Chapter 1 – The Patrol
The sun beat down mercilessly on the small column of soldiers as they trudged along the old road that ran arrow straight beneath the towering cliffs of the northern mountains. Far below now on the arid plain from which they had climbed dust devils sprang up periodically but on the heights there was no sign of the stiff breeze that drove them which would have offered some relief from the heat. Sergeant Morthir, white haired and with a tanned face creased like well beaten leather called a brief halt and uncorked his canteen. He sipped carefully so as not to take too much of the tepid but precious contents, for there were no wells in this part of the land and they would not be able to refill their bottles and skins again until the end of the following day's march. There was no water and little or nothing grew there, as if the ground remembered even now the torment that had been visited upon it so long ago. Morthir had travelled widely in many lands during his many years of service and had seen much, but never had he known a place like the one they now approached. At the base of a great ridge of rock which descended from the heights was a ruin so vast it was difficult to know where broken stone ended and mountain began, for it was on a scale beyond that of any work of men. The road they marched on ran straight and true into the base of the colossal mound of rubble and disappeared, for the great iron gate it had once served now lay long broken and buried beneath it.
Barad Dur. Even after sixteen hundred years it was still a name to strike dread into the stoutest hearts, and the tales of the valour, great deeds and tragedy that led to its fall and ruin were well known to all in Gondor and in many lands beyond. Morthir had visited the place many times during his time in what had once been the black land, but the feeling of awe he felt there had never diminished. The fortress must have been on a scale beyond anything he had ever seen, almost beyond imagining, battlement upon battlement and tower upon tower. Untold years of labour and suffering had gone into its building, and lives beyond counting had been lost in the wars and long siege that had led to its eventual destruction. Close by, marking the spot where Sauron had finally been slain and where Elendil and Gil-galad had perished in the deed and in memory all others who all had fallen in that fight however great or humble, stood a tall pillar of sky iron, black as night. It had been raised by Isildur and Elrond Halfelven after the victory and in times past the Kings of Gondor had made regular pilgrimages there, but now only the soldiers of the Mordor garrisons ever came that way. The watch had dwindled over the centuries for the garrisons were remote and expensive to man and supply, their role was almost entirely symbolic now. However no king had been prepared to be the one to take the step bring to the watch on Mordor to an end. In that year of 1636 only two of the former strongholds were still manned and then only lightly, Cirith Ungol at the head of the Ithil Vale and Durthang overlooking Gorgoroth and the Isenmouthe.
The sun had dropped onto the summit ridge of the western mountains by the time they arrived at their destination, finally offering a little relief along with an evening breeze that came down from the heights. Like Morthir the men of his patrol were deeply affected by the place and worked to pitch their camp in unaccustomed near silence, speaking to each other in hushed tones. They had camped close to the road and a respectful distance from the pillar and when all was ready Morthir gestured to them to follow him and they made their way there to perform the remembering of the west. It was a simple ceremony carried out each evening at sunset or before the night meal throughout the western lands and almost without thought, but in that place it truly had meaning. Afterwards they ate their rations in companionable silence and then bedded down in their blankets to wait for sleep as the sky darkened and the first stars began to flicker alight overhead.
Morthir did not know how long he had been asleep but the sky was now ablaze with stars and the waning moon had risen from behind the summits far above his head, casting a feeble light over him and his sleeping companions. He adjusted his position to make himself more comfortable on the rough pebble strewn earth and settled down again to wait for sleep to return. As was their custom they had not set a watch, for there was no reason to when the land had been at peace for so long. Morthir was glad of it, for it was hard enough marching for days on end at his age without having to try and stay awake half the night as well, not if it were to no good purpose. Far above at the edges of his vision the summits of the Ered Lithui stood, sharply defined by the sudden absence of stars. A small movement there caught his eye, and for a moment he thought he'd imagined it, but as he turned his full gaze that way he realised he was not mistaken. The darkness of the mountain tops had suddenly started to spread, the stars winking out one by one and then as he watched with increasing speed. Although it did not seem possible the entire field of blackness also seemed to grow deeper, for it was something more sensed than seen. Never in all his years had he witnessed anything like this, for no cloud could move at such a pace and there was nothing more than a light breeze to drive it. Though it had been mild he suddenly felt the bite of icy air and caught his breath, which now steamed and he drew his blankets to him. The moon was extinguished and the black tide swept inexorably onwards until the last few stars in the west and south vanished and there was nothing but darkness. It was so complete that he could see nothing at all now, and he grew fearful at the strangeness of it all. Though he knew he still lay on the ground wrapped tightly in his blanket he felt a growing feeling of disorientation, the darkness in front of him seeming somehow to open up. It was beyond his comprehension but it seemed to him that he now found himself poised above a fathomless void into which he might tumble at any moment. Seized by fear, his breath coming now in rapid gasps he dug his fingers into the dirt, desperate to hold on and prevent himself from falling, but it was too late.