Splint Chapter 72: Pawns

AN: Hi guys. I feel like I've been avoiding this chapter for a while, because it sets us on a certain path that I was hoping to avoid and realized that I can't.

UPDATE 10/2022 This story ISN'T ABANDONED. I am happily working on a number of professional projects ATM which have taken me the past few years and will probably keep me away from this for a while yet. Please be happy for my professional career and trust this is going to be complete sometime before I am dead. Hopefully.

000

The march started in the early hours of the evening. Skirting the mountain edge, the combined forces of the Gundbarashal and Glokong tribes headed east towards their neighbors. Preparations were done; their weapons were strapped to their backs; it was time for battle.

Over the course of his lengthy military service, Dufkarn marched many miles. He marched across the sooty plains of Golgoroth; he marched through the grey-green forests of Ithilien; he even marched across the dried grass of Pelennor Field, when the sky was dark and filled with shrieking Nazgul. Aside from the welcome lack of Their Lordships, this march was the same as many others before it. The advance began with shouts and hollers, the beating of drums and the clanging of swords against shields. As the sky went from grey to black, the wet eaves of Pulgoruz Taumor and the long trek wore this enthusiasm down into the chittering patter of rain and the gentle clinking of mail and armor. No one was bitching yet, but Dufkarn assumed that would start up by morning; once the silence became boring and everyone caught a short pre-dawn nap.

They marched through the night until they reached the border. By that time, the faces around Dufkarn were cemented in silent, grim masks. He surrounded himself with the warriors he trusted most. Nûtgroth was there, her pale, green eyes vibrating with waiting violence. Turgrat was at his other side a determined, serious expression on his face. Ashplak gripped the hilt of his sword and grinned a familiar, terrible grin. It was a long while since his old dad saw proper bloodshed. Cadoc was there too, marching alongside Muhrgra. They both kept casting furtive, obvious glances towards the gloom behind them, though both Rukhash and Muhrgra's daughters were trailing too far from the front line to be seen, even by Orcish eyes.

"They're fine!" Dufkarn snapped, tired of long hours filled by their pensive expressions. He didn't need two of his best lads distracted during a battle. Cadoc and Muhrgra bowed their heads, contrite, but said nothing in return.

Gijakzi had his own entourage of trusted soldiers. Aside from a pair of goblins Dufkarn didn't know by name, Botarg, Hiskut, Ishî, Yammat, and Baan fanned around the Glokong chief. It was strange to be marching with uruks again, even if they did have a goblin leading them. Though Dufkarn may not have shared Ranmor's animosity, he did know the wariness that plagued her. But Gijakzi's tribe was well behaved, had been well behaved during their entire stay with his people, disproving many of Dufkarn's preconceived notions regarding the general unpleasantness of uruks as a whole. Now that they were marching against Urzrath instead of Hrat, Dufkarn wondered if he might have taken another path to power; if killing all of the uruk soldiers under Katzub's command was completely necessary; if their act of revenge against those goblin underlings might have been mitigated by mercy; if, perhaps, this whole affair might have been avoided by a less heavy hand.

Of course, it was too late for Dufkarn to think about that now. Better to keep his mind on the task in front of him.

They took a brief rest beneath the eaves of the jagged cliffs that marked the edge of their territory proper and the beginning of the no man's land between the Gundbarashal and Ranmatûrz territories. This was a quiet affair. The lines broke into smaller, friendly groups, but no one seemed particular on boisterous conversation. Dufkarn couldn't tell if the air around him was pensive quiet or excited silence. Perhaps it was a little of both. The past seven years were mostly peaceful for his tribe, and – from what he understood – it was the same for the Glokong. That was a significant amount of time with no bloodshed by Orcish standards. A few of the younger warriors in both groups had never seen real battle. Dufkarn tried to think back to his first taste of combat and realized, with some shock, that he could not recall that particular confrontation. They all bled mercilessly into one another.

"It makes me feel old," he said aloud, addressing no one in particular.

"What does?" It was Cadoc who answered, a bemused look on his face. Dufkarn was surprised to still find him so close. He assumed the Man would have snuck towards the back of the line to find Rukhash.

"Thinkin' 'at some of these kids ain't never seen a proper fight," Dufkarn explained.

A quiet smile crept across Cadoc's face. "I remember thinking the same thing, the last year I rode with a scouting group along Gondor's southern border."

"Wet behind the ears, were they?"

"Soaking."

Ashplak had been eavesdropping, and chuckled at that.

"I'm feelin' wet behind everything," the old goblin snorted.

"The balls, mostly," Turgrat grumbled.

"I were wonderin' who'd start up with the grousing first," Dufkarn said, shaking his head. "Bunch'a whiners. You don't see Cadoc whining."

"Do not hold me up as a model of virtue," the Man said. "I assure you, I am complaining very loudly in my head."

"In elvish?" Ashplak asked, sounding genuinely curious. Most of the clan was aware that Cadoc could speak the elvish tongue.

"It is a poor language for complaint," Cadoc admitted. "Orcish is far better when it comes to swearing. More visceral."

Ashplak nodded sagely at that. "We got some good, proper words when it comes ta bitchin'."

"Ologbag," Nûtgroth supplied.

"Baglu," Turgrat offered.

"Pushdug," Cadoc suggested.

"Hurr," Ashplak chuckled. "Can't never go wrong with pushdug."

Dufkarn nodded. "It's a classic." He eyed Cadoc subtly. "Surprised you ain't makin' the trek to the back."

The man at his right cleared his throat subtly. "Rukhash and I have already said our goodbyes for this journey."

"You two fightin'?" Ashplak asked him with a smirk.

"Not at all," Cadoc said, raising a brow at him. "If I head to where she is stationed now, I may never return. As aware as I am of her ability to protect herself, I cannot deny that I feel a strong desire to see to her safety."

Turgrat chuffed quietly. "Yer the first Man I know what had proper shaûk instincts."

Cadoc rolled his eyes. "As though your people have a monopoly on loyalty." Turgrat harrumphed. "Perhaps you have not come across the right sort of Men in the past," Cadoc suggested. " You'll notice Baan has stayed by Hiskut's side this whole journey."

"They ain't shaûk," Turgrat observed.

"I feel that makes my point all the more," Cadoc replied.

Nûtgroth broke into their conversation. "So, you're sayin' yer better–"

"I did not say that," Cadoc interjected quickly. "I am saying that both our people are capable of feeling that same depth of loyalty. Spouse or shaûk or whatever you would call it; it is not how you name it, but how you act upon those feelings."

Nûtgroth seemed satisfied with that answer and went back to chewing miserably on her rations. Dufkarn regarded Cadoc as he dutifully bit into his own. "You want ta be by her side in this?"

"Of course I do," Cadoc admitted. "We are shaûk. But I appreciate why I am at the front with you, chief."

"Yer sword's wasted in the back," Dufkarn said.

Cadoc nodded wordlessly. Then, obviously deciding that rock hard dried meat was not to his particular taste, leaned back upon the stone behind and pulled his sage hood over his eyes. "I think my sword will do no one any good if I don't close my eyes for a minute," he said.

"'At's the right idea, I think," Ashplak agreed as he crossed his long arms over his chest and took up respite next to Cadoc.

Leaning against Turgrat's back, Dufkarn quietly surveyed the small groups gathered around them. The cliffs that hung overhead shielded them from most of the rain, but waves of fine, cool mist sifted through the rocks and chilled the bones. A steady heat radiated off of his shaûk, so Dufkarn wormed a little closer. Turgrat chuckled at this, but didn't comment. They wouldn't stop here long, and while a moment to rest would be wisdom, Dufkarn realized he was too eager to sleep. His sword hand twitched.

"Muhrgra's wandered off," Turgrat observed.

"Noticed that," Dufkarn replied. "Probably gone to the back to check on 'is girls." Sapatuk was still healing, and Muhrgra was protective when it came to his daughters. More so, since their mother had passed four years prior. The two of them had only been mates, but that didn't make Muhrgra any less fond of her. If Sapatuk were in better condition, both sisters would at the front of the line; to mollify their father's concerns if nothing else. Muhrgra had his soft spots, but he was a whirlwind in battle.

"Looks like Cadoc didn't have ta worry 'bout checkin' on Rukhash, neither," Turgrat said.

Curious to what his second in command was talking about, Dufkarn craned his neck around. Picking her way around the huddled bands was Rukhash, Takhbork loping after her. This did not surprise Dufkarn in the slightest. They were not in the thick of it yet. She was free to move about as any soldier.

His healer sent a little wave in the direction of her father's circle before making a beeline for Cadoc, who had yet to notice her. Dufkarn decided she could wake him herself. She nodded towards her shaûk napping alongside Ashplak. "Lazy bones."

Dufkarn chuckled. "Aye, an' yer the busy moth, up and about. Yer lad has the right idea. Should be gettin' some rest yerself."

Rukhash crouched and leaned in towards him. "Amani is creepin' me out," she whispered.

"Yea?"

"Tried ta start a conversation a few times, an she comes back with these weird, cryptic answers." Rukhash's eyes went round and vacant. "Now she's just starin'," she said. "Like she can see clear through the cold dark."

Dufkarn raised his brows and cast a glance towards Takhbork. The goblin shrugged. "She must know what she's about, right?" he said. "Chief Gijakzi wouldn'ta brought 'er along if she didn't. But fuck all, if she ain't the strangest fuckin' kid I ever met. And I'm Gruk's dad!"

"You should give a go at gettin' along," Dufkarn suggested.

"We ain't not gettin' along," Rukhash informed him. "She's just givin' me the shivers. Figured, if I'm gonna catch a nap, I'll do it with my Cadoc."

"Do as you like," Dufkarn said with a lazy gesture.

"Thanks, chief."

Without warning, Rukhash flopped heavily onto Cadoc, her head falling squarely into his lap. The man startled awake with a quiet swear. He glanced down at the Orc laying on him, her eyes already closed, and gently scratched her ear with his gloved hand. "Bleeding Eye, Rukhash," he breathed, before pulling the cloak back over his head. Rukhash's mouth curled in a little smile.

Ashplak, cracked open his icy eye and fixed his attention on Takhbork. He patted his lap. "Go on and take a load off, lad," he said with a mischievous smirk. "I'll give ya a nice lil' scratch too, if ya like."

"Shaddup, ya queer old sod," Takhbork grumbled, and took up next to Cadoc, so the man separated them. He pillowed his head on his bent knees and shut his eyes. "Last thing I need is yer dick keepin; me awake," he added.

Seeing an opportunity, Nûtgroth plopped her head into Ashplak's lap and pointed to her ear. "Scratch, granddad." The old goblin clucked his tongue, annoyed, but bent to her curt demand. He rolled his eye when she wriggled herself comfortable, obviously pleased with his attentions.

Dufkarn shook his head. "Old softie," he teased.

"Yuh, yuh," the old goblin grumbled. Ashplak crossed his arms and closed his eye again, leaving Nûtgroth where she lay.

Their march went through the day, but any Orcs that might have felt affected by the sun were well shielded by the dense cloud cover. As they passed from neutral territory to the land marked by the Ranmatûrz tribe, Dufkarn felt the small hairs on his neck start to rise. It was like a current running throughout the soldiers. Even with the rain to dampen their sense of smell, the thrill of the battle to come was working its way through the ranks. That thirst for blood was a desire threaded through the Orcish psyche; an instinct as old as their people.

Baan and Cadoc seemed unaffected, their expressions grim and determined, as though the task ahead was a somber affair. Around them, the Orcs were grinning. Soon, Dufkarn thought, knowing their target was only another hour away.

But it was more than the prospect of bloodshed that raised his skin to gooseflesh. They had yet to encounter any resistance – no scouts; no watchers at the border; no small units sent out to test their strength; no ambushes – at least, not yet. The tension of waiting was worse than any battle. As they passed a familiar outcropping of rocks – familiar only because Dufkarn had made this run ten years before, when they defeated Hrat – and Dufkarn realized the Ranmatûrz den was less than a mile away, he called a halt. Gijakzi followed suit, and the two of them met a pace away from their soldiers. Their army was thrumming with anticipation. There were several, annoyed grumbles at the sudden stop.

"Do you think this is as weird as I do?" Dufkarn asked the Glokong chief, when he felt they were clear of earshot.

"Queer as fuck," Gijakzi agreed. "We should'a met some pushback by now."

"Right."

"Dunno how I feel 'bout rushin' in an' hopin' fer the best," Dufkarn admitted. "We should have them outnumbered, but they been real careful up til now. Can't think they don't have nothin' planned."

"I agree," Gijakzi said. "Thinkin' maybe we should send a small group ahead ta check this out."

They sent two from each group: Muhrgra, Turgrat, Ishî, and Hiskut. They quartet was gone for only an hour before they returned with bemused expressions. "No one is there," Hiskut exclaimed with a frustrated gesture.

"Checked all over," Turgrat confirmed. "No sign'a anyone bein' in or outta that den in days. They're either shut up tight inside or they took off."

Gijakzi frowned. "You think they moved their den?"

"Ain't no sign'a that," Ishî said. There's some normal tracks about, like folks comin' an' goin', but they're a few days old. If they moved out, they did it a while ago or its' like Turgrat said: they're holed in."

"You have a look inside?" Dufkarn asked, though he already knew the answer. Only a raving idiot would walk into an enemy's hole with no backup.

"We ain't fuckin' stupid," Turgrat growled pissily.

"Right." Sighing, Dufkarn turned to Gijakzi. "We might as well move the group. Check it out proper. Cadoc's got them tark eyes. He might see somethin' we'd miss."

Gijakzi raised a brow at that, but made no specific comment on it. He motioned towards his group to march on. Dufkarn did the same.

The land surrounding the Ranmatûrz den was little different from what it was ten years prior. There were several dozen more yards of cleared land between their main entrance and the forest, but overall there was little difference between the lands here and those roamed by the Gundbarashal. It had infuriated Dufkarn when he confronted Hrat, because it meant that the Ranmatûrz were not forced to confrontation because of lack. They sought it out of want. Urzrath's purpose was even more dubious.

Dufkarn scanned the cliffs above the yawning mouth of the cave as they passed out of the forest and into the clearing. The face of the mountain was smoother here, with fewer craggy nooks for hiding. Perhaps Urzrath had moved his group. That would have been sensible, wouldn't it? Dufkarn knew this area. Why remain in a place that your enemy had marked? But good dens didn't just grow naturally out of the mountain. These were old holes, dug out before the war, just like the Gundbarashal dens. If Urzrath did move his group, they would be starting somewhere from scratch. That would have been a huge pain in the arse. Never mind the danger it would have put them in if they were caught, mid-move, by Dufkarn.

The company came to a halt just outside the cave. Prior excitement had morphed to current annoyance. Gijakzi's soldiers had been patiently waiting for a fight for weeks. They were restless, Dufkarn's own warriors were restless, Dufkarn was restless. He wanted this bullshit over with.

"Come with me," he told the soldiers with him. Drawing his sword, he stomped furiously into the Ranmatûrz den, Turgrat, Ashplak, Nûtgroth, Muhrgra, and Cadoc right behind him. The rest of their army waited outside. No sense in everyone dying because he was pissed at this situation.

This was very stupid. The mouth of the cave led them into a tunnel that grew steadily narrower, so they would be hedged in on all sides with no escape. Never mind that Dufkarn had no idea as to the layout in these dens. Perhaps it was of a similar design as his own, perhaps not.

Behind him, Ashplak chuckled, his hissing laughter vibrating all around them. "Maybe they was overrun by an army'a Ol' Grannies." Fuck, Dufkarn hadn't even thought of that. How extensive were the Old Tunnels? He hoped that wasn't the case. He was looking forward to killing Urzrath himself.

The tunnel became narrower and narrower, darker and darker, and Dufkarn realized Cadoc would be no good to them. "Someone spark a light," he hissed.

"I was hoping you would suggest it," Cadoc whispered and in short order a torch was lit in his hand. Count on a tark to think ahead to this situation. Cadoc probably had several torches stashed on him for this trek. Dufkarn didn't care if a light would announce them. If the Ranmatûrz didn't realize they were coming by now, then a bellowing troll wouldn't be an adequate alarm.

Now they were going single file along the smooth, stony passage, and the hair on Dufkarn's neck was rising for completely different reasons than a few hours prior. And still there were no lights ahead of them; no errant sounds from anywhere; no warnings from the soldiers outside and not a peep from whatever lay beyond the tunnel they marched through. The torch crackled and popped, its light bounced eerily off of the shining, black rock, like rippling water.

"I fuck'n hate this," Nûtgroth hissed through clenched teeth, her knuckles white around the hilt of her axe.

Dufkarn hated it too, but still he pressed on. They were probably a quarter mile into the mountain when the tunnel ended suddenly in a pitch black rectangle. Dufkarn could not see what lay beyond the door.

"Snuff the light, Cadoc," he ordered. Cadoc released an anxious huff, but the light dutifully went out.

In the moment it took for his eyes to adjust, Dufkarn imagined an army of Orcs appearing in that rectangle of darkness, the ambush he knew was coming. That ambush never came. Instead, the door revealed an open den, it's floor hewn smooth and even. Stepping from the narrow tunnel into the cavern beyond, Dufkarn was startled to find that he could see clear from one end of the cave to the other, the smaller dens carved in neat, stepped rows all around. He might have been impressed by the craftsmanship, if not for the creepy silence that engulfed him. There were no sleeping pallets; no furs drying; no smell of chamber pots or old meals; no sign of life in any form. There were shallow indents carved into the floor containing the remnants of long dead fires.

"So, they're gone," Turgrat observed.

Dufkarn nodded dumbly and turned to face the group with him. They had fanned out of the tunnel, examining the strange emptiness. All of them except Cadoc. He stood anxiously in the doorway, gripping the frame, his eye straining against the darkness.

"Light yer torch back up, lad," Dufkarn told him. "Ain't no one here, and you should have a look about. You read the signs on the ground best as any I know, and I wanna know what the fuck is going on here."

Cadoc lit his torch and immediately began scrutinizing the fire pits. "These were still lit just a few days ago," he said, and Dufkarn didn't bother to ask how he knew it, or question the truth of it. Cadoc walked along the smooth floors, his attention focused. "There were Men here," he announced, and bend to examine the ground. "Men or Uruk hai, and I might doubt the latter. These footprints seem too small."

Dufkarn exchanged a look with Ashplak and Turgrat. "Can you tell how many?" the chief asked.

Cadoc frowned. "They overlap too much," he said. "Perhaps a dozen? But I cannot be sure."

"An' Orcs were with 'em?" Ashplak questioned.

"Definitely."

Straightening, Cadoc regarded the Orcs alongside him. "Perhaps that man Hedon was after was a spy," he said. "Or a lost comrade?"

"He 'ad business of some kind," Dufkarn grumbled, and without warning, smacked Turgrat upside the head.

"Ow!" Turgrat rubbed his smarted skull.

"Heavy handed!" Dufkarn hissed.

"Well fuck me fer doin' my job!" Turgrat hissed back.

"Dad," Nûtgrorh called, motioning for the chief to join her. She had wandered towards one of the lower dens at the far end of the cave. Her expression was concerned as she motioned inside. "I think they fergot something."

Frowning, Dufkarn peered into the deep hole. Staring out at him was the pale, filthy face of a tark woman; her wrists bound and raw; her clothing half torn off; her grey eyes round with terror. Dufkarn's frown deepened.

"Fuck."

000

Proper Author Notes:

(Because it's been a while, and I'm not sure any of you want to go back and pick up on some of the specifics or more subtle world building bits, here are some refreshers so I'm not caught answering questions that are already in the text and subtext.)

Katzub was the uruk captain that originally led Dufkarn and his group to Grazad's home caves post-war. He then went about abusing the lower ranking goblins. Ashplak acted as a spy, gathering intel while Ranmor and Dufkarn planned a coup. (ch. 62, Hegdash)

Urzrath is one of Katzub's former goblin underlings. The uruks under Katzub were killed outright, the goblins were bound and thrown into the Gundbarashal tribe's underground river. (ch. 62, Hegdash)

Hrat was the former chief of the Ranmatûrz tribe. Urzrath is its current chief. Urzrath took power from Hrat after Hrat's failed first attempt to take the territory of the Gundbarashal. (ch. 69, Demons)

Sapatuk was injured about five days ago. But, you know, that good old Orcish medicine! She's up and about. (ch. 67, The Enemy)

I also feel like I should mention that "granddad" is not, necessarily, a note on familial relation. My Orcs also use the term to refer to an elder (sometimes respectfully, sometimes snarkily). When Nûtgroth calls Ashplak "granddad", though he is her grandfather, she is using this term in the latter sense.