Some years later.

The ironclad female gazed around the room slowly, careful not to move her head so that the one who paced around in front of her should notice. The fires of the burning mountain glared trough the high window, making the opposite wall glow red, as it always did. The fires that lit the room flickered in the same way. And the darkness that shrouded the being in front of her was still imperishable. As it had always done.

How many times had she bowed like this? How many times had she stood before this throne, patiently waiting for Him to take notice? How many times? She did not know. Perhaps forever? It did not matter. She had done it before; she would do it again, over and over, as would everyone in this land. And soon everyone in this world, if one was to believe His words. And everyone did. To do not was folly.

The darkness had stopped moving and turned towards her. Or was it from her? She could not know. None knew whither the Eye turned next. But obviously He took notice, for He spoke.

"I know why thou hast come." She could not help from jumping when His voice pierced the silence. A sharp whisper, a shriek, a thunder, shaking the earth and making the very air shiver. She nodded slowly. He always knew.

"And you already know my answer, Záhovar*."

"I do."

"Good," He said and began pacing the room again. "You may not have the command over the Morannon, as you have little experience of warfare. However, you may accomplish another task for me. I need to send a message to Minas Morgul about certain. events that have occurred. You may be that messenger, if you would like?"

He stopped again, awaiting an answer He already knew. No one refused an order given by the Dark Lord himself. And yet he asked her about it, as if to give her a false sense of freedom and own will. When He recieved no answer, He continued. "When you come there you could as well stay there and await the message back. I believe it will take some time for Argor** to get things started over there. See it as a vacation."

"As you wish, my Lord," she said, bowing. 'Great, a vacation to a place with again nothing to do. The only change will probably be the view.'

She heard Him turn quickly towards her and she bit her lip. How could she forget that He read people's minds like open books before Him?

"Nothing to do? Oh no, child. Did you really believe that my second-in- command would leave you there with nothing to do? Think again." He went over to a table and picked up a scroll, which He gave to her.

"Ride as quickly as you can to Minas Morgul, but beware. Ithilien is full of gondorian rangers. I would rather send this message with one of the Nazgûl, but as they are all in Minas Morgul, I shall have to suffice with you instead. Dismissed."

Her own black mare, Nagîthas***, was already prepared and waiting for her in the lower courtyard. The small snaga**** trying to hold the prancing horse bowed low when it saw her coming, giving the reins to her. Nagîthas stroke her ears back and gave the snaga a kick when it passed her hind legs. It gave a loud shriek and ran off into one of the surrounding barracks.

Záhovar pulled the mare's head down by the reins and knocked on its forehead with an ironclad knuckle. The mare, recognizing her owner, buffed on her breastplate and muttered softly. Záhovar mounted as fast as the heavy armour allowed her to and turned her steed towards the gate. The powerful mare danced on the spot for a moment before whipping its tail and began to trot down the empty causeway.

Closer to the gates the traffic became thicker. Snagas pulling wagons or carrying sacks, Uruks of different sizes, messengers from remote cities and fastnesses, trading caravans, ambassadors from other countries - This tower was the middle part of a great wheel, the heart of a huge engine only held together by the next war. If the war should end everything would shatter like the dust clouds on the remote mountain roads.

Everyone who saw her coming moved out of the way and soon a passage was opened for her in the middle of the turmoil at the gates. They all knew better than to stand in the way of a High Officer. And if they did, she would just ride them down anyway. That's the way things worked, if the weak came in the way of the strong, they were annihilated.

As soon as she came out of the gates Nagîthas began to prance and toss her head restlessly. A soft pressure of Záhovar's legs was enough to make her buck a few times and stop short. She rose to her full height on her hind legs, letting out a sound that was more of a shriek than a neigh. Then she exploded into a wild gallop, the sound of ironclad hooves on the stones echoing into the shattered wilderness of Gorgoroth, now and then broken by the thundering tremor of the mountain.

Later in Minas Morgul.

"But use the weapon, ya little imp! How are ye supposed to fight in a battle when ye don't even dare to lift yer hand? Come on again, and show some confidence!"

Erishnak eyed his opponent, the huge Uruk who were supposed to be his mentor during his training period. The Uruk growled menacingly, attacking him again, aiming for his stomach. Erishnak threw himself onto the ground backwards to avoid the blade, rolling around and making a cutting move upwards with the stick he used instead of a sword. The stick hit the Uruk's ribbons hard under his arm. The Uruk fell to the ground, gasping for air.

"Oops. Sorry," he said.

"Ye don't ask yer enemies forgiveness after you've killed them, do ye?" the Uruk sneered between the gasps. "'That was a good move. Train some more an' ye might even become useful."

The Uruk went over to one of the smaller onlookers, who offered him a water skin and a cloth. Erishnak's throat felt like it was filled with sand, but he knew no one would ever come with water or cloth to him. Like the Uruks and his -mentor- said, he was nothing more than a useless little imp. They never spoke to him, other than scorn and foul words. He was surprised that his mentor actually gave him a compliment for once, albeit not a very nice one.

Erishnak raised his head and saw his mentor talking to a strange-looking Orc. He had flesh pink skin, and the left side of his head, the side that was turned Erishnak's way, was swelled up and extremely distorted, making his good right side look almost as smooth and well shaped as one of those infamous Elves. Erishnak knew that face all too well. His father, Gothmog, second-in-command of Dushgoi and the most powerful Warlord in the entire Black Land, his hero and the one he was supposed to become like. The one he wanted to become like.

The warlord said something, tossing his head in Erishnak's direction. They were talking about him! His father was probably asking how he was doing. Oh Darkness, let mentor say at least something good!

The mentor laughed and shook his head. Erishnak grinded his teeth together. He wanted to rush up there, telling his father about how bad they were treating him, and how he wished for father to take him away from this place! But he stayed where he was. To interrupt a warlord as mighty as Gothmog was true folly, it would only bring him a huge punishment.

Gothmog grunted a dismissal. The mentor bowed and left. Then Gothmog turned his head towards him. Erishnak felt nervous under the piercing gaze of his father and slowly bowed his head. That was how it came to be that he did not see his fathers approving smile. When he raised his head, his father was already gone.

Later that evening.

Erishnak stood upon one of the battlements of the outer wall of Dushgoi. He leant his head into his arms to silence the muffled sobs that he could not hold back. He would often stand upon the battlements, gazing out into the world beyond, a world that he had never seen and only heard faint rumours of. And he always cried then, cried about all the things he missed, things that he would never get to know, never get to feel. When he had asked his mentor about the world beyond the valley, he had simply answered; "the only time you'll see that land, is when you march out with the other soldiers to die upon the battlefield." Then he had asked him why. The answer was; "because Uruks are made to die." Then he asked what would happen afterwards. "Darkness perhaps? I don't care."

That had almost choked him with fear then. Erishnak didn't want to die. And he was afraid of darkness. Too much light stung his eyes, but complete blackness felt like it would creep up and choke him, especially after when his mentor told him about the monster that hid in the pass in the mountains beyond Dushgoi and crept up at dark nights to catch little Orcs and suck the flesh out of them, leaving only a rotting skin sack beyond. Should anyone get to know they probably would have scorned him forever.

He stopped weeping and rubbed the tears off his cheeks. Outside the valley things were getting brighter. Much brighter. The guards on the walls hissed and ducked behind the walls. Erishnak didn't know it, but now was the time when the sun was setting, and then it would shine in below the roof of darkness above before sinking beyond the mountains. Then everything turned into piercing white. Erishnak shrieked and threw himself down behind the wall, rubbing his burning eyes. One of the guards saw it and hurried to his side. The guard cursed loudly while opening a water skin and forcing Erishnak's hands down. Then he poured the cool water into his eyes.

"Ya little fool! Didn't ya see all the others were hiding?!"

"I- I didn't know..." he wailed.

"Well, now ya know! Maybe you're careful the next time and not be at the battlement at sunset?"

"I- I won't..."

Erishnak slowly opened his eyes. They were still stinging and watering from the sun, but at least he could see now. The guard checked his eyes once more to make sure he had his sight left intact, and then he went back to his post. The sun was gone now and all quickly went darker.

Erishnak walked away towards the mountain wall on the left side of the valley. He didn't know it, but it was ten years on the day since his father stood on the same wall, waiting for him to make his entry into the world.

He smiled and began to jump, both feet together, on each wall stone until he reached the mountain. There he stopped short. Down the wall here was some edges that one perhaps, with a bit of luck, could use to climb down. Then the idea came to him; leave, leave here and now! Leave and see the world beyond these mountains! 'Quick decision,' he thought and began to search for the best way down. It was steep, slippery and very far to fall, but the sudden urge for freedom was too strong. It was difficult; he slipped at some points and once ended up hanging in only his hands. But he made it all the way down.

He landed softly on all four on the ground close to the wall. The guards could not be seen anywhere. 'They are probably sitting down behind the walls talking and drinking,' Erishnak thought. Everyone knew that no enemy dared to attack Dushgoi. He sneaked away towards the road, then followed it crouched in the dike beside it. At one point the road became a bridge, crossing a small dark river. He prepared to run across the bridge, when a strange sound reached his ears. A rhythmic sound like small hammers falling on cold iron- and it came closer! He ducked beneath the bridge as the thing causing the sound came into the valley.

* Záhovar = Jewel. Her full name is Zí-Záhovar, the Black Jewel. This is the only female High Officer in Barad-Dur. ** Argor = the witch-King. *** Nagîthas = Horrible. **** Snaga = small slave Orc.