Well before dawn, as the light from the rising sun began to spread itself up from behind the horizon, Boromir had already saddled Sarnros and was leaving his camp. He had not shut his eyes all night and it required every bit of his strength and powers of concentration to remain awake. To keep himself alert and active, he had removed one of his tunics and slowly torn it into strips that he wrapped around Sarnros' hooves. He believed that if he could muffle his steps as best he could, the chance of his escaping would increase. Though no more sounds had split the peace of the night, he feared that whatever had made its presence known was still out there.

Even with the cloth boots, Sarnros could not step as lightly as his rider wished him to and still made noise which, to his heightened senses, Boromir thought was as loud as an army tramping over a bridge. His jaw was clenched so tightly it ached and his eyes constantly scanned the north. If he could slip away quietly, when he was at a safe distance, he could spur Sarnros and see if the gelding indeed was worthy of his name.

He could see nothing in the distance and there was not a trace on the air that bespoke of the previous night's terror. Was it all a dream? Boromir wondered. Have I been traveling so long that I am now prey to hallucinations?

The thought had barely been formed when, from his right, there came a guttural voice, a voice so deep that only a howl could make the words intelligible. If one could call it a voice. If one could call what it said actual words. It was nonsense, a collection of grunts and snarls that might have passed for words among animals. Yet it was frightening for whoever -- whatever -- it was spoke directly to him. The tone was a challenge, Boromir knew that much. It was unmistakable.

Sarnros again was agitated, but Boromir nudged the horse's sides insistently. The ground was not favorable for a breakneck gallop and, from what he could see, would not be so for some time yet. Curse this forsaken terrain!

Boromir was nearly as startled at what next met his ears as he had been when he first heard the barbaric tongue. The voice was the same, but now the words were clear, recognizable. It was talking in the Common Speech.

"You will not escape me!" it said. "I am of the fierce Uruk-hai, bred for battle, and you shall be the first Man to meet my blade. Be proud of such an honor. Fight bravely and I will make your end quick. I am Lurtz of the Uruk-hai. Remember it!"

Uruk-hai? He had never heard of them. Bred for battle? What black sorcery was this?

He peered even more sharply towards the direction of the voice. It now came from the northwest, towards the curve of the Misty Mountains that disappeared into infinity through the horizon. If whatever it was continued this path, he could soon expect this Uruk-hai to appear on the road in front of him. He had to go north. That was where his mission lay and he could not risk turning south. He had studied his map often enough to know that should he go in that direction, he could very well become trapped in the land between the branches of the Isen and the Adorn, should he even be able to find a suitable crossing to get beyond the Isen. Worse yet, he knew not what type of folk dwelled in the Druwaith Iaur since the skittish pukel-men of legend had abandoned the region long ago. Probably there were harmless farmers, but if not. . .? What if the White Mountains had spawned a race that rivaled the ferocity of the Dunlendings? He would be risking a confrontation with that reviled northern people regardless. He did not wish to find himself amongst another of its kind.

To imagine that Faramir wanted to make this journey instead of I, he thought. If I am finding myself in an increasingly hopeless situation, what would my poor brother be thinking at this moment? He did not doubt Faramir's courage, not in the slightest, but the argument he had used to press his father to decide in his favor had relied on his skill and experience. Boromir's extra years behind a sword were more persuasive than Faramir's own accomplishments. He hoped that his father's confidence and his own hard campaigning for this mission would be justified.

"You have not moved!" taunted his invisible enemy. "Do you wish me to kill you now? For I can."

Boromir gripped his reins and dug his heels into Sarnros' side. Rough terrain or no, he had to fly beyond the reach of this Uruk-hai.

Within one hundred feet, he regretted his decision. Winter frosts had forced rocks from the ground, tunneling rodents left treacherous pitfalls for human and beasts, and the thousands of years had sent shale from the mountains trickling down to the land below. Sarnros began to lose his footing and scrabbled for balance. Boromir pulled back on the reins and got the gelding under control again. Cursing under his breath, he proceeded at a trot.

When there was no further challenge, when no figure appeared, Boromir refused to let himself relax his guard. He remained rigid and alert in his saddle. The tension flowed from him into Sarnros and the gelding also kept his head high, ears following any sounds, his steps high and clearing the small obstacles beneath him.

To Boromir's dismay, the Old South Road that had been marked so clearly on his map was not visible, at least to the extent that it would be of use in guiding a traveler. Upon reaching the western bank of the Isen, he noted that the condition of the old road was quickly deteriorating. With more urgent matters consuming Gondor's attention, it had been allowed to crumble into the dust.

The day was progressively becoming worse. The potentially hostile lands of the north and southwest, and an unseen enemy who was intent on proving their strength by ending his life. The only alternative was that Faramir had undertaken the task of traveling to Imladris, and that was even more worrisome than his own plight.

But he would not succumb to despair, no matter how tempting it was. Whatever, whoever was out there would discover that a soldier of Gondor was not some meek prey who would crumple in the heat of battle. His mind began to work feverishly.

* * *

Lurtz kept an attentive eye on the mounted figure in the distance. He could see a heavy shield slung over the Man's arm and the glint of the sun on a finely-crafted scabbard. This was a Man of quality, of weath, of might. What a worthy opponent.

He was beyond the range of his bow, but there was no pressing need to force his move. He sneered at the thought that his absence from Sharkey's domain might cause his master some alarm, prodding the other spawn from the slime pits to jeer at the mighty Lurtz' death out in the wild at the hands of a sickly forge slave. The expressions on their ugly faces when he returned with the head of a warrior, grasped by a hank of that fine golden hair that shone so richly in the sun, would be a gratifying sight to behold.

The hours passed. His path kept within the foothills of the mountains, scaling over the rocks and ducking into the many gullies and recesses formed by nature. His bow was still gripped tightly in his powerful fist, and he leapt from perch to perch, muscles straining against his tough dark hide. His steps were sure, measured, and graceful, so at odds with his immense size.

The quarry had been keeping a wary distance from the hills, as though acutely aware that danger lurked in all its horrible uncertainty. It made every attempt to keep as far west as it could, though the necessity to follow the bare traces of the disintegrating road forced it to choose an uncomfortably close course to the spiny fingers that jutted from the snow- capped peaks above. The overgrown thickets, fallen trees and ragged stumps also confined the Man's path. Where the road had been was slow to be reclaimed by nature. The land on either side was more susceptible.

If Lurtz had not been avidly watching him, the Man would have announced his increasing proximity through the sweet scent that was carried on the wind. He smelled even more enticing than he had the previous day. Perhaps it was the fear, the anxiety that enriched him so. The mounting hunger that gnawed at the inside of his belly was likewise eating away at Lurtz' patience. Enough tracking, enough hunting, enough waiting. He would eliminate the beast the Man rode and then after a satisfying crossing of swords, it would end. They were close to each other now. Only the nooks of the hills kept him from the Man's sight. Once he disabled the mount, he could spring down from his hiding place and reach the stunned human before he could regain his senses.

He nocked an arrow and drew back on the string, the bow groaning under the tension. Sighting down the shaft, Lurtz' gaze fixed on the bared neck of the Man's sole means of escape. Just then, a cool glacial breeze came whistling down the mountainside. He would have to wait until it passed. He could not risk the wind turning his arrow from its mark. A growl rumbled deep in his throat and he ground his teeth in frustration.

* * *

When the clean air, straight from the immortal snows of the mountaintops, swept around him, Boromir caught an intense strain of the odor he had been intermittently smelling all day. It increased as he drew nearer to the foothills and once it had become a nearly constant scent on the air, he had grown ever more cautious. The Uruk-hai was near, very near. A move would soon be made. Soon. . .

A twang of a bow resounded from the hills and Boromir threw himself down across his horse's neck, jerking his arm forward and sending the shield strap sliding down to his lower forearm. The shield was broad and heavy and he had practiced the move several times in the budding light of dawn. Each time he had tried to cover as many vital marks of himself and Sarnros as possible. Not everything could be protected, but he would have to take a chance that it might work.

Boromir gave a grunt when an immense force slammed into the wood and tooled leather of his shield. The tip of the shaft had nearly pierced the entire thickness of the shield. He heard the point of the metal head scrape the leather of his vambraces. The thought of the strength required to make such a penetrating shot nearly left him breathless. Fear washed over him and he tried to right himself in the saddle, but Sarnros was dancing nervously and Boromir could not steady him from this awkward position. The jigging and swaying of the horse beneath him kept throwing his weight off balance.

Sarnros pivoted and Boromir, his weight heavier on one side due to the low position of his shield, fell to the ground. Scrambling to his feet, he was about to turn after Sarnros when his eyes finally beheld the invisible foe that had been dogging his steps.

Tall, taller than any man he had ever seen. Only Sauron in the scrolls, tapestries and paintings of old showed a figure that eclipsed this one. He was broad of shoulder and seemed stuffed with more strength than the leathery red body could allow, the muscles bulging, straining, and rippling as he moved. Enormous fangs were bared in fury, large and sharpened into lethal points. On his face was the imprint of a white hand, as though a brand or a badge of his commander and country, like the White Tree he wore on his own tunics and armor. At the Uruk-hai's side was a long and wide scabbard, the blade that it contained raised in the air for the first attack. The hands that gripped it could crush a man's throat in a gentle squeeze. Of all the enemies he had met on the battlefield, he had never encountered one such as this.

And now this fearsome beast was running right towards him.

Ten more running paces and the Uruk-hai would be atop him, the blow would fall. He could not turn and run, leaving his back open to attack. Sarnros was well beyond his reach and his own footspeed was no match for the gait of his opponent.

He had to stay out of his reach. There was no way he could escape, should the Uruk-hai lay his hands on him. Those hands would be as impossible to break as the strongest shackles in the deepest dungeon. Boromir brought his shield up to block the blow that would fall upon him. If he could inflict at least some injuries, he might be able to spirit away on Sarnros and leave this maddened animal in the dust far behind. He had to get in close and injure him, perhaps even a lucky killing stroke. But the long and broad sword being raised against him would easily keep him from closely approaching its bearer. He had to be quick; he had to think.

Boromir drew his sword from the scabbard with a ring and watched the Uruk- hai who called himself Lurtz steadily close the distance between them. His eyes flitted from Lurtz' long arms to the blade. Back and forth.

Five paces. . .four.

Time seemed to slow as Boromir calculated the mathematics of battle. He marveled that he was able to think at all.

Two paces. . .

Boromir leaped backwards once, twice. Lurtz' blade hurtled downwards, the edge slicing through the air, and missed. The blunt end of the sword nicked the lower edge of Boromir's shield and rang against the hard ground. Before Lurtz could recover, Boromir closed in quickly and managed to drive his own blade into the Uruk-hai's unprotected side. His reach was not long enough to inflict much damage and Lurtz arched up in rage and plowed his shoulder against the shield, throwing the soldier off balance and ending Boromir's temporary advantage.

Boromir staggered several steps, watching the ground for any protruding rocks or branches that could trip him. At a roar similar to the one from the previous night, Lurtz renewed his attack. I cannot play the same trick twice, Boromir thought. He is not that stupid. But neither am I. You will have to be as inventive as I am, my friend.

As though privy to his thoughts, Lurtz raised his sword with the skewed tip and, from his great reach, hooked it around the edge of the Man's shield. With a yank, the shield fell away momentarily, exposing Boromir to attack. He let himself be whirled around from the momentum at the end of his arm and tilted the shield so that it lay flat in the air like a plate. He made a circle and threw his weight behind it, sending the edge of the shield into the small of Lurtz' back.

He was satisfied to hear his foe grunt but the pleasure was short-lived because, before he could press his advantage, a meaty arm slammed him on the side of the head and he went crashing to the ground.

A reddish haze swam over his vision. The Uruk-hai disappeared into the fog so that only his voice remained. A low, rumbling laugh that replaced the ringing in his ears from the blow his head had suffered.

He blinked his eyes, trying to clear them of this cloudy veil, and saw that the Uruk-hai was looking down at him, his face a mixture of contempt and. . .disappointment?

"You have proven that there is no match for the Uruk-hai," the creature was saying. "And I had hoped that the race of Men would provide us with true sport. Hollow victory will sour your meat in our gullets, but perhaps the number we kill will soften the bad taste."

"Then kill me if it pleases you," Boromir snarled. "I'll not say those words again."

"So eager to die. What a poor choice I made to follow you."

Lurtz bent down and grabbed Boromir by the tunic on his arms, lifting him bodily in the air. "It is amazing that you and your kind have been allowed to breed and cover this land, for you certainly are not strong." He shook Boromir until his teeth rattled. "How would you like to die? I will offer you several ways."

Boromir hung limply in Lurtz' grip. "I. . .I leave that to you, mighty Uruk-hai," he spat.

Lurtz' lips peeled back even further from his fangs and he laughed. His mirth transformed into a howl of rage as Boromir, who had dangled so helplessly from his hands, tucked his legs up to his chest and retrieved his knife from the sheath concealed within his boot. The blade was only five inches long, but he sank it up to the hilt in the reddish flesh. He yanked it free and buried it in the muscle and bone of the Uruk-hai's elbow. He tried to pull it loose again, but the blade had become wedged as Lurtz retracted his arm in pain and Boromir decided he would have to sacrifice it.

Boromir delivered a swift kick to Lurtz' midsection and bent his knees when he felt himself released. He landed softly, grabbed his sword, and scuttled away in the direction of his shield. Sarnros still waited in the distance and he was greatly relieved to have such an obedient companion. When they escaped, that horse would lack for nothing.

As he passed by his shield, he scooped it up by the arm strap and headed in the direction of his waiting steed. He had only gone about fifteen steps when something tangled about his feet and he fell face first into the earth. The top of his head met an unresisting force and Boromir looked up to see that he had collided with a stump that was all that remained of a tree sheared away in a past storm. He used it to pull himself to his feet and gritted his teeth as the sharp splinters encircling a sharp wooden shard pricked his hands and fingers.

Ignoring the pain, he picked up his shield and sword and kicked at the heavy limb that had been thrown in his path to trip him. Before he could press on, a heavy blow landed between his shoulder blades and he stumbled forward, retching. Would he never make his escape? Would every attempt be thwarted, just when he thought that flight was possible?

He did not lose his footing again, though the force that had been brought down on his back nearly broke his knees. The Uruk-hai had only one good arm; he had two. The Uruk-hai was bleeding; he was not. While that did not even the odds entirely, it might give him some opportunity that would result in victory.

Boromir turned and staggered backwards, holding his sword and shield up in a defensive position. The Uruk-hai did not have his sword, but the battle rage that contorted his face seemed ample weapon enough. The knife was still lodged in the Uruk-hai's arm and Boromir saw what move he must make.

He lunged forward, ducking under the cover of his shield and, swinging his sword in a downward arc, brought the blade squarely on the hilt of the jutting knife. Lurtz bellowed as the pain ricocheted up and down the length of his arm. He swung his uninjured arm in Boromir's direction, but the Man easily ducked and darted back the way he came.

I have no new tricks left to play, Boromir thought. Let the one I use again be successful.

As he rounded Lurtz, he let his shield slip as far down his arm as he could and swung it into the Uruk-hai's gut, letting his own body go along with the motion to add extra force. The edge of the shield set Lurtz off balance enough so that he toppled backwards and landed on the wooden spike that jutted from the stump. It pierced his upper left shoulder, poking out bloody and unbroken on the other side.

Lurtz howled and thrashed in rage. Boromir was stunned at the sight of the impaled Uruk-hai, but his inaction did not last long. He would not take the time to kill this monster. Every previous opportunity of escape had been suddenly closed and he would not hesitate to seize this chance to flee. He turned and ran as fast as his weakened knees would allow.

Sarnros was eager to depart and began to gallop north before his rider had gotten both feet in the stirrups. Boromir jounced as he sheathed his sword, slung his shield onto his back and bent over the gelding's neck. Sarnros proved he had been well-named as he leaped over shrubs and fallen trees, pebbles and dust kicked up behind him in a frantic pace north.

* * *

Lurtz distantly heard the sound of the Man and his beast departing. Time passed as he lay there in a pool of blood and wonder. He had been left to die, wordlessly. No taunts, as he himself would surely have done had he been the victor.

I have only been temporarily bested, he thought. This Man may be better than the rest of his kind, but his life would end, as would the entire race of Men. Sharkey had declared it so. Perhaps he would encounter the golden- haired warrior on some distant field and when he had him within his sights, he would say nothing as well. Only a silent look would announce that the Man's end was near, and that it would be best to surrender to inevitability.

He moved slightly on the spike that held him and could feel no greater pain. It had swamped him entirely and nothing could hurt him worse. Bracing his feet and hands, he lifted himself off of the unyielding shard and looked in the direction of his fugitive opponent. There was no dusty trace of his path in the air.

No matter. Lurtz clamped a hand over his shoulder and returned to his fallen sword. He retraced his steps and picked up his discarded bow. Holding it up, he regarded it, smiling fearsomely. This was his weapon. None among the Uruk-hai could draw a bow like him. He looked forward to sending a shaft straight into the heart of that miserable vermin who had vanished into the horizon.

THE END