[Fordim Hedgethistle]

The meeting with Morgos had been less than satisfactory. The Elf was now clearly mad, so lost was he amid the rumours of his own mind and the shattered and fragmented papers of his past. Khamul had left the room in disgust with himself for having thought that there would be help from that quarter. As he had departed the General’s wife and son had been brought to him by the orcs and the King had seen their looks of despair at what had become of the once great man.

He went to the banquet hall where he had first dined with Ashnaz all those months ago. There was to be another banquet tonight. The Emissary was there ahead of him, with all his men and the great orc captains. There was to be a celebration this evening of the Final Cleansing of the land. With the Elves now safely stored in their section of the city, the threat of rebellion was much lessened. The hall was filled with the raucous laughter of the orcs, and the words of the Emissary’s men which rang against the stone as steel blades. As always, the King was taken aback by their strange beauty, but this night they were particularly radiant – glowing with the purity of the work they had done this day in purifying the land of Pashtia. The King bowed his head in gratitude before Ashnaz’s chief lieutenants, and even hefted his cup in token of thanks to the orc general, before settling down to his meal beside the Emissary.

They ate in quiet, for his friend was curiously distracted by some dark thoughts that hovered about his soul. Khamul brushed up against his friend’s mind ever so gently, caressing him with his desires, but he found only a blank wall of concern. “What is it that torments you this night, my friend?” he asked.

The Emissary merely glared down at their food. It took a few more gently prods from the King before he would speak. “I fear for this land, my King. In my soul, I fear for it. There have been dark misgivings in my heart all this day, and they have been growing. There is treachery afoot.”

The King sighed. “There has been treachery afoot since the day you arrived, I am ashamed to say. So jealous are my people of you and of the friendship and loyalty you have shown me.”

“No,” the Emissary replied, “this is different. I have tried to commune with the Lord Annatar so that he might help me, but some power there is that blinds me to him this night,” his hands began to shake and his face went white. “I know not what it is…” he reached for his goblet of wine and swallowed deeply. Khamul was stunned by his friends manner and turned to his own cup for comfort. At the first sip, he realised how thirsty he was and drank another quickly. But still his thirst increased and soon his cup was empty. His head began to swim with the vapours of the drink. He looked about the room and saw that all those in it had begun to act strangely. Some had slumped over the table, while others staggered about or raved madly. But all drank, as though seized by the kind of thirst that afflicts desert travellers. The King looked down at his cup, and noted for the first time that there was a strange after taste to the wine…

He leapt up from the table and staggered back against a wall. As a monarch, he had long been trained in the ways of poison, but so shaken was he by the manner of his friend, he had not noticed until too late. His vision swam, and he could barely watch as those around him began to fall to the ground, their mouths opening in agony, a sickly yellow froth coming forth. He reached out for Ashnaz and took him for support, and in the eyes of his friend he saw the same terror or mortality that was in his heart. They fell to the floor.

A few seconds or hours later a pair of sandaled feet came before them. They looked up into the face of the old healer, Daliyah. She looked down at the King and the Emissary with a mixture of exultation and rage that shocked the King. She spat upon the Emissary saying, “That is for the death of my mistress!” and then she spat upon the King, “And that is for what you have done to Pashtia!”

A great blackness opened beneath the King’s feet and he pitched forward into the depths, wailing like a lost spirit…


…but he did not die. There was a light in the darkness, and it grew into an Eye. It was as though the Ring had become alive, and moved to look at him. The King clutched the Ring and the Eye and held it close to his breast. A voice spoke to him.

The time has come for you to join me fully, my friend. You have been divested of your mortal frame. Now you shall live forever through me, in the purity of your spirit.

“My lord Annatar!”

Nay, that is not my name. It is but a cloak that I use to turn the eyes of my enemies. For I am Sauron, lord of all.

“Sauron! Save me! I do not wish to die. My kingdom needs me, they must be saved!”

Aye, and that they will. But first you must join with me. You must swear yourself to me for all time. Do this, and I will give you the strength you need to wreak your vengeance.

“I have already pledged myself to you my Lord Sauron. Take me to your service.”

No. You have pledged yourself to the service of my weaker shadow; to the façade of craven friendship that I put on so that my enemies will not know my real strength. You must swear allegiance to me – behold!

And the King saw the truth. Before him, Pashtia burned as the orcs rampaged through it, enraged by the death of their captains. Unrestrained now by any Men, they ran unchecked through the land, filling it with a darkness more deep than any it had ever known. He saw the Elves being slaughtered by their hundreds; he saw his own family being taken from out of their rooms and dragged kicking and screaming into the courtyard where a gallows had been hastily erected by the orcs to hang all those whom they deemed responsible for the murder of their leaders. And then he saw another sight, more terrible. He saw the Emissary, his friend, Ashnaz – and the meaning of the Name was now clear to him – he saw the black hands of the Man about the throat of Bekah, choking the life from her, lusting after her destruction. He saw her broken body, and the blood that ran through the streets of his City…

….and he exulted. Such was the reward of treachery! So do those who opposed him deserved to be treated!

One Ring to rule them all! One Ring to find them!
One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them!

YOU ARE MINE!

Khamul arose from the ground, the poison having done its work and passed him to the other side of mortality. At his side was his friend, but none could see them, for even though they did not wear their Rings they were invisible. Only a dark and terrible presence filled the orcs who had come to see the ruin of their generals. They fell back from the shapeless forms, gibbering in terror. “Bring us garments,” his friend cried, and soon black raiment were given them, pulled from the bodies of the slain Men of the West. They draped the clothes about them, giving form to their formlessness and a horrible shape to their terror. They stood forth before the orcs and proclaimed themselves for what they had become: “Behold the Nazgul in our power! Heed our commands and hear in us the will of our Lord Saruon!” The orcs fell to ground and prostrated themselves, crawling upon the floor like worms.

“Bring order back to this land! Cease the burning and the pillage, but send all our troops to the dens of the Elves and put them all to the sword. Spare none. See to it that the General and his family join their people. Round up the family of the King, bring them here and hang them from the gallows.” A rough cheer went up around the room as the orcs streamed from the palace like ants.

But the wraiths had one last command. “One battalion shall come with us to the temple. There is treachery there that requires our own attention. We shall kill all that we find there!” They raced from the Palace, screaming for blood, and their cries echoed into the night like the wails of lost creatures, only to be replaced by the screams of the orcs…