(AN: Well, this story was marked by a rough start with someone calling my version of Adunaphel a MS and putting this story on a "do not read" list. Hopefully the years have improved my writing, and we will be able to bring this tale to a fitting conclusion.)

(This chapter we start to see things turn a bit south [pun unintended]. As well as the introduction of two significant side characters: one of them very significant indeed.)


The Lady in Black

As the sun set on the day of battle, Abrazir concluded his packing and made his way back to the lord's tent. He petitioned that, since the task he was to undertake was so important, a second man be sent with him.

"A second man?" Adunaphel asked. "Do you think so little of your own skill, my friend?"

"My lord," Abrazir replied. "We still know little of what awaits us beyond the canyon pass. It is therefore best to send two spies out instead of only one. Two are better than one, as the old saying goes."

"Your words are true, Abrazir," Adunaphel mused aloud. "However, my trust in your skill at secrecy is greater than your fears. Two men would draw the attention of watchful eyes in a small camp easier than only one."

"Forgive me, my lord, for insisting," Abrazir continued. "But I am convinced that an interpreter would make my mission more fruitful."

"That may be so," Adunaphel replied. "But, as it turns out, we only have one interpreter on hand, and he cannot be spared. To fetch another would mean delaying your departure until they arrive. I cannot allow for any delay in this matter. You must go alone, my friend. After all, though you may be one man, you are a Dunadan of the race of Westernesse. You are easily worth ten of these Southrons."

"Then, by your leave," Abrazir stated. "I must make haste to depart on your errand."

"You have my leave to go," she replied. "Be gone, and be swift in your return. Your news will be most helpful to our cause."

Abrazir bowed and left the tent. But no sooner had he passed out of the tent when he paused, turned about and placed his ear towards the tent-door. Within he could hear Adunaphel and the Southron interpreter Jubayr discussing something. He could not discern what was being said, but restrained himself from listening anymore.

"I have a task to do," he thought to himself. "And there must not be any delay, as my lord has said."


From the tents, he went at once to the little horse-stables that had been recently erected, using wood from the forests to the north as pens. His horse, Turant, was already saddled and ready for the journey: a powerfully built chestnut stallion of the Mittalmar breed. With him he took three days ration of dried way-bread and water, the dead prince Bah'far's clothes and weapon, as well as his own sword: a shorter arming sword that could be wielded with one hand. He did not come heavily armed, for his purpose was in stealth and not in open battle; yet he did not go forth unarmed. Thus armed and garbed, Abrazir mounted Turant and made his way towards the canyon entrance. Before he passed through the canyon, he turned Turant about and gazed out westward in silence.

In after days, it was the custom of the Dunedain to look solemnly westward, towards that which was, that which is and that which ever shall be. Even in the days of their height, the Men of Westernesse would look out towards Valinor, the Elvenhome that is, and beyond to the Blessed Realm of Aman that shall ever be. Over the years, the land they had been given seemed shrunken, and all the Dunedain yearned, even in the least, to see the Uttermost West or, at least, to know why the Dunedain were denied the Undying Lands. Even in the heart of Abrazir the noble guard, doubt over the Ban of the Valar hung like a dark cloud of uncertainty every time he cast his eyes into the West.

He did not gaze westward long, turning his horse about and galloping eastward, into the canyon. There were guards on each side of the canyon walls, so he went forth without fear of ambush or assault. But, despite his misgivings, he went forward determinedly. His duty and his devotion to his lord were strongest in his heart, and he would do as he had been instructed, no matter the danger.

From the canyon, he rode out into a wide, flat land. To the left, the land fell away towards the sea, which he could see at times nearer and sometimes far off, like a blue ribbon at the end of the sky. To the right, the wide lands vanished away into empty deserts of golden-red sands that stretched on forever, with only a line of sandy gray where the dividing mountains of the peninsula separated the northern half from the southern half which they had crossed. Behind him, like a great crimson wall, rose the mountains through whose canyon he had come. Before him stretched the vast deserts he had seen from the top of those mountains before at his lord's side. The mountains reached out from their far dividing wall in the deserts to guide him northeastward along the shores of the sea. But directly before him, he could see a tall pillar of dust from the departing horsemen.


Of old, the Men of Westernesse brought with them language and learning to the peoples of Middle Earth whom they had traffic. Among the many crafts that had been brought was the art of equestrianism, the taming and keeping of horses. Yet no race, save the Eldar, could master horses as efficiently as the Dunedain. Furthermore, there were no horses in Middle Earth that matched the Mittalmar breed: not unless Orome himself, Vala lord of the hunt, should bring forth a race of horses strong, wild, clever and such as lived as long as the span of years of men.

Wherefore it was that Abrazir, seeing the dust afar off, descried the departing Haradrim that had assaulted their camp. He knew that his horse could out-go the pace of the Haradrim, but it was not his duty to overcome, only to pursue at a distance. He rode onward, keeping his quarry barely on the horizon's edge, far out of their sight. By evening he had camped in the foothills southwest of his prey, keeping the light of their campfires just within his view. When morning dawned, he left the hills and followed them at the same distance for the next day, until the darkness came again and he also made camp at a distance from them.

On the third day of pursuit, Abrazir saw afar off small gray lines of smoke rising up against the blue sky. The horsemen before him were approaching a camp and, from their sudden increase in pace, he guessed that they were eager to arrive there. He checked Turant's pace and followed at a distance. From the distance between the horsemen and the line of smoke, he guessed that they would not reach the camp until nightfall. As he wore the clothes of the dead prince, he was not very keen on going into the camp of the Black Scorpion Clan in broad daylight. He therefore purposed to enter under cover of night, and descry in secret what he might learn.

As the dusk was settling in and the lines of smoke turned into stars of flame upon the desert valley, Abrazir secured Turant to a short, scrub-like tree several paces outside of the camp. After making sure he was as concealed as possible, he crept quietly into the camp before him, keeping his eyes on the sentries and their paths that he might see an opening. But the sentries' patrol was tight and their watch vigilant. Abrazir would have been impressed by such vigilance, even among people widely considered to be inferior to Dunedain in every way, were he in any other location. As it was, however, he had a job to do and these sentries were in his way. Picking up a rock from off the ground, he threw it off to the left, keeping low to the ground as he did. For a moment of painful trepidation, the rock clattered and the eyes of a sentry nearby were turned towards the sound. If the sentry moved, Abrazir might have a chance to enter the camp: if not, he would have to find another way. Moments passed by in silence, each one filling Abrazir with fear that his stone hadn't distracted the sentry.

After a long silence, the sentry strode carefully out into the darkness, torch held in his hand. With his body prone to the ground, Abrazir crawled through the perimeter and became one with the Haradrim camp. Once he had passed through the perimeter and into the camp, Abrazir rose up to avoid suspicion and bent his back slightly. At his full height, he would have attracted even more wary eyes. He kept himself discreet as the horsemen galloped into the camp. He watched as they were greeted by a company of Haradrim. Like those that had assaulted the Vamag camp, they were dressed in loose-fitting robes of crimson and black. Some of them were not veiled and Abrazir saw that they had dark, curly hair and some had beards like Dwarves. The horsemen gave their horses to some of the men gathered here, then turned and bowed before a rather important looking chieftain of the Harazan. He was old and the most wealthy of the people of the camp: his cuirass, like the one of the dead prince, was of gold scales, he had golden rings upon his fingers, golden chains about his neck and gold adorning the turban that wrapped around his head. Even his long, gray beard was braided with golden strands and had plaits of gold within it.

The horsemen spoke to the wealthy chief in the Haruze tongue, which Abrazir still did not understand. The chieftain seemed upset, but did not burst into sorrow before his men. Again Abrazir felt as though he could respect these people. The chief then placed his hand affectionately upon the shoulder of Bakr, the brother who had survived and called himself 'chief', and spoke words to him in Haruze. Bakr nodded, then turned to the riders and spoke to them, leading them away towards their tents. Meanwhile, Abrazir's eyes were trained on the chief, who, with his retinue, was walking towards one of the larger tents. Abrazir fell into line behind them, hunching down to make himself scarce. As the company approached the largest tent, the chief turned to them and spoke words in Haruze to his retinue. The retinue bowed and departed, but Abrazir took to the shadows immediately, inclining his ear towards the thin, cloth walls of the large tent.

From within, Abrazir could hear two voices speaking. One was a man, the old chief, and the other was a woman. Abrazir stifled a gasp as he heard, to his surprise, that the two voices were speaking in the Common Tongue. For the most part, their conversation was a regaling of what had occurred at the Red Fells four days ago. For a while only the man spoke alone, and his voice betrayed the sorrow that he had hid from Bakr and his horsemen. After he had finished speaking, the woman spoke. Her voice was deep and shrouded, as if hidden behind a veil, but listening to her voice sent shivers down Abrazir's spine and the hairs on the back of Abrazir's neck standing on end. Her accent was unmistakably Numenorean.

"My master was under the belief," the woman spoke. "That you were capable of defending your own lands, Ubayy."

"What can I do?" bemoaned the chief Ubayy. "My youngest son has been slain, his body desecrated and all that I have left of him is his head! And my eldest son says that it was the Sea People that killed his brother. How are we to fight such people? How am I supposed to fight such great and mighty ones?"

"Mighty indeed!" laughed the woman, but her laugh was mocking and derisive. "And yet it was to my master that you came and not these mighty ones."

"Because they went back over the sea on their ships!" Ubayy replied. "Gods are best worshiped when they are seen."

"As my master well knows," said the woman. "And he will continue to see to it that the Black Scorpion Clan remains strong and prosperous. Perhaps he will see to it that you will unite the clans."

"It would be a great honor to my family's name," Ubayy muttered aloud.

"Indeed," the woman stated. "My master has foreseen that the Dunedain do not come as friends, but as rulers. Here now is plain before you the truth: they are liars and cheats, using their cunning skill to play you for fools. A great chief does not allow himself to be deceived. Instead, he deceives those who would deceive him, fools from fools to make his enemies foolish instead."

"What does Khaz-gramaze command?" asked Ubayy. "What words does the Black Serpent have for his faithful slave?"

"The Dunedain, your people of the sea," the woman began. "Would play you for fools, offering the hand of friendship at the first so that they may bring you under their service as subjects. Then, once they have you fully under their power, come the shackles of slavery. My master decrees that it must be otherwise. This Dunedain warlord will send emissaries to your tents, demanding your submittance to her rule."

"Her rule?" interrupted Ubayy. "Our enemy is a woman? But a woman cannot rule."

Abrazir bit his tongue. For all that he had begun to admire the Haradrim over, it was a hard blow, being reminded that, as much as he admired them, they were still ignorant savages.

"And they will destroy the former order of things," the woman replied, unperturbed by Ubayy's words. "And bring disgrace upon your ancestors. Nevertheless, my master has foreseen that this shall be. But he is wise and will deliver you from the snares of this Dunedain woman. You will accept her emissaries and arrange that she speak with you face to face."

"What?" exclaimed Ubayy. "You would have my people submit to a woman? One who cares not for the sanctity of noble blood?"

"Do you not already submit to one?" the woman asked.

"That is different!" Ubayy replied. "You do not seek rule of your own accord, but speak the words of Khaz-gramaze."

Abrazir heard the woman chuckle softly. The sound disgusted him. "As you have said. But my master, the one you call the Black Serpent, is cunning. For does not the serpent itself wait to strike until its prey is closest to it?"

"Verily, that is indeed truth," Ubayy returned.

"Then you also shall invite the weak and deluded Dunedain rabble close to your breast," the woman said. "And when they are close, then shall my master see fit to strike. Thus shall you greet her in friendship and alliance, and make no war openly or in secret until my master gives you leave. That is all."

"But my son must be avenged!"

"And you will set aside such thoughts," demanded the woman. "My dear Chief Ubayy, you have been a loyal and faithful friend of my master, and he is indebted to you for your service. It would be a shame if the other clan-chiefs heard that you were...disloyal."

"What do you mean?" the old chief said: all sorrow vanished from his voice, and instead there was sternness, and even a hint of subdued fear.

"In times like these," she continued. "When outsiders come to knock at your gates and take what is yours, it is folly to stand alone. Such would be the image you would present to the other clan-chiefs, were you to act against the Dunedain...outside of the orders of my master."

"It would rather seem," the old chief replied. "That a man who avenges his slain kin would be viewed with honor."

"Some would say," the woman countered. "That Chief Ubayy is a cruel man, who hardens his heart against the loss of his son, and who refuses to be reunited with him. They would say that these things are against the natural way of things, to forsake the honor of kinship by waging a hopeless war against an enemy beyond your power. They would find your absence convenient and take what is yours for their own..." There was a pause, and when the woman spoke again, there was a hint of malice in her voice.

"...or perhaps they would not even bother to wait for your death? Perhaps they would take you now to your pyre for the glory of my master, and to prevent you from bringing ruin upon them; and such would surely happen!"

Silence followed, and the old chief made no answer. At last the woman spoke.

"I presume then that there will be no talk of vengeance outside of my master's orders?"

Still silence, broken only by the general sounds of the night-camp. Abrazir prepared to leave, when suddenly he saw the doors of the tent opened. There appeared presently the woman who he had heard speak to the chieftain within. She was a tall woman of the Dunedain, clad from head to toe in black and with a black veil about her face, obscuring her face and eyes. But her presence in the camp and her stature were troubling to Abrazir. What purpose had one of the Dunedain among the Haradrim, and speaking words of conspiracy against his lord Adunaphel? And which 'Master' did she serve? Could it be...

"No," he thought to himself. "No Dunadan would ever serve that power."


(AN: So I read a bit from the Akallabeth, since someone online mentioned it postulating on how life would be in the lands of the "Men of Darkness", and found new inspiration for this chapter in particular. I'm trying to keep this intentionally vague, but those with even a token understanding of Tolkien's works will know, or guess, who the lady in black is.)