Enemy Eyes

Enemy Eyes- Short Story

The heat scorched his back as the sun passed, the heaviness in his eyes began to fade as his throat accepted the newest bite. Mouth dripping with the blood of a midday hunt, the tension in the air was fiercely tight.

One more day.

A suckle of rabbit flesh melted in his mouth while with both hands he bent the broken back and dug his sharpened teeth deep into the dense muscles. His favorite part.

Not a word had been spoken since they'd been called upon. The only sound heard throughout the camp was the sharpening of iron. It was the last march he would make, and it had been unending and gruesome. Yet exhaustion would not find him, it could not. The only feeling he had felt since he'd awoken was the impenetrable hunger to fight, kill, and die.

A horn screamed a deafening cry beside him. He shoved the muscle-less carcass into the murky sludge. It met the ground with a smack and he stood himself up once again. One more day. The thoughts of war intoxicated him to the point of drunken rage.

I came from mud and soil. I am the slime of the earth. I am the Uruk-hai, I am feared.

The horn sounded again beside him. His black blood curdled as he reached for his broadsword. Same entblood or not, these Rootmen were not his brothers. He would kill them all should they entice him.

Blow that horn once more, foul beast.

With jaw tensed he walked close to the tallest of them all, the clinking iron rhythmically announcing his presence. The faces were wet from the sweat, but the mark of their master still vividly stamped upon them.

"You filth, will go on the ladder." The throaty uncarved voice shouted at him and the emotionless faces that stood beside him. Yes. He did not fear the height of the ladder nor the fall from the top of the wall. He wanted this.

"The closer to man flesh, the better I'll die." One beside him gurgled.

Others warbled in agreement, but he stayed silent. He. Uzgeg was an Uruk-hai of death. Born from the roots that fermented in the deepest soil. Not with a mind of man but a hunger for them. For new ways to spill their sweet sickly blood. Even if it meant his death. He welcomed it.

The final departing horn blew as he pulled his broadsword around his back. Legs aching, back stinging, and a never-ending hunger gnawed inside him. Soon it will be over. This hunger was for something more.

A constant pressure inside his stomach that pulsed like a tightly wound knot swinging in the wind. The hunger was real, it would never stop. Not until tonight, when he would finally see the base of Helms Deep.

*

The wall was larger than the stories told. With 10,000 Ent-root fighters beside him, he did not fear whatever awaited him. Except his hunger was gnawing at him further, it had never been this strong before. Not much longer. Yet how long could they wait. Already the smell of their warm beating hearts made the bile in his stomach bubble.

Still the hunger never ceased, he could eat his fill of rabbit and horse but even after his throat was full it would still sting for more. He saw this not as a fault but a gift from the vile soil he emerged from, he only wished to ease it. They were marching slower now, with each step the burning sun eased and the true power of the darkened sky filled him. They would fight in the Uruk-hai's prime of day, the night.

Something pulled at his gut as he saw unfamiliar forms appear on the walls of Rohan. No. For the first time in his Middle-Earth life he'd felt the pain of fear inside him. This bitter sight sent a crawl through his skin. Elves.