned out that wizened old man with the clawed eyes can only talk on his own. Everything else - the slave did for him.
The elf carried Ughluk during transitions in a specially made for this harness, fed with finely chopped meat and bread and through a hollow straw gave him water from a flask, if necessary, carried to the bushes, and generally did for Ughluk everything what was necessary .
Every night in the camp, he was putting the sinister looking old man on the buurgha and with strong fingers kneaded, smoothed helplessly dangling whips of arms and legs, flabby back and hunched shoulders.
After finishing the elf was seating Ughluk up, leaning his back against a pair of hiking bags, and he himself would sit down somewhere nearby, waiting. A moment later it would be difficult to detect him: so much he blends with the surroundings.
At that time I really wondered why the crop-eared wouldn't simply step aside and disappear into the bushes.
Ughluk received the elf's care with indifference, like something given for granted and happens by itself. It seemed that he did not even notice the slave, giving an impression that the elf has no will of his own and act in accordance with the thoughts and the will of Ughluk, submitting to barely visible movements of the eyes, eyebrows and lips.
In the evening Ughluk was chatting with Ghash. They were talking in a special way, silently, without making a single sound, guessing words by the lip movements.
Once I tried to figure out what are they saying, but it's hard to read lips, when you are busy training a dozen goofuses, especially if you never before have dealt with this.

In a mean time the teaching of the springle-ring dancing went on as usual. The young snagas succeeded in it surprisingly quickly. They can't do sophisticated capers, a fair amount of work and time requires for their acquirement, but the simple moves they just did tolerably well.
On the second day instead of rods they took their straight chinghri, and the dance suddenly opened up a whole new, unfamiliar meaning for me.
That is, even before that I began to realize that I know about the springle-ring dancing not quite everything, but the young snagas revealed to me, that almost every movement of our boisterous dance can be deadly.
I even had a thought that they could accidentally kill each other. But the movements of swords in their hands were much more accurate and more confident than the movement of the rods.
The young uu-snagas were having fun in their carefree dance, and theirs blades, happily whistling , were drawing in the air complicated loops .
Gloomy Ghai, moving away to the side and looking at unrestrained gleefulness of the young, said that he will never learn this, or rather, to re-learn, because the whole his body resents, when he has to spend so much efforts on one hit. Upset Oghr, standing beside, only nodded with his head. At the next stop, already in the steppe, they both refused to take the next lesson.

But I managed to persuade them. I decided to try to teach them the "springle-ring" for older persons. The elderly have less stamina than the young, so in the "elderly" dance you need almost to stay in one place and do not need to jump and gallop.
The whole complex pattern of the dance comes from a combination of simple steps, turns and shallow squats. The fact that the "elderly" springle-ring does not require large strength, of course, does not mean that only the elderly can dance it. It must be deployed with a sense of movement that comes with an experience, which the young are usually lacking, because they relay on their youth and strength.
You could hardly call Ghai and Oghr the old persons, by the standards of uruuk-hai they were both quite mature men, and I was hoping that they have enough wisdom to understand the essence of the dance.
I was not mistaken. They quickly perceived the main idea, clumsiness has disappeared and the movements of both became precise and swift, and blades at the thrusts became blurred in the air.
I felt that I have suitable partners for a good dance.
We called Ghash to to join us, but he, for a few moments interrupting his silent conversation with Ughluk, said that he has enough of worries without our amusements and he already wields the sword quite passable .
We were not being concerned about anything, and at every halt the threesome of us were enthusiastically drilling the young, proving to snagas that the experience and knowledge have an advantage over youth and a brute force.

It was going on until we reached the very gullies. More precisely, that ravine.
In the forest and the steppe Ghash was not worrying about anything, but when we've got to the places where ravines were leading to the Great River, and went down into one of them, Ghash ordered to stop talks, songs and dances and keep the ears to the ground and to keep the eyes open.
In the evening we did not kindle the fire.
I understood the cause of his anxiety. The Beornings. But I only did not understand why we have chosen this path to the river, if it was possible to go through the steppe. I asked Ghash about it.
- The heat, - he said shortly. - In midsummer all springs in the steppe are drying up. The water is only in the ravines, and we still have to walk for three days .
- What about the Beorings? - I asked.
- Where you can get away from them? - Ghash shrugged. - They chose a well-off spot: you can't pass them by - the steppe is around.
- So, will we fight? - and my stomach churned up the minute I recalled the mighty shoulders of the "cubs". One thing is dancing with them, but to fight ...
- I hope not, - mysteriously smiled Ghash. - Do not worry about anything for a while.
Oh, yes, "do not worry"... I already knew him enough to see that he is concerned.

The mystery of Ghash's smile cleared up the next day.
We walked carefully along the creek at the bottom of the ravine, when flown towards us breeze brought a smell.
I did not notice it at first, just suddenly heard as walking next to me Ghai began loudly to inhale the air. I looked at him. Ghai's nostrils are flaring out and on his face registered a mixture of fear and bewilderment. I also sniffed. The weak breeze smelled of something painfully familiar.
After a dozen of steps I realized what kind of smell it was. The eternal smell of war, if you know what I mean. The smell of death. The smell of decaying flesh. Already everybody was turning their heads around, smelling the air, and some of them began to unsheathe the blades.

Only Ghash and the elf with Ughluk on his back did not show any distress.
It was clear about the elf, elves do not fear death. But Ghash's pretentious serenity, who even began to whistle, like some small bird, was irritating, especially when the smell became quite distinct and it was impossible not to detect it.
After fifty steps a sound got added to the smell. The buzz. Well-fed, self-satisfied buzz of hundreds, if not thousands, of flies. But Ghash still portrayed the absence of anxiety, although everybody already bared the swords, including me.

The bushes got rustled ahead and Tulagh, Ghai's father, came out on the path, the one I least expected to see here.
- Hi, Azoghan, - he said, scratching his hairy chest in an open shirt's collar. - Why are you all with swords drawn out? Fearing of ghouls?
- Hi, - said Ghash, but did not answer questions, and asked in turn. - What's up at you?
- Well, you saw the sign, - shrugged Tulagh. - Why are you asking, if you are walking in the ravine. It was easier than slaughtering of pigs. In here they became quite brazen, not afraid of anything, even did not put the guards down here, in the ravine, only in the steppe. For three days we were watching them and all three days in the evenings they were drinking theirs honey-mead. Last night we removed their guards in the steppe and then - quietly into the dugout. Forty- two heads, as ordered.
- Exactly forty-two? - glumly asked Ghash.- I will count.
- I am offended, - drawled Tulagh. - Five heads on each and two extra. If you want to count - go, count. They are all in the dugout. The guys wanted to bring it down, bury them to eliminate the stink, but I did not let them. I know that you would want to check the job.
- Everyone is waiting in here - ordered Ghash, looking at us.- I'll be back soon.
- I'm with you, - I called him in the back.
Ghash looked back, gave me a cold, hard look and said so that I did not dare to argue: " Not need for you." And went up the hill with Tulagh.

After some time there was a muffled roar at the edge of the ravine . The annoying buzzing almost disappeared, and the smell seemed to become significantly weaker.
When Ghash came back, with him was not only Tulagh, but another seven soldiers, laden with huge, gigantic bales.
- Have taken "bear"s food for the road, - answered Tulagh on Ghai's questioning look . - They have a great stuff. And you too will have something to eat on the River. We will see you go and then will run back. We want to grab more of theirs things on the way back. So much of goods. It's a pity to waste.
That night I refused to dance. The others too. Even the abundant dinner, very unlike of camping food, this evening turned to be somehow sad.

The next evening, when the boats already rocked on the river waves, when Tulagh with his uruugh and the young uu-snaga were already gone, and the rest of us began to settle down for the night, I sat and watched a dance of whimsical tiny lights over the coals of a dying fire. The waves were rolling on the river sand and in the darkening sky gull were screaming drawling and sad.
- Melancholic? - I have already said that Ghash can appear all of a sudden.
I did not answer.
- I got it. - With a stick Ghash stirred coals covered with gray ash, a pillar of sparks soared over the fire and the flame lit up. - Then answer me a question: are you going farther with us?
- Can I choose? - I asked instead of answering .
- No, - Ghash shook his head. - You must. Maybe you did not understand, but I think of you as the one of us. And the guys think the same. It was not easy for the oghr's uu-ghoy to agree with this, but they decided that you can be the uruuk-hai. Even Ughluk agreed. And he's older than all of us here put together, except for the crop-eared. He remembers as a hundred years ago your relatives were his enemies. But he also believes that you can be an uragh, the warrior of people Uruuk-Hai. So you have to make your choice.
- Right now?
- Yes. In the morning we will sail south. To the Black Desert. You have to decide now.
- What if I want to leave?
- We'll give you food and money for the road and help to cross the Great River. Then you have to go on your own.
- And if I want to return to the Swamp Island?
- Tulagh will be having a two-days halt in the upper ravine. You can catch up with them. On the island there is someone to be happy to have you back.
- I want to ask you something.
- Ask. I will answer.
- Was it really necessary to kill the"bears"?
- No. We could circumvent them. But it would be taking more time.
- Why did you order to kill them, if you can get around? They do not fight with you.
- Yes, - Ghash sadly smirked. - They do not fight with us. They were just hunting us, you and me. For an entertainment. Berol knew how to have fun just as well as my bastard brother. I could tell you a lot about this, but I won't.
- I have no need to hear it. I just want to know why you ordered to kill them.
- We are cruel people, Chsham. Cruel, sneaky, crafty and cunning. We are still very far from being humans, the such humans that were thought up by the Impartial One. But we also don't count as good people those, who deny us an opportunity to become better. For Berol and others like him we are just animals, which is fun to hunt. He forgot that the animals have teeth.
- Is this why you killed Ghashur?
- Yes.
- But he was your brother.
- He is still my brother. We are twins. Only he stopped growing at ten years old. I'm the same as him. We differ only in the fact that he liked to dominate, and I do not, although I'm possessing a considerable power among our people. I remember that in addition to the authority there is also a responsibility. But I'm the same as him, and sometimes for me also can be difficult to humble my whims.
- How will you open the tower of Barad-Dur, if I'm gone?
- And what for I took Oghr? Sooner or later we will do it. Maybe with you we would do it sooner, maybe without you - later. But we will do it. We are patient people.
- You all can die.
- We all can die with you too. For each of us death is behind the left shoulder, but it should not be taken into an account. Sooner or later even the immortal elves leave this sunny world.
- I need to think.
- Think. But when the sun rises, I need to hear your word.
And he got up and walked away, leaving in the sand clear footprints of his boots.
All night I was looking at the crimson embers. When the sky began to dim the stars and deepened a predawn darkness, I poked Ghash at his side.
- Wake up, - I told him. - In an hour later the sun rises. It's time to go.

[Olmer]

29

-"Sun has gone down to mountains tops,
Shadows fell from the edge of ravines... "
The singer had a strong, pleasant baritone. He knew how to sing, and clearly sang this song not for the first time.
-"Time to herd cattle back to the barns. - Softly stretched the singer and hundreds of leather throats mighty picked up the song, drowning out all around:
-"Hurry up, people, from a copse to the copse
Boozed up company steals unseen."

Again the baritone came:
-"We can not be heard and we can not be seen,
Quietly slipping as bats, high on senses,
And it's not given to our preys,"-
And the leather throats again picked up:
-"To foreknow when will blaze away
Houses, roofs, walls and fences .

We are approaching, quieter pace
Heave-ho as one, tip the balance.
Burn them and fight, stand your foe face to face,
Grab more of the loot and then cut to the chase,
Folly don't take for the valiance! "

Really, the least I could expect in the Osgiliath's fortress tavern is a song of free orc gangs by the rangers of the King of Gondor!
"Who can tell, buddies, in which of the nights
Ends a happy life, free and flagrant?
So, you'd look for more fun outright... "- brought a cheerful baritone, and the hundred throats merrily ended:
- Do not feel sorry, burn life, drink and fight ,
Treasure your freedom, you, vagrants!!
A sound of clinking mugs confirmed that the "vagrants" intended to rejoice their "freedom" immediately.
That night they were yelling many other songs, but for some reason I remembered only this one. Maybe, because I already had heard it .
- I thought, - I elbowed chewing Ghash, - that it is the orc's song.
- Yeah, - Ghash did not think it's necessary to break away for the answer from pork hocks with onion gravy .
- And why do they sing it? - I nodded at the crowded with the rangers tavern's hall .
- They are singing because they like it. - Ghash swallowed a piece, wiped his greasy hand on the cape on my shoulder and reached for the mug of beer - Why not to sing? They are alive, with loot, wages received, will have enough of singing and drinking to their heart's content and again - to the war. Why they would not be happy for a while?
- Interesting, - I thought aloud. - Someone has had to translate this song into a Westron.
- Nope, - Ghash took out of the mug his nose. - The Great Gimbagh originally composed his own songs in the Westron, some of them were translated then to a Black speech, but I did not hear the translation for this one . And he again has returned to the beer.

I should mention that the beer in Osgiliath was disgusting. That swill that sells in here by that name, have in common with the beer only by a color. And even then, I would call it a very distant relationship. Brandyback's Brald is dark, but at the same time it is transparent. The osgiliath swill in color looks like Mirkwood's bog muck or a slightly diluted tar. It also smells disgusting, worse than shaghu. But shaghu is a honest drink, you cannot drink it for pleasure, but you can drink it for getting yourself drank. Besides, it does not apply to the swamp shaghu, this one with its exquisite taste can charm any connoisseur and will be even welcome on the royal table. Only the Royal Rangers could be able to have a pleasure from drinking the Osgiliath beer. For them, in my opinion, was no difference in what to drink, as long as it will give them a hangover next morning.


I've got in Osgiliath because of Ghash. Rather, because of the conversation that took place between us on the right bank of the Anduin, when he dropped me off the boat.
- Farewell, - he told me. - We probably won't see each other any more. I understand that it is difficult to be one of us. I should not have dragged you into all of this. But seems from the start everything in this liason did not go as planned. I even wonder why we both are still alive. Ughluk was right, when he said about your luck. Let your luck continues to stay with you. I won't be able to see you out. Here, take it.
He handed me a tightly packed leather pouch .
- No, - I said - I did not earn this.
- This is not a reward, - he said. - It's for the road. In the steppe you won't need it, but it will be handy when you will come to populated areas. Where will you go now?
-To the West, - I waved. - Walk around the Fangorn, come out to the southern tract and - to the home.
- It is better to go to the north - advised Ghash. - If you're going to bypass the Fangorn from the south, you can stumble upon Rohans, they are bringing their captives to the southern edge for a forest felling. In the steppe it's easy to get stumbled on a patrol. Nobody will ask you about anything, just will get you hacked, without getting off the horse, or shoot from afar. In the north you should go along the Celebrant. If anything, it is easier to hide in the bushes or in the reeds on the shore, less efforts to get food, when needed, and easier with water. The Fangorn is better to get round from the west, along the mountains. You come out right at the Helm's Deep. There is the market, people of all sorts are hanging around in there all the time. It won't be a problem for you to get a guard job at some merchants and with them with no trouble you will get to your home.
- Thank you, - I bowed. - Forgive me. It was wrong. It was no need to kill the "bears" .
- I explained to you all about the "bears" - Ghash shrugged.
- Yes, I understand, but still - it was not necessary. If you want to be good, you have to be different from the actions of those whom you consider as evil. They were not interfering. It was possible to avoid them, you said it yourself, so should let them live.
- I'll think about it, - Ghash, seemed to me, felt uneasy.
We hugged each other, I turned my back to the fiery disk of the sun and walked away. Without looking back. When you leave, your heart should be taken with you.


I was already pretty far away, when Ghash caught up with me.
- Wait, - he said with an intermittent from fast running voice. - Hold on. I thought you shouldn't go alone through the steppe. Too dangerous. Come with us by the River. I still need to go to Osgiliath on some business. This is a fortress of Gondor on the River. I'll take you with me, and from there you will get into Minas Tirith without any trouble. In there you can get hired out by merchant sat the market. It's simple and safe.
- What about the guys? - I asked. - How can I come back when I already left?
- Guys do not know, - he said. - They did not know why we were going to this shore. What are they, in general, know about you? The facts that were said at the well in the sentry village. For them you are the uragh of Shaghbuurth, came with the shaghrat and with the shaghrat went away. They do not even know why you're with us, and won't ask, because these, who are asking questions to the fiery rat should be aware of its fangs. They'll consider you as my guard. Let's go with us. I can not let you, like this, to go in the steppe alone.
- What about Ughluk? - the wizened old man with a clawed stare was scaring me.
- Oh, he will say nothing. The whole endeavor is on my head, he won't interfere. We will sail in different boats . You and I - in one, and the rest - in the other. Let's go.
And we came back.

I did not have enough of time to enjoy the beauty of Anduin's shores. Through the first day I slept on the floor of the boat, at night I managed the boat by myself, trying to stay closer to the shore and wincing at each wave, and on the next day we were already at the lake nearing the waterfalls of Rauros.
The current of the Great river only from a distance seems to be slow and gentle, but when you are rocking on it in the boat, it's carrying you faster than any horse. And, unlike the horse, it does not get tired. Travel by water is a scary experience, but it is convenient and saves energy. As Ghai said: "If we would be walking during all that time, our legs would be worn up to the armpits."

Also, I was not impressed by the giant stone sculptures of the ancient Kings of Gondor on both sides of the river at the lake, which marks the boundary of Gondor - just pitted by age stone and nothing more. In my opinion, these "guardians" are too large to induce some feelings.
Maybe once they demonstrated the power of the people who created them, but their present condition brings a thought that it is not enough to show the mightiness, it must be maintained. To me, these giant figures are the labor done in vain, a visual expression of an arrogant and proud power, bedazzled with itself , but unable to find any useableness for itself .
It would do more good if the creators of the stone kings made a good walkway to bypass the falls. To carry the boat on own shoulders, walking along a narrow path and at each step afraid to stumble and fall down from the cliff several hundred feet high, it is the job only for such morons like us. It is understandable why merchant ships are not sailing on the Anduin. Ghash, however, said that the right bank is easier for portage, but the right bank is not for us. On the right bank is Rohan and the rohirrim are not favoring strangers. Especially the uruuk-hai.

But somehow we, the four of us - the elf has carried Ughluk, dragged the boat along the left bank to the lower part of the Fall. Just one boat, for me and Ghash, because just us are sailing farther down the River. The rest had to go straight through the marshes of Emyn Muil to the Black gate of Mordor.


- You need to remove the harness and change your clothing, - said Ghash when came the time to sail away. - Your harness belts left rubbed traces on the jacket, it is enough of people in Osgiliath who have a trained eye on such signs. You can keep boots, in Carrok it is plenty of them for sale at the markets, and in Gondor many rangers are walking in such boots. The weapons also have to be replaced.
After some digging into the bales Ghash pulled out from somewhere a pile of clothes and threw to me a spacious gray-green blouson. On the faded left sleeve, just below the elbow, was a darkening spot from a removed badge, and on a stomach area was a patch of similar in color, but of different fabric.
- I used to wear this when I was in the Royal Ranger, - explained Ghash. - It is small for me now. Take the cape also. If anyone asks about clothes, say you bought it at the market in Carrok. It is a lot of beorings serve in the Rangers.
The cape was the same obscure gray-green color, as the blouson. But it had the hood and looked more like a coat than orc's buurgha. I had to leave my buurgha, also the dagger and the kughri.
I was sorry to part with the kughri, but, even without Ghash's explanation, it was clear to me that coming to the Gondor's fortress with an orc sword on the shoulder can give rise to a lot of unnecessary questions. Instead of the sword Ghash gave me a long and wide beorning knife in a sling - a heavy weapon with a dark blued blade and a handle made of moose antlers. On thick bolster blackened a familiar stamp - the swamp lily. A roomy knapsack on a diagonal shoulder strap replaced the comfortable, spacious backpack. My former belongings Ghash packed in the buurgha and, nodding on the bale, silently said something to Ughluk. He just closed his eyes in response.

Ghash also put on different clothes and have changed some things in his appearance. My mouth got opened by itself when I saw a complete stranger - a warrior. Instead of boots he had soft shoes with wide straps around the ankles and toes slightly curved up; calves and thighs were covered with a thin leather pants so tight, that I saw as the knolls of muscles are rolling under it at every step; on the torso was tightly sitting a short leather vest with a lacing instead of buttons. On the naked hands of the warrior were heavy cast bracelets: two gold - on the right shoulder and the right wrist, and one gold - on the left shoulder. On his left wrist was four loops of a thick silver chain. The same size chain, only in gold and thicker, is looping with two coils around the neck. On it a greenish round brass plaque was looking a little strange. His fingers were studded with rings of various sizes and types. The transformation completed the gold coin, that was attached to the left ear .
- Why all of this? - I asked, looking at him bewilderingly. - Seems before you managed to live without it.
- I am a Royal Ranger now, - said Ghash, braiding hair into a short, thick braid. - Rangers, the ones that save, instead of spending the royal pay and the pillage on drinks, do it in that way: they are converting everything in silver and gold and carrying on themselves.
- And chains too? - I wondered.
- The chains are to pay between each other, - Ghash bent the braid forward and plaited its tip to the hair over the forehead: it turned out into something like a hair ridge. - It is such a custom. The link on the chain weighs exactly like one coin. In a dice game, winning or losing is getting measured in the links. Count, what's needed, open links with a knife and pay off. And, if you have won, it could be fastened to the chain in no time, the metal is soft, not like iron, you can close links with your teeth .
- Then what is a coin for? - I continue to be amazed. - For a good look?
- No - seriously replied Ghash, carefully eyeing me. - Not for the good look. The coin is for the funeral.
- Is it not enough of all this? - I pointed on the bracelets.
- All this the ranger can blow away on booze, or waste his dough on dice games, or his comrades would strip off him and divide between themselves after his death. Even the wounded could be cleaned out. But no one ranger will take the funeral coin, it will go to the one, who will bury the body. Only the last drunkard would spend it on drinks, it's all the same like drinking away your own death. Although such types are happens, but they're not respected.
I could only marvel at the intricate complexity of foreign customs.

- Put the knife on the right side, - told me Ghash when, finally, finished to look me over. - Here, like I did.
On his right side hung a short straight sword in its shabby sheath .
- Why should I? - I waved. - I'm not left-handed.
- In Osgiliath all seasoned warriors are doing so, - said Ghash. - He, who knows it, will appreciate.
- And how to get it out? Inconvenient.
- Convenient. Look. - Ghash stood, arms akimbo, so that bent at the elbow right hand rested with the back of his hand on the hip . - Squat a little, the sheath is going down and you pull the handle up. Once the tip get out of the sheath you will immediately lunge with a chopping movement from the bottom up. Try! You are moving great when dancing, so you should be able to do it.
I tried. Indeed, it turned out to be an easy move.
- In Osgiliath the wild people are getting gathered, - meanwhile continued Ghash. - So won't be surprised if anyone will start to hassle you, but have no fear. It is rarely comes to knife fights. If anything will get serious - I'll stand by your side. Call me Nar or Spark, as you prefer. And now - in the boat and to sail off.
- "Right now? - I wanted to say. - Do not even say a few words to the guys?"
But even before I finished that thought, I found myself swaying on the river waves, and the flow was quickly carried us to the south.


To Osgiliath we arrived in the evening. Ghash tied up the boat to an iron hook sticking out of the stone pier, spoke a few words in the melodious language of Gondor with a sullen-eyed boats caretaker, received from him a wooden plaque with a black rune, paid for it a few copper coins and led me to the gate of the fortress.
The gates were wide open, on both sides stood two sleepy guards, rather shabby in an appearance, with shoulders propped up against the leaves of the door. A lot of people at the gate were scurrying back and forth, but for some reason the guards addressed to us.
- Who are you? - Lazily drawled the left and made a motion, as if to block our path with a spear.
- Adonar, - said Ghash and snapped his fingers on a copper plaque on a gold chain. - Eighteenth ordo, returns to service after being wounded. And my little brother with me, wants to enroll in the Rangers.
- It's funny, - I thought. - We are looking quite unlike each other. Why did he call me the "little brother"?
- Why did you come here? - Also lazily said the guard. - Why not to the guard house?
- We came by the river, - said Ghash. - From the Beorings it's easier to come here, will spend the night here, drink some beer and then - to Minas Tirith.
- Eighteenth ordo, you say, - said already the right guard. - Who is your captain there?
- I do not know now, - shrugged Ghash. - It was Brad-the-Marauder. I was heavily wounded - nearly a whole year lain in a sick bed.
- The Marauder, you say, - the right guard sighed. - The Marauder has got himself marauded eight months ago. Only the head has been found and even it was barely recognizable. Now Derg runs the eighteenth.
- Crooked? - Ghash seemed got happy.
- Yeah-ye, Crooked Derg, - the right guard deeply yawned. - Why is he "crooked"? Seems he is not a one-eyed.
- He used to govern the second platung. The "crooked" because under Cirith Ungol he got a muscle hacked on one side of his neck. Now walks all the time whith the head bent to the side, rubs his shoulder with an ear. What are you saying? Are my people in the fortress? It would be less hassles, and no need to go to the guardhouse.
- Yours are in South Gondor now. - Said the left guard. -They are haunting Khand's variags or the variags are haunting them.
- Hey, brother, - he said to me. -Where did you get your clothing?
- In Carrok, - I said, - on the market.
- I see, - the guard grinned. - Wasted your money, the King will give you the same rags, but the new ones. The cape you'd better take off in the fortress: rangers don't like when someone disguises himself as them. Could have your mug get smashed for such thing.
- Do not worry for him, - Ghash patted me on the shoulder. - The brother is experienced, not as simple as it seems. We are together walked not one league, do not look that he is anything but tall, to any thugs he could give ahead six out of eighteen.
- I don't care about that, - the guard shrugged. - I warned, and in there he can do what he wants. Two white links from him for the entry in the fortress, - he looked at the right guard, who nodded. - Two more for carrying a weapon.
- Pay, - Ghash pushed me in the back.
I took out his pouch with money and counted four coins to the guard. Seemed to me that this simple action greatly enhanced his respect for me. In any case, the guard made a thoughtful face, looked at another and then pulled out of the belt-bags two wooden plates with intricate black runes.
- The round one wear on yourself on a visible place, - he said, handing them to me, - so that the guard of the order can see it right away. The triangular - on a handle of the weapon, also in sight. The permit is valid until the end of the week. If you want to stay in the fortress for a longer time, the next plaque can be obtained from any gates guards. If the law enforcement guards will turn to you, obey their orders without question, or you will get hung high and short. We are strict on this. The law enforcement guards are having such plaques.
And he showed a copper disk- fastener on his cloak with an embossed image of, seems, the owl.
- Did you get it?
I nodded.
- He is not talkative, - said the guard to Ghash. - Right away one can see a northerner. You watch him here till the guy is getting adjusted. You know what kind of wild people are in here.
- Do not worry, - Ghash only grinned. - He can stand up for himself. You'd better tell me: is the chicken coop of fat Flea still at the "Deaf Boar"? Or did they, maybe, moved from the place ?
- What, are you in a hurry right off the road to lose the load? - The guard laughed understandingly. - The local hens will strip your dough off in no time. - And he made an inviting motion with a spear:
- Go on!


I won't talk about the fortress in details. I did not like it. Stone, stone, stone, gray, dirty stone from all sides. Stone underfoot, stone on both sides of the streets, and it seems that even above the head is the stone. Dusty narrow streets along which, in the ditches flows sewage ; crowds of drunken rangers in the same gray-green cloaks and in the air is hunging such thick smell, that a nausea rolled to the throat. This is how I remembered the fortress Osgiliath.
Much later, when I already visited Minas Tirith, and Esgarote and Umbar, I realized that there are cleaner and lighter cities. But the real city I have seen for the first time, seemed to me was disgusting.

The tavern "Deaf Boar" did not rectify that impression. Its huge main hall with vaulted ceilings and with a light of the hung around torches vividly reminded to me the underground of the Barrow-Downs. Only in here was no mold on the walls and much more torches.
A lot of people were in here. Many people were mostly dressed in a gray-green. Very many! Two or three hundred, and maybe more. They were sitting everywhere on benches at the long tables that were placed between propping up the ceiling pillars. They ate, talked, played dice, fiercely slapped on tables with some colorful pieces of paper, sang, squeezed painted like orcs bedraggled girls, and were doing a bunch of different other things.
And also they were drinking, and for them such doing was definitely the most important thing . I bet that any of the people sitting in the tavern would have easily won a drinking contest with me and Teddy. Both together. Above the tables hovered a such sustained reek of stale beer, that the street smell seemed to be just like the fresh mountain breeze.

We walked up to the bar counter in the middle of the hall, which to me was almost to the chin. Behind the counter stood a fearsome man, huge, like a statue of ancient king at the Rauros. His hairy paws were completely covered with blue patterns of intricately interwoven plants. I remembered it was the mighty oak, in whose branches tangled a few small fish.
- Hi, Boar,- said Ghash and made to him some complex movements with the fingers of his left hand. - A separate table for four at the window behind the curtain. Pork legs with stewed cabbage for two, and beer, as usual. Send someone later on, we probably will order more. He put his hand on the counter, the man silently nodded, pulled a small pliers out of his leather apron pocket and deftly removed a few silver links from Ghash's wrists.
While all this was happening, someone shoved me in the back. I turned around. Before me stood a bearded strapper, two heads taller than me. At a glance it was impossible to determine to what kind of folk he belongs. The bearded man was as hairy, as a beorning, white-haired as a rohirrim and his facial features reminded me of Ghu-Urghan - a pug nose and slightly slanted eyes.
- What for you are staying on the way, runt? - he barked and tried to push me again.
I stepped aside, and the bearded, missing, slightly touched Ghash with his broad palm, who just finished his payment with Boar.
- Leave him alone, hairy, - friendly told him Ghash. - It is not your size.
- And who are you? - The astonished bearded raised a drunk look on Ghash. - Don't you know the rules? If two quarrel - the third is not butting in.
- Your quarrel will be with me now, - said Ghash and with left hand grabbed him at the belt. He easily pulled up the drunk to his height, rested his forehead against the sloping forehead of the bearded and continued in low, menacing voice: - And you won't live it. You! Hit! Me! Right, Boar? - Boar nodded. - And I'm an incorrigibly testy guy!
- All right, all right ... - muttered the bearded. - Accidentally brushed - no big deal.
- If it's no big deal, then we will go, - immediately agreed Ghash, releasing his belt, and led me to the back of the room, leaving the dumbfounded drunkard at the bar.

A table for four appeared to be a dark oak top attached to the stone pillar and completely covered with carved runes. In my opinion, in there, besides the Westron, were signs in no less than eight languages, including the Black speech . I did not understand the meaning of the most of them, and those that understood were not worth of retelling. The table was set in the nook at the wall, and surrounded on three sides by wooden benches and almost to the ceiling walls. A black curtain is isolating it from the main hall, which, however, Ghash drew aside. A small barred window in the wall did not add light, nor freshness and, in general, it was unclear why it was done in here.
As soon as we sat down, after us from the dimness of the torches came a woman of an immense thickness in a soiled apron with a huge tray in her hands, laden with a variety of dishes and mugs. Without saying a word, she unloaded from the tray on the table a dish with piled up pork legs and lots of stewed cabbage, a bowl with onion sauce, two flat fresh bread cakes, four mugs of beer and then silently went away.
Contrary to an expectation, the legs were not only edible, but even tasty. Not home cooking, of course, but close to that. I was really disappointed by the beer, but I already talked about it. However Ghash was gulping it without showing any distaste or frown.
- If you want to pass for one of them, - he told me, - do what others are doing. In my work I had to do worse things. Lower a couple mugs of beer and it will appear to you not so bad. You'd better not to wash down legs with beer, but on the contrary, eat legs after the beer. Then it will go easier. At Boar's they are cooking good of all pork dishes.
- Could not we find a more decent place ? - I asked. - Or, is all places in here are just like this?
And with melancholy I remembered the "Prancing Pony". I was there only once in a lifetime and at that time the place of Butterbeer seemed to me as a creepy and debauched place. Now I realized that to compare with the "Deaf Boar" the "Prancing Pony"is just a sample of propriety and decency.
- There are more decent places , - Ghash carefully scanned the room. - For the chiefs and just for those, who has an aversion of going to the places like this. But I a need to meet with one man, to chew the fat about something. The meeting is scheduled in here. For my work such establishment - can't to think up better. Nobody pays any attention to anyone, cannot be overheard.

He was right. In a cohesive roar of drunken male voices, constrained female screams, banging of drawing together mugs and the knives scraping on the plates hardly anyone would hear us farther than two steps from us, even if we would be shouting at the top of our lungs.
Taking the spiced pork after a disgusting beer, I was looking over the hall and thinking about how strange could be the way of life. Here, next to me is sitting an orc - a secret spy and assassin, who stole me almost from the threshold of my house, doing in here some of his incomprehensible to me dark deeds, and I have a much warmer feeling towards him, than to this gray-green army, which, seems, have to protect me from such a "fiery rats" as Ghash. I could not understand how is it turned out so, that not only Ghash, but Oghr, and Ghai, who almost killed me, and even a scary old man Ughluk suddenly become dearer to me, closer and more comprehensive, than those drunk people, which I could not even watch without disgust.


My thoughts were interrupted by a polite question, delivered on Westron, but with a Rohan accent:
- Forgive me, good freas, could I sit down with you and talk?
- You couldn't not, - roughly said Ghash, not looking up from the meal. - We've got our own company, we don't need the strangers.
- That I understand, - said a young Rohirrim with an ingratiating smile. - I won't distract you for long. You, kind frea, sorry, can't remember your name, - the Rohirrim smiled mischievously, - have been a guest in our house, when with your squad have stayed in our Fold. That young frea, - he nodded at me, - was lying unconscious in a bedroom at my dad's house.
- Yeah? - Ghash drawled thoughtfully. - Come closer. What is your father's name?
- Halm, good frea, - the Rohirrim said, sitting down on the edge of the bench. - You probably don't remember me, I am my father's youngest.
- I remember you, - Ghash discontentedly chuckled. - Remember... You served us at the table. Halm said, that it is such a custom.
- Yes, yes, - the Rohirrim became happy. - You then talked about my little sister, L'eefi, and about the blacksmith, who was hanged.
- Well, - Ghash was seriously displeased with something. - Now what do you want?
- I would like to ask you for an advise, frea ...
- Nar, - Ghash interrupted the Rohirrim . - My name is Nar.
- Nar, - dutifully repeated the Rohirrim. - You see, the matter is - the orcs passed by our village. As usual with them, they looted a little, hung the blacksmith and burnt half the village. The arsonists made our men very enraged. By that misfortune the Royal eored has happened to be nearby. In there, in our boondocks, the only our protection is the Royal cavalry, - the Rohirrim grinned. - The orcs, seeing the horsemen, fled, but not that far, only to the burial mound. We have a such one. On that mound has happened the battle of them with the eored. But, seems, it had been a lot of orcs, four hundreds , no less, and also of the warg-wolves was not less than one hundred. They slew the Royal cavalry, all as is, killed, looted and then ran away somewhere, maybe to the north, maybe to the south. I do not know.
- Just killed them all? - Ghash amazed. - The wounded had to be left.
- Nobody left, - confidently replied the Rohirrim. - That day our men went to the hill. They were very angry at the arsonists, wanted to help to the horsemen, but had found only the dead. All, all as is, the evil orcs killed and even had finished off the wounded. And ransacked all of them.
- Even the wounded were finished off, - the conversation is captivating Ghash more and more. - How come that the horsemen did not sent for a help, since saw such a force against themselves?
- Maybe they sent, - shrugged the rohirrim. - Later four unmounted horses have galloped in the village. Only ravens know where their riders' bones lie. The horses my dad kept in his stable, fed with his grain, and returned to the treasury when the Royal querier came from Edoras. For that he got rewarded, got alloted more land.
- You have a cunning father, - Ghash smiled. - Managed to get the reward. How the royal inquiry have ended?
- So I'm telling you and how it all has been, - the Rohirrim smiled too . - The Royal querier questioned my dad, since he is a headman of the village, and everything, as is, wrote down. The village got royal taxes waved-off for the year .
- Well done! - Nodded approvingly Ghash. - How did you get in here?
- Dad sent, - the Rohirrim sighed. - To find whether it is possible to sell not for a song some worthfull goods to somebody.
- Why not himself? Or would send the older son .
- Himself is the village headman. Can't leave a community without the lead. After this happening, you need to keep an eye on it, - said the Rohirrim. - My older brother got stabbed with a spear in the stomach by a wounded orc. We buried him, - the Rohirrim became sad and sighed. - So, dad sent me to Gondor with passing by merchants.
- Why he did not sell these goods to those passing by merchants ?
- It is a delicate matter, - the Rohirrim leaned on the table and lowered his voice. - Goods are rich, but you won't sell that in our areas, and if you will sell, then all the time don't sleep and watch out the gate. Best to sell it in foreign lands. But to whom? Couldn't you give an advice to whom to approach? We would sell for a bargain, if the price offer is good .
- And how much of the goods? - Seems Ghash seriously is getting tended to the affairs of the young Rohirrim. - I can clue you on who to talk to. But those people are not just the simple merchants, they won't lift a finger for one saddle.
- It 's a lot, - said the Rohirrim clearly delighted by this turn of conversation. - Just the horse harnesses are for two hundred heads. Some other small iron items, horseshoes and all, and the weapons also. The swords - two hundred and eleven.
- Wow, - Ghash thoughtfully rubbed his chin. - Even the horseshoes ...
- Of course. - the Rohirrim explained. - The iron, it is expensive. Why it has to rot in the ground. Have not left out.
- I got It. Give for a half price. From what is usually have taken on the market at Helm's Deep .
- At half of the price? - The Rohirrim seemed got upset. - What if for a two-thirds?
- The two-thirds, if you will deliver in here, there will be more hassle, but for the half price - they will pick it up by themselves.
- Dad will be unpleased, - the Rohirrim sighed. - Such money...
- He won't. For the half price a whole your village can be brought and a pair of adjacent ones. Your family will be rich.
- That is not all for us. For us is just a quarter. The rest will be divided by the community. So much of the fear we had suffered from these arsonists. Especially, when the royal questioner came. Because of the fear we stood by each other. Dad is still afraid.
- So, in order not to be afraid any more, it is necessary to sell the product quickly. Agree? It's still a lot of money.
- I agree.
- Then let's go. I will introduce you to Boar, help you to negotiate.


And they went away, leaving me to gnaw boringly at the pork legs.
Seems the talk with Boar got lingered over because Ghash was not returning for quite a long time. I had already drunk all beer and thought about to order more legs, but did not know whether it is a good idea to leave the table unoccupied. But on another hand to sit alone in this place, for which I cannot even find the name, was scary to me too. The surrounding with its patrons was looking kind of threatening.
And, my fears were not in vain.
- Hey, the hare, - came from behind and, looking back, I found the late bearded man in the company of another similar to him.
- I am not a hare, - I replied, wondering what to do now. I was not afraid of the bearded man, he managed to add more to what he had and now was "drunk like a skunk." To knock him down would be enough to not even a "whisk", but a simple "spiking" or even a "tapping". But the second one seemed to be much more sober, and hence, more dangerous.
- Hey, the hare, - continued the bearded man, not listening to me. - Why you ears are so short? Hares have to have the long one. Let me stretch them to you.And, he attempted to grab me with the gnarled paw.
- A week ago somebody wanted to shorten them, - I told him, pushing out the unsteady hand, realizing, finally, that the second bearded man was brought not to fight with me, but with Ghash. The rule: if two quarrel - the third is not butting in.
I was really hoping that the rule is always honored, but figured that if it comes to a fight, then I'll have to fight them one by one.
- Shorten? - Bearded man did not even realize that he was annoyed, and grabbed at the edge of the table. - Nope ... It is necessary to lengthen.
And again tried to grab me.
I was about to smash a heavy mug on his forehead, which would give me a time to get up from the table until the second one is figuring out what's what, but things turned out differently.
- Leave the young man alone, - someone said a pleasant voice. - It is impolite to hint to someone that his appearance is flawed. Especially doing so rude and obscene.
- W-who-ot? - Astonished the bearded man and stared at the man in a black outfit and in also black short cape-coat.
- Wait a minute, - he stopped his friend with the hand, who was trying to get in front of him . - Who are you? Why are you poking your nose in other people's affairs? How did you get here, a spring rook?
- Strain off your bark, - The Black said coldly, not answering. - Or I will cut off your tongue and sew to the tail bone. In there it will be right, where belongs.
- W-who-ot? - the bearded got absolutely stunned by such a response. - Brother, look after this hare that he won't hop away until I will be bending the beak to this starling ...
And he, putting in front of him his fists in a size of my head, menacingly moved on the Black.
The Black has neither jumped back, nor shy away or fight. He simply raised his left hand and put to the nose of the bearded a round silver badge, which is hanging on his wrist on a thin coiled cord.
The bearded man stopped abruptly, squinted the eyes at the badge and began, as if, to shrink in size, cringe. His friend also glanced at what the Black has in the palm, and, picking up the hunched tosspot by the elbow, pulled him in the dimness of the hall, out of the way. It was evident that he angrily utters something to the bearded and occasionally pokes his side with his mighty fist.
- Fat Flea said that Adonar is sitting at this table, - said the Black in not changed, even voice. - Is she wrong, or am I?
- Nar stepped out briefly, - I replied. - Sit down, wait. And thank you for your help.
- Not at all, - The Black sat down across of me, casting aside the sides of cape-coat. - The decent people should help each other in this bizarre world. All the more that the confrontation did not go farther than the exchange of words. To the east of Anduin the word is no longer has any power... And here is Nar with beer and snacks.
Ghash sat down next to me, and with him came the previous fat woman, Flea, as I understand, and unloaded on the table another dish with pork and mugs of beer.
- I really thought that today I'm waiting in vain, - said Ghash, referring to the Black. - How is our business?
- Is he's on the way? - Instead of answering, asked the man in black, nodding at me.
- Passing by, - said Ghash. - Do not scratch, the jerboa without impurities. Just a tadpole, not a bog toad. We will croak - he will be flipping the peepers.
- Get hacked!
- Let axes get hacked, - seems Ghash took an offense. - Are you going to smear a scuttlebutt or will we intertwine?
- We will rub palms, - the Black took a sip from the mug. - I am on a shaving brush, all in lather, double wheels of chinar and we will weave in the branches.
- Don't shovel! - Outraged Ghash. - Aligned on the-eyed tooth. You were shaking the rattle, what is this crap "of chinar"?
- I just croaked: when in lather, not time for a razor. - said the Black. - I almost got boiled.
- Not my diarrhea, - Ghash shook his head. - You reap as yow sow, the-eyed tooth and we will start jumping.
- On such a run the-eyed tooth won't smear, - the Black shook his head, too. - I have got a red sack from the stilt by two-bit stride. You will blush to do it without backband's dating. The double wheels of chinar like on the palm. You are swimming like a pike, croaking like a toad, shepherding tadpoles and I'll be washing peepers in hot water.
- Did not get boiled yet.
- What about washing off someone's diarrhea? Steam was already coming. A little wrong smear - and to the oak, on the spindle to sing like a fish.
- Aren't you an acorn?
- The Oak doesn't give roots if you are the acorn. He is dancing on nails before the green stone. When he will stretch the strings - if you won't sing, then you will dance: was the acorn on the oak and became a fodder in a bag. The double wheels of chinar or we won't intertwine.
- Do not shovel. The two wheels of chinar against the Grease. We will intertwine, if it will smear.
- You yawns like a pike, - the Black grinned. - The Grease slides without haze. Take a peep.
The Black took from his pocket a tiny leather pouch. Ghash reached for the pouch, but the Black jerked it away and warned.
- Peep, but don't bend the branches. First will intertwine and then you can smear even with the leaves. Ghash looked inside the bag for a few minutes, and then said thoughtfully:
- By peeping it is the Grease. What if not dancing?
- Is is dancing, - confidently said Black. - All according to croaking: char-grilled - a scratching peels off.
- The scratching? - Ghash became more thoughtful and pulled close to himself the candle. - Kid, be a friend, go get us a couple of beers.
I did not even realize that the last words addressed to me and uttered in an ordinary language. It was clear that Ghash wanted to stay with the Black alone for a few minutes. So, I was not in a hurry, and before coming back to the table with mugs, ordered and drank one at the counter.

When I returned to the Black and Ghash apparently already got agreed.
- Why are you sharpening your jowls on this ringers? - Lazily said Ghash, looking like the Black is thoroughly recounting spread out on the table coins. - You are the backband, you have a stone drum with a such rattle that for its sound the axes themselves would rip out their peepers.
- On the stone drum the oak spread its branches. - Black replied, trying on the tooth one of the coins. - For me it's not booming. All salve is on the grove, and I am only an acorn, there is, except me, a whole hog-trough. The whole ringing is on the leaves, and for me - a donut hole. You can die without dances. To wash jerboa's teeth, or to warm the nest with hens... No ringing - no swinging.
- Is three by six - not nineteen? Won't yours jerboas choke by washing their teeth with two wheels of chinar? Or are you looking for a copper nest?
- The jerboas and hens are without oiling. I want to flap my fins at midnight. The horns got rooted to the hooves for standing behind. For me the healing smears, but the oak seethes in the wind, waves branches. The entire grove from stumps to leaves is in the green stone's backband. To me it won't dance . I'll gather the rattle, then will hoof the stone and to the haireds.
- If you have already talked about business, - I interfered in their amusing conversation, - then, maybe, you return to a plain language ? You are "croaking," and I just "flipping the peepers", though I do not understand what it is.
- Oh. Excuse us, young man, - the Black bent the head towards me . - It's impolite fot the two to speak the language, incomprehensible to the third, in his presence. But the matter is above a courtesy, unfortunately. Right now I'm just telling to your friend that I was going to leave the family trade and practice doctoring in Carrock
- The family trade? - I asked, thinking to myself that in Gondor, certainly, for that kind of this Black's family trade they hung "high and short."
- What does your family do, if it's not a secret?
- No secrets, - the Black replied, smiling and hiding coins somewhere under his cloak . - I am a senior torture executioner of His Majesty the Great King Elessar.
- Ex-executioner? - I choked on the beer. - The torture executioner? Is there are special torture executioners? I always thought that here is simply the executioners and that's it. Forgive me, if I am saying something stupid, but in our region there are no executioners at all.
- You must have grown up in a terrible backwater, - the Black smiled again. - I, too, apologize if my assumption offends you. No one self-respecting kingdom can do without the executioners. His Majesty the Great King Elessar has many. There are scaffold headmen, who are the lowest rank, they are engaged in executions. There are secret executioners, they eliminate people whose existence is considered to be impertinent by the King, the highly respected rank of courtiers. And there are the torture executioners, who work on rejecting the authority of the King criminals. This is our family business for fourteen generations. Our family has served the throne of Gondor even in the days of Stewards.
- It is, probably, a profitable business ... - I said, dumbfounded. For the first time I saw a man for whom the torture is a daily trade. The family affair. Ghashur loved to torture, but still it was not his usual everyday's occupation.
- For the family - very, - the Black smiled sadly. - Especially for the head of the family. For me, as one of the younger sons - not very much. And, alas, I won't be able to become the head of the family. I have too many brothers older than me. To tell the truth, I like to heal the people much more than to torture. I find it a decent occupation for a decent man.
- Do you know how to heal? - There was no limit to my amazement .
- Of course, - for the Black this was nothing of surprising. - When from a childhood you are studying what's inside a person, you are learning not only to hurt him, but also to heal. You see, when the person dies from torture, it is considered as a poor performance in our business. Sub-standart. Therefore, healer's skills in our business is also necessary. I know how to treat wounds, fractures, and many of the diseases that happen among prisoners of the royal cellars. By the way, I noticed a scar in the collar of your shirt. Can I take a look?
- You can, - I opened the collar wider.
- Orc's ribbon stripping, - the Black defined at a glance. - Rough work, no imaginativeness, the tortured always dies. But if he is not needed alive, the method is not worse than any others. I see you have been in a quite perturbation. You're lucky to have survived. By the way, who were sawing you ? An ugly job, I would not entrust this tailor to put a patch on pants.
- Orcs, - I said, with a sidelong glance at Ghash. - They tortured, they sewed up.
- Did they? - The Black got amazed. - The scar doesn't look old. When did you remove the thread?
- I did not remove, - I shrugged. - Somehow it disappeared by itself.
-These threads made from sinews of newborn kittens, - chimed in Ghash. - They are getting dissolved by itself, convenient on the march: sew and forget.
- Very true to the orcs, - the Black nodded. - For the sake of their convenience to torture innocent animals. By the way, how is your wound?
- Fine, - shrugged Ghash. - Eating and drinking what I want, it doesn't bother me.
- Yeah, - dreamily stretched the Senior Torture Executioner of His Majesty the Great King Elessar. - That time I really pulled you from the edge of death. I think that no one else can boast of the same.
- There is another guy, - said Ghash. - Someday I'll introduce you. I just wanted to ask, why the meeting is here? Why not Minas Tirith? I was very surprised when I was told.
- The King's Executioners are in there, where the King himself, - shrugged the executioner, who wants to become a doctor. - Since the beginning of the summer we are sitting here. Something big was afoot. I teach locals to our craft, otherwise they are capable to torture a prisoner to death and still did not get an information.
- And what was afoot? - Ghash did not even hide his curiosity.
- I do not know. Prisoners, that go through us, are being asked the same question about the location of the wells past the Ash mountains. I think that our commanders are making up the map. It seem they have decided to deprive the Mordor's orcs of the water. But, in my opinion, this is a useless case.
- Maybe not, - replied thoughtfully Ghash.


That evening we sat for a long time in the "Deaf Boar."
Went away the executioner in black. Some other people, sometimes very sinister-looking, were approaching us, "croaked" about something with Ghash and went away. We were still seating, drinking disgusting beer, and my friend was becoming more and more concerned.
Ghash rose from the table when the last vestiges of light have disappeared in the small barred window.
- Be gone, slut, - he said to a heavily painted being of unknown sex, who jumped up to us, and we're swaying walked out on the street.
- I'm sorry, kid, I wanted to see you off to Minas Tirith, but I have no time now. We probably already too late. I will bring you to the inn, buy to you a pony, and then - farewell.
- I'm with you, Ghash - I replied. - I changed my mind. I'm with you.
- Do you? - It still amazes me his ability to take any events for granted, without surprise. - You will not be able to change your mind anymore.
- I'm with you.
- Well so. Let's go. Now begins a merry time . Time of dangers and possibilities. The life on the razor edge - you can run from the tip to the hilt, but also you can slip.
I nodded. And the time started to gallop.

[Olmer]

30

We left the fortress on the same night. Its gates are being locked at night, but it turned out that the "croaking" brotherhood in some things is more powerful than the guards of the King Elessar. We were guided out through a secret gate in the wall.
We've crossed the Anduin's channel on our own by wading and swimming, not daring to walk to the left bank through the watched over by guards bridge.
Then we rode to death two horses. Ghash bought them that same night at the inn of the fortress. The horses were more suited for a harness than a saddle, but we did not have a choice, and Ghash did not bargain.The saddles, too, were not available. I was afraid of a bareback riding on the beast in height so taller than me, even if it was far lesser than Rohan's studs. So we got together onto one horse, bareback, driving the poor animal with knife jabs in the croup.
From the offset we held the second horse on the reins, but when the first fell, then came its turn. The horse, seeing how the other in blood and foam is thrashing in agony on the ground, did not want to have such fate and tried to resist, but Ghash was merciless.

By a sunset we were running to the Ash Mountains on our own legs, leaving the second horse corpse for crow's pickings. At the same time, I've learned what does it mean - " a long run", and how much of the "green honey" you can eat at once without being killed by it. Uruuk-hai have a strange understanding of the word "long", which means "very fast, without the usual halts, and on the distance that is necessary."
To my own surprise, it turned out that in endurance I do not concede Ghash's and rather, transcending. And in the skill of climbing on the rocks too. Now even for myself it seems incredible, but by the end of the third day we were on the eastern slope of the Ash Mountains, and the Black Desert is stretching before us .


Mordor. The Black Desert has got its name during the times when Mount Doom has not yet subsided, and the sky above it was always covered with clouds of smoke and ash. In this almost nightly twilight, the desert, indeed, should look black. But, in fact, Mordor is a gray desert. It has very light gray soils, and the slightest breeze sweeps clubs of gray dust over the earth. All around is covered with that soft gray, like the newly-fallen snow, overlay. With a little sweat your hair and face are getting covered with a brittle crust of mud. In here it is impossible to eat or drink without swallowing at the same time half a pound or more of the hateful dust. It is better not to breathe with the mouth. Actually, it is better not to open it, if you did not cover yourself with a special cloth-mask. We did not have it, of course, and Ghash, with the knife, cut off two broad ribbons from the bottom of my ranger's cape.
At night I regretted about it.
Nights in Mordor are as much cold, as the days are hot. Or even colder. Warmed up through the day air rises up at night and from the mountains begins to blow chilly, penetrating to the bone wind, causing teeth to chatter and muscles to tremble.
No matter how hard Ghash and I were trying to get wrapped in a scanty remnant of the cape, pressing against each other, trying to keep at least small bits of warmth and sleep, the sleep has really failed. Only in the morning the tired eyes have got closed, seems only to make it more difficult to get up. On top of that during the night the cape got soaked with dewy moisture and become not exactly wet, but somewhat damp, when the fabric is not dry, but you can't squeeze out the water from it. It was not giving any warmth.
So when we set off again, I felt even an enjoyment, feeling how on the move warms up the chilled body. In the desert we were no longer running, but walking, and Ghash constantly looked around, choosing the direction.
- Ghash, - I asked him in his dusty back - why are we walking? Before we were running like from the fire, and now in no rush. - If we will run, clouds of dust will rise, - he said. - We can lose the road.
- The road? - I looked around. Within my eyesight nothing even remotely was resembling the road. - You're kidding, probably. I can not see the road.
- Look closely, - he paused for a moment and led by the hand. - See the brambles?
- The brambles I see, - I nodded. - So what?
- Look at them closely - advised Ghash. I looked more closely, concentrated and realized that I see a number of stunted thorn bushes, receding to a horizon. At first glance, they were the same as many others around, but if you look closely, the difference is still there. These spines are not gray-green, like most others, but brown-green. Not far from the first row was winding the second, same as the first. We were going between them .
- I got it, - I said. - Cleverly conceived. If you did not tell, I would never have guessed. The thorns like the thorns, if to think of it, just the color is slightly different.
- They are different, - confirmed Ghash. - It's not local thorns. They were brought from the south long time ago, from the oases near the Sea of Nurnen. Therefore, the color is different.
- And how can we lose them? - I asked, puzzled. - Now even I can see two rows.
- In the dust we may miss the turn, - said Ghash - or simply get confused. No one looks after this road for a long time, in some places the thorns sprawled by themselves . Anyway, we still can not run.
- Why?
- It's not enough of the water. If we will run fast all the water will go with prespiration and we will drop down from the heat and dryness. The nearest water source is in the village in which we are going. It's no others closer around here . - Is somebody living in here? - I was surprised. - Right in the midst of the desert?
- Of course, - confirmed Ghash. - Mordor Orcs live here.
- Uruk-hai? - I decided to clarify.
- No, the real orcs, who are afraid of the sun. That village, where we go, belongs to a buurth which also choose to become Uruk-hai. But for now they are still orcs. Their grandchildren will be able to look at the light, but this ones are hiding during the day. Their eyes do not tolerate the sunlight, and their skin too. - Are there others, also? - I involuntarily looked back. - The true orcs, I mean? Those who did not want to be uruuk-hai?
- Yes, - nodded Ghash. - But do not worry, they rarely wander to this part of the desert. They are living closer to Cirith Ungol, it's easier with water in there. Also, they live on the south of Shadow Mountains and in Ithilien. We are not yet persuaded them, but eventually we will do, we are the patient people. The old women solidly stand by the old way , but the young uu-ghoy begin to think what will be better to their grandchildren . Let's better keep quiet, a mouth dries from talking, the water in the desert should be preserved.


The village has appeared in the afternoon quite unexpectedly.
The desert, when you look into the distance, seems as flat as a table, but the impression is deceptive. There are vast basins in it, that you will not see until you find yourself on the very edge.
The village we were looking for was located in a such depression. I noticed it only when almost under my feet suddenly appeared the roof of the house pressed against the slope.
Other houses, same gray and inconspicuous, built of flat stones, were scattered over the whole space of the basin, at the bottom and on the slopes in complete disarray, and with an apparent absence of meaning.
Only at the bottom of a huge pit the huddled together houses spread to the sides, forming an empty space around the stone structure, in which I guessed the well.
- Ghash - I asked, looking around. - Why it is so empty around? No one, even the guards.
- The guards are there, - he said. - They saw us, but they were warned about our arrival and because of it we have not been stopped. Everyone else is sleeping now, I told you that they are afraid of the light. Toward the sunset they will creep out .

The well in the desert village was quite unlike the well of the centry village in the swamp. First of all, it was not made of wood, but of stone, and was covered with a spacious earthen dome, which , to my surprise, did not have any internal support. In addition, the well was surrounded by a limestone wall of a fair height and thickness in four steps, on top of which were blackening narrow loopholes. The inside of the fenced area was accessible only through a narrow slit in the wall, and even then you had to squeeze sideways through it.
After the midday heat in the shadow of the well's dome was cool and wet.
Near the encircled with stones hole in the ground, sat in a cross-legged position a shorter than me orc of an unknown age in a hanging like a bag spacious robe of brown wool.
The orc's face was dark and wrinkled, like sintered by the heat, and his eyes were so narrow that even the whites of his eyes can't be seen. They seemed like a black openings on the face.
He was not ugly, but for me, accustomed to very different faces, his look seemed strange.
His hands - wide-boned, hard-handed, tenacious paws with flat nails on short fingers - reminded me of the Waymeet's blacksmith. He had the same hands, wide from the daily hard work.
Ghash said to the orc a few words on a Black speech, of which I caught only the "Ghash", "Chsham" and "Ughluk." Orc nodded thoughtfully and in response burst out with a long patter in which I really understood nothing. Ghash, apparently, also not completely understood it, because for several times he was asking the orc questions about something.
The orc slightly slowed down the speed of his speech and began to show something with his hands. Finally, seems they agreed. Ghash put his hand to his chest and with a slight bow said something to the orc, seem like thanked him.
Orc pulled from under him a flat piece of leather with a rope tied to it and threw it into the well. When the orc pulled this object back, it turned out to be a folded leather bucket.
Ghash received water from the orc , again repeated the gesture and words of gratitude and took me aside.
- Now we will wash hands and faces, - he said. - And, if you want, rinse the hair and neck. Then we will go to a ghanaka.
- Honestly, I would rinse the whole of myself , - I replied. - All my skin scratches from this sand.
- Do not abuse the hospitality of these people, - Ghash shook his head. - This is the desert, the water here is precious. If you begin to bath here, as at home, it can be misunderstood and interpreted as a great disrespect.
- Are they aren't washing themselves at all? - I was surprised and looked at the pensive orc, sitting in complete immobility like an idol.
- Why? - Ghash shrugged. - They are washing. After birth and after death, after a great battle, if it's necessary to rinse off the blood, and before conceiving a child. In other cases, it is considered as a luxury. -Understood, can I drink it at least?
- Right now you shouldn't. Only the local people can drink this water without ill effect. When I was here for the first time, foolishly I drank straight from the bucket and then for a month was vomiting with blood.
- What, are we going to drink, if we can not drink this water ?
- In the ghanaka they have a supply of water for the travelers, purified with silver. We will drink in there. Will brew local thorns, it satisfies the thirst well and taste nice. And when we will hit the road, we also put silver in the skins with water, then we will be adding shaghu and you can drink it almost without fear.
- You know, after such explanations somehow I did not feel like washing the face, - I said, looking at the muddy moisture, splashing in a collapsible bucket.
- Won't die from washing , - Ghash laughed. - Since we were given the water for it, to refuse it also means to show disrespect. Bend, I'll pour the water for you.
When I was done, I poured the water for Ghash. He warned me not to pour on him all the water and to leave a little on the bottom. This tiny remnant, he poured back into the well, which caused an approving nod from the dark-faced orc.


The ghanaka differed from others huts only by the lack of the stone bench near the entrance. I decided that because of the local customs wayfarers are not supposed to sit out.
Also, our new shelter was very empty. In the oghr's centry village were at least a table, sleeping bench and stove, but in here was just a plane empty room. Visitors were supposed to sleep directly on the ground, wrapped in buurgha.
Two present strangers in the ghanaka were just doing so. Ghash went to one of them, pushed his side with the toe of his boot and, when the annoyed sleeper turned over, asked:
- Sacking out?
- What else we have to do? - Irritably said the woken up, who turned to be Ghai. - If you would run, as we did, you too would have dropped off and slept without waking up. We 're running from the very river. You can't keep up with this crop-eared , to him it's as if nothing, no matter swamp or rocks, carrying Ughluk, your stuff and still runs, as if does not touch the earth. Doesn't leave behind even a trace of his walk. Good thing that at the gate, when we have reached the desert, local guys met us and unloaded a little, otherwise we would not run up to here, would drop dead on the road. - I see, - Ghash went to the corner and took off a cover from the vast, dug into the ground up to the rim pitcher.
- Have you been here long?
- Since yesterday evening, - Ghai said, sitting up and pushing Oghr in the back .- Wake up, sad sack!
- Drink. - Ghash gave me a dipper with clear water and turned back to Ghai. - Where is Ughluk ?
- I do not know, - Ghai shook his head. - The head is buzzing from not enough of sleep. Last evening he went somewhere, did not tell us, and still has not returned . I took the water from Ghash and only with the first sip realized how much dust I have in the mouth and throat.
After rinsing the mouth, I looked around, trying to find where I can spit the dirt, found that there is no place, and spat directly on the earthen floor.
- Won't do such thing in front of the locals. - Ghash said, taking back the dipper. He rinsed his mouth, too, but, unlike me, do not spit out, but swallowed. - In here, for contempt of the water you can be put on a stake made from a thorn bush.
He returned the dipper:
-And when you gonna eat, do not break the flat bread into several parts, but pinch off small pieces of it, and always put the flat bread face up. Otherwise also could come troubles. All right. I will go to get Ughluk. Meantime, fill yourselves well with food and water. Maybe today we'll get going.
- What on earth made me to go with you? - Muttered Ghai, watching as the door closed behind Ghash. - Right now I would be sitting in the swamp, eating smoked frogs.., instead of dragging around in this awful dust. From where did you come? We did not expect to have you so soon. - We also have had a bit of running, - I said, pulling out of the corner my buurgha and spreading on the floor. - What is there to eat?
- We will find something, - Ghai again pushed into Oghr's side, who seems never woke up. - Hey, the iron craftsman, will you eat?
- Always, - suddenly and in not sleepy voice answered Oghr. - As much as possible. And a beer, please.
- Yeah, - Ghai made a disgruntled face and rose. - And the plug for the bottom to prevent it from leaking out.
- Is the beer in here? - I took off the boots and lowered myself on the buurgha, perching my legs on the bag for a better rest.
- Nope, - Ghai went to the pitcher. - Listen, Oghr, why I should do everything? You even too lazy to open your eyes.
- You're the youngest, - solemnly clarified Oghr. - Know and can do less than any of us. So for us, the elderly, is not fitting to attend you. Better you to us.
- Cultivated in here the elderly despotism. - Ghai growled, pulling something from behind the pitcher. - Maybe I even have to chew for you? Or you can handle it yourself?
- I can handle it, - Oghr laughed. - Do not grumble, did not become old yet. What's for breakfast?
- The same as for dinner. Come on, Chsham, turn on your side, let's eat. Ghuuruut, flat bread and something else.
Next to me Ghai put a semicircle of a large flat bread, a clay dishware without a handle with piled up brown balls, having similarity with goat droppings, and a voluminous flask.
- Can you eat this? - I asked doubtfully, looking at the dish with balls.
- Of course, - said Ghai, settling himself near Oghr and throwing into his mouth several of that same balls. - Never mind that it looks like goat ****. This is cheese. Not too much of taste, but it is hearty, quickly makes you satiated. And wash it down from this flask. It's better than the local water. Have you been told about it?
- Yes, - I nodded and carefully tried one ball. It was really quite bland.
- What is in a flask?
- Drink, do not afraid, - Ghai took a sip from it and handed to Oghr.
I ate a bland cheese ball with a piece of cumin scented flat bread and sipped from the flask. The taste was pleasant, tart.
- This is a sour milk, - said Ghai, making me choke. - Good stuff. I do not know how they brew it, but it's getting in the head. Oghr and I tasted it yesterday.
Oghr only nodded. He preferred not to spend time talking, but with a measured movement was throwing in the mouth first - the brown balls, then a slice of flat bread, and then chased it all down with a good gulp from the flask.
- What? Are cows in here? - I asked.
- Nope, - Ghai shook his head. - What cows will pasture on local thorns? Yesterday I've asked the locals about milk. Hardly found one who speaks Westron, in here almost all chatter only on the Black speech . They have such a beast, like a horse, but with paws instead hooves, and with a hump. The locals say this horse could not drink for a week.
- Wow, - I was surprised, thinking that Nazgul's horses, probably, looked that way. - Is that all the food we have ? Or there is more?
- What? Do not have enough? - Laughed Ghai. - We too last night at a dead run ate a bowl for each and asked for more. They gave us, but it turned out that we can't eat anymore. You'd better eat up the flat bread and drink up the milk and then you will feel that you are satiated.
I didn't believe him. What is sufficient for an Uruuk-hai, for a hobbit it's only enough to whet an appetite, but nevertheless I followed his advice. The bread was soft and tasty and milk reminded me a clabber. Satiety and drunkenness came unexpectedly. Just the moment ago I was hungry and sober and then it turned out that I am fed up and bleary-eyed. A warm languor has waved on the sore from three-day tension muscles and in an instant the whole body became heavy and disobedient. I almost fell asleep with a piece of bread in my mouth.


- Chsham, - somebody shook me gently on the shoulder. - Wake up, Chsham. It's time.
I did not want to wake up, but I overpowered myself and sat up. It was dark in the ghanaka . Outside was dark, too, judging from the lack of light in narrow portholes.
- What is it, morning or evening? - I asked and sat down. - It's ptich black in here .
- Morning, - said Ghash's voice from the darkness . - There is always like this before dawn. Ghai will light the oil-lamp now. Get ready, fast.
- Is a fire broke out or something? - I said, involuntarily closing my eyes from flashed sparks in the dark. When I opened them, a tiny flame has lit up the inside of ghanaka and my anxious companions.
- Worse.The Royal Rangers. Within an hour's journey from here.
- Are they after us? - I got panicky and quickly began to put on the boots.
- Hardly, - shook his head Ghash. - How do they know about us? Maybe, just to plunder.
- What is here to plunder? - I bewildered, changing the ranger's blouson on my usual jacket. - Such poverty is here.
- Children, women, - Ghash shrugged. - Also the cattle, but the main thing - women and children. Those who are lucky, will be sent to the Lebennon vineyards . Who are not lucky - into the mines of the White Mountains. Those who are completely out of luck, will be sold to Rohan, for forest felling, or even worse - to Umbar merchants for the galleys. Are you ready?
- Seem ready. - I checked as sitting on the shoulders of the harness. - I just remembered. We should get water.
- I did already, - Ghash gave me a heavy flask. - Fasten to your belt. Are you guys ready?
- Yeah, - said from the duskiness Ghai.
- For a long time, - confirmed Oghr.
- Ughluk is waiting for us at the well, take the skins with water and let's go - Ghash showed me on a round, looking like a huge sausage leather bag. - How we will carry it? - Grumbled Ghai, heaping on his shoulders a similar just a little bit bigger gurgling bag, . - It's heavy .
- They promised to give us a baktr, - has encouraged Ghash. - At the well we will load on it. Suffer until the well.

Outside was a bustle.
Kids were screaming, been heard women cry, someone was dragging some pitiful belongings, someone drove a small herd of skinny sheeps, a lot of people were running about without any apparent purpose and meaning, and no one paid attention to us.
It struck me that the orcs were surprisingly short. Those that I had seen on the way to the well, in Hobbiton many would consider as tall. But in Hobbiton even I now would be regarded as a huge. In here none of those whom I saw was above me.
At the well, too, was a crowd, but of a different kind. In there have gathered a hundred or hundred-and-fifty armed orcs.
Most had short spears and small bows, but some, I noticed, had blades, like our kughri, only smaller and straighter. In the morning their look, short and stocky, was quite frightening, but I already knew quite enough not to be deceived by a fearsome war paint and see fear and confusion under it.

Over the orc mob towered a crop-eared elf, from behind his shoulder was poking a head of Ughluk with sticking in all directions tufts of hair, and nearby stood a short, just to the elf's waist, old lady.
Ghash left us standing next to dropped into the dust sacks, walked over to the old woman and crouched down in front of her. They exchanged a few words, the old woman nodded and, turning her head to the side, rakishly whistled with four fingers.
The whistle did not die yet, when from one of the surrounding houses was brought to us an amazing specie of the cattle. Ghai said that orcs have something like a horse. So. If this animal with two humps and long large-boned legs is a horse, then I am a dwarf.

While we were strapping bags of water to the bactr, we were approached by a rather tall orc. The war paint was covering not only the face, but also a naked from the waist up body.
- Hi, Ghiryzhsh, - said to him Ghai. - Why are you bare? The sun will rise soon, the skin will be in blisters.
- A? - said the orc in confusion and frowned.
- Why without clothes? I say, - Ghai ruffled jacket on me, - your skin burns in the sun.
- A ... - The orc dismissively waved. - To die. Today to die. The white-skinned always come when the sun is up. They do not like the night. To die today.
- Gonna fight ? - Asked Ghai. - You won't last long in a daylight. Sun, - he pointed to the graying sky. - Eyes burn. Will hurt a lot.
- It will, - the orc nodded and pulled out of his belt a leather eye covering. - For eyes. To cover.To look through the holes. An hour can fight. Two hours to fight. One hour is not enough. Two hours - all walk away ... - The orc spread out hands at both sides. - Run away. Two hours have to fight. Then will be blind . To die today. - and he burst into a hoarse patter.
- Slow down, - asked Ghai. - Speak slowly, then I'll get it.
When orc finished Ghai shook his head:
- I'm sorry, Ghiryzhsh, I can not. None of us can.
And he turned to me:
- Chsham, you have had a beoring's knife. Where is it?
- In the bag, - I said. - On the top.
- Can I give it to him? - Asked Ghai. - We don't need an excess of the weight, but they have blades shortage. Many even have stone tips on the spears. I'll give it?
- Come on, - I agreed and turned my back to him. Ghai took from the bag the "bear's" heavy weapon and handed it to the orc.
- We cannot stay, - he apologized again. - Take. Gift.
At first the orc got bewildered, then held out his hand and took the knife in the quivered palms. He pulled the knife from its sheath, touched the blade with a finger, approvingly clicked with tongue and suddenly, pressing the knife to his chest, as if afraid that we will take it back, began to bow often while very quickly chattering something.
- No need, - Ghai shook his head . - Let it to serve you well. Good luck, Ghiryzhsh Shin-Nagh.
The orc bowed two more times, to me and to Ghai separately, and backed off.
- It's Ghiryzhsh, - sadly said Ghai, watching as the orc got surrounded by his comrades. - We met yesterday. He will be defending the well with these snagas. If they will hold for two hours, uu-ghoy with children will have time go far in the desert. Pity, only a week ago the guy got his name.
- And then? - I asked. - What will be then?
- What then? - Surprised Ghai. - Snagas will get slaughtered. Then the rest will return in a few days. They can't forever walk in the desert without water. - It won't be any "then" to them, - approaching Ghash broke into our conversation. - They will have nowhere to return. When they will come back, the well will be filled up with corpses and sand. This is how the Royal Rangers are fighting now. I explained to them that it is either way: a whole village must stay and fight, or all of them must leave. Then, maybe, at least half will survive. They don't believe me. Not me, nor Ughluk. They think it will not happen like we are warning about.
- Okay, that's enough to chew a snot! - He finished unexpectedly and irately. - We have our task to do! And it must be done! Let's go.

When we reached the top of the basin, the edge of the sun had already looking out of the horizon . In its glow was visible the orc's caravan ascending on the northern slope.
Our course lay to the east. Towards the light.
I looked back at the village for the last time, and at that moment from the well down there, came a singing.
Usually the Black speech sounds rude and unpleasant to the ear, but fifteen dozen uu-snaga sang in high and clear children's voices, and this fused vibrant sound is awaking in me discontent and regret .
- What are they singing? - I asked Ghash.
- The Song of Snaga before the fight. - He said. - Preparing to die.
- Translate, - I said.
- Later, - he said. - We have to go .
- I'll translate, - suddenly spoke the crop-eared elf, who held the reins of bactr.

"The foe is in front,
And the life is behind
We have nowhere to retreat.
Draw a bow, my friend,
Use your arrows wise,
Stand strong on your own feet
The shield - on the hand,
The blade - in the fist,
Kill and bury your own fear.
There's no time for dread,
When poison on the blade,
And the enemy is very near.
No tears and words,
The custom is -strict
Unnaimed we have to die.
But this is a war,
And it will show
Who should get the name, who - denied.
Who will foreknow,
What lot each will draw
Those, who'll survive - will opine.
They will make songs
About those who're gone
There will be a remembrance time.


The song got finished , the elf became silent, but I was still staying. Inside me with the orc song's echo sounded a high and clear call of Tuckborough Sentry horn. "Get up! Trouble! Get up! The enemy! Get up! Do not sleep! Danger!"
- Let's go, Chsham, - said Ghash. - Do not look back. Come on.
And we went towards the sun, gradually accelerating pace and shifting into a run.
We ran, heads bowed, so the rays of the arising sun won't not blind the eyes, and through a measuring tramp of heavy boots in my mind more insistently and persistently struggled a call of the horn: "Get up! Trouble! Get up! Danger!"

[Olmer]

31

I hate songs and music of elves. Grandfather Sam was coming into a delight from them. I hate it.
We were running a little less than an hour, and then I stopped. I stopped suddenly even for myself. I just realized that I can not run farther. Not because I've gotten tired. I realized that I should go back. Don't ask me - why. Maybe, because I could not leave in the trouble those, whose bread I have eaten. Maybe I was struck by a sad sound of snaga's song. Maybe...
It could be anything. It was wrong - to run away. It was reasonable, but it was wrong. The right thing was to return. It was scary, to the icy ache in the knees, but it was right. And I stopped.
- What are you doing? - Ghai nearly knocked me off my feet, bumping into my back.
- I'm going back, - I replied.
- Like this? - Did not understand Ghai. - Where?
- To the village - I said. - Back to the village.
- No need, - came to us Ghash. - There is no need for you to come back. We have a deed that we have to do. There's nothing and no one you can help with.
- Maybe, - I said. - Even, possibly. But I'm going back.
- You cannot return, - said Ghash. - I told you then, you won't be able to change your mind any more. We must go on further.
- Go, - I shrugged. -You do have a job. I chose another job. You yourself were explaining to me that the whole our life depends on the choices we have made. I have chosen, and you cannot deprive me of what I've chosen.
- I can, - Ghash said suddenly harshly . - You became one of us. Do you remember what happens for a violation of orders?
- Have you decided to deprive me of the name? - I asked. - Or just to kill right now? You can try. But by this you cannot prove anything to me. I want to return. I cannot run away when the children are getting killed in there.
- What children are you talking about? The snagas that remained to protect the well? Forget about them. They are only snagas. Those who have not done anything worthy to receive a name. They are a thrown off lizard tail. They destined to die today, and they will die. Why would you want to die with them? Can you at least explain?
- I cannot, - I said honestly. - And I do not want to die, I want to help them. At least with something . Even if it cost me my life. You say - snagas. How old are they?
- Who cares? - I made Ghash surprised . - Well, twelve years-eleven, what is the difference?
- They are children. Children that protect their home. I want to help them.
- I do not understand. What does that mean? Ghai, how old are you?
- Fifteen, - grimly said Ghai.
- Ghu-Urghan had also been fifteen. Uragh - eighteen. I am - twenty-two. Does it matter how many years are anyone of us? It is not the years, but your doings make you an adult. Snagas are doing what they should do. Do you think among them some is even one who had been ordered to stay there? Each of them decided it by himself. It is their choice, not yours.
- Don't you understand, - I exclaimed hotly. - They won't grow up..You said that your people want to become men, the people, as have been thought up by the Impartial One. These lads in the village won't have such a possibility. And their children and grandchildren, too, won't have . Because they won't have children. They won't have even a today's sunset. Why is the only worthy thing to do in their lives is to die? Why is that? Can you explain it to me? The endeavor of which you are so worried is the dust and emptiness in comparison with it. No one will read the books of Barad-Dur if their children thrown to the death. Who needs the remaining manuscripts of the dead, if for that the living children should be left to die? I decided to return to fight alongside them and to survive or to die with them, too. I cannot explain to you any better than that. It is my choice. And if you want to deprive me of this, you can hit me in the back when I'm going to go ...
- I'll go with him, - suddenly said Ghai.
- Another problem, - sighed Ghash. - Are you out of your mind?
- My mind is all right, - said Ghai. - He's my blood brother. He once proved that he is better than me. On this venture I went not with you, but with him. I will protect his back.
- You are... - Ghash spat. - You are ...
- Enough! - We have got startled. It's Ughluk began to speak . - Enough!- He repeated. - Shaghrat! Shut up, before you say things to be ashamed of. You will go with them.
- What for? - Ghash astonished. - Why, azogh?
- You told me once that many of us can learn from this guy. It is time for you to learn from too!
Meanwhile, the Elf deftly removed the package with Ughluk from his shoulders and unwrapped it.
- I do not understand you, azogh. - Ghash shook his head. - I rarely mind you, but now you're wrong. We all will die, won't do that task for which we are here.
- There is no time to explain everything to you, boy, - said softly Ughluk. - And I forbid you to die. You all prohibited to die. Your lives do not belong to you. Take me up, Lingol.
The elf put Ughluk's hand on his shoulder and lifted him up to his feet. For the first and the last time I saw Ughluk standing. Withered, bony, with loose, dangling arm hanging helplessly to the knee, he was horryfying.
- I - Ughluk, - he said, and, suddenly, a senile rattling has gone from his voice and it sounded powerful and authoritative. - The Ughluk! The Agh Azogh Uruuk-Hai buurtharum, agh krimpatul. You! - He fixed his clawed stare on Ghash. - You! - He moved his gaze at Ghai and Oghr. -Will go with him, - for a few moments Ughluk's stare hid its claws and caressed me, - and will protect his back to the end of his life or yours! I have spoken!
- You are wrong, azogh !!! - Ghash cried, when the speech has ended. - We're almost there, and you make us to give up everything! What for?! We die without any benefit, and who then will start this all over again ?!
Ughluk turned his stare at him, and for a while they stood in silence, looking at each other. Ghash has lowered his eyes first.
- I - Ughluk. - Repeated the Azogh buurtharum. - I have spoken.
- Yes, I understand, - said crestfallen Ghash . - You ordered, I obey. I will follow Chsham and will protect his back to the end of his life or mine. Lead, Chsham! My heart is in your hands! - And he put his fist to his chest. Where the heart is.
- My heart is in your hands, - in dull whispers responded Ghai and Oghr, also putting their fists to the chests and bowing their heads in front of me.
- Lead them up, kid, - smiled to me Ughluk. - I hope you will bring them back to me unharmed. And do not hold a grudge against Ghash, soon he will understand everything by himself.
I looked around. My companions already were taking off their harnesses and jackets with shirts, leaving to themselves only weapons and flasks with water. Ghai was drawing the bow, stepping his foot on it and having rested one of it's limb against the ground. I also took off all unnecessary things, waited until Ghai checked the string, and said: "Let's get moved!"


The elf caught up with us in about a quarter of an hour. Overtook us, as if we were not running with all our might, and stood on the road.
- What else? - Ghash asked, panting from the fast running. - Azogh changed his mind?
- No, - the crop-eared shook his head. - He sent me with you.
-Did he want something to convey?
- Yes. He said, "Foreseen, but not imprinted way, and the footpath is twisting... ."
- What does it mean?
- He did not say. He said to pass it word for word.
- Is it all? Or something else?
- He told me to go with you.
- All right, - Ghash paused. - Do you need to arm yourself?
- If a bow ... - thoughtfully said the elf.
- Give him the bow, - ordered Ghash to Ghai.
- Yeah?! What else! - Ghai got outraged. - I won't be giving my bow to any ghama. He will live without it.
- I said, give it to him! - Shouted Ghash. - In his hands the bow will be more useful.
- I'm not giving it! - Ghai scowled. - The bow was made not for him. And do not shout at me! You're not the boss any more, you can not give me the orders.
- Yeah? - Surprised Ghash. - And who can order you?
- He! - Ghai pointed in my direction. - Did you forget what the azogh said? Now he is our chief. If he will order - I'll give the bow. But you cannot order.
- He's right, - Oghr nodded. - Now Chsham decides and orders.
Ghash just threw his hand up: "Decide!"
- Give it to him, please, - I said to Ghai and asked the elf. - Do you need the dagger?
The elf caressed the bow with fingertips, checked with a nail the sharpening of the hooks, pulled out of the quiver and examined one of the arrows.
- Perhaps not, - he said thoughtfully. - I think that a little later there will be a dagger for me.
Then some time was spent on bickering over who should run ahead, because Ghai did not want to run in front of the elf. He did not trust him. I did not argue and just started to ran the first. Elf - after me and after him - all the rest.

Maybe that arrangement saved our lives. In the hanging in the motionless morning air dust couldn't see far and I saw the Royal Rangers of Gondor only when it was less than fifty steps to them. A gang of good four dozen people suddenly appeared out the back of some low hill. They were following our trail and were running towards us. Seeing us, they shouted something, on the run unsheathed their short straight swords and accelerated the pace. I threw aside the kughri's scabbard and stooped, choosing who to meet first, but a someone small inside me understood that now we will die.
And then the elves music has started. The bowstring under the elf's fingers is singing a sorrowful melody and arrows were whistling their long, sad notes. No one did not make his ran to us ...
The last ranger, lanky, bearded brute, unbelievably looking like one who bothered me at the "Deaf boar", stopped a few steps away from us. He opened his mouth, perhaps, about to say "I give up!", but at this moment in his Adam's apple went an arrow up to the feathers. The shooter stood still. On the arrow's point, which emerged from the back of the head, swayed a ridiculous little hat. The corpse stood awhile, looking past me with bulging eyes, and fell on his face. Only the dust rose up, covering beating in agony bodies with indifferent gray cloud.
- Mam-ma dear ... - came behind me a stunned whisper of Oghr.
- You ... listen.. I do not know your name, - said Ghai in a choked voice . - Would you teach me later, to do like that, with the music ...
- It's easy, - said the crop-eared elf, rising from his knee. - You just have to practice with a bow every day. Not less than an hour. For two and a half thousand years.
- A-ah ... - plaintively stretched Ghai. - Can it be done in shorter time?
- I do not know, - said the elf. - I was taught like that when I was young . Now the bow needs to be discarded, it might break with any shot. It's amazing that the bow has lasted that long.
And he went on walking, as if dancing, between the dead human bodies, eyeing them carefully. Choosing the weapon for himself.
- Why are we staying? - As if nothing happened, asked Ghash. - What ogling? Have not seen dead bodies? Today will be a lot of them. Let's run, he will catch up with us.
- Run, - I nodded numbly. We rounded the blockage of corpses and ran on, but all the time I longed to look back and see what's out there is doing the crop-eared ghama, who is able to shoot "with the music."


I do not undertake to describe of what was happening in the village. Howls and clash of arms were heard even at the edge of the basin. The main battle was going at the well, but the separate battles could be seen and between the houses. I slowed down a little, deciding what do we do now. Ghash has overtaken me.
- I am - in front! - He shouted. - Ghai - left, Oghr - right, Chsham at the back. To the well, guys! Faster! Agh!Agh! Agh!

Who fought, he knows how frightening is in a combat.
It is fearsome to stand in the ranks, when arrows, like a rain, are falling from heaven.
It is terrifying, when Rohan's cavalry with bowing peaks is rushing on you at full speed.
It is fearful to be on the wall under hailstones of siege engines.
Scary, when you climb the wall on a rickety, tottering, ready to fall down ladder towards pouring down boiling water.
But nothing compares with the feeling when you come face to face with the enemy, and in a frenzy of his eyes you can see the reflection of your own terror. If you want to survive and to win - clench the heart, so it won't rupture, cast off your feelings and do what you must do.
The war is a hard work. Many drowned in my eyes in that sunny day. I growled and howled like a beast. I spun like a peg- top and swang like a bell-clapper. I was crouching and wheeling, springing up, like a ball, and falling down back, like a stone. I handed out right and left kicks and punches.
If you would know how many times I silently gave a praise to my unknown ancestors that have managed to preserve for posterity a fierce battle skill, disguising it in capers of a fun dance. Though, what I did that day was hardly looked like a dance. My kughri was living its own life, it was jauntily whistling, or was joyfully ringing, or angrily grating, or roughly and juicy slurping. It is, as blue as the night bird, fluttered from one palm to another, drew in the air complex curves and derisively painted on human bodies red thick-lipped smiles.
Gradually the fear and anger have left me. Perhaps that little person inside me, who was so afraid of death, could not bear his own fear and died. I was perceiving the surroundings without any feelings, and worked steadily and precise, just like at one time at the waymeet's smithery. Nearby Oghr was hacking silently and efficiently. Ghay, on the contrary, was constantly shouting something in a Black speech, threatening and hoarse. Ghash somehow was even managing to give orders to snagas, who happened to fight next to us. He also yelled in the Black speech, but in a strange way I understood it.
- Stay together! - He shouted, reflecting and throwing punches. - Attack in a bunch! Got wounded one - hit the next, the wounded will be finished later!
I do not know where was the elf during the fight, but when things were getting rough for me , from somewhere the arrow was coming and I was getting a few moments of respite.

And then all of it was over. It ended at once. Suddenly. I raised the sword for another blow, and found that it's no one to hit. The next enemy fell down with a spear in the back. Behind him stood a snaga with a covering only one eye slanted face bandage . No one alive in the gray-green cloak can be seen around here.
From a narrow slit in the wall of the well came unintelligible cries and a confident voice of Ghash. In a dusty haze has emerged a crop-eared elf with a gondor's sword in the hands and, by carelessly poking someone, who fell out of the passageway, he slipped inside. Screams behind the wall increased at first, and then began to subside.
I leaned against the wall, first by the side, and then turned my back to it and slid down, sat with outstretched legs right in the dust . The body does not feel anything. Just nothing. Nearby, in two steps away, Oghr was thrashing on the ground. He was sobbing loudly and pounding the earth with his fists. Staggering, from the passage in the wall came out Ghai, he looked around, cautiously walked past Oghr and approached me.
- You're covered in blood, - I told him.
- Not mine, - he tried to wave dismissively, but only dropped kughri and sat down next to me.- You too...
I looked at myself. Indeed, I was all over covered with drying brown muck , from the soles of the boots to the tips of hair on my head.
-Not mine too, - I said and nodded at abating Oghr. - What's wrong with him?
- He has such comedown. - Ghai said, taking out a bottle with shaghu. - He does not like to kill ...
- Do you like it?
- Well, who could like it ... - Ghai took a few sips and gave me the bottle. - But at least I am not such shaky now. Only after the first time ...
- I was shaking too, - I swallowed a sip, the fiery moisture flowed in the throat like water, without causing intoxication, - when I killed the bearded in the mountains. Now I feel nothing. Just nothing. Only tired, as if after swinging a hammer in the smithy.
- Well, be glad, that like this. - Sleepily said Ghai. - Finish shaghu.
- What about Ghash and Oghr?
- Ghash is provident, he has more. - Ghai started to rise. - I will go to him. He will be interrogating the wounded. Must help.
I shuddered, remembering how had been questioned the wounded rohirrim.
Around were walking sleepy, sluggish snagas. From time to time someone of them would poke with a spear one of the bodies lying about. Sometimes after such poke would come cries.

The crop-eared elf came over, stuck into the ground the jagged sword, up to the hilt covered with blood, and lowered himself next to me .
- What are they doing? - I asked him.
- Finishing off the wounded, - he replied indifferently.
- I understand, - I shook my head. - I wanted to ask, why after everything was over?
- And what can be done with them? - The elf answered with a question . - I might be able to help to some of them. But not to all. In this heat their wounds soon got fouled. So it can be considered as a mercy.
- Mercy? - I was surprised. - I know it is a prowess to kill the enemy in a battle, but to finish off the wounded like this is an abomination.
- They won't survive anyway, - the elf smiled sadly. - There is no one to treat them and to care for them. Right now you can not explain to snagas why it is unnecessary to kill the enemies. They are killing their own fear. You've already done what you could, Halfling. You fought bravely.
- You too.
- Not worth of talking about it, - the elf shook his head. - In my life I have killed a lot more orcs than saved today. I have a long life
- Why? - I asked. - I mean, why are you saving them?
- Because one day I realized that they are our children. Our miserable, exhausted children. Morgoth is the great deceiver. He was not able to create, but was able to distort someone else's creation. When children of the deceived elves have returned to us, we greeted them with arrows. We could not do otherwise, and Morgoth knew it. He knew how unbearable for us is this living mockery. And this joke was on us, because it turned out into such a long and terrible deception. We thought that we fight against evil, but fought with our own distorted reflection. With our children.
- But they're allied with Melkor.
- Do you know the real name of Morgoth? - Surprised the elf. I nodded.
- And where else they could look for a help? They hated him as much as we do, and, perhaps, even stronger, but they wanted to live. To survive. They are not inherited from their cheated parents the eternal life, but they wanted to live that still remaining the brief one. We could help them, but we do not understand them, did not want to understand. We did not want to make the effort. We were blinded by our own pride. We had the Light, that they have lost. We pushed them into the arms of those they hated. Then a new generation came, and the beginning was forgotten because everyone really wants to forget it. But the war has remained. We fought with them, thinking that we are protecting goodness and light, but, in fact, in the chorus of Ainur we sang the song contrived by Melkor. We have been given the Light, and we squandered it on a pointless war with our own children and on trifling trinkets: stones, rings.
- Are you talking about the Rings of Power?
- Do you know about it? - This time the elf was not even surprised.
- Two of my grandfathers were in the Ringbearer's squad. One of them with Frodo Baggins has reached Orodruin crevices.
- You belong to the great race, Halfling. Woe to one, who will be misled by your look. When I saw your relatives at the Council of Elrond the Wise, I, too, had been deceived by their amusing appearance. Just like the Wise, however.
- You were at the council of Elrond? - It came my turn to be surprised.
- Yes, - nodded thoughtfully the elf. - I was in Legolas' retinue and stood at the back of his chair, when has been hold a discussion of the fate of Ardia.
- Did Legolas have the retinue? - I could not remember whether this was mentioned in the Red Book.
- Surely you don't think that the son of the Lord of Thranduil could embark on a long and dangerous journey alone? Of course, he had the retinue, and I was also in it. Only later, when the Wise have decided to send the Ring to Gondor, Legolas resolved not take anyone with him, since already it was no need in that. Mithrandir, the Grey Wizard, who bore the Ring of Fire and possessed the gift of a fiery persuasion, was a worthy companion for the prince of the Firstborn. Next to him Legolas has no one to fear.
- They nearly have got killed in Moria, - I replied. - When they meet with the Balrog.
- Balrog ... - the elf grinned. - Balrog is just a balrog. Small demon of the fire element. What could he do to Maya? Especially to the Maya, who is wearing Naria. And Mithrandir is the Maya, his power is only slightly inferior to the power of the Valar. With a word he can move mountains and make rivers stop . Even Legolas would overtake the Balrog. Not by himself only, of course, but with the help of people and the dwarf, that were there. He could. Before that he had happened to meet with these fiery creatures in the battles. But Mithrandir could simply dispel the Balrog into a smoke with just one his exhale. The whole way through Moria was just a whim of the Grey Wizard. There was a much easier way to get to Gondor. One had only to turn to the north of Rivendell, walk the Upper Pass, which was guarded by beorings, and from Carrock go down Anduin on boats to very Osgiliath. But for some reason Mithrandir wanted to go the hard way. Inscrutable are the ways of the Wise.
- Wait, - I mused. - You say "Gondor". But at the Council it was decided to take the Ring to the Mount Doom!
- So it was said to those who do not have the wisdom - The elf laughed. - The ring just cannot be left in Rivendell. The Nazgul would find out about it and Curunir the White Wizard too . If the Ring would remain in Rivendell, they could form an alliance in order to get it. The same could happen if the Ring was sent to the Grey Havens or Lothlorien. I doubt that Cirdan or Galadriel would want to keep the Ring for themselves. Thranduil did not want to. He understood that this will bring the war in the domain of the Firstborn . Of course, neither the White Wizard, nor the Nazgul, or even together they would not have enough strength to deal with us, but for it we would have to pay no small price. Already, starting from the date of creation of the world, it was shed too much of the precious blood of the Firstborn But most importantly that, in order the three other rings were able to operate at full capacity, the fourth one should have an owner. The son of the Steward of Gondor, a descendant of the King of Gondor and four of the Keepers people . Does not matter who of them would seize the Ring. The Wise forethought any outcome.
- What if the Ring had really got to Gondor?
- Then all the Nazgul's malice and the power of the White Wizard would fall on it. In fact, this is what had happened in the end.
- But the king of Gondor, had he taken a possession of the Ring, would not he be dangerous for the Firstborn? Under the influence of the Ring he could turn into a monster far more terrible and vicious than Nazgul. And more strong.
- I see, - said the elf. - You know about the Ring, but you do not know what it is.The Ring of Sauron itself is just the thing. The thing that cannot have its own will. This is what the orcs, - elf shook his head, pointing at the surrounding - called "ghr"- "the thing which is multiply the power." Air, water, fire ... - What's missing? - Suddenly he asked quickly.
- Earth, - I replied , after a little thought. - Air, water, fire and earth - four elements from which the world was created. What the Ring has to do with it?
- One ring - to determine, one ring- to foreknow, one - to inspire, and one - to connect them all, - said the elf - When ships of Númenor began to appear at the shores of Middle-earth, Sauron the Dark came to Gil-Galad and suggested an alliance against Númenoreans. Gil-Galad knew that Sauron has been a servant of Melkor, the eternal enemy of the Firstborn, and therefore refused. He had refused then. But the númenoreans ships continued to arrive, they were building their cities and fortresses in the Middle-earth, they are competing with us in all things, and it became clear that they want to own all of the Middle-earth. Would be anywhere in their world a place for us? And how the Great Lords of the Firstborn might acknowledge the supremacy of the human King? But he did not want to concede to their power. Numenor was strong with courage of its soldiers, knowledge of the wise and determination of the rulers. The war with them would create rivers of blood of the Firstborn. The precious blood. And Sauron was the Maya, the same as Curunir and Mithrandir, who came later . His power and knowledge was hard to ignore. He served once Melkor, but then Morgoth had already been driven out of this world. Shunned by us. And then Gil-Galad agreed to the union. The union, which would have merge the might of the Maya and the power of firstborn's magic. An invaluable knowledge about the world and the ability to change it .
- So it was the union, - I said. - And the Ring of Earth went to Sauron .
- Yes, - nodded the elf. - As the earth combines the remaining elements, so the ring of Earth united all the others, linking them in a single chain. Four Ringbearers gained power over the mind and the will of mortals, over all, who wore the lesser rings, and therefore gained the power over all Middle-earth. The force, which was capable to turn the audacity of Numenor into dust.
- Are the lesser rings - the rings of people and dwarves? - I asked. - Nine and seven?
- Yes, - confirmed the elf. - They have been forged first. Artful were Eregion's goldsmiths and a considerable knowledge they have got from Sauron, but, in addition to the knowledge, an experience is needed . The earliest, lesser rings had helped to get it. The Seven rings we have presented the Dwarves Kings and have stopped the lengthy feud between the two races, which began some long time ago over the Nauglamir. There was only a memory of it. Since then, the children of the First Smith Aule were always fighting on our side. The Nine Rings Sauron gave to people. He chose the mighty kings and wise magicians to multiply their strength and wisdom. None of us couldn't understand, then, why he chooses only those who is old and close to the edge of the life.The Firstborn does not understand the human fear of death. Only many years later, we learned the secret.The Rings extended, if not a life, then an existence to those people, and for that, many of them were ready for anything. This is how Sauron created the Nazgul - the faithful servants of his Ring.
- But if all of it was true, as you say, the Nazgul had to submit to all, who wear the Rings of the Elements.- I said.
- So how it was at first, - said the elf,- as long as they have not been Nazgul. But Sauron deceived us. He altered the spell which was written on the Ring by masters of Eregion , and put on Ardia a new spell. He woved into his spell stones of the Mount Doom's slopes, fire of its bowels, poisoned air above it, and poisoned vapors of its streams.
- That's why the inscription on the Ring was in elven runes, but in the language of Orcs, - I guessed. - He changed the inscription that was before.
- You're right, Halfling, - the elf smiled sadly. - He turned to the language of Orcs, because in it many of the words have not one, but several meanings. Often these meanings are linked in a very whimsical ways. He found a word that meant not only the "link", but also "force" and "order". He even had to come up with a written language for the orcs to be able to write a word. However, this is just one of his dastardly deeds. It can not be compared with the Ring.
- You said that the Ring - "ghr", the "thing, multiplying the power," - I mused. - Then it multiplied Sauron's ability to command.
- After the new spell every his desire, the most fleeting thought, could be the order to anyone whom his will could reach. Orders that are impossible to disobey. Only the owners of three other rings can protect themselves from this. - The elf shook his head. - But if it was only that. After all the Rings were linked into a single chain.The Ring of Air increases the ability to make wise decisions, the Ring of Water - the ability to providence, the Ring of Fire gave the gift of persuasion. Sauron was getting all of this too. In lesser way than the owners of these rings, but still ...
- And then you went to the war with him?
- Not right away. It is hard to fight an enemy that can read your thoughts. Through the Ring Sauron can penetrate into the minds of other Ringbearers. Not Galadriel, nor Cirdan or even Gil-Galad could resist him alone. He is the Maya.
- Wouldn't be simplier, just remove the Rings? - I was surprised. - And destroy? If the smiths of Eregion had made them, they could destroy. The chain would be broken and Sauron would have remained with nothing.
- It was not so easy to do, as you think, Halfling . The rings were made for opposing Numenor. But the Numenoreans have not disappeared. And the first thing what Sauron did after the spell changed, he with the army of Mordor Orcs attacked Eregion.
The knowledge about the rings was lost along with those who made them. We had to wait. The Wise knew that the Kings of Numenor and Sauron the Dark will be too cramped in the Middle-earth. We were waiting for them to clash and to weaken each other. Besides, for someone, who once donned the Great Ring, it was almost impossible to part with it. The stronger and wiser the ringbearer was, the more difficult it was for him. The Rings were given a great strength to their owners. The greater was the power and the will of the owner - the more intense was an influence of the Ring. Of all mortals only Bilbo Baggins was able to give the Ring to another, but he just could not resist the will of Mithrandir. Without Mithrandir, without the aid of his destructional will, multiplied by Naria , Bilbo would not do it. Nobody could.
- My grandfather wore the Ring of Sauron, - I replied. - And he gave it out. By himself. Nobody forced him. The keeper, Frodo Baggins, only asked him about it.
- Yes? - Astonished the elf. - I've never heard of it. If this is true, then you lead your race from the greatest of mortals. Only two were able to give belonging to them the Great Ring. Cirdan and Gil-galad. But only Cirdan managed to give it at the will. Gil-galad was forced to do it by a death. And up to his last moments he did not want to take off the Ring. I saw it with my own eyes.
- You've seen?!
- If I was then at least five steps closer ... - sighed the elf, not paying attention to my exclamation. - Then the Ring would be given to me, not to Elrond. I still remember the expression on Gil-Galad's face , when he took Vilia off the finger. But he remembered that the ring should be given voluntarily. If it will be removed from his dead body, then calamities for the Firstborn will be immeasurable. So he did it. Elrond was closest to him. That's funny. Elrond - the half-blood, for whom to carry the sword for Gil-Galad has been the greatest honor, has received a gift, worthy only of princes and became one of them. The First among them.The grimace of fate worthy of Morgoth.
- I do not understand, - I thought. - Why the Ring or the Rings had to be given out? What's the mystery in here?
- No mystery in here, - the elf shrugged. -The Rings are kind of memorizing their owners. The one who owns the Great Ring had to put it on the finger on the next owner. Then it would serve him well, as true as with the first owner. But if this is not done, then the worst would have happened. The Ring would just continue to give a strength to everyone, who approached it. Whoever wore it - more, the one who just had been close by - less.
- So what? - I was surprised. - What's so horrible about it?
- Everything, - said the elf.- The Rings, that have not been given, were not simply multiplied the power of those, who wore them, they had the same influence on anyone, who happened to be nearby. The one who was getting the Ring of Sauron, was beginning to feel that all of his concealed fears, of which he ashamed to admit even to himself, all his hidden desires, that that he even not aware of, suddenly were coming to him as a command, as a foreign oppressive will, which is impossible not to comply. And he is getting the commands from the thoughts of others, too. Only weaker. It made mad the prince of Gondor Isildur and many others after him. The same thing was also with the lesser rings. They often changed owners. It was enough to break the rule just once, and each subsequent owner of the ring was getting into a distorted world. The more owners that ring changed, the worse it was getting. So this is how other nazgul appeared and how the dwarves developed an immoderate greed .
- And you knew about all of this right from the beginning? - I asked.
- No. But we learned and understood with time.
- So why you have not broken the chain? Why no Cirdan, or Galadriel, or Elrond, why no one threw his ring into the mouth of the Mount Doom when the battle with Sauron has ended ? In fact, there were none to stop them.
- Throw it in the Orodruin and break the chain? What for? Sauron was defeated, Numenor, or rather what was left of it, from an enemy has become an ally. What could threaten the Firstborn? The son of the King of Gondor, who seized Ardia? It's a pity that nobody could prevent it from happening and Elrond did not know what he has got as a gift. Cirdan, same as Gil-Galad, overstrained himself in the battle with the will of Sauron and barely survived. Galadriel has not been at the Orodruin, but even if she was there, she would hardly be able to move. Believe me, even with the united will of the three great Ringbearers was not easy to resist the will of the Maya and the strength of his ring. It was barely enough to deprive him of the ability to use magic in a combat and get to fight as a regular soldier. The Firstborn paid the great price for the victory. The heavy and terrible price.
Why we had to give up everything and to destroy by ourselves what have been created with the help of the Rings, and what could be created in the future? Sauron was cast down. His will was broken in the fight with Gil-Galad, Galadriel and Cirdan. He had lost his ring, and with it lost attached to its power. He became so weak that he had lost even his appearance. From that day he could be present in Arda only as a clot of fire, but it was not enough for the actions . He has not been able to subjugate no one ever.
- What about Nazgul? He had Nazgul.
- Or rather, they had him. It is an unenviable fate for the eternal Maya to be an advisor to mortals who drag out a miserable existence of ghosts. Nazgul could be ordered through the rings, but without Ardia Sauron, who lost his power and will, could not supervise them. Nobody could. For this someone had to own Ardia. But anyone who took possession of the Ring after Sauron, was too quickly becoming a wretched madman. Who knows what would have happened to the Firstborn, if the Wise not found a way out.They found the Keepers people - the little mortals, who were interested in nothing outside of their world. The Keepers did not aspire to the power, and it was the most important. When such mortal would receive the Ring, he uses it for his small pleasures, not striving for something bigger than that. And the world came into a balance. Only occasionally the Nazgul were disturbing it, but they were being contained fairly quickly, each time in no more than one mortal's year or two.
- A birthday gift. - I said sadly. - Our people do not give presents for those who have birthdays. He gives himself the gifts to the guests. If I would recieve from someone's birthday a ring that grants wishes, I would have remembered it all my life.
- What are you talking about? - The elf distracted from his memories.
- About nothing. - I replied. - I just remembered something. Did your Wise think about the Keepers themselves? About into what the ring was turning them?
- Do you think that the balance of the world is not worth of this small sacrifice? Mortals are mortal. Does it matter what happens to the life of a mortal, if he will die anyway. Besides, no one forced them to wear the Ring. They used it on their own will. But the chain was closed, and the Great Three could improve the world.
- Apparently, - I became disgusted. - If the Ring has got to Gondor, a war would have started in there, which has begun any way, and its new owner would quickly become insane. If it had come to one of my kind, - I hesitated, - it would be the same with him, as had happened to the other Keepers. But what if it would fall into the hands of the Orcs in Mordor? Or, then worse, the Nazgul?
- Then the war would begin in Mordor. The will of the Three would be enough to break the will of any new Ardia's owner, as it was once had happened with Sauron. Let along any man or orc. Even Saruman, if he would receive Ardia, could not withstand: after all, now among the Three was Mithrandir. But if the Nazgul have got the Ring , the most likely would happened what had happened. They would throw it in the Mount Doom.
- What for? - I was surprised. - I understand that Sauron could not use his ring again ?
The elf nodded.
- So, the Nazgul were looking for it for themselves. Why would they want to throw it in the fire?
- They thought it would make them free. They felt the power of the Ring, but knew that none of them could own it. They decided to get rid of it in order to get rid of the influence of an alien to them will. They were right. The fire of the Mount Doom burned Ardia, Nazgul became free. From everything.


The elf could be prolonging the memories of his eternal life for a long time, but we were interrupted. Ghash with Ghai showed up, both with smiles from ear to ear, and excitedly began to tell me about how well we have done that we came back
Almost all of young snagas got perished, but they laid down the full ordo of rangers, in the number of two hundred people. Most important that now the whole desert will know about this fight and that the King of Gondor ordered to destroy the wells. Now the rangers will be tracked down prior, in the mountains, and none of them for sure won't penetrate into the depth of Mordor alive. Also Ghiryzhsh Shin-Nagh came in, leading a small gang of orcs, outfited with weapons of Gondor. He stood on his knees in front of me and for a long time was saying something in a quick patter. Ghash was translating.
I was feebly nodding and saying something in response.Then there was a general wash. We washed off from ourselves the blood of defeated . I was given the opportunity to do it first.
All this I did in a distracted state, I was thinking about what had been said by the crop-eared ghama.
I came to my senses closer to the sunset, when I saw a familiar bactr, which two snagas were led by the reins to the well . The baktr was forced to kneel and lay on stomach, and then from his back was removed a gray buurgha bundle. They put it in the dust and carefully unwrapped. In the bundle laid the body . The body of Ughluk. He was dead.

[Olmer]

32
Ughluk was buried in the morning of the next day. He was buried in a simple way, without honors, goodbyes and words, as mundane as would be buried killed in action snaga. The only honor that was done to his body was a private, not a common, grave. At that time all of it seemed to me absurd. The bony body was wrapped in a buurgha, buried, earth over the grave was trampled and on top of it was put a boulder. If you get away from the grave on ten paces, you already be struggling to find it. Walk away for a hundredth, and you won't find it ever. A lot of stones scattered in the desert. Who can say how many graves are hidden beneath these stones... But "only alive need compassion." Uruuk-Hai does not cry for the dead, maybe, only sometimes when he all alone with himself. He just remember the dead.
- I should not leave him for so long and so far away, - said the elf .
- It is useless to talk about it now, - said Ghash. - He knew it, as well as you. If he has decided that he had lived enough - no need to think about it now. Forgive me, azogh. Again you proved to be right. Thank you for this lesson.
-Where will you go now, Lingol? - He asked the elf.
- I do not know, - the elf adjusted his sword's sash. - If I can not be with you, probably, to the West. To the Grey Havens. Cirdan the Shipwright once vowed that he would be the last firstborn leaving the Middle-earth. It is still a place for me on his ships .
- You do not have to go with us. This is our business. Only ours.
- According to the custom ghama should be killed if one, to whom he belonged, dies. Are you really letting me go? - The elf looked at Ghash and, seems to me, in his voice was something strange.
- Are you ready to meet your death, the firstborn? - Ghash smiled and looked at the elf. Right in the eyes.
They stood for a while, and then the crop-eared looked away.
-No, - he said, trying to calm down his voice. - Not ready. Before, I knew exactly what would happen if I'll die, then I will go to the palace of Mandos. I felt it with all my being. But now I do not know. Something changed in the world. Now I can only believe.
- We all can only believe, - Ghash sighed. - Just believe ...
I did not see the movement of shaghrat. That is I saw, but at the end, when the dark steel of kughri already slashed the throat of the crop-eared.
The elf swayed and turned gray on face, his head fell back, and on the neck has appeared a thin scarlet strip, which immediately begin to ooze small drops. I imagined how, silly blinking, will roll in the dust the crop-eared ghama's head, and felt no pity.
- According to the custom, - said Ghash, looking at the elf, - a ghama's blood must be shed on the grave of the person to whom he belonged. Blood was spilled. Your slavery is ended, Lingol. Goodbye.
- I сould be helpful to you, - said the elf. - Who knows what awaits you in the dungeons of Barad-Dur.
- Whatever is awaiting for us, - said coldly Ghash, - you did not make your songs about it. This is our business. Only ours. I have spoken.
And the elf was gone. We stood silently for a little while, and then walked away, too. Only a stone with drops of blood on it was left in there ...

- Why did you kill the crop-eared? - I asked Ghash when we moved far enough.
- Did you understand that I killed him? - He asked instead of answering.
- I did, if I'm asking.
- Do you feel sorry for him?
- No. But I want to understand you better.
- I guess, I could not forgive him. His race. Ughluk could. Therefore, he could manage him. For this I have neither the wisdom, nor the strength. I would manage for a few days, but these days means nothing... And he did not even realize that he was killed. He spent many years with us and still did not understand. He will get to the Grey Havens sail away to the West and will never know that his life has remained in here.
- I wish you, indeed, would kill him, - I said. - It would be more honest, than like this: pretending to show forgiveness, but not forgive.
- You've changed, - sighed Ghash. - You have changed a lot during this summer.
- And you? - I asked. - Did you stay the same?
- No, - he sighed again. - I have changed too. Now I know that the life of unborn children is more important than the knowledge of the dead, and even than our lives. That in your doings you cannot be like the one, who is considered as an enemy. And something else, something which I know, but cannot put the name on it.
- What are you getting so teary about? - Interfered in our conversation Ghai. - Found whom to mourn! He should be finished as soon as the azogh brought dead. A slave cannot be with a weapon. The one, who agreed to be a slave, could not be liberated. Let alone the pointy-eared . He would have strangled us all in the desert. Or made us quarrel with each other .
- Shut up, - advised him Ghash. - Talking about what you don't understand.
- Of course, - grimaced Ghai. - Only you two are so smart. Making wise discussions about wise reasoning. You'd better ask Chsham what was he talking about with the crop-eared .
- You talked to him? - Asked me Ghash.
- Yes - I said. - After the battle.
- And what did he say to you?
- That Orcs are elves children.
- I see ... - drawled Ghash. - "Our children, our miserable, exhausted children." We have heard this song more than once. And what else?
- He was telling about the Ring. Remember, you said you have read ...
- O-ke-e-y, -Ghash stopped and made me stop. - Come, look at me. His face became hard.
- Look me in the eyes. Did he tell you about the Keepers people? About the fact that the Ring had to get to Gondor?
- He was talking about a lot of things, - I replied. - About this too. I became so disgusted that I was ready to kill him myself.
- You? - Astonished Ghash. - Why?
- Why, why! - I got angry. - What you would feel, if you have been told that your people are just someone's mindless toy? A hanger for their damned Rings. We were making legends about this, the book was written, but it turns out to be all a lie. The lie for gullible fools.
- I got it, - nodded Ghash. - I see, he filled up with crap both your ears. Up to the rim. So, that's why I'm seeing that you are not quite yourself and can not understand what is splashing there, in your eyes. Throw it all out of the head.
- What? - I did not understand. - What to throw out?
- All that he had told you. Throw away. Forget. Witchery is it.
- Witchery? - Again, I did not understand. - As it is, a witchery?
-Just like this. The witchery. Luuk. Enchantment of the pointy-eared.
- Enchantment? But he was not conjuring at all. We just talked.
- That's it. Just talked. This is the spell. He enchanted you. Hexed. We should cut his head off. Really. Right away. To prevent others from the infection of the slavery. Remember, all that he told you is a nonsense. Maybe there are a couple of drops of the pointy-eared blood in me and the guys, - Ghash pointed at Ghai and Oghr.- But we don't give a damn about it. We know our kin not by the blood they have, but by the deeds in their life. The pointy-eared will never understand it, and until the end of the eternity will be boasting with their blood .
And don't you dare to call your relatives the "hangers", don't dare even to think. No matter in what games the pointy-eared with the eternal wizards were played, the chain of the Rings was broken . The world has stopped to get covered with mold and began to live again. And that had been done by your grandfather. He dragged the Keeper on his back to the crevices of Mount Doom. He did not let the Keeper to get mad. And he's the only one, you hear, only one, who wore one of those damned Rings and was able to give it up. By himself, when nothing urged him to do it. This is the sort of thing which should be remembered. And remembered with respect. Not everyone could do what your grandfather did. Do you understand? But he did it. No one would be able to do the bigger deed, what he did for his children and grandchildren.
Worthless to have regrets about the past, it has already passed. It should only to be remembered and should be told about it to the children, so they won't repeat once made mistakes. And now forget about the crop-eared. He chose a slavery and got what he chose Now for him is only the past. But for us also the future.

His words did not scatter the fog of delusion created by the crop-eared slave. But they struck the hole in it . For me still it was dark around, the sun has not yet risen, but I began to see the light again .
- Where are we going now? - I asked Ghash, shaking off this stupor. - That you should know, - he laughed. - You are deciding now.
- Why me?
- Who else? The azogh has ordered us to protect your back to the end of your life or ours. We agreed. You are alive. Now you have to decide where you go. We should go after you.
-But Ughluk told just about the fight, - I shook my head. - The fight is over. Now everything should be as it used to be.
- Nothing ever happens "as it used to be", - seriously replied Ghash. - We said, "Yes" and you, too, did not mind. Now it is all your decision.
- Well ... - I do not like cursing, but I spoke the words that would prefer not to repeat. - What if I won't go to the Black Tower?
- Then I'll have to break the word. - Ghash said. - I will go to there anyway and do what I planed to do from the beginning.
- I'll go with Ghash,- is said Oghr. - And then I'll have to make a sheopp, because one, who violates his word, is not worthy of life.
- And you too? - I asked Ghash, already knowing what the answer would be.
- No, - he shook his head. - Shaghrats are not allowed to die. Even in order to prevent torture or shame. All my actions will be judged in Shaghbuurth, if I will come back.
- I'm with you, - said Ghai. - I went to this trip for you and promised to protect your back even without oaths to azogh. The journey is not yet over. - Can not I release you from this oath?
- Every man frees by himself from the vows. We said our "yes" not to you and not even to the azogh. We said to ourselves and to the Impartial One.
- I see, - I cannot say that I was surprised. I was expecting something like this . - Are we ready for the road?
- No, - Oghr answered for all . - The blades should be checked after the fight and re-sharpened, if necessary.
- The crop-eared broke my bow,- complained Ghai. - I've got the arrows for myself, but I have to ask for the bow in the village, they have collected a lot of them after the fight.
-We can leave part of the water and food supplies, - added Ghash. - The group is smaller now. Or we even can take someone else with us. This guy, for example, Shin-Nagh. With a local guide we can go at night, they're picking up the trail by smell. We will cover the distance quickly.
- Can you do that all until the evening? - I asked.
- We can, - they said almost in unison.
- Then let do it this way. Oghr will take care of the blades. Ghash will talk to Ghiryzhsh. Ghai will pick up a bow and will be responsible for equipment and provision. Are we definitely being able to go at night? Won't we get lost, seems there is nothing to catch the eye. - Even if at the night we will veer off the way, the Mountain can be seen during the day, and from it - the Black Tower. So we won't get lost, - said Ghash,
- I see. Then by the evening we should be ready.
They stood in front of me in line, put their fists to the chests and said together:
-Yes. Understood. We'll be ready.

They did not let Ghiryzhsh Shin-Nag to join us. Rather, they let him stay with us for one night and one day. He brought us to the place, where in the daytime could be seen the top of the Black Tower. Then we continued on moving by ourselves. We were given a second bactr and they said that we do not have to return one of them , but to use for meat, if it comes to the pinch. Since you can ride on the bactr together, the last part of the journey was with almost all comfort. Anyway, it went a lot easier than I have expected.
Unlike my companions, I could not distinguish the Black Tower in the distance for a long time. I saw it when was less than a day to the end of our journey. The structure was monumental. The impression is only strengthened when we approached it. From a distance it seemed like a thick black column in the middle of gray desert.
The bactrs were unhurriedly moving their paws, and, gradually, the column was becoming more and more thicker and higher, until it turned into a tower hundred feet in height and in the same numbers at the bottom, made by blocks of the black stone. The top of the tower was crowned with a fifty feet metallic structure of nine pillars, tilted to the middle, on which was resting a grid sphere.
When we came to the very base of the tower, it turned out that it has no doors and no windows. Even the gaps between the black stones were barely visible. For a moment I thought that the work of cracksman-burglar is beyond my ability.
- And where can be an entrance? - I asked Ghash, when we camped at the base of the tower. - Are there any map or parchment? Where should we find it? Should we start tapping the wall?
- The entrance is on the top, - he said, and signaled with hand to Oghr. - According to the old books of Isengard, there were several gates at the base of the tower and one on its very top. No one knows how deep you have to dig to the base. Maybe not so much: the tower stood on a hill, and the rest of the city - in a hollow. But we are too few to waste energy on digging, we will go through the top.
- So? - I lifted my head and looked up. The black wall was almost smooth, with sparse, barely visible seams. - I think it is not easy to get up.
- It's easier than it sounds, - Ghash laughed. - Our guys already happened to get there, they just were not able to enter. Oghr! Come on, get the hooks!
- Already, - lazily replied upcoming Oghr. - Hooks, hammer, carry all gears.
He threw at Ghash's feet a coiled cord , thundering bunch of iron hooks, and handed him a hammer on a long handle.
-Are you gonna climb up?
-It is no one else, - said shaghrat, tying the cord around his waist. - For this purpose in the ataghan were two guys from Gundabad . But where are they now ...
- Maybe I can? At the Ash mountains I was doing better than you. - I felt it was time to take up a job assigned to me.
- If I'll fall, then you will go, - agreed Ghash. - You will stay at the bottom and carefully watch how I climb up and will hold the rope at the same time. Throwing off his boots, he walked around the tower, at each step, feeling the wall, searching for the path with which the tower has been climbed before him.
When in one of the joints between the blocks has been found a hole Ghash chuckled with satisfaction and drove in his first hook. Then I had to work as a ladder. Sitting on my shoulders, he hammered the second and third hooks.
Farther up he did not need my help. He threaded a cord into the loop of the upper hook, got to the lower hook, stepped on the middle one, pulled himself up, straightened up, and remained standing, leaning slightly away from the wall and holding at the upper hook, which was at his belt level.
-Throw the cord over your shoulders, - he said to me, - and stand with your feet on both ends, you will be slowly releasing it when I pull. If I will break loose, you hold tightly and do not step off the cord. Got it? I nodded and did as he told me. The work was simple. I just need not to interfere while Ghash was making the next step up. The shaghrat climbed slowly, thoroughly hammering each hook and carefully checking how it holds. When Ghash reached the platform at the top, on the wall behind him was left a staircase of the hammered in the wall hooks with the stretched between them cord.
- Well, the cracksman! - He called to me from above. - Come here, your work begins.
I looked at the rope ladder on the black side of the tower. It is no hobbit's work to climb the steep walls, but this summer I've done so many unhobbit's things ...
- Wait! - Ghash stopped me, when I set a foot on the first step. - I will fix something in here. Ghai! Where are you? Help Chsham!
- Running, rushing, even the boots fly off the feet .- Ghai responded, slowly approaching me. - What do you want?
- Throw me a spider-thread. - Ghash stuck his head out from behind the iron pillar at the top . - And make a stirrup to the guy, he can not do it.
- Easily, - Ghai ran to our encampment and brought his bow and another coil of cord. Then he took from the belt's bag a ball of thin thread, tied it to the tip of the arrow and fired up. The arrow had circumscribed an arch and disappeared over the edge of the tower landing.
- There is! - Came from the top. - Tie the cord!
- Already! - Ghai said, tying a spider-thread to the cord. - Pull!
The coil began to unwind, like a snake crawling up. After a few moments the free end fell off the top .
- Could you tie up my boots at the same time?
- I'll send them with Chsham, - promised Ghai, took my kughri, pulled the end of the cord through the rings on the scabbard and the hilt and sat me on the makeshift big stirrup.
- Oghr! Come here, need to raise Chsham up!
- I'm not sick in the head to lift up this "chunk" by hand to such a height, - said Oghr, coming from the back of the tower and leading a bactr by the reins. - Look at him, his shoulders are wider than mine, and such a paunch he grew out...
Involuntarily, I looked at myself. About my belly Oghr said just to be witty.
- Hold to the cord with both hands, - said Ghai, tying the other end of the cord to the bactr, - legs push up against the wall and walk very-very fast, otherwise your nose will drive on the wall all ways up.
I wanted to nod, but Oghr moved the baktr, and I was on the top of the tower, faster than saying "Mama!".


At the topt was empty and windy . From the massive teeth-like bases around the edge of the platform obliquely raised upward red from rust pillars in half-wrap thickness. The tops of the pillars propped up a grid ball in size of three arm spans, but not rusty, and covered in a greenish tinge. Inside the ball was nothing in sight, seems, it was empty.
- Look around, - said Ghash, taking his boots from me . - The entrance is here, that we do know for sure. It is written in the books, that the Nazgul, when flying on theirs winged creature, used the upper entrance of the Tower of the Fiery Eye. But we do not know how they were getting in.
- You have fresh eyes. Look.
- Is this precisely that tower? - I asked, walking around the area . - Maybe there's another one?
- No, - shook his head Ghash. - No others are in here. The towers are not built in the desert. The whole this city was an one-storey. From the gate and up to Nurnon it is the only tower. After the volcano eruption the desert has changed, the old maps are lying, but if you look at what has not changed: the mountain, lake Nurnon, Spider Pass - by that the tower is standing where it should be. Direction and distance - everything is matching.
- What about the town? - I looked at the surrounding tower desert. - No trace of the city in there.
- I told you, the city was in a concave. The houses in here have always been built in the valleys - less of the wind and closer to the water, when the wells needed to be dug. Now everything is under the sand, and no one knows how much of this sand lies over the rooftops. But the underground should be free. In here, in thousands years so many tunnels were dug up ... All stones for the construction of the city was mined from beneath it. A lot of things should be in these caverns.
- I see. - I pointed to a roughly carved image of the eye on the closest to me tooth . - What's this?
- It is a sign of the Fiery Eye, - said Ghash coming up. - It is on all nine teeth, under each pillar.
- Why the rim around the iris is green? - I asked. - If the Eye is fiery red, then the ring around the pupil should be red, but it's green ...
- I do not know, - Ghash shrugged. - In books of Isengard we found very little about this tower and nothing about those eyes. Under one of them still remained an inscription. Under that one.
- Show to me.
The inscription was carved on the stone in crooked, angular runes of the Black speech. Four short lines.
- I wish I could know what is written.
- We know, - heave a sigh Ghash. - Only it's not helping.
His face got a strange, frightening expression, he took a deep breath and recited in one exhale, guttural and sharp:
"Ogi u- krimpagh nazghatul,
Ogi u- nazgh-at krimpaul,
Ogi u- shaghai ghashhatul,
Agh u-ay-Ishiti nazghaul "
- Don't scare me like that - I said when the echoes of the gloomy spell died off. - Like you have called the Nazgul . It even became darker .
- That the sun goes down, - laughed Ghash. - What Nazgul? The rings were burned, the ringwraiths too. This spell should open the entrance. We thought so. But it does not open. It does not even show where is the entrance.
- What does it mean on the Westron ? - I asked. - Can you say it on Westron?
- Of course I can, - Ghash took a breath again.
I tensed, but this time the sky did not get darker.
- "The Nine Lords to connect into a chain ,
The Nine rings to open the domain,
The Nine to ignite the Fiery Eye
And through its iris to pass by."
- I would not translate like this, - said Oghr.
I did not even notice when he climbed up.
- I would not too, - agreed Ghash. - Words experts, far better than us, racked their brains. Did you ever in your life make a song?
- No, - shook his head Oghr. - My songs are in the iron
- So am I - no songs. But the experts say that this verse is clumsy, but it is closest to the sense of the spell. They know better.
- I do not believe in spells. - The Oghr laughed. - I still did not hear a single spell that would help to forge a horseshoe. I believe in the hammer, fire and my own hands. Well, also in the goodness of the Impartial One, but it goes without saying.
- Yeah, - laughed Ghash - and also in a yellow dust.
- If I would just know where to embed it. - Oghr nodded. - Two pounds are not enough to break through this wall. Not even a single slit in here on the floor. I already looked. If in there would be at least a hint of the entrance, we would embed it and blasted so, that rocks would sprinkle out.
- Would it be better if you will try first to do it with a picklock? - Mocked Ghash.
- Show a keyhole, - waved off Oghr, - and I will try everything. Latchkeys, drills, crowbar and the yellow dust, if nothing helps.
- I would have shown, - Ghash shrugged his shoulders, - but do not know where it is. Together we will look for it. Hey, Chsham, what are you doing there?
I was picking with a fingernail a green rim around the eyes carved above the inscription. Part of the rim fell out even earlier, before me, and now I wanted to figure out what it is and why it is green. The Fiery Eye must be red.
- He is mucking around, that is, - Oghr said to Ghash. - Wants to dig the eye out of the stone .
- No, - I said. - Here. Come here you two. The whole eye is made of stone, but this green thing is not a stone. It's something else. It crumbles easily and, when removed, a groove remains around the pupil. Like a ring.
- The ring? - Ghash approached me. - Move over for a minute.
He took out his dagger, with one turn of the tip cleared the circular groove and pulled off a golden ring from the finger of his left hand, apparently forgotten about it since the time spent in Osgiliath. The ring fitted in the groove, as if always been there . The reflection of the setting sun mirrored off the gold with a purple glitter, and the eye immediately became angry and frowning.
- We-e-ll, - mused Ghаsh. - What about the rest?
We went around the platform trying to fit the ring in the place of green rims, and every time it appeared that every sign of the Fiery Eye was carved just for it.
- Nine rings, - Ghash muttered to himself, when we returned to the inscription. - Nine rings and nine lords of the rings. They were all in there. But we have only one ring.
I shuddered:
- Do you mean that this ring, with which we are playing, is the ring of the Nazgul?
- Of the Witch King, - nodded Ghash. - According to the inventory of the collection of trophies, signed by Colonel of the Royal Guard Beregond, it was found on the Pelennor Fields, at the site of the death of the Witch -King by a warrior Tars, the foreman of the Minas Tirith militia' s infantry regiment. Together with the ring was found a shield, a mace of Morgul, a rim of the crown, a cape, a Morgul's chain mail and a necklace made of gold and precious stones. Gold items were transferred to the royal treasury, as required by the law for the precious trophies. Other things by a custom went to one who picked them up. Six months later they were purchased by the king for worth their weight in gold from the widow of a soldier Tars. The warrior himself died four months after the battle from an unknown illness. About all this was written in a special annex to the inventory line. The inventory itself is stored in the King's book repository. The Hall for Privileged, shelf - sixth of the thirty-eighth row, place - two hundred eighty two.
- Are you sure? - I asked. - You said that the ring was sent to the royal treasury.
- Any treasury can be robbed, - said Ghash. - Especially if you are willing to spend on it more than going to carry. The person, who got it for me, is not one of those, who are wasting time on gabbing. I trust him. This is the Ring. In addition to it there is an inscription in Black Speech, on the inside. It is not seen, but if the ring is heated, it can be read: "Let the days flow by my word!" - Magic ... - I became upset.
- What magic? - Chimed in Oghr. - It's just an inscription cut out with a thin needle on an extremely hot metal. When it cools down, the inscription is not visible. Heat up - and it reappears.
- Magic of the rings is over, kid - said Ghash. - Anyway, I'm wearing it from Osgiliath and do not feel anything unusual. I even was beginning to wonder if this is really the Ring. But, again, now I think that this is - seems it fits in these eyes too perfectly.
- So what's next? - Asked Oghr.- Should be nine rings, but you've got one. Where are we going to take the others?
- Nowhere.- Ghash said, frustrated. - Eight others were burned in the fires of Mount Doom, along with their hosts.
- I do not understand, - I said. - What are you talking about here? Why do we need another eight rings of the Nazgul?
- To try to insert them into each eye, - said Oghr. - Since it is a place for them, which is very likely, then we would insert them into the eyes and see what happens.
- I think you're both wrong, - I said. - The fact that this ring fits the eye, in my opinion, mean nothing. Some other rings were in there, not the Nazgul's. Nazgul's rings went up in smoke. Right? Only one ring left out, if, of course, it is the real one. But what was inserted into the eye then? This green residue, that we dug out, is the remnant of some other rings, but not those, that were Nazgul's.
- Do you know, Ghash, - Oghr said thoughtfully. - The guy is talking sense. There was a copper, not gold, this green residue could be left from copper, I'm telling you. So your ring is just happens to fit in here.
- I do not believe in such a coincidence, - said Ghash. - What kind of lords, except Nazgul, can be mentioned in the inscription? Why the ring fits so exactly? Maybe they were inserting the brass rings while the wraiths having been absent?
- What for? - I asked.
- I do not know, - said Ghash. - I do not understand what for those eyes are, and what for those rings. If there were the rings at all.
- You know what? - I hastened to express the idea, before it was gone. - Let's make another eight rings and insert them all. And see what happens.
- And what should happen? - Astonished Oghr.
- I do not know, - I replied. - But you said yourself, "getting up and see what happens." Since there were other rings, not Nazgul's, then you can try to insert any others. If nothing happens, then we have nothing to lose. Everything will be as it was.
- Okay - said Ghash. -I have more than enough rings. We will choose the suitables.
- No need, - Oghr stopped him. - Do you have coins?
- What kind do you need? - Ghash asked in response.
- Better - gold, gold is soft, I would do the rings of exact size .
- Can it be made faster? - I butted into the conversation. - The sun is about to disappear
- If you want to try again today, the rings will be done in an hour. They do not need to be polished. It will be roughly done, but for us the most important is the appropriate size. Right?
- Right,- Ghash and I said together. - Let's do it.

Oghr, of course, worked more than an hour. The sun went down and stars have appeared on the darkening sky. But we were all so tingling with impatience, that no one paid an attention to it. When the eight rings were ready, the three of us again climbed up the tower, leaving Ghai to bask by the fire.
We decided to start from the inscription and go in a circle, following the sun, so that the eye with the spell should be the last. When Ghash inserted the first ring, I shuddered, expecting that now something will happen. Nothing, however, has happened not with the first, nor with the second ring, or even with the eighth.
- Well ... - sighed Ghash, when we came back to the inscription. -The last one.
He again took off his finger the ring of the Whitch-King , held it up a bit and stuck in the place. Nothing happened. Each of us was expecting something special, but nothing at all had happened, only a breath of freshness wafted through .
Ghai screamed from below.
- Up! - He shouted hysterically. - Look up!
We all looked up. On the dark surface of the ball, lying on the pillars, with a light crackle were flashing big blue sparks. Gradually it's getting more and more of them until the entire ball got covered with a bluish glow. And then in fifty feet above our heads banged so loudly, that the ears got muffled, and the ball has become a tangle of dark, purple flames. On the site at once became hot.
- It seems to me, - said bewildered Oghr, - that we just lit up the Fiery Eye. I'd like to know how we will get inside ...

[Olmer]

33

- Looks like I put my best foot forward saying that the magic of the rings was gone, - Ghash mused, watching as above us rages and tries to break out of its grids asylum the swirling flames .
- What if Sauron in there?! - The thought suddenly occurred to me, and got me pretty scared.
- Hardly, - Ghash doubted. - He only could exist as long, as there was existing his ring. And it was definitely burned up.
- Who is that, actually? - Intervened Oghr.
- He was a sorcerer, - said Ghash. - Same as the White, only he was the Black. Under his name the Nine ghouls ruled in Lughbuurth. He lived in a kind of magical flame of the Fiery Eye.
- Magic... Magic ... - grumbled Oghr. Why you got stuck on this magic? I cannot see any magic. The flame as the flame, almost the same as in Khand, in furnaces, where they are burning an earthen oil .
- You say the earthen oil? - Ghash looked at Oghr. - How can you identify that? Did you pour it into by yourself ?
- I, shaghrat, - Oghr seem got offended, - can discern four hundred shades of fire. This is only those, that have common names, and about fifty of these, for which the name has not come up yet. By the color of the flame I can tell where they brought the coal, which metal is heated and what kind of impurities are in the ore. And, unlike you, when I see something that works, do not cry immediately "Magic, magic!", but think how it could be done. If I say that this copper ball was lit by the earthen oil, so it's the earthen oil. Maybe from Khand, but that's exactly the oil.
- How do you know that this is the copper ball?
- It was green, until it got lighted up. Copper turns green in the air .
- But it is gridded, there is no bowl. Where the oil was poured into? And who poured?
- The oil is likely in the poles, they probably hollow, basked in the sun for days - the oil evaporates. We lit up this evaporations. - And where are the sparks coming from?
- I do not know. But you are not wondering about sparks from the flint and mentioning the magic. Maybe we pressed on something with the rings, maybe in some other way. Should look into and figure out. But it is no magic in here. I'm sure.
- It would be nice, - Ghash sighed. - Only the witchcraft is that's all we needed for a pleasure. I am not afraid of things that made by hands, but I have never dealt with the magic. I am anxious.
- You'd better tell us how we will get inside.
- I thought you'd tell. You know better about these things.
-We need to extinguish the ball. Let's take the rings out
- The inscription says, "ignite and pass by". Probably the entrance is through one of the pillars, if they really hollow, and, most likely, the entrance is closed when the ball is not lit up. Let's wait with quenching.
- Do you think they were going straight through the fire?
- Who knows ... Ghosts. Could walk through the fire.
- Do you know what I think. - The Oghr rubbed his chin. - We should tap the pillars, if they are hollow and one is designated for the entrance, the sound will be different. I don't know for how long we will have to tinker with the drills, but eventually we will drill through. If there would be some deadbolt, we will blast it with the yellow dust.
- I see, - Ghash looked worried. - Not a bad idea, we will start in the morning .
- What about the Eye?
- Let it burn. I afraid to remove the rings. What if we won't ignite again? If this is not a magic, then all of this stood here for one hundred years. Who knows how much left of this oil? What if this device won't work anymore? Let it burn ...

This talk about the properties of the fire and possible devices of the Eye I was listening with a half ear. I was engaged in quite another thing. I doubted very much that the ghosts were walking into the tower through the fire. One, who can be killed with the sword, can be burnt with fire too. Ghosts were afraid of the live fire, that I knew for sure. Enough to recall how by use the fire Aragorn drove them away at the Weathertop.
The entrance was somewhere else. It must be somewhere nearby, if the inscription was not lying. It did not lie about the Fiery Eye. We had to find something that could be called the "iris" of this eye. What could it be, I had no idea, and not even trying to imagine. I was just carefully looking around. On the pillars was nothing particularly noticeable, the rust just began to fall off, probably from the heat. Then I thought that the entrance may be at one of the teeth, not for nothing they carved the eye-marks. But none of the carved on stone eyes was standing out too. And then I looked at my feet ...
The dark shining stone underfoot was reflecting the flames and the whole area of the tower, like a witchy, evil mirror, shone with flashes of black and purple. Only in the middle of it, exactly under the ball, remained a dark, not illuminated by the fire, spot. "The iris of the eye." It seems looked like a black pupil in crimson flame. I was surprised, that I did not notice this immediately. As if in a dream, I walked slowly to the spot.
Ghash just said "Let it burn ", when I stepped onto the black surface of the "iris".
The stone slab faltered under the foot. Something inside the tower long and nasty grated, and other slabs around me began to sink. At first an invisible before gap has appeared, then the gap widened and turned into a hole, the hole recessed into a passage, and, finally, I found myself standing on the top of the wide spiral staircase. The stair leading down to the bottom of the Black Tower of Barad-Dur. From the stair shaft the wind was blowing like in a chimney. It even became cold, despite the fact that over the head the flame began to roar with a vengeance .
Ghash and Oghr stood zoned out and open-mouthed, looking at me like into a void.
- What is going on? - Yelled from below Ghai. - What is creaking in there? Can you say something? I am sitting here alone like a fool.
I rounded the opened entrance, walked over to Ghash and Oghr, and waved before their eyes. Neither one did not even bat an eye .
- Well, - I thought, - they will snap out of it .
I yelled to Ghai
- The entrance has opened!
Ghai sat down on the sand.
- So soon? .. - He said in bewilderment and became silent too.

I must pay a tribute to the shaghrat's self-control. He came to his senses the first and very fast.
- What's wrong with you all? - I asked him, when he shook his head, and woke up from his stupor.
- I cannot explain, - he said, helping quietly crying Oghr to sit down . - Do you understand, it is Lughbuurth. So many songs, legends were made about it. It was the largest city. The millennial city. Lullabies were sang to us about this. And now we have come and opened the entrance. Just like that, not even spending a one night. I ... I do not know what to say about it.- He waved his hand. -Seems I myself am going to cry. Oghr, why are you crying?
- I am sorry for the guys, - said Oghr in boyish, high-pitched voice. - You know how many of them were blown up, when we were making the yellow dust? All for nothing ... It was not even needed ...
- Don't, - I said. - They knew for what they were risking. Maybe it will be needed ...
- For such a cause won't be needed for sure, - said Oghr. - To open the entrance to Lughbuurth - such thing won' happens again. I do not know myself why I'm crying. It struck suddenly on a tear ...
- Ghai! - Ghash shouted down . - How are you there?
- Alive, - responded a voice from below. - Only somehow got chilled inside. When we will go inside?
- We will go tomorrow morning - said Ghash. - But you're staying outside.
- Why always me? - Came Ghai's indignant cry. - Everybody will go, but me - to watch the cattle? You yourself stay here!
- Stop arguing, - I tried to calm them down.- Why tomorrow, Ghash?
- Need to calm down, - he said. - To prepare. Who knows what's inside. You do not know, and I do not know. So, we will rest, gather a strength and then will go. Rush could cause only harm to the important task. Tomorrow... Tomorrow ...

I do not know how I was able to sleep, waiting for it "tomorrow." Others, seems, feel the same. In the morning Ghash and Ghai again started to quarrel. Ghai wouldn't hear of staying behind. He wanted to go with us. Ghash mind. In the end, I decided that nothing awful will happen if Ghai will go with us. Bactrs can eat thorns by themselves, no wolves around there. We stuffed with provision our rusks bags, filled flasks with fresh water, had drunk our fill of water , stocked up the torches and set off on the first exploration. Frankly, I was a great deal of afraid to plod down into the dungeon, although I tried not to show it. Maybe I allowed Ghai to go with us just because considered that his sword could be useful.

However, the danger that awaited us inside, did not require a sword. The easiest way is to get lost in this endless dark of the passageways. Unsteady light of our torches illuminated only a few steps of the path and roughly hewn stone walls. But Ghash led us confidently. He did not get confused, when at the base of the stairs we found out several passes diverging in different directions. From somewhere he took out a parchment, checked with it, found a carved rune on the wall of one of the passages and said that we have to go there. In addition, he had hammered a hook into a crack in the wall and tied a spider-thread to it .
- Carry on, - he said, giving the spider- thread to Ghai. - At least it will be some use of you. Just do not rip it.
- I know myself, - Ghai snapped, taking a coil of spider- thread, but, to my surprise, did not say anything else.
- Is it long enough? - I asked.
- For a league, - said Ghash, - if to untwist all threads.
- And then?
- Then we will take the next coil, and if it would not be enough, we will get the cords from buurghas. If it won't be enough, we will unravel to the threads the very buurghas. Do not worry, we won't get lost.

And so we set off: Ghash was going ahead, now and then stopping at each intersection of the passages and checking with the scroll. The last was walking Ghai, grunting, and from time to time stopping to tie another thread . The dark walls are hanging over on all sides, pressing to the feeling of tightness in the chest, and I was beginning to think that I shouldn't have succumbed to curiosity and go with them. I should stay at the top of the tower instead of Ghai and wait peacefully in the open air.
- Ghash - I pushed him in the back. - Where are we going?
- To the book repository, - he said, without turning around. - Where else?
- Do you know where it is? - I was surprised.
- No, - he said. - But I am assuming. Now we're going down the main aisle, from south to north. Judging by the time, we almost reached the middle of the city, soon large halls will begin. In there we will seek for the book repository.
- And what's in your scroll?
- Nothing special, - he waved dismissively. - Just a list of signs and inscriptions on the walls. At Ghazatbuurth they mark passages and doors with runes of the Black speech, as well as in here. It goes since ancient times . I have it all memorized by heart, but in such case it is better not to rely on the memory.
In the light of the torches came into a view a door. An imposing wooden door, crossed by thick iron bars. So far, we have seen nothing like that .
- Oghr, - waved Ghash.
Oghr moved from behind my back, looked at the barrier and said: "It is a simple bolt, nothing special."
He took out some curved piece of iron and put the one end into a crack between the door and the jamb: "Come along!Help." The three of us piled on top of the free end, rocked it a couple of times, something clanged behind the door, and it got opened.
- Everything got rotted, - Oghr said, stepping over a low doorstep. - Just in over a hundred years. Strange.
Something crunched under his feet, and we all looked down. These were bones, the bones of a human skeleton, or orc's, so small they were. Maybe they belonged to a child. A short distance away lay another skeleton, a little more farther - another. And one more. And further on. All space, as far as the torchlights can cover, was littered with bones. Probably hundreds of the skeletons were lying here.
- Ghai! You will stand at the entrance to the hall! - Ordered Ghash. - We have a look around! Stay all together! Do not move more than two steps away from each other!
Ghai nodded and put his torch into an iron holder on the wall. We, the three of us, slowly, trying not to step on the scattered everywhere bones, moved forward. Not always we managed to find an empty space for the feet, and then again under the soles was sounding a nasty crunch.
- From what all of them have died? - I asked, looking around, when we were already quite far away from the door. The light of the torch on the wall took out a silhouette of the dark doorway and sitting there squatting Ghai.
- Air, - Ghash said. - The air was poisoned, when it was the eruption of the Mount Doom. Likely, they all suffocated. Of the urban population survived only those who have been away from the city. When they returned, on the site of the city was the desert .
- What about us? - I got scared. - We can also suffocate! Maybe the air is still poisoned?
- Not looks like it, - said Ghash. - We walked that far, but did not smell any odor. Oghr! What will you say?
- What to say? - Oghr said, looking around. - I do not like it, I do not feel anything in the air, just dust. If there was poison, then it aired out. No wonder that on the stairs whistles like in the chimney. Air is coming from somewhere else besides from the tower. Seems it was some moisture, if the bodies decayed to the skeletons .
- Are you sure? - Asked him Ghash.
- I'm sure of nothing. - Oghr shook his head. - A terrible place. But there is a small draft. Look at the torches . We are staying, but the fire is wavering.
That's right, the flames of the torches was slightly deviating toward the exit.
- What we are going to do? - I asked.
- Going to return, - said Ghash. - For the first time it is enough. Just will find a door on the opposite side and open it. To make more draft, since the air is blowing, so let it blow even harder. For us it will be safier. Will find, open, and go back.

We stopped a little short of reaching the next door. It was already been visible, the same massive, as the previous one. Oghr already started to overtake me, on the move pulling out his curved piece of iron, but suddenly stumbled and waved his hands, trying to keep his balance, and fell flat on his back, dropping the torch. I leaned over him to ask what was happening, and suddenly felt dizzy. The stone floor rapidly moved to the eyes, and I buried my nose into the dust, inhaling a full mouth of it. There was a sound of another fall. It's somewhere nearby Ghash fell.
- Hey! - I wanted to shout. - Ghai! Help!
I do not know whether I shouted. Anyway, I have not heard my voice.
But my call has not gone in vain. The response came almost immediately. A few inches from my face was lying the skull . It was kind of ordinary looking, dusty, bald, with a gap in the bottom row of teeth. For some reason the rest of the skeleton's bones was not there. Only brown locks of hair lay beside him.
The skull winked at me with an empty socket of the left eye, blew out of the void instead of nose a cloud of brownish dust and said laughingly:
- Gollm!
- Gollm?! - I was amazed. - Why Gollm? You want to say "Gollum"?
- Gollm! - Boasted the skull. - Gollm!
- You're lying, - I tried to rebuff. - He's dead, he fell into the Orodruin crevice and burned together with the Ring of Power.
- Gollm ... - my strange talker became sad . - Gollm ... Poor, poor Smeagol ...
- Smeagol? - I was not mistaken, in the skull's voice could really be heard a sadness. - Do you remember that name?
- Smeagol ... - thoughtfully repeated the skull. - Poor, poor, small Smeagol ... - And Deagol was bad, - he announced suddenly. - Bad, nas-s-s-s-ty. Nas-s-s-s-ty, lousy hobbit-s. He wanted to take away the Prec-c-cious from Smeagol My prec-c-c-ious!
- Tell me, - I said, and held my breath, fearing and wanting to hear the answer.
- Prec-c-cious ! - The skull got anxious. - My Prec-c-cious! I got it as a gift! For a birthday! My Prec-c-cious! Deagol! Nas-s-s-s-ty hobbit-s! He said: "Give!" He said: "Give it to me! What you need it for?!" He said so. He said: "It is your birthday, you must give gifts to guests!" And he took it. Took my Prec-c-cious! Took away. My Prec-c-cious ! It was given to me as a gift! On the birthday! To me!!!
- So what was next? - I continued to pry.
- He's gone ... - the skull complained. - Snatched off my Prec-c-cious and left. He was strong. Stronger than me. He was beating me. Always. He took it and left. I shouted to him: "Choke on it! Put it on and choke on it!" And he laughed. They all laughed. Nas-s-s-s-ty, lousy hobbitses. They laughed at me. Laughed! On my birthday ... "Meanie! - they shouted to me -. Meanie, too greedy to give Deagol a gift!" They ate and drank at my birthday. And laughed ...
- What about Deagol?
The skull seems was reflecting on the past, but I had to hurry him again.
- He died, - the skull said indifferently. - He went to the river bank, where the trees are, put on the ring and hang himself. On his belt. I have seen. I watched. I took my Prec-c-cious , and fled. I ran away from all of them . From all nas-s-s-s-ty, fatty, lousy hobbitses. And I prohibited all of them to laugh. Forever. They stopped. And, too, died ...
- And you?
- I lived. I have lived a long time. My Prec-c-cious ... - somewhere out of the stone surfaced a black translucent hand with webbed fingers.
- Convenient to swim, - the skull said. - I thought it out by myself, my prec-c-cious ...
- What about Bilbo? - I asked. - Bilbo Baggins? Do you remember him?
- Thief !!! - Suddenly yelled the skull, in the empty eye sockets flared a purple flame . - Thief! Nas-s-s-s-ty thief! Thief! Stole my Prec-c-cious ! Baggins a thief! Nas-s-s-s-ty burglar! Stole! Stole my Prec-c-cious ! "Die, you nas-s-s-s-ty thief ! Die!" - I shouted to him -" Die!" But he did not die. He ran away. Stole my Prec-c-cious ... Bagginses are thieves ... - skull whimpered. - Empty .. Empty. I'm empty ... empty ...All got burned off inside ... My Prec-c-cious ...The Warlock said: "Take the Prec-c-cious! Waylaid a little hobbit-s in the bushes, when he will be alone ! And take the Prec-c-cious!!! My Prec-c-cious ! It will be yours again! "
- The Warlock? - I was all ears. - What warlock? Saruman? Or Sauron?
- My Prec-c-cious ... - the skull did not pay attention to my cry. - Betrayed ... And the warlock betrayed ... They were two ... two ... Not one. Two nas-s-s-s-ty hobbitses ... They said: "Lead us!" I could not disobey. My Prec-c-cious ... I led ... led till the very mountain ... - My Prec-c-cious! - Suddenly again proudly yelled the skull. - It left mine!. Forever! Mine!
And he went on muttering incoherently, in which it was impossible to make out something, but only the words "My Prec-c-cious !"
I tried to question him. I asked him the questions, but he did not answer and just continued a monotonous, slumberous mumbling.

The sounds of meaningless talking were enveloping me from all sides, penetrating into the ears, pressing down on the mind, and forcing to close the eyes.
- Magic, - I thought, closing ever heaviest eyelids. - It `s Magic...
- Magic? - Laughed someone inside the head with Oghr's voice . - Better guess how this is done, and all of the magic will disappear at once!
- Enchantment! - Sternly said in the head another, sounding like Ghash, voice. - It's a hex. He enchanted him, bewitched. They talked and he got bewitched. This is a luuk. The enchantment. Not magic.
They were arguing inside my head: is it an enchantment or it may be a dream.
- Sleep. - I thought. - Sleep. Now I'll go to sleep and die in the sleep. Then I will rot away, and my skull would tell tales to those who will come after us.
I was sure about the fact that someone would come after.
To open the eyelids was excruciatingly painful. The skull still was mumbling something unintelligible, the flame in the eye sockets just smoldering at the edges, leaving the center for the black emptiness of the pupils.
- Do not look in the eye, or you will get drowned, - seems, these words I have heard before .
- Get up, shorty! Rise! Move! Do something! - I also have heard this.
How to get up, when you do not feel your own body? When you do not know where the top, where the bottom. When you swim in the sounds, like in a bubbling water. In the the sounds that don't exist, because the skulls can not talk. How to escape from the darkness that swallowed you? How to find anything real in this enchantment?! At least some support for the elusive mind?
- Foothold ... - I thought. - I'm lying on the base. I fell down when it all began. Fell on a stone. And I'm lying on it. On this real stone floor. I have to feel it. Even a bit. I need to find the feeling.
Cold. The cold of the stone. Stone pulled out of me the living warmth, bringing death, but also it is letting me know that I'm still alive.
- A way out? How do I find it?
- There's a torch, Ghai's torch.
- You cannot trust your eyes, they are lying. And the ears are lying.
- Then I have to crawl along the wall until I'll come across the open door. Or until Ghai will see me . Or ... does not matter. Need to crawl.

It was not that easy to find the wall. Not easy even to figure out where it can be. Maybe I was just lucky, because we did not walk to the door just a few steps.
Costly were those steps for me. I crawled and feared that I strayed from the direction and now is crawling in a circle. In the infinitely long circle. When my fingers rested against the wall, and when I realized it, I had not allowed myself to enjoy a false sense of the first victory. I knew that this is still far from the victory. Not even the shadow of it. Malaise, that captivated me, went on living. And it grew bigger. The dark room was filled with buzzing of multitude incomprehensible voices. Crimson ghosts danced before my eyes, and winked at me with a black emptiness of the eye sockets. I did not pay attention to them. I was busy enough to make sure that the left shoulder and stomach felt the stone.
Now I feel horrified when recollecting all of this, and even more terrified at the thought that in the hall could have been a few open doors. But, fortunately, it was open just one, that, through which we had entered.
When I felt that my shoulder has nothing to rests on, at first I became scared, then delighted, and then began fumbling with hands trying to find Ghai. Not right away, but eventually I found him. Ghai lay keeled sideways, not moving, but holding in the hand the cord of spider-thread. Let the Impartial One to bethink about the one, who has discovered that one can twine tear-resistant strands and ropes from a spider-thread. If not for this thread, I would never get out of the dark dungeons of Barad Dur.

I came to my senses near the stairs. At some moment I suddenly realized that I was lying on my back, and above me the Fiery Eye roars and tries to escape from the cage, and this it's not the malaise. With shaking hands, I took the flask with water off the belt , with teeth pulled out the cork and poured half of the contents into a parched throat. I immediately vomited. Vomited violently. With blood and bile. I was turned inside out like a pig intestine for stuffing sausages. I tried to drink in small sips, but I did not manage to do even this. As soon as something was entering the stomach, the vomiting resumed.
I do not know for how many hours I sat under the stairs. Because of the flame of the Eye the sky cannot be seen from the darkness of the dungeon, and I could not even say is it day or night outside. Little by little, the nausea has passed and I was able to drink water and eat rusks. I did not think what I need to do next. I already knew it. Friends don't abandon friends. Even the dead one. I remember only in snatches about how I pulled them out. I was so weak that could hardly stand on my feet, and everything inside of me screamed: "Do not go!" But it was impossible not to go. I remember how, desperately cursing and weeping, I dragged down the passageway Ghai's unconscious body, how was tying a rope to Oghr's belt . How Ghash was whispering: - "Leave... Go away...Tell in there ..." But I did not listen to his feverish raving. I could not leave him, it would be more revolting than to leave him to die in the Misty Mountains.

They say that any terror comes to an end sooner or later, sometimes with the life. This one, fortunately, ended sooner. However, the next one was waiting for us. When, exhausted, we got upstairs, we found that around is a clear, hot day, and from the foot of the tower is coming a lively screeching.
-This is just what we were missing, - wearily muttered Ghash. At the foot of the tower the bodies of dead bactrs have been swarmed with dozens of fiery- red animals.
- Who is it? - I asked, though, I did not need the answer, but I needed to say something.
- U-u-shaghrats, - said Ghash. - Beasts! We shouldn't leave the bactrs unattended. They, probably, came in here from the whole neighborhood, to the carrions.
- Is it them killed the bactrs?
- I do not know. Not any shaghrat can kill a baktr. These are young. More orange. Seasoned ones are in the color just like fire. They do not live in packs. Loners. Seems, one came at night, tore bactrs throats, while they were sleeping, got satiated and left. And then they came. I was telling you that we shouldn't leave the bactrs alone.
- What would I do? - Ghai began to make excuses. - One against such a pack. I would be bitten to death too..
- Nobody blames you. Should think before.
With these words I also felt guilty.
- What are we going to do? - Asked Oghr. - Down there is the water and food. Will these creatures flee, if we will come down?
- I won't go down to check, - Ghash said, pulling out of the harness familiar tubes and bowls. - So, now we will walk to upwind side, lit up all this and throw it down. Just do not breathe, when the smoke starts to come out. Once we already have got poisoned and it is enough.
- Will it work? - Butted in Ghai.
- Will work, - promised our shaghrat. - If it won't kill - then will chase away. Come on!
The thrown down bowls burned for a short time. For five minutes or ten. But when the green smoke cleared out, all our camping place was strewn with small red corpses.
- Hey, shaghrat, - brightened Ghai, when he saw it. - Why this thing is not being used in the battles?
- Takes a long time to make it, - Ghash said. - And it is a dangerous job: those, who do it, then quickly die. Previously it was used against the pointy-eared, against the bearded sometimes too. But it's in the woods or in the caves, where is no wind. In the open air it soon dissipates, you saw it.
- Where did you get it from, if those who did it and died then ? - Ghai pestered.
- You are asking a lot of questions! - Ghash got angry. - Go down! First, bring up the water, then the food!
- Yes! Water, food! - Ghai disappeared over the edge of the area.
I did not understand at that time, why he did not wait for an answer. After the invasion of the fire rats we have left with just a little bit of water. In the ripped by sharp fangs bags was left barely for a half of canteen to each. With food was better. To a sun-dried meat, stone-hard bread rusks and ghuuruut the rats preferred fresh meat. Also survived a stock of shaghu and green honey.
-We should return. - Expressed his opinion Oghr, when we overlooked the saved. - We won't last without water .
- We won't be able to. - Ghash shook his head. - Two flasks of water for four of us. On foot, it's a five-day's walk, well, four. In the summer heat. We won't reach.
- What if to send one to the village for a help.
- Then we will have to give him all the water. Others won't survive. Besides we did not do, yet, what we supposed to do. And who knows, that is going on in the village now.
- Running at night, - offered Ghai. - On the honey.
- For the honey water also needed , - said Ghash, - otherwise you will burn down. And after a night comes a day. What to do during the day? There is no shade - nowhere to hide. One day under the buurgha we will survive without water. The second - not. We should go inside, in there should be the water. It was the city, it had the wells.
- What if we will fall again ? - Asked Oghr. - First time we even did not notice how it happen. In there the air is poisoned.
- You said yourself that there is a small draft, - said the shaghrat. - The inside air draws out from the tower for a second day. The second or the third? We will go in pairs, the first - ahead, the second - behind. If the first fall, the second will pull out. Will be opening the doors, maybe it will take out the bad air. Clear it out. Also, we can put wet cloths on the mouth and nose. From the poisonous smoke it helps a bit . Maybe from the poison in the air too. - I don't like it. - Oghr said.
- What can you offer?
- Nothing. Okay, order then.
- You and Ghai - ahead. At a length of a long spider-thread. Both are on the ropes. Talk, when you will be doing something. If you will keep silent for a long time, we will pull you out.
- When will we go? - Said Ghai.
- In the morning, - said the shaghrat. - Need to recover a little bit of strength . Drink the water only on my orders.
- I see, - Ghai shook his head . - You know what I am thinking? Why we have to go all at once? I'm the youngest, it would be better if I'll go ahead. Oghr - after me, and after him - you and Chsham. On two ropes. If I won't fall, then Oghr can go. But if I'll drop down, so for the three of you it will be easier to pull me out.
- Accepted, - agreed Ghash.
- Maybe is better for me to go first? - I felt guilty for what happened to the bactrs and water. - I'm tough.
- No, - said the shaghrat. - You will be the last to go . That's because you are the most enduring. Out of four of us only you were able to get out on your own. Who will pull us out, if you will fall? The last! I said.
- Very well, - I said. - Are we going to eat today?
I always want to eat, when I am getting anxious. Ghash just laughed instead of answering. The breaking of the exit door in that disastrous room was the first thing we did the next morning. It took a lot of time, because now we were cautious at each step. However, none of us got sick, neither in the room, nor in the aisle behind it, not in the next room. Seems, the air got cleared out.

By the end of the second day we became quite emboldened, so that we greatly reduced the distance between the walking ahead and us, and began to move up the main aisle much faster. Two factors contributed to it. No matter how carefully we were saving the water, it's becoming less and less of it, and another thing was that after opening numbers of doors we had encountered, the draft became very tangible and wet.
We passed the fourth or the fifth hall when, instead of the now familiar doors, found gates. The huge gates interwoven with strips of wrought iron. They were of such size that an oliphant would be easily passing through. But they were locked. I had thought that now I will be asked to show the art of hacking, but Oghr cried out:
- Give them to me! - He demanded. - I'll blow them into a dust!
- Wait, - Ghash tried to reason with him . - Maybe we will open without blowing them.
- What to wait! - Shouted Oghr. - The stuff is getting wasted! Do you know for how long we will tinker with it? Five days, no less. And on the gate says that behind them the Hall of Water and Fire!
- Yes? - Ghash gave some thought.
- Stay here! - He ordered me.- I'll go and see.
After Ghash went and read what is written on the gate, he consulted about something with Oghr, asked whether he will do it alone, received an affirmative answer, and ordered Ghai to move beside me. I did not see what Oghr did at the gate, we were too far away, but it took a long time. So long so that we even have time to sleep in turns. Finally, there was a warning cry, and after that, the stomping of running boots.
- Now! - Shouted Oghr, appearing in front of us. His eyes sparkled like of a mischievous boy, who for a long time has intended a mischief of something special, and finally did it. - Now it will go ...
He has not finished saying, when a wave of air, dense as water, has enveloped us, bringing with it a dry heat and smelly, suffocating smoke, which watered the eyes and dryed the throat. The sound came a moment later. It felt as if my skin was pulled on a huge drum. I shook my head, clearing out the ear airlock, and chided Oghr:
- You should warn about how it would be.
- A? .. - Oghr said and shook his head, too. - What?
- In the ear! - Outraged Ghai. - That's what! I thought it will flatten me like a cockroach under the hammer.
- Everybody shut up! - Ordered Ghash. - It is not like he uses the dust every day. Miscalculated. All alive and it is well.
- And you, - he pointed at Ghai, - go to see what was done with the gates!
- They are standing! - Shouted Ghai after a while. - All intact!
- Oghr?! - Ghash looked at him quite severely.
- I'll go there, - said Oghr. - This half-wit again messed up something .
- You yourself is not better, - Ghai shouted from afar. - Over here, incidentally, everything is perfectly audible.
- Okay, the wise guy, - muttered, moving away from us, Oghr. - You have got a lot of sense, but even more of the featherheadness.
For some time we have heard vague bickering of our companions, and then there was a clang and a thunder .
- Done! - Oghr shouted to us. - It was firmly made. Hinges got knocked out, but the gates did not fall. We had to swing it. They are thick, we have dropped only one leaf.
- Is the entrance free? - Asked Ghash.
- Yeah. Ghai has entered already!
- Such a pig! - Ghash said, either with approval, or disapproval . - Come on, Chsham, let's see what's in there.
We did not do a few steps, when came Ghai's cry .
- Over here! Here! - He screamed so hysterically, as if he was in danger.
We rushed forward, past the gate, ran a dozen steps more and froze ...

The hall, in which we found ourselves, was huge. Gigantic arches supported by long rows of black stone columns, and high above our heads through large round holes in a stone dome was shining a sun, wich has not been seen by us for a long time. From some of the holes the sand was still sifting down, forming on the floor quite high accurately shaped piles.
- Mom-ma, dear! - Said Oghr looking up, spellbounded. - This has happened when we blew it up - the sand fell through the holes.
- You'd better look at the sides, dummy! - Ghai pushed him in the side . - All around!
It was something to look at, on all sides. In the twilight, between the rows of columns towered gigantic furnaces, anvils, hammers and air bellows. The network of iron beams was stretching between the columns, and from the top hung chains with hooked on them giant size tongs, crowbars and also some tools that I did not know the name. The same kind of beams were laid on the floor too, and on them stood wagons loaded with metal ingots, coal and something incomprehensible.
- Karghana ... - Whispered Oghr. - It's the karghana, Ghash! Just like we have on the island!
- Exactly. - Agreed Ghash. - The karghana. Only, if all of you on the island to gather in here, it still will be a lot of space for guys from Khazatbuurth and Gundabad. I have not seen like this even in Khazatbuurth . Over there everything is simplier. Here should be the water. Something was making the hammers to work. Where? You know better, than all of us, what and where to be found in the karghana.
- Wait, - said Oghr. - Ghai! Where are you?
- In here! - From the far end of the workshop shouted Ghai. - Here is the water! Gurgling!

We overcomed the distance separating us by running. Ghai was standing near the door, the same, as many we've seen so far.
Oghr once again got his curved piece of iron, pushed Ghai aside, and in half a minute later we pulled the door out of the jamb perhaps together with hinges. Behind the door was another room, smaller than the hammer's workshop, but also of a considerable size. Half of its area was occupied by a stone-paved basin. It was full of water, up to the rims.
I wanted to rush to the water, but was withheld by Ghash. He said that Ghai would be the first to drink, and, if nothing will happen with him in two hours, then we all can drink the water. Since nothing had happened to Ghai, we not only drunk, but also swam. The water was ice-cold.
- Where is it coming from? - I asked with chattering teeth, when we got out.
- From the mountain,s - Ghash said, wiping of the lean body drops of water . - In the books have been written that from the glaciers on the north was laid underground channels to Lughbuurth . We were looking for them, but had never found.
- And where does it go? - Butted in curious Ghai. - Why is everything here is not flooded?
- An underground river is in there. The Bitter river, that is feeding the lake Nurnon in the south. I thought that all this seased to work. Even had no hope that we will find.
- That's not all! - Said Oghr, that bathed less than us, and now was exploring the periphery of the room. - This reservoir is enough to feed a one line of hammers. But how many of them are over here? There must be more and many. The city also needed something to drink.
- I think so too, - Ghash agreed . - Now we will drag all our stuff in here. There will be a camping site, from here we would be going in different directions. I have a question for you, Oghr. Can you make all this to run?
- By myself? - Amazed Oghr. - It needs fifty oghrs just to figure out a little bit in here, and about a thousand snagas to put everything in some order. You can see for yourself.
- Fifty and a thousand I can not promise, - Ghash smiled, - but a dozen of oghrs and two hundred snagas will be. It is for the time being. Soon. The local snagas will be here in a few days. They are on their way.
- What? - There was no limit to Oghr surprise .- How?
- When we lit the Fiery Eye, swallows were released in the Ash Mountains. It had been agreed on it long ago. For a swallow from here to even Carn Dum is less than four days of fly . To Khazatbuurth, Gundabad, White Mountains - even less. The Firy Eye can be seen far away. By now the whole desert, from the Ash Mountains to the Nurnon knows that it is lit up again. Everybody is on the way to here, Oghr!
- You're a wizard! - Oghr said with conviction. - You are Azogh!
- I am not, - refused Ghash. - It is Ughluuk, he thought up of everything. I am just taking care of it. And not just me. You have no idea how many people are in this business.

His words were confirmed almost at the same moment.
"Invisible and cannot be heard,
The ghosts of darkness, undeterred!
The death has often meet us on the roads,
But death - a girlfriend not for us!
We've got a lifelong order, thus
We have to come back home against all odds!"
It was the first thing I heard, when we again went to the karghana from the hall with water. The song was coming from afar, its echoes rolled through the hall, breaking on fractions, interfering with each other, and it was not clear who and where is singing. I even thought that I had fallen under the new spell , but the others stood by and listened, as intensely as me .

"Remember it and go by:
You must come back,
Come back alive!".

In a game with death it's give or take,
We're throwing our lives at stake
And were denied of the right to die.
But nothing should take you aback
You must come back, you must come back,
So someone will move forward in a meantime.
Remember it and go by ...

But in the war, as in the war:
Life has no value anymore,
Not always we can choose to turn the tide.
When your life is on the edge,
You must remember of your pledge:
We have the order - fight and do not die!
Remember it and go by...

Blood on your face, on a forehead - sweat,
You shouldn't deprecate your fate,
Let it be overhead the crow's cry.
But whispers in the ear grass,
That death is not a right thing for us,
Hold on, my brother, hold, and do not die!
Remember it and go by...

For many years in a row,
Our mothers lost their sleep in woe,
Wives cry and wait for us, unharmed, to arrive.
For sure we will come back someday,
Survived our death in many ways -
We have the order to return alive!
Remember it and go by... "

Last words thundered already under the arches of the karghana.
- It just does not happen like this ... - whispered bewildered Ghash , looking at approaching us singers. - Just does not happen.
The troop, which were singing the brave song, has stopped in four steps from us. A stocky, short fellow separated from it, took another two steps and said:
- Hi, shaghrat! Running fast. Barely managed to caught up.
- It just does not happen, - repeated Ghash. - There is no way .. Is that you, Turogh? Are you alive?
- What? - Turogh laughed. - Do I look like a corpse? You can ask the guys, - he nodded on a halted rank. - They will tell you that since the morning I was alive, and since then still have not died .
- Guys? - With the same confusion Ghash looked at the standing in the line.- Where you come from?
- We came from Khazatbuurth, - calmly told Turogh. - When you in the cave had whistled " to scatter", we split up. Then I have gathered those, who came out on the west side, and we moved to the north, to Khazatbuurth. I thought that we will pass through there and go down to the south, maybe will find you. Only after us in Khazatbuurth came the bearded. About five hundred. Almost treaded on our heels. Nobody was expecting them in there. And also Rohirrim came in with them . We had to fight a little bit in there. Then khazatbuurth's guys from the eastern slope came up, they planted for the bearded a map of the way to the lower tiers to a mithril. They immediately forgot about the people.
When the bearded left the people, they were kicked back to the surface. Those who survived, of course. Khazatbuurth's guys can fight in the caves as well as any bearded. Then we left. We could not get through to the south . There, in the steppe, the "bears"waged a war with the horse-eaters. The "bears" built a burgh at the confluence of the Celebrant and the Great rivers . The greatest of all theirs burghs, I'll tell you. So the horse-eaters are besieging it with about ten thousand horsemen .
- What for? - Ghash was surprised. - They are on the horses. Who will be able to catch up with them, if they would go to Carrock,
- Aha, - agreed Turogh. - And nobody is catching up with them. They moved to Carrock at first. But the "bear", instead of racing after the horsemen, crossed the Celebrant and went to Edoras. The horsemen - back, the "bears" - into their burgh. And so it goes on since.
- How did you come through?
- We made a detour on the north. Over there the Gundabads in the midst of all the commotion, have recaptured the northern pass from the "bears", while the Esgarots were besieging Carrock, .
- Have taken?
- No way! But burned it badly . And then the "bears" got mad and thrashed them good, drove to the Black Forest . We were passing on the edge of it just at that time, nearly have got into this massacre. Then we came to the oghrs island, but you were already gone. Well, we were in pursuit after you . Only in here we, finally, caught up with you.
- Have you been in the village?
- Yes. Just at the time when the Fiery Eye got lit up. In there have already made songs about you .
- How many of you, guys?
- Mine - almost all, found on the eastern slope some of Uragh's and, also, have got some fighters along the way. Seventy-six blades, counting me.
- Well ... - Ghash stepped forward and hugged Turogh. - I thought you were all dead.
- What is with you, shaghrat? - Turogh laughed. - You yourself have taught that any fool can die, but we have to survive and to finish the mission. Here we are. Give the orders.

You know, when it is not just four of us in the endless dungeons, but twenty times more, life become more fun. Now sounded the voices around and new faces have appeared every day. Ghash gave orders to Turogh every day, and he was sending out his men into the surrounding passages and halls in order to hear the evening reports of the returned. Oghr was not getting out of the karghana, then he was joined by a few more oghrs, who came from heaven knows what distance along with a crowd of snagas. Only Ghai and I toiled from idleness and boredom. More, of course, Ghai, because soon I joined Oghr.
One day I went to Ghash and asked him when he, finally, will show to me the door I should crack up. Ghash strangely looked at me, smiled and said:
- All right, I will show it right now, by any means. Call Ghai, it will be useful for him to take a walk with us, since now he only eats and sleeps. There is a one door, which does not give in.
The door turned out to be a normal, same as all of the doors in the underground. I couldn't understand what so special Ghash found it. However, I had to tinker with it for a while, because I had none of Oghr's tools. In the end, I remembered that kughri can cut through the iron and chopped off the hinges, not for the first time, of course.
When the door fell, and we stepped over the threshold, Ghash whistled in surprise: "Wow, we are looking for it, looking ... and here it is ..."

The hall in which we walked in, was rather big, I want to note, and it was full of books, to the ceiling vaults. Uncounted rows of shelves with an infinite length were filled with volumes and scrolls. It smelled of dust and desolation. We walked between the shelves. Curious Ghai snatched one of these ancient looking scroll and unrolled it.
- Put it back, - Ghash said. - Could damage something. You, anyway, do not know how to read.
- What you mean do not know? - Protested Ghai. - I know. Here, listen, - and read with the ability , which was difficult to expect from it:

To learn, to persuade, to steal, to kill.
To outwit the death and to survive again.
To live among the foe and having had the fill,
But, yet, for years have your home abstained.
We cannot change our toilful way at will -
To learn, to persuade, to steal, to kill ... "

So what? - Shrugged Ghash. - I've learned this verse when I still was a baby . It's called "The War Of Shaghrat". Every boy knows it.
- And the beginning you also know? - Said Ghai, with a sly smile .
-What do you mean, "the beginning"? - Ghash was surprised. - You read it all.
- Nope, - shook his head Ghai.

-"Breathtaking the attacking yored,
Breathtaking with a frightful, deathly glamour
The scarlet banners are fluttering ahead,
Sun brightly shines on scales of heavy armor,
The flood of raiders is filling foe with dread.
Breathtaking the attacking yored,

A reverence inspires the rows of Dwarves,
Stern faces of the underground fighters.
In a rigid wall of shields they forthwith morphs
And craggy peaks of mountains rocking mighty ,
When their frightful battle beller roars .
The reverence inspires the rows of Dwarves.

Enchanting songs by the arrows of Elves,
If you escaped, you will remember ever.
Slide merry singers in their wooded realms
Between the trees, send arrows, aiming clever,
And sow the death. Surviving, in your mind will etch itself
Enchanting songs by the arrows of Elves.,

But we don't see the beauty in the war,
For us it is the usual workload.
With heavy packs on backs, in gears, that we wore,
Run, sweating, through ravines, avoiding open roads,
Blood-bathed nights, advances and withdraws...
No, we don't see the beauty in the war .

To learn, to persuade, to steal, to kill.
To outwit the death and to survive again.
To live among the foe and having had the fill,
But, yet, for years have your home abstained.
We cannot change our toilful way at will -
To learn, to persuade, to steal, to kill ... "

Ghai finished and fell silent. Ghash too, was silent for a while, wiped something from his cheek and said:
- Okay. Read, Ghai, read. We came in here for it, that all of this can be read. By everyone. Read.
- Can I? - Beamed Ghai. - I will sit here for a while. It still some poetry in there. I have never read the poetry. On the whole village we have just one book. Oghrs are being taught on it. In there's no poetry.
- You can, - confirmed Ghash. - Just be careful with them, so they won't fall apart from antiquity
- I'm not a baby, - Ghai got offended. - I understand.
Ghash again wiped something from his cheeks and turned to me:
- Do you know, Chsham, if I'm not mistaken, and old books do not lie, there is one more door somewhere here. Will you crack it open?
- Of course, - I shrugged. - You brought me here exactly for this purpose .
The door we found quite fast. It was not thick, not covered with a wrought iron, not like the others. The simple door, just like doors to living rooms in our Tuckborough. I even did not have to crack it , it flew out with a one kick .
Behind the door was quite a small room, the three walls were lined with shelves holding very thick tomes. In the middle stood a fragile round table. Next to it - a chair with a high carved back. On the table, on a brilliant bronze tripod was resting a ball about the size of my head.
Ghash came to the table, sat down in the chair and with hand wiped the dust from the glassy, reflecting the light of torches, surface of the ball.
- If the crop-eared did not lie, - he said, - this thing should work.
And he put his hand on the top of the orb. For a while nothing happened. In the light of the torches I did not notice that the ball began to glow. It lighted up with a soft, pearly light.
With bated breath and with a pounding heart, I watched as the ghost light flared up, giving way to the coming through inside vision, as if someone was rubbing the ball from inside. At first came out something moving along the inner surface, which turned to be a soft cloth and fingers that hold it . Then the cloth was removed, and close to the glass came a handsome clean-shaven face. The person breathed on the glass, and the cloth wiped off the appeared on it misty trail and once again gave way to the face. The face was about to breathe on the glass again, but suddenly his eyes widened, his mouth opened, and I was surprised to hear the shriek coming from the ball. A moment later in a ball can be seen only a quickly running out human figure, but still could be heard the incessant scream.
- Let's wait, - said Ghash, removing his hand from the bowl. - You should sit down. It's probably a long wait.
After looking around, I found some stool and sat on it, staring into the ball. Nothing was going on in there. Then inside has appeared an image of two men. The people approached, and the ball filled up with a new face. The old man's face. Strict has been his stare and strong was fold of his lips .
- Who are you? - Sternly asked the old man with a voice accustomed to command. - Who are you? And how you dare to look into the Palantir?
- Gondor Krimpatulagh Atul! - Ghash said, and his face became stern too. - Hello, the Great King!

[Olmer]

34
Many years have passed since the summer, that so drastically changed my life. Many leagues had left behind me since. Many marks of others blades were left on the body, and a lot of blood had been tasted by my own blade. I have the same old blade - the gift of Uragh before his death. It just got a little thinner and lighter from meetings with a whetstone. Oghr, who eventually has uncovered Ghazatbuurth's secrets, and maybe came up with some of his own, not once was trying to alter my kughri, promising to lighten it, and to weld on its new blades, which are equally good at hacking the dwarf iron and Khand's silk. I forbade him to touch my sword. The heavy gift of Uragh has never failed me in all these years, and my memories are getting revived every time looking at it.
Ghash says that my relation to the sword is not like of uruuk-hai's. He believes that in this I behave more like Gondorians, that are giving names to their swords and believing that in them lies a special, inner strength. Maybe he's right, sometimes I really feel that my blade has a large portion of Uragh's strength and courage .
Ghash, he is often right. It is strange, he is eleven years younger than me, and as many times wiser. From each life events he manages to extract a lot more than I do. It turns out that he is younger than me for years, but much senior in an experience. At one time I have thought that all Uruuk-hai are like him. But then I realized that it is not so. Ghai, for example, has remained a reckless boy. It seems that the years have changed in him only the color of his hair, but this is noticeable only on long trips, when is no time and nowhere to shave the head. Then a stiff silver-brown bristle grows out. The silver has appeared not only in Ghai's hair. Oghr's red shaggy hair have long been mottled, and his forehead became much higher. Ashy hair of Ghash also changed its color and thinned out, and, if he used to tie them up into a lush, beautiful tail, now it turns into only a modest silver tassel. Even in Mavka's straw-white braids are hiding thin silver threads. Only my hair remained the same. This is not surprising. Hobbits are long-living people, and I also was drinking the Ents draught. Even by the standards of Hobbits I destined to live long.
My current years - the maturity, I am still very far away to the old age. Only is sad to see how quickly are growing old those you love.

Ghash deceived me. I understood it in a moment, when he welcomed the Great King of Gondor. It's not the book the shaghrat was needed in Barad-Dur. Actually, not only the books. He needed the very Barad-Dur. With all of its contents. With ancient books, a forgotten Palantir, with huge melting furnaces and gigantic hammers, with filled up to the rims underground reservoirs in the heart of the arid desert. The shaghrat did not come here for a knowledge of the long dead . He came here for the inheritance. For the great legacy left by the deceased people. He did not come for the sake of the memory of the dead. He came for the sake of the future of the living.
It was easy to see what will happen after. Not only the city, once was buried under the ashes of the Mount Doom, will get revived . The whole nearly died country will revive. On its arid sands from oases of the bitter lake Nurnen caravans of bactrs will carry salt and food. The abandoned mines again start to produce iron, coal, copper, tin, silver and lead. In the karghana's gigantic furnaces and under its hammers, by a labor of snagas and a wisdom of oghrs, all mined up will be transformed into products for which to the north Gate of the twilight desert, as in former times, will go caravans from Khand, Harad and Umbar. And on the ashes of the past will appear a new, huge and complex world, the world in which the descendants of the "not seeing the light" can look up to the skies without squinting.
All of this Ghash did not tell me in that memorable conversation between us at the Misty Mountains. I was not offended. He could not tell this things to a guy, that was hired for two bags of coins. He already knew that the emerging world will be awaiting not an easy fight for its existence. He did not want to create chances, that some time after could fall like a stone on another side of the scale. The extra knowledge can be a heavy stone. Now I also understand this.

While I was pondering all of this, the Great King of Gondor and Ghash stared at each other. Then Ghash suddenly laughed and said:
- Do not play with me a staring match, the Great King. I am not a Nazgul, and I do not turn away. I was taught from an infancy to stare into the eyes of the elf and not to look away.
- Who are you? .. - Sounded from the Palantir, not as confident, as at the first time. - And what do you want?
- My name - Ghash, - said the shaghrat. - In Westron it means a Fire Demon. In Sindarin, you can call me a Balrog. But my name is not important. It is important that I represent the voice of one hundred and seventy-nine buurths from Angmar to Ithilien.
- I have nothing to talk about with you, Orc! - Said the King.
- If by "orcs" you mean the people of uruugh, with which your soldiers are fighting in Ithilien, then I do not belong to them. - said Ghash. - I am an Uruuk-Hai, "the warrior, who sees the light," and I'm not afraid of the sun.
- Perhaps the wizardry of Saruman has provided an opportunity for such, as you are, to live in the sunlight, but you still remain minions of darkness! - Arrogantly said the King. - There is nothing to talk about!
- You say - "darkness!," the Great King, - Ghash leaned to the ball, almost touching it. From my side it seems that right now he and the King will knock their heads together. - You are condemning me for the kinship with those, who for thousands years could not see the sun. But should they be blamed for the choices of their fathers? Am I should be held accountable for that? If so, then you, the Great King, should look back in the past too!
Or you're not the descendant of Isildur, who seized the Ring of the Dark Lord? Or you're not the descendant of the Númenorean kings, that moved their armies to the Undying Lands, seeking with the sword to win immortality and the Light of Valinor?! Or eight princes and kings of Numenor, who became the Nazgul, did not belong to your people? Perhaps, you think THEY are the faithful servants of the Light? If your Light is like this, then what you call the Darkness?!
- What for you dwell on my ancestors, Orc? - The King smiled coldly. - What for is this phrase-mongering? You are not talking with them, but with me.
- Exactly, the Great King, - confirmed Ghash. - I'm talking with you. And I want to ask you: did you never give in to the evil in yourself? Do not you, the Great King, sometimes have happened to lie, cheat and betray?
- You're confusing me with you, Orc, - said the King. - I've never served the Darkness.
- I'm not talking about the service, - said Ghash. - I just asked did not happen that the Great King had to yield to evil in himself?
- It did not! - Proudly told the King. - All my life I gave to the fight against the evil!
- Yes ... - nodded Ghash. - I know ... But I'm not talking about the universal evil, with which you are fighting, killing those, who are tainted by it. I'm talking about that little evil that nests inside of you ...
- What are you talking about? -The King shrugged. - I do not understand. ? Do you understand yourself what you are talking about?
- I'll tell you, the Great King, - Ghash's voice became sad. - Do you remember the shore of the Great River at the Rauros waterfall? Remember the little halfling and his heavy burden? You swore to go with him to the end, no matter how hard the road would be. And you left him alone ... Why, the Great King?
- You know pretty much, Orc. - The King laughed. - From where?
- From the books, - said Ghash. - From the Red Book of Shire. I've read it.
- So you're also quite learned, Orc - The King did not consider essential to hide his amusement. - Well. I could not answer you, but I will satisfy your curiosity. The halfling wanted it himself. He had to think. If you was reading this book, you could read and that, too.
- I can not just read, - Ghash said, - but, also, understand the meaning of the written. You were the leader of the group, Aragorn, son of Arathorn. Your only task was to guard the Keeper and his burden. You yourself swore to him in this. And you left him alone. Why?
- HE wanted it! - Irritably muttered the King. - I told you!
- No! - Shook his head Ghash. - You didn't tell. He wanted to think alone. Let it be so. But for fifteen years you had served in the army of Gondor. Don't you know how the head of detachment acts in such cases? Rather than leave him at the campfire to sit in solitary and to think, and you the with rest of the group stay on guard, protecting him at the distance, you have sent him into the forest alone, but yourself stayed by the fire and entertained the rest of the company with an idle talk. Why did you do that, the Great King?
- HE WANTED it!!! - Suddenly shouted the man behind the glass of Palantir and banged his fist on his desk. Our table shook, and the Palantir jumped on the stand. - He wanted it, and he had the Ring of Power. His desire was impossible to disobey!
- Turned up the one, who disobeyed, - said Ghash, - and, despite the Ring, went with the Keeper to the very end. . And it was not you, the Great King. You simply left the Keeper. You knew that somewhere in the woods orcs were on a prowl, and you sent the Keeper into the forest. Alone. You knew that a slippery wretch, the former Ring-bearer, is following close behind you and you let the halfling walk away. Alone. And how long would be his journey after that? It's not your merit that someone came forth, who went with him. Went and saved him from all plights. You simply betrayed the Keeper, Aragorn, son of Arathorn! You betrayed the one, to whom you yourself had offered your friendship. Betrayed the one, who was trusting you. And he did not even realize it. Throughout all his life he considered you as a friend.
- Do you want to blame me for something, Orc?! - Angrily said the King of Gondor, and his eyes flashed with fire, just like of the talkative skull in that malevolent hall.
- No, - shook his head Ghash. - I don't want. And am I to blame someone. I know that evil breeds in all of us, and to squeeze it out from yourself you have to with your own blood. I do not blame you. I know that the will of the wearer of the Great Ring cannot be disobeyed. Especially if he is Maya.
- Do not say, what you do not know ... Orc, - wearily said the Great King.
- I know, what I'm saying, - said Ghash. - Does not your Grey Overseer convinced you that you need to do just like that? For the sake of the world, of course. After all, he was so eloquent and so convincing.
How can you resist the reasoning of the being, that hundreds of thousands years older than you are? How can one resist the will of the one, who can move mountains with a word? How one can have a cool head when he is getting convinced by the Maya, who is wearing the Ring of Fire, which was given to him for the benefit of a fiery persuasion? "ONE RING TO CONVINCE - ASH NAZGH THRAKATULUUK". What could do you? What could others do? Parselmouthed Rohan sage only questioned the truth of the words of your mentor and became a wormtongued nonentity. Denetor , the Steward of your throne, dared to object to him and got his mind forfeited .
Even Saruman - the White Wizard, wisest of the Wise, Head of the White Council, the one whom the Elves called Curunir. Even he did not stand against your Mentor and lost his power, and his wisdom, and he was Maya too. I have no need to blame you, the Great King. Also, I am in no way to blame your Grey Master. You and I cannot even imagine the horror of understanding, which he experienced, when the Ring of the Dark Lord was dropped into the fire of Mount Doom and the chain was broken. Even for the great Maya it was impossible to resist the temptation: no one could argue with him for two and a half thousand years .
Probably only Lady Galadriel had realized what is happening to him, and who he begins to turn into. She had been a seer, after all. The entire weight of the Darkness was on one side of the scale, and only a hope - on the other. But she did everything, that depends on her, that this precarious hope come true. Even more than that, perhaps. Without the phial with Star of Earendil, that she presented to the Keeper, he and his companion would never have come to the Mount Doom. And by now the world would be ruled by a the new Dark Lord, who was able to speak so persuasively, that everyone, who has heard him, will be considered his will as their own. So, I am blaming no one for nothing, the Great King. I just wanted to remind you that from the beginning of time the evil lurks in each of us. The power, majesty and wisdom do not protect against it. And in that we're equal.
- What about you wanted to talk with me, Orc? - The King interrupted Ghash . - It is not for the sake of talking about long-forgotten people you have got to the Palantir.
- I ... - Ghash rose from his chair and stood at attention, - I speak on behalf of all people of Uruuk -hai. I offer you a peace, the Great King!
- Peace? - The King was amazed. - Are you offering me the peace, Orc? Did I hear it right?
- Yes, the Great King, - Ghash said, sitting back in his chair. - I offer you the peace.
- The peace with creatures of darkness? - Continued to marvel the King. - It's impossible!
- Why do you call us the "creatures of darkness", the Great King? - Asked Ghash. - We are not afraid of the sun.
- You were born by the Darkness, - said the King. - Those, who were born by the Darkness, can not turn to the Light. Even if you are no longer afraid of it.
- The Darkness can not create, the Great King, - said Ghash. - It can only distort. You say, that we can not turn to the Light, but don't you think that the Impartial One, who created the world, is so cruel, that withheld its shine for the living, even if they were maimed by the First Liar? The Light of the One permeates the world. Maybe we have got a smaller fraction of it, than you. I will not argue about it. But why do you refuse us even in it?
- I cannot judge the will of the One, - said the King.
- "As long as the black banner with a silver tree are fluttering, under its shadow there is no place for the house the Impartial One!" - Ghash said, as if reading, . - I know. Even so, but you are the Great King. Why you don't climb the mountain and ask the One himself?
- What for all these words, Orc? - Asked the King in a tired voice . - You made me listen to you, and so you'd better talk about the real matter before I become bored. You offered me the peace. What will I get in exchange?
- Is the peace not enough? - Amazed Ghash. - Think about, how many years is lasting this war? How many lives were burned in it? Is not it good enough to have at least a few years without the war?
- This war was started not by us, - said the King. - And not by us will be finished. Even if I'll agree to the peace with the orcs, then - what? I won't last forever. Maybe another three decades will pass by - I will die, and everything starts over again.
- Do you think that thirty years of peace are not enough, the Great King? - Surprised Ghash raised eyebrows . - Indeed, I find it hard to understand you. You talk like an immortal elf, for which there is neither past nor future, but only the eternal present, and for which the three decades are just a brief moment. But you're not the elf. Have you forgotten how long people live? In thirty years will grow a whole new generationin of your people, who has not heard the clashes of swords and the whistling arrows.
- And how fast will grow in numbers your orcs in thirty years? -The King quipped. - Still, we have nothing to talk about, Orc.
- You'd better think about your people, the Great King, - said Ghash. - And not about mine. We are not afraid to die. Rather, death scares of us, than we of her, because we believe in the goodness of the Impartial One, and we believe that he hears our words, when we appealing to him. For us the death is a meeting with him. Think of your people, the Great King! Look how tired they were from a thousand years of war with all the surrounding nations. Or do you think that the glory of your people depends on the amount of shed blood?
A few days ago I also thought that the courage of a warrior is to kill the enemies, as many, as you can .Now I know that the warrior prowess - to save lives, as many,as he can . Think of the children of your people, the Great King. We do not want this war. Leave alone Ithilien's orcs, and we can make sure that they won't disturb Gondor any more.
- Ithilien, - thoughtfully said the King. - So that's your little game and that's all of these nice words. No. Ithilien - is a land of Gondor. It always has been and it always will be!

- It was not always like this, - said Ghash. - Let your historians to delve into ancient scrolls. Perhaps they will find in there the name of the people that lived on the land long before the Black Sails of Númenorean ships had appeared at the shores .
- I have already answered you, Orc! - Said the King. - This is the land of Gondor and always will be!

- Why Gondor wants it? - Asked the shaghrat. - What for? Are tillers of Pelennor, or fishermen of Lebennon wanting to move there? They did not go after you to the land of orcs even a hundred years ago, when your people, indeed, were in a mortal danger. Then to the Gate of the desert you brought only six thousand of those, who live only by the war. Those who eat their bread from the tip of the sword. The rest refused to go with you to foreign lands. Your people are ready to die defending the threshold of their houses, but they are not eager to take a hold of what does not belong to them. Why do you strive for it?
- Our conversation became meaningless, Orc - The King replied, yawning. - We speak in different languages. You are the spawn of the Darkness. You'll never understand me, and I'm sick and tired of listening to you. Goodbye.
The walls around us jolted. And then again and again. The heavy rumble of striking huge hammers got reverberated around the underground. The King in the Palantir slightly turned his head, it was evident that he was listening out to the thundering.
- I regret that I did not have enough of wisdom, - Ghash said, putting the hand on the lighted ball, - and I did not find the words that would have touched your heart. I will look for other ones. But with saying goodbye, I am asking: think about what I said, the Great King. Do you hear that sound?
In the getting cloudy glass of Palantir the Great King of Gondor barely perceptible noded.
-The hammers of Barad-Dur are pounding again!


Instead of an epilogue

My name is Sam. At birth, I was given a different name, but my friends call me that. Even not like this. They are lisping and speaking through the nose, instead of "C" they are uttering a strange hissing sound, and I do not know how to put it on a paper. Also they draw out the vowels, and it comes out something like "Chsham". But, still, it means "Sam." They say it's in honor of my grandfather. It is even strange, that they like him so. But now the name "Sam" is carried by me - Chsham. I am not "Chsham-the-Shelob-killer". I'm not Chsham, whose will, multiplied by the Ring, have thrown into a battle against each other the detachments of Shaghrat and Ghorbagh. I'm not Chsham whose unspoken a desire-order was obeyed by hundreds, and maybe even thousands of soldiers, by "not recognizing" the two hobbits and allowing them to mingle with them. I am not Chsham - the friend and companion of the Keeper. I am not Chsham, who "worn and gave back the Ring of Power." In my share there was no great feats. I am just a hobbit that has not been in his native Hobbiton for a long, long time, and maybe will never see it again. I don't regret it. I chose it myself. I am an Uruuk-Hai, "the warrior, who sees the light." The people, who became my family, gave me that name. So be it. My name is CHSHAM ...