But first, a Warning to Readers, especially the Weak-Willed - HERE BE (SOME) SPOILERS!

The following events are set in the background - the extreme background - of the events forming Chapters V to X of Book Five in the final book of a certain massively popular fantasy trilogy. While every effort has been made to obscure the plot details, a certain amount of spoilage has been unavoidable in two or three areas. Anyone who has not read the book in question, and intends to, is gently advised not to read this. Or you could wait for some kind of screen interpretation, possibly coming out in the near future.

So, as the saying goes, if you don't want to know the score, look away now.

'When all seems at its darkest... when pain wells up and cannot be choked down... when the world seems a vale of misery, tears and suffering...

... then you will know you have done your job. Congratulations! Now turn to Chapter VI... '

- From 'An Introduction To The Painful Arts' (H Muzgash, editor).

Slowly, painfully, Lurkh's mind and body were reconciled to each other. The one slipped into the other like a returning holiday-maker to a ransacked house, aware that the old place was in bad shape and not especially eager to take up residence. But all sleep must end, and so the orc awoke.

He groaned weakly, and opened the eye that wasn't puffed shut. In the dim light, he could see a fat, glistening figure looming over him, spitting, cackling and kicking him viciously in his fragile ribs. The image was very familiar.

'Mother... ?' he whispered hoarsely.

No, this wasn't the family pit, and this wasn't his mother waking him. Those days were long ago and far away and thankfully he had managed to repress most of the memories. The figure gave one last harsh guffaw, and moved out of his field of vision. There was the metallic grating of a door being shut. As he gained awareness of his surroundings, he found he was lying in a pile of stinking, soggy hay mixed with ordure.

Lurkh raised an arm experimentally. Pain blossomed in all his joints, right down to the little finger ones. He lowered it again. Next he ran a hand over his chest. The flesh was raw and painful to the touch, with more than a hint of broken bones. Further examination revealed that his face, never one to put on a greeting card with a cute caption, was now thoroughly bruised and swollen, running with blood. His nose was bent at an interesting angle.

Right, thought Lurkh - Conclusion: I have been beaten to a bloody pulp. Good thing I slept through it. As memories came back, he was rather surprised to think that he was not in little pieces scattered across miles of the forest floor. Tackling a battle-troll... he would have deserved it, too.

He was in a rattling, bumping cage, apparently being drawn on the road, though it was hard to tell in the darkness and driving rain. On either side, lit by flickering torches, lines of sodden soldiers passed by, and now and then the lumbering bulk of a troll in full battle harness. There was a ragged figure chained to the opposite wall, who now spoke:

'G'morning.' Ghurz hacked and coughed.

Lurkh raised his aching head.
'How long have I been out for?' he croaked.
'Almost a day, I think.' Ghurz looked quizzically at Lurkh through bloodshot eyes. 'What did you think you were playing at, jumping on a troll like that? You could have escaped!'
'Well I – I slipped, alright? 'Snot as if I was trying to save you, like some bloody –'
'Unhand that orc, you scum'?'

Lurkh winced. He had hoped that no-one had heard that. 'Just forget it, alright?' he growled. 'It was a momentary lapse of sanity.'

Ghurz shrugged. 'I don't know what one of those is. But it was pretty funny to watch, I tell you... '

Silence fell for a moment or two. Except of course for the torrential rain, the trundling of the wheels, the murmured conversation of an entire army on the march... other than that it was silent.

'So... ' Lurkh raised himself up onto his elbows, grimacing at the fire in his joints. '... where are we going?'
'An uruk-hai came by earlier. All strutting and chuffed with himself. He said they had orders from the top that we were to be captured and taken to the Black Gate for questioning and torture. Then he gloated a bit.' Ghurz shivered in the freezing night air. 'So we're going home.'

The educated orc nodded glumly. 'All my Plans were for nothing, then. It made no difference... '
'Oh, I wouldn't say that!'
'No?'
'No. Now you've got the Dark Lord really p***ed-off at us, so instead of escaping or just having our heads cut off, he'll probably keep us alive for years in the torture pits!' Ghurz bobbed his head around in a frenzy of impotent rage. 'Yeah, well bloody done, Mister Clever. You've been recognised as someone special! How does it feel? Good? And can you Plan your way out of this little pickle, Mister Clever? Can you?'
'You'd better hope so, you ungrateful sod!' barked Lurkh. 'Or we're both dead!'

Ghurz ceased his taunting, and looked thoughtful.
'That's true. Well, umm, get thinking then. With that great swollen brain of yours.'

Silence, or something approaching it, fell, and the wagon continued its night-time journey over the barren rainswept plains. The Mountains of Shadow loomed on the horizon like a threatening storm front sweeping across the land to swallow up the wagon and the entire army.

Which, shortly, it did.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The tree stood in a clearing in the forest, drinking up water from the soil, drinking up sunlight from the sun and generally being a tree. As such, it wasn't overly concerned to find several grisly corpses scattered around the grass this morning, regarding them only with mild benevolence as a source of protein. Empires may rise and fall, millions may die, but a tree is satisfied as long as there is a thick, rich layer of humus and not too many woodpeckers. Trees have got it together.

This tree had it especially together, as it was an Ent. Being almost immortal, the sleepy forest giant had a lot of time to think about things, and so was just thinking about starting to think about clouds for a few weeks when he felt a sharp, unfamiliar sensation. What was it called again? Oh yes, it was pain. Ouch.

'I apologise for this approach,' said a low, dangerous voice. 'But I know what you creatures are like, with your 'hum hoom' and taking an Age to answer a simple question... '

A ragged figure stood at the base of the tree, long golden hair hanging in lank strands over his pale face. The elf could be described as fair, were it not for the livid bruise blossoming on his forehead and the twisted expression on his face. Meneaer had recently awakened with a wicked headache and an unsightly blemish to find all his travelling companions dead or disappeared, and he was in a foul mood. He held a sword with its point facing into the trunk, and was pressing it gently into the bark with both hands.

'... so just answer me this quickly, and I shall be on my way. There were two orcs here. One skinny, one big, both ugly. If my nose is right, they even sat in you. Where did they go?'

Bewildered by the blinding speed of events, the Ent curled his long toes in the soil and shivered his branches. There's no-one around, he thought desperately. This madman could cut me down and nobody would hear...

'Hurry now,' snarled Meneaer. 'Or I shall have to turn you into a-lalla-lalla-rumba-lollapalumber, understand?'

With all the haste he could muster, the nervous tree raised a limb to point north, and spoke slowly in a voice deep, scratchy and slightly quavering.

'Hoom boom toomba-romba loomba-dahrar ha-lalla-balla barra boorar abar-ahoomba lomba-boom huroom baroomba loomba a-toomba-loola barba har-haboomba...¹'

'Yes yes, thank you for your assistance,' said the elf sardonically, as he sheathed his blade with a flourish. Then he turned in a billow of grey and green and stalked off into the forest.

The Ent stood very still, which comes easily to a tree. A rending crash and yelp of pain from among the trees indicated that a branch had, by some freak chance, fallen on the head of some unlucky traveller. He smiled vacantly, and began to think about clouds.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Over the Black Gate stood two towers strong and tall, like twin fangs in the jagged mountain-teeth. Stony-faced they were, with dark window holes staring north and east and west, and each window was full of watchful eyes that never slept.

As day broke and the suns rays once again failed to caress the black stones (being held up at the mile-thick layer of poison ash), Lurkh sat drumming his fingers on the table in a tiny room of the left-hand tower. In the hours since their arrival at the Black Gate they had been pushed aside as an inconvenience by officers who clearly had greater matters to attend to. The atmosphere was tense; in the crowded fields behind the gate, battalions were assembling, banners were massing and great war engines were being dragged into position. No one seemed to have any time for the two defectors.

But now the steel door to his cell slammed back, and a pair of officers lurched in. One was tall, evil-eyed and looked like he ate rocks as a hobby. The other looked like he aspired to his partner's level of sophistication. It was clear that Lurkh was in for the Bad Cop, Worse Cop treatment.

'Roight,' rumbled one of the twins. We'll call him Bruiser #1.'If youse co-operate, your death'll be quick. If youse don't, then it won't.' His eyes searched the ceiling as he recited a memorised piece: 'Your flesh shall be flayed from your muscles slowly. Your claws an' toenails shall be ripped out and stuffed in your eyes. An' it will not end – we shall keep you alive, as a warning to other deviants and... submersibles. Your... your... ohdamn... we'll hit you lots. Unnerstand? We wanna know everyting.'

'That might take some time,' wheezed Lurkh. 'Would you like me to start with elementary philosophy? Or maybe creation myths? In the beginning was Eru, the One, and he... '

The two interrogators huddled.

'Do we hit 'im now?'
'No, we hit 'im after the next question. Ask 'im someting.'

Bruiser #2 straightened up and gave Lurkh a fine view of his nostril hair.
'Tell us 'bout why youse wanted to bee-tray our lord an' master, Sauron, from whom all bad tings come.' He executed a little bow. His twin did likewise.

Lurkh sighed, and decided to try an original approach.

'I believed that the enemy was assured of victory based on my studies of history, and also wanted revenge for being treated like dirt by the Dark Lord and his lieutenants, so I connived with Private Ghurz to escape from the army and defect to the Captains of the West, bringing with me valuable tactical information which would guarantee them a quick victory in the War. When this plan went awry, we saved our lives with a hastily-concocted story about having found 'the One Ring', despite having no true knowledge of said ring. And when we were captured by the Heavy Troll Cavalry, we were attempting to escape from our captors and flee south.'

He paused for breath. 'I think that's pretty much everything. Is that alright?'

They hit him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

'How did it go?' said Ghurz, attempting to scratch his nose despite the manacles.
'Quite well, I thought... ' lisped Lurkh, running his tongue over his teeth and trying to remember how many he should have. The door boomed shut behind him. 'But those guys have some problem with the idea of cause and effect... any luck thinking up a Plan of your own?'
'Nah. I don't think I have the imagination for it, I'm just useless. We're pretty well doomed.'
'I thought so.' Lurkh leaned against the cold stone, closed his eyes and started to hum an old orcish battle hymn. After a few minutes of this he opened his eyes to see why Ghurz hadn't protested. The other orc was huddled in the corner sobbing into his hands.

'Heya... heya there... ' This was uncharted territory for orckind. Lurkh stepped into it unwillingly. 'Why don't you, erm, stop that?' He searched his mind for some soothing words. 'Stop that or I'll hit you!'

Ghurz looked up, face streaked with tears.
'I don't wanna die... '
'Yeah, but please, please, remember who you are, you're an orc, we don't know pain, we don't know fear, et cetera et cetera... Remember the old saying? 'I'm gonna cut you up, pretty boy!' Come on, where's that fighting spirit?' Ghurz hid his face and mewled.

Lurkh had never seen this before – traditionally when an orc felt frightened, vulnerable, lost and alone in an unpitying universe, he would rip out a few throats or break some legs and so cheer himself up. He had a feeling that there would be no such simple solution to this crying business.

'Talk to me, boy.' Is this sensitivity? Lurkh felt dirty. 'Tell me about your hu-man parents. Why'd you leave them?'
'Not human... ' gulped Ghurz through the tears. 'I'm not human... wanted to find my heritage... speak the language... join the Hordes... be a real orc... failure... '

But Lurkh was no longer listening. His eyes had glazed over. He groped in his pocket, and found the crumpled scrap of paper.
'Listen, shut up, will you? I've just had an Idea... '

Distant cries and trumpet blasts carried faintly through the thick air. The shadows deepened outside the barred window-slot.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Muzgash the Inflictor Of Pain was a fussy little orc who took great pleasure in his work. He approached it as a craftsman would, constantly learning over the years through trial and terror, innovating and inventing new tools, getting opinions and advice from the more cooperative victims and working on his friendly-yet-sinister banter with the dedication and thoroughness that had made him top of his field. It had been a proud day when he had first looked at the quivering mass of muscle and tendon on the slab and realised it could no longer be recognised as an orc. He had received a commendation from the department head.

Proper care and maintenance of equipment was important. He pottered around making minute adjustments, wiping an oily rag down one glistening scythe blade, and checking the rope tension. Perfect. Next he swabbed a dry cloth in between the cogwheels to pick up any dust and grit. This Device was his favourite; it made the Pit and the Pendulum look like a toy for Children Aged 3+.

'Perhaps we'll start with a clockwise #254,' he muttered to himself, 'and try those variants on the 'spindle' technique... '

Now the door swung back, and the protesting prisoners were hustled in, sandwiched between a pair of guards. He fought down the insects in his stomach, which he felt before every performance, and gave them his best sinister leer.

'Welcome, gentlemen... ' he began, starting the usual introduction. But now one of the orcs fell to his knees and began making strange noises. Could it be... ? No, surely not...

'... Do your rooms have en suite middens? I would like to rent a pony please. Straight ahead, and take the first right... '

The guards looked to him helplessly. 'Wot's he doin', sir?'

Muzgash leaned in a little closer. 'Hmm. Note the cadence. Pronunciation... It sounds like – I think he's speaking elvish.' He wrung his hands together. The guards glanced at each other, then at him, clearly rattled.
'... I am allergic to dairy products... That's right!' growled the prisoner, a bruised, desperate-looking orc with a wicked gleam in his eye. 'I'm casting a spell to turn you all into cockroaches!'

The guards leaned back nervously. Now the second prisoner began to chant too, one word over and over.
'... rhubarb, rhubarb, rhubarb... ' he droned, eyes fixed on the floor.
'This is ridiculous!' snapped Muzgash. 'Of course it isn't magic. They're bluffing! Fooling you!'

The guards didn't look comforted. The one on the left let his spear droop a little, and cast longing looks towards the door.

'... this lembas is mouldy. Could you... into a cockroach ... speak more slowly? May I see the wine list? I wish to see the proprietor... '

'Maybe we should... uhhh... I think I left... something... in barracks... '
'Oh, for badness' sake.' Muzgash shoved his face into that of the taller prisoner. 'Stop that! You're not fooling any-'

Lurkh snapped his head forward, and had the satisfaction of seeing the torturer reel backwards clutching his nose. At the same instant, Ghurz had swung around and wrenched on one of the guards' spears, knocking him off-balance into the wall. As Lurkh bounded forward to grapple with the torturer, Ghurz rose to his feet, violently shoving the other guard out the door. There the private steadied himself and cast a hasty glance at the scene in the torture chamber, before dropping his spear and legging it off down the corridor. The other guard was half-risen from where he had fallen, and now Ghurz kicked his spear away across the flagstones and hesitantly advanced on him, fists raised.

'Look, I'm sure you don't want to fight... '

The guard proved the lie of this statement by screaming and leaping for Ghurz' throat, fangs flashing in the torchlight.

The torturer was a small orc; Lurkh had picked him up by the neck and was staggering around the room trying to throttle him. Muzgash was letting out squeals of fury, energetically scratching at Lurkh's face and trying to kick his legs.

'Grrgh... you... vicious... squirt... !'

His mind a cloud of pain and blind rage, Lurkh swung the smaller orc around, and finally smashed his head into the iron casing of the Device. Muzgash wilted in his arms, and he let him fall into a small heap on the floor.

Across the room, Ghurz had finished with the guard. He beamed at Lurkh.

'Wow... I feel great! Like a real orc, all tough and... '
'Yeah. One tip though. When you're beating his head off the floor, there's no need to constantly apologise. It's a bit... off-putting. That poor sod was so confused he was barely fighting back.'
'No apologies. Got it.'
'Yeah. Just remember: being a real b*****d means never having to say you're sorry.'

Angry voices could be heard in the halls outside, and the tramp of pounding feet. Ghurz heaved the heavy oak door shut as Lurkh tugged the lock-bar out of the dust and cobwebs in the corner. They each took an end and hefted it into the slots, securely sealing the door.

'What now?' asked Ghurz, flinching as someone began pounding on the other side of the door.

Lurkh looked around wildly, and shrugged.

Three minutes later, the door exploded inwards in a shower of splinters and broken beams. The uruk-hais rushed in through the sawdust and smoke, sinister and insectile in their steel exoskeletons. They fanned out in the room, sniffing the musty air, probing the shadows with their axes. But the chamber was entirely empty.

'Sarge!' barked one of the troops. 'Over here!'

Beside the window, there was a rusty hook set into the wall. A rough knot of greasy rope was tied around it; the rope led out the window, and was taut and twitching slightly. The sergeant of the uruks leaned out. The wind beat against his face. He saw the wall of the tower wall gently curving down beneath him to the grey wasteland far below. Two small figures, barely specks, were visible on the line. He smiled horribly.

Leaning back in, he took the rope in two hands and bit. The frayed end whipped madly around, stinging his NCO on the ear, before shooting out the window.

He stuck his head out again. The specks were gone; all that was visible was the rope gently spiraling its' way down to the ground.

'Run tell command that the traitors are dead,' he instructed the callow young NCO.
'But shouldn't we make sure? I mean, prodding-their-corpses sure?'

The captain growled in irritation. 'Look here you wee nonce, they've started a poker classic in the officer's mess, and if I don't get back there I'll lose my stake. And they're probably all over the place after that fall. Do you want to tramp all the way down to look at a pair of stains? No? Then shut up.'

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There were clouds beneath them. Lurkh felt light-headed.
'So, boy, how does it feel to be dead?' he whispered. He gave a tiny laugh with absolutely no humour in it.
'Cold... ' murmured the big orc, almost paralysed with fear but trying to hide it. 'The wind is getting up my breeks.'

Lurkh risked another glance down, and for one dizzying moment felt his body sway, his feet shift on the narrow window-cornice. The terrifying depths seemed to suck his vision down to the dim, distant ground.

Then the wind caught his body and thumped it back against the cold, reassuring stone. He shivered, and dug his nails into a crack in the mortar.

Praise be to Melkor for whoever had decided to give this tower more superfluous architectural muck than a nouveau riche merchant's town-house... ²

'Alright, it's been long enough. Now gently, very gently, pass me the rope. You go down first, you're more likely to fall... '

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two tiny figures moved across the windswept plain below the mountain-gate. On closer examination, it may be seen that one of them is limping. And if you were to listen to the guttural orcish voices being carried on the wind:
'...stop feeling bad about it. I mean, it was a lucky thing, wasn't it? There being a sewage pit there, an' all, to break our fall.' Ghurz swatted at an irritating mosquito, and side-stepped a bog-hole. 'Though the other two seemed to have missed it, somehow... '

A non-committal grunt in reply. Lurkh was in no mood to be made feel better. And he was unwilling to call a crusty, stinking, deep pool of orc-waste a 'lucky thing'.
'So, where are we going now?'

Lurkh turned on his heels and glowered at the gate, towers and mountains. Then he turned his back again.
'Anywhere but here,' he growled. 'They may think we're dead now, but that won't stop them from killing us again to make sure... '

He was interrupted by a brazen blare of trumpets from up ahead.
'What's that?' He dropped to his belly and pulled Ghurz down below the lip of a crater, half-submerged in the rainbow-shimmering water.

A small group of horsemen appeared over the crest of a ridge, and quickly rode past the hidden orcs.
'Humans!' growled Ghurz. 'What are they doing here?'
'Oh no... ' Lurkh bit his knuckles and gazed with foreboding after the thundering horsemen. 'I have this feeling... it's going to be another bad day... '

In the next and penultimate chapter, Lurkh is proved to be absolutely correct in every way.

The Final Appendix
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