Nerwen the Resplendent, Supreme Ruler of the Greater Haradian Empire, lightly drummed her long scarlet nails on the gold-scaled, ruby-eyed snake’s head that terminated the armrest of her throne. The clacking sound carried through the gilded emptiness of the vast chamber, but the black-clad figure who stood before her–
stood! – when all others must prostrate themselves!– gave no sign of unease.
“It is well that your Imperial Splendour consider my Lord’s offer of alliance, O She Who Is Brighter than the Moon,” the Envoy said, daring to meet her gaze with strange eyes grey as distant rain. “But pray do not hesitate too long. My Master has reclaimed his realm and begun the rebuilding of the Dark Tower; his power now grows apace, and great shall be the rewards for those who aid him. Others may find him– less generous.”
By her side, her Royal Executioner stirred, hand toying with a loop of gleaming wire, and a sharp hiss of breath carried all the way from the great carven door where the Captain of the Guard waited. The Empress had but to lift her hand, and these her most faithful servants would instantly strike down this insolent stranger who had the temerity to almost-threaten their mistress.
She made no such move. It was true that the cup the Lord of the Black Land held out to her contained more than a trace of bitterness. When she had first ascended the Serpent Throne, a decade since, the realms of Harad had been only a collection of petty and often squabbling kingdoms– and now it seemed the empire she had forged in blood and fire must itself become a mere vassal state of Mordor. But these were foolish thoughts. There could be no shame, even for her, in serving an overlord who was no mortal but a living god– and nothing but glory in the prospect of crushing Gondor once and for all. There were so many humilations to avenge.
“So be it,” she said at length. “Harad will make alliance with the Lord of Mordor, our friend of old.”
“A wise decision, O She Who Is Brighter than the Moon. My Master will welcome the news.” The Envoy seemed to relax, a little, and for the first time the pale face showed a hint of emotion. The Empress thought it might have been relief. Fleetingly, she wondered if the Envoy were really so confident as appearances suggested. The young Black Númenórean sorcerer could not have been long in the service of Mordor, after all– and she had always heard the Dark Lord tolerated failure even less than she did herself.
But the feelings of underlings were no concern of hers. “And what, then, is this other matter? This information so secret you requested a private audience with us?”
“Your Splendour, there are spies in the Palace,” the Envoy declared flatly.
“What of it?” The Empress was genuinely puzzled. “They will be found out, tormented and fed to the sacred serpents, as always. Is it really for such trivial matters that you trouble our Imperial ear?”
“These are no ordinary spies, O She of Matchless Perfection. I have learned that a certain foul wizard, here I believe called Incánus–”
“The name is known to us,” the Empress said grimly. “Go on.”
“I have discovered that he has used his vile magic to disguise four Men of Gondor, ancient foe of both our peoples, so that they can walk undetected amongst us. They could, Your Splendour, be anyone.”
“Anyone?’’ The Empress clutched the cold serpent’s head. It seemed darker suddenly, as if a shadow had passed across the windowed cupola overhead, blocking the evening light. She was unpleasantly aware of the Executioner’s presence, so close at her side, so dangerously close…
“No-one…” the grey eyes closed, “…no-one in this chamber, I think… Yes, I am sure of it. I can sense thoughts, sometimes, and these two,” with a brief, half-mocking glance at the Captain and Executioner, “fairly blaze with loyalty for your Imperial Splendour. If only all others were so faithful– or so easy to read. Not,” the Envoy added quickly, “that my arts won’t serve me, but it may take time, and I’d need to watch, and listen… Alas! Many of your Splendour’s people seem to be– apprehensive of me– for some reason. I fear they will be too guarded in my presence…”
“Then we will fight fire with fire,” said the Empress, with the decisiveness that had carried her to many a hard-won victory. “Envoy, you must disguise yourself also. And my servants, too– they shall aid you. Go all of you– seek out this evil and destroy it!”
The Envoy of Mordor gave a somewhat minimal bow, while the Captain of the Guard and Royal Executioner abased themselves in the proper manner, touching their heads to the floor and intoning, “We live to serve, O She for Whom the Stars Do Shine.”
“Wait–“ said the Empress, as the three turned to leave. “Envoy–we have heard of a young acolyte of the Serpent cult, said to be near as skilled as yourself in the sorcerous arts. Might such a one, too, be of help?”
“Perhaps, your Splendour, perhaps– if this Acolyte proves truly loyal…”
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Night One has begun. Night people, start doing Night things.
NOTE: use of epithets is in no way a clue to the identity of the gifteds. So there.