16.  Friends and Enemies

They traveled together for many weeks. Radagast  set the orcs to  work that he and Frodo could not do alone, clearing  blocked springs so they  flowed again, watering the parched ground.

"You may hunt conies here  again someday," he told them.  "Will you slay them all, when that time comes, or  leave enough  to replenish themselves?"

Canohando snorted. "We are not  such fools, old man, to destroy our own land! That was done for  us by  others."

They passed ruined forts along the road,  and the orcs went into  each one, but cautiously, their bows drawn,  apparently remembering the surprise  attack by the mountains. One  day they came back carrying an extra bow they had  found in the  abandoned guardhouse. Canohando brought it to where Frodo lay on  his back with his hands behind his head, tired from his day's  labor, watching  the sun go down.

"Get up, runt," he growled.  "Let me see if this is the  size for you."

Frodo had no  wish for a bow, least of all one from an orkish armory, but he  thought best not to argue. He stood and let the orc  measure it  against him.

"It will do. Tomorrow you come with me and learn  to hunt."

"I have my work to do with Radagast," Frodo began,  but to his  dismay the wizard chuckled and said, "No, go and let  him teach you. Lash and  Yarga can help me, Donkey."

There  were many days of teaching.  Frodo had not shot a bow since he  was a lad, and that one had been a toy carved  by his father. Canohando  grumbled as he stood behind him, pushing him into  proper shooting  position.

"How have you lived so long, runtling? Without  the old man's magic bag, you would starve to death. How old are  you?"

But  when Frodo told him, he stared. "Is that all?  You are a child, then! How did a  child carry – that? The Power  of the Lord of Mordor?"

Frodo laughed.  "Among my own kind,  I am not a child; I am not even young. We do not live so  long  as dwarves, or orcs either, it would seem. Do your kind live while  Middle  Earth endures, like the elves?"

"We live until we  are slain." The orc  chuckled grimly. "If there are no enemies  at hand to perform the service, we  slay one another. But I can  remember when the Witch King came to Mordor. I was  in the horde  that marched with him to take Minas Morgul away from the Men of  Gondor."

"A thousand years ago!" Frodo marveled. "If no one kills you, I  believe you will live till the unmaking of Arda,  like the  elves."

Canohando bared his teeth unpleasantly.  "Orcs are not elves,  little rat, and we have no love for them.  I will live till I am slain, but already I have lived longer than  you. Your kind is like summer lightning, one  flash and you are  gone. But you may live a little longer if you can shoot. Sight along  your arm and put the arrow through that window."

The lessons  were  held in whichever old fort was handiest, and when he tired  of teaching Frodo,  Canohando hunted in earnest. Frodo would have  sat outside in the sun, waiting  for him, but the orc would not  permit it.

"Follow me, runt. There's more  to hunting than  shooting straight - and if a stone rolls under my foot and throws  me down there," he nodded to a deep hole in the interior of the  fortress, around  which they were prowling in search of something  to kill, "then you can pull me  out again. A fool hunts alone in  a ruin like this."

And Frodo found  himself oddly moved  that the orc relied on him to come to his help.

As  summer  came in, the heat of Gorgoroth became unbearable for Frodo and Radagast,  and they drew nearer to the mountains, working their way into the foothills where it was cooler. The orcs grew more nervous day by day, but when the wizard  suggested that they return to  the interior on their own, Canohando refused.

"Who will  protect you, old man, if you meet another band of  orcs? Most will  not wait to find out if you are enemies! Even the Men of Gondor  might slay you, before they see you are their own."

Frodo thought Lash  and Yarga would have gone. The orcs held long discussions  in their own language,  at night while he and Radagast lay rolled in their blankets in the dark,  supposedly asleep.

"Why don't they go?" he whispered.

"I'm not sure, Donkey. Canohando, I think, feels a debt to me that I healed his wound –  the infection  was very deep and might well have killed him in time. His reaction  is strange, all the same – to find gratitude in an orc almost defies belief. And Lash and Yarga will not leave him, although  they walk in fear of their lives.  Their loyalty amazes me as much as his gratitude. I wonder…"

"Is it  because they think they are the only ones left, of all the orcs in  Mordor?

"That  is part of it, certainly. The horror of seeing Sauron's realm  destroyed, all in a moment – that might explain their loyalty  to each  other, but not why they remain with us. I think there  is something else at work  here, some unraveling of evil design…"

He  was silent for a while, and  Frodo nearly fell asleep. He was roused  by the wizard's next words, startled  into wakefulness. "I think  they follow you, Donkey. You carried the Ring, and something of  its aura still lingers on you. The imprint of the dark power you wrestled with and overcame – I think it draws them, and Canohando  especially,  because he is the most aware of the three."

Frodo  shivered. "No,  Radagast! I don't want to believe that – mark  – is still on me! And I didn't  overcome it; I was nearly destroyed by it!"

"Ah, Donkey, but you were not destroyed, that is  precisely the point. You were overpowered for a moment, but  as  soon as the Ring went into the Fire, you returned to the fight.  It has been a  long struggle for you, but I think you can safely  say, now, that you have won the battle. All that remains is a  sort of scar, like the scars you bear on your  body. And these  orcs are fighting their own battle against what was done to their  kind in the far past. I think they follow you for the hope you give them."

"What battle are they fighting? What does it have to do with  me?"

The wizard shifted in the darkness, and Frodo felt hands on his  shoulders. "Roll over, Donkey, and I'll  rub your back. You have cast off the  Shadow, never fear." The  strong, supple fingers dug into his tight muscles, and he began  to relax. "You know where orcs came from, elves tormented and twisted by an evil power in another age. Much of that evil was bound up in the Ring, and now it is destroyed. That alone will not unmake  the orcs, I'm afraid, but for these three, it may be enough. Because  of their shock and terror when Sauron  fell, and their loneliness,  with only each other to turn to – they made certain  choices.  To be loyal to one another, defend one another. To accept help from me  and not try to kill us."

"Try to kill us?"

Radagast  chuckled. "They would have found me hard to kill, Donkey, had  they tried, and I would have protected you. Yarga was much surprised  when his shot went wide – he  is not accustomed to miss, and  you were a big target for one who has been  hunting rats."

"I  should have known!" Frodo stifled laughter against his  arm. "So will they become elves again?"

"No. They were born orcs;  there are generations of orcs between them and those poor, mangled elves. But they may  become something new under the sun: orcs who by their own will have turned away  from evil. You fought that  battle when you carried the Ring, and for long  afterward you fought the hold it had on you. I think Canohando begins to  understand  why he wants to be near you, and the others feel it without  understanding.  You blazed a trail for them."

Frodo was silent. It was as  if he had been looking at a star reflected in a cup of water,  and someone had  directed his attention to the sky. He had thought  it purely his own struggle, resisting the power of the Ring, and  it humbled him to think he was a source of  hope to these unlikely  strivers against the Dark.

In the morning,  Radagast spoke  to the orcs.

"You are not easy at being so near the  mountains,  and I begin to think you are right. We are not safe here; yet the  heat of Gorgoroth in summer is too much for anyone who is not  an orc! I think we  should find some place of concealment and stay  hidden until it cools enough to  leave the hills."

"A cave,"  Frodo said. "If we could find a cave, and  water nearby –"

“A  cave may be a trap, if your enemy finds it when you  are inside.  Do you have rope in that bag of yours, old man?” Canohando  asked.

Radagast  reached into the bag lying by him on the ground, and  pulled out  a coil of rope, thin but strong looking, like the rope of Lothlorien.  The orc took it gingerly, wrinkling his nose, and tugged a length of it between  his hands, testing its strength.

“It stinks  of elves, but it will do,” he  growled at last. He motioned to  Lash and Yarga, and they spread out, each taking  hold of the rope.  While Frodo watched, fascinated, they moved back and forth,  passing  the rope from hand to hand among them, weaving and knotting it with  practiced skill. Inside a quarter of an hour they had fashioned a web longer  than Frodo was tall, and wide enough that he could  have wrapped it around  himself two or three times.

“If  you have more rope – and if we can find a tree somewhere in  this wasteland – we can spend the daylight hours out of sight  in hammocks,” said Canohando.

“I named you well,”  Radagast said. “You  have a quick mind.” He brought out more  coils of rope. “Come, Donkey, while the orcs make our hammocks,  we will fill our water bottles and make sure we have  left no trace  of our presence here. I begin to be as uneasy as they are.”

Another  hammock was finished by the time they were satisfied that  they  had left no sign behind them. Radagast walked to the top of the  hill and  looked searchingly in all directions. Frodo followed  him, but the orcs hung  back, careful not to show themselves against the horizon.

“Not many trees,” the wizard observed,  “And none large enough for our purpose. In one of  the deep valleys where some watercourse still flows, we may find some. Down there,”  he pointed.

They hiked all day through stunted bushes and  patches of starved-looking weeds. Now and then they found a young  tree, no  thicker than the wizard's staff, struggling for life  in the dry soil.

“At least there are some trees,” Frodo  said. “Look how young they are  – they must have all taken  root since the Dark Lord fell.”

“There were  trees once,  but they were all cut down,” Lash said. “For engines of war,  and to feed the furnaces, forging weapons. There were gangs of  orcs, thousands of them,  sent into the hills to cut trees, drag  them back to Gorgoroth.” He ran his hand  down the trunk of one of the saplings they had found. “I like the feel of it,  wood that lives.”

Yarga snorted but Canohando nodded, his face thoughtful.

They moved on, into the shadow of a deep cleft  between the  hills. The ground became rougher, broken and rocky,  and they came to a narrow  stream rushing between high banks. They  followed along it, climbing awkwardly  over the rocks, and then  the land fell away before them and the stream dropped suddenly over a sharp  ledge. When they looked down, they saw that the waterfall  splashed  into a pool a good forty feet below before the water ran away again  in  a narrow brook.  There were trees down there, a dozen or  so, with dense,  leafy crowns.

“They could not get at these,” Radagast said with  satisfaction. “The drop-off was too sudden, and it’s so deep, maybe they didn’t  even know  these trees were here. Will these do for your hammocks,  Canohando?”

The  orcs were already looking for a way down into the little  gorge.  They picked their way among the boulders that littered the steep slope,  and Frodo and the wizard followed. When they reached the bottom, the air was as  cool and woodsy-scented as the Shire itself.  After the parched desert of  Gorgoroth, it felt like heaven.

Frodo  threw himself down on the mossy  ground and closed his eyes. "Now we've found this, you may never get me back to  Mordor!"

Lash was stretched out on the rocks, his hands trailing in the  water.  His matted hair was dripping; he had put his head right into the  pool to  drink.

“This is Mordor,” he said, sitting  up. “This is Mordor the  way I remember it, wild and full of  game for the killing. Back before the  Uruk-hai came, and the Dark  Lord with his wars and marching back and forth on stone roads, with a whip on your back and never enough to eat.”

“Did  you  live in the hills before Sauron returned?” the wizard asked.

“In  the  mountains, with trees all around and the streams full of fish.”  Lash got up and  waded into the water, following it downstream.  As they watched, he bent and slid  his arms into the stream, smoothly,  without a splash, and straightened up with a  fish squirming between  his hands. “Get a fire going, Halfling! We will eat fish  tonight!"  He threw the fish out on the bank, and Canohando picked it up.

"We  used to pull the fins off, like this," he said. He grabbed one of  the side fins and twisted it till it came off in his hand. The  gaping fish  jerked and struggled, and Frodo turned away, sickened.  Canohando looked from him to the fish still writhing in his hands.  "It was a stupid game," he muttered,  pulling out his knife. He  killed the fish with one clean stroke.

"Here,  runt," he  said roughly. "It's dead now – can you gut it? We'll catch enough  for all of us, if you and the old man will cook."

Frodo  took it from him and  went to build a fire, and the orc waded in  to join Lash and Yarga, moving slowly  downstream catching fish  after fish in their bare hands and throwing them out on the bank.  Radagast walked along next to the water, gathering the fish and killing them quickly.

The following weeks were like a strange  holiday.  They hung the hammocks deep inside the treetops, as near one another as they could manage, so they could talk quietly back  and forth. But most of the  daylight hours they slept – Frodo  found it surprisingly easy to sleep the day away; the leaves surrounded them in deep shade, and it seemed as if all of them were tired, even the orcs.

They climbed down at dusk to kindle a little fire  and make a meal  from the supplies in the wizard's sack.

"Leave  the fish in peace," he  told the orcs when they wanted to catch  more. "There's little enough life in  Mordor – you had your sport  when we arrived; now let them live and multiply."

When  they had eaten and it grew dark, they went exploring.  They followed the stream for many miles, till it flowed into a river, and there  they turned back.

"If we followed it far enough, I think  we would come  to the Sea of Nurnen. Have any of you been there?"  Radagast asked the  orcs.

They shook their heads. "We come  from the Ephel Duath," said  Canohando, "but we did not know one  another in those days. There were many orc  bands living in the  mountains, skirmishing over hunting grounds, until the Witch  King  came and gathered us to fight the Men of Gondor. These hills are  our home country, old man, but they are not safe for us anymore."

"You  carried war  to Gondor, and they have brought it back to you,"  the wizard said soberly, and  the orc growled and walked away.

All  summer they remained there, spending the days in their hammocks and ranging across the hills at night. They found  several  more deep  valleys where the trees had not been cut, and sometimes they  surprised  a rabbit feeding in the gray light before dawn, on their way back  to their refuge. And then, when summer was over, a few nights before they planned to start back to Gorgoroth, they ran into a patrol from Ithilien.

For  months they had seen no sign of anyone but themselves, and perhaps they had  grown careless.  However it was, Canohando himself walked right into a group of  men  standing in the shadow of a large rock, and the other orcs were  close behind  him. They had no time to draw bow before they were  surrounded and disarmed.

"Is there no end to these vermin  in Mordor?" a voice exclaimed  in the darkness. "Every time I think  we've cleaned out the last of them, we find  another nest! Hi, you! are there more of your kind about?" There was a sound  like  a heavy blow.

A light blazed suddenly, and Frodo stepped  forward,  holding up the starglass like a torch. The men drew back,  shielding their eyes,  and the orcs, their hands already bound  behind them, twisted their heads away,  blinking.

"Good evening to you, Captain," Frodo said, looking from face  to face  for the leader of the patrol. There were twenty men at least.  Radagast stepped into the light and stood behind him, his staff  in his hand.

"Good evening? It may be, halfling, and then  again it may not. Who are  you, and by whose leave are you prowling  these hills in the dark? This is the  King's land now."

"Mordor!"  Canohando said harshly, and spat. "This is  Mordor. My land!  Orcs' land!"

The man who had spoken turned and  with casual  brutality aimed a blow at the orc's throat, using the side of his  hand. Canohando doubled over, choking, gagging, and would have  fallen but for  his captor who stood holding him by the arms. The  other orcs struggled against  the men who held them, snarling furiously.

"I  am the King's friend,"  Frodo said firmly. He moved to stand by  Canohando, his free hand on the orc's  shoulder. "And these are my friends. The Shadow is defeated, Captain, and even  an orc may  be a friend."

The man glowered at him. "'King's friend' is  easily said, small one, but you had best be able to prove it.  That you are a friend to orcs is easily seen, and may be your undoing.  And who is the old  man?"

"I am Radagast the Brown, and the King's friend is my friend also - as are these three orcs.  I am of Gandalf's Order. Mithrandir," he added, seeing  blank incomprehension  on the man's face.

There were murmurs from the  other men.  "Mithrandir! Denethor had little love for him!"

"He was close  in the counsels of the King, though."

"That was years ago.  He's not been  seen in Gondor since –"

"Not since he went  over the Sea with Elrond, the father of your Queen. Nevertheless,  I am of his Order, and this halfling is in truth the  King's friend,  and high in his favor. You would do well to treat him with  honor."

The  captain regarded Frodo curiously. "Very well, halfling. Who  are  you, that I should honor you?"

Frodo felt the blood rise  to his face.  "I am Frodo, the Ring-bearer," he said. He held out  his maimed hand to the  light, with its missing finger. "Frodo  of the Nine Fingers. You need not honor  me, but I ask that you  release my friends."

"The Ring-bearer." The  captain looked  doubtful. "You have nine fingers, but that is not proof.  And I do not like your choice of friends! My mother was a healer  in Minas  Tirith, and she told stories… Tell me then, Ring-bearer,  what gift did the Queen  give to you? For my mother told me, but  that was a thing not widely  known."

"Queen Arwen gave me  a jewel from around her own neck, to comfort  me from evil memory."  Frodo reached inside his shirt and drew out the white  jewel on  its chain. The captain dropped to one knee and took it in his fingers,  turning it this way and that to catch the light, and there was  awe in his face.

"Forgive my discourtesy, master," he said  at last, rising to his  feet. "You are the King's friend indeed,  and no one could be higher in his  favor. But I do not understand  why you and your companion wander our hills in  the darkness, and  in such company." He looked balefully at the  orcs.

Frodo  turned to Canohando and pulled out his knife, cutting the  ropes  that bound the orc's wrists, unhooking his own water bottle from  his belt  and handing it to him. He glanced at Yarga and Lash,  but Radagast was caring for  them, and he turned back to the man.

"Will  you have one of your men make  a fire, Captain? A hot drink would  go down well for all of us, I think, and then  I will tell you  why I travel in such company."

The patrol had no tea, to  Frodo's disappointment, but they carried a powder that, when mixed  with water, made a very palatable broth. He and Radagast sat  down with the captain  over mugs of the stuff and tried to explain  why they were in Mordor. The man  couldn't seem to see the point.

"To  heal the land, you say? Why take the  trouble? Mordor is a wasteland,  has been for a thousand years and more. The  Black Land, that's  its name in the Common Speech – fit for nothing but spawning  vermin."  He jerked his head at the orcs, sitting close behind Frodo and the  wizard. Frodo realized suddenly that they had not been given any  of the broth,  and he passed his own mug back to Canohando.

"You  treat that monster as  if it were human," the man grumbled.

Frodo  looked him in the eye. "I was  a prisoner of orcs," he said. "They  stripped me, they beat me – but they also  fed me. And Canohando  is my friend." Canohando drank a few swallows from the  mug, then passed it to Yarga. The captain watched him, then got up and fetched  three more mugs, which he filled and gave to Frodo and the orcs.

He  let them go at last, when he couldn't persuade them to return  with him to Ithilien.

"I'll have to report this to my  commander, that I found you here, and  he'll report to the King.  It will look very ill that I left you wandering in the  wilderness  instead of bringing you back in honor to visit him."

"Strider  will understand – he was a wanderer himself for many years.  Tell the King – and  the Queen, too! – that Frodo travels with  the Brown Wizard for his own healing,  and the land's. They will  be glad of that news, I think."

"Glad indeed,"  said Radagast  with a smile. "Tell the King exactly that, Captain, and say  further that the Ring-bearer carries healing with him, even as he seeks  it for himself."

The captain looked puzzled at these messages,  but promised to  deliver them. He got up then and ordered his men, and they prepared to leave.

"You would do well to take  your – friends – deeper into the interior,"  he warned them.  "Gondor patrols these hills now, and will continue to do so. We  will not let our defenses fail a second time! And Gondor is no  friend to  orcs."

Frodo bowed. "I thank you for your counsel,  Captain, and for your  hospitality. We will start back tomorrow,  when we have slept. And I would ask  you further, of your courtesy, to give my greeting to the Lord Faramir. He also was a friend to me, when my need was great."

They reached  their refuge shortly after dawn and climbed wearily to their hammocks.  Frodo was  almost asleep when Canohando called to him. "Runt? Why  did you not stay hidden,  you and the old man? They did not know  you were with us."

Frodo yawned.  "You told us from the  beginning, the men of Gondor kill any orcs they find.  Would you  have left Yarga and Lash, if you had not been caught  yourself?"

"I  would have shot from ambush, killed as many as I could. I  would  not have walked into the middle of them!"

"I am not an orc  – and I  am the King's friend. I would not shoot his men from  ambush, even if I  could."

"What if they had not believed  you? They might have slain you  along with us."

"They might.  I did not think they would."

"And if  they would kill us  anyway, even though they spared you? Would you have killed to  save  us?"

Frodo was struck silent. For Sam he would kill, if he  had to.  But for the orcs? "I don't know," he said at last. "I'm  glad it didn't come to  that." It was long before he slept.

They  made haste to leave  the hills, traveling by day for greater speed.

"They  may not be the only  men patrolling here, and some might be outlaws  who would not respect the King's  name. We will be cautious, but  we had best see where we are going," said  Radagast.

He  went ahead with Lash and Yarga, their bows strung and ready, but  Canohando walked behind with Frodo.

"Does it seem strange  to you, King's friend, to travel with orcs and flee from the Men  of  Gondor?"

Frodo grinned ruefully. "It is not the first time I have fled  from a man of Gondor. I think the Ents would  say they are a hasty  people."

The orc frowned. "Ents? What do you know of Ents, runt? The old man said nothing of them, when he told your tale."

"They do not come into  my tale. Two  of my companions encountered Ents, when they escaped from orcs who were dragging them to Isengard. All I know of the tree herders  is what they told  me."

"Your companions also escaped from orcs? Were they of like kind to  you?"

"Hobbits, yes. We  are hobbits."

"And three – no, four, you  had a companion  in the Tower, hadn't you? Four of you little things, helpless as  rabbits, escaped from battle-hardened orcs." He shook his head.  "And the others  went to the Ents, you say? And lived to tell of  it!"

"Lived, and grew tall from drinking Ent-draughts.  Almost as tall as you, Canohando, though not as muscular."

"And  you – you survived the Witch King's knife and the Spider's bite,  and stood in the Mountain's mouth when it vomited fire… You are  hard to kill, runt. I wonder if I could do it."

Without  warning he threw  an arm around Frodo's neck, dragging the hobbit  against himself. Almost in the  same movement he whipped out a  knife with a cruel, hooked blade, pressing it  against Frodo's belly. Frodo hung half choked in the orc's grasp, stupefied by the suddenness of the attack.

"I  could kill  you, runt. I could gut you like a fish."

He  dropped the hobbit, shoving  him away so that he stumbled and nearly  fell. Frodo caught his balance and stood  for a moment, massaging  his throat and taking deep, merciful gulps of air.  Finally he  swallowed a few times and straightened his clothes before he turned  to face the orc.

"What is it about you, King's friend?  I could slay you in a heartbeat, but – I do not wish to."

"Why  should you wish to?" Frodo was shivering in reaction; he pulled  his cloak about him, although the day was  warm.

Canohando  looked bewildered. "You are an enemy. It is your doing  that Mordor is empty of orcs, and the King claims it for his own. Your  companions  went to the Ents and got food – I would not live a night in Fangorn,  if I entered there! But you called me friend, though I doubt you  would kill for  me – and you saved my life from the Men of Gondor,  without killing."

"I  am slow to kill," Frodo admitted.

"Have you ever  killed?"

Frodo nodded. There had been an orc,  or maybe two, in Moria. He  had not killed Smeagol! Smeagol had fallen, overcome by his lust for the Ring….

"I do not wish to kill," he said.

The orc reached out and touched  his neck "You will have a bruise," he said, and sighed. "I do not  wish  to kill you, runtling – but I am glad to know I could."

They  walked on in  silence, catching up to Radagast and the others.