towers

the uruk-hai 589
Great River alive. Right off the mark! Now! I’ll be on your
heels.’
The Isengarders seized Merry and Pippin again and slung
them on their backs. Then the troop started off. Hour after
hour they ran, pausing now and again only to sling the hobbits
to fresh carriers. Either because they were quicker and hardier,
or because of some plan of Grishnákh’s, the Isengarders
gradually passed through the Orcs of Mordor, and Grishnákh’s
folk closed in behind. Soon they were gaining also on
the Northerners ahead. The forest began to draw nearer.
Pippin was bruised and torn, his aching head was grated
by the filthy jowl and hairy ear of the Orc that held him.
Immediately in front were bowed backs, and tough thick legs
going up and down, up and down, unresting, as if they were
made of wire and horn, beating out the nightmare seconds
of an endless time.
In the afternoon Uglúk’s troop overtook the Northerners.
They were flagging in the rays of the bright sun, winter sun
shining in a pale cool sky though it was; their heads were
down and their tongues lolling out.
‘Maggots!’ jeered the Isengarders. ‘You’re cooked. The
Whiteskins will catch you and eat you. They’re coming!’
A cry from Grishnákh showed that this was not mere jest.
Horsemen, riding very swiftly, had indeed been sighted: still
far behind but gaining on the Orcs, gaining on them like a
tide over the flats on folk straying in a quicksand.
The Isengarders began to run with a redoubled pace that
astonished Pippin, a terrific spurt it seemed for the end of a
race. Then he saw that the sun was sinking, falling behind the
Misty Mountains; shadows reached over the land. The soldiers
of Mordor lifted their heads and also began to put on speed.
The forest was dark and close. Already they had passed a
few outlying trees. The land was beginning to slope upwards,
ever more steeply; but the Orcs did not halt. Both Uglúk and
Grishnákh shouted, spurring them on to a last effort.
* * *