The Lieutenant of the Dark Tower

by Simon Kemp

The Lieutenant of the Tower of Barad-Dûr, has a small part in chapter X, Book 5 of The Return of the King, when he meets with the leaders of the West. This is his story. Some of the events described in it also appear in the Lord of the Rings but here they are described from the enemy's point of view.

200

The Lieutenant of the Dark Tower

Simon Kemp

1

The butterfly was small and coloured in different shades of green interlaced with black lines. It had an underwing rim of brown. It sat quietly in the palm of my sister's hand, and from time to time it changed the angle of its wings or moved its antennae slightly as if to reassure us that it was still alive. Andira and I were commenting on different aspects of the intricate pattern of the colours when our father approached through the orchard. He peered over Andira's shoulder without saying anything. Then after a time he held out his own palm. My sister tipped the butterfly into it. To my surprise it stepped from Andira's small palm to my father's much larger one without any fuss.

Father watched it sit on the palm of his right hand for a little longer. Then he raised his left hand and firmly but quietly brought it down to meet the other. He twisted his hand slightly as he did this. I was so shocked that I jumped. I saw Andira's eyes suddenly widen.

"What did you kill it for?" Andira cried, her voice nearly a wail. "It wasn't doing anything. It was just beautiful." She beat at my father's side with her small fists.

Our father looked down at Andira for a moment and then at me. He made no effort to stop her blows. "Yes, it was pretty," he said, his voice quiet, with no trace of anger in it, "but it was short-lived. Such animals live only a few weeks or months. They flutter brightly in the sun, they entice our eyes with their colours, and then they are gone. They die. Do not get attached to short-lived creatures. What is truly beautiful is immortal."

We both looked at him in silence. My sister started to cry. I did not know what to think. Then Andira turned around and ran away from us into the house. My father watched her go.

"She does not understand. Neither do you, I am sure. And I agree with you if you think it was a harsh lesson." He was still speaking quietly, not in the least angered by my sister's flight or my own sullen silence. "It is a harsh lesson. Perhaps it is the harshest of all lessons. But beautiful, harmless creatures often live only a brief span. So it is with men. You are young now, but in a few years, all too few, you too will feel the failings of age, and realise that your own span is brief. And afterwards is only silence.

"You will think this is our fate and that all men must die, but it did not have to be this way. We are as we are because of the cruelty of the gods and because of a choice made thousands of years ago. Our long-distant ancestor, Elros, had a man for a father but an elf-woman as mother. I think I have told you before, Caeus, that Elves live for ever unless they are killed. They are immune from most diseases and poisons, and they do not age. They are not like men. But what was Elros? Was he man or elf? Mortal or immortal? The gods gave him the choice what kind he would become, so he was given the chance to become immortal. He turned it down. Perhaps he did not want to part from the men and women he had grown up with, but whatever the reason he turned it down." My father shook his head slowly. "Instead, he became the king of Numenor, our ancestral land that now lies below the sea. But his brother chose differently and still lives."

"Still lives!" I exclaimed. "After thousands of years?"

"Yes. I believe so. He lives far to the north. His name is Elrond. Like Elros he was half man and half elf. Elrond chose to be an elf and Elros a man."

"Do we get a choice too?" I asked.

"Oh, no. The gods offered no one else a choice. The descendants of Elros were stuck with his decision." He paused, and then as though he had just remembered something he continued. "For the most part at least."

"For the most part? What do you mean by that, father?"

"Long ago, in the very distant past, even before Elros and Elrond, some of the gods rebelled against the leaders of the gods, their own kind. They rebelled and they fought, but in the end the rebels were defeated and exiled from this world for ever. Except for one. He, too, was defeated, but he escaped exile, and later he recovered his strength. Yet again he was defeated. But it is possible that he will rise again. There are rumours."

"Who is this god? Is he a god?"

"His name is Sauron."

I thought for a moment. "He sounds heroic," I said. "Why did he rebel? Did he rebel because he thought the gods should make men immortal?"

"I do not know why he rebelled." My father paused, reflecting. "I do not think that was the reason he rebelled. Perhaps it was one of many. But nonetheless by all accounts he has succeeded in making men immortal. A few men. They wear rings, special rings that Sauron made for them, and when they wear the rings they do not age, and are difficult to kill or hurt. I think that like the elves they could be killed but it is not easy and I do not know if any have ever succeeded in killing them, though many have tried. Yet… "

I waited for my father to continue, but for a long time he said nothing more. At last he said, "The rings changed them. In the beginning I am told they were like our ancestors. They too were men from Numenor, descendants of Elros and his people, just as we are. But now they are said to be more spirit than flesh, and I am told that it is hard to know if they truly live in our world at all. But, regardless, they do survive in some fashion, and they are very powerful. Some say they are terrifying."

For a moment I thought he would say more, but then he shook his head slightly, smiled at me, and walked away in the direction of the house.

If you have read this far, you are likely to think that my father was a cold and bitter man, but that is not true. I am quite sure that he only killed the butterfly as he did to make an important point to my sister and me that otherwise he did not know how to make. If I had to characterise him with a single word, it would not be as cold or bitter. I would describe him as melancholic.

He was no longer a young man when he married my mother. At the time of the butterfly incident he was advanced into middle age. So neither I nor my sister, who was born three years after me, ever knew him as a young man or at the peak of his strength. His dominant mood was a quiet sadness, but on occasion he would smile and even laugh. He was gentle with everybody, even the house slaves, and with his children – there were just the two of us – he was always kind and patient. I think his rare smiles were reserved for our mother and for us. Our mother died when I was ten, after a years-long wasting illness, and after that his smiles grew rarer still.

I remember seeing him angry only once. When I was nine, a slave who had charge of my sister for the day came home in the afternoon without her, saying that she had lost sight of her at a local market and could not find her. My father's anger was completely cold. He ordered every available man and woman to join him in a search for my sister, but before he left he had the slave put in shackles and told her that if anything had happened to my sister she would be put to death slowly and painfully, but if he found her unharmed she would simply be whipped. My father returned just as it was getting dark with Andira in his arms. She was unharmed. The slave was whipped the next day. She was not dismissed or sold, but she was never given charge of my sister again.

When he was younger my father had been a formidable soldier, and at very rare intervals he would tell us stories from those days. But until I saw him angry with the slave, I had never been able to connect the man who had once commanded an army with the man I saw every day.

My boyhood and early manhood were happy. My father – his name was Junius –owned a large estate in the area of Fronseca that had been passed down in the family over generations. The main source of our family's wealth was silk, and we had many groves of mulberry trees, whose leaves were continually harvested to feed the caterpillars of the silk moth. When the caterpillars had eaten enough, and it was always a source of amazement to us how many mulberry leaves even a single caterpillar could eat, they would wind yellow threads around themselves, and then disappear into the cocoons they had made from the threads. If the cocoons were left undisturbed, eventually the silk moths, drab creatures in comparison to the green butterfly that Andira and I had admired, would emerge to mate from the ruined cocoons. But most of the cocoons were taken before this and we employed skilled workers who unwound the threads of the cocoons to spin into spools of silk, and then other workers wove the spooled silk into cloth.

Only a fraction of our land was taken up by the mulberry trees or the long sheds in which the workers fed the caterpillars, unwound the cocoons, and spun and wove the silk. There was a large forest with many old and beautiful trees, and there were also fields for grain and for animals. There was even a small mountain – well, really a large steep hill – that was a marvellous climb on a fresh spring day. From when we were quite young, Andira and I were free to wander over all of the land in the company of our minders and guards and we often did.

Most mornings I had indoor classes. When I was young I learnt to read and write from a tutor, and as I grew older I learnt the histories of the lands and where they were. I learnt about farming and the silk business and the art of government, and the languages of our neighbours. In the afternoons I usually had riding or weapon practice, sometimes just with my father's chief bodyguard, sometimes in groups with other boys from the neighbouring estates. I became quite a good swordsman, and I could ride reasonably well, but my main talent was for learning languages. When my father discovered that I had this talent, he hired a succession of tutors to teach me languages from further away: Khandish, Westron, middle and high Rhunian, two of the commoner languages of Harad, the old Numenorean which was originally an elf tongue and which was still sometimes used on formal occasions by the gentry in our own area, and even a northern elf language.

The local custom was that when boys of our class reached the age of seventeen they were enrolled for a period of three years in the service of the ruler of our region, Duke Rasstlin of Uncillo. For some reason that had long since been forgotten, the period of service always began and ended on Midsummer's Day. There were a number of reasons for this custom. It provided further education for the young men. It provided a recruiting ground for a few men, normally a quarter to a third of the intake, who would be retained in the duke's service when the three years were up. It ensured that the duke always had a few young men available to fight, to help with his administration, and sometimes to lead in battle. I fought for him a few times during this three-year period, along with the rest of my intake, although never in a major battle. But I also served as a functionary of his government, looking over rent and tax rolls, or trying to make sense of the various legal codes that seemed to operate in different ways throughout the duchy. There were eight of us in my intake, but one was killed in combat quite early on in his service. Our tasks were rotated from time to time, so that both we and the duke could find out where our strengths and weaknesses lay.

On the final day of my three-year service, I had my interview with Sir Andung, the duke's seneschal. He kindly sat me down, and offered me wine, which I declined. The offering was a bad sign, as Sir Andung was well-known for his politeness to those who were not to be asked to remain longer in the duke's service.

Of course, he was as aware of his reputation as we were. He scratched the springy ginger hair behind his ear before beginning.

"I'll put it to you straight, Caeus," he said. "The duke and I have talked about you, and although we both believe that in many ways you are very able, he is not offering you a post. Our problem with employing you is that your talents are not ones that we can easily use.

"As a military man, you don't fit in here. As you know, mostly we fight on horseback and our main strength is as horse archers. You're a good horseman, but you don't handle a lance very well, and frankly you're not much good with a bow even on foot. On horseback, well…" He waved his arm, and then paused momentarily to see if I wanted to object.

My stomach felt hollow, but I said nothing. I could hardly object, as what he said was true enough. Recently, my comrades had asked me not to take a bow and arrows with me when we rode out to subdue a small group of bandits as they thought I would be more danger to them than to the enemy if I tried to use it. They were half joking, of course, but only half.

"And yet, it's not as though you can't fight. You can. On foot, with a sword and shield, you are superb. There's no one I would prefer to fight alongside if I was wanting to assault or defend a castle. But there aren't many castles around here and we don't maintain a body of heavy infantry in the duchy.

"As a military leader, you are competent, but I don't think you are ever going to be exceptional, and certainly not brilliant. You are good at logistics and your tactical knowledge and judgement are reasonable, but you don't have a quick eye for tactical opportunity or for ground, and you don't really inspire men when you command them. Your father…"

He paused. My father had been notoriously good at all these things. "Sorry, Caeus," he went on, "that is an unfair comparison. You have your own talents. But I do hope that you and your father haven't set your hearts on your following in his footsteps as a military commander, because I don't believe it is going to happen, here or anywhere else.

"I said you have talents. I meant it. You're a good administrator, even where money is concerned. You are very, very good at negotiation. You are patient and successful in situations where I cannot imagine being patient. You impressed the duke enormously by the way you handled his dispute with the Krod last autumn. It also helps that you pick up languages so fast. But…" he sighed, "the problem is that we simply don't have very much use for these skills. Frankly the duchy of Uncillo isn't big enough. On the other hand, you would be very useful to a bigger realm. You might care to try your luck in Gondor, although that isn't as big as it once was, or maybe in Harad or one of the kingdoms further to the east."

He reached to his side for a scroll and then handed it to me. "This is for you to take. I hope you will find it a help to you in the future. It sets out what I have just said, although a little more formally, and dwells more on what you can do than on what you can't. Once again, I'm sorry that we have no place for you, Caeus, and I wish you every good fortune." He stood, indicating the interview was over, and put out his hand. I stood too, shook his hand and left.

I walked out of the keep and stood in the sun. It seemed very bright, even for Midsummer. The seven of us had agreed that we would spend a final evening together in the knowledge that most of us would be leaving and riding home the next day. I did not feel at all in the mood for this meeting, and I thought for a moment to simply pick up my gear right now and ride home. But this would be petty, probably even cowardly. Instead I should steel myself to face my friends for at least this one final evening. Almost certainly I would not be the only one to be leaving. But what should I do in the meantime? For nearly the first time in three years, I had a free day without a single duty to perform. Indeed, I thought suddenly, I seemed to have no duty to perform for the rest of my life.

There was an inn nearby. It was nearly time for the midday meal, and the inn served cheap, tasty stews. I decided to go there and eat alone rather than in our quarters, nurse perhaps a single mug of ale – I have never been tempted to drink away my sorrows – and think about my future. Above all, I dreaded having to ride home and face my father. I could imagine all too well how disappointed he would be and how hard he would try to hide his disappointment. But what alternative was there? I could not see one.

In the inn I ordered food and drink and took a seat on my own in the corner. There were a few other people there but they were mostly quiet. I ignored them. They ignored me. I brooded.

There was a scraping of a chair in front of me. I looked up. A short, thin man with a twisted face stood opposite me.

"May I sit with you?" he said.

I had no desire whatever for his company, but before I could tell him this he spoke again.

"I perceive you have had a disappointment," he continued. "I can do nothing about that, but if you were, by chance, in search of employment, I might be able to help you. But if you are not, I will simply go and leave you in peace." I looked up to see dark eyes with slightly pink surrounds looking at me intently.

This was an odd coincidence, I thought as I looked up at him, and then immediately I changed my mind. This was no coincidence. The duchy's midsummer decision-making was well-known. He was here to recruit from among the people who had been denied employment by the Duke, and it would require no great gift of empathy to conclude from my face and manner that I was probably one of them. Perhaps he had spied on the Duke's entourage and already knew something of my capabilities or lack of them. Someone then was systematically and perhaps cleverly recruiting for an army or an administration. This degree of interest and preparation seemed to me good rather than bad, and certainly it was hard to see how there could be any any harm in listening to him. And what else did I have to do?

I stood and gestured to the other side of the small table. "You are welcome," I said. "I would be interested to hear what you have to say."

He placed the chair he was holding down opposite me and slid into it sideways.

"Thank you," he said. "My name is Hatzgelg. Am I then right in my guess that you might interested in employment?"

"Yes, but I suspect you knew that you were right anyway," I said. "You probably also know that I am Caeus." We shook hands. "What do you have to offer?" I asked.

"I can offer you the chance of a position that would interest any young man of ambition and talent. It offers adventure, status, and the possibility of enormous reward to anyone with the courage to reach out for this reward. Do you have this courage?"

I was a little disappointed with this opening speech. After all, no one was ever going to recruit successfully by advertising positions that required an unlimited talent for sustaining boredom over long periods, boredom that would doubtless be enlivened by brief moments of appalling terror, although I suspected that the position would involve precisely that. Nor did the prospect of an enormous reward in the future suggest high wages in the meantime.

I shrugged. "We'll have to see," I said.

There were a few moments of silence until my companion realised that I had nothing more to say to this question. Then he continued.

"Perhaps you will be wanting to know who it is that might be offering you employment, and what that employment is."

I nodded. "Yes, please."

"What do you know of Mordor?" he asked, his voice sinking to a whisper as he said the word.

"Not much," I said after a moment's reflection. "So far as I know it is a largely deserted land quite a way to the north, no it's more to the north-west of here. It is surrounded by mountains to the north, west and south, and it is mostly arid. I guess the mountains keep the rainclouds out. Many, many years ago it was ruled by a… man is not right… a being called Sauron who was overthrown in a great battle and then was driven into exile."

My companion nodded. "Yes," he said, drawing out the sound of the s. "But your information is a little out of date. The great Lord Sauron has returned and is now re-establishing his kingdom in Mordor."

Well, I thought, if the land is largely deserted, he is unlikely to have much competition.

"I see," I said. "He has returned. What exactly would that have to do with you, and me if I joined you? Do we seek to help him or to prevent him?"

He looked slightly surprised by this question. "I am recruiting men who might be interested in entering his service." He paused. "The Lord Sauron," he continued, "is a divinity who has descended amongst us with the object of establishing a single government that will assure justice, order, freedom and progress to all the peoples, not just men, but all the peoples of Middle Earth.

"I am surprised that you had heard of him already. He has not been seen in Middle Earth for many, many years. Thousands of years."

"My father mentioned him once or twice," I said. "You'll forgive me for asking this, but is this not his second attempt to establish a widespread kingdom? And am I right in believing that the first attempt was not completely successful?"

Hatzgelg paused, but he continued gamely enough. "You are right. His first attempt was thwarted. The time was not yet come, and there was strong opposition, particularly from elves and some of their friends who escaped from the drowned island of old Numenor. The combination defeated him in battle."

"I see," I said, wondering to myself if some of my own ancestors had been among those who had defeated him. "So what is different now? Why wouldn't history simply repeat itself?"

"The power of the elves to resist him has grown less. There are fewer of them. Do you know why they opposed him originally?"

I thought for a moment. "No. I don't."

"You may or may not know that the elves are immortal." He looked at me and I nodded. "Lord Sauron wished to spread the secret of their immortality to men. The elves opposed this. They still do but their power to resist him has lessened over the years."

"Does Sauron really know the secret of how to make men immortal?"

"Yes, he does."

"So, are you immortal?" I asked and leant back in my chair. "You seem like an ordinary man to me, but you are obviously in Sauron's service. Have you learnt the secret? Do you expect to live forever?"

He hesitated. His face moved with an emotion, although I could not immediately have said what the emotion was. Most likely desire or envy. "I have not," he said at last. "But I have hopes. It can be done. It has been done. There are at least nine men who have achieved immortality. They wear rings which Lord Sauron made long ago. The rings were very difficult to make, but when the master has achieved power he has said that he will turn his attention to the making of further rings. What he has done once he can do again, and perhaps the next time it will be easier as now he knows how to do it. Those who are his loyal and chosen servants would naturally be first in line for this great gift."

There was no denying that this was a hook, although whether it was a real hook or an imaginary one was another matter. His story was quite similar to what my father had told me years before, although my father had suggested that the gift had come with some cost to those that received it. Then again, while anyone can promise everlasting life, it is quite another matter to deliver it. As my informant obviously did not have any first-hand knowledge of this, there seemed little point in pursuing the topic further.

But it was possible that the position could have more immediate attractions. "To change the subject a little, you were considering offering me employment," I said. "What did you have in mind? What sort of people are you looking for? What would the wages be?"

"The men in Sauron's service have varied employment," he said. "Some are soldiers. Some command soldiers. Some are administrators. I am one of a few who recruit. A few are negotiators and ambassadors. Your employment would depend on your own talents. I have been told that you have a talent for languages. Am I right?"

I shrugged. "I know some and I seem to pick them up easier than most other people."

"I am sure that Sauron could use such a talent. It could be very valuable. As for the wages…" He named a figure which was high enough to shock me. It was ten times what I had been receiving over the past year. "Of course," he went on, "your normal living requirements would be covered quite separately. You should find the quarters comfortable. Many men think they are luxurious. And you will also be provided with armour, horses, fine weapons of your choice. You will have a trial period and if things are not to your satisfaction, you will have the opportunity to leave again."

Well, I thought to myself, I have no other offers. What did I have to lose by checking it out?

That evening I learned that three others of my intake had been rejected from Duke Rasstlin's service, and two of them had also been offered employment in Mordor. But Geran had turned it down to return home and administer his father's estates, while Janarius, who loved the sea, was on his way to the coast. So I was the only one to accompany Hatzgelg on his return to Mordor. The journey took some time but was pleasant enough. We went by quite easy stages, first visiting Fronseca briefly to tell my father and sister what I planned – my father was approving, my sister in tears – and then onwards, staying mostly in inns or caravanserais rather than camping out, at least until we reached the border of Mordor. Hatzgelg explained to me that there were a number of different routes we could take. The mountain ranges which surround Mordor on three sides are broken by very few passes. The route with the best road would have had us marching up besides the mountains that were the western shield of Mordor until, at their very end, we would reach a great gate that Sauron was constructing in the north-west corner of the mountain walls. We could cut this journey quite a bit shorter by turning east through a pass that was midway in the western mountain chain. The pass was very low, indeed a valley, but the valley was poisoned and apparently haunted by ghosts. Both these ways were dangerous as we would have to avoid regular patrols from the hostile Kingdom of Gondor that lay to the west of Mordor. So, instead we took another and very different route which took us well to the east where the mountains of the southern shield gradually lowered themselves to the level of hills and replaced their sharp grey peaks with rounded brown summits.

I found Hatzgelg poor company as we travelled. Although he had been articulate enough when we had first met, I soon came to realise that most of this was a sales pitch he had learnt to deliver, much of it by heart. On the journey, he rarely showed interest in anything beyond the next meal or the quality of beer we were served. Worse still, in my estimation, was that on the one occasion in our journey when we came near danger he did not stand beside me. This was my very first encounter with orcs.

We had crossed low, barren hills to enter Mordor from the south and were heading north-west, through country that had no grass but was covered with grey-leaved shrubs and occasional, handsome pale-barked trees. In the distance to the west I saw a small dust cloud. The dust cloud slowly came nearer and I saw what I first took to be running men underneath it. We were walking the horses, so I stopped, armed myself and waited. Hatzgelg waited too. As the runners drew closer, I wondered more and more if they were men. There were six runners in all. They were short, none of them higher than my chest, but they were powerfully built, and their crooked legs could clearly maintain a terrific pace. They had open helmets and soon I could make out their faces. They had dark skins, but their faces were nothing like those of the many dark-skinned men I had known from Fronseca and Uncillo. They were lop-sided, and four of them had fangs that protruded from their upper jaws over their lower lips. Two had red eyes. None of the six was bearded, and three of them were badly scarred.

"These are orcs," murmured Hatzgelg in my ear, and then he took a pace or two back to stand behind me.

I thought the orcs would charge me but they stopped suddenly two spear lengths from me. One of them, fanged and scarred but black eyed, took two paces forward from the rest of the troop. I guessed he was their leader. He stopped and stared at me.

"Who are you?" he said.

To tell the truth, I was surprised I could understand him, although it took me a moment or two. His voice was guttural, but the words were Westron.

"Who are you?" he repeated, louder this time, and raising the short curved sword he carried. "What are you doing in Mordor?"

I had expected that Hatzgelg, who I had thought to be a citizen of Mordor, would provide some sort of introduction or perhaps a password or at least some sort of statement, but he reminded silent and behind me. Clearly I was going to have to answer the orc myself.

"I am Caeus of Fronseca," I said. "I am on my way to take service with the Lord Sauron."

The orc stared at me. He took another pace forward.

"And who are you?" I asked.

The orc's lips curled, perhaps in contempt. His mouth worked, apparently making ready to spit. I thought, in that quiet way one does sometimes, if his spit touches my face I will kill him. His mouth worked more. I continued to look at him. Then he spat, but as he did so he turned his face quickly to the side with so that his saliva struck the ground beside him. He looked back at me quickly, then, without a word of warning, he and the rest of his crew were suddenly off running past us and towards the east.

I turned back to Hatzgelg. "Do you know who that was?" I asked.

Hatzgelg's face was pale and there were beads of sweat on it. He was shaking. "They were orcs," he said. "I don't know their names. You cannot trust orcs. They are in our master's service. You may have noticed that their shields had the red eye painted on them. But you never know with orcs. You never know."

As we went further west and further north the scrub became more scattered and the land more arid. Trees disappeared altogether. A castle became visible, first as a dark mark on a long spur of distant grey rock. Each hour that we rode or walked towards it, the castle seemed to grow larger, more powerful, and darker. At first, two days before we actually reached its gates, I took it for a normal sized castle that was relatively close by, but, as we drew closer, walls that I took to be little more than man-sized revealed themselves to be the height of cliffs; an opening that I took to be a small window became a gaping hole without apparent purpose above a high battlement; bricks became great blocks of black or dark grey stone. The building, large as it was, was still unfinished, and workmen, or perhaps working orcs, swarmed the scaffolding which covered the higher reaches. The top was wreathed in smoke in which a red fire seemed to be burning. At last we reached a great gate, made of black iron and ornately carved with twisted figures of orcs, men and giants, in a south-facing wall of the castle. I looked up at the gate and the enormous black castle and the grey cloud that lowered overhead, and wondered why I had come.

Two short creatures who I took to be orcs appeared from a small door to the right of the main gate.

"You are Hatzgelg," said one of them to my companion.

"Yes," he said, "and with me is a man called Caeus, who is considering service with our lord."

The orc looked at me, curious rather than hostile. He was unarmoured and had only one eye. His clothing was of well-cut leather and wool, perhaps fine wool. "Do you vouch for him?" he asked Hatzgelg.

"I do."

"Very well. You may enter. You must take him immediately to meet the captain of the tower."

We followed the orc back through the same door and entered a wider corridor. There was a smell of stone and, more faintly, a smell of smoke. Hatzgelg led me up flights of stone stairs and along stone-flagged corridors, all broad and high enough for three men easily to walk abreast of each other. From time to time there were open spaces to let in light. It was all built on a large scale. Eventually we stopped in front of a wooden door that was carved with the outlines of warriors. Hatzgelg knocked; a voice commanded him to enter; so we did.

The room was large, light and airy. An enormous opening stretched from side to side along the far wall from the door. At one end of this great window a man stood alone, half-turned towards us as we entered. There were shelves on the other walls, with scrolls in them and at the other end from the standing man was a large wooden desk.

Hatzgelg bowed low. "Lord Folgrim," he said.

I bowed too, then raised my eyes to the man. Folgrim was a little shorter than me and massively built. He was mostly bald with a fringe of short grey hair and a short grey beard. He was dressed in trousers and an open shirt. He glanced at me but then spoke to Hatzgelg.

"So, Hatzgelg," he said. "Welcome back. Do you have another recruit for us?"

Hatzgelg bowed again. "I do, indeed, my lord. This man is Caeus of Fronseca. He was in the service of Duke Rasstlin of Uncillo, and now seeks another position."

"He does not want to remain in the service of this duke?"

"I was not offered a position, my lord," I said. "However, I do have some abilities."

Folgrim now turned to study me. He looked me up and down and nodded slowly. "You say you have abilities. What are they?"

"I can fight, rather better on foot than on horseback. I can read and write, and I speak a number of languages. I have had some training in law, negotiation and administration. Duke Rasstlin's seneschal has written a letter of reference for me." I offered him the scroll Sir Andung had written. Folgrim unrolled it and glanced down. "What language is this written in?" he asked. "I cannot read it."

"Numenorean," I said. "Should I translate it for you, my lord?"

"If you would, please, Sir Caeus. My native language is Rhunian, from the eastern side."

I read out the letter, translating it into eastern Rhunian as I went. I found that Sir Andung had been generous with his praise, and when I paused it was more out of embarrassment than from difficulties with the translation. When I finished, Folgrim held out his hand for the scroll, and then laid it on the desk, doubtless to check later that my translation had been fair.

"Impressive," he said. "I shall recommend you to our master, but the final decision will be his, of course. It will be a day or two before he will see you. He has a good deal of business. In the meantime we shall quarter you with the other men. I am sure you will understand if you are not given the freedom to go anywhere you like in the tower, but we will feed you and give you opportunities to exercise and talk to other men in the service of the tower." He glanced again at Hatzgelg. "Thank you, Hatzgelg. There were no other recruits, I take it."

"No, my lord. Not from Duke Rasstlin's entourage. I sent two on from Harad a month or so earlier, but I don't know if they reached here."

Folgrim shook his head. "Not so far." He said, "Never mind. Recruitment will get easier as time goes on, I believe, and Gestennon has had a little more luck in the east."

2

Beginnings are always easy to remember, and so I remember the names of the two men that Folgrim introduced me to that day. They were already present when he took me to a communal meeting and dining area in the tower. One was called Kazias and the other Grawen. Both were from the east and were talking in Rhunian when I joined them. Somewhat surprisingly they switched immediately to Westron after we had been introduced, and, when I asked why, they said it was the normal language used in the tower and throughout Mordor.

"The master would really like everyone to use the Black Speech," Folgrim went on, "but it is a difficult language, and not everyone has the ability to learn languages easily. I myself don't have very much skill, and I am not really fluent in the Black Speech. So it is usual to use Westron." Then he excused himself and went back to his duties.

Kazias and Grawen made me welcome, finding a tankard of beer for me to drink from a large keg that stood on a table at one end of the room, and introducing me to Gasloff, the older, rather frail-looking man who seemed to be in charge of the catering and accommodation arrangements for the officers in Sauron's service. Gasloff went off to see about a bed and space for me and I chatted for a while with the others. I was keen to know more about life in the tower, and what Sauron was like as an employer, and so on, but I did not get much information out of either Kazias or Grawen. Partly, as Kazias explained, it was because they were not often in the tower but mostly riding out and about on other duties, but of course it was mostly because they were reluctant to say much to a newcomer who might not stay long and who might have been sent as a spy. However, on one issue they were very clear: Sauron valued the men he employed. Weapons and armour were of high quality. The food and lodgings were excellent. There was always enough food, well cooked and made from good ingredients; Sauron's knights or their social equivalent were housed in individual rooms; and the men who were employed as ordinary soldiers in the guard had individual beds and were normally housed three or four to a room. They also had their own common rooms. If they were anything like the one that I was in then they were well-served indeed.

I never came to know Kazias or Grawen well. They were both short, wiry men, not as young as I was but still well short of middle age. I only saw Kazias once again after that evening, and Grawen I never saw again at all. As they had said, both were away from the castle a great deal. Both were unlucky, too, for each was dead within a year. Kazias was killed when a group of mutinous orcs turned on him, as I shall recount shortly, while Grawen vanished on a trip to the east. Possibly he died of thirst because his bones and equipment were discovered many years later in the middle of a rainless area. I did hear that none of his bones showed any sign of having been broken or cut and his armour was found to be undamaged, but of course not all wounds break or damage bones and many men have died in unpierced armour. Still, it was odd that no one had stripped the armour from him, if he had been killed.

The fourth person I met that evening made a more lasting impression on me. I had not expected to meet another Numenorean in the tower, and I certainly had not expected the Numenorean to be a woman. Kazias introduced her to me as Iluva. She was tall and muscular, and good-looking rather than beautiful with long, dark hair, grey eyes, and pale skin. My immediate question after our introduction was to ask her what she did here.

Some of my surprise at seeing a woman must have leaked through into the question. "What do you think?" she asked. "Do you think I look after the food and accommodation?"

Kazias smiled when he heard her say this and left the room with a wave of his hand.

"Not really," I said carefully, "I've already met Gasloff. I was just curious. It's exactly the same question I have asked others."

"And what did they answer?"

I smiled. "Very little," I said. "It's fair enough, I suppose. They have only just met me. They don't know how long I am going to stay, and they are probably wondering if I am a spy but they are too polite to say so."

She gave me a smile so brief it might have been a grimace. "And are you a spy?"

"No," I said. "I'm just looking for employment."

"Well," she said, "if you do stay, I'll answer some of your questions. But in the meantime, you can tell me what brings you here and what you have done. It's fine for us to keep secrets from you, but I don't think you should be keeping secrets from us if you want to work here."

Despite the lack of balance in this, it seemed to me that she had a fair point, so I told my story. She interrupted from time to time to ask searching questions. If I could fight well enough on foot and I could ride, why was I not better as a horse archer? How did I learn languages? Did I do it differently to other people? What did I think of orcs? If I had not seen them before, why did they not terrify me? Or did they? I answered her questions as honestly as I could, and it occurred to me that part of her job might be to interrogate new job seekers. From time to time, she would finger a small brooch that hung on a leather thong around her neck.

I took advantage of a brief pause in her stream of questions to ask one of my own. "What is the brooch? Is it silver?"

She had been on the point of asking me another question, but now she paused. "It isn't silver. It's mithril," she said. "You have heard of mithril?"

I nodded. "It's supposed to be the most precious substance in the world. My mother had a thimble made from it which she prized above all her other possessions," I said.

She slipped the thong over her neck and handed the brooch to me. It was a rabbit, as short as the shortest joint on my little finger and quite thin. Despite its small size, the brooch was finely worked. The rabbit was athletic and running at full speed rather than plump and squatted on its haunches, and whoever made the brooch had managed to capture the qualities of energy and speed. The material simply looked like silver to me, although there was no sign of tarnish. There was no sign of wear either, and it looked as though it might have been crafted yesterday.

"It's beautiful," I said, giving it back.

She immediately slipped the thong back around her neck. "It was my grandfather's," she said. "He was killed in Gondor." There was an edge to her voice that suggested an old anger or fear. I waited to see if she would go on, but she returned to her own questioning.

For the next days I remained mostly in my quarters under orders not to venture out alone. I had a room to myself. It was near the common room rather high up in the castle and had thick walls made from finely cut blocks of stone, but there was a window that faced south-east, and I could look out over the plain I had travelled across to reach the castle. From time to time, small bands of men or orcs – the distance was too great to tell them apart – would come and go.

Someone came to fetch me at mealtimes and often I found myself talking to Iluva. This was partly because she was currently in the castle, and few others were. Partly it was because she seemed to be the only other Numenorean. I suppose we could have spoken in the language, but in fact we rarely did, either then or over the many years I knew her. I grew into the habit of often asking her for advice or discussing things with her. In this first few days she advised me about many of the simple, probably well-known things about life in Mordor in general and the tower in particular.

Once a day I was called for weapon's practice in the yard outside. In these first days, I had to perform this alone, but I could watch the men and orcs training. The men trained with men, and the orcs with orcs. There were many more orcs than men, and they were fast and tireless. On the second day, one was cut open by the sabre of his training partner. He screamed in rage, and a small orc ran out to tend to him. The other orcs laughed.

After four days of waiting, I was summoned to the presence of Sauron. I guessed by then he had received Folgrim's report on me and that that had included observations from Iluva and the other men I had met.

I had heard from Iluva that long ago Sauron had been handsome, perhaps even beautiful in the way that the elves were said to be. Iluva said that he had lost this body in the ruin and drowning of Numenor, and that afterwards he had been unable to make a body or face that looked good to others. But neither Iluva nor anyone else had told me very much about what he looked like now. Everyone mentioned an eye, and some a hand, but no one said, for example, that he had horns, or that he had taken the form of a spider or a reptile. His new form was described as unpleasant, sometimes as hideous, and everyone told me that they felt fear in his presence, but there were no details.

It was not until I saw him myself that I realised why no one had been able to do a better job of describing his appearance.

My first impression as I walked towards him across his throne room was of a swirling darkness, as though someone was repeatedly moving black curtains around a central object. As I drew nearer I glimpsed a single red-rimmed eye with a dark vertical pupil of the kind that cats have. This was set in a yellow iris. The eye disappeared from time to time as I stood before him and then reappeared. When the eye was visible it was always looking directly at me. Otherwise I saw no eye at all. There was no second eye. In this first meeting, as in all later ones, the eye was more likely to be visible when Sauron seemed to be attentive to me or what I had to report. From time to time the eye seemed to be set in a dark head. At other times, there was the outline of a head and no eye was visible at all. The shape of the head varied. Sometimes it seemed like a man, sometimes a goat, sometimes a snake, sometimes other animals or, more rarely, insects. Sometimes it seemed to split in two. Sometimes a body in the shape of a man or some kind of animal was visible. Usually the body had skin but sometimes I saw only a collection of internal organs. Sometimes there were legs, very occasionally more than two of them. Sometimes there were arms, and often a single hand was visible. The hand was missing the ring finger and seemed to ooze blood from the stump. When Sauron spoke, often I could see a mouth but the shape of the mouth varied too. Sometimes it would be the mouth of an animal, sometimes that of an old, toothless man, sometimes it was momentarily beautiful with full curved red lips over even, white teeth. Apart from the eye and hand, no shape was ever constant for very long.

To be honest, I am sure I did not pick up all of this at our first meeting, although his appearance was certainly not constant then. Some of it was learnt from the many meetings I had with him over the many years of my service. Certainly it was only with more experience that I began to learn what affected the way he looked. I came to learn, for example, that the completeness and pleasantness of his appearance varied with his mood and thought. If he was pleased his appearance became more man-like and more complete. If he was distracted it became less complete and more fleeting. If he was angry but concentrated his form became inhuman and unpleasant but relatively complete. As the form varied, so did the smell. Often there was a smell of blood. Frequently this seemed to be compounded with the odours of bile or excrement, and sometimes he would smell like a dog. Very rarely, and only when he was in nearly human form, there would be a fleeting odour of flowers in springtime.

Much later I came to the belief - perhaps theory would be a better word - that Sauron was simply unable to maintain any constant bodily form, and that only by the expenditure of a good deal of effort was he able to maintain a bodily form at all.

If I had dared, I would have closed my eyes in his presence. This was partly because seeing the different changes was disturbing and unpleasant, so that I sometimes felt on the point of nausea. The sight also produced both fear and horror. At first I thought this was simply because Sauron was skilled at inducing fear, and indeed I soon saw that even his strongest servants could be reduced to abject terror when Sauron was angry with them. I will admit it: I was myself on more than one occasion. But later I realised that a good part of the fear and horror came simply from the sight of him. Normally when one sees people who are deformed or who have been mutilated in battle, one has some time to adjust to their appearance. With Sauron that was not so, as his appearance was not constant. What one saw at any moment was usually disturbing enough, but there was also the knowledge that at any moment some more frightening and terrifying vision could appear without any warning. I do not know for sure – certainly I never dared to ask him – whether he would have chosen a less terrifying appearance if he had been able to, but in later years I came to think it very likely. So, although he preferred to negotiate with kings and chieftains through intermediaries, indeed often through myself, on three different occasions a princeling insisted on actually meeting him. All three were horrified. One fainted. For one of the princelings, his terror acted to keep him loyal, loyal to the point of being servile, when he returned to his own people, but the other two reacted quite differently. They ran, immediately and to the other side of the world, as far away as they could in fact. One of the princelings took all his people with him. Indeed, I believe he took all the cattle and horses in his principality as well. The other was more restrained and took only his immediate family. Needless to say, in neither case was this helpful to Sauron's cause.

There was another reason I would have closed my eyes. I have explained how his appearance was changeable and horrifying and that Sauron did not seem to have very much control over it. But his voice was quite another matter. Normally it was soft, smooth, charming, persuasive, as though honey had been made into sound. But if he was angry he could produce a sensation in the listener of being cut by knives. And very rarely he could be funny. I once heard him told a joke to a group of men with such perfect timing and mimicry that all of us there were doubled up with laughter even though the joke was old and we had all heard it before.

"You are Caeus, the son of Junius of Fronseca?" he asked at this first meeting.

"I am, my Lord."

"And you seek to enter my service?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Others will have told you about the terms of service. I presume these are acceptable to you."

"Yes, my Lord."

"I am told you speak a number of different languages.'"

"I speak some, my Lord."

"I prefer to be addressed simply as 'master'." He then asked me complex questions in a dozen different languages. Two of them I could not answer, but I gave reasonable answers to the rest in the same language as the questions.

At the end, he gave a small growl that I took to be approval. "You do indeed know languages. In time I shall try you out as a diplomat, an envoy to friends, enemies, and others who are yet to make up their minds to the east." As he said the different words – friends, enemies, others – his voice changed too – silky soft, knife-like, oily honey – but the whole sentence was in normal speaking time, so that the effects of the voices on me were faster than I would have believed possible. "You will need also to learn our language of Mordor – some call it the Black Speech – but I doubt that will take you very long. You will find the language a little complex but well-suited for sorcery. For the time being you will report to Folgrim, and you will learn something of the different duties that men perform in my service."

"And now," he went on "I will need to plant myself in your mind. That will make it easier for you to remember my instructions, and sometimes we will be able to communicate at a distance. I will not be able to take control of your mind. Have no fear of that." His voice seemed to stroke my mind. "Do you agree?"

"Yes, master."

"Very well then. Please try to empty your mind."

I tried to think of nothing for a moment. Then there was a momentary sensation of invasion in my head. It was not painful so much as weighty, a little as though someone had placed a large quiet animal inside my head.

"Do you feel it?" he said, and then I was aware that the sound – if it can be called a sound – was inside me, and that very likely no one else who was present would have heard anything. I decided to see if I could reply in the same way. "Yes, master," I said to myself.

"Good." The sound of Sauron's voice was again in my ears. I felt as though I was woken from sleep.

"Now some part of me is with you always," he said. "At present it is small and weak, but later, when I recover the ring, it will be stronger…. Sometimes you will be able to communicate with me over distances, but not often. Sometimes, I will be able to see the world through your eyes, but not often." There was a slight discontent in the tone of his voice, or perhaps in the tone of his thought, as he said this.

"The ring, master?"

"Later. We are finished for today. I am pleased to have met you and to welcome you to my service. Stay faithful and your reward will be great."

It was not until I was back in my quarters that I realised with some surprise that Sauron had neither suggested nor required a formal oath of allegiance. But then, with some part of himself planted in my mind, perhaps it was not needed.

I have not told my story to many other people, but when I have most people have asked questions about what it felt like to have some part of Sauron's mind in myself for so many years. Wasn't it strange? Did it frighten you? Could he control you? Did you have to control what you were thinking?

These are very natural questions. I am sure I would ask them myself if someone told me a similar story. But I do not find them easy to answer.

For one thing, Sauron's presence was not constant. Often months would go by without my hearing from him mentally throughout all of this time, and all that I would feel – perhaps hear would be a better word – would be a gentle whispering, like the leaves of distant trees in a very soft wind. The whispering was too faint to make out any words or meaning. Then again, distance mattered. If, as often happened, I was some distance away from him, it appeared to be hard for Sauron to make or maintain contact. So when I was sent on distant missions, I was briefed thoroughly first and then left to make my own decisions as to how to perform the mission, just as if I was an envoy for a normal ruler. Certainly I was never given daily or hourly instructions while I was away. Only once did Sauron ever maintain strong contact with me over a reasonable distance for a period of more than a few moments, and I will write more about this in its place.

It is possible that if he had recovered the ring – I will write more about this later too – then the contact would have been much stronger and more lasting. Again, the impression I gained, slowly and over many years, was that Sauron could really only focus on one person – or perhaps one group of people all doing a similar thing – at once, but he sometimes hinted that if he recovered the ring he would be able to focus on all the different activities of different regiments of a whole army at once. I suppose that he might then have been able to coordinate it by using his mind to communicate different instructions to different commanders within a short space of time.

He could not control what I did or what I said, although there was a single time when with enormous concentration he came quite close. I do not know whether he would have been able to do this with the ring. My guess is that he probably could have, but not easily or with many people at once.

So the mental contact did not seem to make much difference to my life. Yet, perhaps there is more to it than this. Perhaps Sauron could alter people. He could certainly alter the orcs so that those in his service could withstand the sunlight. Perhaps he could alter the mindset of men. Perhaps he did it to me in some way. Would I have known?

A slightly different question: Could he have read my innermost thoughts? I do not know, and I am inclined to doubt it, but then again I do not see why he would have bothered. Not until very near the end did I have a thought that might in any way have reasonably been considered disloyal. Did I restrain myself up until then because I feared he might discover any disloyal thoughts I might have? Perhaps. I do not think so, but to be honest I do not know.

3

Perhaps there are kingdoms and regions in the world which never have to worry about rebellions and bands of robbers and renegades, but I have never lived in one. Mordor certainly had a good share of them. When I first heard about a revolt, within a week of my entering Sauron's service, I thought that it must be a slave revolt, because I had heard that there were slaves in Mordor, and I said something of the kind to Iluva, as we were eating together in the mess.

"Slaves?" she said. "Oh no. There are very few slave revolts or escaped slaves to deal with."

"If not the slaves, then who?" I asked.

"Orcs," she said. "It's almost always orcs. The revolts are sudden. One moment all seems quiet and peaceful, or as peaceful as it ever is with orcs, the next a whole troop of them will have rebelled. Usually there is an immediate fight. If they win, the troop will disappear to some hill or cave in the mountains. Actually much the same thing happens if they lose but there are survivors. After they have established themselves in their den, they kill anyone who goes nearby, loot whatever they can, and generally create danger and mayhem in the area. Then of course someone has to go out to deal with them."

"Us?"

"Sometimes, if you are unlucky. Sometimes it's other orcs. Most often, it is just whoever is close and available." She shook her head. "It's always dangerous, Caeus. They are vicious enough when they are on your side. When they're not… well, they are vicious and cunning and fast. You'll see. You've managed to miss having to put this outbreak down, but there'll be more. You'll see your share. We all do. I'll give you one piece of advice: When it happens, be very, very careful."

In fact I had my first experience only a month or so later, as the first colder weather began to arrive in Mordor. Up until then I had been busy enough, but mostly in learning the processes and procedures of the Black Tower, arming myself, and learning the Black Speech. This was my first duty outside the castle, and it began when Folgrim summoned me to his office. I found that Kazias, who I had not seen since the day I arrived, had been summoned too, and I was to act as his lieutenant on a visit to an iron mine a day or so's ride away in the northern mountains.

"The shipments of ore from the mine have decreased over the past month," Folgrim said. "I need you to investigate what is going on, Kazias. You'll take Shagrat's troop of orcs with you in case of trouble, but I hope that you won't need them." He looked at me. "Major trouble normally shuts off production completely, and that isn't the case here. Still, you'll need to be well armed and prepared just in case." Then he turned back to Kazias. "The transporters who deliver the ore do not seem to know much or at least they are not saying much, but apparently they are taking their orders from an orc called Vrazhnet, not from Forsti."

We rode to the mine. It was cool, sunny weather, and the ride would probably have been pleasant in other circumstances. Our company of orcs, perhaps sixty of them in all, ran the whole way, with their heads and bodies bent to the ground. Their crooked legs generated enormous speed and power. The orcs seemed tireless, their movement like that of a swift flowing river rather than flesh and blood. They wore mail and carried shields and either spears or sabres, and their leader had the broadest shoulders of any orc I ever saw. They did not talk to us or we to them.

I asked Kazias why it was significant that the orcs at the mine took their orders from a different orc than normal. He looked at me in surprise. "What do you mean, Caeus? The mine manager is not an orc. He is a dwarf, called Forsti. His normal deputy is a dwarf too."

"A dwarf?"

"Yes. Most of the mines in Mordor are managed by dwarfs. They are better miners than the orcs. Better miners than we are too. Do you know anything about dwarfs?"

"Very little, Kazias. I have only ever seen two or three in my life, and I saw them from a distance."

"And you haven't seen them mining?"

"No, although I have heard stories that they are good at it."

"I visited this mine, the one we are going to now, a couple of years ago and when I was there I saw Forsti stand in front of a seam of ore for an hour. He looked at it, touched it, smelt it, and said nothing in all this time. Then he announced that the seam of ore would continue in a particular direction for a hundred yards and then stop. As it happened I had the chance to check a few months later, and I found he had been quite right. I think Forsti is particularly good at it, but I sometimes think that the dwarfs have an extra sense that we don't. A kind of underground sense if you understand me. The orcs don't have it either, although they are good enough underground in other ways. So those dwarfs we can recruit are put in charge of mines or metal forging or the armouries. They have a similar kind of knack for metal- and stone-working. Incidentally, if you get a chance you should try to get hold of some dwarf-made mail or armour. They make very good swords too.

"As you can imagine we try to recruit as many as we can, and now there are quite a few dwarfs scattered throughout Mordor. Some of them are slaves but most of them are free. The orcs or sometimes slaves or workers from the east do most of the actual digging and other drudge work, but the free dwarves are usually in charge. They are always well-treated and well-paid…. The orcs hate them. They don't like us much, but they really seem to hate the dwarves."

"Because they are often in charge and better treated?"

"That's probably part of it, but there's more to it than that. There has always been bad blood between them. I've been told it goes way, way back, well before my time…. Old betrayals. Old wars. That sort of thing. So you see now why there could be trouble at the mine, and why it is a worry that an orc seems to be in charge of it now instead of a dwarf. Of course, it could have just been some accident or illness – they are common enough in the mines – but we will need to be alert."

"And that's why you insisted we were armed before we set out."

"Yes, exactly."

We reached the mine late the following morning. A sentry must have signalled that we were coming because around forty orcs were waiting for us outside the mine. They were arranged in a rough semi-circle. They looked fierce and vicious but not very well armed. Few of them had any armour or mail and many seemed to have only sharpened pickaxes or shovels for weapons. I thought as I looked at them that in some way they seemed a little different in appearance to the orcs in the troop we had brought with us. Not quite so tall, perhaps not quite so scarred, but standing a little way in front of the rest was a large orc with a particularly scarred and evil face. He wore a short mail shirt and a helmet and had a scimitar at his side. Kazias dismounted; I followed him and the orcs in our troop took up a formation behind and beside us. We walked to within a long spear's thrust of the leader.

"Are you Vrazhnet?" asked Kazias.

"Yes." The orc spat to one side. "And you are?"

"Kazias. I speak for the master. Where is Forsti?"

"He's dead. He was killed in a rock slide. It is very sad." Vrazhnet smiled, showing teeth that might have been filed.

"Wasn't there another dwarf as his deputy? Ziranz?"

"He's dead too. Killed in the same fucking rock slide. Sorry."

"I see… When was this?"

"A few weeks ago."

"Did you bury them?"

"Yes. They would stink us out otherwise. Dead dwarves stink even worse than live ones. They are buried over there." Vrazhnet gestured off to his right.

Kazias nodded calmly and called forward the leading orc of the troop we had brought with us, the one with the broad shoulders. "Shagrat", he said, "detail two of your lads to dig up the bodies. I want to look."

And then it was just as Iluva had warned. Vicious and fast. Vrazhnet had his scimitar out and through Kazias's body before Kazias had a chance to use his own weapon. Shagrat had Vrazhnev's head off before Vrazhnet could take his scimitar out of Kazias's body. A rock took Shagrat on the side of the head and he fell down. By this time – it seemed to me that I was far, far too slow – I finally had my own sword and shield up and I took a step or so forward to straddle Shagrat's body. I saw only the enemies in front of me, with just a fraction of my mind hoping that the orcs behind me would support me and not stab me in the back. Steel came towards me; I parried it with sword and shield, and stabbed in return. My first opponent was quite fast, but slashed with a large backswing rather than stabbed. On his second backswing I thrust through his face. My second opponent was more cunning but I held him until someone slashed the back of his thigh and he went down. I looked around for other enemies, but there were none in front of me.

I looked around. The orcs that were still standing were presumably on my side. At any rate they were the well-armed ones and they were making no move to attack me. A few other orcs were alive, unarmed and sitting on the ground with their hands clasped behind their heads. At my feet Shagrat was conscious and moving, trying to rise. I stepped back to give him space. I looked around at the standing orcs that were slowly surrounding me. Many of them were looking towards me, and I realised that I was probably now in charge.

"Who is Shagrat's lieutenant?" I asked.

A rather tall orc with skin that was grey rather than black came forward. "I am Haxfell", he said. I noticed when he spoke that he seemed to have no fangs.

What should be first? I asked myself. Check that there are no more enemies, I suppose. "Very well, Haxfell, could you please take all but a dozen of your lads and check the mine to see if there is anyone else in there. Bring anyone you find out alive if you can, but whatever you do don't let them retreat or escape from you. Be careful."

I detailed two of the remaining orcs to dig up the dwarf graves. While they walked off, I bent down and inspected Kazias but he was clearly dead. By the time I had finished, Shagrat had managed to rise to his feet. I caught him looking at me. It was an odd look.

"You stood over me," he said.

"Yes," I said. "Where I was trained, it was standard battle procedure to protect your wounded comrades if you could."

"Including orcs?"

"We didn't have orcs in the south. I thought we were on the same side here."

For a moment or two, Shagrat hesitated, on the point of saying something. Then finally he said, "Thank you". It seemed difficult for him to say.

"You are welcome," I said.

"Perhaps I will do the same for you some day."

I smiled at him. "That would be very welcome."

The bodies of the dwarfs had been placed only in shallow graves and were quickly uncovered. They had been well-preserved in the dry soil and proved to have died from stab wounds rather than rock fall, as Kazias must have suspected. Haxfell and his troop found no orcs remaining in the mines. They stripped those that they had killed and dragged the bodies to a small, open, apparently disused cave, and when they had done this they filled the entrance to the cave with rocks. Shagrat and I lifted Kazias's body onto his horse and I tied it in place to take back to the tower. I was considering whether to leave Shagrat's troop to mine the ore, as only a few of the original miners were now alive and unwounded, when he spoke to me again.

"I don't think you know much about orcs," he said.

"You're right. I don't."

"We have different castes. You may have noticed that in our troop there were two orcs who were smaller than the others and who ran near the front."

I nodded. "Yes, I did notice."

"They are tracker orcs not fighting orcs. They look different. Trackers track. Fighters fight. Among other castes, there are mining orcs."

I considered. The only dead orcs were the original miners. Kazias had been our only loss. I considered some more.

"I shouldn't expect the fighting orcs in your troop to do any mining, should I?" I asked.

Shagrat smiled unpleasantly. "If you try to order it, it is likely that they will kill you."

I nodded. "Thank you for the warning, Shagrat. ... In that case, I had thought to leave Haxfell and a few others to guard the mine until a new mining party is sent out. Would that be acceptable?"

"That would be fine." He hesitated again. His mouth moved oddly, perhaps in a smile, perhaps a gesture of distaste. "Have you much experience of fighting with orcs? Either for real or in practice?"

"No. Today was the first time. I don't think I did well…. I noticed that in the tower the orcs seem to train with orcs and the men train with men. They keep separate."

"I wonder if you and I could practice together some time. You could learn something from me about how we orcs fight. And I could learn more about how men fight. We could help each other."

I agreed immediately. I had just seen Kazias die because he had been taken by surprise by an orc. Knowing more of how they fought might save me from the same fate. Shagrat's offer was a good one. I wondered later if he had made it in gratitude for my shielding him. Perhaps, but I never found out.

A week or so later I was at the weapon practice ground for my daily workout. Just by chance all the other men were paired off with training partners. I looked around and saw Shagrat, who was similarly alone. Our eyes met, and he nodded. We approached each other slowly and I noted the details of his practice gear: blunted blade with a marked curve, round rather small shield, padded mail from neck to foot, full helmet. Like me he believed in exercising in full kit, despite the weight, or perhaps because of it. We found an empty space and stopped, waiting, staring at each other. In the helmet his eyes were black and unmoving. Neither of us spoke.

His attack was fast and utterly without warning. If I had not been in full readiness, shield up and sword in proper defensive position he would have struck me. We exchanged blows, neither of us landing anything but I was forced back. I noticed other orcs standing behind Shagrat, but watching, giving him space. Shagrat grinned, fangs prominent over his lower lip. There was another pause, and then another attack. Still I had no warning, and this time his first stroke was through my defence and struck my padded mail hard. I defended the rest of his blows. Another move apart and another pause. This time I attacked, and Shagrat was perhaps just a little slow to pick up on it although I did not break his defence. So the session went on. It was perhaps the best training session I had had at the tower, and at the end I could hardly lift my sword and I was dripping with sweat. Shagrat looked unchanged, but was he just a little slower? Hard to tell. I had scored one hit on him. He had made five on me.

"Stop?" I suggested.

He nodded. I took my eyes off him for the first time and looked around. We were surrounded by orcs. I became aware that they had been noisy, shouting, perhaps encouraging Shagrat. Now they were silent, mostly looking at me. It was hard to read the ferocious, alien faces. Certainly they were interested. Were they hostile? Assessing? Curious?

I looked back at Shagrat, and bowed slightly from the waist. "Thank you," I said. "Your day, I think."

He nodded.

"Another time?" I asked.

He nodded again and I smiled. He turned away quickly and strode off, and this was a signal for the watching orcs to disperse as well.

Over the next few days I detected something, a slight reserve perhaps, in the way the other men regarded me. I was reminded again that I had never seen any of them training with orcs and I thought that perhaps I had broken some rule without meaning to. I asked Folgrim when I had an opportunity.

"There's a convention among the men that we usually don't train with orcs. They don't normally want to train with us either," he said.

"Should I not do it again, sir? I am sorry if I have broken a rule."

"There is no rule. And as you have seen, the orcs and we men often practice in the same area. I understand why you did it. A few men have done it from time to time. I did myself for some years. We do have to fight orcs and other … ", he shrugged, "not men from time to time. It helps to know how they fight. And Shagrat is a very good fighter, perhaps the very best among all the orcs in the tower at present …. I will not command you either way on this, Caeus, but if I were you and I had the opportunity I would keep doing it. Few men are offered it. You might prefer to do it in a more private place. There are some."

After that Shagrat and I practiced together most weeks if we were both in the tower at the same time. The next time we met I suggested that we find a more private place, and he agreed. Perhaps he too was happier to train away from a watching crowd of orcs. I asked him if they too did not really approve of his training with a man, and perhaps thought of it as a kind of betrayal or giving away their secrets, but he did not reply. In fact in all the time we practiced together he rarely replied to any question about his own life or that of his fellow orcs, or what they thought, although he was always prepared to talk about technical details of fighting or the gear we used.

I think we influenced one another's fighting style. He took to using a straighter blade, although one still more curved than my sword. I came to see the advantages of using a smaller, more mobile shield, and changed to one myself. One advantage was the opportunity to hold and use a dagger in my shield hand. The first time I brought my new shield to a sparring session with Shagrat, he treated me to his ferocious grin.

I very slowly grew better at working out when he was about to launch an attack, although I could not have said what cues I was picking up from him. He once told me that he had had the same problem with me initially and that he too had slowly learnt to pick up the cues. "It is hard to see what you are up to," he said. "All you men look alike to me anyway, but your faces do not seem to ever change. You are like statues all made from the same mould, at least that's the way it seems to my eyes."

Often in our combat we concentrated on picking up the subtle cues we each gave out. An onlooker, and from time to time there were a few, would have seen us stand opposite each other for minutes at a time, unmoving but at the ready, watching each other for slight tell-tales. We watched either for weariness or loss of concentration in the other, which was a signal to attack, or for the sign of an attack itself, which was a signal to defend and sometimes to defend in a particular way. His attacks were always fast, hard, and merciless. So were mine. With edged weapons or without padded armour and helmets we would have killed each other many times over.

Apart from the training sessions, and very occasionally when our professional paths crossed, we never met. We never once ate together or drank together. I once suggested that we share a beer, but he shook his head. Did he have a wife, an orc-woman? I never asked. They existed, I knew – well there had to be to breed more orcs – but we never saw them, or perhaps I never noticed them. For all I know they were part of the fighting troops. Or perhaps they were the trackers or laboring orcs. If Shagrat had particular interests, other than fighting, I never heard about them. So I could not call it a friendship, but I looked forward to our combat sessions, and perhaps he did too. Simply, I found him a much more challenging and interesting opponent than all but one or two of the other men, and I think that he too found me a greater challenge than almost all of his fellow orcs.

Only once in the long time that we trained together did he ever mention anything personal. It was years after our first meeting, and, as was normal, at the end of the lengthy and tiring session he had scored more hits than I had. He was not very much better than I was, but he was a little better, and both of us knew it. I remarked that, even after all this time, I never seemed to be able to narrow his margin of superiority.

"You have not been fighting and training as long as I have," he said. "You should not expect to equal me."

I looked at him closely. I had never thought much about his age, and no orc face was easy to read. It was lined, but the lines were in different places than the lines on a man's face, and I did not know how to interpret them. "Why? How long have you been training?" I asked.

He grinned, or perhaps grimaced. "Two thousand years."

I felt my mouth open with astonishment. "What? Two thousand years?"

He was amused for a moment by my surprise. "About that. We are not like you men. We are like the fucking elves." He spat to the side as he said the word. "We do not age, although we can be killed, just like you."

"Are all orcs so old?"

"Oh no. Most are younger than you. You are what? Twenty-five? Thirty? Almost all the orcs in my present troop are younger than you. Few reach twenty."

"Do so many get killed young?" I asked.

"Almost all," he said. "Orcs die like fucking flies. You men die like flies too. No, that's unfair. You die like animals. But then you have no choice. You age. We do have choice. Still we die like fucking flies. The weapons training helps me to live."

I had to ask. "What is it like to live for two thousand years, Shagrat? You must have seen so much." I shook my head in wonder. "You must have seen such differences, so many different events."

He sneered into the face of my enthusiasm, his upper lip curling over a fang. "In two thousand years, I have seen a lot of shit," he said. "It all stinks. Some is runny, some hard, some brown, some mixed with blood, but it's all shit."

4

Not many days after returning from what I thought of as the iron-ore mine policing action, I went with Jaxind, an older man in Sauron's service, and a different troop of orcs to investigate why no food was being sent from a farm in the area of Lake Nurnen. This lake lies in the south of Mordor, and, unlike the north, this area catches some rain. Rivers and streams drain into the lake too, so the area around it is well-watered and reasonably fertile.

I learned that much of the food in Mordor came from fields worked by slaves in the area around the lake. Jaxind told me that the slaves were mostly men, either bought from the south and east or, more rarely, captives taken by Sauron's armies. The overseers were usually orcs, and the orcs treated the slaves badly. Indeed, being cruel to the slaves seemed to be the orcs' favorite sport. They liked starving, beating and torturing them. They particularly liked forcing them to fight each other, sometimes in makeshift arenas they built, more usually in simple circles marked out in the dirt. Sometimes they ate those who died in the fights or following the torture. One of the principal duties of the men that Sauron employed was from time to time to visit the slave villages to monitor food production and discover why food production from a particular farm or group of farms had decreased.

"It is always the same problem," Jaxind said. "We will find that food production will be down on this farm either because the orcs have killed most of the slaves or because they have starved and mistreated them to the point where it is impossible to get any decent work out of them. Most likely we will have to bring in new slaves, and any remaining old slaves will have to be rested for a while so that they can regain some strength. Getting production reestablished is usually quite slow."

However slow it might have been to reestablish production, when we reached the farm, Jaxind acted quickly. In less than a day he had confirmed his expectations, and executed the chief orc overseer. Several of the crueler orcs in the old garrison were whipped the next day, and one of these was killed when he attempted to resist the punishment. A new overseer, who had travelled with us, was installed, and carefully instructed in how to care for the slaves. So I had little to do but watch and learn during the three days of our visit.

As we rode back, I remarked to Jaxind that I was very impressed by how quickly and easily he had coped. I would not have known where to start and I said so.

He seemed surprised. "Thank you, Caeus," he said. "Mind you, it will probably all have to be done again in a few months, either by me or someone else. The orcs will slip back to treating the slaves badly. Food production will rise for a while and then fall again. Actually it is unusual for me to come down here to visit a single farm. Normally I do circuits of them, but this one is a little out of the way."

"Do you inspect all the farms yourself?"

"No. There's four of us who do it fairly regularly."

"If the orcs do such a bad job of running the farms, why leave them in charge?"

Jaxind shrugged. "Who else is there? The dwarfs have very little interest in farming at all. They don't care for the outdoors and green things, and there simply aren't enough men to do it. Sauron thinks too that if you put men in charge they would be too soft and let too many escape. Actually the same might go for the dwarfs. Most of the slaves are men and women, as you will have noticed, although there are a few dwarfs among them."

He paused and laughed briefly. "Actually, I once suggested to the master that food production would be higher if the slaves were simply left alone to grow the food and sell it to us. I had the idea that they could buy their own freedom if they produced enough. It was rather bold of me, and immediately I said it I thought I might have gone too far."

"Had you? How did the master react?"

"Better than I expected really. He wasn't angry with me, and he seemed quite sympathetic to the idea but he would not do it. He said that too many of the slaves would prefer to starve themselves to death rather than provide food for us. Quite probably he was right."

In my initial interview, Sauron had said that he intended to at least give me a trial run or two as a diplomat, but it was some months before I had my first mission. To some extent this was because it was important for me to learn other aspects of the way that Mordor ran, and of course for Sauron and Folgrim to see what I could or could not do in a range of different duties. But the main reason was simply one of timing. Sauron's main diplomatic efforts were directed to the south and east of Mordor. Mordor maintained a continuous embassy to the Harad in the south but this already had its full quota of diplomats, headed by a Lieutenant of the Dark Tower, as Sauron's most senior officers were called. But the east, towards and beyond the Sea of Rhun, was handled differently. Unlike the Harad, this area consisted of a patchwork of minor kingdoms and principalities, all usually in conflict with one another. There was no confederation or overlord, and Sauron's ultimate aim was to unify the petty kingdoms under his own leadership. This was to be accomplished gradually by a carefully constructed web of many separate treaties, initially of friendship, trade, and alliance, and later of vassalage. When I arrived, the chief responsibility for weaving this web by negotiation was held by another lieutenant, a man called Valetian, and, by chance, he had set off on a long mission just days before I arrived. Logically enough, the plan was that when he returned he would brief me on the east and then, when he next set out, I would go with him for a trial as his understudy.

But it did not turn out that way. One afternoon Folgrim summoned me to his office.

"Caeus," he said. "Tomorrow, you and I are to meet with Sauron…. No, you don't need to look worried. I need to brief you on what the meeting will be about and give you a little time to think about it overnight."

There was a pause while Folgrim worked out how to tell his story. "The day before yesterday, Valetian's guard returned at high speed to Mordor. You remember that Valetian is our envoy to the east? … Good. Well, the guard left the kingdom of Cevanch immediately after Valetian was murdered there," Folgrim said. "The murder was only a few days ago, and at present it is completely unclear who carried out the murder. More importantly, we do not know who might have ordered it. It could have been the king of Cevanch himself, a baron of his kingdom or, just possibly, someone else completely. The king of Cevanch is sending an envoy, and the envoy will be here tomorrow. Sauron wants you and me to be present when the envoy presents himself."

"I see, sir."

Folgrim looked hard at me. "So, Caeus, I haven't told you everything, although there isn't a lot more I can tell you at this stage. But on the basis of what I have told you, how do you react? What do you think should happen next?"

I realized that this was to some extent a test. "As you say, you have not given me any detail, sir, but one thing is clear to me already," I said after thinking it through. "This murder simply must be avenged. The king will have to hand over the murderer or murderers or at the least execute them himself when we are satisfied he has the right people rather than the scourings of his own dungeons."

"And if he refuses or does not deliver?"

"If he refuses, we will have to make war and depose him. Any other response would be unthinkable."

Folgrim nodded gently and smiled. "How strong an army do you think we have right now, Caeus?"

I considered for a moment or two. I had no good idea. I said so.

"We are not yet as strong as we would like everyone to believe," Folgrim said. "We could probably muster about three or four thousand soldiers, if we strip every fortress and barracks. But to reach even this number, we would have to arm many orcs who are not of the warrior caste. Of the kingdoms to the east, Strezogard would certainly march with us, but they only have a small army. The king of Cevanch, on the other hand, might be able to raise three or four thousand men, especially if he is defending his own territory. To be sure of victory, then, we would need at least some other principalities in the east to join us in an attack. Now what do you say?"

As Folgrim had guessed, I had thought Mordor was stronger and that Sauron's power had grown faster than it had. Nonetheless. I shook my head.

"If it can be done by persuasion or threat and without a war, so much the better. But if it has to be done by war, then I think it must. How could we recruit any allies if we can be frightened out of a just demand? The murder of an ambassador cannot be ignored, sir."

He smiled. "You think too of your own neck if you become an envoy and any princeling thought he could kill you without any fear of the consequences."

"Yes, of course, sir. But there is more to it than that. From Sauron's point of view it is a question of prestige. Not to demand justice in this matter is a signal that every princeling in the east, as well as the lords of Harad, would read as a confession of weakness."

Folgrim nodded. "Yes, I agree," he said slowly. "So will Sauron, I think. You'll need to consider some of the implications – for Mordor and for yourself – by tomorrow. Until then, Caeus."

Folgrim and I waited in the throne room. Sauron had greeted us and then asked us to wait. The black curtains moved slowly, ponderously. In their midst the shape of a body was visible. Apart from vagueness of outline – as though it was wrapped in dark fog – its size and shape were those of a normal man, except for goat's horns on its head.

Nothing happened and then from a door on the far side of the room, a man entered, accompanied by Gradasx, Sauron's chamberlain. The visitor was middle-aged, somewhat overweight, with dark hair and an uninteresting face. He was dressed richly, but in the style of a merchant rather than a warrior. He strode towards the throne with an air of confidence, perhaps arrogance, that seemed out of keeping with his appearance. The man stopped a little distance from the throne, and made a shallow bow. In my mind, and perhaps Folgrim's too, Sauron reacted to this with a laugh.

Gradasx said, "Master, this is Ersteg of Cevanch. He is the emissary of King Savzec."

There was silence. Finally, Sauron spoke.

"Very well, Ersteg. Welcome to Mordor. What do you have to say to me?" His voice had no inflection, no emotion. The shadows around Sauron moved slowly, but otherwise all was still.

"Sir," Ersteg replied. "I have been instructed to tell you that his majesty and my lord, King Savzec of Cevanch, regrets the death of your ambassador. Our investigations to date so far have not uncovered the killer. We shall continue the investigations and, if we find the killer or his accomplices, we shall punish him severely. However, in the event that we cannot locate the killer, his majesty is prepared to offer you sixty silver pieces in recompense for the tragedy. It would be more, but I am told to tell you… " and here Ersteg stopped and swallowed "… I am ordered to tell you that his majesty is displeased that your ambassador suggested he should sign an unequal treaty with Mordor."

Sixty pieces of silver was slightly more than my current yearly salary, and I was still learning the job. Surely Valetian's had been much more. Then again, to reach Mordor as soon as he had, Ersteg must have set out before any proper investigation had begun. Perhaps there was no investigation. The silence continued. The shadows around Sauron continued to move at their previous pace.

Then from his throne there was a blast of heat and a roar that was like a lion's but louder and higher in pitch. I was anchored to the spot by it and I felt the hair all over my body stand on end. I could not have moved a muscle if I had needed to. I was paralysed with terror. But Sauron's rage was not directed towards me at all. Ersteg collapsed in a heap on the floor. Urine puddled out from under his body. There was a sudden smell of shit in the air.

Sauron spoke then to the guard of the throne room. His voice was the sound of a corrosive poison. "Imprison him in the dungeons. I will send more instructions later."

Two guards removed Ersteg. I presumed from Sauron's order that he was still alive although there was no sign of it. A small orc entered shortly afterwards and mopped the urine from the floor. Sauron said nothing further, by word or mind, until this was completed, but I felt his anger as a great fire in my brain. I imagined that when he spoke to us his voice would be full of rage, but this was not so. His tone was that of normal conversation and he spoke aloud rather than in my mind.

"So, Caeus, as you know I had intended that you accompany Valetian on his journeys to the east. But sadly this will not now be possible. Nevertheless, I will have to send another envoy to King Savzec. As it happens there is no other experienced envoy in Mordor at present. So I would like you to undertake this mission."

After what Folgrim had said, I had expected something of this kind. For a moment, Hatzgelg's words came back to me: The service offers adventure, status, and the possibility of enormous reward to anyone with the courage to reach out for this reward. Do you have this courage? Surely there could be only one reply.

"I should be honoured, master," I said.

For an instant there was a warm feeling in my head – the feeling that you might get sitting beside a warm fire in winter – and when Sauron spoke again his voice had a quality in it like the purring of a cat.

"Either the killer is handed over or there will be war," he said.

"Yes, master."

"I shall have Ersteg put to death slowly."

I waited a moment, but it needed to be said. "Master, may I make a suggestion?"

"You may."

"Despite his insolence, have you considered letting him go, master? He will be terrified by his experience today, and I wondered if he could be escorted out of Mordor so as to pass orc troop after orc troop in training or apparently preparing to march on Cevanch. I had thought perhaps his release and return could be timed so that he arrived home no more than a day or two before I reach Cevanch."

There was silence. Had I gone too far? Had I dared too much too soon? I waited in apprehension that was close to outright fear, and then I heard slow laughter. For a moment the curtains vanished and I saw a complete manlike figure in front of me.

"I like it, Caeus. I like it. Very well. It shall be as you suggest. Do you have any other suggestions?"

"If we could be assured that the actual killer has been found rather than a convenient scapegoat," I said, "there might be advantages to having the execution carried out by King Savzec. I have in mind the possibility that the killer might have been recruited by some court faction in Cevanch rather than by the king himself. If this is so, master, then you could both strengthen the king's power within his own realm and his reliance on you, if you left him to carry out the execution. Of course, this depends on someone being able to find the killer and you having sufficient evidence that the right man has been found."

"Very well," Sauron said after a little time. "I will leave it to your judgement to decide where the execution will take place, should the murderer be found. I will also instruct you in some sorcery so that if you talk to anyone who is accused, he will be forced to answer you and forced to answer you truthfully."

I had four men with me as an escort, not nearly enough to fight off an army but perhaps sufficient to deal with a lone assassin. So I hoped, at any rate. Two of the men, Gretton and Helmlitz, had also been part of Valetian's escort, and it was they who had brought the news of his murder back to Mordor. I spent a good deal of time on the journey getting the details of this from them as well as general knowledge of Savzec and his kingdom, and, more immediately useful, guidance as to what directions we should take to get there. They told me that the murder had been carried out by a single fast-moving assassin who had appeared suddenly from evening shadows in the palace gardens, delivered a single deadly sword thrust and then vanished back into the shadows. Gretton and Helmlitz had tried to pursue but tangled shrubbery and winding, unfamiliar passageways had defeated them. They thought it quite possible that the assassin had been under the orders of a disaffected noble rather than the king himself. They thought the most likely candidate was the Duke of Dastwec, who was opposed to any dealings with Mordor.

The journey east was much faster than the roundabout route Hatzgelg and I had taken. There was a straight, well-maintained road and until we passed the eastern border of Mordor there were posting stations where we could exchange horses or spend a night in reasonable comfort. Once we saw one of the orc patrols that kept the road safe, and we encountered three small convoys of food carts and slaves on their way to the dark tower. Until we left Mordor there was no agriculture although there were occasional herds of sheep that became more numerous the further east we went. Once over the border and into Sauron's vassal kingdom of Strezogard, the countryside slowly became greener and more productive. We took a well-used north-easterly trade route through Strezogard and thus reached the border with Cevanch a morning after Ertseg, just as we had planned.

I had expected to have trouble at the border post but the guards passed us through quickly enough. King Savzec's chief castle – the border guards had told us he was very likely to be in residence – was a day's ride away. This evening then my work would begin in earnest, most likely in deadly earnest. Close to the road onwards stood a single tree that had small leaves arranged in paired rows, and long black seed pods. It was just beginning to produce blossoms of a colour somewhere between orange and red. I looked at it for a few moments, took a deep breath, and we started off down the road.

If I had seen King Savzec's castle a few months earlier, I would have been impressed by it. It was well placed on a rocky outcrop, and would clearly be hard to besiege and costly to assault. It was reasonably large and had imposing battlements. But compared to the Dark Tower it seemed no more significant than a shepherd's hut. We arrived too late for a formal greeting and reception, and instead we were shown to quarters within the castle. Food arrived and Galzwig had the unenviable task of tasting it first. On the way we had discussed the likelihood that there would be at least one assassination attempt on me, and poison was an obvious means to do this. But then perhaps Galzwig's duty was enviable. There was no poison in the food and he at least enjoyed it while it was hot.

As anticipated, our quarters were not easy to defend but we worked out the best system we could. I made a little speech to outline the plan that Gretton and I had discussed on the road. "We all think it is very likely that whoever killed Valetian will also try to kill me," I said. "There is no reception banquet tonight that I have to go to – perhaps the king does not believe I and the master are worth honouring – but this is our good fortune. Well, my good fortune at least. From now until we finally leave to go home we should stick to our quarters as much as we can, so if the assassin is to strike it will have to be here where we have some control of an area we can defend. Gretton has worked out a plan for how we might prepare for his arrival."

Gretton then outlined in detail where everyone was to be placed when evening fell, and how they were to react. The underlying idea was to capture the assassin alive if possible, using me as the bait. I occupied the central chamber and the castle servants who entered the quarters would already have noticed this. The servants would also have seen that when we were in our quarters everyone appeared to be relaxed and unarmoured, and that no one was carrying any visible weapons. We had also ordered in a good deal of wine and beer for the evening, and two of our number were detailed to feign serious drunkenness. Sadly, most of the wine and beer was really destined for the gutter. The idea was to stick to this routine as long as we were in Cevanch. Presumably one of the servants, intentionally or not, would pass all the information about it on to the assassin. We planned to allow the assassin in and, preferably, get quite close to me, and then we would attempt to capture him alive if we could.

There was no attack that night and the next morning, accompanied by Gretton, I presented myself to the king. For the very first time I wore the full dress uniform of a Lieutenant of the Dark Tower. Of course, this was only temporary, but it was important that I look the part of a proper envoy and I have to admit that I took a good deal of pride in the experience. The clothing was of well-tailored black silk with a small red eye emblazoned on the left breast. I knew a good deal about silk and this was of excellent quality. Black silk is rather rare because the dyestuff is expensive. There was also a tall, elaborately worked helmet which I carried rather than wore. At my side I wore a borrowed sword that was my first experience of dwarf-made weaponry. From a distance, even from quite close up, it looked purely ceremonial, and therefore mostly useless for real fighting, but in fact it was a very well-balanced and deadly weapon. The dwarfs are cunning people.

As we walked at a measured pace towards the king, Gretton quietly told me about some of the people who surrounded him. To the king's right was his wife, a rather nice looking woman, and to her right again were two daughters, who unfortunately seemed to have inherited their looks from their father rather than their mother. Gretton told me that there was also a son and the heir to the throne, but he was only eight years old and presumably at his lessons. At any rate he was not present. A young man dressed in red and gold to the king's left turned out to be his chief advisor and chamberlain. Clearly not all rulers employed greybeards in this role. There were also three other men who were the dukes of Cafzec, Vexzec, and Dastwec. They were all of middle age, much like the king. There were a few other minor nobles or courtiers that Gretton either did not recognize or thought it unimportant to mention. The king and his family were seated. All the others were standing.

I stopped in front of the throne, and bowed low. The flashily dressed chamberlain said, "Your majesty, this is the envoy from Mordor, Caeus of Fronseca."

The king looked at me without apparent emotion.

"Ambassador Caeus," he said. "You are welcome. You are even more welcome if your presence here is an indication that your master, the lord of Mordor, is prepared to accept the recompense we offer for the death of his previous ambassador. I regret to say that so far we have not been able to identify the culprit or anyone who might have incited him to the act, and I fear that this becomes more not less difficult with passing time."

I had not expected him to raise the matter so soon. No matter.

"Your majesty," I replied, bowing again as I said the words. "My master, Sauron the Great, Lord of Mordor, sends you greetings. He will be very pleased when I report back to him that I saw your majesty sitting on your throne in apparent good health and surrounded by your family and faithful lords. He greatly values the friendship with your majesty and with the kingdom of Cevanch."

The king moved slightly in his chair. "And what of my offer?"

"My master will regret deeply that you have not yet been able to discover the murderer or those who might have incited him. However, he anticipated that this might prove a difficult undertaking, so he wishes to offers my services and those of my men to help you in your enquiries. Indeed, we are eager to help."

I paused for quite a long time, but there was no reply to this. I cursed to myself. I would have to continue. "If in the end our joint efforts are unequal to this task, my master would be prepared to consider financial recompense. However, I must inform you that he finds your offer a little low. He would be prepared to accept the equivalent of Valetian's weight in mithril."

This sum, chosen so as to be quite unpayable from a kingdom of Cevanch's resources, even given the most ruthless taxation, drew gasps from the king and many of his entourage. I ignored their reactions.

"My master and the people of Mordor hold all ambassadors in high regard, and regard it as an extremely serious breach of hospitality, honour, and morality either to harm them or to allow them to come to harm. Even ambassadors who bear unwelcome news or offers – as your envoy Ertseg did when he visited Mordor recently – must be immune from harm. The murder of one is an appalling event and one that should galvanise the efforts both of the hosts and of the envoy's own countrymen. They should act together so as to enhance the chances of justice being done and of restoring good relations."

To be honest, I enjoyed making this speech, and, as you can imagine, as an envoy myself I had no difficulty in making it sound sincere. I was sincere. I had thought it an outside chance that the king might respond to it by leaping to his feet, pronouncing himself in full agreement with me and offering complete collaboration in a program to uncover the culprit. But, as I had expected, this did not happen. He nodded once or twice during the speech, but at the end he stroked his beard and said nothing. His chamberlain had no reaction at all; nor did the Duke of Cavzec. Other courtiers had less guarded reactions. The older, or at least taller, of the king's daughters had nodded several times during my speech, as did some of the minor courtiers. The Duke of Vexzec looked disturbed by it. The Duke of Dastwec appeared outraged and it was he who spoke first.

"Sire," he said, speaking to the king, "this speech is insolence. The words are pretty, but in reality the lord of Mordor has no regard for ambassadors or for your health. Ertseg may have been returned, but he has clearly been terrified out of his wits by his experience. It is also plain from his account that even now Mordor assembles an army to attack us. This envoy seeks only to delay our preparation to withstand the assault."

"Calm yourself, Jast," the king replied. "I thank you for your warning, but this is not a matter to be settled in a hasty or angry moment. Ambassador Caeus, could you please leave us for a while? I shall need to consider what you have said. If you would attend us tomorrow morning at around the same time, we could discuss the matter further. I may have a decision for you."

So this evening, too, was to feature no welcoming reception. This was now close to a direct insult but it suited our plans well enough. Gretton and I returned immediately to our quarters. I thought it likely that the next day would seem me imprisoned or executed by the king if he had ordered the original murder. If not, I thought it likely we would be simply ordered out of the kingdom. If the king was not responsible then whoever was would likely expect an expulsion too. Thus, if the assassin wanted to kill me he would try to strike this very night. I discussed this with Gretton and the others and we maintained the same plan of defence as the night before.

Even now I do not think it was a bad plan. It was certainly successful at tempting the assassin, but it came very close to costing Sauron his second envoy to Cevanch.

In the dead of night, when all was dark I felt the tug of the silken thread on my left foot which indicated that there was an intruder and that he had just passed close by where Helmlitz was stationed. I reacted immediately, as did the others. Instantly there was light in the chambers, and I had sprung from my bed, sword in hand.

I had thought that this speed of reaction would discover the intruder in the middle of an empty space, surprised and bewildered, with no obvious target and quickly surrounded by five well-armed and armoured men. After all, we had thought, he would have to move slowly and carefully in the dark. We had underestimated him. I was on my feet at the same time as the lamps came on and at that moment the assassin was just a few feet in front of me. He had moved far further and faster than we had anticipated.

If he had struck then for my head or neck he would have killed me instantly, but instead he struck for my body and his sword glanced off the armour I was wearing and merely ripped through the nightshirt I was wearing on top to disguise it. I was ready to defend against his next stroke, but Galzwig got in a blow first which struck the assassin's sword hand. His blow was a little untidy but effective enough. The intruder grunted and dropped the sword. Blood came from his sword hand. Three men now rushed to hold him to prevent him moving.

"We have to stop the bleeding," Gretton said. He inspected the intruder's sword hand. Half of his little finger had been cut off and the ring finger had lost its tip. Festitz and Gretton tied tourniquets round the fingers.

I seemed incapable of doing anything. Gretton looked across at me. "Didn't you want to interrogate him?" he asked.

I shook myself. I found the opium I had brought with me and poured it into a cup. I added Sauron's truth spice, a few drops of my own blood, and a little water. I held it up for the intruder to drink. He clenched his mouth closed but Helmlitz and Festitz tore off the mask he was wearing and forced his mouth to open. Eventually we got most of the drink down his throat. Then we tied him up and gagged him, and sat him down on a chair. Helmlitz, Galzwig and Festitz returned to take guard against any follow-up attack that might be made and Gretton sat down with me to wait for the truth spice to take effect.

No sooner had Gretton sat than he stood up again. "Caeus," he said, "as I remember it, not far from here is the bedroom of the palace scribe. I could see if he is in his bedroom and bring him here. It might be helpful to have a neutral witness to make a record of what the prisoner says. That is, if you can look after the prisoner alone for a short while."

"Excellent idea. Thank you, Gretton."

Gretton's going was as soundless and swift as the intruder's arrival. While I waited, I studied the intruder. He was about average height, neither fat nor thin, and had an ordinary face and short straight dark hair. He seemed athletic rather than formidable. The bleeding from his hand had stopped. The pupils of his eyes grew larger as the drugs took effect.

Gretton returned with the scribe, a short overweight man with his pen, parchment and ink in hand. I wondered briefly how Gretton had persuaded him to come. The scribe rubbed sleep from his eyes and asked peevishly what we thought we were doing.

"Interrogating a prisoner," I said. "You are here to record everything that is said."

"It's about time. I think the drugs should be working now," I said to Gretton.

He moved behind the prisoner. "I'm going to take off the gag," he said to the prisoner. "Don't shout out."

He removed the gag carefully. The prisoner made no sound.

"Very well", I said and then I recited the incantation Sauron had taught me. The room, previously quite warm, chilled to near freezing as I recited it, and only slowly warmed up over the next while.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch those words," the scribe said, trembling as he did so. I saw that his hair was now standing on end.

"You weren't meant to," I said. Nor would he have understood them, unless by some odd chance he had learnt the Black Speech. "But everything from now on, please."

I spoke now to the prisoner.

"What is your name?" I asked.

"Kesast," he replied, speaking slowly and with a slurred voice but still quite clearly.

"Were you born in Cevanch?"

"Yes."

"In what part?"

"In the duchy of Dastwec."

"Are you related to the Duke of Dastwec?"

"He is my cousin."

"Did you intend to kill me tonight?"

"Yes."

"Is there anyone outside waiting for you?"

"No."

"Did you kill my predecessor, Valetian, the previous envoy from Mordor?"

"Yes."

"Did anyone order or instruct you to kill me tonight?"

"Yes."

"Who?"

"Gessast, the Duke of Vazvec."

"Did he also instruct you to kill Valetian?"

"Yes."

"Did anyone else give you instructions?"

"No."

"Not Jast, Duke of Dastwec?"

"No."

"Not King Savzec?"

"No."

I had guessed as much from the timing of the strike. The king had no obvious reason to assassinate me, and the likely candidate was a duke or some other senior person who wanted Cevanch to take a more hostile stance to Mordor.

"Why did Gessast tell you to kill us?" I continued.

"I don't know. He didn't say."

"Why did you agree?"

"I am his man."

"Was there a reward for your work?"

"A hundred pieces of silver for each of you."

I kept up the questioning for another hour, but learned little new. As I later reported to Sauron, I was just a little uneasy about the answers, as it seemed to me a little odd that the Duke of Dastwec was not involved. But so far as I could tell, the truth spice and the magic were working well enough, and Kesast did tell me about a grudge to do with a woman that he had held against his cousin for many years, so perhaps it was the truth.

At the end, I let the scribe go back to his chambers, although I told him the king would probably want to question him in the morning. Then, after we had agreed on a schedule of a guard for the prisoner and a normal watch, I surprised myself by falling asleep almost immediately.

The next morning I was again summoned before the king. The timing was what I had been led to expect from the day before and the lack of change to it suggested that the king was not aware of the assassination attempt of the night before. Or, perhaps, if he was aware of it, that he wanted to distance himself from it. I decided that Kesast, after again being drugged and enspelled, would come with Gretton and me. Festitz came too, partly as a guard for our prisoner, but principally to make sure that Kesast got there – the man could hardly walk – rather than because we were worried about a further attack from him.

As we walked towards the king and his courtiers I asked myself again who was there and who was not. The Duke of Vazvec was absent. Otherwise the group was as yesterday. So far as I could tell they looked confused by the doubled size of my own party.

I bowed to the king. It is bad manners for an envoy to speak first in someone else's court, but I wanted to prevent the king making an immediate official pronouncement. This might tie his own hands when I needed him to do something different to what he had probably intended. Indeed, I thought it likely that when he had heard me out he himself might want to do something different to what he had intended.
"Your majesty," I began, "please pardon my impertinence." To the side I could see the Duke of Dastwec open his mouth, perhaps close to an enraged protest. "However, I believe you should be told immediately of an unexpected incident that happened last night. It may be important to your deliberations. There was an attempt on my life. I am sure you will be as shocked by this as you were by the assassination of my predecessor. I am happy to say that this attempt was thwarted, and your majesty's honour has not been compromised. Happily, too, this incident has enabled us to identify Valetian's assassin – he stands behind me – and the power behind him. With your majesty's permission, I would very much like the opportunity to explain further and to provide you with some proof of these claims."

There was a moment of silence, which seemed very long to me but which was probably only a short period. When the king's reply came – "Please continue, ambassador. I am shocked to hear of this attempt." – it took an effort of will for me not to sigh loudly in relief.

The session that followed was long but predictable. I outlined what had happened, and backed it up with the written statement taken in the night before. The king then questioned Kesast and the scribe. The scribe was much better dressed than he had been the night before. Presumably he had prepared for the summons.

I had been uncertain whether the truth spell would work for anyone other than the person who had cast the spell, but apparently it did. At any rate Kesast gave the king much the same answers that he had given me. At the end, the king ordered the immediate arrest of the Duke of Vazvec, and then, almost humbly, asked me if I thought that the Lord Sauron would allow him to punish the guilty parties himself rather than send them to Mordor. After a little apparent hesitation on my part, which had the useful effect of persuading King Savzec to include an offer of formal alliance with Mordor in his request, I agreed.

I had witnessed four formal executions when I was with Duke Rasstlin, three of them of bandits we had captured, and I had seen Jaxind execute an orc overseer a month or so before. Over the following years, I was to see still more executions. Indeed, I ordered one or two of them myself. Some of these executions were fast, and some slow. In some the prisoners were humiliated or tortured, in others they retained some dignity until the end. Sometimes the executioner bungled the task, sometimes he was efficient at it. My reaction was the same to all of them. I neither enjoyed nor hated witnessing them. Apart from a small amount of admiration for executioners who could do their job efficiently, and irritation with those who could not, I rarely felt any emotion at all during the process. But if I had little emotion, I did have a strong belief, which I hold to this day. If any justice is to be done, if any order is to be preserved, if society of any kind is to be possible, the lives of murderers, rebels, and assassins must be ended by execution.

Nonetheless, I have to confess to a single exception to my normal feeling of indifference during the punishments themselves. When, some days later, I was a witness to the executions of Kesast and the Duke of Vazvec, I felt real joy.

5

For years after this mission to Cevanch, I spent most of my time as an ambassador to the kingdoms and dominions that lay to the east of Mordor. After four years I was honoured to be made a permanent Lieutenant of the Dark Tower. I negotiated alliances and trade deals, bullied, charmed or forced minor principalities to do homage to Sauron, and signed treaties of friendship or neutrality with the larger powers that bordered on the sea of Rhun or lay further east of it. As I have already said, mountains surround and protect Mordor to the west, north and south, but there is no natural defensive boundary to the east. There are no mountains and there is no large river, just plains and low hills. So Sauron intended that the eastern border should be guarded by a network of treaties before the conquest of Gondor to the west and the destruction of the remaining elf-kingdoms could be undertaken. Where possible, the eastern principalities were to be persuaded to provide soldiers for this coming war as well.

During this time I spent many long days in the saddle riding with small escorts of men or occasionally of orcs. When I reached my destination I would normally be greeted by a ruler clothed in imperfectly cured fur and an initial presumption that he was entitled to regard himself as the equal of my master. Occasionally, I must admit, some policy or momentary need allowed him to retain his presumption of equality even after I had left. We would talk. I would be told about or shown the glories of his kingdom and his army. Exhibitions of military prowess would be arranged. Sometimes these were impressive, but more often I found myself reflecting on how the fighting ability of the principality might be improved, and how I could persuade the ruler to bring about the changes necessary to do this.

Feasts would be held where the number of large fatty animals slaughtered and half-cooked would often exceed the number of people invited to eat them. I ate a good deal of undercooked fat and gristle in Sauron's service. Unsurprisingly the petty ruler, unless he was quite young, was normally fat. My own near-constant movement helped me to avoid the same fate.

Often, I would be offered young women to warm my bed. Sometimes they were quite good-looking, but very commonly their clothing covered bruises of different ages; their perfumes masked a reluctance to wash; and their apparent lustfulness masked fear – whether of me, my master, or the petty ruler I was negotiating with was not always clear. I became amazed at the ingenuity with which men could obtain alcohol from the most unlikely of bases, although often I wondered whether the ingenuity might have been more usefully applied either to learning how to grow and ferment grapes properly or to discovering some more or less friendly neighbour from whom decent wine could be imported. Often the petty ruler had broken veins in his face and nose.

My very first mission, the journey to Cevanch that I have just described, remains fresh in my mind because it was the first. In later years I came to recognise that its success was mostly the result of good luck combined with some very good advice from Gretton rather than extraordinary competence on my part. The luck did not end with the mission because the consequence of its success was to start me on my long career as a spokesman for Sauron. But the details of most of my many later journeys blur in my mind. Was it in Strezogard or Alemstegg that I was offered a wine created from sheep's urine? Was it Prince Gazzinstall or the Lord of Zhen Hasstor who beheaded one of his followers at his daughter's wedding? Where did I encounter the girl with eyes that in candlelight seemed quite as golden as her hair?

Of them all, the second visit I paid to Helstorix's kingdom is the one of whose details I am most certain. That is probably because it began with an unusual purpose. I did not go there to sign a treaty of friendship or trade – I had already done this the year before. I went on a quite different mission. Helstorix had somehow captured an elf-woman and now offered to trade her to Sauron. My mission was to discover what price Helstorix would ask in exchange, to pay it, and then to bring her back to Mordor alive and untouched.

Sauron did not tell me why he wanted the prisoner, but he must have been enormously eager to have her. I was given a large quantity of gold to take with me, and I was told that if it turned out to be necessary for the deal I could also authorise delivery of up to a thousand coats of mail over the next year, with one hundred of them dwarf made. When Sauron told me this, I was open-mouthed. It was a staggeringly large ransom. As he gave me his final instructions he was as complete, as man-like, as I ever saw him.

"I rarely say things twice to you, Caeus, but this time I shall. Neither you nor any man shall touch or harm her." The dark clouds surrounding him moved like heavy curtains in a breeze. "This will be harder than you now realise. Take only two or three men with you that you can trust, and ride as quickly as you can on the return."

I did not really understand the purpose of this. "I had thought to take a company of orcs as escort as her safe return is obviously important to you," I said.

His eye flared red, but his voice remained quiet. "No. Take no orcs at all. They are hard to discipline at any time, but, in the presence of an elf-woman, you would find them quite uncontrollable. You would not last a day on the return journey. No. It must be men. Only two or three you can trust. And even then you will have to remind them of their duty every day. Tell them I will flay them over weeks if they touch her." The curtains moved in apparent anger and the eye glared at me. "I would flay you, too. All of you. Now go."

I chose three companions for the road. Had the mission come a few months earlier I would immediately have chosen Gretton, who I trusted and respected beyond all the other men in Sauron's service. But Gretton had recently retired. So I chose Jamon and Hraddit, both older men who had long been in Sauron's service. I knew both to be disciplined and to have no obvious inclination to either cruelty or mercy. I decided to add Alston to our party. He was younger but stolid and unimaginative, and perhaps the most disciplined soldier in Mordor. But even these carefully chosen companions talked on the way to Helstorix's kingdom, wondering what elf-women were like and what dangers there might be in bringing her back. I could not answer any of their questions. I had never seen an elf, male or female, and I had no idea how she had been captured or whether or not her people were in a position to attempt a realistic rescue.

For what it was worth, I had found Helstorix one of the more likeable of the eastern rulers I had dealt with. He was an older grey-bearded man who was also one of our more civilised allies. He wore silks rather than furs when he greeted me, and I remember noticing that the style and cut of the cloth was similar to that from our own estate, but not quite the same. The welcoming dinner featured the usual solid mass of roasted meat but there were also some interesting fruits, and to my great surprise and delight the wine was excellent.

We talked about the general politics of the area. Helstorix told me that, since I had last visited him, he had briefly been at war with a small dominion to his north west. "A month ago I led a force to take one of their towns," he said. "It's on a river and they have a good deal of trade with an elf kingdom that is still further to the north. They send the elves wine and receive some very finely worked stuff in return. Incidentally, do you like the wine?"

"Very much, your majesty" I said truthfully.

"Spoils of war," said Helstorix. "We took a number of barrels of it along with the town. It's the same wine as they send the elves."

"The elves have good taste then."

"Indeed they do. Comes from being immortal, I expect. They have a lot of time to cultivate good taste in wine…. That's not all we took. It turned out that there were elves in the town when we captured it. The men… men elves… male elves escaped, but the female elf, elf woman I suppose, we captured. I brought her back here as a spoil of war too. And she is the one I'm offering to you."
"May I ask why, your majesty?"

"Why?"

"Yes, why? If she's so important and desirable, why don't you hang on to her yourself?"

Helstorix looked at me. He smiled. "Have you ever met any elves?" he asked.

"No, your majesty. Never. I have never even seen one from a distance."

"Would you like to?"

"Of course, your majesty. I am very curious."

"Now?"

"Why not? Please."

Helstorix stood up a little unsteadily and led the way out of the feasting hall, and into the citadel which was built alongside. We walked up two flights of steps.

"So you don't have her down in the dungeons, your majesty," I said.

"Oh no," he replied, "It would be impossible to trust the turnkeys."

The top of the steps opened out into a small hall. A large plump man rose to his feet from behind a wooden table as Helstorix approached.

"Good evening, your majesty." The plump man spoke in a voice as high as a woman's.

"Good evening, Narcen. Is everything in order?"

"Yes, your majesty."

"This is Lord Caeus, the envoy from Mordor. We want to see the prisoner."

"Of course, your majesty. This is the inner key." He handed a key to Helstorix and then gave us each a torch.

Helstorix led the way down a short corridor. A guard stood by a door on the left. He came to attention as we approached.

"Good evening, Momasuf," said Helstorix. "We want to see the prisoner."

"Of course, your majesty." Momasuf's voice was also high and, like Narcen, he seemed very close-shaven, although not at all plump. He reached down and unblocked the door. We came into a small hall no more than a man's height in length. Helstorix waited until the door locked behind us, and only then approached the next door.

"This seems an unusual security system, your majesty," I remarked.

"Yes… The basic rules are that no one, not even me, can see the prisoner alone, and that there must always be a closed and locked door between her and the outside world."

He knocked, waited a few seconds, unlocked and opened the door with the key Narcen had given him, and then led the way in.

My first reaction was surprise. After the elaborate security I had expected to confront someone of troll height and weight chained to a wall. What I saw though in that first instant was a woman standing in front of a chair. At first she was turned slightly away from us, and I could see only that she was of medium height, slim and dressed in a simple shift of pale green. There were light chains on her feet. Why all the precautions, I wondered.

Helstorix moved to one side so I could see her more clearly. The woman turned to face him and curtsied with her head bowed. "Good evening, your majesty," she said in a voice that was quiet and so gentle it seemed to stroke the hairs on the back of my neck, "and you have brought a visitor". At that moment, she raised her head to look me full in the face.

If I had suddenly fallen into freezing water it would have been less of a shock. I had never imagined any woman could be so beautiful. I stared at her. Instantly I was unable to take my eyes off her, unable to even imagine taking my eyes off her.

When I had thought about it at all before this meeting, I had imagined elves to have blue eyes beneath golden hair. In the torch and candle light of the room her eyes appeared black, but they sparkled. Her face was pale. Her hair, cut surprisingly short, was as dark as her eyes. She had a well-shaped mouth, nose, ears …. I am aware, as I write this, that this description will tell you next to nothing. Many women have a slim build, dark hair and eyes, regular features, and a pale complexion. Quite a number of these women are attractive. But I will guarantee that no woman you have ever seen looked anything like her. I cannot describe what it was about her that produced such a feeling in me. Let me say simply that looking at her was shocking. It was shocking in the way that being hit in the leg or shoulder by an arrow is shocking, except that the sensation that accompanied the shock was one of joy and wonder rather than pain.

Moments passed in silence. I knew that I should speak, say my name and mission in response to her, maybe even attempt some small talk, but my chest had frozen. I wondered how I would ever take another breath. I could not possibly speak.

Helstorix could. "Danariel," he said. "May I introduce you to the envoy from Sauron? There is a good chance you will be going with him to Mordor."

In an instant, her quiet curiosity about me turned to horror.

"To Mordor!" she said, taking step backwards. "Evil day…But he looks like a normal man! Surely Sauron's envoy should be an orc, or if a man some hideous creature that has evil written on his face." She paused, and then, almost as though that moment of horror, indeed of terror, had never been, she continued quite drily, "And if he is an envoy, he is an unusually silent one. He has not told me his name. Shall I simply call him the mouth of Sauron?"

That had been a quick recovery. It argued that she possessed courage as well as beauty. But still I could not speak, only stare.

Then, finally, somehow I had accumulated enough breath to speak into the silence which had fallen: "My lady." My voice came out as a hoarse whisper. "I hope to make your journey as swift and comfortable as possible." Even as I said them I knew that these were not the right words. They were banal. Perhaps she thought that I intended them to be mocking or cruel, but I had no such purpose. I do not think I had any purpose apart from breaking an embarrassing silence. My mind was bound even more tightly that my lungs, and I found I could think of nothing else to say.

Helstorix brought the conversation, such as it was, to an end. "And now I'm afraid we must go. We shall see you tomorrow, Danariel." He bowed slightly, pushed me out of the door and followed me, and then locked it carefully afterwards.

Neither of us said anything until we had returned to our places at the table. A servant poured me some wine and I drank it.

"And now you begin to understand, don't you?" he said. "Yes, I thought at first I would have her as a concubine. What man would not? She's an absolute stunner, isn't she? But she said simply 'I would not enjoy that. I would prefer that you didn't.' There was no threat but, as she said it, I knew that if I did, then at some point, maybe weeks, maybe days, maybe only hours off, I would lower my guard and she would find a way to kill me… Of course, it might have been worth it, and if I was a younger man I would probably have acted rather differently." He sighed. "So, tell me, what does Sauron want with her?"

Images passed through my brain. None were very pleasing and many were horrible. "I don't know. Maybe he wants information, maybe she holds some magical key, maybe ... I simply don't know."

Helstorix shrugged. "Well…She is not the only captive elf I have at present. There are two others. Male elves. You'll see them in the arena tomorrow. We shall see how they fight, eh? They didn't come with Danariel. We captured them only few days ago. They were walking through my kingdom as if they owned it. Can you believe it? I've never seen elves before in my life, so it's odd that there should be these two separate incidents with them. The two male elves will get to face picked men from my guard. Hee hee." He smiled in anticipation.

Many of the kingdoms to the east have the custom of executing captives by having them fight in public. The events are sometimes lengthened by public executions of criminals as well. I always thought it possible that men in the east learnt to have spectacles of this kind from the orcs, who like nothing better than watching blood sports. For eastern men such fights are popular, just as they are for the orcs, and often a ruler in this part of the world can improve his finances by advertising the events and selling places in the arena. As a rule the most expensive places, and those reserved for the ruler and his friends, are near the fighting area. The cheaper seats are further away from the action.

As the ambassador of Mordor, I was of course seated in the front row, quite near the king. One of his daughters sat on my right. I have forgotten her name but I do remember that she was quite small, wore a very low-cut dress, and had a sweet, almost kitten-like face. For some reason I did not find her in the least bit attractive. Jamon was on my left. The arena itself was circular and small, perhaps twenty metres across, and there were circles of seats all around it. There were twenty-two rows of these, and the rows were arranged so that those sitting behind were always higher than those in front and so had a good view. The front row of seats was already a good distance off the ground so that it would be very hard for anyone in the arena to leap out and attack a spectator. When I arrived, the seating of the arena was almost completely full, mostly with men, but with a good sprinkling of women. There were even one or two children. Perhaps this was supposed to be part of their education. Most of the spectators seemed to be well-dressed, and some of the women were elaborately made up. Although it was not quite mid-morning many of the spectators were already drunk. Except for the area near the king, there was no shade. The day was warm and promised to be hot, yet many people wore fine well-dressed furs. I thought that crowd control was likely to be a concern later in the day, but then reflected that this problem at least would not be mine.

I had a large enough problem of my own. I was trying to think out how I would manage to get Danariel back to Mordor. I was less worried about her escaping than of her seducing my men on the way, to be honest of her seducing me as well. I supposed I could ask her to cover herself completely, veiling her face as some of the women in regions near Fronseca do, but would she do this if I asked? I could suggest, for example, that it would be advisable to protect her from rape, but then what would I reply if she said she would preferred to be raped by any number of men rather than be delivered to Sauron in the Dark Tower? An alternative was to force her to conceal herself, perhaps in a covered litter, and perhaps ask Helstorix for some eunuchs to guard her, but then she would still need to be let out from time to time. I could not see a way to conceal her for the whole journey. Perhaps I should ask to borrow a eunuch or two in any case.

The opening of the show distracted me from the seemingly insoluble problem. First up in the arena was a brief performance from a troupe of dancing girls, who wore little and were very athletic. They received good crowd support. Then there were two executions. Each was preceded by speeches from the king's justice, explaining the nature of the crime and the sentence to be carried out. The second criminal, who had been convicted of murdering a tax gatherer, spoke too. Perhaps he simply wanted to gain a few more minutes of life. He protested his innocence and pleaded for mercy, but the crowd interrupted his speech with cries that the execution should proceed. Most likely this was because he did not speak well rather than because they had much sympathy with the tax gatherer. Often such public executions are long drawn-out affairs, with a good deal of screaming and torture, but both of these were simple beheadings. Fountains of blood from the neck were produced, and the crowd roared when the executioner held up the heads afterwards.

There was an athletic performance by some male tumblers, presumably for the benefit of the women present, because it was their calls and laughter that were loudest during the show. Like the troupe of dancing girls, the men wore little. There was another athletic performance from women, a good deal lewder than the first one. By now the crowd was well worked up, and the dancing girls received a constant stream of suggestions and offers of various kinds from the male and even some of the female spectators.

Then at last we reached the main event. There was a pause of a few minutes, broken when the tension had grown to a certain level by a squeal of trumpets. From a door opposite me the two elves emerged. They looked like slim men, although unusually handsome ones. Neither had armour or mail but each had a light helmet, and carried a short sword and a small shield. One was slightly taller and wore a light blue scarf. The other had a red band around his right sleeve. They seemed to stagger slightly as they walked quietly to take up positions on opposite sides of the arena. Both gave the impression of not being quite there, of not quite being aware of their surroundings. I said something about this to the king's daughter.

She spoke in my ear. "Of course, they have been drugged."

"Drugged?"

"Yes. You didn't really think this would be a fair fight, did you? They have been drugged so that they will not be able to fight properly. To be honest with you, Lord Caeus, I am not sure this is a good idea. I really hope they have not been so badly drugged that they cannot put on a decent show for us. That would be a great shame." She smiled with surprising sweetness.

At the moment the elves had first stepped into the arena a single drum had started beating. At first the beat was very slow but then gradually it became more rapid. More drums joined the beat, one with a hint of syncopation. The crowd began to clap in time. More trumpets sounded and another door opened just underneath the king. Four men strode out and the crowd roared its support.

They were big, tall men, young and well-muscled. Each carried a large shield and a long spear, and had a short sword at his belt. They were very well equipped to face cavalry, but for facing a light-clad enemy on foot the spears looked rather too long. They were identically clad in mail shirts underneath a breast plate. They wore full helmets and grey metal leg greaves. There was a reasonably sized gap between the bottom of the mail shirts and the leg greaves. It showed their bare thigh muscles off to advantage. No doubt this was very pleasing to the eye for the women who were watching. I thought the choice of armour poor: too much or too little. Too much to match the elves for agility. Too little for all round protection. For a moment the men waited, spears lowered and shields up but making no move towards either elf. Then, when the cheering died down, they moved in a diamond formation, with three men facing the elf they were advancing on, the one with the blue scarf, and the other facing away, towards the elf with the red band, but holding formation with the other three. This was a solid formation but having the four men fight in a single formation gave away the advantage of distraction that is such an important part of having a superiority of numbers. I thought it would have been better to form two groups of two and then have each group take on one of the elves. I would have thrown the spears away too.

Behind me I could hear someone crying out odds. "Ten to one on the guard. Twelve to one against the elves." I saw few takers when I looked around.

The diamond of men moved towards blue scarf at a little less than normal walking pace, the spears of the three facing forwards and perfectly parallel. Blue scarf retreated easily, keeping out of spear-thrust range. His fellow elf followed the diamond at about the same distance. The whole ensemble completed a slow circuit of the arena, and then began another. Then suddenly the diamond of men was quite near to blue scarf, who had seemed to stumble. A spear whipped out quickly but the elf dodged just in time and resumed his previous distance. The retreat and pursuit continued. Another circuit and there was another stumble from blue scarf and again he seemed to evade the spear point only by luck. Blue scarf sped up his retreat slightly. The procession around the arena continued. There were a few cries from the crowd. "Finish him off", "What are you waiting for?" "When are you going to fight?" "Get a longer spear". Another stumble. Another near miss. The diamond of men increases the pace. The elves increase their own pace to match. Another two circuits. Another stumble. This time the elf with the blue scarf has to dodge two spear-points, and it seems almost impossible that he can manage it. But he does.

So. That makes four near misses. Blue scarf must be the luckiest elf alive. Or is he? At this moment I remember a remark that my father had made many years before about elves. He had said that elves were often immune to poison. And now I come to think about it, my elf-language tutor had said something quite similar. He had said that elves had a different metabolism to men and that many drugs that affect men had little or no effect on them. Is it possible then that the elves in the arena have not really been affected by the drugs they have been dosed with but are only faking an effect? How likely is it that whoever administered the drugs to them would know that elves have a different metabolism? The king had never seen elves before. How would the prison or arena overseer have seen them? Even if he did know about the different metabolism, how could he have any idea what the correct drug dosages for elves might be? Nor, when I come to think of it, does it seem very likely that elves this agile would be easily captured. Yet neither has any obvious injuries. While I am thinking this through, the elves and men complete another circuit and blue scarf stumbles or appears to stumble again. I wish I had insisted on bringing Hraddit and Alston, and that it had been possible to wear armour to this event. I check I can draw my own sword quickly if I need to, and then turn and whisper in Jamon's ear: "Loosen your sword. Be ready in case the elves come up here." He looks completely bewildered when I say this, and I do not have a short explanation for him, but he does as I say.

The shouting bookmaker behind me lengthens the odds against the elves to fifteen to one. For an instant of madness, I wonder about placing a bet on them, but of course it is impossible. An ambassador cannot bet against his host's men. Nor, I suspect, will I have time. The crowd is now wearied by the circular parading and many people start to hiss. The diamond of men moves still faster. The elves still keep their distance.

Then there is a moment when the three spears facing forwards are no longer quite parallel. The middle spear is pointing slightly to the left, the rightmost one has swung to the right. Instantly, blue scarf halts his retreat, and darts into the gap. The diamond halts; the spears swing in. Blue scarf quickly jumps back out of range. The man at the back briefly collides back to back with one of his fellows, the leftmost man of the diamond. They momentarily face each other, not the elves. Red band moves in, decides against striking, and then moves out again. Only two men are now facing blue scarf. Blue scarf moves forward again. It is as though the two elves are connected by a flexible rope, so coordinated are their movements. The leader of the four guards tells his left-hand man to face forward not back, but this command seems to distract the rear guard. The rear guard's spear is now pointing away from red band and for a moment he is half turned towards blue scarf.

Red band strikes, swift as a snake. He moves well to his left and then in, well away from the rearguard's spear. The left front man is concentrated completely on blue scarf when the sword thrust takes him on the back of his bare, unprotected thigh, just below the bottom of his mail shirt. He is hamstrung and immediately falls. Red band leaps back. The men turn to look at their comrade, only for an instant, but it is enough. Blue scarf strikes, opening up a gash on the front of the thigh of the right front man. Blue scarf jumps back just before the leader impales him with a spear thrust. Red band now advances directly on the rearguard, swatting the spear away with his shield, striking again for the thigh.

Three men are now down. I stand, draw my sword and take guard. I expect the elves to kill the last spearman quickly, vault out of the arena, and attack the king. But they do not. Instead they rush the door that the spearmen originally came out of, cut down the two men who are guarding it, and vanish down the tunnel. There are cries from underneath. I try to work out where the elves are headed from the changing positions of the cries but it very quickly becomes hopeless, as these sounds are drowned by the roar of the crowd, the angry bellowing of the king and his officers, and the screaming of his daughter in my ear. I face back up the stand, expecting the elves to emerge from some entryway and then attack down towards the king. Jamon positions himself beside me. We wait.

The king's daughter shouts in my ear. "That was an incompetent performance from our men. I shall ask my father to have the survivors put in the arena themselves next month. Don't you think that would be fair?"

I am suddenly a little angry. "No. Not really, your highness," I say. The girl's eyes widen but at least she stops shouting.

The loudness of the various noises decreased a little. One or two people cried out for the entertainment to resume. Not much chance of that, I thought. There was no attack. I thought about how the elves had come to be captured. It seemed more and more possible that they had allowed it to happen, perhaps even wanted it to happen. Why would they do that? To attack the king? That had been my first answer, but if so the chance was disappearing. Another answer now seemed much more likely: They had come to rescue the elf-woman. I moved towards the king, who remained in his seat surrounded by his guard, having – or so I presumed – despatched officers to organise the recapture of the elves.

The king greeted me without much enthusiasm.

"May I ask if you have recaptured the elves yet, your majesty?" I asked.

He looked at me with even greater caution. "No. I have men looking for them, Caeus. It won't take them long."

"I was wondering if they might try to rescue the elf-woman, your majesty. Have you checked that she is still in your hands?"

He nodded. "Yes. That had occurred to me as well. I have just sent Jaffens, one of my officers, to check she is still in her quarters in the north tower."

We continued to wait. As we waited, I thought about the coordination of the two elves. It had seemed nearly magical. Perhaps it had been magical, and they really had fought with their minds connected. After all, I had a mind connection with Sauron, although we had never used it for fighting. An army that could fight with that kind of coordination would be incredibly strong. Indeed, how could an army of elves be defeated? Perhaps only if a single mind could dominate and direct all the soldiers of an opposing army as one. Perhaps this was how Sauron had tried to fight them an age ago.

The crowd's roar reduced to a murmur and then, as though all at once they had reached some common decision, they began to stream out of the arena. The king's daughter came over to complain.

"Father", she said, "is all the entertainment over? I was so looking forward to seeing your lions eat the rebel leader."

Helstorix reacted to this quite mildly I thought. "I'm afraid so, my dear. It would be a bit distracting to have to deal with the lions right now. We need to focus on recapturing the elves."

She licked her lips. It was a curiously demure gesture. "Oh, yes. Do that, please, father. I would love to see them in the arena again."

But she was never to have the chance. A few minutes later, Jaffens returned with the news that the elf-woman too had vanished and her guards were dead. One witness had seen the three elves riding away, and a citizen had apparently complained that his horse had been stolen.

Helstorix's face initially purpled in anger, and I thought he was about to scream in rage or frustration. Then suddenly he paled. "Lord Caeus," he said, turning to me, "I am extremely sorry about this. I shall order the search parties to be sent out immediately. Of course, I am sure we will be able to recapture her. And in the meantime we shall make you and your men as comfortable as we can for the few days it will take. Lord Sauron will have to endure only a small delay."

Would any of the arena's bookmakers consider giving reasonable odds on the recapture? Surely not without a sword at his throat, I thought.

"Of course, your majesty," I said. "I have every confidence. And perhaps if you have a little free time amidst these cares you might consider one or two other little pieces of business that I could put before you as we wait?"

The hours and days dragged past without any trace of the elves. When it was finally obvious to Helstorix himself that there was no likelihood of recapturing them and every likelihood that Sauron would be incandescent with fury when I reported what had happened, I suggested to him that it might be wise to alter his treaty of friendship to one of alliance and vassalage. I was just a little sorry for him as I recommended this, but at least, I thought to myself, as I watched Helstorix sign the new agreement, I did not have the job of trying to convey the elf woman to the Dark Tower. I doubted then, and still do, whether I would have made it.

6

You might think that I would have felt the weight of Sauron's anger over the failure of my mission to obtain the elf-woman, but this did not happen. It was not my fault that she had escaped, and Sauron recognised that it was not my fault. In fact, in many ways Sauron was a very fair employer. He could be, and often was, totally ruthless, but he was also extremely realistic about what could or could not be accomplished. He was decisive and I cannot recall him ever giving contradictory orders, either to me or to anyone else. Although he hated being lied to, this rarely happened either, perhaps because he had a mind bond with many of his servants, particularly those that he saw or employed most frequently. I myself never tried to lie to him, but I am not sure if I could have managed it anyway. So, for example, he must have known or guessed that I would have had difficulty bringing the elf-woman back successfully, although I would have done my very best, and I made no attempt to conceal this.

The other men and one or two women that he employed were treated in the same way. We worked hard for him. He recognised this and treated us well, and when there was discontent among his men it was more likely to be directed against Sauron's other people than against Sauron himself. So far as I could tell, the dwarfs were also well treated, the orcs much less so.

I am sure that Sauron's good treatment of us arose much more from self-interest than kindness. He recruited allies and vassals among the kingdoms of men to the south and east of Mordor, and the men who fought in these armies numbered in the thousands, at the end in the tens of thousands, but there were never many men in his direct service. Few could be persuaded to undertake it. The land of Mordor was bleak and forbidding; Sauron in person – if that is the right word – was often frightening; the orcs were ugly, fearsome, unpredictable and dangerous; the ringwraiths were downright terrifying. But the biggest problem was that the death rate of those working for Sauron was quite high, so that constant recruitment was necessary just to replace those who died in his service. Occasionally emissaries such as myself died on our travels or when the local ruler decided to put us to death, sometimes with a good reason but usually without one. I had one or two worrying moments myself, although I was never as close to death as I had been on my first mission to Cevanch. Some men died in battle on the western frontier. Many more died in the small-scale but frequent orc rebellions or at the hands of the bandits, usually orcs again, that infested the borders of the realm. So not many men survived to retirement age, although this did occasionally happen. Folgrim retired a year or two after I entered Sauron's service. The ever-reliable Gretton had retired shortly before the mission to Helstorix's kingdom that I have just described. He told me when he left that he planned to raise sheep on a farm in the area of his birth, the uplands of Alemstegg. I was very sad to see him go.

Sauron needed his men. Some orcs made reliable troop leaders – Shagrat was a reasonable example – but there were never enough of these. It always seemed to me that the trouble was with the basic nature of orcs. It wasn't so much that they were stupid – some were, but then some men are stupid too – but rather that for the most part they had very little control over their anger. As a result they made excellent fighters, but not very good soldiers. They were difficult to command and very difficult to organise into any kind of large effective fighting formation. It was out of the question that any of them could ever have been employed as a diplomat, but equally they made poor strategists and tacticians. However, the shortage of men in Sauron's service meant that often the orcs were given tasks for which they were completely unsuited, acting as overseers on the slave farms for example.

I never got to know any dwarf as well I got to know Shagrat. Nor did I ever feel I understood them, even to the limited extent that I understood the orcs. They were certainly much more patient than the orcs, and quite capable of organisation. But, even if orcs and men had been willing to accept their leadership and the orcs certainly were not, the dwarfs themselves were not much interested in providing it. So far as I could see they were interested in mining, metal and stone work, and other dwarfs, and not much else. But if that made them poor leaders – except of each other – it made them easy to manage. Sauron just needed to find them a place in Mordor for a forge or a promising area to mine, provide them with a work-force if they asked for it – naturally they made their own tools – and leave them to get on with it.

There were a few trolls. These were large, enormously strong creatures. They were roughly man-shaped but bigger, and from what I could see they had little more intelligence than animals. Someone once told me that they normally turned to stone if they were exposed to daylight but that those in Sauron's service had been enthralled by spells and were able to cope with the sun, although I noticed that they still seemed prone to blundering into walls in the daytime. So far as I could tell they were useful for simple tasks requiring great strength but not much else.

Actually the wolves always seemed to me more intelligent than the trolls. They were ferocious and easily capable of coordination in the packs of ten to twenty animals that they formed. I quickly learned to follow the example of the other men and to treat them with great caution and respect.

Sauron also bred a few creatures which I had never seen elsewhere. Largest of these were the cold dragons. These were enormous flying creatures that were bred to carry the weight of a heavy man over long distances. They had long necks, sharp teeth in small, bony heads, and wings like a bat rather than a bird. They had no fur or feathers, and their bare skin smelt of sewers. Each had two feet that looked like bird feet, and these feet were tipped with long claws. Unlike the dragons of the legends they did not breathe fire.

Best regarded of all his servants, at least by Sauron himself, were the ringwraiths. As my father had told me years before, they were men who had achieved immortality through the rings that Sauron had given them. Whether they were still men now was something that would occasionally be a matter for muttered debate at our mess table. No one really wanted to admit it, but I think all of us were terrified of them. Sauron himself could be terrifying, and when he chose he was more terrifying than any ringwraith but his terrifying moments, at least in my experience and that of the other men, came seldom. Encounter with a ringwraith was always terrifying. Fortunately for us, they were not housed in the Dark Tower, and normally lived in a partly ruined city in a valley in the western mountain range of Mordor, but from time to time one or more of them would come to the tower, and their presence would be felt as a cold chill by everyone in it. If one had to be close to them – for example, if one saw a ringwraith at the end of a corridor, or was together with one in the throne room – the chill became a terror that made one's hair stand on end.

It was hard to know exactly why they were so terrifying. They were invisible, except for robes that they wore, and the robes were usually just ordinary black capes. Many men and orcs wore similar clothing. Their voices were cold whispers or harsh cries, but the terror did not come from the voices alone. The wraiths were usually silent, and the terror was much the same. It was as though the production of terror was simply part of their nature, perhaps the most vital part of their nature, as though they breathed out terror in the way that the rest of us breathed out used air.

Even those men who had been in Sauron's service longest knew very little about them. It was rumoured that they sensed life by smell or heat rather than by sight. It was rumoured that they killed men, dwarfs and orcs and drank their blood. It was rumoured that they would eat human flesh. It was rumoured that they could torture the souls of those they killed after they were dead. But no one had ever seen them do any of these things, or at any rate no one ever said that they had seen them, and so no one really knew.

Iluva feared them above all. Once we talked about it.

"I'll be honest," I said. "They terrify me. I think they terrify all of us."

She smiled, or tried to. "That's partly because you came close to one today."

I shrugged. It was true.

"You would fear them more if you were a woman."

"Really. Why?"

"Have you ever asked yourself why there are so few women in Sauron's service? At present, I am the only one."

This was true. "I have never really considered it," I said. "You must admit that what we do is normally thought of as a man's job. I wouldn't expect to meet many women here."

"There have been more. There were at least another two when you arrived. Bronhara and Anghanne. Do you remember them?"

"Yes, but not very well. I never got to know them."

"Do you know what happened to them?"

I thought for a while. "No. I do remember they seemed to go at different times. Anghanne went first. I remember she was quite old and I thought she might have retired when I was away somewhere. I have no idea what happened to Bronhara." Aging men in Sauron's service did sometimes simply retire. They took their savings – often quite substantial – and retired away from Mordor. Occasionally on my travels I had looked such men up, partly to see how they were but mainly to get background information on the places they had chosen to settle in. When I visited or passed through Alemstegg, for example, I usually talked with Gretton, if I had time and if I could find him at home when I called, and he was always full of information about his new home. As a rule the men were happy to see and talk to me – certainly Gretton always was – but they were also happy to be out of Mordor. But I had never talked to Anghanne or Bronhara outside of Mordor and I would not have known where to find them.

"They disappeared at different times," Iluva told me. "Completely disappeared. No warning. No bodies. No trace. No reports of having been killed by enemies. But both were last seen close to the same place, Minas Morgul, the tower in the western valley where the ringwraiths live. No one knows what became of them after that. But they felt what I feel when they met the wraiths."

"Fear? We all feel that."

"Yes, but there is something else as well. Something as well as fear. When a ringwraith looks at me, it is as though I had large spiders crawling over my skin. All over me. Everywhere. It happens every time they look at me, or at least when I think they are looking at me."

"Oh … That is different. I've never felt that."

"No. The men don't. But many of the women do." She lowered her voice. "I warn newcomers about it."

A month or so previously another woman – a young, pretty, small, fair-headed, rather bad-tempered woman from somewhere in the north-east – had come for a brief trial, but she hadn't stayed. I wondered if Iluva had talked to her.

"Yes, I did," Iluva said.

"Was that why she left?"

"Perhaps partly. There were other reasons."

"Did you ever mention any of this to Sauron?" I asked. "No, maybe not…."

"Well, I did once actually. He said that the wraiths were under orders not to mix with the living men or women in the tower. You must have noticed that they never come in here." We were talking in a corner of the mess hall. "He was silent for a while and then he said simply that he would advise me to stay clear of Minas Morgul."

I thought a little. "That may not be easy for you to do," I said. It was well-known, although Iluva herself never talked about it, that much of her work was spying for Sauron in Gondor, and the paths from Mordor to Gondor lay either through the Black Gate or through Minas Morgul.

"No," she said. "If I am travelling west I always leave through the gate but still sometimes I have to go close to Minas Morgul. I get the same feeling of something crawling all over me if I go close to it. "

Over the years I came to know Iluva well, perhaps better than I knew any of the men. I sometimes wonder why we never slept together, but we never did. It would have created difficulties, but in my experience that does not seem to stop people. Maybe it was simply that the right opportunity never came up. But in other ways we were very open with each other. I would not have confessed to many of the men that I found the wraiths terrifying, for example.

Her refusal to talk about her travels into Gondor was mainly a security issue. There would always have been a chance that one of us might be captured by a patrol from Gondor and then let slip – perhaps by accident, perhaps under torture – something that exposed her. So she never told anyone when she was leaving, although sometimes she would tell stories about things she had seen there. Little things like what people were wearing or the latest joke rather than matters of high politics. I knew she had a different name and identity when she was there but she never told me what it was and I never asked. I guessed that she was from the minor nobility of the kingdom, but again I never found out for sure.

She never told me exactly why she had come to leave Gondor – she had been born in the kingdom somewhere near the coast – but she did once say that her grandfather, the one who had given her the mithril rabbit she always wore around her neck, had been executed on the orders of the ruling steward of Gondor. She never told me what offence he had been executed for or whether the sentence had been just.

7

The black curtains swirled around Sauron at a speed I had never seen before. His shape changed almost every moment. I was simply reporting back on a diplomatic mission to the east. This had produced a good result, but a result which surprised him no more than it had me. I had only fleeting glimpses of the eye and when it did turn towards me it contained no particular intensity. There was only a weak presence in my mind. Something was distracting and exciting the master and it did not seem to have very much to do with me.

Only once did he focus on me. "Do you know where Shire is?" he asked. "Possibly it is called The Shire."

I had to think. "No. No, master. I don't think so. I'm fairly sure I've never come across it in my travels."

I felt Sauron's mind scrape mine. "And to the best of my knowledge, I've never heard anyone in the east mention it to me either," I continued.

Sauron lost interest and dismissed me. I went in search of enlightenment. As it happened I found Iluva and asked her what was going on.

"Ah," she smiled, "while you were away, Caeus, something important has happened. A spy has been caught." She paused.

"Finding a spy is important?"

"This spy was looking for The Ring."

I shook my head. "This would be The Great Master Ring, that Sauron would swap this entire castle for in a heartbeat."

"Yes."

"I'm sorry. I still don't understand. The ring has been lost for centuries and now someone is looking for it. And apparently looking for it in Mordor if he was captured here or near here. Why on earth would he look here? How would he know about the ring anyway? And why is this so exciting? After all, if he had it he wouldn't be looking for it, would he? Or maybe he has found a map that locates where it was."

"He was looking for it because he had it and lost it."

This was news. Really astonishing news. Iluva said nothing more, but looked at me with a gleam in her eye, clearly challenging me to work it out myself. In response I decided to think it through aloud. Iluva watched me with amusement as I worked through it. "So the spy used to have it. That must have been fairly recently. I thought it was supposed to have disappeared from an old king long ago when he was swimming in the great river, and then it rolled down the river, and is now in the sea somewhere."

Someone had once told me that, when the war with Gondor was finally won, Sauron intended to establish a base by the sea so that he could search for the ring. Apparently, my informant had continued, there is a kind of fish which has lots of waving arms rather than fins. They are called octopuses, and the arms are soft so the creatures are not at all like crabs. The idea was to enlist these special fish for the search using some kind of sorcery. I have to say I had not believed a single word of this story. Who ever heard of fish with soft, waving arms?

"But I guess it never made it down into the deep sea," I went on. Iluva raised an eyebrow: I was not thinking this through very quickly. "Instead, this fellow picked it up somewhere, perhaps close to the river, and then lost it and went searching for it. So I suppose someone else must have taken it from him. If it slipped off his finger or he left it somewhere, he wouldn't be roaming as far as Mordor to look for it, would he? Unless it was a local orc who had it, I suppose."

"No. He doesn't seem to be an orc."

"Well, this man …"

"Not a man either. Or an elf. Or a dwarf."

"Troll?"

"No. Actually no one knows what he is. He seems to be a cross between a frog and a man. Maybe a cross between a frog and an orc. Man-shaped but short, as short as one of the small orcs, and frog-like, with protruding eyes. Maybe a slim, smooth-skinned dwarf."

"He lives in the sea then?"

"I don't believe so, and the one time I saw him he smelt heavily of river."

"Mmm. So let me guess the rest, as you don't seem to want to tell me. In some unfathomable way, Sauron has found out that the frog-man or frog-orc really did have the great master ring. Someone or something took it from him, maybe by theft, maybe by force, and now the search will be on for whoever took it. We send squads of orcs out after whoever now has it to take back the ring and perhaps capture whoever it was that had it as well."

Iluva nodded slowly. "Close. Not quite right but not bad, Caeus. Apparently a hobbit called Baggins stole the ring. The hobbit lives in a place called Shire, but no one has any idea where this. The frog man doesn't either, which must be why he fetched up here. My guess is that it's somewhere close to the great river. But there is no point in sending out squads of orcs without having some idea where they are supposed to go to."

"No, I guess not. You need squads of spies."

"Precisely."

"So what's a hobbit? And how do you know all this?"

"Some of it was a general announcement. There was also a description of the ring, which apparently is just a plain golden ring, without any stone set in it, and everyone is supposed to watch out for it wherever they are. Also for hobbits and Baggins and Shire."

"If it's a plain gold ring, how would anyone know which it is? There's lots of plain gold rings in the world. Come to think of it, Iluva, how does the master know it's the right one?"

Iluva hesitated. "I talked to Carmichon." Carmichon was in charge of the dungeons and interrogation rooms. "He told me that he spent ages interrogating this creature, this frogman. He had him down there for weeks and weeks. Pain, gentleness, isolation, threats … none of it produced anything. Carmichon said he had never seen anyone so tough. But one day the frogman let slip something about a ring. Carmichon mentioned it to the master, and then the master himself took over the questioning."

"Really? The master himself."

"Yes. Apparently he spent days down in the dungeons without once leaving them."

I was impressed. "Is the frog-man still alive? ... No, surely not."

"Well, yes, he is, but he's not here any longer. He was taken to the border and released."

"Released! Why?"

"I've been wondering about that too. My guess is that he is supposed to look for the hobbit or the ring. Perhaps he can sense the ring at a distance or he now has some sort of affinity with it. All sorts of other people have been sent out too, of course, mainly to find out where Shire might be."

"I've never heard of it, and I know the east pretty well. Maybe it's in the north. I've never heard of hobbits either. By the way you still haven't answered my question, Iluva. What are hobbits? Another unknown creature?"

"Yes. We are supposed to keep a watch out for them too. They are apparently about the same height as a dwarf but less stocky and without beards."

"Like the frog-man?"

"Less frog-like maybe, but no one knows."

From that day on, the pace of life in Mordor was different. There was a new urgency in Sauron and this was felt throughout the tower and by many of his people. Every time I reported to him after this I saw and felt this new speed and energy, but his focus usually returned so that I no longer had the impression of distraction. Most of my own time was still spent on travel to the east but the aim of my missions was now changed. The slow build-up of the network of alliances and friendships and dependencies was halted. No new principalities were to be enrolled in the network. From now on I was to focus on the relationships that had already been developed rather than building new ones, and these relationships were to be exploited to the full. War was coming and quite soon, and the petty kingdoms of the east were to be mobilised to provide manpower and supplies for it.

I had never realised before just how much preparation is needed to fight a war against a strong opponent. At any rate I guessed Gondor must be strong, although I had never been there. The army of Gondor had been driven out of most of Ithilien, a heavily forested area between the westward mountains of Mordor and the Great River, but they still held much of the east bank of the river. This hold would need to be broken. Then, when we had seized the east bank, and the river had become the new boundary, we would need to build many boats so that an army of our own could cross the river. On the other side of the river, and perhaps a day or so's ride away, was the chief fortress of Gondor, which was described to me as a great white tower built on the side of a sheer mountain. To have any chance of taking this fortress, a massive number of siege engines would be needed. Mordor has very few trees. It is too dry. Ithilien has whole forests of them but at present they could not be used. If we sent out gangs to cut them down now, they would be within easy reach of the outposts of Gondor on the east bank, and the work would be impossible. So the two immediate needs were to drive the enemy off the east bank of the river, a task set down for the following summer, and at the same time to obtain suitable wood from the east to construct the siege engines. Surplus wood could also be used to build some of the boats to cross the river, although the trees of Ithilien could supply green wood for simple rafts once the east bank had been cleared. In theory the wood of Ithilien could be used for siege engines too, but it would take years for any trees cut down there to be properly seasoned. Siege engines, I was told, really need to be built with seasoned wood to be any use. I left for the east to negotiate and oversee the start of the wood shipments two days after my conversation with Iluva.

I was away a great deal over the next year or so, and when I returned to make brief reports and receive new instructions there would often be news of different plans or events. In the summer, as Gasloff told me, we had launched an attack on Gondor's garrisons on the east bank of the river, and particularly at the site of an old but long destroyed bridge. The assault was led by the ringwraiths who were mounted on the cold dragons that Sauron had bred. The assault had been successful.

"The cold dragons were very useful," Gasloff said. "Iluva said that she saw them."

"She was in the army?"

"No, just watching."

I wondered briefly where Iluva might have been watching from, the west or east side? Gasloff did not say, but I doubt that he would have mentioned any such details, even if he had known them.

"Did the assault carry on into Gondor?" I asked.

"No. It was stopped when the garrisons on the east bank had been destroyed. There was no easy way over the river, and in any case the ringwraiths were recalled and given another mission. They have all ridden off towards the north-west. They were called back to the tower immediately – you could feel the temperature drop when they were here – and then, within hours, can you believe? - they rode off again on black horses."

"On horses?"

"Yes."

"Not the cold dragons?"

"No."

I thought. Speed must be less important than being close to the ground and perhaps being less visible.

"Why have they gone, Gasloff?" I asked.

"I don't know," Gasloff said. "I don't know where they were going to once they left Mordor either."

Gasloff was never much of a gossip, unusually given his position as our steward, but a reasonable guess was that the ringwraiths had been sent in search of the ring. Or perhaps to capture whoever now held it. Perhaps Sauron had found out where Shire was, or who Baggins was, or what hobbits were and where they lived. And what else could possibly be important enough to justify sending all nine of them off together?

8

The last diplomatic trip I ever made to the east took in all of Sauron's allies and vassals in the region in a single round of visits. Other lieutenants were sent north and south. Sauron planned a massive assault on Gondor and the other kingdoms of the west in the spring and summer that would finish them off once and for all. For the assault all the allies and vassals were supposed to put into the field and under Sauron's command every man they could muster and of course all of these forces were supposed to gather more or less at the same time.

There was a special reason behind the timing of this. Although the ringwraiths had been able to locate the Shire, which turned out to be where hobbits live, and the master ring, for some reason they had been unable to capture the ring or the hobbit that now had it. So far as Sauron could tell, the ring was now being sent south in the care of a small party of enemies. He presumed now that unless there was some accident it would end up in the hands of the kingdom of Gondor, and that someone in the kingdom would use it against us. To prevent that, he needed to attack and defeat Gondor and do it reasonably quickly.

I had fourteen separate kingdoms and territories to visit, and in some of them the kings had their own individual vassals who I needed to approach myself. Even though each of these allies and vassals had already made a commitment of some kind to support us – the kind varying enormously from kingdom to kingdom – for the most part they had not committed to a particular time and place and with a particular force, and coordinating their efforts – or lack of them – was exhausting work.

Each ruler seemed to have his – or her, one of the rulers was a queen – own superb reasons why he could only send a small force at this particular time. Crops would need planting; there were threats from neighbouring kingdoms; there had been an outbreak of serious disease in the cattle; there had been an outbreak of serious disease among the small landholders; the army was not trained; the army had few usable weapons; one of the feudal underlings was rebelling; the king's daughter was sick (yes, truly!); both the marshal of the army and his successor had died; a reasonable number of armed men could be provided but it would be impossible to find provisions for that number. And so on. But eventually, through different mixtures of creative problem solving, persuasion, charm, logistic juggling, and brutal threats, I obtained firm commitments from them all, and the total force promised to be a little larger than the realistic expectations that we had had before I started. So, as I finished my final visit, to the King of Ogglax, a small kingdom more or less due east of the Dark Tower, I was feeling quite pleased with myself.

The travel itself had been exhausting. It had been cold and often wet and windy on the road. Once we had been caught in a snowstorm. Another time we narrowly escaped from an ambush. Horses had died and new ones had had to be obtained. Gear had worn out. I needed new saddle fittings before heading back to Mordor. The ostler at the castle of Ogglax - a weird structure that was built largely of compacted mud – shook his head when he looked at the damage, and pronounced himself unable to help with a saddle of that kind, but suggested a woman who specialized in fine leather work and who could sometimes be found in the market outside the castle walls.

Normally I would have asked Alston or Callest to do this task, but it was a fine day for late winter and for the first time in weeks there was nothing else I needed to do so I went myself. I found the woman the ostler had recommended and she did what all craftspeople do when they are asked to repair anything. She looked at the gear and fingered and prodded it. She nodded her head at times and shook her head at other times and sucked on her teeth looking concerned once or twice. As she looked at the gear, I looked at her. She was about medium height, with brown, very clear skin, black hair and brown eyes.

"When do you want it?" she asked. She had a soft voice.

"Today, please. If possible, well before the end of day. I need to ride very soon."

She breathed out. She pulled a face. "I can do it, but it will cost you. I will need to put off other customers, you see."

She named a price. It was reasonable, given the urgency, and I agreed immediately. "It will take me the rest of the morning at least," she said. "Why don't you look around the market and come back?"

"Very well. I'll bring lunch with me when I come back if you like. I see there are food stalls here. Do you have a preference?"

She seemed surprised at my offer. I was surprised I had made it. But she agreed. "There are good meat pies over there." She pointed in a direction. "And there is a local tea you could try. The stall is next door to the pie one." She turned immediately to the repair work.

I wandered around the market. People worked. Some looked up at me in appraisal. Perhaps they knew who I was. Customers came by from time to time but it was not bustling. I thought about the different crafts that people had. I watched a blacksmith work on a sickle. I watched a woman making jewelry. Just over from the market there was a green area with some large, rounded stones – presumably often used as seats – that overlooked a small stream. It was good to do nothing. It had been a long time since I had spent a morning doing nothing. When the morning had worn away, I bought two pies, some fruit that had so far survived the winter, and small flasks of tea. The tea smelt unusual. I walked slowly back to the leatherworker's stall. She was still working but the obvious damage was all repaired.

"Just a little longer," she said, looking up briefly. Her hands were small but strong and quick as she worked with the different tools of her trade. The muscles moved under the skin in her hands and forearms as I watched. Every movement was precise, and different movements followed one another almost without pause. I could have watched her work all day, but after a few moments she stopped and put her tools to one side.

"That's it," she said. "All done."

"Thank you," I said. "It looks good." I pulled experimentally on a couple of straps.

She looked at me wryly. "It won't break," she said.

"No. I didn't think it would. But I thought I should show appreciation. I do appreciate it…. I have the pies and tea and some fruit. I noticed there is a green area over there which looked good for lunch. It's a warm day for winter."

She smiled. "Very well."

We sat and ate the pies and fruit and drank the tea and looked at the stream. There were some unusual ducks swimming in it. They were brightly coloured, as if someone had painted them, and the feathers at the back of their heads stood out.

"You're the envoy from Mordor, aren't you?" she asked.

"Yes."

"You have come to get men from us."

"Yes."

"I am told they'll march to the west and fight against Gondor."

"That's the idea, yes."

"Will they win? We win?"

"I should think so. We have a lot of men when you add them up."

"You have orcs too, don't you? And other nasty things. Wolves."

"Yes. Not enough of them to be sure of winning."

"My cousin will probably have to go in the army. He doesn't want to. I don't blame him. I wouldn't want to go either."

It was hard to know what to say to this. "If we win, and we should, Gondor will be finished," I said. "There will be an end to the wars with the west. There will be an end to all the wars. The master will rule, perhaps forever. There will be peace all over."

She looked at me seriously. "You believe this, don't you?"

"Of course."

"But do you think there can ever be peace when there are brutal creatures like the orcs in charge? I saw one once. They look brutal and they behave worse, or at least this one did. You know that don't you?" She looked me in the face, challenging but at the same time a little timid.

"Yes. They can behave badly. I have seen a good deal of them, and I probably know better than you just how brutal they can be."

"How can you fight alongside them? You seem …" she gestured with her hand "… normal, I suppose. You do not look brutal. Perhaps you are a good man. I don't know. You treat me with respect, even though you are of a higher station than me. You listen anyway."

"The master restrains them. To some extent. They become less brutal … mostly … or at least their brutality is directed against our enemies."

"Oh… How does he restrain them?"

"He is a magician, of a kind. He works spells so that they can function in the daytime, and the spells direct them…. to some extent." I could not tell her that the spells only worked sometimes, but that they would work better when the war was over and the ring had been returned to its master.

"Spells. Magic …" She made a face. "Does he only work spells on the orcs?"

"No. There are spells for the trolls too."

"Trolls?"

"They are a kind of giant. Very large creatures. Not very bright. They cannot endure sunlight … normally, rather like the orcs."

"Are there spells for men too?"

I was going to say "no" but then I thought of the ringwraiths. Were they men? There had surely been spells involved in the creation of the rings they wore. I thought then about the small voice of Sauron that I could have heard at that very moment if I were to concentrate. Was this a spell? Was there another spell? From somewhere within myself, from where I could not say, there was a command: Do not think of this.

I shook my head. "No. I don't think so," I said.

She looked at me then. Facial expressions are harder to interpret than most people think and by then I was experienced enough not to read too much into them. Did she show puzzlement, alarm, curiosity?

"I should get back," she said. "I have much more work to do. All the work I have put to one side while doing yours." She smiled as she said it.

Back at her stall I paid her and collected my gear. "My name is Caeus," I said at the end.

"I am Giuliane. Farewell."

We shook hands. I saw her face, and the look was there again. Still I could not interpret it. Not anger, not fear, but something troubled. Doubtful. Perhaps concern or sadness.

9

On the return journey from Ogglax we camped beside a stream not far to the east of the Sea of Nurnen. I awoke when Gendoff, who had drawn first watch, shook my shoulder gently. I raised my head and listened. There was a voice speaking a little way off to the north.

"Wake the others," I whispered, then stood and quietly prepared to fight.

The moon was nearly full and the night was clear. There was enough light to make out a suggestion of green on the rise to the north of us. I stared towards it. Beyond it was a small hint of red, perhaps a fire. Gendoff, Callest and Alston joined me. For a little longer there was silence. Then from behind the rise there was the jeering yell of Orc voices, a man's deep voice in reply, and a sudden burst of white light, as you get when lightning strikes, although there had been no bolt in the cloudless sky.

We ran to the crest of the rise and looked down. A little distance away a man dressed in a long pale robe defended himself with a staff against four orcs armed with scimitars or spears and shields. They moved slowly, warily around him, keeping a distance of two or three spear lengths. The man kept turning to face whichever was the nearest orc. In the path of one of the orcs was a huddled shape. I guessed it to be a body. As I watched one of the circling orcs stepped over it, rather delicately. I looked for insignia on the shields of the orcs opposite where I stood. No red eye, no moon, no gate. The first two shields were bare. I waited until I could see a third shield. Also bare.

"All right," I said quietly, "we are going to fight on the side of the man. We shall try to hit the two orcs nearest us first. Gendoff and Callest, take whichever is on the left when you reach them; Alston and I take the one on the right. Go softly until they notice that we're coming, and then as fast as you can."

We made about half the distance before one of the orcs on the far side of the man saw us and let out a cry. Alston and I ran at our target, who had just enough time to turn and defend himself. But he needed his shield to ward my sword stroke and that left him open to Alston's spear thrust. I looked towards the next orc, who was now charging towards us, but before he reached me the man in the pale robe pointed his staff at him. The staff was levelled as an extension of his arm, and an intense rod of white light a little thicker than the staff stretched from the tip of the staff to the orc's shoulder, and the orc was completely halted in his run. His back arched, mouth open to scream, and there was a little blue flame on top of his helmet, and a hint of smoke or steam. There was a thud as the orc's body struck his shield, and simultaneously the shield struck the ground, and then there was a smell of burnt cloth, hot iron, and roast meat.

For some moments the image of the stricken orc was all I could see, and it crossed my mind that probably my men were as blind as I was and we were completely at the mercy of the man with the staff. But nothing further happened. I regained some sight and looked around to see all my men standing and the orcs down. I turned to the man with the staff.

"Good evening," I said in Westron, "we came to help because I thought you might be in trouble. But I might have been mistaken. You seem very capable of defending yourself."

"No." The man bowed slightly, first to me and then to the others. "I am very grateful to you. It is not easy for one man to defend himself against five attackers, and I do not know how it would have gone if you had not come to my help." He walked towards me, holding out his hand as he did so. "I am called Gratastar," he said.

At close hand, he was a little shorter than me with very broad shoulders. His hair and beard were long and black, and in the illumination of the white light I had seen that his robe was pale blue. He bore no hat, helmet or armour, and had sandals on his feet. He carried a wooden staff. I shook his hand.

"You are clearly skilled in sorcery," I remarked. "My name is Caeus, and like my men I am in the service of Sauron the Great. We are returning after conducting a mission to the east."

He reacted with astonishment.

"You are servants of Sauron?"

"Well, yes."

"Then why did you take my side against the orcs? Are they not also servants of Sauron?"

"No," I said. "These ones were not anyway. They bear no insignia of his. I believe they were simply bandits, ready to attack anyone on this road, especially if that person is alone and seems helpless or poorly defended." I shrugged. "In fact, although you are alone you are not at all helpless or poorly defended, but they could not have known that."

Gratastar shook his head. He hesitated and then said, "I am not in Sauron's service. Does that make a difference?"

I smiled. "Not in this case. I suspect you are telling me as politely as you can that in other circumstances we might be fighting against each other. Perhaps that is true. But I do not plan to begin such a fight tonight."

"Nor I," he said. "That would hardly be a fair repayment for your help. Speaking of help, I see that one of your men has a cut. I have a campfire nearby, as you can see, and some medical skill. If the cut is not treated, there is a great risk of infection."

Callest agreed to the treatment. The cut in arm was deeper than either he or I had realised and needed stitching. Gratastar stitched and applied ointment by his small fire.

As he worked, we talked. "If you don't mind my asking," he said, "would your master approve of your actions tonight?"

I was surprised. "Why wouldn't he?" I said. "He authorises regular patrols along this road so that wagons and supplies and travellers may use it without having to fear ambushes. In fact, we're on another mission and we are not patrollers but I believe we still have the duty to act like them in an emergency. You are thinking that our master has orcs in his service and this is true, but many orcs do not serve him, and those that attack travellers on the road are clearly his enemies and ours. And for orcs to attack the servants of Sauron is much worse than for other creatures."

I did not add that soon there would be an enormous increase in the number of wagons and supplies and that the need to secure the road against raiders was now more urgent than ever.

"Why do you say that?" Gratastar asked.

"What?"

"That it is worse for orcs to attack than for, say, men or dwarves?"

"Because they have more cause to be grateful to Sauron than other creatures," I replied.

"Grateful?" Gratastar shook his head. "This is a strange conversation. Why should any orc be grateful to Sauron? What would he be grateful for?"

"For the gift of immortality," I replied. "It is true that they can be killed – as we have both just seen. But they do not age, they do not suffer from many diseases, and if it were not for war or accidents or the consequences of their own foul tempers, they would not die at all."

"Ah." Gratastar finished stitching Callest's cut and snipped off the ends of the thread before carrying on. "I agree with you that they do not age like men," he said, "but what has that to do with your master?"

For a moment, I was silent. It seemed odd that he did not know. "Many thousands of years ago he and a colleague of his bestowed the gift of immortality on them. The orcs were men originally from a poor, ugly and ferocious tribe, but he made them immortal as a reward for helping them against his enemies."

"Where did you learn this?" asked Gratastar, opening another small jar of ointment.

"It is written in a book held in the Tower," I said. "I have read it. And Sauron can offer the gift of immortality."

"And who wrote the book, I wonder?" Gratastar asked quietly. He paused. "There is another story of the origins of the orcs," he went on at last. "Sauron was once himself the servant, or colleague if you prefer, of another, a – what should I call him? – being will do, called Morgoth."

"Yes, Sauron and Morgoth acted together in this matter, and Morgoth is no longer in this world."

"Indeed. You have heard of Morgoth. So far we agree. Anyway, in this story, Morgoth captured some elves and corrupted them, and made them bad-tempered and ferocious and hideous to look at. Orcs then are immortal because elves are immortal. According to this story anyway. Immortality was part of their nature from the beginning. Neither Morgoth nor Sauron nor anyone else could make immortal orcs out of men."

I laughed outright. "You say orcs are elves?" I thought back to the woman I had seen a few years previously in Helstorix's dungeon. "That's impossible, ridiculous. Elves are beautiful. Tall. Elf women are stunning. I have seen elves. How could orcs possibly be made from beings so beautiful?"

"Yet they were, or so the book says. Not easily of course."

"Nor kindly."

Gratastar stopped rubbing ointment onto Callest for a moment, and looked me full in the face. "Oh no," he said quietly, "not kindly. It was very evil indeed. As evil a deed as this world has ever seen. But nonetheless I believe it to have been true…. I do not seek to persuade you, you understand. That is not my business, and I have no proof to give you anyway. All this was long, long ago. Before the beginning of history. But I do not believe that Sauron had any more to do with making orcs immortal than you and I have …. Callest, how do you feel?"

"It feels good. Maybe a little numbed. Thank you."

"Excellent. Stay away from orc blades in future."

Callest stood and flexed his arm gently. He nodded his thanks to Gratastar.

"Do you want to bed down at our camp?" I asked Gratastar.

'Thank you, no. I shall be safe enough and I wish to look at the stars when the moon goes down."

I glanced up. The moon was nearly full, but it would be impolite to insist. "Farewell, then, Gratastar" I said, "we will take care of the orc bodies in the morning."

"Farewell, and many thanks, Caeus."

10

We returned to the tower about the time that the first soldiers from the east that I had been busy organizing arrived for war. A few of these arrived in Mordor itself, but Sauron had decided that most of them should stay outside of Mordor. Instead of marching through Mordor, they would march north of and parallel to the mountains that run pretty much straight from west to east and form the northern boundary of Mordor. They would follow this path until the mountains came to their western end, and they were in easy reach of the Black Gate. This was easier country to cross, with much better supplies of water and they would not need to wend their way through the narrow dry passes of north-west Mordor. More important it meant they could be kept apart from the armies of orcs that were now gathering in Mordor itself.

The original plan had been that these soldiers would arrive in time for the assault on Minas Tirith, the chief fortress of Gondor that was on a mountainside. But when I reached the Dark Tower I discovered that the assault on this castle had already begun. Not only had it begun but it had already ended. It had ended in failure. The armies sent out to besiege and assault the tower had been crushed and dispersed just a few days before, and among the casualties of that defeat had been the chief of the ringwraiths.

I never found out why the assault had been launched ahead of schedule. I guessed that some event must have provoked or forced Sauron into a hasty early attack that failed but I never learnt what it was. And for me, this enormous loss for Mordor meant less than a personal one. Gasloff told me that Iluva was dead.

"I am sorry to tell you," he said. "I knew you were close."

"How? Why? Where did it happen?" I asked.

"In Gondor, I was told. Apparently she was caught spying by some soldiers from Gondor, taken to the White Tower and executed."

"How do we know?"

"Sauron knows. I have no idea how. He told Alaran. Alaran told us. There wasn't much detail." As he said this, I noticed suddenly, irrelevantly, that Gasloff was now old. Perhaps it was the news. He had liked Iluva too. We all had. I had. Very much.

The day I returned Sauron refused to see me or anyone else. The next day was similar. The summons came on the day following.

The black curtains swirled. Sauron had a definite figure but it was like a many-legged lizard or dragon not a man. The eye burned red. Sauron's voice rasped like sharp-edged gravel on my mind.

"The first assault on Gondor has failed. They have killed the chief of the ringwraiths." I said nothing. "They have killed your friend Iluva too," he added, with a slight softening of tone. "An upstart who is a descendant of Isildur is claiming to be king in Gondor. Three whole armies are lost. Have you brought me more?"

"Yes, master. The forces from the east are arriving. The first camps should even now be setting up outside the Black Gate. For the most part they have either brought their own provisions with them or have their own lines of supply. They should all be in position within the next seven days."

He was pleased. His shape became more manlike. "Good. Good… The west dares to march on us. They are bringing an army to the Black Gate." He chuckled, a sound I had never heard before. "What do you think of that? Do you know the size of their army? Guess."

I had no very good idea, but … "To have any realistic chance of assaulting the Black Gate, I would have thought they would need – maybe – thirty thousand men, master. Maybe. Probably more."

"They bring seven. Seven thousand."

I was shocked. The armies that I had been recruiting in the east were more than double that, and these were but a fraction of Sauron's total strength.

"You see stupidity?" he asked. Surely there was a tone of glee in his voice.

"Of course, master." I was bewildered.

"I see arrogance. The arrogance of someone who has found a new toy, a new weapon. The ring. Some leader of this army has found the ring, my ring, and now that he has it he thinks he can bring down the gate and defeat my armies with it. He thinks he can use the ring as I can. He walks into a trap. The ring will not serve him as well as he expects…. And talking of rings... Would you like to extend your service with me?"

I had had no idea that it was about to end. "Of course, master."

"For a long time. Thousands of years." His voice softened. "You have served me well, Caeus. You could go on serving me."

I was now completely lost.

"I see you do not understand. The chief ringwraith is dead, Caeus, destroyed by a woman. His long life has come to an end. There is a vacancy in the nine. Would you like to fill it?"

I could not speak.

"He had a ring, Caeus." His voice was soft, gentle, a hand stroking a cat. "A ring of his own. I gave it to him long ago. His life has ended, but the ring will have survived his fall. So long as the master ring survives, it will always keep its power. The ring is made of gold but it has a black stone set in it. It is lying somewhere in the fields between the river and the cursed city on the mountain. Find it, Caeus, after we have routed the armies of Gondor. Put it on. Serve me, and live for ever."

I felt the desire for it suddenly immense within me. To live for ever. To wield power as a right-hand man of the master.

"But not yet, Caeus. The war needs to be won. You will go to the Black Gate and negotiate with our enemies, and at the same time find out who holds the other ring, my own ring. Someone, some leader of the enemy, how holds it. He dares to hold my ring and to use it against me."

He began to instruct me in how this was to be done. I was to ride out with a small troop to meet with the leaders. I was to treat them with arrogance, offer them peace, although not on even terms or indeed terms that they were at all likely to accept. But this was a mask. The real purpose was to attempt to find out who now held the ring. If it was worn openly then I need say nothing at all. But if it was concealed in some way, then the arrogant treatment might serve to flush it out in a moment of angry pride from the wearer.

While Sauron was instructing me, Alaran, Folgrim's successor as Captain of the Tower Guard, approached the throne. There was a silent communication between him and the master. The master stopped talking to me and the black curtains swirled in unease. Moments later a broad-shouldered orc came in. He was under an escort of orcs. The prisoner was Shagrat.

Alaran reported aloud to Sauron. "Master, this is Shagrat, a captain in your armies. He is at present the captain of the fortress of Cirith Ungol. He has arrived bearing armour, a sword and a cloak that were carried by an intruder who has been found on the mountain path and imprisoned in the tower that guards it." He held the objects for Sauron to see. The mail coat shone like evening stars. The black curtains swirled like flags in a strong wind.

Sauron's eye flared at Shagrat, so fierce I could feel the heat on my own face. Shagrat was kneeling before him, his face nearly bent to the floor. He was bleeding slowly from a wound in his arm. There was a smell of blood and urine.

"Spies!" hissed Sauron, "wearing mithril armour made by dwarves. Spies in Cirith Ungol, above the Morgul valley."

"Yes, master. We caught a spy." I had not known that any orc, let alone Shagrat, could speak in so quiet and humble a voice.

"How did you catch the spy? What was he doing? Did he have companions?"

"Master, we found him lying on the path near the giant spider's webs. He was unconscious. He had been stung by the great spider that lives in the pass."

"But he had not been carried away by the spider?" For a moment, Sauron had the form of a giant, loathsome spider himself.

"No, master. He was laid out as if for a funeral."

"Not by the spider. She would not have done that. This must have been by companions … who must have driven away the spider. Did you see any companions? Is that how you were wounded?"

"No, master. I was wounded by an orc, a traitor." Shagrat's voice was quieter still. "After we found him on the path, we brought the prisoner straight back to the fortress. I stripped him and when he became conscious again I began to interrogate him. But we had encountered another troop on patrol, and they returned with us to the fortress. They saw the mithril armour that the prisoner had worn. They wanted it. There was fighting in our tower. My garrison won. I have brought you the coat and the other clothes…"

"But left the prisoner unguarded."

"No, master. Many of our garrison were killed in the fight but there were still guards."

"Then the guards you left were killed after you left. The prisoner has escaped. There were no living orcs in the tower."

"Master?..."

"I have learnt from a servant of the nine rings…. He heard an alarm from the watchers. The tower was deserted when he reached it. Someone or some group was seen to leave it, seen by the watchers on the tower. Nothing escapes them, but this time someone did. They registered an escape. There were many dead orcs in the tower. No dead men. No dead elves. There was no prisoner. Describe your prisoner, Shagrat."

"He… he was small, master. Much shorter than I am, as short as a tracker orc, but slim, built like a man. No, he was thin. He had fair skin, brown hair. He wore the armour under the cloak that smells of elves. He carried the sword at his side. I have never seen anyone like him before."

The black shadows swirled faster. The heat grew more intense. "He was a halfling, sometimes called a hobbit. Did you search him for a ring?"

"Yes, master, we searched him thoroughly, but there was no ring on him. I stripped him myself and I have brought you all the clothing he had on."

There was silence, while Sauron stared at the huddled orc. Then the eye was closed, the heat banked. The silence continued.

When Sauron spoke again, the anger had left his voice. He spoke first to me. "Caeus, there is a change in your orders. You will ride now first to Minas Morgul. Make sure that tracking parties are organized from what is left of the garrison there. Have them start from the fortress at Cirith Ungol and see where this prisoner and his rescuers went. But do not wait for the outcome. Immediately after you have done that ride to the Gate, and prepare to be the envoy to the approaching army. I have told you how to behave, but there is now a change. Take the clothes and armour and sword with you. Show them to their spokesmen. You may learn something. If you recapture this halfling, take him as well. In any case, offer his life and health as part of the terms and conditions. Prisoners are useful bargaining tools."

"Yes, master," I said.

Sauron spoke next to Alaran. "Take this orc to the questionners. I will learn everything he knows. I need every detail of this escaped prisoner, no matter how small, no matter how trivial. They need show no mercy."

Shagrat shrank even more. His voice sounded like that of a scared, young boy. "Master, I have told you the truth. I swear it."

"Master," I said. "Do you doubt that he has spoken the truth?" I surprised myself as I said it. I would not have believed I had so much courage or stupidity.

Sauron's anger was like the sudden opening of a great oven. He spoke almost in a whisper, and I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. There was a sudden acute pain in my head like a knife. "Truth. What is truth to an orc? He conceals something. Maybe something he hides intentionally; maybe some little thing he noticed at the time but has since forgotten. I will have it all. All. Every detail. Everything he knows. You have your tasks, Caeus, Alaran. Do them, unless you would prefer to join Shagrat."

I rode to Minas Morgul. I kept my mind concentrated on the task ahead. How many search parties should be sent out? How many trackers would actually be left in Minas Morgul now that so many orcs had died in the failed assault on Gondor? How should I speak and act at the Gate? As distraction, I thought from time to time of the ring that might be lying somewhere in the fields near Minas Tirith. For brief instants I allowed myself to think of what it might be like to be immortal. Not once did I think of Shagrat, the closest to a friend I had made among the orcs of Mordor, and his certain slow, agonizing death in the dark tower. Heartless? Perhaps so. I did not want to think about it. I did not dare to think about it.

Even on fast horses, the journey took two days. When thought of the ring and the search organization became so stale as to be almost unbearable, I concentrated my attention on the road and its surrounding. Perhaps I would even see the hobbit or whoever else had been in Cirith Ungol myself, although it was unlikely they would dare to come near the road or be visible from it. But I kept a very close watch all around and so it was that, as I neared Minas Morgul, I saw what otherwise I would never have noticed.

I was riding past a small pillar of rock maybe a horse's length from the road, when I saw a twinkle within it, as though a part of the smallest star had come to earth. I was past the rock before I was puzzled by it, but then I turned and retraced my steps slowly. The twinkle was there again, at around the level of my eye. I drew closer. There was an object on a ledge, recessed into a shallow hole so that it would have been invisible to someone of normal height on foot and probably invisible from the air as well. I picked the shining object off the ledge; it was a small silver rabbit, no, it was a mithril rabbit on a leather thong. It was small and it had been worked so that it looked as though it was running. It was identical to the one that had hung around Iluva's neck. I looked for some trace of her nearby but there was nothing. Why had the rabbit been placed on the ledge, for surely it had been done intentionally and most likely by Iluva herself? For the second day in succession I was faced with a thought I could not think and conclusions I did not want to draw. I put the rabbit in my pocket and stopped thinking about it the instant I did so.

11

The sound of the challenging trumpets died away. I looked out at the small band of men standing a little distance in front of the enemy army.

I waited.

Astaphozh, the captain of the Black Gate, stirred beside me. "Aren't you going to ride out to talk with them?" he said. "Isn't that what you are here for? To be the Mouth of Sauron?"

"I shall wait just a little longer," I said, without turning to him.

"The master won't be pleased," he said.

"It is what he ordered," I said. Then, perhaps to make the waiting easier, "Why do you think the tarks and their friends are here?" I asked.

"Why are they here?" He spoke with scorn. "They're enemies. They want to kill us. Why else would they be here?"

"I have no doubt that they would like to kill us, but their army is not overlarge, certainly less than ten thousand, and so far as I can see they have no siege equipment with them. I can't see any, even towards the rear of their army. No catapults. No onagers." I pointed to the army. "They cannot assault the Gate, even if we had very little army here at all. Even if they were to fight us before the Gate and win…"

"They won't."

"No, they won't. But even if they did, they could not open the Gate. So they cannot get into Mordor. So, why are they here?" I turned to look at him.

He frowned. Thinking about the problem I had set him was clearly an effort. Then, "Perhaps they have no siege equipment. Perhaps they don't know how to build it."

This was slightly amusing. Could Astaphozh really have so little appreciation of his job? I shook my head. "They know how, but it would hardly matter if they didn't." It crossed my mind briefly that actually I myself had no idea of how to build it, although I had been responsible for procuring the massive pieces of timber necessary. "They don't need to build any of the equipment anyway," I went on to Astaphozh. "We left a large amount of it abandoned in front of the walls of Minas Tirith. Some of it must still be usable or easy to repair. Why didn't they bring it along?"

For a brief moment, there was shock in his eyes, and I thought he might dare to question me. But I was disappointed. "So if you know so much, why do you think they are here, Mouth of Sauron? Why don't you tell the humble Gate Keeper?"

I did not appreciate his sneer but it was a fair point. Perhaps they meant to drag the siege machines along later when they thought the way to the Gate was clear. But the machines were sometimes useful in battle too. Perhaps I simply wanted to see someone using the machines I had been at such pains to arrange the wood for. I shrugged. "I don't know. Time to go and ask them." I turned and started off down the stairs. "Have the postern gate open on the count of two hundred."

The troop was waiting for me behind the small gate. An orc was restraining Grazhfell, holding the reins at arm's length while trying to avoid the fire in the creature's snout and his awful breath. Grazhfell was evil in temper and appearance, and I did not know whether he was a dead horse that the master had brought back to a semblance of life or a live animal that had been given the appearance of death. His head seemed to be skull, not just to my eyes but also to my touch, suggesting he was really dead, but he ate ordinary hay, produced real, extremely foul-smelling shit, and could sometimes be made to respond to the reins. No one would ever choose to ride him into a real battle, but there was a good chance he would add to the fear of the waiting party or the nearer soldiers of the opposing army. I had first ridden him in practice only the day before – it had been an appalling experience – but one of his handlers told me that very occasionally in the past his appearance alone had been enough to produce panic in an opposing force.

I climbed into the saddle and had just sufficient time to take the reins and sit upright before the gate was thrown open with an iron clang. Grazhfell startled at the sound, and I pulled hard on the reins. "Slow trot", I called out to those behind me, and nudged Grazhfell out onto the grey and white soil.

I went slowly, at one point reducing Grazhfell to a walk around a pool of evil-looking yellow liquid that smelt of rotten eggs. Keep them waiting. Let the fear build. But as I rode, the questions were in my mind. The one that I had asked Astaphozh: Why are they here? But above all, the question that burned in my master's will: Who holds the ring? I had never felt Sauron's mind so concentrated within me and I could not tell whether the pain that I felt in my brain was mine or his.

I had done my homework on the leaders of the west, and as we slowly drew closer to the parley party I was able to identify the faces beneath the banners. Off to one side were Elladan and Elrohir, the two elf half-castes, sons of Elrond, the brother of Elros, with a look of never quite caring to notice the reality around them. I presumed they had inherited the immortality of their father. Perhaps their mother had been an elf too. Another elf stood near them, slightly shorter and slimmer, similarly distant. Two dwarfs beside him. No, that was not right. One of them had no beard and was slimmer and younger-looking, although he was the same height as the dwarf. This had to be one of the hobbits or halflings we had all heard so much about recently. Looked at closely he was nothing like a dwarf, more like a young man who had been shrunk, but shrunk proportionately. He had an open face and looked no more dangerous than a rabbit, but perhaps this appearance was deceptive. Recent history showed that at the very least these folk had a talent for escape and survival. It was known that more than one of them had come south, but was this the one who had held the ring? Might he even be holding it now? It seemed unlikely that he could wield that much power or that much control over the men in the party.

There were three men clad in long mail coats. One stood under a green banner. There was little wind, but I thought the loosely hanging banner might feature a white horse. That would be Eomer, then, presumably the new King of Rohan now that his uncle was dead. He was young, looking as though he was afraid to fart on parade. Next to him was a man I thought was Imrahil, under what seemed to be the swan flag of Dol Amroth, a castle on the coast of Gondor. At any rate he appeared to be a Numenorean like myself, but perhaps a little older than I was. His face showed nothing at all. In the centre of the group was a man who must be Aragorn, and I felt within me a start of recognition from Sauron at the sight of a descendant of Isildur. Aragorn stood under a black flag with some sort of design on it that might have been worked in mithril. I I guessed that this was the ancient banner of the kings of Gondor. I had heard about this banner but never seen it before. It made a statement. Aragorn was tall, looking younger than his real age, even for a Numenorean, and held a naked sword in his hand. He was bare-headed and wore a green jewel on his forehead, secured by a fillet of silver. Finally, to his left there was the grey-bearded wizard, Gandalf, dressed in white robes, appearing kindly and wise and relaxed and even safe. I knew, of course, that he was not safe at all, and had a reputation for being extremely dangerous in every possible way. It was not easy for me to tell which of his enemies excited Sauron's greatest hatred, but Gandalf was the only one for whom he would very, very occasionally betray respect.

And, as always as I approached a group with whom I was to negotiate, I asked myself the question: Who was not here? To that there was an immediate and interesting answer: The Steward of Gondor. Denethor and Boromir were dead, but what about Faramir? Was he dead too? If so, as I understood the inheritance rules of Gondor, it would be Imrahil who would now hold this office, and certainly there was no other leader of Gondor in this party. But then, if he was the new steward, why was he standing under his own flag and not the banner of the stewards? Had Aragorn perhaps taken the ring and deposed him? Did the ancient banner above him indicate that Aragorn had now reclaimed the Kingship of Gondor? Or, just possibly, did Faramir still live and hold the stewardship? Could it be that he had taken the ring and even now sat safe at home in Minas Tirith, after ordering the others out on a suicidal trip to the Gate? Sauron, who when he concentrated hard enough could see through my eyes, must have had a similar thought or perhaps I had communicated the edge of mine, because suddenly I felt such a reaction of rage and disappointment that for a time I was unable to move. Then I heard his voice faintly within me: "No. I do not believe Faramir has the power to hold the ring against all these others. It is in front of you somewhere."

I dismounted and approached the group on foot, being careful to stay well clear of Grazhfell's head as I did this. A couple of orcs came after me, one carrying the bundle. When I was just beyond the range of a spear thrust, I halted.

The master had decided that they should be addressed with arrogance and contempt, so that is what they got. "So, who in this rabble has the authority to negotiate with me?" I asked. "Or, indeed, the intelligence to understand me? Not you, surely?" I said, looking towards Aragorn. "It takes more to make a king than an elf jewel, or a rabble like this. Why, any bandit chiefling could make as good a display."

Aragorn said nothing. Indeed, he did not seem even tempted to reply. His face registered no emotion at all. I made the mistake of looking him in the eye, and then I felt his gaze. That part of me that was myself at that moment responded to his look with awe. This, I felt within me, was a king of Numenor, a leader of my people through long ages and someone to whom I owed immediate and unconditional respect. It was a real effort to resist the temptation to kneel before him.

But this was the weaker part of the feeling. The part of me that was Sauron locked eyes with the heir of Isildur. As if it had happened an instant before, I believed that Isildur had picked up the sword that was broken that lay beside him and then brought it down on my hand. Now I felt shock and anger and horror and the beginnings of pain as I looked down and saw my finger with the ring on it fall to the ground.

For a moment, maybe many moments, I did not know where or when or even who I was. But then I felt myself return. "I am a herald", I said to myself. "I am not to be harmed".

The wizard spoke. "Where such a custom holds, it is also the custom for ambassadors to speak more politely. But no one has touched you. Indeed, none of us has even spoken to you up until now." I realised then that I must have spoken aloud. "You have nothing to fear from us, at least until you have run your errand. But unless your master has learnt wisdom, then you, like all his other servants, will soon be in very great danger."

He spoke dryly, almost with amusement in his voice, but there was some other tone that I could not immediately recognise.

I spoke again as soon as I could. "So, you are the spokesman, grey wizard." To me, my first words sounded as though I read from a script I did not understand, but I do not know what the listeners heard. "Have we not heard of you from time to time, and of your wanderings, always hatching plots and mischief from a distance? But this time you have come close, Master Gandalf, too close, and you will see what happens to those who try to entrap Sauron the Great. I was given possessions that I was ordered to show to you all – but to you in particular if you dared to come." I looked behind me and signalled to Tatzill and he brought forward his bundle and placed it on the ground beside me. I reached down and flicked the cloth apart and bent down on one knee to pick up the objects.

I held them up high one by one, saying nothing as I did so. First there was a dagger, or more likely a small sword made originally for a young prince. It was old, of Numenorean design, and judging from the workmanship of the hilt it was likely to have been made by exiles soon after the drowning of the island. It crossed my mind to wonder how on earth a hobbit had come to possess it. I looked across at the hobbit in the parley party and saw that he seemed to have a similar blade, or at any rate the hilt looked similar. Very odd. Next there was a small grey cloak of elvish workmanship, finely woven and designed to camouflage as well as to warm its wearer. It was lovely material. Finally, a short mail coat of mithril, the metal that only the dwarves have mined and that is practically beyond price. It looked as though it had originally been made for a very young prince, a very rich young prince, and it was perhaps just a little too small for the hobbit in the group before me. As I held the coat up, the hobbit stepped a pace forward with a cry, his face white. When I looked at him, I saw he was trembling slightly.

"Silence," said Gandalf, holding out his arm to push him back.

I laughed and got back to my feet, pleased to be able to repay a little of the shock I had just experienced myself. I was pleased too by the realisation that the hobbit now in front of me was not the one that had escaped from the fortress of Cirith Ungol. "So you have another of these little imps with you," I said. "I find it hard to imagine what he is doing here, but to send them as spies into Mordor seems to me the height of folly, however well-equipped they might be. At any rate, I thank you, Master Halfling," and I bowed slightly towards him, "for it is plain that at least one of you has seen these things before, and now you can hardly deny you know about them, or their bearer."

Gandalf spoke again. His voice was steady, and his face controlled, but suddenly he looked drawn. "I don't deny them," he said. "Indeed I know them all and where they came from, and, despite your contempt, foul Mouth of Sauron, you do not. But why have you brought them here?"

"Mail made by the dwarfs. A cloak made by the elves. A sword from the drowned island. A spy from the rabbit land of the Shire. No, don't be surprised, we know all about the Shire. This is a secret confederation, a conspiracy. Now maybe the bearer of these objects was someone you are happy to lose, but there again probably not. Perhaps it is someone you care for. If so, you should think fast. Sauron does not like spies and the fate of this one depends on what you decide."

There was no answer, but the faces in front of me displayed shock and grief, and perhaps even terror. Why terror, I wondered momentarily. Surely I was mistaken. But at least I had now regained control of the situation. I laughed with the relief of it. "Good. I see he was dear to you. Either that, or you did not want to see his errand fail. Sorry, but it has. And now he will endure slow torture, as slow and as constant as we can devise. We will never release him, unless perhaps when he is quite changed and quite broken. Then we may let him go, or what remains of him, so that you can see him and see what your decision has cost him. Make no mistake, this is precisely what will happen unless you meet my master's terms."

"What are the terms?" asked Gandalf. Again, he spoke steadily, but his face had aged a thousand years. For a moment, I wondered if he might even accept them.

"These are the terms. The rabble of Gondor and its sadly deceived allies shall immediately withdraw to the true right bank of the Anduin, but before doing this every leader shall take an oath never again to attack Sauron the Great, either openly or secretly, either by arms or by magic. All lands east of the Anduin shall be Sauron's, alone and for all time. West of the Anduin as far as the Misty Mountains and the Gap of Rohan there is to be an independent state, which will be a vassal to Mordor. Men who live there will not be allowed to carry weapons, but they will be able to govern themselves. However, these men shall help to rebuild the land around Isengard, and you will also surrender the tower of Isengard itself to Sauron. His lieutenant will occupy it. This will not be Saruman, but someone a little more reliable."

To this day, I believe these terms to have been reasonable, given the military balance, although there was no chance whatever that Sauron would have regarded himself as bound by them. Equally, of course, there was no chance that our enemies would accept them.

"And who will be that lieutenant?" Gandalf asked quietly, looking me in the face.

Oddly, the thought that it might be me had not occurred to me until that moment. Perhaps it would have been, if the truce had ever been accepted. But, of course, more important was the possibility of being able to search at length for a small golden ring with a dull black stone that might be lying somewhere in the trampled ground in front of the walls of Minas Tirith.

"This is a lot to ask for the return of a single prisoner," he continued. "Even if things went your master's way he would have to fight hard to get all this. And things haven't gone his way recently, have they? Has he perhaps lost all hope in his armies after their defeat before Minas Tirith and now he seeks to get his way by making ridiculous offers? Then again, assuming that we do put a high value on this prisoner, what guarantee would we have that Sauron, who is known to all of us as a master of treachery and deceit, will actually keep his side of the bargain? So, tell me, Mouth of Sauron, where is this prisoner now? I understand why you might not have brought him out with you, but perhaps you could display him on the wall." Gandalf looked past me and up towards the ramparts of the Gate. Presumably he saw nothing. His voice grew a little louder. "Let's see him first. Let's see some proof that he actually is your prisoner, and then we can begin to consider your demands."

Well, as the hobbit had escaped many days ago and not been recaptured, there was no very good way to reply to this. Was it Gandalf who had the ring? But surely it was more likely to be the still silent Aragorn. Perhaps if I could persuade him to say something, his words might give him away. "This is insolence," I said. "You demand proofs beyond what I have already shown you. Next you will be demanding that we give you hostages. Sauron offers nothing more. If you ask for his mercy, you must first do what he demands. I have stated the terms. Take them or leave them. You choose."

Gandalf paused and then strode forward until he was just a dagger's length from my face. He raised his arm "I will take these," he said, "in memory of our friend." He seized the cloak, coat and sword, and tucked them under his arm. "For the rest … we reject your terms and your embassy completely. Go immediately before we kill you. We came here to fight, not to waste time talking to Sauron, whose word no one would ever rely on, much less waste time talking to his mouthpiece. Go. Now. "

Sauron's rage filled my mind. He still did not know who held the ring. Aragorn, the most likely holder, had said nothing at all. Very well, simply kill them all and then search for it afterwards. If Sauron had had the power to compel me, he would have launched me, even unarmed as I was, into a suicidal attack on the leaders. It was a struggle for me to control this desire, the strongest command of his that I ever felt. At length I controlled the rage, but all opportunity for a graceful departure had now gone. The leaders looked at me with hatred or disgust. I leapt onto Grazhfell's back and galloped back towards the gate. The others in my small company followed, blowing the horns that would command the attack as we went.

I returned to the postern gate, narrowly avoiding being swept away in the great tide of soldiery that now surged out of the Black Gate. With relief I abandoned Grazhfell to a handler, and climbed back up the rocky stairs to my knob of rock to look out and watch the battle. I found myself alone. Sauron's mind was no longer focussed through me, and I could see no one else who was simply watching. It seemed that all of Mordor was filing out through the gate. I had never seen so many soldiers. Indeed, until this moment, I had never realised it was possible to concentrate so many in one place. The whole area between the gate and the army of Gondor was filled with Sauron's army, so many that I wondered if they would ever all be able to see their enemies, let alone fight them. Indeed, just below me a company of men marching from the east was disputing with a troop of orcs over who had right of way between two of the foul-smelling pools.

Beyond that in the middle distance the army of Gondor had taken up a defensive stand on two small hills. It was nearly completely surrounded and the front facing Mordor was already heavily engaged. Their ranks seemed to be holding up well, but the battle had only just begun and looking at our numbers its annihilation seemed certain. Again I wondered why they had not anticipated this, why they had come at all.

In my brain, perhaps in the brains of everyone in the army, Sauron's will was clear and focused, radiating anger and exultation. There is the enemy. Kill the enemy. Kill the leaders. Take the ring. So strong was this will that I felt a mild urge to scramble back down the stairs and join the procession of soldiery myself, even though I knew that was not my place and that it was my responsibility simply to watch.

And then, quite suddenly, the will was gone. In the space of a heartbeat Sauron's will went from a strength of total focus on the battle to an absence that was more complete than any I had felt since I had first entered his service. And in that instant, I had a vision. A small figure, looking very like the hobbit I had just seen on the plain before the gate, stood in a dark space beside a chasm of fire and held up his hand. I heard him say, "The ring is mine", and I could see a bright band of gold on his finger. Then, as suddenly as the vision appeared, it vanished. There were moments of nothing, then I caught the edge of a single ferocious command from Sauron, that yet held an edge of fear, even terror. The command was not directed to me or the army but the ringwraiths: "Leave the battle. Fly to Mount Doom. Fly now." Then nothing again.

Sauron's sudden departure from my mind left me a little faint and light-headed. If I had not already been sitting down, I might have fallen. My vision darkened, and then, as it returned, I found that I was looking out over a battlefield that was still. The soldiers nearest to me were not moving at all. Some orcs had fallen to their knees. The press of soldiers around the enemy forces, which previously had surged like waves against an outcrop of rock, was still. Initially, there was some sound. The clatter of armour falling to the ground; a few shouts from the enemy; the cries of eagles that had just appeared over the battlefield; but then these too fell silent. Thousands upon thousands upon thousands of men and other beings were now completely still, completely silent.

In the quiet I thought about what the vision and the command might mean. At some point Sauron had told me that the master ring had been forged in the volcanic furnace of Mount Doom and was invulnerable to all forces other than the fires of that furnace. It could only be destroyed in these fires. If it were destroyed, Sauron's power would be destroyed with it. And if I was interpreting the vision correctly, then the ring was within an arm's length of its end. No wonder that Sauron's command to the ringwraiths had held an edge of fear.

The still and silence continued, and then slowly I began to see a slight shuffling in the ranks. At the same time a low muttering began, of men and orcs asking their neighbours what was wrong, what was happening, why had everything stopped. Then the mutters were answered.

From behind me, there was a sudden orange light, which I saw out of the corner of my eye as a reflection on a rock to my right. I turned around to look east, and saw fire in the sky from the direction of Mount Doom. Then, moments later, there was an enormous bang, the sound a heavy piece of solid rock the size of a castle might make if it fell from a great height onto another similar piece of solid rock. Then I felt the stone beneath me jerk savagely, first to one side then the other. The sound changed to a continuous roar. I put my arms around the spur of stone I had been leaning against and clung on to keep myself from being thrown down. The stone swayed for so long I thought it must eventually topple, along with the whole mountain. The roar from the ground was interrupted by the clatter of stone falling on stone. To my right I saw the rampart of the Black Gate crumble and fall. Then, slowly, the swaying of my rock became weaker and then stopped, and, later still, the roar and clatter died down to a distant rumble. There was dust in the air. In the distance there was a column of fire topped by black smoke. Mount Doom had erupted.

I dared to loosen my hold on my stone. I heard cries and screams, initially muffled. I realised that I had been deafened by the noise. I stood up slowly and looked over to see that the great Black Gate of iron anchored in stone had collapsed completely. For a moment I thought of how angry Sauron would be at having to rebuild it. Then I realised that he was not in my mind at all. Not, as before, because his attention was completely elsewhere, but rather as though he had never been. I looked again to the east and saw a black cloud forming over Mount Doom. For a while it grew in the sky and hung like thunderclouds overhead but then a stiff breeze suddenly came up out of the west that blew away both the cloud and the dust that hung all around. From the west too, from the positions of the army of Gondor, I heard a voice that carried even over the battlefield between us crying that the ring had been destroyed and Sauron's power was at an end. For a little while I could make nothing of this, and then I found my mind quite coolly accepting it, and deciding that, indeed, yes, this was exactly what must have happened.

Even now I am surprised that I survived the ruin of the Gate, Sauron's annihilation, and the pandemonium that followed. I am even more surprised that I was able to react sensibly. I attribute this entirely to my father's advice. For some time after I realised that Sauron was gone, I felt and could think of nothing. And then, as though it was a vision, I saw my father's face block out the chaos around me and heard his voice over the clatter of falling stones and the occasional loud, rocky bang. It was a vivid memory of a conversation we had had long ago, when I first left home.

"I have a final piece of advice for you, something I learnt as a commander," my father had said. "It is advice you will need and use only as a last resort. I hope that you never end up on the losing side of a battle that has irretrievably gone against you. If you do, there is a good chance you will not survive it," he said sadly. "But if that moment comes and you are not already dead, there is only one sensible course of action to follow. It is to run. Start running immediately. Run as far as you can, and as fast as you can but make sure you do not run so fast that you destroy your ability to run. Many people have died because they rode their horse too fast in the beginning and when the pursuit eventually caught up with them, they had only a horse that was blown. Never turn back for what you have left behind. Do not stop running because you cannot see anyone behind you. Do not stop running when you think it might be safe. Carry with you only what you know you will need when you are running."

I needed to run. No, I needed to think clearly first. Then I needed to run. I needed four things to be able to run. I needed a horse, a real horse, not a monstrosity like Grazhfell. I needed food and water. And most of all I needed to know where to run to. I needed a direction. I would have to determine the direction from my vantage point before I searched for the other necessities. There were two choices. Choice one was to ride out of the gate in the wake of our now-disintegrating army and then turn east hugging to the north side of the east-flowing mountains. The advantage was that, if I could get clear of the battle, within a day or two the country would become reasonably hospitable with good pasture for a horse. I looked out on the catastrophe taking place on the plain before me. The tarks were pressing out now from their hills and had already come near to cutting off the escape route to the east. Only small groups or single madmen were trying to stop them, and these were quickly cut down. And before I could reach that gap I would have to cover nearly a league of ground filled with Sauron's orcs, trolls, and men. All the organisation in our army had collapsed. The trolls seemed to have stopped moving altogether. Perhaps they had been turned to stone in the daylight when Sauron had fallen. Many orcs were cowering against the ground. Some of them seemed to be trying to dig their way into it, presumably to escape the daylight. Others ran screaming this way and that. Some of these were harmless, but many still carried weapons that they used to strike anyone or anything in their way. Some of the men did the same. Other men in our army were in small groups and were mainly occupied with defending themselves against the maddened orcs. The sheer numbers and dense packing of Sauron's army were now destroying it, and the collapse of the gate into a heap of rubble and twisted iron made it very difficult for them to retreat back into Mordor. Still it might be possible for one man to negotiate his way out over the rubble, but would it then be possible to find a way through the press of soldiery? For some while, I assumed that I might be able to make it out over the remains of the gate. If I managed this, could I then make my way through the battlefield? Three times I attempted to trace out by eye possible routes through the chaos. Three times I saw myself failing and dying. No. I did not think it was possible.

Very well, choice two was to stay on this side of the ruined gate and head south-east, back into the heart of Mordor. That meant fleeing over the Udun, through the pass of the Isenmouthe, and hoping that when I reached this point it would still be possible to find some path over the plateau of Gorgoroth that had not been blocked by the eruption of Mount Doom, and that somewhere on this path there might be a little forage for a horse and enough water to sustain us both. Assuming I had a horse. I laughed to myself. Surely this was stupidity.

From my vantage point, I could see a good distance into Mordor and look down the road that ran south. Right now it was entirely empty. Of course, once I started down the road, I would have to stay clear of the pursuit and, far more dangerous, stay clear of other fugitives like myself. But the fugitives would probably come as a trickle rather than a flood because they would have to make their way back over the ruined gate. For league after league, I would have to evade the eagles that were even now swooping here and there on the battlefield. It was stupid, hopeless. No, I corrected myself, it was nearly hopeless, but not completely. I resolved to try this way.

The horse and supplies were next. South of the gate there had been armories and storehouses and stables, and it seemed possible that some of them might still be intact. I climbed carefully down the steps through the rugged cliffs and overhangs of the Morgai. Some of the steps were now missing, and again and again I stopped to force myself to concentrate entirely on the task of getting down without falling and ignore all other perils. Not until I was nearly at the bottom did I dare to look around and assess the situation. It was still surprisingly quiet. Neither the enemy nor the remnants of our army had yet made their way over the rubble of the Gate. No orcs or trolls were in sight, and I guessed that any of them left on this side of the gate had fled into the many caves of the Morgai. I could see only a handful of our men. Each stood alone, and seemed to be paralysed by shock, attempting neither to flee nor to fight.

The first storehouse I found was blocked, perhaps even filled, by stone that had fallen in the earthquake and from the second and third emerged the sounds of ferocious combat. I sped quickly by and came to the fourth. It was intact and silent. I unsheathed my sword, and walked just inside. A torch still blazed on the far wall, the first object I had seen that had not been affected by the catastrophe, and by its light I could see that in the entire hall there were only two living creatures, and both were horses. As I ran to them I saw that they were transport horses, not war horses. Not very tall, sturdy and apparently in good condition. Ideal. There was a heap of saddles and pack equipment just nearby. Better still. There were many weapons on the wall, but I did not need those. I had enough of my own.

The usual custom was for provisions to be stored in small rooms next to the main armouries. They were. Masses of them. Great cheeses on shelves. Smoked meat hanging from the ceiling. Kegs of beer. Biscuit. Waterskins. Barley for the horses. Even dried fruit. Food to feed regiment upon regiment that no longer existed. Quickly I saddled and loaded the horses, and led them out into the open. Two men there, both from the vassal state of Strezzogard judging by the signs they carried, were engaged in a conversation. Or perhaps it was a fight. At any rate they broke off what they were doing to glare at me.

I pointed back over my shoulder. "There's beer in there," I said casually. "You should get into it before it has all gone. It's very good."

They ran in search of it. One of them shouted thanks over his shoulder. I mounted one of the horses and nudged it towards the southern road. Slowly does it, I said to myself. Do not let them race. I have a long way to run.

12

I rode the horses away from the Gate and over the dry plain of Udun. It was difficult to strike the right balance between riding too fast and damaging the horses and riding so slowly that I would be overtaken by the pursuit and the other fugitives, and again and again I had to tell myself to slow down and not to tire out the horses too soon. From time to time I dismounted and walked. A league down the road a pack of wolves approached from behind, rapidly closing the gap on me, but when they came close they swerved to take themselves out of danger range, overtook me and then sped off towards the southeast. I doubted that they could maintain their speed, but perhaps they did, for certainly I never saw them again, dead or alive. Indeed, while I had thought I would be one amidst a mass of fugitives, apart from the wolves, I saw no one on the road at all that day.

I worried most about eagles. They could fly much faster than I could ride, even if I had stupidly decided to gallop the horses, and they could easily pick out stragglers on the open plain, especially as the smoke pouring out of Mount Doom made no headway against the wind which was now blowing quite strongly from the west, and any eagle would have a clear view. Every few moments I looked back over my shoulder towards the northwest where the battle had been and perhaps still was, but the only eagles I saw that day came towards me from the southeast.

When I first saw the three flying shapes appear over the mountains surrounding the Isenmouthe that still lay between me and Mount Doom, I thought they must be Sauron's pets that had escaped from the wreckage, but as they drew closer I saw that they were indeed eagles. There was nowhere to hide, so I brought my horses to a standstill, put my shield on my arm, and drew my sword as they approached.

But I need not have troubled myself. They made no move to attack me. Indeed, they paid no attention to me at all, but flew over my head at a height of perhaps two bow-shots. I watched them as they went. A man in a white robe was held under the leading eagle. He appeared to look down at me briefly as he flew overhead, and I saw a white beard glimmer in the sun. The distance was too great to be sure, but I thought it might have been Gandalf. The other two eagles also held figures in their claws, but the figures were smaller, perhaps half the size of Gandalf, and robed in black.

At first, I thought they were small orcs, perhaps taken as prisoners, but, as I rode on, I slowly put a different story together. Almost immediately after the collapse of the gate and Sauron's disintegration I had seen an eagle land in the middle of the enemy army, and then take off again clutching a white figure in its talons. In my dazed state I had watched it ascend until out of bowshot and then fly off in the direction of Mount Doom and the Dark Tower with two other eagles. It was probably these eagles that I now saw returning.

I had not thought much about this incident before, but in so far as I had thought about it at the time I had simply assumed that they had flown off to scout what had happened. But this now seemed less likely. If it was a scouting trip, why had it been so brief? The eagles had barely had time to fly to Mount Doom and back. I doubted that the eagles would be willing to carry live orcs, even small ones, but what intelligence could dead ones provide? The ground in front of the gate must now be littered with dead orcs. Why go to the trouble of fetching more? Indeed, even if the small orcs were alive, what news would they bring that was not already obvious?

Perhaps they were not orcs. In that last instant before Sauron's mind had vanished from mine, I had seen a vision of a small figure, probably a hobbit, standing by a precipice in a chamber of Mount Doom, outlined against the fire and wearing the ring whose recovery had been the centre of my master's desire. The figure had had an attitude of defiance, while Sauron's mind had been filled with fear and rage. Sauron's last coherent thought had been directed at the flying ringwraiths, but had come clearly to me, perhaps to many others in our army as well: Take the ring from the hobbit before it is thrown into the fire and destroyed.

The events that had followed only moments later had shown why he was so afraid. The hobbit must have done exactly what Sauron had feared. The ring had been thrown into the fire and its power and that of Sauron had been immediately destroyed. Perhaps the hobbit had put the ring on simply to taunt Sauron before throwing it in the fire. More likely after he had put it on he had felt Sauron's rage or the approach of the ringwraiths and realised that the only safety lay in destroying it immediately. Perhaps a companion, for the events at Cirith Ungol implied that he must have had at least one to help him escape, had advised him to destroy it.

Then, after the ring was destroyed and Mount Doom erupted, the hobbit and his companion would of course have been trapped by the fire and smoke and ash. So perhaps the eagles had been on a rescue mission to save them if it was possible, or more likely to recover their bodies. Had the figure I saw in the vision worn black clothing like an orc? Perhaps. I could not be sure, but then again Shagrat had reported that he had stripped all the clothing from the hobbit that he had captured, and he had brought it to the tower. This hobbit would have had to wear something after he was freed, and there must have been a good deal of spare black clothing at the fortress after the orcs had killed one another. Why not take some of it? Then too he would have found it easier to reach Mount Doom if he was clothed as an orc. At least from a distance it would have been a useful disguise.

There was much to think about here, and I did not think it out all at once. Over the following days I thought about different aspects of it, over and over again. Much of Gandalf's behaviour when I had met him and the other western leaders before the Gate now became understandable. When he had seen the mithril coat and the other objects he must have thought that the ring had been recaptured along with the hobbit. A possible reason why the enemy army had marched to the Gate even though they had no real hope of assaulting it became clear. Maybe the whole idea was simply to trick Sauron into thinking they had the ring. Or maybe not. This seemed unlikely.

At least, the reason why there had been "spies" in Cirith Ungol was now obvious. They had not been spies at all. But it was not until years later that I heard the story of how the hobbit, Frodo, had not in the end wanted to destroy the ring at all, and that it had only happened by a kind of accident. Nor did I know at the time whether the eagles had been carrying the live or dead bodies of Frodo and his companion.

The plain of Udun is a relatively small area, easily crossed in a day of normal riding. I had the smoke of Mount Doom before me the whole way, but the wind kept it from covering me overhead and it seemed to me that as I crossed the plain the output of smoke and ash gradually decreased, and slowly too as the day wore on tremors of the ground became rarer. In the first hour or so I had heard half a dozen sharp bangs, and felt my horse stumble a little in its footing and then slow in its walk. It had seemed to me then that the world about me trembled. As I heard one of the bangs I was approaching a small pillar of rock and it seemed to shimmer as if in a heat haze. But the disturbances of air and ground reduced during the day. In the last hour of my ride over the plain, the angle of the cliffs before me cut off my view of the cloud and there had been no tremors from the earth at all.

The plain of Udun is entirely enclosed by steep cliffs of stone except for the Gate itself towards the north-west, and a gap perhaps two bow-shots across in the south-east. The gap is known as the Isenmouthe. This was not fortified, and to my knowledge had never been fortified, either by Sauron or the old kingdom of Gondor, although it would have been easy enough to do so. Still, it was an obvious place to set an ambush, and I had made up my mind either to pass through the gap while it was still light or to camp in the plain and wait for the morning. I had made good time across the Udun plain, so I hurried on through just before sunset.

There was no one near the gap at all. It took only a few moments to pass through, and on the other side I saw that the world had changed. More or less directly ahead of me was the volcano of Mount Doom. This seemed slightly different in shape to when I had last see it, as though someone had carved off a part of its northern slope with a large wooden spoon. Smoke still came from its summit but there was no fire and the smoke now flowed up in a single even column for some distance until it quite suddenly broke up into billowing clouds. There was little wind where I was and it seemed now to have died down at the higher levels too.

On previous occasions when I had passed through the Isenmouthe, the Dark Tower itself had been clearly visible to the north of Mount Doom, squatting massively on the great spur of rock that thrust down from the northern mountains. The tower was not there. There was no sign that it had ever been there. There were no signs of shattered battlements, no broken towers, no ruins of any kind. Nor was there any movement or other signs of people or animals. There were no fires or smoke from the site of the tower. There was just the stone of the mountain spur itself. It was as though the tower had never been.

Of course, I was some distance away. It may well be that if I had had the time and foolhardiness to approach more closely, I would eventually have seen the regularity that distinguishes worked stone, wood and steel from the natural materials of the mountainside. But from my vantage point, the scene before me was entirely natural. Indeed, now the wind had lessened, it was surprisingly peaceful. The sun was not far off setting behind me, and some of the distant rock caught the reflections, and gleamed orange in its rays. The column of smoke from Mount Doom became more orange as it rose in the sky and, where its even flow changed to billowing clouds that broke up in the light wind, the orange shaded into pink, grey and yellow. The loud bangs from the earth had now stopped, and there was no sound of people, animal or bird.

The horse I was not riding snorted. They had travelled enough for one day. There were occasional cinders and a light dusting of ash on the road that led south. I dismounted and led the horses down the road for a mile or so and then left the road, cautiously making my way through rock, gravel and hardy bushes until I reached a small hollow that would do for a camp place for the night. Before I ate I set some snares round about to cover possible rabbit trails. I would need to do this every evening in an attempt to supplement my food. There are few animals of any kind in this part of Mordor, but there are occasional rabbits.

Before I slept, I also cast wards about the campsite that would warn me of the approach of any enemies. I was afraid that these simple spells, which only needed a drop of my blood to activate them, would no longer work now the ring had been destroyed, but so far as I could tell they were just as normal. Then again, the magic that works such simple wards is very old, long pre-dating the ring, or so Sauron had once told me.

For days I crossed the plain of Gorgoroth. My progress was slow. The main road from the Black Gate to the east had always gone past the Black Tower and this was obviously out of the question, even if the road still existed. The alternative was to take the longer road that led first south, virtually parallel to the mountain range to the west, and then to turn south-east to Lake Nurnen. There were often cinders and occasionally a larger stone on the road, and everything was covered in a thin layer of ash. For the most part I walked, and led the horses rather than rode them, partly to avoid the risk of their stepping on rock or ash that was still hot and laming themselves and partly to preserve their strength as long as I possibly could. Without their ability to carry the provisions, I did not think I could survive. For the first day or two I was particularly worried about the horses stepping on hot ash or cinders thrown out by the eruption but all the pumice and ash I found was cool.

I did not expect to survive. I planned and acted as sensibly as I could to increase my chances, but it was like playing a board game against a much superior opponent. You play as best you can, but in your heart you never expect to win. So as I travelled I never believed that my plans and precautions would actually work. There were too many dangers, too many things that could go wrong. The soldiers of the west, guided by eagles, could fairly easily catch me if they were interested enough. Then there were the remnants of Sauron's forces. Surely some orcs had survived in dark holes and would come out at night to search for food. There might also be small bands of men, wolf packs, and many other creatures that had served Sauron and would still walk at the night even though they might hide in the day. I judged those on my previous side to be more of a danger than my previous enemies, and so I travelled during the lengthening days of spring and rested at night behind my wards.

I did not think I had enough food or water. I had heaped the horses with all the provisions I could and as much forage as I thought they could carry, but I doubted that this would be enough to last me and it certainly would not be enough for the horses. I thought to kill one of them for its meat at some point. There would be little chance of finding very much to eat on the barren and broken plain of Gorgoroth, and at my slow pace it would take a long time to reach the greener and more fertile areas around Lake Nurnen. My worst fear was running out of water. I had taken as much as I could but this would not last forever and eventually I would need more. No regular rivers flow over the plain. Mordor can be hot in spring and it rarely rains. I knew the road had cisterns and troughs along it but these were widely spaced, and I doubted that any of them would still be usable after the eruption. Most likely they would be cracked or the water contaminated. In fact, the first two I found had large cracks in them and all the water had drained away. But perhaps I was lucky in this. If either had held water, they would most likely have been meeting places for groups of fugitives.

I dared not push the pace. I travelled with fear and mostly without hope. I devoted some of my attention to the path ahead. Did the ash hide a sharp rock or a crack in the road? Where under the light covering of ash was the road anyway? Where were the wolves and eagles? But for the most part, it was simply a matter of moving fairly automatically across a dull landscape, and when it grew dark of resting up and keeping myself and the horses as still as I could. So I found that much of my attention was directed inside myself. When I lay down to rest on the evening of the second day of my flight I found myself thinking of the sudden total collapse of my ambition – to find the missing ring of the chief ringwraith, to achieve immortality itself. Up to now I had avoided thinking about this because I expected to feel within me a vast anger, a vast hatred and bitterness, that would be of no use at all on my journey. But when it came to it, I felt nothing. This was surprising. I looked within myself as deeply as I could manage. Still no anger.

It was not until the evening of the third day that I began to see why. Then I began to ask myself a number of questions I had not asked myself before. The ringwraiths were not immortal. They had simply been very long lived. One of them had already been killed in battle. What had happened to the others? Sauron had always said that their lives and the power of the rings they had carried were dependent on the master ring. Now this had been destroyed, presumably the other rings would no longer work and presumably the wraiths themselves would die. Or perhaps they had been caught in the explosion of Mount Doom as they flew into it and were dead already. Of course, they had had thousands of years of life, but all of those years were in the past. They were now dead or dying, while I, ringless as I was, was still alive. Probably not for very much longer, but still….

Then again, while I had wanted immortality, to be honest still wanted immortality, or at least a longer life, as every creature does, there was also the question of what I might have done with a longer life. Would I have really enjoyed being a very long-lived ringwraith? What would it be like to live only partly in the world as the servant, perhaps even the slave, of Sauron? What would it be like to know that almost every other creature reacts to you only and always with fear? Like every other being in Sauron's service I had avoided coming close to the wraiths whenever I could. I had feared them – travelling alone on a dull journey compelled me to be honest with myself – perhaps hated them even, but had I ever really envied them? Had I ever thought that I would enjoy the life they led? Had I ever taken anything that they did as a model for how I should want to live? Had I envied them as one envies other men, for having a beautiful wife, or for being good at some activity, or simply for being able to tell a good story?

I realised that when I had thought about immortality in the past, I had always thought that I would simply go on being myself and being myself for ever. But maybe it would not have worked out that way. The lives of the ringwraiths were not just like mine but longer. They were quite different, different not only to me but even to the orcs. But had they always been so different? Perhaps they had started out just like me, ambitious men who simply wanted to live a little longer. But perhaps slowly, something had changed.

So far as I could tell they had spent thousands of years in Sauron's service. What would that have been like? For me it had not yet been twenty. Often I had enjoyed it. The conditions of Sauron's service were good for me, as they had been for most of the men and dwarves in his service. Good food and lodgings, good armour, weapons and horses – except for Grazhfell. The diplomatic work had been interesting, often fascinating, and largely I had been left alone and trusted to do it well. Without being arrogant, I could say that I had done it well, and it is always pleasant to succeed in the work you are doing.

But Sauron had always been in my mind, almost unnoticeably most of the time but on occasion quite strongly. Now I saw that since I had entered his service all those years ago I had never had complete privacy within my own mind, that there were certain thoughts that I had avoided thinking about to myself, just as for many people there are certain ideas that they dare not speak aloud. Sauron had often hinted to me that, when he recovered the master ring, his power to project his thought would have been enormously increased. In the past he had never actually had the power to control me, although, just days before, the depth and focus of his rage had come quite close to launching me in a hopeless and useless attack on the leaders of the western parley group. What would have happened if he had succeeded in recovering the ring? What freedom would I have had? What freedom would anyone have had?

And now that he was gone from my mind there were certain other things that could be thought about. I thought first about the treatment of Shagrat. Shagrat may have been an orc, he may have been brutal and disgusting, but he had been loyal. He had not deserved to be tortured to death for the small extra scraps of information his pain might have provided. At the time, despite my dismay, there had been at the back of my mind the thought that maybe it did not matter, because Shagrat was only an orc, but would Sauron have hesitated if the small scraps of information had been located in the mind of a man? Would Sauron have hesitated if the small scraps of information had been located in my mind? Would he not have pursued the scraps without any regard for anyone else?

I thought of the fallen tower. Shagrat must surely have died in its collapse. I felt good to think of his torture ending and ending suddenly.

I thought about Iluva. I took out from my pouch the small silver rabbit I had found on the road near Minas Morgul. Iluva had put it in its hiding place. That much was virtually certain. It would have taken a great deal to make her part with her mithril rabbit, and if anyone had taken it from her, he would have probably been equally reluctant to part from it. I knew that she herself hardly ever took the brooch off, and she would only have done it if she thought she was in real danger, perhaps as a signal to some passerby, like myself or another of her friends. She had probably done this as she was riding eastwards, most likely as she was pursued. But regardless of her direction it could only have been soldiers commanded by the wraiths or Sauron himself who pursued her. Perhaps it had even been one of the wraiths in pursuit, with his look of crawling spiders. No enemy could have made it so far inside the boundaries of Mordor with sufficient numbers to chase after her. Why had she been pursued? What had they wanted from her? Why did they kill her, for surely she must now be dead?

Sauron had said that she was taken by men of Gondor when she was in their kingdom and outside of Mordor. It seemed very likely that he had not told the truth then. But now I came to think back about it, there were other occasions when perhaps he had not spoken the truth. Had he or the now legendary Morgoth made the orcs immortal, for example? When Gratistar had told me that orcs were the degraded descendants of elves, I had laughed at the idea, but perhaps he was right. Everyone said that the making of the rings that made people immortal had been difficult and that only a few had been made. There were a lot of orcs. In any case, so far as I could see, the orcs had no rings. Shagrat, who claimed to have lived for thousands of years, had never worn a ring. So how then was immortality given to a small group of them? Inheritable immortality at that. I found myself remembering the command that Sauron himself had given me when he sent me to escort the elf woman back to Mordor. Do not take orcs, he had said. They would be uncontrollable. Why would they have been uncontrollable? Was there really a kinship between the elves and orcs? Would an elf woman have been an irresistible attraction to them? Then again, what reason did Gratistar have to lie to me about the orcs?

So I thought as I made my slow, steady, careful way across the dry plains in the northwest of Mordor. I would like to be able to say that there was some moment at which my doubts became a concern that I might have been serving the wrong side. I would like to be able to say I was beginning to think that maybe Sauron was evil, and his fall a benefit to the world. But if I am honest I think that would be untrue. I did not get so far with my thinking. I would like to say, too, that I began to wonder whether my own loyalty to Sauron had been implanted in my mind by him as Giuliane had seemed to suggest. But in fact that thought came very much later. It would be most accurate to say simply that, as the days went on, I found myself happier than I had been before, perhaps happier than I had been for many years, even though I was alone, in a harsh and ugly place, without much hope for the future, or even for surviving the next few days. And I also found myself thinking of the hobbits again, the hobbits that I thought I had seen clutched in the talons of eagles overhead. Part of it was simply that they must have done what I was now doing, crossing a dry plain in the midst of enemies without very much hope of surviving the experience. Had they been dead or alive when I saw them in the sky? I thought it unlikely that I would ever find out. I wondered what it would have been like to carry one of the rings of power, indeed, the master ring of power.

And while I was thinking in this way I found myself doing something very strange. At once, without meaning to, without even knowing I was doing it, I brought my horse I was riding to a halt, drew my sword, stood in the stirrups and shouted: "Well done, hobbits! I salute you!" Immediately I had done it, I felt a warm flush of embarrassment. I was never one for grand gestures, and to produce one in the middle of a desert seemed very strange. I looked quickly around in case there was a witness to my foolish gesture, but of course there was no one within leagues. Well, that was a relief.

But on another level I could not regret it. Bravery deserved to be saluted, even if it had been shown by my enemies. So I had always been taught. Nor was I completely convinced that that I should now regard them as my enemies. To never again hear Sauron's voice inside my head was a relief rather than a loss. It would have been nice to be immortal and not to age, but given that I was very likely to die within the next few days anyway, it seemed pointless to think as far ahead as getting old and grey.

On the fourth evening it rained. It was quite warm rain and it went on for quite a time. Such rain was rare in Mordor, as it had either to come from the east or to make it over the surrounding mountains. But a few times in each year we would get rain such as this, and by some great good fortune it had come at just the right time for me. I had already made camp when it started, and I put up cloths to catch it and send it into the every storage vessel I had. The horses lapped it up from small pools. But I knew the greatest benefit would come in the next days when there would be small eruptions of green leaves for the horses to eat. When I lay down that night I reflected, for the first time in my flight, that possibly, just possibly, I might make it. The thought kept me awake and in anxiety for much of the night.

The landscape slowly changed. At first there were small patches of green brought on by the rain, but these were only patches against the harsh background. But then the terrain slowly lost its rocky appearance. I was getting nearer to Lake Nurnen. The end of my desert journey was approaching, and at the same time my danger was increasing.

The lands around the lake had been worked by slaves, mostly men and women. Most of the slaves had been taken from the east, although a few were captives from wars with the west. They existed in small, squalid settlements, and they worked in fields that were irrigated from the lake, growing the crops of wheat and millet that were used to feed Sauron's soldiers. Their work had been directed by orcs or, very occasionally, by men or dwarves. In the past I had twice had the same task that Jaxind had had many years previously, of riding out to these settlements to find out why production had fallen behind, on both occasions finding the cause to be the brutality of the overseeing orcs who had killed or starved a good proportion of the slaves.

What would be the state of the settlements now, I wondered. Given that the orcs would now function poorly if at all in daylight, it seemed most likely that the slaves would have revolted, and, despite poor weaponry, would have succeeded in overthrowing their overseers. They would have killed whatever orcs they could and the rest of the orcs would have fled to caves or other dark places. The former slaves would kill out of hand anyone who they thought had fought for Sauron. Certainly they would kill a former Lieutenant of the Dark Tower.

Yet there was no way around the settlements. The mountains here were impenetrable, and I could not stay in the desert indefinitely. Apart from one rabbit and a handful of thyme, I had found no food in the days of my travels, and although the horses could now find a little sparse forage, even this would dry up within a week or so. I had to go on.

I would need a story of some kind, but which to tell? For a while I thought that I might pose as an advance scout for the army of the west. I had no doubt that there would be such scouts. But then I would need to explain why my gear was that of the east rather than the west and why my horses bore Sauron's brand. Then too probably a few of the slaves would be from the west and they would easily be able to find holes in my story. I could speak the language well enough, but it was all too easy to imagine a conversation along the lines of "Oh, you are from Tiny Village. You must know Fredda." What reply could I make? This did not seem promising.

The alternative was to be honest about where I came from, to be honest about having served with a force that had been part of Sauron's army but then to give another reason for my escape. The most obvious one was to say that I had been a captive at the time of the Sauron's fall and had managed to escape by luck. Why had I been a captive? Perhaps killing an orc would do it, nothing particularly high-minded behind the quarrel, just the outcome of a brawl. Of course, it was fairly unusual for anyone to be jailed for such an offence – it would be more normal to either be killed out of hand or, more likely again, have it completely ignored. Still, it might serve. The trick here was not to come out with anything too clever or anything which might make me sound too good. The jail collapsed with the Gate, and I emerged to find chaos around me and a few supplies. Of course, this story had the advantage of having a good deal of truth to it. Whether it would be enough to save my life was another matter. But I did not find a better choice.

13

I saw the first village of slaves in the distance one afternoon. Even from a distance I could see that I would not easily be able to avoid it. The area around was mostly flat and there were very few tall trees and certainly no forest. It would be hard to escape the sentries which were very likely to be posted. But I had run out of flour and meat the night before and the horses needed to rest in some place where they could put on the weight they had lost. I should try to approach the village openly. I decided that an arrival shortly after dawn would be safest, thinking that perhaps the mild and peaceful morning might influence how they reacted.

Sure enough, early the next morning I was spotted by a sentry and then surrounded by half a dozen men, all with weapons of some kind at the ready. I dismounted but made no move to defend myself. Either I could talk my way out of the situation or I would die.

At first the questioners were too many to answer but then a leader took over. He was a man of medium height and build with greying hair, olive brown skin, and a white scar that made a three-quarter circle around his right eye. He asked my name and I gave it. He asked where I had come from and I said the Black Gate. He asked what had happened there and I told him what had happened pretty much as I had seen it, although with a few modifications to allow for my having been a captive for the early stages of the battle.

"What were you doing at the Black Gate at all?" he asked, and I gave him my story of being an officer in an eastern army and being made captive after a fight with an orc.

Then they all spoke at once.

"He's an enemy, kill him.
"Whose army were you with? Where did it come from?"

"Where did you get that armour?"

"How come you escaped and no one else has?"

This was not going well. The faces looked ugly. I had miscalculated, They had been slaves for a long time. They had little patience. They did not understand that not all of the men from the east had chosen to ally with Sauron. They wanted vengeance and I was there. But I could not fight so many. Although it seemed hopeless, I would have to persist with my plan and try to talk my way out. I started to answer the easiest question first. "I was with the army of King Helstorix, and…"

At this very moment another man ran up towards the group shouting: "Another two children have gone. Intira is dead. Her head has been cut off."

Again, everyone started speaking at once. I stood quietly, listening, largely ignored for a moment. I learned that orcs had raided the slave village – I must stop thinking of it as the slave village, I told myself. They had done this before and every time they stole children. They came at night, slipped through or killed the guards that had been posted, and stole one or two. They had done this nearly every night since the slaves had revolted. The orcs that had survived the revolt had fled to some caves that had briefly been unsuccessful mines and more recently had been used for storage. And it was very hard to attack the orcs in the darkness of the caves.

"We will have to attack the caves again," said the leader of the group.

Two or three spoke against him.

"It will be another massacre. We can't fight them in the caves, Artor. They can see us, and we can't see them. Not well enough."

"We should set a trap," said another.

"No. They'll spot the trap."

"We should move ourselves. We could move far enough away so that they cannot find us in a night."

"There are too many of us, and besides they can run miles by night."

Then someone turned to me. "So, stranger, Caeus, whoever, you should know a bit about orcs. They were your old friends. Do you have any idea of how to stop them?" He spoke with a sneer, in rage and frustration. For a moment I hesitated, but if I did not answer I was dead.

"Yes. I do know how," I said.

There was sudden silence. "We will need a good deal of metal and dwarves or men with some skill at working it," I said, and then I went on to explain how it might be done.

When I had finished, the men were quiet. Suspicious but quiet. Artor nodded. "Very well," he said, "we will try it, Caeus. I am afraid you will be staying with us for the next few days. Under guard."

Two of the men disarmed me and bound my hands and led me off to a small hut. Well, it was better than being killed immediately. How odd, I thought, that the orcs had saved me.

Three days later, all was ready to go. The mirrors were ready, and there was no cloud in the morning sky. Nearly a hundred armoured men and five very heavily armoured dwarfs assembled on a patch of grass in front of the caves.

Artor stood on a small rock and spoke briefly, reminding them that over a dozen children had now been taken from the slave settlement. He went on to name the men and women that had died trying to save them.

"And today," he concluded, "we have the chance of revenge and to end these raids. Caeus has given us a plan and will lead the attack on the first cave. He has already explained the idea to many of you, but I will ask him to repeat it so that everyone knows exactly what we are trying to do."

He stepped down from the rock and I took his place. It was a curious feeling to go from being a guarded and feared prisoner of a group of men, even if a frequently consulted prisoner, to being their leader. I decided to use my speech to review our tactics as a final reminder to everyone of what we were supposed to be doing.

"Many of you have had the experience of fighting orcs in the dark, and you know how difficult it is," I said. "They are fast, cunning, choose the moment to attack well, and they see better in the dark than we do.

"Many of you know too that orcs cannot stand sunlight, and now that Sauron and his spells have gone, they have no protection against it. It maddens them. But of course they are not completely stupid, and they know this, so they will not come out into the sun. As they will not come out, so we must go into them. But if we simply walk into their caves when we have gone just a few paces inside it will be as dark as night, and it will be just as bad as fighting them at night. So to win the battle we must take the sun with us. We have mirrors of different sizes which the dwarves among you have made. We will pass the light of the sun from mirror to mirror, and so light up the caves.

"When we go into a cave, the man with the biggest mirror will stay outside and use it to direct the light of the sun inside. The men with the smallest mirrors will be in the front line and they will look to reflect the sunlight right into the eyes of any orc we find. Those with the middle-sized mirrors will be stationed at corners and bends in the caves and they will be part of the chain that passes the light of the sun to the front line. As we leave them behind us in the caves, we shall be leaving them with at least two guards per mirror.

"The mirrors are our best weapon against the orcs, but those who carry them will be very vulnerable because they have only their mirrors and no swords or axes. Those of us who carry the weapons have the duty of killing the orcs and also of trying to protect the mirrors and those that are holding them. That is our responsibility."

I hesitated, wondering how much more to say. I had set small groups to rehearse how to walk into the caves without interrupting the light coming in behind them. The best idea was to hold the mirrors up above man height, but parts of the caves were known to have low ceilings, so we had worked out ways to walk that would leave corridors for the light. The general rule was that the light would have the middle of the passages, and the fighters the left and right. We had arranged signals to warn those inside to retreat if clouds came to block the sunlight.

Where possible those holding the front mirrors would be holding them up high, so these mirror bearers were tall men. I had thought originally to be one of them but Artor had refused to let me.

"We need you to lead and fight," he had said. "You did say you had done this before?"

"Yes," I had replied. "Once. I was not a mirror bearer."

He had paused for a moment then, no doubt wondering exactly where this had been, and who I had been fighting with, and whether I might be lying about having done it at all. In fact I was not. To be truthful I had been quite terrified and played only a minor part on the one occasion I had done it. Still I had seen how the attack was supposed to work and that was the important thing here.

"The chief danger," I had continued, "is that it will be very difficult to keep the mirrors coordinated when they are surrounded by men who are trying to fight. We could improve the coordination by spending days and days in practice but…"

"Then the orcs would carry off still more of our children at night."

"Yes. Exactly. But make no mistake, this will be a very bloody business and many of those who go into the caves will not come out again. The mirrors will make the combat more even and give us a chance, but the orcs will still be deadly."

Now I thought: Should I remind those present that they might not see the real light of day again? No. They knew it well enough themselves. I scanned the group closest to me. Two men and two dwarves who would be in the front line for the first cave. They had all done as I suggested and were armoured from the tops of their heads to their feet. The men had short swords, the dwarves small axes. So far as I could tell, they were motivated to fight.

"Right," I said. "Let's get going. We'll start with the cave on our right. It seems likely to be the easiest."

There were four cave entrances in total. According to the plans we had seen and discussed, the one with its entrance on the furthest right was the smallest and least elaborate and thus the least likely to be heavily defended. Certainly it seemed the best for a trial run, and to give us a chance to practice our coordination before we tackled the larger and more difficult caves. Or maybe this was pure wishful thinking. But we had to start somewhere.

The entrance was large enough for three to walk abreast. I took the left side. A man called Stomas held a mirror in the centre and a dwarf called Jandin took the right. I was sure Jandin was wider than he was tall, and the width seemed to be all muscle. Two dozen others were behind us, all keeping to the sides of the passage. I would say that we walked in, but it would not be true. In reality we shuffled, taking the small steps of old men. Keeping proper formation was much more important than speed. In the light of the mirror the cave stretched out in front of us for perhaps a chain. So far as I could see, it was roughly square in cross-section, with rough-hewn stone on the sides and ceiling and sparse dry sand spread on the floor. There was a faint smell of earth. There was no movement, no sign of life. We shuffled forward.

Slowly we came to a point where there seemed to be a turn-off to another tunnel of the cave. It was on the right, so it would be Jandin's to deal with. We slowed down and another man with another mirror crept up behind Jandin. I and Stomas stopped, still facing forward. Jandin moved past the turn-off turning into it as he did so, and the other mirror shone its sunlight down the tunnel.

It was hardly a tunnel, barely two strides in depth. Jandin walked into it and prodded the sides with his axe, looking for hidden doors or entrances, but there was nothing. He knelt. "There used to be boxes here," he said. "There are marks in the sand." He stood up, took his place line abreast again and we shuffled forward some more.

The next turn-off was on the left. My turn. We shuffled up to it, and then I took a single long stride across the mouth of the tunnel. Instantly, there was a scream, and a scimitar curving towards my head. With that much power behind it, it would have cut my head in two through the helmet had it struck, but I had already had my sword up to counter a head stroke before I stepped, and there was a crack of steel on steel. I do not know if I could have countered a second stroke if the orc had reacted at his normal speed, but my mirror man was fast, and shone the light of the sun right into the orc's face. The orc froze for an instant and in that time I made my counterstroke at his neck and he was down. He was alone, the only defender of a corridor no more than a few feet deep. There were a few pottery jars on wooden shelves on the outward side. I took in all this in one glance. The fallen orc twitched. He had armour so I stabbed him deep under the arm to be sure, and he made a soft rattling noise.

I wiped my sword on the dark cloth he was wearing and stepped back into the line. I was motionless for a few instants to give my heart a chance to slow a little. "All right," I said at last, "we carry on."

There was no one else in the first cave. The central passage was short and there was only one other alcove. After we left it we paused for a little outside, and then entered the second cave.

It smelt different, a mix of blood and cool earth. There was little point in silence as the orcs would hear us coming in any case so I told the others to be alert as there were certainly orcs in this cave. I am not sure why I did this; they could interpret the smell as well as I could. I would have guessed from the smell that this cave would be bigger and more complex, although I already knew this from the plans that I had studied. Slowly we made our way along the entry passage. We eased past two empty alcoves, both on the right hand side. We approached a T-junction at the end of the passage. The smell grew stronger and mixed with it was the smell of rotting gums.

Again we paused just before the corner. "One, two, go... " I murmured and Jandin stepped forward to the right at the same time as I went left. This time I held my shield high, and instantly felt and heard the crash as some weapon crashed down on it. Of course, this mode of defence meant I could not see who wielded the weapon. There was another crash behind me. Either Jandin had parried the blow or I would be stabbed in the back. Then there was light in front of me. I lowered my shield just enough to see over the top. Slightly to my right the head of a boy mounted on an upright spear. Instantly, I thought: distraction. But Stomas had kept to his task well. He shone his light in the eyes of the orc in front of me. The orc's eyes flared red, as if made of flowing blood. I took a pace forward, pushed my shield into the orc's body and stabbed quickly around it. I pushed again and the orc fell backwards into the path of another behind him.

"That is Carina... " said a voice. Stomas's? The mirror wavered.

"Keep the mirror on the orcs," I shouted. "Forget the head."

If the second orc had not been entangled with his fallen comrade, we would have died that moment. Then Stomas directed his mirror on the second orc. Again, there was a long moment when the orc seemed to freeze. I took two paces forward and killed him as well. Beyond there was more empty corridor for at least a few paces. I took the risk of turning away for a few moments to see how Jandin had fared. His corridor was very short, an alcove really, and must have held only one orc who was now dead. But Jandin's mirror man was down, and his replacement was taking up the mirror, as the fallen man was carried away. In the swift glance I saw that on the far wall of this alcove there were two small heads on a shelf.

"Jandin and others back into the corridor now," I shouted. "Stomas, two paces back with me. One, two. Now back into the corridor. We stepped back and moments later arrows clattered into the alcove opposite the passage.

There was a pause of a few seconds to reform. I ordered two bowmen forward. "When I say, just shoot straight down the left corridor. Round about hip height. Don't worry about aiming or trying to hit anything. One shot each, then step back immediately. Stomas, Jandin. After they shoot, we move forward together and then down the corridor. Fairly fast if we can. It looks quite long. Stomas, you did well with the girl's head. I'm sorry but there will be more. Hands too most likely. Children's hands. The heads and hands have been cut off and are placed only to distract us for a moment. There will be no living children in here. They are all dead. Do not let the heads and hands distract you. Save your grief until later. Bowmen, are you ready? Immediately after you have shot, step aside to allow us through. Then follow on later. Wait for it. Now."

The bowmen step forward, shoot, and step back. The three of us step forward. The light from Stomas's mirror shows no one ahead in the corridor but at least three side passages. We move forward.

The next right turning point shows a long corridor. We split up. I continue ahead with new companions. Jandin leads a team down the right-hand corridor.

I am afraid that my sweat will make me lose my grip on my sword. The shield is heavy to carry but why does it always seem so light and frail when a spear or scimitar hits it? I am afraid of sweat running into my eyes and blinding me. It is too hot, and then a moment later I am chilled. There are two small side passages to the right but there is nothing and no one in them. It looks like the passage will end in a large open space, and Stomas, who knows the cave system well, reminds me that there is a large storage area at the end. I think that it will probably be defended.

But before we reach this area, there is a sound from behind us. Jandin and his team must have encountered enemies. We halt for an instant and hear cries, screams and the clash of metal. Then there is silence. The team left at the junction signal that the orcs are dead and that at least some of our soldiers have survived. Our turn. I signal to those around me and we shuffle forward down the corridor and into the store area. Again, I raise my shield above head height as we walk into the store area, and this time we are met with a hail of arrows. Two or three hit my shield and one ricochets off the greave covering my left leg. There is no light. Stomas is down. Someone else is down. I stay put. To retreat is to give the orcs too much time to recover. There is a new smell mixed in with the others, the smell of mushrooms.

There is a new mirror man and light. Just in time. Light shines into the eyes of an orc charging towards me with a lowered spear. His eyes flare in the light and the spear point wavers. I take a step forward, hack at the spear's iron tip with my sword, and then step forward again to knock the spear-tip away with my shield. This orc has no helmet and I take off the top of his head while he is still dazzled by the light. There is another orc to my right but someone engages him as another mirror man shines light onto him. I step forward again and my team deploy beside and behind me. Here, with light and the space to make numbers count, we have the advantage. The orcs are cut down in the open space and then we hunt down three who have fled separately into the short corridors that branch out from the open space. It grows quieter, just muffled footsteps and murmurs.

Someone lights a torch so that the area is illuminated steadily rather than in brief brilliant bursts of reflected sunlight. The smell of mushrooms has grown stronger as many of them have been trampled in the fighting. They grow on shelves on every side as well as underfoot. Blood stains some of them.

"Why are there mushrooms here?" someone asks.

Someone answers. "The orcs grow them underground. Didn't you know? They plant, care for, and harvest them." The voice sounds almost sorrowful, reluctant to admit perhaps that, in this one area of their lives, the orcs are capable of creating order, perhaps even beauty, with their skill. But what else grows underground on filth and debris? I reflect that we often ate orc-grown mushrooms in the dark tower and they were delicious.

I am not paying much attention to the mushrooms. I have been looking around for something else, and in a corner I finally see it. A pile of bones next to a cauldron. I go over to the corner and inspect. The bones are small and recognisably those of children. They are all clean. The orcs must have boiled all the flesh off them, leaving perhaps just a few heads to use for distraction. Some of the bones have been gnawed. I see ribs and thigh bones among the smaller bones. I count five skulls. Add to the three heads we have already seen, and this makes eight. Artor has told me that fourteen children have gone missing, so six are still unaccounted for. I expect we will find their remains in the other caves.

Some of the bones are very small. The finger and toe bones are nearly invisible. I see that two of the skulls show sutures which have not yet closed. I am aware that there is a deep, cold rage within me. I need to channel it to complete the rest of the job.

I find Artor and tell him about the bones. He agrees with me to obtain a burial party to gather them up, and that the women should not be allowed to come in until this job is done. Some of Jandin's team joins us, now led by Hargin, who is the most skilled of all the village's dwarfs at metalwork. Hargin tells me that Jandin is dead, and so are three others of this group. Seven men and a dwarf are already dead and two others are badly hurt. In total I think we have killed nine orcs.

We spend a little time checking every side corridor carefully and then we move out of the cave. I look up at the sun as we come out. I expect it to be now well into the west, but it is still morning. The sun is not only still in the east, but hardly seems to have moved since we began. This surprises me, but it is good that there is likely to be enough sunlight to finish the job. There is a slight pause while everyone drinks a little water and has something quick to eat.

The third cave is just as deadly and frightening as the second. Another eight men die, and we kill seven orcs. This time a child's head had been placed at the level of a man's eyes just beyond the turning of a corner. An orc had forced her dead eyes to open and they had flashed blue in the light of the mirror. The sight is compelling and so the second mirror bearer I have fought beside dies.

Now there is only one cave to go. The group reforms with replacements for many of those who have fought in the previous caves. Artor approaches me just before we are ready to enter it. "Caeus," he says, "you have led into every cave. Every other leading man or dwarf has had a turn away from the front line. Someone else can take your place."

For some reason his words make no sense to me. I can see the blue eyes of the dead girl in the previous cave as if they were in front of me. I can see one of the tiny finger bones that lay beside the cauldron in the second cave. Of course, I will go on. This is my place. However, at the moment I am unable to find any of the words I would need to reply to Artor, so I simply shake my head.

We are attacked at the first turning but the orcs' assault is immediately met with light and blades. We defeat this attack quite easily. Perhaps we are getting better at this. Then we approach another T-junction. I take the left hand turn and Hargin the right hand one. An orc charges towards me with a spear which I deflect easily. I see the orc stop within easy arm's reach, his eyes red in the reflected sunlight. His mouth opens as my sword takes him just under the chin.

Later I become aware of a pain in my head and that I am being carried on a litter. Someone says to watch out because the ground is tricky underfoot.

I think that I must be alive. Someone is looking after me. I can relax, go to sleep.

A little later. I am lying on a bed. I am warm but thirsty and someone pours water into my mouth. It is utterly delicious. But a waterskin blocks my view and I cannot see who to thank.

Later again. There are people around my bed talking in low voices. I cannot see any of them without turning my head. I start to do this, but a woman's voice says "No. Do not worry. Go back to sleep."

Later again. The bed feels different. Perhaps I have been moved. My head hurts a little, but mostly I feel very tired. The room is quite light, but with torches not daylight. There is a man smartly dressed in black and silver. He has a stern face and is looking down at me. I have not seen him before. Someone else says the single word "No".

Later again. It must be daytime. I can see blue sky through a window. I find I can turn my head slowly. My neck and head ache a little but the pain is not bad. I see that I am in a small room and there is no one else in it. I do not feel very tired, so for a while I simply look at the patch of sky. A small cloud crosses it. A little later there is another. I start to wonder if I will see a bird but I fall asleep again before I do.

Later again. It is dark. Someone enters with a torch and peers down at me. He must see that my eyes are open because he says my name.

"Caeus?" he says. "Are you awake?"

"Yes," I say, before I have time to think of how I should answer him.

"I am Hargin."

I think about this. I notice that he has a beard and massive shoulders. He is a dwarf. "You survived then," I say at last.

"Yes," he says. "An orc aimed a blow at me but hit you instead. That's why you are here. He had a long spear-like weapon with an edged hammer on the end."

"A poleaxe."

"Is that what they are called?"

"That's one of the names. They are usually used against horsemen." Suddenly I am too tired to ask why anyone would want to use a poleaxe to fight in a cave. I think maybe I am still alive because the orc did not have enough room to swing it properly. Perhaps there were no other weapons left.

"It dented your helmet but didn't break it. And you don't have a fractured skull."

This is good. Many die if their skull is fractured. I think of nodding, but it is easier to say a few words.

"Thanks," I say. "I am glad you made it out. How many died? Did you clear all the caves?"

"We cleared all the caves. The orcs are all dead. The children are saved. No one comes for them anymore. Now stop talking," Hargin says. "The medical woman says you should sleep."

When I next opened my eyes, it was daylight. I felt a little weak and tired, but mostly I felt myself. A woman entered and I wished her good morning. She was tall and slim with long, dark hair pulled back into a bun. She introduced herself as Hermiesa. She checked a bandage on my head by smelling it, and then, very gently, she touched different places on my head. There was a little pain from time to time but not very much. "I think you are going to survive," she said, smiling. She stood upright and I asked her if she was my doctor.

"I am indeed, and I'm pleased. You should be able to get up in a day or two. Does your head hurt?"

"Not at the moment." I shook it gently. "A little if I move it."

She nodded. "There is no break. There is a bump, actually two bumps, a massive bruise and I put stitches into a cut. You should be fine. You should be careful about standing under axes in future."

I smiled. "I didn't really mean to."

"I'm sure. Keep resting. I will tell Artor that he can talk to you tomorrow. He has some things he needs to say to you. No. Don't worry. There is nothing you need to worry about. I promise. You are quite safe from everything. "

She must have seen anxiety in my look. Now that I was able to think that I might have a future again, I knew that I would be in danger when the first outriders from Gondor reached the village and started asking questions.

Artor came with Hermiesa the next morning. I had considered trying to flee overnight but quickly abandoned the idea. Not only did I know I was still too weak for a long journey but also I could not imagine finding my horses and gear and stealing provisions without attracting attention. And my doctor had promised.

This time Hermiesa unrolled the bandage and inspected my head closely. She nodded and replaced the bandage.

"It looks good and smells better," she said. "You are recovering well, Caeus. I'll leave you with Artor."

Artor sat down on a stool beside the bed. "You have a hard head, Caeus. Do you remember what happened?"

"Pretty much everything up until being hit on the head, I think. What happened in the fourth cave? Did you clean out the orcs?"

"Yes. They are all dead, and we are starting to reuse the caves as storehouses. The children are all accounted for. As you had said, all had been killed. Many people are in mourning for the children and the dead men and dwarves. All the burials have taken place."

"How many?"

"Eighteen men and two dwarves so far. Two other men are likely to die. Of course there were others wounded like you, but Hermiesa thinks that the rest will recover. We killed just twenty-three orcs. I had thought it might be easier."

I had not. "They fight well underground," I said. "The dwarves do too."

"So do you," said Artor.

Well, close quarters battle was my only real fighting skill, I thought, and I had excellent armour for it.

"The other wounded are all together," Artor said, "but after the first night, we decided to put you on your own."

"Oh... Did I make too much noise? I'm sorry if I did."

"No more than the others. It was a question of language. You were talking aloud from time to time. You spoke in different languages."

He paused.

"I do speak a number of different languages," I said.

"Yes. I noticed. One of them is the Black Speech. Some of us can recognise it and one or two can even speak a little of it, although not usually from choice."

Instantly I was colder than if I was lying on snow.

"Please do not worry," Artor said. "If I was going to kill you or hand you over to Gondor, I would have done it by now... We discussed what to do. We had to, you see. While you were lying here unconscious or half-conscious, the first messenger from Gondor arrived. He gave us the news of the fall of Sauron and the Dark Tower and the triumph of the western armies. Quite similar news to yours, in fact, and there was a moment when I was afraid that someone would mention that we had already had some news of the battle and the other events from you. The herald came to look at all the wounded men. He asked if you might have been one of the high-ranking men in Sauron's service that had somehow escaped the battle or the tower. One of his missions is to find such people, if any have survived, and return them to Minas Tirith for trial."

I opened my mouth to deny that I was one of these fugitives, but he held up his hand.

"No. Please don't say anything. I am sure you are going to deny this, but you don't need to. You should relax. I wouldn't want to know if you were anyway. We discussed what to do with you while the herald was asleep, you see." He paused. "You must know that even without the Black Speech your story looked thin. You know a lot about orcs. Your armour is dwarf-made, and how many easterners have armour like that? A few, perhaps, but not very many, and I would bet that none of them would have armour with Zargridon's mark on it. Hargin said that he was the best metalworker in Sauron's service."

Well, I thought to myself, they may have reached the right conclusion, but they have got there by the wrong path. Sauron had quite often gifted dwarf-made armour, even sometimes Zargridon's armour, to eastern leaders. It had always been a special gift, for Hargin was quite right about Zargridon's skill and reputation. Sometimes I had taken a suit of it with me as a gift on a diplomatic mission. Of course, there was no way I could explain any of this to Artor.

"But," Artor continued, "no matter what we believe or suspect about your past, we could not give you away. No one argued for that. You produced a plan for us, when we did not have one. You led us and fought for us. I do not know that we could have defeated the orcs without you, and ... I saw your face when you told me about the pile of children's bones in the second cave."

Had he? I wondered. Did I really raise my helm so that he could see my face? It seemed unlikely and it would have been very careless of me, but at this point I found that there were things that must have happened in the caves, particularly the third and fourth, that I could not clearly remember. I was left just with isolated moments, isolated scenes. Perhaps being knocked unconscious had affected my memory after all.

Artor continued. "We could not let the herald know what we suspected after all this. So at first we hid your armour from sight and told him that you were just another ex-slave from a different village, who had probably only been recently taken after a battle in the east. We made sure that he did not hear you speak when you were delirious. So you are quite safe, and when you leave you will find, as the herald did, that your armour now bears the mark of Hargin. In any case, the herald has now gone on to another village."

It was hard to know how to reply to this generosity. "I thank you for all your help," I said, "and when I next see Hargin I will tell him that I would always be proud to wear armour with his mark on it. He fought beside me."

Artor nodded. "You are welcome to stay with us as long as you care to. The herald said that most likely those of us who were slaves can settle here and govern this land. But, of course, many will want to leave and search for the families they were taken from. One or two have already left. I shall be staying. I have been here too long. I was taken as a child."

What family could he now find? I thought. I was silent for a moment. "Thank you for your kindness but I will not be staying. My home is to the south of here, and I shall return to it."

Artor rode out some of the way with me two days later. I was reasonably well healed, and despite what he had said I did not want to risk being unmasked if another rider from Gondor showed up or the previous one returned. We rode together for half a day, and when we crested a low hill and saw a small village some way in the distance, he pulled alongside me to speak.

"I will leave you on your own now, Caeus," he said. "That village you can see in the distance will take you most of the rest of the day to reach. It is called Hotstream, and it is on a small river that flows into Lake Nurnen and has warm water at all times of the year. It is fed from a hot spring that is a little way to the north… Probably originates underground somewhere near Mount Doom. It is fairly close to Lake Nurnen, which you can see over there to the right." He pointed, and I nodded. Then he took a small piece of parchment out of a saddle bag and handed it to me. "The villagers at Hotstream were slaves like us, and they have also revolted. This parchment is a letter of introduction for you. It tells them, or any other village of ex-slaves, that you have done us great service and asks them to treat you kindly for our sakes. Of course, there is a risk that they still have problems with orcs, so you might be called on to help out there too.

"Thank you again for all you did for us. When I see my son playing in the sun, I think of you." He reached over and shook my hand. He had not mentioned before that he had a son. I wondered which of the children running around the village he had been.

I took the parchment and thanked him, although I was unsure whether to use it, thinking rather to camp out whenever possible and thus reduce the risk that someone somewhere might recognise me. I had in mind to slip home as quietly as I could.

But then, not an hour after I had parted company with Artor, I found myself remembering a woman with smooth brown skin and strong slim hands who had worked leather in a market near the castle in the kingdom of Ogglax. A woman called Giulianne. I halted my horse and thought. I knew nothing about her. Quite likely she was married, although I could not remember seeing a ring. Perhaps she would be impossible to find. Most likely the east would now be in chaos. Most likely of all she would now have no interest in a man who had fought for Sauron, indeed been one of his lieutenants. Perhaps she would betray me. And then, quite suddenly, for no reason that I could tell, I found myself bursting into laughter amid my doubts. I would ride east to Ogglax and delay my homecoming yet again.

14

I reached my home towards the end of the summer. My father still lived and was astonished and delighted to see me. I had never seen such joy in his face. My sister had married but lived quite close by. I discovered I had a new nephew and niece. My father was now aging and slowing and I gradually took over the running of the family estates, and when he died, a few years later, they became mine. My own children arrived, to my great joy. We continued to produce silk which we traded widely, and my family prospered. As the years went on our largest single market was to be found in Minas Tirith in the land of Gondor. Trading ships often took our woven cloth down a nearby river to the port of Umbar, then up the western coast, and then on up the river Anduin to the seat of King Elessar. It was a rather roundabout and complex route, but only very rarely were there troubles with it.

Such ships occasionally took passengers too, and one day I decided to go myself. This was partly for reasons of business. It is often good to find out what the garment finishers and merchants think of your product, and you can get good ideas about what kind of weaving and patterns best please them, what colours of dye to use, and so on. But my main reason was simple curiosity. I had never seen the city and it was now the capital of the greatest power that anyone knew of, perhaps the greatest power that was now in the world. Others had visited and told me that the city on the side of a mountain was a breathtakingly beautiful place.

My wife and I made the journey. I sold the silk which I had brought with me to the local merchants, and talked with them at length about how we might better produce it for their market. We looked all around the city, which we found just as beautiful as others had described it. I had never been anywhere where there was so much light. The buildings were white but everywhere in the city there were tall and graceful trees, and the light filtered through them. One day we walked down to the main gate, which I was told had only recently been repaired by the work of dwarfs. The gate was made of steel, and I noted that the standard of their metalwork was very high. Then we walked out into the surrounding countryside. For want of a better direction, we walked towards a distant statue. It turned out to portray a man on horseback holding up a long sword. When we were up close we found a small plaque declaring that a king called Theoden of Rohan and also the chief Ringwraith of Mordor had been killed at this very spot. The statue was crowned, and the face was pleasant if a little stern, so we guessed it portrayed the king and not the ringwraith. At any rate the stone was solid and still and peaceful. Around it was green grass with small daisies. It occurred to me that there was a chance that somewhere in the surrounding soil underneath the grass there might be a gold ring with a dull black stone in it. Gold, after all, does not tarnish. More likely though a passerby or one of the statue's sculptors had found it many years ago. I stood for a moment, wondering whether it mattered at all to me. I looked back at the city, and the mountain it was built against. The white walls and towers gleamed in the sun. Where I stood the air was still, but higher up there must have been some breeze because banners and flags waved gaily over the upper reaches of the city. No, the ring did not matter.

On the last day before we sailed for home, we went shopping. My wife went to look at some leather shops, while I found myself in a small shop in the second circle of Minas Tirith. I was looking for small trees and seeds to take home, and was talking to the merchant about the conditions that would suit the various species and whether they would be likely to survive the sea voyage and the transplantation.

There was the sound of booted feet at the entrance of the shop. I looked up as three men walked in. Two were armed and dressed in the black and silver uniforms of the city guard. The third was the king.

He was dressed now in rich clothes rather than armour but otherwise he looked exactly the same as when I had last seen him before the Black Gate. I did not think. I sank immediately to one knee.

"Your majesty," I said. And even as I knelt and said the words, I realised I had made a mistake. He was dressed richly but he was not wearing a crown nor any other insignia that marked him out as a king. In fact, quite likely he was incognito and trying to pass as one of the lesser lords of his realm. How should an ordinary visiting merchant to the kingdom know that he was the king? In an instant I knew I was in deadly danger. Suppose he recognised me. What would he do with the former Mouth of Sauron?

He looked at me curiously. There was no hint of recognition or surprise in his gaze.

"Please get up," he said. "You seem to know who I am, but who am I talking to?"

Quickly I made a decision. He is likely to recognise a lie very quickly. Tell the truth in so far as it is possible. "I am Caeus of Fronseca," I replied as I rose to my feet.

"Fronseca," he said. "That's to the south isn't it? What brings you here?"

"Yes, your majesty. Fronseca is south of here. I have an estate there where we produce and manufacture silk. I am visiting your beautiful city, partly on business and partly for pleasure. Tomorrow I return home." Well, I could have added, I hope to return home.

"Silk," he said. "I am wearing silk. Yours?"

A glance was enough. "No, your majesty. The quality and weave are similar to our very best, but we do not use that pattern in our embroidery, although it is lovely." It was cleverly interwoven tree branches and leaves.

He paused. "May I ask you a few questions, Caeus?"

I agreed, of course. Who would dare to tell a king he cannot ask questions?

"Who makes the silk fabric? Is it made by slaves or free men or women?"

I explained that I did not use slaves for working silk. Indeed, so far as I knew, no one used slaves for such work. The work was too delicate and the material too valuable to be entrusted to anyone who was not skilled and free. I added that most of the work was done by women, and sometimes the very finest and most intricate work by quite young girls. There was a tradition that the girls would save their finest work for their wedding dress.

"Are there no slaves in Fronseca at all?"

"Some, your majesty, but not very many. Some people have household slaves and sometimes people have them for the rougher outdoor work. My father had a few, but he freed those when he died, and I have acquired none."

He asked then about the politics of Fronseca. I explained that the Duke of Uncillo had sworn allegiance to Gondor some years before. The duke was also the overlord of Fronseca but most of the local government of Fronseca was provided by a small local council. I said that my eldest son had last year ridden with the duke's company as part of the army of Gondor.

The king nodded. "Are you a member of this small council?"

"I am, your majesty." I could have added that it was in part owing to my arguments that the duke had allied himself with Gondor. If I had been brave or stupid enough I might have said too that I had argued for the alliance because I had seen the army of Gondor fight many years ago from the other side. Ever since then I had thought that I would prefer to fight with it rather than against it.

"Then if you would be so kind, Caeus, could you please convey my respects to your council and the duke at the next opportunity, and assure them that their support is very much valued, as is the silk of the region?"

"I should be happy to, your majesty." I bowed as I said it.

He paused. "I presume you do not often act as their spokesman." There was a slight hint of question in the tone.

"No, your majesty."

He paused and looked at me closely. "You remind me of someone," he said, "another spokesman." I felt my upper body freeze. He had recognised me. I was dead.

I swallowed. I looked back at him, focussing on his cheekbone rather than his eyes.

"We never heard that he was dead," he said, slowly and quietly. "There was a story from the south of Mordor… but that was not an evil story…Mmm." He continued to look at me. "What brings you this shop?"

I must have looked confused. Certainly confusion was what I felt, along with fear.

"I mean, you said that you are a silk merchant, Caeus, and I am curious as to why you are looking at shrubs and bushes."

"Oh, yes, I apologise, your majesty. I have been looking for shrubs and small trees that might attract butterflies of different types."

"Butterflies?"

"Yes, your majesty. Butterflies start their lives as caterpillars, and caterpillars feed on leaves. Each type of butterfly has its own type of caterpillar, and as a rule each type of caterpillar will only eat the leaves from one or two kinds of bush or tree. If you would like a range of differently coloured butterflies around your home you need to have a range of different kinds of bushes and trees so that the different caterpillars can each have something to feed on. So, for example, there is a small green patterned butterfly that we call the Wings of Lake Fastria whose caterpillars eat only the leaves of the canistropha tree."

I thought I must be talking too much in my anxiety, but the king seemed interested in what I was saying.

"So I guess that you take care that your home is surrounded by butterflies, and that if you buy some different types of trees here you can surround yourself with still more of them."

"Yes, your majesty. It is my passion. In the season I set aside some time every day to watch them. Sometimes it is just a few moments, sometimes much longer, depending on how busy I am."

He asked me then for practical advice about how he might attract butterflies himself. I suggested some plants that were stocked by the merchant, and told him what sorts of butterflies would be attracted by them, and I watched as he obtained some plants and seeds. There was a short debate between the king and the merchant over the payment, with the king insisting on paying the normal price. I promised to send him two other plants with caterpillars on them that I thought might survive in Minas Tirith when I could next find fast transport headed in this direction.

His order completed, he asked me one final question. "Why butterflies, Caeus?"

"Because they are beautiful, your majesty. And because their lives are short. They live only for some months as a rule, sometimes not as long. Yet I think their beauty might be all the greater because they are short-lived."

For the first time in our conversation, he smiled. For an instant the room was lit up with the joy of it. Then he nodded to me once, and walked out.