[Susan Delgado]

Welcome to In War, by Ransom!

The reflection of moonlight on the white walls of the Tower of Minas Tirith gave the ancient tower an aura of sadness and mystery. Meanwhile, the same cold January breeze that caused the numerous banners to flap in the winds chilled the soldiers of the Citadel Guard to the bone. None of the various staff and soldiers in the White Tower had anything resembling a reasonable amount of sleep for several weeks. Fair Gondor's enemies were stirring, and her very existence would soon be threatened. Messengers and servants ran hither and thither, carrying messages about everything from the city?s food supplies to the readiness of the Hosts of Gondor.

Lord Turgon grunted angrily as he threw the latest report into the outbox on his desk. The Chapter Master of the Order of the Black Rose and chief of intelligence began to pace in front of his desk. The simple fact was that Gondor was unprepared for war. True, she had the second largest standing army in Middle Earth. True, years of successful harvests had left her economy strong. But her foes were too many to count. The Corsairs of Umbar were raiding the coastline, and an invasion from the sea would probably come soon.

Easterlings streamed into Mordor. The roads from Harad to Minis Morgul were clogged with oliphants and troops. Worst of all, the numbers and boldness of the orcs seemed to increase with each passing hour.

Gondor had few friends, and what few reports Turgon had gotten from his agents in Rohan seemed to indicate that Theoden of Rohan seemed completely under the thumb of the trained ape named Grima Wormtongue. Even more troubling was the reports of orcs near the Wizard?s Vale. Could Sauron have overthrown Saruman and amassed an army in the north? If so, Gondor would have to fight on too many fronts to count. Several dozen knights and twice as many agents had died in the last two weeks, putting a dent in Gondor's intelligence service. And if this news wasn't bad enough, three Errand Riders had disappeared on the road to Pelagar with the fabled Mistress of Minas Morgul nearby.

Turgan glanced out the small window at the moon, attempting to discover the time. Much to the knight's chagrin, the moon was almost directly in the center of the dark sky. It would be another long night. The lord quickly buckled his long sword to his belt before blowing out the candle, plunging the room into darkness.

***

While designing the fortifications of Minas Anor, the Numenoreans had obviously lavished a great deal of attention on the Great Gate. The massive structure was almost a fortress in its own right. About as long as it was wide, it gave the impression of having been carved out of a solid piece of rock. Two towers, rising twenty feet above the battlements, silently stood watch by the main weakness of the city. All of Gondor was nervously anticipating the coming war, and the pacing of guards seemed to come from every direction. Even the inch of bright and cheery snow that coated the city did little to alleviate the general feeling of doom and gloom.

The guards had opened the inner gate, allowing those waiting to leave the city
shelter in the fortified tunnel sandwiched between the inner and outer gates. Because of the snow and the biting wind, very few people would be inclined to leave their houses today. Despite the over cast sky, the faintest hints of morning were beginning to shine over the eastern horizon. Soon, the outer gate would open and citizens would begin to wake. Sir Barak Mindalel intended to be far away from the city by then.

For one who took pride in stealth, Barak's six foot six inch frame was painfully obvious as he paced back and forth at the mouth of the tunnel. The knight shivered at the touch of the cold winter wind, which had somehow managed to bypass his suit of martial plate armor. On the bright side, the ornate helm with its heavy cheek guards and nose guard kept his shaved head warm. His boots made soft clicking noises on the cobblestone as the Gondorian headed toward the ten horses tethered just inside the gate. The knight carefully moved down the line, examining each animal before stopping in front of a black warhorse at the end. Fara nickered softly at the approach of his master, his eyes betraying a fair amount of annoyance at being forced to stand in the snow. The creature had always been ill tempered in the morning, so Barak paid no heed to the horse's complaints. He drew his Lochaber axe from the saddle sheath, carefully searching for the smallest knick on its two-foot wide long blade. This was a largely futile gesture since the axe had been checked by one of the finest blacksmiths in Minas Tirith last night. Still, it paid to be prepared.

He grasped the four-foot long blade in both hands before turning and marching back toward the iron brazier the thoughtful guards had lit on the other side of the tunnel. The only other human in the tunnel was warming her thin hands over the dancing flames. She was a small woman, standing a mere five foot three inches above the ground. Her thin frame was covered by one of the heavy green cloaks issued to the Rangers during the winter. Without the slightest twinge of surprise, Barak noticed the familiar black tabby peering out of the hood that was supposed to be covering her long red hair. He could swear that Mara would take that cat into the middle of a battlefield without a second thought. The soft clink of metal against metal gave away the light suit of chain mail she wore when traveling. The iron basket hilt of her chlaeger, a heavy fencing sword, almost sheepishly poked out from beneath her cloak. There were probably half a dozen knives hidden on her body, but Barak didn?t want to expend the energy to find them.

Mara ignored her friend's approach, much more intent on keeping her thin body warm. She nodded her greetings before turning her attention back to the fire. It wasn't that she was ignoring Barak. To the best of her knowledge, she hadn't said a single word since her birth. She slowly moved to the other side of the brazier, allowing her to gaze out into the still deserted streets.

The rank of Lieutenant of the Citadel Guard had been rewarded to Barak several years ago. Considering that he was away from the White Tower for most of the year, he didn't fulfill many of the requirements. The tower over the golden shield was embroidered on the back of his cloak, marking him for all to see as an officer of Gondor. Whomever Turgon had hired to assist him would find the knight quite easily. Barak began to fiddle with his axe, throwing it from one hand to the other as he waited. In truth, he had no idea who the Lord had chosen.

The recent losses on the intelligence front had lead to a new obsession with secrecy. The knight glanced at the sky again. With Nienna's blessing, this unpleasant mission would be completed as quickly as possible.