Broker of Darkness
Chapter 1
Prescreened Arrival
"WHAT? I CAN'T UNDERSTAND YOU," he yelled up, craning his neck to see the orc shouting down at him. His throat already felt scratchy trying to communicate with the sentry dozens of feet above him. The sensation was only exacerbated by the dry, dusty environment and the orc's inability to speak passable common. A garbled cry came from the orc before it disappeared over the ramparts, adding to his growing irritation.
"THEY KNOW I'M COMING," he cried out to the silent wall, "I HAVE THE PAPERWORK HERE." He rifled through one of the bags at his side, shoving aside fresh scrolls and tombs of lore to pull out a parchment signed with what appeared to blood and branded with a the seal of the Lidless Eye. However abhorrent it might have looked, this was his only ticket into Mordor that didn't require an army at his back and a sword at his hip.
He unrolled the paper and waved it over his head, trying to get the attention of anyone else upon the walls. When no answer was forthcoming, he let his parched throat rest from the incessant screaming. He let out a breath through his front teeth, whistling in frustration. No other sound could be heard from the Black Gate. Not even the cry of bird or animal had been uttered in days.
He turned his back, regretting the long trek it took just to get here. Perhaps the Steward of Gondor could use his services, with the winds of war in the air. The Southern Fiefs would need people to keep their naval budget in check. He hadn't had to do military financials since the mid-Second Age, so it would require some brushing up. If all else failed, he could go to Dale and offer his services to the local economy. The booming trade from Erebor had attracted plenty of entrepreneurs and they would need help with their money.
He grimaced at the idea, almost able to hear the approving voice of his father telling him that he was finally being sensible and putting his knowledge to good use as a venture capitalist bookkeeper.
He was saved from his employment crisis when the Black Gate opened behind him, groaning on huge iron hinges. Through the opening rode a tall black shape on a skeletal horse of the same color. The only adornment the figure carried was a broach in the shape of the Lidless Eye, which clasped the edges of his cloak around his shoulders.
The bread-counter turned back to the gate and the thing that had emerged from its cavernous entrance. The entrance and figure was unnerving, but no worse than a dwarf lord who was missing a few grams of mithril on the books. He attempted to swallow the nervous twinge but only made his dry mouth worse when he gagged on his swollen tongue.
"My master, Sauron the Great, bids thee welcome," the figure said, looking him up and down with a cold gaze. The silence stretched on.
"My name is Torrad son of Einar," he fumbled around inside his bag for the parchment he had stuffed back in, "and I have the paperwork here for my employment in the treasury of Sauron the Maia." Torrad held out the parchment from before, waiting for the being to scrutinize his credentials. "Do you need my credentials or is this not an interview meeting?" I reached for my bag, prepared to pull out my book of references and accomplishments. Instead, the rider glanced at the scroll with disdain, continuing on.
"I am the Mouth of Sauron and have been sent here to escort you to Barad-dûr, coin-watcher." The figure used the name almost as a curse. "I would not dare question the vast wisdom of Sauron, Lord of the Earth, but I do question the uses of such people as you." His sentiment was not new, which took away much of the sting he had no doubt meant for Torrad.
"Your master has seen fit to make use of my services." Torrad sniffed at the rider, conjuring up some measure of scorn for the attitude he was being given. "Beyond that, you need not worry. My expertise is often not evident to lackeys like you who can't see the bigger picture."
The Mouth of Sauron glared daggers at him. He was sure the rider was contriving ways to end his life painfully in the deepest dungeons he had access to. Fortunately for him, Sauron's seal guarded his life against any overt attempts upon it… for now.
A bark of laughter emerged from The Mouth's thin lips. The hatred in his eyes had not disappeared, but his cruel features no longer promised a slow end in the dark.
"With a tongue such as that, you shall do well within the treasury of Sauron, Lord of the Rings." Torrad's ears perked up at the mention of rings. If one thing could sidetrack him from fearing for his life, it was a challenge. "Come now, and I shall take you to the tower of his majesty." The Mouth turned his mount, riding back through the archway. He motioned for his charge to follow as he cantered away.
Torrad looked back and forth for his own mount. Seeing none, he scampered after the rider, realizing he may have overstepped the goodwill of this glorified doorman. He passed underneath the shadow of the structure and came out the other side in time to catch up with The Mouth of Sauron. Behind him, the great doors boomed shut. The human could see the legions of watchers that patrolled back and forth across the gantries and walkways of the gate, ever-vigilant. Beyond the gate was a barren wasteland of rocky outcroppings and hard-packed earth. Clouds of ash and darkness created a barrier against the sky while thunder flashed and rumbled now and again. Off in the distance, a towering furnace of the world belched forth smoke and fumes that fed the ceiling overhead.
Rising above it all, dimly visible through the smog, was a tower that sought to rival the pinnacles of the Misty Mountains in grandeur and scale. Among its multitude of towers and precipices was an arrogance that astounded and cowed him. At the pinnacle of its mighty battlements was the visage of an eye. Slit-pupiled and wreathed in flame, he could feel its mighty gaze pierce through cloud and flesh. His spirit quailed, even from this distance.
"You feel his power and glory, do you not," the Mouth of Sauron cackled, delighting in his charges fear. "It is nothing compared to what you shall face when you stand before him."
"Oh joy," Torrad mumbled. He watched a hideous creature lead a ragged black horse towards the duo, tugging the reins to lead the resisting creature. The orc, if that is what it was, placed the leather strips into his hand. He shivered at the tough, leathery feeling of its skin.
The human pulled away, running a hand down the bedraggled horses flank. It calmed slightly under his stroked, heaving less, and whites of its eyes faded slightly. He murmured in its ears, recalling the lessons the elves had taught him.
"We must be off, for I have more important business to attend to," the Mouth of Sauron said. His look of disgust didn't faze Torrad in the slightest, who mounted his new ride. The horse whickered while he climbed up the stirrups, pawing at the ground.
When he was seated on the horses back, he squeezed his thighs. The horse responded in kind, trotting forward along the road leading to the tower.
"I think someone's compensating," he murmured under the sound of hooves on the stones. The remark made him feel slightly better.