Talion felt his feet hit hard stone as he fell to the ground. Shaking his head to clear it, he recognised his location; one of the barrows Celebrimbor had revealed to him. He had been resting atop one of the cold stone sarcophagi dotted around the chamber beneath the statues of High Elf warriors of the Second Age. Rising to his feet, Talion retrieved his weapons and armour, Celebrimbor raging in the back of his mind.
'They will all suffer for this! Every miserable Orc who rose against us, who stormed the walls of my fortress will suffer tenfold for this! Their skulls will adorn the banners our army will carry before it to the gates of Barad-dur itself!'
"For now, we need to know what the lay of the land is. Our forces will have been scattered and broken by this; they will need to be rallied, given a target for their rage" Talion remarked as he walked out of the barrow and down the tunnel, emerging into a large, and fortunately unoccupied cave (he knew graugs had been fond of claiming the cave in which the entrance to the Sereghost barrow lay as territory), looking out over the frozen lake, the final resting place of Tar Goroth, the gaping rents in the ice where the Balrog's fiery body had smashed it apart long since frozen over, leaving the glassy surface pristine once more.
He could see a number of Orcs running across the frozen lake, more Orcs daubed in the red of those loyal to Sauron pursuing them, the chasers also including Olog-hai and caragors in their ranks, both ones clad in metal barding with riders on their backs and feral beasts whipped and beaten to hunt for their masters. Talion knew what was going on, he'd seen it before; the Orcs were amusing themselves with cruel sport, wagering on whose caragor would make the first kill or which one of their victims would be brought down and fatally mauled first.
With a raised hand and a howl, Talion summoned Spite, the dire caragor letting Talion clamber onto its back. Kicking his heels into the monster's flanks, Talion clung on as the beast leapt from its perch on the cliff side overlooking the frozen lake and began to pick up speed, its claws clicking on the ice as Talion angled it towards its target; an Orc warrior armed with spear and shield charging at one of the Orcs at the back of the ranks of the mob of would be victims, sweeping the straggler off his feet with a raking blow of the spear at his quarry's ankles. Talion blinked his eyes and the light and clarity and colour of the world around him vanished, to be replaced with a howling, dark morass of pale blue light and dark shapes- the wraith world. Seeing the world through Celebrimbor's eyes, Talion was shocked to recognise his target's victim; Ugakuga the Elder.
"He is one of our most loyal followers, he cannot be allowed to fall!" Celebrimbor insisted. The Orc defender who'd caught Ugakuga was about to bring the spear down when a one tonne caragor slammed into his side hard, sending him flying; the Orc had just enough time for a strangled scream before Talion's mount crushed his skull between its fangs, black blood staining the snow. Twisting in the saddle, Talion let arrows fly with Celebrimbor's aid in rapid succession, the spectral missiles punching two Orc riders from the backs of their caragors and dropping three of the snarling beasts. A fourth caragor, angry at being denied its prey, lunged at Spite, the dire caragor snarling in fury as claws raked its flank; the larger beast spun round and lunged at its smaller kin- the Orc on the armourclad caragor went flying as the dire caragor bore its foe to the ground, fangs clamped around its enemy's throat. The armoured caragor screeched and desperately clawed and scrabbled at the face and neck but the dire caragor's bite was unbreakable. A weak groan was the only sound that escaped the armoured caragor, pinned on its back like an upturned turtle as Spite ripped its throat out, reddish-black blood spraying the snow. The Orc who'd been sat astride it was next to die, managing to yell in horror before a spectral, blue-grey spear clutched in Celebrimbor's fist swept the uruk off his feet, before driving the blade down through his spine.
Suddenly, a meaty fist seized Talion by the shoulder, hauling him off the caragor's back and slamming him into the dirt; Talion, stunned, rolled over just in time to see a sallow, broad ugly face leering down at him. Talion returned the brutal grin on the Olog's face with a look of pure hate.
"Well, it seems pounding you into the dirt didn't work...maybe I'll pull your arms and legs off and feed them one by one to the caragors, see if that keeps you dead!" Ar-Pratu laughed cruelly, before his sneer became a snarl as once again, Talion's dagger stabbed into his hand. Talion rolled away and back to his feet, the bow forming in his hands, taking aim and losing the shaft. The arrow slammed into Ar-Pratu's head, just above the left eye socket...and exploded, the Olog howling in pain as fire enveloped his head and shoulders. Talion didn't waste his opening, throwing a trio of daggers that struck the flailing Ar-Pratu in the back as he desperately tried to put out the flames chewing his flesh. The Olog whirled round, his beady black eyes narrowed in hate, and with a roar, charged at Talion, his mace sending clods of earth and snow into the air as Ar-Pratu brought it down as he bellowed a challenge. Talion raced forward to meet him...and at the last second ducked under the Olog's sweeping arm, sliding across the slippery ground between Ar-Pratu's legs. Before his treacherous former minion could turn around, Talion leapt back to his feet and drove his dagger into the back of Ar-Pratu's knee. The Olog fell forward, crying out in pain, which turned to fury as he felt Talion scramble up his back, clinging on for dear life like a rat with one hand and repeatedly stabbing him in the shoulders and neck with the dagger in the other. Black blood ran in rivulets down the Olog's broad back from at least a dozen places as Ar-Pratu flailed about, knocking Orcs in his path flying as he desperately tried to dislodge Talion.
With a roar of triumph, Ar-Pratu's fingers got a hold of Talion's cloak, hauling the Ranger off his back and flinging him to the snow. But this time, Talion recovered quicker, sliding between the Olog's legs as Ar-Pratu tried to crush him, his blade biting into the back of his enemy's legs. At-Pratu whirled round, only for a spectral silver-blue hammer clenched into Celebrimbor's hand to smash him across the face. Ar-Pratu staggered back, spitting teeth, and before he could recover, Talion ducked under his traitorous underling's flailing arms and buried his sword almost to the hilt in the Olog's belly. Gasping in disbelief, Ar-Pratu fell to one knee, trying to keep his innards held in and looked Talion in the face, defiant.
"It really gets to you that I betrayed you?!" the Olog sneered. "It was worth it just for that! Now make it hurt, Gravewalker! Give me all the pain you can!"
Talion gave him his wish; his sword collided with Ar-Pratu's mace as the Olog desperately tried to parry it, and Celebrimbor's fist lashed out, catching the miserable traitor under the jaw, sending him staggering back. Talion lunged low, and Ar-Pratu fell again as the sword drove through his kneecap and then tore out, taking his leg clean off, Talion twisting away from the Olog's last desperate attempt to grab him and brought the sword down on Ar-Pratu's neck. The first blow bit deep into meat, deep enough to show bone. The second cut even deeper, almost decapitating the Olog. The third blow finished the job, Ar-Pratu's ugly, scarred head bouncing across the ice, a final look of utter disbelief on his face.
"You're late, master" Ugakuga opined archly as Talion helped him to his feet.
"You're missing an eye" Talion retorted, gesturing to the bloody, empty eye socket in his Orc lieutenant's face as he handed a dropped scimitar to his subordinate. Ugakuga shrugged his shoulders idly. "The shrakh-eater who did it's missing a lot more, thanks to you, Bright Lord" the Orc replied, gesturing to the misshapen lumps spread across the frozen lake that had once been Ar-Pratu.
"Manswine!" a high voice called out. Talion spun on his heel to spot the misshapen visage of Khrosh of the Flies leering at him from across the lake, a small force of Orcs at his back. "The overlord thought if we used a few of your boys as bait, it might flush you out...And here you are! I'm gonna cut you open and stitch a Morgai nest under your heart, then dangle you from the rafters until the infestation makes you as pretty as me!"
"TARK!" A second voice bellowed from behind; Talion turned to see a rangy looking Orc clad in the copper-hued armour of a member of the Machine Tribe, a throwing spear in his right arm, with a quiver full of more such weapons on his back, while his left was a crude prosthetic limb, tipped with hooked iron claws, where Talion's own blade had hacked off the flesh-and-blood limb at the shoulder- Lûga Iron-Claw. "The boss wants to have some fun with you, but first, I'm gonna have my fun with you!" Lûga promised. "You made my blood brother's mind shatter...well now, it's your turn!" Lûga hefted a throwing spear and took aim at Talion's chest when another voice interjected. "SURPRISE!"
All eyes turned to the newcomer; a warrior festooned with bones, skulls and claws woven into his armour, marking him out as a member of the Feral tribe, armed with an axe in each hand, a back banner marking him out as a commander and flanked by a mob of axe-wielding savages adorned in tribal warpaint. Talion recognised him- Hork the Carver- and felt a moment of unease after Ar-Pratu's treachery, but to his relief, Hork levelled his axe at Lûga and spat at the assassin's feet.
"You're good at what you do, Lûga...too good! And I can't have people showing me up! This is where you die!" Hork bellowed as he and his men hurtled into battle. Lûga hurled a spear at his new foe, dropping one of the savages in Hork's wake as the Carver dodged aside. Smiling in lupine fashion, Talion nodded at Khrosh to Ugakuga "Keep him busy! I will deal with the other!" Talion shouted over his shoulder as he ran to support Hork; presented with two targets, Lûga went for the most obvious. Talion cried out as the spear hit him in the shoulder, rolling to avoid a second, and then Hork was on the assassin, both axes sinking into Lûga's gut, ducking under his enemy's desperate swing at his throat with his taloned prosthesis. Lûga darted back, flinging a spear at Hork...only to then cry out as an arrow slashed through the air, pinning his foot to the floor. As Lûga desperately tried to pull his foot free, Talion leapt over him and slashed the assassin across the back, once, twice. Lûga spun round and Talion was sent staggering back as a spear punched into his gut...but in the blink of an eye he recovered and another arrow answered the blow, hitting Lûga in the cheek. Realsing that he had bitten off more than he could chew, Lûga hissed "This is all too much bother! But you'll pay, next time!"
"There will not be a next time!" Celebrimbor snarled as he set off in pursuit as Lûga tried to flee, charging with preternatural speed, striking the Orc assassin across the back of his head with his hammer, sending the panicking Lûga pitching to the snow...and Celbrimbor didn't give him the chance to recover.
"SUFFER ME NOW!" Celebrimbor bellowed as he forced the Orc remain on his knees, studying, examining him as if to discern how well he might serve the cause of the Bright Lord...but then Celebrimbor felt something, a barrier against his touch, in the Orc's mind, the work of a stronger mind keeping its servants from being corrupted...and Celebrimbor's interest turned to fury.
"I WILL NOT SULLY MY BLADE WITH YOUR COWARD'S BLOOD!" Celebrimbor roared as he seized the Orc's head between his hands, Lûga's screams accompanied by the stink of burning flesh as the Bright Lord's magic scourged him. Celebrimbor tossed the broken assassin aside with a snarl of disgust, Lûga running in the direction of the distant fortress, stopping only to try and scoop up snow and hold it to his face in a vain effort to sooth the burning sensation left by the mark branded into his cheek. Smiling savagely, Talion turned...and caught an Olog's mace to the head. He hit the ground hard, hapless as the Olog raised the club to bring it crashing down...
"Careful, Ranger! That one almost got you!" a familiar, marvelous voice shouted...and the Olog collapsed backwards, the club falling to the ground as its meaty hands flew to its throat, desperately trying to clutch at the crossbow bolt buried up to the fletching in its thick neck. "Nice shot" Talion complimented the shooter, raising his sword in salute to the pallid, gaunt figure of Bagga the Drowned. Shaking his head to clear it, Talion raced over to where Khrosh of the Flies battled to the death with Ugakuga, the pair locked blade to blade. Khrosh shoved him back and made to strike at Ugakuga's throat, only for Hork to tackle him, the commander and assassin hitting the ground with Hork atop, punching Khrosh's misshapen visage with the claws protruding from his vambraces, until Khrosh threw him off and rolled back to his feet, sending Hork staggering back as a volley of throwing knives struck him across the chest, Hork briefly stumbling as the venom on the blades began to have an effect. Khrosh laughed cruelly as he made to attack...but his back was turned to other enemies, and that was all the opening Talion needed.
Talion drove his sword through Khrosh's back, planting a foot on the small of the Orc assassin's back to kick his sword free, sending Khrosh to his knees. The Orc's mutated and deformed head looked up, his expression one of disbelief...one that remained etched on his mutated visage as Talion's blade swept out and as his head came away at the neck in a spray of black blood and Morgai flies escaping their dead host via the gaping stump of his neck. Khrosh's decapitated body remained upright and swaying for a moment, then pitched forward, blood and maggots spilling out. The remaining Orcs loyal to Sauron, with two of their leaders dead and a third shamed, broke and ran, but Talion held off his men from pursuing. Thanking Hork and Bagga for their timely arrival, and using the new Ring to restore vitality to the brutalised and tortured Ugakuga, Talion began to ascertain the situation.
"How many survived when the fortress fell?"
"Ar-Pratu went over. Tarz and Mogg died fighting. They took Zûgor alive; last I heard before they took me and some of my boys out for sport, he's being held in the fortress - I think they hope to use him as bait to draw you in" Ugakuga explained. Talion nodded in recognition of the fact his Overlord was still alive- that bore remembering, and a rescue attempt would serve to both recover a valuable captain and sow discord amongst the enemies currently occupying Kharkugor if they couldn't stop him from recovering one of his own men out from under them. 'That may bear thinking about...'
"Ur-Edin got away, as did me and Snagog; we rallied at the outpost in the mountains" Hork took over. "Ur-Edin's being trying to rally your forces there, Bright Lord; we were hoping you'd show up soon enough, and we wanted to make sure we'd have forces ready for you when the time came to retaliate. Your warriors from Gorgoroth have been most useful for that..."
"I brought more archers for you, Master" Bagga explained. "I was given to understand you needed more of them. Bûbol also brought several graugs with him, broken and ready for us", which brought a smile to Talion's face; Bagga the Drowned and Bûbol of the Spiders had been two of his most loyal and dependable Captains in Gorgoroth. Having them at his side would be of great advantage, particularly with what they would bring to the fight. The beginnings of a plan had started to form in Talion's head...
"You have all done well. Retreat to the outpost and tell Ur-Edin to be ready for my return. Once I do, we will begin moving to take that fortress!"
The Orcs and their men made to do as their master commanded, but not before Ugakuga raised a question. "When you return? Where are you going, Bright Lord?"
"To send a message" was the reply.
Watching from the battlements, Amûg saw the hooded figure dismount from the back of the caragor it had ridden into the valley the fortress of Kharkugor lay at the base of, standing just out of arrow range, remove a sackcloth bag from the beast's saddle and fling out its contents- two severed heads, the pair landing just before the fortress gates; those of Ar-Pratu and Khrosh. Judging by the brutalised expressions on their slack faces, neither had died well. The hood was then pulled back, and Amug found himself staring into pale blue eyes overflowing with murder.
The Bright Lord himself stood before the gates of the fortress his arms spread wide, not the Tark who'd made a mockery of their armies and defences, but the withered, battle-scarred wraith in elven armour whose demonic visage haunted the nightmares of Mordor's denizens, whose voice Amûg had heard once before- as he lay close to death upon the sands of the great arena in Minas Ithil.
"Caper behind your stolen walls, enjoy this pitiful victory for long as you can! This fortress is the property of the Bright Lord and I mean to have it back! I will slaughter every Orc who cowers behind its battlements, who seeks to advance from my setbacks, and I will make fearful examples of every last one of you until the Dark Lord himself hears your screams from the pinnacle of Barad-dûr! Submit and rise anew in the army that will bring Mordor to heel...or oppose me and fall to your knees beside your master when my legions storm his fortress and tear Sauron from his throne!" the Bright Lord bellowed, before loosing arrows at the battlements, one after another, Orc archers up there pitching from the walls, pierced through eye, brow and throat. Amûg cursed in Black Speech at the speed with which the killing had taken place- it was a clear message; a reminder that the Bright Lord could strike them down at will, without mercy or pause. It enraged him...though not as much as the final arrow slamming into his shoulder. Ripping it free, Amûg snarled to see the Tark leap onto the back of the caragor that had borne him, kick his spurs into the beast's flanks and ride away, his taunt in response to their presence in his territory sent.
"Get after him! Get after him and bring me his head!" Amûg roared in fury. "With pleasure!" Lûga Iron-Claw spat, the angry red weal where the Bright Lord's magic had scarred him having faded to a dull red, though the dark magic involved had burned so deeply that in places, the bones of the Orc's face could be seen. Lûga made to move towards the caragor pens and mount up with the Orcs already down there when the sky began to darken, green mist forming around their feet and a whisper of a voice growled behind them:
"No. The serpent has placed its head out of its burrow and we have a chance to decapitate it for good. Leave the Gravewalker to me" the voice snarled as at the pinnacle of the fortress, a drake spread its wings and howled, letting loose a plume of fire as its master's bidding caused it to take wing.
Behind him, Talion could hear the beating of wings; the drake was getting closer. He'd gotten about half a mile from the fortress when he'd heard the bellowing roar and saw the shadow rise from Kharkugor's highest pinnacle, spreading its wings and taking pursuit. Talion desperately kicked his spurs into the beast's flank, trying to reach the caves through which he had tried to evade Tar Goroth that led to the frozen lake when he suddenly felt heat, growing closer and closer; just before it became unbearable, Talion leapt from his mount's back, hitting the snowy ground hard, rolling to his left and the stink of burning hair and meat filling his nostrils, his ears full of the caragor's hideous shrieks as the drake's fiery breath set its mottled grey-white fur alight. The caragor's screams continued even as the drake's talons sank into its smouldering back and carried the hapless beast into the air...but Talion by that point had bigger problems.
The sky had darkened, the air becoming thick with green mist as something fell from the drake's back and landed upon the earth, a missile of dark sorcery that impacted with the frozen earth with an explosion of blackish green smog. Out of the smoke emerged an all-too familiar figure, clad in armour and full helm over long, dark robes. The armour was reminiscent of that worn by the Easterlings of Rhûn, stalwart allies of the Dark Lord, but whereas the armour of the Easterling cohorts was gold and scarlet, the armour worn by the Nazgûl before them was pewter grey, tinted the necrotic green of dark sorcery. The full helm the Nazgûl wore was reminiscent of ones Amûg had seen denoting Easterling commanders, though it was more ornate, engravings of serpents down the cheek and eye guards, and a pair of curling horns like those of a ram or dragon rising up from the helm's brow. In the Nazgûl's gauntleted right fist, a long spear of Easterling manufacture was clutched, with a bronze, rectangular shield on the left arm and a sabre, its hilt and pommel fashioned like a rearing serpent, sheathed at the hip.
"Khamûl" Celebrimbor murmured. "The Shadow of the East, the Black Easterling, the castellan of Dol Guldur, one of the finest commanders in the Dark Lord's service...and the most dangerous of the Nine, save for the Witch King himself!"
Talion's sword was out of its scabbard in the blink of an eye. "If the Witch King sent you here to bring me back to Minas Morgul in chains, I will not go easily!"
A sepulchral laugh, like bones rattling in a crypt, answered him as the Ringwraith went on guard, the shield on his left arm raising to cover most of the wraith's body, the spear brought up and pointed levelly at Talion's heart. "Your interference will no longer be tolerated...or go unpunished, Gravewalker. The Witch King might want you as a thrall, chained and on your knees like a broken dog...but I serve a master beyond the Witch King. Lord Sauron wants Celebrimbor's ring for his hand and your head to decorate the gates of Barad-dûr...and I mean to oblige him!"
Next time: Talion faces his true enemy...