Book the First

Dorezátz

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I

Sheglock

It was dawn, and as the sun crept slowly over the horizon, the entire sky glowed with a fiery orange. Slowly the luminous orb drifted higher into the sky, and the shadows of night receded. Light once again illuminated the desolate plains of Gorgoroth. Above the plains was a dazzling display of colour, as the clouds shifted from subtle hues of pink and orange to calm, tranquil blue. The two orcs paused for a minute, their attention briefly diverted by the fantastic display.

Ulûrk was the first to look away. But his companion, Sheglock, remained fixated on the spectacle.

"Another dawn," he said, not to anyone in particular, as he stared toward the east.

"Seen one, seen 'em all," Ulûrk grunted. "Now c'mon, we gotta get some thin' for breakfast!"

"Dawn's my favourite time of the day," Sheglock commented, oblivious to Ulûrk's impatience. "It's when the night ends – after the darkness there is a light… The start of another day, full of opportunity, brimming with potential…"

Ulûrk had been, in fact, listening. Though he often mocked Sherlock's "deep sayings", as he called them, he occasionally seemed interested in what his companion was thinking. And he loved to dispute it.

"But the sun always sets," he pointed out. "And ya get night after the day."

Sheglock was slightly surprised, as though the comment had not been intended to illicit a response.

"They say life is a circle," was all he said. Ulûrk let out a harsh guffaw.

They turned away from the rising sun, and continued toward the village centre. Sheglock took one last glance back at the sunrise. The sun was higher in the sky now, and the sky was a soft light blue. He sighed, then followed Ulûrk to the west.

The town of Garkhôn was busy, but not more than expected. Everywhere the traders were displaying their wares. Shouts rang out from every direction as each merchant tried to prove that his wares were the best.

Ulûrk marched straight past them toward the plaza in the centre of town. He then abruptly turned and walked up to a nearby merchant. He kept his eyes straight ahead, ignoring the commotion to either side. Long ago, it seemed to Sheglock, he had determined bluntness was the best way to get what he wanted.

"What d'ya need?" The merchant growled. "Grub? Mine's the best – straight from the ranch. Nice and fresh too."

"I've bought meat from ya' before, and ya overpriced it by a lot, let me tell ya. Now I'm not gonna pay ya more than a coupla these ole rusty knives here–" he pulled two grimy knives from his pocket "–'less ya give me quality."

There was a currency in the country of Mordor, consisting of silver and gold coins engraved with the Eye, but many orcs preferred to simply trade goods. Sometimes using money simply complicated things too much, and Sheglock knew that some peasants were too stupid to make change. Thus merchants rarely demanded money from buyers, and consequently seldom had enough to pay taxes. Sheglock sighed – the whole situation was just so stupid that it was frustrating.

"That junk ain't gonna buy ya' any o' my grub," the merchant retorted.

"Be reasonable! Ya know that ya need customers, cause ya can't eat all of that yerself. Look 'ere. Ya give me twice as much o' yer crap as ya did last time, and I'll give ya a nice ole helmet that I forged a coupla days ago."

The merchant did his best to seem uninterested. "Twice as much?"

Ulûrk sensed he was winning. Sheglock knew what would happen next. He'd seen it a hundred times. Ulûrk would threaten to walk away, and the merchant would break down and give him what he wanted. Funnily enough, it worked every time, though by now most the town was savvy to the trick. Sheglock thought the effectiveness arose from the fact that, if the merchants refused, Ulûrk really would walk away. He was not one to make empty threats.

"Yer not takin' it? Fine? I'm outta here, and I'll find some other guy who ain't so stupid!"

Sheglock sighed and turned away. He'd seen this enough. He decided it was a better use of his time to look around. Waving to Ulûrk (who didn't see him), he turned away from the booth toward the central plaza.

The small tiled square was packed with people. Everyone was trading their handicrafts for food. It was one of the only ways to get food in Mordor, unless you raised the animals on your own. Game was scarce in the stony, barren plains.

As he wandered around, looking, a merchant yelled over to him. "Hey, you! Yer clothes look kinda shabby. D'ya wanna brand new coat? I'll trade it fer some meat."

By the time he had finished speaking he had pushed his way through the crowd and stood right in front of Sheglock. Sheglock groaned.

"No, I do not!" he said as the merchant continued to follow him.

"Ya sure?"

Sheglock stopped. "Yes." he said emphatically.

"Sure?" the orc with the coats asked again. Sheglock didn't answer, and the sales-orc gave up. When he was gone Sheglock let out a sigh of relief.

He continued on, eventually reaching the small well in the centre of the plaza. There was a queue forming around it. Thinking he might as well do some thing useful, Sheglock grabbed a bucket. But, before he had even made it to the end of the line, he was distracted by a commotion near one of the booths.

"Thief!" the orc inside one of the meat-booths yelled, pointing his finger at a hunched, running figure. Two passers-by grabbed the unfortunate thief and threw him to the ground. The shopkeeper angrily marched over to him and glared down at him, fire in his eyes.

"Give it back!" he roared. Too willingly the offender obliged, flinging the large hunk of illegitimately gained meat back at the shop owner. It hit him spot-on in the face with a wet smack.

Everyone in the square (who had all, of course, been distracted by the scene and been watching expectantly) froze. People were illegally killed often for offences less serious than this. The tension and excitement almost was tangible.

However, those in favour of bloodshed were sorely disappointed. Rather than get angry, the shopkeeper laughed, a harsh guttural sound.

"So eager to give it back, aren't ya. Now ya've been caught, it ain't worth it no more. You'll see, that's a lesson all orcs gotta learn. Yer life ain't worth a grimy piece o' meat. Or is it?" He suddenly glared at the thief, who had been immobilised on the ground, clearly afraid for his life. Though his fear had gradually diminished, at those last words it returned in full measure. He cringed, arms instinctively clasping his neck.

"Arms up, scum," the store owner demanded, drawing his sword from its sheath. No one was surprised that he was armed – most people carried their weapons with them. Nor was his anger entirely unexpected, or even, in some cases, unwanted. Sheglock personally just longed for the whole ordeal to end, so that he could return to his house. The town didn't appeal to him.

The thief nervously got up, putting his long arms into the air. The store owner pointed the sword at him.

He laughed again. "Thank yer luck that I'm in a good mood t'day. Yer not worth it."

The thief sighed audibly.

"I'm not finished yet. Ya gotta learn how at use what ya got. Yer born with yer arms, ya gotta use 'em ta help us. Ta help all o' us – our town our society, the country of Mordor – not just yerself. An' if ya don't use 'em right, then I ask ya: why have 'em?"

With almost no warning, he swung his sword over the thief's head and severed his still raised arms at the elbows. The thief yelled and crumpled to the ground as the bloodthirsty crowd let out some whoops and cheers. Several more audacious people laughed.

Sheglock was disgusted. He angrily turned away and started home. He'd go the long way, a few extra miles, just to avoid walking through that crowd. It was just so typical. It seemed that orcs, almost as much as Men, liked to see others suffer. It wasn't so much the punishment that irked him as the reaction. Really, what was entertaining in that?

Sheglock sighed and continued down the overgrown dirt footpath.

"That's just how it is," he mumbled to himself in resignation.