IX.) Lightning and Fire
Within the marble walls of the Throne Room at Armenelos, King Ar-Pharazon the Golden, wearing crimson robes and wrapped in a purple cape, listened to the report of the spy who bowed and scraped at his feet.
The room was dark and shadowy, lit only by two braziers of bronze at the base of the steps leading up to the throne. The smokes from the sacrifice of Eru's servants, years before, had blackened the ceiling, and blotted out the light that once poured through the gems embedded in it. The arches cut into the base of the dome were draped with black cloth. No longer was the Throne Room surmounted by the Dome of the Stars, but rather by the Dome of Darkness. This appellation was of Sauron's devising, for he had insisted that the room's newfound gloominess was pleasing to Melkor. Whenever the worshippers of Melkor entered the Throne Room, and stared above them, they would no longer see an image of the stars beloved by the accursed Valar. They would see a field of sable, and contemplate the Void that was the home of their Master.
The King's throne was flanked by two Royal Household Guardsmen dressed in their splendid tunics of crimson and sable, and holding their spears rigidly at attention. To the right of the throne, Sauron himself sat on the Steward's ebon bench. Since the murder of Nuphkor some years before, Sauron, his vigour seemingly inexhaustible, had resumed the Steward's duties in addition to his priestly role. His youthful features were calm and impassive as he listed to the spy's tale.
The King, however, was in a particularly impatient mood. Noting with distaste the spy's grimy robes, still spattered with mud from two days of hard riding, he decided to end the man's babbling.
"What do you mean, vanished?" snapped Ar-Pharazon. "Vanished where? Where could an old dodder like Amandil go, in Melkor's name? He has one foot in the grave as it is."
"My liege" replied the the spy, "it is rumoured..."
"It is rumoured?" interrupted Sauron, his clear voice tinged with an icy note. The spy stared up at him, transfixed like a rabbit caught in the gaze of a snake.
"What we want" continued the High Priest, "is specific information. Not rumors, not gossip, but hard facts. That is what you're paid for, is it not?"
"Of course, m-my l-lord..." stammered the spy. Secretly, he cursed his ill fortune at having chosen to deliver his report to the King at a time when the dreaded High Priest of Melkor was present. "I only know, as a fact" he continued, "that Amandil has vanished from Romenna entirely. I also know that Elendil publicly announced that Amandil has departed on a mission of great importance, but that before his departure he divested the Sovereign Lordship of Andunie, and the office of Master of Romenna, upon Elendil himself. Elendil displayed to the people the Seal of the Lordship of Andunie, as proof of his newfound authority."
"What mission?" barked the King. "And to whom?"
"It...it is rumored, my liege" said the spy, "that he was seen departing the harbour at Romenna in a small skiff, accompanied by three greybeared servants, so careworn that they appeared well nigh as aged as himself." He glanced nervously at the King's withered face, noting with relief that Ar-Pharazon had not taken offence. "The skiff was said to have sailed into the East. Alas, I did not see this take place myself."
"The East" frowned Ar-Pharazon. "A mission of great importance. Phah! There is no one in the East who could be of any aid to the heretics of Romenna. The treacherous Elves of Middle Earth might breathe new lies into Amandil's ear, and encourage him to stir-up dissension in Numenor. Perhaps they will give him one of their Elvish baubles, to appease his vanity. But they will not lift a finger to help him by their own efforts."
"Amandil is not in the East" said Sauron, emphatically. "No Man of Numenor can set foot anywhere in Middle Earth, without my learning of it. You might recall that Elendil, for instance, set out upon a voyage to Lindon years ago. He thought it was in secret. But my servants amongst the birds and beasts of Middle Earth are many, and through them I was made aware of his presence there almost as soon as he set foot on its distant shores, even though I was here in Numenor. Of Amandil, though, there is no sign in that land."
"Where is he, then?" asked the King. "We've certainly received no word of his presence elsewhere in Numenor."
"He has passed beyond my ken entirely" replied Sauron, "though I confess I cannot sense the whereabouts of Men on the soil of Numenor as easily as in Middle Earth, for this land is yet new to me as I measure the count of time. You are correct that our other spies have not reported any sign of Amandil elsewhere in Numenor. If his is neither in the East nor in the West of the mortal lands, then mayhap Amandil is dead." With a smile, he added "Or perhaps his precious Valar have received him in their own realm."
"Received him!" snorted the King. "They receive no Man willingly! It is thanks to their stubborn pride that I must send an armada, to seize by force what is mine by right!"
"Of course, my liege" said Sauron soothingly. "I merely made a little jest, though I fear it was in poor taste. Well, it appears that this old fool Amandil is not in Numenor, and I cannot sense any sign of his presence in Middle Earth. It seems doubtful that he could have survived at sea for so many weeks, in naught but a skiff. Therefore, it seems safe to conclude he might very well be dead. Although..." He stared at the spy. "How much time elapsed between the rumoured departure of Amandil by sea, and the assumption of sovereign Lordship by Elendil?"
"Only a single day, my lord" said the spy.
"And yet you waited five weeks before making your report?" asked Sauron, raising a sable eyebrow.
"My lord..." replied the spy hesitantly, "Romenna is well guarded. It was with difficulty that I first gained admittance, for Amandil's men questioned me closely, as they do all who seek entry to that city. To have departed Romenna for some days, long enough to journey to Armenelos, will undoubtedly have cast suspicion on me, for none of its heretics will venture beyond sight of the place. I will not be able to enter Romenna again, without being at grave risk of discovery as one of the King's Men. Seeing this in advance, I sought to spend as much time as possible in Romenna, seeking the truth behind Amandil's departure and Elendil's account of it, before fleeing that nest of heretics to make my report. I only departed when it was clear that there were no more hard facts to be gathered – none available to me, at least."
"Indeed" said Sauron, displaying no hint of whether he believed the spy's account. He then turned his gaze upward, seemingly absorbed in thought. "I wonder, why would Amandil, before his disappearance, devolve his Lordship onto Elendil? One would think he did not expect to return from this supposed mission." He smiled. "In truth, if this tale involved any other noble family of Numenor, I would simply conclude that the impatient heir had murdered his sire and stolen the Seal of Lordship, in greed for his birthright, and then concocted a story to disguise his crime."
Sauron then frowned. "But that gaping lackwit, Elendil, doubtless thinks himself above self-indulgences such as patricide and theft. I think it unlikely he had Amandil killed." With a contemplative air, Sauron mused "I have read in a scroll, located in the Hall of Records, that it was once a custom amongst the royal family of this isle for an aged King to pass his throne into the keeping of his heir while he himself was still alive. Perhaps Amandil, on some whim, has sought to revive this ancient royal custom, within his own family?"
"Well, I shall reflect on this puzzle" continued Sauron. "Nevertheless, as I said, there is, as far as I can tell, no trace of Amandil's presence here or in Middle Earth, and it is very doubtful he could have survived so long at sea in a small craft, with only a limited store of fresh water. He surely must be dead."
"That is sound reasoning" concluded the King. "So, at last, Amandil is dead, lost at sea. A pity, then, that I shall never find his grave. If I did I would dance on it!" He cackled gleefully for some minutes, while Sauron smiled indulgently.
But then, the King's mood took a dour turn. "And now that weakling Elendil calls himself Lord of Andunie, and Master of Romenna. Lord of Infidels! Master of a Dung-heap!"
Sauron turned again to the spy, and casually gestured toward the great bronze doors that led to the exit from the Throne Room. "You have our gratitude for your efforts. You may go." The spy bowed deeply, and then scurried off, pleased to have escaped this encounter with Melkor's hierophant without loosing his head, or worse.
He was, perhaps, overly hasty in celebrating his escape. Sauron rose from his bench and, in a lightening-fast move, grabbed the spear from the hands of the guard closest to him. He hurled it at the spy, and the missile hit the unfortunate man squarely in the back. The spy shrieked, and his arms jerked spasmodically, before he dropped to the ground like a stone. His body twitched briefly, and lay still in a growing pool of its own blood. The two Guardsman flanking the throne walked down the steps and, retrieving the spear, took up the spy's body and dragged it away to dispose of it. Two more Guards stepped forth from the shadows to take their place by the King's throne. "Perhaps the next spy we send to Romenna will be capable of sifting fact from rumour, where you were not" opined Sauron.
Turning back to the King, whose withered features were twisted with a bemused smirk at Sauron's grim jest, Sauron said "I think, your Majesty, the time has come at last to put Elendil's loyalty to the test. That he is a heretic, is beyond doubt. Is he, as a matter of law, a traitor as well? Now is the time for the truth to be known. You will recall, some months ago, I proposed you test his late and unlamented father by demanding he send soldiers to join the muster of our forces. Amandil, it appears, is no more. Yet, there is no reason we cannot apply the same test to his son. Send a herald to Elendil, and command him to summon every Man in Romenna capable of bearing a pike or spear, and march them to the muster fields nigh to Andunie, where they will be placed under your command. Elendil has surely heard rumour of the muster of our armies and navies from across the World, yet we need not disclose to him our ultimate purpose in assembling this mighty force. He is your vassal, and must obey your orders in time of war without question. If he does not, he proves himself to be a traitor, and all the respect and renown attached to his House will prove insufficient to excuse him in the eyes of the nobles and the people. And then..."
"And then his head will decorate my Palace gates!" laughed the King. "I would gladly sacrifice an entire regiment of Men in a fight against the dogs of Romenna, if so doing would put an end to that meddler Elendil. They can dispatch the Wolf's Head Isildur, while they're at it, and that milksop Anarion, if he seeks to obstruct the King's justice. Scribe!"
From the shadows by the throne, a reedy, withered man in robes of grey stepped forth, armed with a stylus and a wax tablet. Ar-Pharazon dictated his commands to Elendil, and instructed the scribe to set them down on parchment, for affixment of the Royal Seal, within the hour. Bowing deeply, the scribe rushed from the throne room to his own chambers, to carry-out his appointed task. Sauron, meanwhile, began to frown, his face bearing a rare look of vexation, even of anxiety.
"Another day's business done" said the King with satisfaction. "I think I shall retire to my chambers for awhile, for I am in need of rest, not to mention viands and wine."
"It is well that you rest and build up your strength in the days ahead, my liege" said Sauron, through he could not hide his distracted air.
"What is the matter, Lord Sauron?" asked the King, raising a wispy silvered eyebrow. "It is a rare day that I see you showing any signs of worry or doubt. Are you not pleased that we shall soon hold Elendil to account, one way or another?"
"Something is not right, your Majesty" admitted Sauron. "Yes, there is something wrong, very near to us. I am not yet sure what it is, though..."
Just then, the bronze doors to the Throne Room gave a mighty groan, and opened enough to permit the entry of a messenger, clad in tunic and stockings of crimson. The messenger dashed across the marbled floor to the base of the Throne, prostrated himself before the King, and then cried out, "My liege, Armenelos is under attack!"
"What?" cried the King, jumping up from his throne. Sauron sat on his bench, yet even his fair face looked shocked, if such a thing were possible.
"Armenelos has never been attacked in all her long years!" shouted the King, his voice hoarse and cracking with agitation. "No navy can cross the seas to reach her! No army exists in this land that could menace her!"
"My liege" said the messenger - trained to speak clearly and forcefully, even in a crisis – "we are not attacked by land or sea. We are under siege from the sky! Great Eagles fly over the city, screaming and screeching, casting thunderbolts at the buildings and Men below!"
"Eagles!" said Sauron, rising from his bench. "Manwe...so you have struck the first blow..." The King, looking stupefied, was speechless.
"The people are rioting" continued the messenger. "Many run through the streets in panic. Others have assembled in the public square, before the Temple of Melkor, even as Eagles assail the Temple itself! They weep and wail, and some of them cry out loud that Melkor has abandoned us, and now we face the Wrath of the Valar..."
"The Wrath of the Valar!" sputtered Ar-Pharazon, his aged face flushing purple with rage. "Guards! Perpare my war chariot, and a large escort, on the double! We ride to the Temple of Melkor at once! You shall accompany me, Lord Sauron."
"As you command, my liege" said Sauron, his voice betraying no emotion. The pale fire of script on his golden ring had dimmed to a low ebb.
With youthful vigour, the King strode across the Throne Room, Sauron close at his heels. Shouts and cries now echoed from within the Palace, and from without. As they stalked down the long, marbled corridor that lead toward the exit from the Palace, a large, heavily armed party of the Royal Household Guard, full ten-score, who had been hurriedly summoned from their barracks, caught up with them. They marched down the corridor behind their King and his High Priest, the din of their iron-shod feet reverberating across the vast space.
The end of the corridor was marked by great doors of solid oak. As the door-wardens swung these open, the King, followed by Sauron and the Guardsmen, stepped on to the wide porch outside, staring toward the East.
The porch stood at the top of a flight of two-score marble stairs, below which lay a vast courtyard of cobbled stone, flanked by arched marble walls inside of which were set the Royal Stables. At the far side of the courtyard lay an open gate, protected only by a handful of Guardsmen and a wooden beam that swung open and shut on a pivot – for, a serious assault against the Palace of Armenelos was deemed unthinkable. Beyond the gate lay the city proper, which sprawled for miles beyond, sloping gently downhill toward the distant harbour. The vast Temple of Melkor, its once silvered dome stained black by the smokes that ever drifted upward from the fires within, dominated the skyline, dwarfing every other building in the city. Even now, a black, snakelike coil of smoke drifted up from the Temple, staining the sky for miles above.
The gate-wardens had their hands full, fending off a crowd of commoners who thronged around the streets outside the Palace. Crying and shouting, some of these citizens begged the King for his protection, while others dared threaten to burst open the gates and seize the Royal person on his throne, should he fail to come to their aid. And looking at the sky above, the reasons for their terror and belligerence were clear.
The sky was dark with stormclouds, which rumbled ominously with thunder. A strong wind had picked up, lashing the trees and scouring the walls. Here and there great showers of hailstones dowsed the city, tormenting those unfortunate enough to still be caught out of doors. Yet these threats paled in comparison to the great flashes of lightning, cast down from the heavens at the bidding of giant Eagles!
Eagle hardly seemed a fitting term for these beasts, whose golden wings stretched fully a hundred paces from tip to tip. Their azure eyes gleamed fiercely, and from their silver beaks issued ear-shattering screams of fury. A score of these winged monsters circled in great arcs around the city, and wherever one lingered for a moment, a vast bolt of lightening would issue from the skies above, followed by a titanic clap of thunder that shook the very earth. Wherever one of these lightning bolts struck a building, a great shower of sparks shot forth, and the roof and walls collapsed into a smoking ruin.
It was clear, even from this distance, that the Eagles were concentrating their fury on the Temple of Melkor. Bolt after bolt of lightening assailed the vast structure, and with each blow a heap of blackened marble or tarnished silver crashed to the ground below. Seeing this, Sauron's eyes narrowed, and the script of this golden ring flashed brightly.
"Bring forth my chariot, you fools! Hurry!" shouted the King, his voice muffled by the howling wind. A number of Guardsmen rushed towards the stables lining the courtyard. Within minutes, several had retrieved the King's golden war chariot, which was large enough to fit two men, and hitched to eight magnificent black stallions. The other Guards, aided by the stable-hands, led out enough hastily-saddled horses for themselves and their comrades. As these Guardsmen led the beasts toward the foot of the stairs, Ar-Pharazon and Sauron descended towards the chariot.
Suddenly, Sauron stopped, glancing up at the sky. He then threw the King to the ground, shielding him with his body. Not a moment too soon, for one of the great Eagles had caught sight of them! Shrieking with battle fury, it cast a bolt of lighting toward them, missing the King by mere feet. The lighting bolt struck the Guardsmen behind him instead, a score of them disappearing in a shower of sparks and stones, while the surviving Guards were knocked flat on their backs, visibly stunned.
Sauron leapt up, pulling the shaken King toward his chariot. "Hurry, your Majesty" he shouted above the winds. "We must make for the Temple of Melkor, if it is not to suffer the same fate as your Throne Room!"
"What fate?" cried the King. Sauron pointed to the Dome of Darkness, hunched over the bulk of the Palace. The giant Eagle, robbed of its quarry by a Power greater than itself, had seized on this new target. With a triumphant cry, the winged brute cast a huge bolt of lightning at the Dome. A great arc of sparks and fire shot up, as with a mighty rumble the Dome cracked asunder, crashing in pieces into the Throne Room below! A vast pall of dust rose up from the ruined structure, as the Eagle, with a mocking cry, circled away from the Palace and back toward its brothers, who were assaulting the Temple of Melkor with redoubled fury.
Speechless with rage, the King nodded, and Sauron lifted him up into the golden chariot. Sauron then jumped into the chariot, took the reins himself, and motioned for the surviving Guards, who had picked themselves up from the steps, to follow.
With a fierce cry in some unknown, barbarous tongue, Sauron lashed the reins. The black stallions, possessed as if by a demon, thundered forth, rolling their eyes and foaming at the mouth. The Guardsmen, who had quickly mounted their own horses, struggled to match the furious pace of the King's chariot.
Glowering at the crowd of unruly civilians beyond the gate, Sauron drove the chariot straight toward them, not waiting for the Gate-wardens to swing open the beam barring exit from the courtyard. Sauron, holding the reins in his left hand, held up his right hand and spoke a Word of Command. The wooden beam, as if struck by a gigantic hammer, shattered into a thousand slivers, and Sauron drove the rumbling chariot directly into the crowd. Some of these disgruntled citizens rushed to get out of the way, while others were trampled underfoot by the stallions. Ar-Pharazon, delighting at this unexpected violence, gave a bloodthirsty cry, while the mounted Guardsmen raised their shields and surged past the mob, clubbing with their shield-bosses and spear-butts any who impeded their progress.
Followed by the Guardsmen, the King's chariot, wobbling in the violent winds that scoured the city, thundered down the broad, paved road that lead from the Palace gates, past countless mansions, gardens, and official buildings, toward the public square that lay at the heart of the metropolis. At the very center of that square stood the Temple of Melkor, reeling under the ferocious assault of Manwe's Eagles. Even from a distance, a vast mob could be seen clogging the square, their cries and lamentations echoing for miles.
"The ungrateful swine!" spat the King, as he clung white-knuckeled to the rim of his chariot. "We have brought the blessings of Melkor to them, have shown them the truth concerning the origins of the World, and how they may claim their rightful place in it. And this is how they repay us – displaying their cowardice at the first sign of resistance from the Valar! They should all burn!"
"Our hold over the people is strong, my liege" replied Sauron, as he steered the chariot over a canal-bridge, and on past the cramped houses and jumbled streets of the old quarter. "It is only the shocking nature of this spectacle, combined perhaps with the raised voices of a few hidden traitors and infidels, which causes them to waver. Fear not – if I can but reach the roof of the Temple in time, then the people will be treated to a very different spectacle, one that will humble the rebellious Valar and their flying beasts, and silence all who doubt the power of Melkor!" The King beamed delightedly, reassured as ever by Sauron's confidence and wisdom.
At length, the King's chariot and its escort of mounted Guardsmen surged past the end of the long boulevard, where it flowed into the public square. As they entered the square, the noise about them was deafening. There were countless thousands of civilians, mostly women and old men, but also more than a few younger men who thus far had evaded conscription. The mob swung into a frenzy at the site of their King and his High Priest, who had thus far proven utterly ineffectual in the face of the Eagles' assault. "His Majesty and Lord Sauron shall save us!" shouted some desperately, while others cried in despair "Melkor has abandoned us! Our sacrifices were in vain!"
A few bold souls even shouted "Melkor was long since defeated by the Valar, he cannot save us!" "We must beg the Valar for mercy while there is still time!" The King shook his aged fist at these infidels. Sauron took note of them, but did not react to their taunts, his efforts concentrated on guiding the chariot through the crowd and to the steps fronting the Temple's doors. All eyes were upon him, and now that was surrounded by tens of thousands of onlookers, he took care not to trample any of the citizens in his eagerness to reach his goal.
In the skies above, the Eagles continued to circle the Temple, slamming bolt upon bolt of lightening into its roof, sending showers of sparks and burning slag flying into the air, and raining death wherever they fell on those below. The shrieks and screams of the giant Eagles filled the crowd with terror.
As the chariot pulled up before the steps, one of the Eagles let forth a mighty cry, and cast a huge lightning bolt squarely at the Temple's dome. There was a blinding flash of light. Then, with a deafening roar, a large section of the roof caved in, crashing to the floor of the Temple below, the dust from the collapse mixing with the black smokes that rose up from the fiery pit within Temple's core.
Pulling back on the reigns, which he then handed to the King, Sauron leapt from the chariot, and bounded up the steps to the ebon doors of the Temple. The shaven-skulled Priests of Melkor, who had assembled in front of the doors to prevent the mob from ransacking the sacred precincts within, made way for their hierophant, and the doors swung open at Sauron's command. Without a word, he dashed into the Temple, and disappeared from public view.
Meanwhile, Ar-Pharazon dismounted from his chariot. Surrounded now by his escort of mounted Guardsmen, their crimson and sable tunics flapping in the howling winds, he climbed up the stairs of the Temple, so that he could gaze upon the mob below. Feeling disgust at the weakness and treachery of the rabble, he raised his arms, indicating that he would now address his subjects.
"Silence, in the name of the King!" shouted the Guardsmen. "The King will speak!"
These commands had no effect on the mob, whose members shouted and cried aloud as before. The King's withered face flushed scarlet, as he reeled with humiliation at being treated by so many of his subjects, and in such a public manner, with utter disrespect. The Guardsmen shared his outrage, and cursed furiously at the cowards and rebellious scum before them. The black-robed Priests of Melkor gazed on impassively, though some of them smiled knowingly to each other.
Suddenly, a mighty voice, clear and pure as a silver bell, rang out from a balcony on the roof of the Temple, just below the base of its silvered dome.
"BEHOLD!"
At once, the mob fell silent. The King and his Guardsmen turned around, and on the balcony they saw Sauron, a diminutive figure whose robes of sable and crimson caught the eye even from such a lofty height. The Eagles screeched with rage, and continued their assault unchecked, as bolt after bolt struck the Temple of their Enemy.
"BEHOLD!" cried Sauron again. "The Valar have sent these beasts to stir up doubt and fear amongst us. And yea, some of you have caved into your fears, have shamed yourself by giving voice to your doubts."
The mob was now as silent as the tomb.
"Melkor permitted these flying beasts to assault His Temple, in order to test your faith. Many have passed this test, though some have failed. Now, the test has ended, and so shall this latest rebellion of the treacherous Valar! BEHOLD, as Melkor reveals HIS POWER!"
Sauron raised his arms above his head. He spoke strange words, in a tongue unknown even to his Priests, who had fancied themselves initiates of the deepest mysteries. An ominous rumble sounded from deep within the Temple, and the Earth began to shake, throwing many in the square below to their knees. The Eagles screamed again – in anger, or was it now in alarm?
For from the depths of the Temple, a bright glare shone forth, and from the great hole cut into the dome, a pillar of fire shot upwards, rising until it scorched the very clouds!
Now Sauron lowered his arms, and the mob stood speechless with amazement at the awesome spectacle above them. A vast curtain of fire drifted down from the pillar, shielding the silvered dome of the Temple like a shining, upturned bowl. The bowl grew in size, until the whole of the Temple, and much of the square lay beneath it. The mob, choking on the sulphurous reek that spewed forth from the fire, could barely withstand its fierce heat, and many held up their hands to shield their eyes. The Guardsmen's horses took fright, and many Guards had to struggle with all their might to subdue their panicked steeds.
Yet those Men who still looked above now saw that the tide had turned. The Eagles, screeching with frustration, threw their lightning bolts at the Temple, but to no avail. Again and again, the bolts glanced harmlessly off the fiery shield, back into the clouds from whence they came!
At length, one of the Eagles gave a mournful wail. Abandoning his assault, he turned course, and sailed towards the West, where the setting Sun now stained the clouds crimson as if with blood. His brothers, silent with despair, flew after him, and soon they passed out of sight.
Time stood still as Sauron took in the scene – the retreat of his vanquished foes, the stunned silence of the mob, the searing heat and light of the fiery dome that hovered above the Temple. Then, smiling triumphantly, he raised his arms again, and spoke more words in the unknown tongue. The fiery dome shot up into the sky, only to disappear in brilliant flash of light, and a great clap of thunder. The pillar of fire that spewed forth from the bowels of the Temple began to subside, until at length it sank beneath the scarred dome of silver. The bright glare that had shone from within the temple faded to a ruddy glow, and all was silent. Even the winds that had scoured the city but moments before had dissipated, their force spent. Sauron lowered his arms, and stood wordlessly, still as an ebon statute.
The King, who had watched the miracle unfold with as much astonishment as anyone, was the first to recover his wits. He turned to face the crowd, and drew himself to his full height, for all his advanced years still an imposing figure in his crimson robes and purple cape.
"The Valar have struck the first blow" said he. "The next blow shall be ours!"
The Guardsmen roared with approval, crashing their spears against their shields. Some of the mob took up their cry, shouting and stamping their feet with joy at their victory. The Priests of Melkor looked on approvingly, but said nothing, instead awaiting the return of their master.
Sauron had disappeared from the balcony, and now remerged through the Temple's doors, striding toward the top of the steps. When the crowd saw him, their shouts and roars increased tenfold. "Hail to Sauron!" they cried. "Sauron has brought us victory!" "Melkor is the one true God, and Sauron is his Prophet!"
Sauron, smiling benevolently, held up his hands, and the noises from the crowd subsided to a murmur. Then he spoke, in that clear, ringing voice for which he was so admired.
"My friends" said he, "do not thank Sauron. It was not I who brought us victory."
A dull roar of disapproval now rolled forth from the mob. "What?" "How so!" "It was you, my Lord!"
"No" said Sauron, shaking his head. "I am nothing, a mere servant of Melkor, through whose Power all things are possible. Yet there is one Man present to whom you should give thanks, for to him you owe everything you are, and everything you shall become." He gestured gracefully at the Man standing proudly on the steps beneath him. "Join me in offering thanks to our beloved father, our King, Ar-Pharazon the Golden!" cried Sauron, his fair voice fired with passion. "For it is by his widsom that the Men of this isle converted to the true religion, and so it is thanks to Ar-Pharazon the Golden that Melkor has succored us in our time of need. Hail to the King!"
"Hail to the King!" shouted the mob, fired by Sauron's enthusiasm. "Hail to Ar-Pharazon the Golden! Hail! Hail! Hail!"
For some minutes, the cries of "Hail!" echoed across the square, while Ar-Pharazon stood beaming, delighted that the people who had spurned him but a few minutes before now heaped admiration and praise upon him. The mob was fickle, he thought to himself, but a strong hand could always guide them in the right direction.
At least, he thought sourly, it could guide most of them. What of those troublemakers who had sought to undermine the people's faith in the power of Melkor? Had they truly seen reason, or did they merely join in the celebrations of victory to save their own worthless skins?
Sauron, as if on cue, raised his hands again, and the mob's cries again dwindled. His fair face now bore a pained expression, of nobility tinged with sadness, and marred by disappointment.
"And yet, my friends" said Sauron, his now soft and melancholy, "not all of you share in our joy. Nay, not all of you are our friends. There are those among you, even now, who doubt the power of Melkor, who debase themselves with the thought that all that has transpired here today is but some conjuror's trick, designed to deceive the masses."
Sauron's visage now became stern, and his voice tinged with steel. "I say unto you, you are the deceivers! Infidels and heretics, who have failed abjectly Melkor's test of your faith! You who abjured your fellows to turn their backs on Melkor, and submit again to the yoke of the Valar! Do you vainly hope to avoid the hour of reckoning?"
An ominous murmur now rose up from the mob, while here and there some pale-faced citizens looked this way and that, desperate to make their escape from the crowded square. The Priests of Melkor stared at these unfortunates, and smiled grimly.
"Melkor has not saved us from the Valar, only to suffer insult from a pack of heathens!" cried Sauron. "He is just toward His loyal worshippers, yet fierce and terrible in His wrath against His enemies. Melkor repays disloyalty with vengeance, and treason with death. The time has come for Him to claim His due." Sauron pointed imperiously at the mob. "Seize the heretics! They have betrayed themselves by their words, and cannot hide from you. Seize them, and drag them to the Temple! Deliver them into the hands of the Priests, who shall celebrate our victory by the sacrifice of Melkor's foes!"
Howling with rage, the light of madness in their eyes, the mob now turned on those who had dared counsel rapprochement with the Valar. The grabbed them by their sleeves, their arms, their legs, their hair, and dragged them, struggling and shrieking for mercy, up the Temple steps. One by one they were seized by the grim Priests of Melkor, and pushed through the ebon doors to meet their doom.
The King laughed fiercely, delighted by the slaughter of his foes. Sauron smiled demurely, and stole a secret glance at his gleaming Ring.