But first, a Warning to Readers, especially the Weak-Willed - HERE BE (SOME) SPOILERS!

The following events are set in the background - the extreme background - of the events forming Chapters V to X of Book Five in the final book of a certain massively popular fantasy trilogy. While every effort has been made to obscure the plot details, a certain amount of spoilage has been unavoidable in two or three areas. Anyone who has not read the book in question, and intends to, is gently advised not to read this. Or you could wait for some kind of screen interpretation, possibly coming out in the near future.

So, as the saying goes, if you don't want to know the score, look away now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Dark Tower, the stronghold of the Dark Lord, loomed over the dark, nightmare landscape of the Land of Shadow like a threatening finger, ominous, unknowable and extremely dark. The very, very topmost tower of the immense, impossibly high fortress pulsed like a lighthouse of evil; forever shrouded in volcanic ash and smoke from the industry far below, scraping the innocent sky, it contained the private apartments of the master of this blasted land, the incorporeal Eye himself. Inside the twisted, Escher-esque corridors of the tower the air felt thick with evil and the very stones throbbed to some obscene rhythm. This was the heart of the Dark Lord's domain, the ultimate citadel of his power. Shadows crowded in the nooks and crannies and leapt across the walls.

'We shouldn't be here. This feels wrong...' whispered Ghurz feverishly, trying to flatten himself against the wall while Lurkh peered around the corner and pressed his pointed ear to the stone.

'Rubbish. I used to work here, you know. You get used to all the effects. Now... GO!'

He set off dashing down the corridor, flat feet flapping on the flagstones. Ghurz hobbled after him at top speed, clutching at his side. Behind him, there was a sudden bloom of light, and a waft of hot air as if someone had flung open a great oven. With an extra spurt of terror-induced speed, he flung himself around the next corner and fell with Lurkh into a tangled heap. A roiling ball of fire shot past them to caress the end wall.

'If you listen in the stone, you see, you can hear the mechanism...''

'We'll be caught, cornered...' Ghurz leaned heavily against the clammy wall and shivered. 'How much longer? Are we nearly there yet?'

'In here.'

The Biblioteca Diabolica¹ was a long arched chamber, with bookcases of black wood stretching up to the shadowy ceiling. Thousands of volumes, all bound in black leather, lined the shelves and were strewn across the tables. As is proper in a library, there was deep, rich silence throughout. The penalties for annoying this librarian would, of course, be rather more than a sharp glance or revocation of a membership card. Lurkh looked around with some powerful emotion in his eyes.

'This is where I bettered myself...' he said quietly.

'Huh?'

'In here... it's where I started to... to... I taught myself to read and write in this room.' The thin orc gave a half-smile; his words carried a ghost of forgotten pride. 'I'd come in after my shift was over, and study the books until my eyes hurt. It was a stupid thing, just to see if I could do it... didn't know what I was letting myself in for... '

'This is where you learned all that stuff you know? Well, hot damn...' Ghurz looked around the room, hugely impressed. If you read all those books, you'd know everything.

Lurkh was lost in some private world, ambushed on memory lane. He grimaced, and bit his lip absently.

'I became more than just another grunt... I found out about the world, about history, languages, magic... One day, when I felt my head was full almost to bursting, I went to the Lieutenant of the guard, and offered my services in the archives. I told him about all I'd done, all I'd learned...'

He paused for a moment, staring at nothing.

'And...?'

'He, ahh... he laughed at me. Said I was an idiot slave and should never have aspired to anything better. Then I was whipped for my arrogance, drummed out of the tower, busted down to private and sent to a sandy little fort in the provinces. That was a nice, boring little billet, until it was attacked by desert people and our CO made one of those 'death and glory' speeches, and, well... The upshot is I ended up here with a black mark on my record for attempted desertion, insubordination and conspiracy to incite a mutiny... only half of which I actually did, by the way. And there you have it, the story of my life.' Lurkh turned his back, and walked over to the nearest table.

'Never given a chance to prove my quality...', he said softly. 'But I'm going to show them, aren't I though? Heh. I'll screw 'em all, right up to that poxy cyclops...'

He clenched his fists and unclenched them, then the fit passed. When he next spoke, his voice was quiet and controlled.

'I need to find a certain book in here. You won't be any help, so just... oh, go watch out for anyone at the door, alright? I shouldn't be too long.'

Ghurz looked worriedly at the other orc, then silently padded out of the room and into the corridor.

The educated orc strolled over to one of the cluttered tables. Papers were strewn across it, along with a mug of congealed cocoa. Someone had obviously been making a study of ancient history – someone with a short attention span, it seemed, as they had been doodling red eyes all over the margins.

Lurkh recalled the first history book he had read; there was a story in it about some great elvish hero with a complicated name. Always they were elves, never orcs. But that wasn't the point: the book dedicated three pages to a fight this elf had had with some kind of big wolf. Naturally he had won. That wasn't the point either. This was: in a short passage a page later, three lines at most, the book had noted that this hero had once slain two hundred orcs in the course of a day. Two hundred. Boldly disposed of in three sentences.

It was then that he had begun to discern the purpose that orckind served in the world. And he hadn't liked it one bit.

Lurkh sighed, and started to search the shelves².

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ghurz shuffled his feet outside. He would be the first to admit that he was not among the prime candidates for biggest brain in the building, and he often had trouble relating to other orcs – they seemed to avoid him, no matter how hard he tried to be friends. So he was not quite a great observer of the orcish condition. He would have had to be wearing a bucket on his head and singing loudly, however, not to notice that his fellow traveller was a mite troubled – the word he was looking for, though he had never heard it, was 'megalomania'. The best he could come up with was 'scary'. Where would it all end?

While these thoughts occupied him, the wall's throbbing had grown louder, and little flecks of mortar floated down from the ceiling. Almost without his knowledge, Ghurz' feet had begun to move him down the passageway, towards the source of the vibrations. Sinister, half-audible mutterings floated around him like grey moths. His head felt full of clouds, his body no longer under his control. It was in this state, high as a kite, that he floated down the passage towards a huge, shadowy arch. It didn't seem to matter much that he had no power, or that he seemed to be walking under the archway into some kind of...

Vacuum. A black void. But not empty, filled with some infernal presence. Before Ghurz' horrified gaze, a huge Eye, ringed with flames, blossomed in the darkness, and grew to fill his vision. A totally evil, malicious intelligence lay just out of sight, like a shark skimming below the water headed for the unaware skinny-dipper...

The Dark Lord, thought Ghurz. The Boss. The Guvnor. Old Pink-Eye himself.

It is times like this when we learn strong we truly are - specifically in the bladder department.

Ghurz was not feeling very strong.

'... what news of the Ring...?...

The voice of thousands, guttural, sibilant, whispering and hissing, a voice like maggots.

Ghurz licked his lips, swallowed hard. He was petrified almost beyond speech, but somehow found words.

'The-the what, my Lord? I don't know nothing about that... umm, if it please my Lord...'

... you are not... we mistook you for someone else... what are you doing, slave...? ... why do you disturb our reverie... ?...'

He held up the rag pathetically.

'We're the cleaners, if it please my Lord,' he squeaked.

A pause, a horrible silence.

'... does the Dark Tower have cleaners...?... how curious...'

He felt the vast intelligence brush against the margins of his mind, consider cracking it open like a nut, then get bored.

'... leave us...'

'Thank you my Lord, if it please my Lord, umm, my Lord', he babbled gratefully, backing towards what he hoped was the exit.

'... one thing more, slave...

His blood turned to ice. Where could he run from here? Would he be cut down as he fled? Could he escape his master's voice? Or would he be caught forever like a fly in a web, a plaything for the cruel, cruel presence?

'Ye-yes master, my Lord?'

... don't forget to dust behind the statues... the cobwebs back there, you wouldn't believe... make us sneeze...'

The grumbling faded into a distant thunder, and colour flooded back into the world.

And then he was free, back in the corridor outside the library, with the unpleasant realisation that something very significant in his life had just happened, and he had no idea what it meant. What could the master of life and death over the vast slave-territories of the Homeland want with... jewellery? Wasn't as if he had any arms...

Lurkh burst out of the doorway triumphantly clutching a page, evidently torn from a book, and bearing a few rolled-up maps under his arm.

'Got them, let's make like Ents and... What's up with you? You're whiter than a mine-crawler³.'

'Nyyaaahh – nothing. Nothing. Lead the way. What's on the paper?'

'It's... sort of a spell. It allows you to, umm, control elves. Make them do what you want. It's pretty powerful stuff.'

Lurkh slipped the paper into his knapsack and loped off down the corridor. Ghurz shook his head clear, and followed. As they headed back towards the stairs, he tried to do a little light dusting whenever they paused or hid in the shadows. It pays to keep in well with the higher-ups.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It happened in the barracks sleeping quarters, the air hot and muggy with orc-smell, as they were creeping down the dimly-lit aisle between rows of bunks climbing to the ceiling. Around them dark shapes turned over, grunted, cackled and moaned in their sleep, and with that the only sound was soft footsteps – until an imperious little cough broke the silence. There was a wave of half-awake mutters and grunts in the dark room.

Turning guiltily, Lurkh saw an officer-orc, wearing a thick-stemmed discipline whip and the smug grin of petty authority. He beckoned them over.

They padded silently back down the room.

'Explain yerselves,' he whispered ominously, shifting his grip on the whip.

'Cleaners,' breathed Lurkh, holding up the rag for inspection. The officer seemed unimpressed.

'Yus? Well, I don't believe we have cleaners in the Tower.' On this bombshell, he grinned nastily. 'We does have a pair of spies, supposed to be at the Pits – prob'ly agents of the White Hand – and now...'

His voice got louder as he spoke, but he never finished the sentence because at that moment Lurkh spat and charged him, clamping a hand across his mouth, expertly twisting his arm behind his back, driving a bony knee between his legs and viciously slamming him against the wall between two bunks with thin, sinewy strength – and achieving all of this in near-silence.

The muffled swearing and struggling set off a stirring in the invisible sleepers in the darkness around them though, and Lurkh hissed viciously into the officer's wincing, glowering face.

'Just do the decent thing and let me knock you out. That's all, really.' He glanced around at Ghurz, the big orc staring wide-eyed in alarm at the violence. The officer wriggled and growled, fighting to get an arm free. An orc in the bed next to them yawned. Lurkh hissed again, now desperate, and pushed the officer a little harder into the wall.

'Listen, be reasonable. I don't – stopit – I don't want to kill you in front of the boy – or you'd be meat right now – but if you don't – hrgh – don't cooperate, then I'll rip your bloody throat out...'

Now an arm grated free of the wall and, flailing wildly, caught Lurkh a ringing blow on the ear.

All that Ghurz saw was shadows – shadows cursing and struggling, then shadows merging, then one shadow detaching and slumping to the ground – and then Lurkh, walking slowly back into the aisle, wiping his mouth and looking grim. They crept furtively out of the sleeping quarters.

'What did you...?'

'Maybe you thought I spent my garrison time writing poetry, mmm?' snarled Lurkh wildly, apparently carrying on a different conversation in his head. 'Or picking flowers? That is what we do, understand? Silly sod should have...'

He broke off abruptly, and turned away. Ghurz had noticed that his fangs were black with blood. His face betrayed him – his eyes bulged, and he seemed to try to swallow his lips - but he said nothing.

Lurkh looked at him for a moment, then grunted.

'Follow me.' The older orc turned on his heel and stalked off into the shadows.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The massive courtyard they emerged into was buzzing with activity, even though it was the middle of the night. By the dancing torchlight, wagons were being hauled out and stocked with piles of spears, swords, armour and shields. Others were loaded down with provisions, bales of orcfeed⁴ and disassembled war machines with engineers flitting around them. Hundreds of orcs and men swarmed around the wagons, loading and tying down. In one corner of the courtyard a gang of Easterlings were strapping the battle armour onto a reluctant Mûmak. It trumpeted in protest, swung its trunk, sent a man flying through the air to hit the wall with a bone-shattering crunch, to the amusement of all.

As the two stood looking in wonder at the spectacle, they were spotted by a grossly obese officer-orc, who was supervising the loading of his luggage. He huffed and snarled at them as he waddled over.

'What in the name of all that's foul are you doing here? You ninnies, the Hordes are forming up over there.' He waved a pudgy arm over to the left. 'Now hop to it, or I'll feed you yer own teeth! Shift it, now!'

His piggy little eyes followed them as they crossed the courtyard and passed under an arch into another huge yard. This one was a throng of orcs, as well as the Easterling allies of the Dark Lord and swaggering uruk-hais. The din was incredible; orcs were shouting, singing, screaming at each other; each company trying to out-sing the next, the sergeants and officers trying to maintain order. But more prevalent than the noise was the smell; orcs can just about comprehend hygiene, but they just don't see the point. After all, for an orc, that layer of dirt obscuring your features is quite desirable. Above the milling thousands and the pool of light that was the courtyard, the tower stood like a sentinel, a black gash in the sky.

'What's going on?' Lurkh shouted at an orc who was lolling against a barrel chewing orcish chaw-weed.

'Didn't they tell y'all at Review?' he drawled, spitting a gob of weed.

'We missed Review. Come on, tell.'

'Well. Well now. All the reserve troops have been called up. We're marching at dawn. Messenger just came in, see? It seems that the army at Mee-nas Tee-rith has been defeated. They say that Commandant Morurk musta screwed the pooch but good, or somethin'...'

There was a pause as he folded another wad of weed into his drooling mouth.

'Barely any survivors. Pity, 'cause I knew a guy in this little outfit, the 45th, and they do say...'

'Come on, come on.'

'Hey, calm down dawg. You wanna relax, cut loose? I've got something that'll...'

'Dammit, the war!''

'Right, right. So anyway, now there's a big army led by the new king or somethin', and they're coming east.' He grinned broadly, with fangs stained brown. 'They're coming here. Hehe.'

Lurkh grabbed Ghurz, and pulled him to one side. The big orc shrank slightly from his companion. He had licked all the blood from his teeth, and now seemed in a state of ferocious excitement.

'It's starting!' he hissed. 'Just like I said! Perfect... Now we just have to attach ourselves to one of these companies, march out with them and we're practically home-free!'

'You mean you want to go to the wars? That's mad! We could...'

'Remember the Plan! Obey the Plan! We join up, now!''

This didn't prove too difficult. In the chaos of the forming-up, they nicked some sabres and armour from the quartermaster, then simply shoved into one of the lines, and so became part of the 43rd Battalion, IX Company. In the half-light before dawn a banner of tattered human skin fluttered weakly above the company, who were sitting around joking, cackling and dealing cards. A game of orcish Snap was being played⁵, and the veterans swapping war stories had to shout over the sounds of agony and merriment. Lurkh lurked on the edge of the group, with Ghurz crouching nervously by his side. The company sang one song in unison, a little ditty dedicated to their CO. Their harsh voices lifted into the cold morning air:

'Fat ole Captain Khantzy

On a tightrope over hell.

Couldn't keep his belly up,

Was evil-eyed and FELL!'

As a spreading yellow stain in the clouds indicated that day had come, brazen trumpets blew along the line. An officer marched up to the company, a nastily familiar officer who carried a bulging passenger over his belt.

'Alright you 'orrible lot,' he bellowed. 'My name is Khantz, you will call me Captain! And in a mo-ment, we shall be marchin' off to war, bloody conquest an' booty! Or maybe you'd rather go back to bed, mmm? You sickening pansies... I am goin' to whip you precious little flowers into the most evil-eyed and fell company in the battalion...'

As he roared at the sniggering orcs, Ghurz whispered to Lurkh.

'Have you ever read anything about the, um, the ring? Probably with a capital 'r'...'

'Which ring? Any one in particular, like?'

'I – I don't know...'

'Well, rings are powerful, I know that much. Magical, you know? They can give you special powers. Why do you ask?'

Ghurz frowned slightly, and then did the mental equivalent of a what-the-hell shrug.

'No reason.'

'ON YER FEET!'

The call went up. As the orcish battalions clambered to their feet, the great steel gates of the Tower opened with a sound of chains and tortured metal. The drums set a beat, and the yard was filled with the sound of marching feet and harsh chanting as the Great Orcish Hordes went to war.

Pretty soon, the yard was empty.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the empty barracks, an incredibly ancient orc was hobbling slowly down the aisle between the bunks, wheezing and arthritic, muttering under his breath. Finally he reached the dark black stain, the body gone by now. He laid down the sud-filled bucket, descended carefully to his knees, pulled an old rag out of the bucket and began scrubbing with surprising vigour. He had the expertise born of long centuries of lonely experience.

Nobody ever noticed he was there, but he was.

In Chapter Four, thrill to the sight of the mighty orcish hordes at war! There will be barbaric spectacle on a scale that would take some kind of Kiwi film-maker to achieve in real life, as our heroes take to the field against the forces of light, purity and Good! Also: we learn about the campaign diet of the orcs, discover the long-term plans of the educated orc and find out why orcs don't use sun tan lotion.

The Final Appendix
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