Traveling

The next morning Erishnak awoke early. As he went out to the entrance of the cavern where the warlords and commanders of the army slept, he noticed it was blowing, a rare phenomenon in the well protected valley. It was still dark outside. As he watched the sky above, the wind parted the thick clouds for a moment. In the cut where the clouds parted, some tiny white dots could be seen. Erishnak stared, not believing his own eyes. Then suddenly a huge glowing orb came into sight. It... almost looked like... a face. Erishnak felt cold fear crawl up his spine. That was no Orcish face, not like anything he had ever seen before. And it watched him from that immense height, saw him, saw everything –

Panic grasped him, and he turned and fled. He only reached a few paces though. Then the darkness took him.

Záhovar slowly walked along the streets of the glowing city. "Come to think of it," she said to a statue, "it is quite beautiful here at night. Quiet and peaceful, even the glow of the walls adds a nice touch to it all. Not that those foolish Gondorians would notice, too busy weeping about how we stole their city and how evil and corrupted this land is." She leaped up the stairs to the roof of one of the mansions that once had belonged to a noble man, but now was slowly falling to dust, only the decomposing stone left.

Well up on the roof, she continued her ranting, now speaking to a small gargoyle statue that stood as a guardian in a corner. "Frankly I do not understand why they persist in making war against the superiority. Look at the Rhûnlanders, and the Haradrim. They are serving Lug-Burz, and they are not complaining. It would give them an easier life too, leaving it to us to govern them. And they would not get their culture wiped out to the brink of extinction every age by trying to overthrow us."

It felt like walking into an invisible wall of ice. Erishnak could not see what was standing in his way, and yet he could not pass. He felt a deadly cold seep into his body, and his limbs went numb, and stiff like frost bitten grass. A sharp, whistling hiss reached his ears. He knew he should scream, he wanted to, but the sound froze in his throat. Then suddenly something moved in front of him. Out from the impossible darkness in front of him came a hand. A terrible, white, shining hand. Two fingers was placed under his chin and pushed his head upwards. Strangely enough, it felt like they were clad in icy armour, but none could be seen.

He was so frightened. He felt like he could die on the spot. He could hear his heartbeat like a drum in his ears. At first all was darkness as his gaze was forced upwards, then a glint of red was seen in the darkness. Then all of the hooded being became visible, except for whatever was inside the hood. Only those hypnotic red eyes could be seen, glowing in the dark. A living nightmare.

Gothmog didn't know what had awakened him. Perhaps the fact that it was cold like in a grave. He grabbed his cloak that lay beside him. Then he noticed Erishnak's bed was empty. "Now where has that kid got to," he grumbled as he went out of bed. As he grabbed his boots he realised something was not right. It didn't smell right in there. After walking out of the room and towards the entrance he stopped short, staring. 'Nazgûl,' shot through his mind as he saw the dark fog and felt the stench of death in the dungeon.

The being in front of Erishnak glanced over its shoulder, and then suddenly lost interest in him. It let him go and strode past him, and then the terror was over. He stood still, not able to move or speak for a long time. Then his limbs thawed, and he screamed, then fell forward. Gothmog caught him in his arms just before he reached the ground. He remained on his knees, trying to comfort the shaking, wailing orcling that pressed himself into his arms.

Záhovar stopped short as a high-pitched scream echoed over the city. Of course, it could have been one of the slaves or prisoners being tortured, but somehow she did not think so. She quickened her pace towards where the scream had come from. As she reached the huge square at the entrances to the dungeons where the warlords and commanders slept, she noticed someone sitting in one of the entrances. As she came closer, she saw it was Gothmog hugging a whimpering Erishnak in his arms. Záhovar lifted an eyebrow in question.

"T'was a ri... Nazgûl, my lady," Gothmog answered, looking down at Erishnak. "The poor thing ran straight into Him."

Záhovar nodded. "Take him back in, before he catches a cold or something." Erishnak sneezed.

"The best thing you can do, if bumping into a Nazgûl like that, is to run. As fast as you can, and as far as you can."

"But he- it froze my legs, I couldn't move." Erishnak had calmed down a bit, now he sat sobbing on Gothmog's mattress listening to Záhovars admonitions. Záhovar had occupied Erishnak's bed, telling him about what to do if confronted by a superior.

"That happened because you was too slow. And if you are forced to interact with them, keep your eyes on the ground. Never look at their eyes. Looking straight into the eyes of someone higher than you is recalcitrant. And show them respect, fall to your knees if possible."

Gothmog shook his head. "He is so soft. Too soft. Do ye know of some way to make 'im stronger? Like a spell or something?"

"I do," Záhovar answered. "But the spell you are talking about would not only take away his cowardice, but his personality and his soul as well. It would, litterally, turn him into an undead."

Erishnak's eyes widened as he stared at Záhovar.

"Uhm, I... think I'll take that request back," Gothmog said. Erishnak sighed of relief, and Záhovar smirked slightly. "I thought so."

"I don't wanna be... an undead," Erishnak mumbled, yawning. Gothmog, who lied behind Erishnak, moved closer to the wall.

"Go back to sleep, son. Mornin's still far away."

Erishnak laid down beside Gothmog. Záhovar pulled the blanket out from behind her and tossed it to him.

"Thanks," he said and rolled himself into it. Soon he was sleeping. Záhovar got up from the mattress.

"Will ye not stay?"

"No. I will return in the morning instead. We have a lot to do in the coming days." With that, she left, as silent as a shadow despite the armour.

The next morning the whole city was in uproar. In all the streets and squares people were pulling carts, running with messages, soldiers were patroling and exercising. Erishnak ran to keep up with Gothmog, heading for the main tower. He didn't have to worry about getting lost in the crowd, however. Everyone that caught sight of Gothmog stepped at least two meter out of his way, and those who didn't was pushed aside by the others.

They reached the stairway up to the tower gate, and began climbing it. In the middle Gothmog suddenly stopped, placing his palm on his forehead.

"Father? You alright?" Erishnak asked.

"Yeah," Gothmog said, sweating in pain. "Yeah, I'm alright. Let's go." They climbed the rest of the stairs in silence.

Well inside the tower, Gothmog spotted something and told Erishnak to be quiet. Then he turned to an orc who stood guard at one of the doors.

"Hey, Pradish! Come 'ere!" The orc guard came closer.

"Greetings, M'lord," he said with a bow.

"Come off it, Pradish. Ye know ye don't have to speak all high-an-mighty with me."

"That's what happens to ye if ye're on duty as tower-guard. Bloody flower- speech gets stuck on yer tongue," he said and spat. Then he nodded towards Erishnak. "Who's the imp?"

In the matter of a second, Pradish was pinned at the wall with Gothmog's hands around his throat.

"Don't ye dare speak to my son like that, I dare you," Gothmog hissed.

"I- I'm s... sorry!" he croaked. Gothmog let him go, and Pradish leant against the wall for a moment, coughing and gasping for air.

"N-now I know how you became a warlord," he said, eyeing Gothmog suspiciously. Then he went over to Erishnak, who had watched the scenery with faint interest.

"So, this is Gothmog's son, eh? Erishnak, right?" Pradish said, not really knowing what to say to an orcling.

"Yes.." Erishnak replied shyly. Pradish patted his head. "Cute little fellow," he commented. 'Did he just call me cute? He called me cute!' Since Erishnak had no dagger with which to stab Pradish in the knee, he simply had to take the next best thing. Swiftly as a snake his head shot up, and his small but sharp teeth snapped around Pradish's hand. Pradish shouted in pain and pulled his hand away, looking in disbelief at Erishnak. Gothmog stared at them for a while, and then broke into hysterical laughter. Erishnak growled like a wolf cub, and then began to cough and spit, since Pradish's hand wasn't very clean.

Pradish eyed his hand, whimpering. Then he turned his gaze to Gothmog, who was lying on the floor, still howling with laughter. Pradish pointed at him with his good hand.

"Your son, is a farkin' brat!" he growled. Gothmog had himself somewhat under control, and got back on his feet, still laughing.

After some time of explanations, mocking and throwing insults, they left Pradish to his duty, and continued into the tower. Gothmog laughed and patted Erishnak's shoulder.

"That's my lad, eh? First time ye actually showed some backbone."

"I'm not cute."

"Of course ye're not. And I don't think Pradish thinks so anymore, heh."

As they passed a corner, they suddenly stood eye to eye with Záhovar, who obviously had been spying on them and now had struck an ominous pose as a statue of impenetrable darkness, arms folded across her chest. Erishnak jumped backwards with a squeak as he almost bumped into her and landed on his back on the black floor. Gothmog grabbed the carved statue on the cornerstone to keep himself upright, gasping.

"Holy Darkness and the Nine caverns of the Abyss, Záhovar! Please don't DO like that!"

"Hm.." Záhovar replied. "When did you begin to curse like a High Officer? And what happened to 'my lord'?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. My lord," Gothmog replied, grinning. Zàhovar motioned towards a door some paces away. "Shall we?"

They entered the door, which led to the guest room where Záhovar lived during her stay at Dushgoi. Not as luxurious as her own room in Barad-Dûr, but still worlds above what the orcs had to suffice with. Gothmog had been there some times before, so he wasn't really impressed. But Erishnak slowly began to walk into the room, staring around him in awe. He looked closely on the paintings on the walls, of which some were of gondorian origin and had been saved when the city was taken by the Nazgûl. He looked at the chairs and the couches, all covered with velvet and other expensive materials. The tables, made of some rare wood that even felt soft to the touch. The bookshelf, filled with books in many different languages, made of the same wood as the table, and covered with carvings in intricate patterns.

Gothmog and Záhovar watched him walk around and explore. Finally he reached the huge bed. He softly stroked the thick down comforter, and before gothmog had the time to tell him no to, he had thrown himself onto it. Purring like a cat, he grabbed a corner of the blanket and rolled himself into it, cuddling and rubbing himself against it. Gothmog gave Záhovar a nervous glance, she was smirking and had raised an eyebrow in that strange fashion of hers, which showed that she was amused. 'That must be the closest to a smile she can ever come,' Gothmog thought as he went to pull Erishnak out of the bed.

"Gothmog."

"Yes, my lord?"

"Let the child play for a while. This is, after all, just a guest room. And besides, I doubt that he could break anything."

Gothmog sighed and went back. No matter how much Záhovar stated that she felt no emotions, it was clear that she liked Erishnak, a lot. They went over to a low table and sat down in two comfortable armchairs. On the table stood a tray with some refreshments. Gothmog took a closer look on the jug, sniffing at its contents. Wine. Red wine.

"Where is this from?" he asked Záhovar.

"Dorwinion."

Dorwinion wine. Gothmog's eyes became hungry. He loved wine, and the Dorwinion wine was the very best around. Most of that wine went straight to the High Officers winestore though, only the worst vintages was given to the orcs. He poured some into a glass, and sipped at it. Perfect.

"Don't get drunk. It will be of little use if you can't sit in the saddle tomorrow," Záhovar said.

"Mmm," Gothmog hummed while savouring the taste. Then he swallowed. "In the saddle?"

"Yes, did you think you would be able to keep up with a horse all the way to Lug-Burz on foot? We must be swift, or the gondorians will spot us."

"But I don't know how to-"

"You do not have to either. You will get a Warg."

"Oh..." Gothmog continued to sip at the wine. He always felt uneasy when Záhovar answered him before he had spoken, like she read his mind.

Erishnak stayed in the soft bed, listening to Záhovar and Gothmog talking. He hugged one of the big pillows. Lug-Burz. He had only heard that name a few times before, mostly from his mentor, in terms like 'stand straight, or I'll throw ye into the dungeons of Lug-Burz!'. He had never really thought of it as a place before. Just a name among many other, like Gondor, or Harad, or Lo- Lothel- Lothelorrion.. He was never able to say that right. And now he was going there. 'I wonder what it looks like,' he thought. 'If it's green and white and glowing, like here in Dushgoi. Or perhaps black? A black mountain, filled with dungeons, like an ants' nest?'

Gothmog tore his gaze from the bottom of the wine glass and glanced towards the bed.

"Don't ye know of any way to strengthen him? Otherwise he'll never survive the coming battle."

"Hm... I could speak to one of my lo- I mean friends, he could train him as an archer."

"Archer? Well.. why not?" Then Gothmog's eyes narrowed. "Was you about to say 'lovers'?"

"No. Absolutely not."

"Oh. Okey. Sure, archer. Fine. Erishnak! Come 'ere. Ye're going to wear out those pillows if ye stay."

Erishnak rolled out of the bed and down on the floor with a thump. When he got to his feet, he walked over to them and sat down in the couch.

"How about we go over to the Warg stables, and let Gothmog get to know his new steed, shall we?" Záhovar said. Erishnak looked at Gothmog, who nodded slowly.

The Warg stables was no real stables, more like a huge cavern with a huge iron door at its entrance. From inside could be heard the growls, howls and shouts from the Wargs and their masters. Záhovar and Erishnak stayed back as Gothmog went over to one of the Warg trainers and asked for his aimal. The trainer looked up, noticing Záhovar in the background and gave him a frightened nod. Then he and some of the other trainers disappeared into the cavern.

"What are they going to do?"Erishnak asked Záhovar. She gave him a cold glance, then answered; "They will fetch the Warg that your father has been given by the Dark Lord."

"Oh." Erishnak hesitated for a while, then asked; "What's a Warg?"

"You will see."

A lot of noise could be heard from inside, then the door flung open with a bang. The trainers came out, leading a huge, wolflike creature. The trainer reluctantly stepped up and gave the reins to Gothmog. As the Warg came closer, it seemed to shrink back, as if it was afraid. He stretched his hand out to pet it on the head. Then it attacked. Gothmog fell backwards as the Warg planted its paws up on his shoulders and pressed him to the ground. The trainer yelped and grabbed a whip to strike the Warg, but Záhovar stopped him.

"Stop. Let us see if the warlord has the guts to fight back." Then she noticed Erishnak was gone.

Erishnak cautiously walked closer to the huge animal, which was now sniffing at Gothmog's face. As it noticed him, it lifted its head and bared its sharp, yellow fangs.

"Erishnak! Go back! I... I-I can h-handle this," Gothmog hissed. The Warg gave him one last glance, then it jumped off him, walked up to Erishnak and began to smell him thoroughly. Gothmog, who at first was happy that the beast got off him, now froze in terror as the monster pushed his son around, smelling and examining him.

Wargs was a race created by the Dark Lord to serve as steeds for the Orcs. Mixing the blood of Orcs and wolves, also causing the instincts of the two species to be mixed. Wolves have very strong pack instincts, and no Orc would ever hurt an Orcling. Adult Wargs often killed each other, like Orcs did.

But the Warg now recognised Erishnak's smell as that of a Warg cub. It suddenly stopped smelling him, gave a strange barking sound and jumped backwards. Then it fell down on its front elbows, tail high and waving in the air and the long black tongue hanging out from the corner of its mouth. Erishnak squatted down to pet the Warg. Then it licked him in the face. Erishnak pushed the Warg's head away, laughing as it continued licking him. Gothmog sounded as something had got stuck in his throat.

Záhovar watched with an amused look. The trainer was on the verge of crying as his finest war steed was deliberately acting like a puppy. Gothmog brushed the dust of him and went up to Záhovar.

"What the hell happened?" Gothmog asked as they were on their way back. "Why did it want me for a snack, but are only playing with Erishnak?"

"It must be the mixed blood," Záhovar replied thoughtfully.

"Huh?"

"One can never know the final effects when mixing the blood of two so different species. Not only the appearance and strength changes, but also the mind, and the instincts."

"You know something of Warg breeding?"

"Well... The Herald told me about it when he was developing the process."

"Who's the Herald?" Erishnak asked.

"The Herald of Mordor," Gothmog answered. "The liutenant and second-in- command of Lug-Burz. Second only to the Dark Lord himself."

"Oh."

Gothmog turned to Záhovar again. "You have... spoken to him?"

"Yes, many times. I used to help him with his... experiments. It was he who created the Wargs first."

"Oh... Yeah, I remember those." He shuddered. "Or I heard rumours about them, that is."

They went on in silence.

The rest of the day they used to pack the stuff they would need on the journey. That is, Gothmog packed. Erishnak, who owned nothing but his bedroll when he came to Gothmog, spent most of the day examining and dressing up in all the new clothes and stuff that he got. As they took a short pause, a snaga came in with a huge bundle, kneeling before Gothmog.

"I was told t'bring this gift to'im," the snaga said, pointing at Erishnak.

"Yes, why don't ya give it to him, then? Stop kneeling before me, and get on with it!" The snaga jumped to his feet and went over to Erishnak, who eyed him suspiciously. The snaga placed the bundle at his feet.

"A gift," he said, then he turned and left. Erishnak began to paw the bundle. "It's hard," he said.

"Why don't cha open it?"

"What d'you think it is?"

"I don't know," Gothmog said and smiled.

On the inside Gothmog was puzzled. Who was caring enough to present an orcling with a gift? Except for Záhovar... Of course it was Záhovar. Although it wasn't like her at all, to give gifts to people. But then again, she was a female, it would be natural for her to have a mother's feelings towards Erishnak. It was the only possible explanation. At least the only one he wanted to think about.

Erishnak pulled at the strings and the black and brown cloths that covered the bundle. Gothmog handed him a knife to cut it up. As he did, the cloths fell off. Erishnak gasped i awe as he lifted the metal parts out of the bundle. Gauntlets, shinguards... it was a small replica of Gothmog's armour!

"My own armour! My own armour!!!" Erishnak yelled, jumping up and down in glee. Gothmog grinned.

"Try it out, and see if it fits."

Erishnak put the armour on, with some help from Gothmog. Now he walked around the room, a bit stiff.

"It's a bit big," he said.

"It only feels so 'cause ye're not used to it yet. And it's only good if it's big, then ye can use it longer, and grow in it," Gothmog said as he wondered again who might have given the armour to Erishnak.

That morning, when Erishnak had fallen asleep, Gothmog met up with Záhovar on the roof of one of the stockrooms in the city.

"Thanks," Gothmog said after a moment of silence. Záhovar frowned slightly.

"For what?"

"For... er... giving that armour to Erishnak."

"What armour?"

"Oh..." Gothmog frowned as well. "So.. it wasn't you? Who gave it to him, I mean?"

"No... I thought you had already got him one. And you should know, I never give gifts to people."

"Yeah, I know... Damn, who IS it then?!" Gothmog shouted, and began walking around on the roof. Záhovar looked at him.

"Are you afraid that someone you do not know likes Erishnak?"

"Well, no.." He stopped. "It's just... I've got a bad feeling about that gift."

Záhovar chuckled, but coming from her it sounded ghostly, distant and cold. "You almost act like it was Poshnak who gave it to him."

Gothmog got a disgusted expression. "Don't name him, please." He shuddered. "If that filthy bastard ever comes close to my son-"

"Speaking of Poshnak, he is going to come with us to Lug-Burz."

"What?! No!" A haunted look came into Gothmog's eyes as he looked down. "Fuck."


All that is told about the Herald (or the Mouth of Sauron as he is better known as) is made up by myself. Nothing, except what you can find in the books, is fact.