OF ANBOR AND AZRUPHEL

Chapter Three...
"The Seeds Of An Avalanche"

Azruphel sat upon her bed and gave a contented smile. She took in the look of her spacious room with fanciful delight. The warm patches of sunlight upon the grey walls, the flat ceiling with its richly carved beams, the dark shining oaken furniture and the delightful flowery decorum nodding in their vases. As new as all this was, she felt at home here. A soft breeze entered from the sun-drenched balcony, setting the silken drapes to flutter before her. She rose and stepped outside, stooping to savour the sweet fragrance of the white magnolia, pink lilacs, speckled sweet peas and yellow roses that were planted there. After a dreamy while, Azruphel stood and leaned against the lofty rail to take in the sights of the homestead in earnest. The luscious garden spread beneath her, tinted with the golden sunlight of near noon. Her sight passed over the far wall to the east, and saw cultivated rows straddling the far slopes of a rise; the wine plantations. To the south east were herds of livestock grazing lazily in the distance. She looked north to the rise of the hill whose trees waved to her from the heights. Azruphel now saw Crystal Height was the last in a chain of hills stretching into the hazy easterly distance behind it. Upon a few of them were grey walls peeping through the greenery of their summits, and shining towers rose proudly into the high airs. Beneath these fortifications were many houses terracing the hill-chain's slopes facing southward, and the road that led to the port ran beneath them with laden carts and horses moving slowly upon it, going away into the east or approaching the west. Azruphel's eyes narrowed slightly as she strained to look. Had she seen a shimmering outline upon the horizon? She was reminded of her sight of land from the lofty mast-head of the Rothgimil. Were those far off mountains fencing the borders of stranger lands? She could not tell, but she put a hand to her brow in an effort to gain a better look. There was a soft knock at the door and Azruphel turned to see Aduninzil enter. She smiled and beckoned to her maiden. "Come out here and share the view with me!" she called. Aduninzil smiled and joined her. Azruphel put an arm about her maiden's shoulders and swept the other before them. "What do you think of our new home?" she asked.

Her maiden grinned as she looked upon the pleasant view. "It is a pretty sight, my lady," she said. "Yet not one to rival Yozayan. Many of our towering trees and radiant flowers come from the Undying Lands, and the beauty of our shimmering landscapes are newly wrought by the reckoning of years in Middle-earth. This land however is ancient and worn, and beyond the fair dwellings of our people, I deem the land is withered and grey."

Azruphel's smile faded as she turned to Aduninzil with a sigh. "Do your eyes hold no wonder for this land, that you should note such a blemish within its fair portrait?" She turned back to the view. "Do you not feel a sense of intrigue about this strange place, a sense of epic adventure?"

Aduninzil laughed. "Nay, I am not so moved," she said. "Intrigue and adventure are the vices of pioneers and explorers...or mariners," she added with a look. Azruphel gave her a furrowed glance. "Yet I am none of those things my lady, but a plain woman of Yozayan. And I hope I am not too bold in saying you are too!"

"That is bold," said Azruphel with narrowed eyes.

Aduninzil took Azruphel's arm from her shoulder and clasped her lady's hand in her own. "I meant no offence," she said softly. "but I do not understand your mood thus far. Excitement in long journeying is one thing, but your easy friendships with the Rothgimil's sailors, climbing up perilous mast-heads, and your heady love for these hinterlands you know nothing of is strange to say the least."

Azruphel's face was darkened by her scowl. "You have drunk deeply of my mother's brew," she said softly, "and freely spout her coddling thought in your insolence. Well, if that is all you came to say you had better leave, for I have heard enough!"

Azruphel pulled away and turned her back on Aduninzil's look of alarm, to stare sullenly at the spoiled view. There was a moment of tense silence before she heard her maiden's remorseful voice. "I did not mean to anger you, my lady. May you forgive me."

At that moment, Azruphel heard the door open and her father's voice came breezing in. "Ah, there you are! I have been...Aduninzil, whatever is the matter?"

A soft sobbing rose and Aduninzil's breaking voice answered him. "I am sorry master, but I must leave." A swift patter of feet signalled a hasty exit, followed by another uncomfortable silence.

"Azruphel?" came her father's query.

"It is nothing," said Azruphel without turning. "Nothing but the drama of women."

"The drama of women!" came Azulzir's reply. The door closed. "Now that is serious!"

Azruphel gave a soft grin and turned to see her father return her smile from the door. "Will you share the view with me?" she asked.

"Gladly," said Azulzir as he stepped forward. Yet as he reached the threshold of the balcony, his daughter held out a halting hand.

"But only if I have your word you will not dampen my spirits with tiresome lectures on my presumed unlady-like behaviour," she stated.

"I have already had an earful from your mother and am disinclined to hear or discuss anymore of it!" her father replied with a grin.

"And spare me the sermon stating the unequalled merits of the beauty of Yozayan, when compared with this desolation of a land."

"What!?" cried Azulzir with mock surprise. "Aduninzil compared Crystal Height to a desolation? Had I known I would have..."

Azruphel swept into his arms. "Oh father, I have truly missed you!"

Azulzir kissed her brow. "There, there child," he said, softly patting her back with a reassuring hand.

Azruphel raised her face; she was smiling. "The drama of women," she laughed.

"So I see," said her father, laughing with her.

Azruphel took her father's hand and led him onto the balcony where they stood awhile, gazing in silence. "Well, father," said Azruphel, "let me have the lay of the land."

Azulzir grinned and turned to point eastward towards the cultivated rows upon the shallow hill. "Well, there lie our plantations that turn in the finest wine in the province."

"Such praise would be forthcoming from you," said Azruphel with a raised brow.

"Nay," said Azulzir. "I speak truly. Our wines are renowned far and wide along the coasts, and those of Anadune relish its flavour, even to the royal house."

"And the grazing livestock over there," asked Azruphel, pointing to the herds.

"All ours," her father replied. "And may I say they provide the most exquisite beef in all..."

"Yes, yes, but what of those towers rising from the hill-tops?"

"Those are the Crystal Height Forts, housing the garrisons that serve to protect us."

"Protect us?" echoed Azruphel with a creased brow. "From what?"

"From whatever should seek to harm us," was Azulzir's reply. "These regions in which we live have been tamed. Up to twenty miles inland from where we stand, there are settlements of the Adunaim. But after that come the Wild Lands. An untamed wilderness where the wild men we displaced now roam. And as you would expect, they are not friendly." Her father said this lightly, yet his expression was grave.

"Because we enslave them?" asked Azruphel with a darkened face.

"Yes," was Azulzir's simple reply.

Azruphel eyed the eastern view thoughtfully. She was well aware of Numenor's culture of slavery that had unwilling hands toil for its glory and prosperity. Yet she had been far removed from witnessing the endless hardships and cruelties that fueled the might of her people, as she lived a somewhat sheltered life with her mother back home. But even there, a few slaves from the hinterlands were to be found, and their numbers grew with each passing year. The Council of the King had sanctioned the crossing of many wild men to toil for the rich of Numenor, who used them like beasts or treated them as pets within their households. Azruphel gave her father a swift glance and looked eastward with wide eyes. Her spirits sank as she stared into the far wilderness. The flaws in her hinterland paradise were becoming evermore evident with each conversation she had, and she began to feel foolish at the thought of her somewhat childish excitement and naivety. "Have the wild folk ever attacked before?" she asked, a little fearful of the answer.

Azulzir's warm smile was a gallant effort in reassurance."They have not," he said. "How could they? Who of the lesser peoples of Middle-earth would dare strive against the might of Anadune!" He set an arm about his daughter's waist and drew her closer to him. "I am sorry dearest, for I seem to have broken my word and dampened your spirits. It was not my intention to have you know of these things upon your first day of arrival."

"Yet I would have found out all the same," Azruphel replied. She sighed and lay her head upon her father's shoulder. "I have been a naive fool, prancing about the ship and frolicking with its crew with the zeal of a lusty sea-wench. And here I have flittered about the house like a child in a play-den. And in a haze of adolescent delight, I have daydreamed about the marvels of the hinterlands. Perhaps mother was right. I should be sterner of thought. Even my own maiden sought to rebuke my ardour."

Azulzir laughed. "Well, I would not go so far as to put it like that, yet she may have had a point."

Azruphel looked at his smiling face for a querying moment and her brow darkened with realisation. "So I am truly surrounded by my mother's spies! She sent you here to tether me with your charm."

Azulzir laughed again and tightened his arm about her, but she stubbornly shrugged him off. His laughter waned to a soft smile. "Perhaps your mother did send me, yet I would not have done as she bid if I did not somewhat agree with her. The truth is Middle-earth is a vast land with many perils that would ensnare the heedless. It is true the land is filled with archaic beauty and wonders that would dazzle and astound, yet be mindful, for it is not Anadune, and few of its people harbour any love for us. We are safe within our havens, yet be wary all the same. Be free and charming with those you meet, yet hold something back. Even among our people there are many with hidden purposes who would see ill in the innocent thoughts of a free-spirited lady. For know the spies of the king do not dwell in Anadune only."

Azruphel sighed and turned to the view. She knew her father was right, yet it irked her more that her mother was too, even Aduninzil. She had thought the trip would be a respite away from the cloying nature of Numenor. Yet she already felt the familiar barriers here too. She could not be free to be herself. She looked wistfully at the distant forts, hazily stood upon the hills and after a while, narrowed her eyes to what she noticed. "That horseman rides with great eagerness, judging by the cloud of dust rising in his wake."

"Yes," murmured her father, whose peering eyes followed the rider's swift gait. "And his eagerness is well merited, for he is late!" With that, Azulzir turned and made for the door.

"Where are you going?" asked Azruphel, a little perturbed by his hasty exit.

"I am going to have words with that rider!" he called as he passed out of her room.

Azruphel stared after him for a thoughtful moment before returning to the balcony. The rider now rode alongside the low walls of the estate where he checked his speed and soon came to a halt by the gates and gave a call. The wardens immediately hauled them open and he entered, riding his proud white horse at a gentle canter. Azruphel's eyes widened with sudden recognition. "Abrazan!" she cried in startled excitement.

Her brother looked up, smiled and gave a wave. "Well are you going to stand up there and gape, or are you going to come down and greet me?!" he called.

Azruphel turned and swept out of her room, flew down the stairs and raced through the house. She swiftly emerged from the main entrance but halted just short of the silver pooled fountains. Azulzir now stood before his son and judging by his terse gestures, was surely berating Abrazan for his truancy. Servants of the household and workers of the estate paused in their doings, silently witnessing the drama unfold. Azruphel hesitated, her joy dissipating as she watched them argue. She caught a few hurled words that spoke of things she did not understand. Accusations of cruelty and slave-trading from her father, countered by the faults of a weak lord who behaved like a rebel from her brother. Their heightened anger and wild words troubled Azruphel as it were plain this was not the first time they had clashed in such a manner. She remembered the strange look her father gave when they asked for Abrazan's whereabouts at the quay. She were now quite sure her father had not only been annoyed by her brother's absence, but also disapproved of what Abrazan was doing. There were plainly deep differences that lay between Azulzir and Abrazan that had festered over time, and it pained Azruphel to witness the two people she loved most, fight in such a manner. She was about to step forward in a bid to quell their arguing when a loud voice rose behind her.

"Cease your discord at once!" cried Naruphel, as she strode past Azruphel and approached the bristling men with the imperious air of a stern queen. "Your quarrelling can wait. Let me greet my son in peace!"

Azulzir subsided and took a step back. Abrazan's sour face softened as he turned and gave the lady a weak smile. "Mother!" he said, going forward to embrace her.

Naruphel leaned back and looked closely at him. Her sharp grey eyes studied his handsome face and tall lean body. "My dearest son!" she said at last, with eyes glistening emotion. "How long has it been lamb? Seven despicable years of parting!"

"Now, now mother," laughed Abrazan. "I am a lamb no more but a full grown ram that rakes the dust with a heavy hoof, bristling for the charge. Yet the years have been despicable enough, for I have deeply missed you."

"And I you," Naruphel replied. "More than you will ever know," she added softly. It seemed her words overwhelmed her, for she bowed her head and put a hand to her face to hide her tearful eyes.

"Now come, mother," said Abrazan, gathering her in another warm embrace. "No more tears, be they of joy or grief. You are here and we are together again. That is all that matters." He then looked past his mother's shoulder and saw Azruphel's tentative approach. "Well, well," he said, "I was not sure it was you when you called my name from the balcony, but now that I fully see you, I know my doubts were well founded! For this beautiful young woman is most certainly not my sister. She is a slight little thing, all of two knobbly knees and big round eyes gathered under a trailing mop of hair!"

"Well, if the suckling lamb now sees itself as a posturing ram, the delicate fawn flourished into an elegant deer!" Azruphel loftily replied.

Abrazan laughed. "And your tongue is still as sharp I see!" With that, he let go of his mother and went forward to embrace his sister.

Azruphel gazed at her brother and caressed his face. "The years have been good to you," she said.

"Not half as much as they have been to you," he replied. "Every suitor from Crystal Height to Umbar will come beating upon our gates once word of your beauty takes flight."

"What a terrible thought," said Azruphel with mock exasperation.

"I know," replied Abrazan. "I feel sorry for them already. I shall have to warn them of the headstrong vixen hiding beneath your allure." Azruphel gaped her indignation but Abrazan laughed and kissed her cheek. "It is still so easy to jest at your expense," he said to her pout.

"Well continue your jesting indoors," said Naruphel, taking her son's arm as she walked back to the house. "You arguing men have attracted an audience that needs to mind its own affairs." She sniffed at the many servants who were halted by the quarrel, and now stood respectfully by, witnessing the tearful reunion.

Azulzir turned to them. "Return to your duties," he said. "There is nothing more to take note of here!"

He grinned a little at their excited chatter as they dispersed. Whatever the night held, it would have its fair share of gossip. He then turned to watch his family make their way indoors and as he did, his brow darkened. His son troubled him deeply, or rather he disappointed him. He had enticed Abrazan to Middle-earth, a land away from the darkened isle of Numenor, hoping to mold him into a better man, at least in his eyes. Yet Numenor's reach was long, and her influence were not lessened by the wide seas. In fact, the peoples of the coasts were grimmer than their island brethren, being the vanguard of Numenor's conquests. Many of them delighted in the debasement of Middle-earth's peoples, and indulged in cruelty towards their own people who were slaves from those of the "Faithful". Coastal lords fawned for favour and influence from the Dark Clergy, who were Sauron's priests and priestesses. Heinous rituals and despicable acts were commonplace in their citadels and estates, all done in the name of the god the Numenoreans had taken for themselves.

It all sickened Azulzir to see a noble people brought so low by their own machinations. Many times did he sit in his library, reading of Numenor's histories that spoke of a past noble glory before the Black Taint. To think of what it meant to be a Numenorean before the shadow now seemed a remote dream of a thought, a fleeting light ages past that shone upon a fairer time. A time when true nobility were understood. A time when innocent joys were cultivated, and glorious hopes were realised. A time when prosperity were not a thing of wealth, but the goodwill of heart. A time when Numenor was guided by deep wisdom. But now all were filled with deepening shadows, harbouring conniving whispers, malicious deeds and evil cunning. Now rose red mists of coiling incense that bred lustful groans and gasping agonies of ritual demand within their fitful clouds. Now simmered fiery hatreds and vile attitudes towards all that were not Numenorean. How could Azulzir not want to protect his son from that. But he had failed. All of Abrazan's friends and peers were of like mind, believing in the dark might of Numenor, and the merits of its people achieving it. The more Azulzir sought to clear his son of this travesty, the more his son embraced the fallen ways of his people. And now Naruphel was come.

Azulzir sighed. He knew he was at fault for loving her, but he could not help himself. She had a strength of mind and spirit that enthralled him, and she was perilously fair and of a kind far loftier than he. That a timid unassuming man like himself should fall for such a queenly woman was not to be wondered at. Yet beyond all reckoning she had returned his love, and that was as strange a fortune to Azulzir as it were to others who looked to their union. Nevertheless, he had held onto that soft strain in her mood and gratefully gave her all he had. Yet he could not change her completely. Nay. He had always recognised the hardness lurking within her that would awaken with the growing pride and haughtiness of Numenor and its people. And surely as time passed, her words were flecked with growing disdain for his questionable sensibilities and soft attitudes. Yet more hurtful was the scornful light in her eyes as she berated him for his perceived weaknesses. She fully believed in the imperious path Numenor had set for itself, whereas he hated it. In the end he had fled his soiled country, yet he could not flee from his wife...he loved her too much.

Therefore he had turned aside from the coasts of the Faithful where he had thought to settle, and instead went south to the northern reaches of the coasts of the King's Men. He would still live within Numenor's royal power, but surely life in the hinterlands, even in the lands of the King's Men would be better, being far removed from the source. And here he had settled as a compromise to his wife who would not leave the island. The dreaded label of traitor would not tarnish his house and put his family in peril. Naruphel could dwell in peace in the Numenor she loved, and he could dwell with greater peace of mind in the Middle-earth he grew to cherish. She could live with the riches and status his love provided, and he could live with the knowledge he had a beautiful wife whom though sundered by a wide sea, were still his. Now she was here, at her own request and to his utter delight. Yet he could not help but wonder. Amid his genuine happiness was a sense of doubt. Doubt for his son and wife. Naruphel had always favoured Abrazan who sided with her in most things. She had schooled him well in revering Numenor's glory, and it had been a source of contention between he and his wife. That is why he had separated them, calling for his son to come to Middle-earth and aid in the affairs of the estate. Naruphel was heartbroken by Abrazan's decision to leave her, and it was still to be determined whether she had forgiven Azulzir for their separation. And now with the added support of his mother, Abrazan was bound to further his black ambitions with zeal. Azulzir truly felt he had failed his son. And yet not all were lost...for Naruphel had also given him a daughter. He still had Azruphel and she were all his where it mattered!

"Master," said a voice that intruded upon Azulzir's thoughts.

"Ah, Zadnazir," Azulzir replied. "I did not see you there."

"You were deep in thought," said Zadnazir.

"You but witnessed an indulgence in gentle contentment," Azulzir returned.

"Very good. Well I came to report that preparations for the feast are underway."

"Good, good. And messengers have been sent with my invitations?"

"As soon as you and your family arrived."

"Then all is well, my friend," Azulzir said with a creased smile. He turned to the house with a strange look upon his face. A gentle gaze of joy somewhat tempered with a hint of sadness.

"Is everything all right, master?" asked Zadnazir after a discerning pause.

"It is," Azulzir replied with forced ease. "Let tonight be as warm a homecoming for my family as I could wish for. That is all I ask."

"Your household will do all to make it so," came Zadnazir's staunch reply.

~oOo~

The crimson sunset set aflame the watery western horizon in a final play of receding light that gave way to the advancing shadows of night. The black horse moved forward at a sluggish gait, its heavy hooves knocking out a weary tempo of long journeying upon the hard road. Its rider swayed gently in the saddle, with heavy shoulders, a bowed head, and the reins held loosely in his gloved hands. He was robed and hooded in brown, but his dust ridden boots and leathered hands were black. Both rider and beast were a vision of weariness, but the end of their journey was near. The road was set upon a lofty headland, overlooking the sea from the height of a sheer cliff rise some five hundred feet high. It was broad and well made, evidencing its obvious importance. Tall walls of smooth black shining stone rose before the rider, and ahead stood a great steel barred gate, arched with a sturdy parapet. The traveller crept up to the flame lighted threshold where silent wardens opened the gate. Before him spread a vast complex that housed many darkly shadowed buildings. The broad road led on towards the greatest of them which stood wide and imposing at its end. Many avenues branched off its path, hemmed with numerous dwellings and buildings which served those who lived there. A range of barns, forges and even breweries lay further off to the south. Rising from the main building that lay ahead was a tall tower with a wavering red light at its horned summit. A great fire burned there, nestled in a rounded iron chamber that enclosed its light save where it opened westward, like a flaming eye looking towards Numenor. Zortarik it was called, The Flame Pillar.

The lone rider made his way towards the black tower as the darkly robed denizens of the complex mutedly went about their business with hardly a glance towards him. There was a palpable heaviness in the twilit airs, a notable hush that could be felt and seen. All that people spoke in low voices, or stood close in intimate conversing. Others stood alone, half concealed in the shadows with hands raised to the evening sky as they mouthed soft prayers. A few shuffled soundlessly up and down the avenues, or passed the rider upon the main road, flitting in and out of the dim lamp light. All seemed unnaturally quiet, save the heavy dint of the forges ringing in the subdued airs. Yet even their steely voices gave the sobering impression of ponderous hammer knells that rang out grim calls of order before an ominous sentence of doom. Tall shining black walls enclosed the complex in a vast circle and from the inside, one could see many doors leading into it and many windows that gave sight out of it. Into those walls were delved armouries and store-rooms for food and equipment. Atop the walled circumference walked tall armoured soldiers, locked in vigilant patrol. This was Dolgutarik, the Black Tower, also known as Zigurben's Keep.

The rider clasped the reins and drew them back, bringing his horse to a halt. Looming before him stood the grand yet sombre looking building, rising three stories with sturdy grey walls pocked with many arched windows all under a shallow tiled roof. The tall arched entrance was barred by two oaken doors and guarded by four wardens who stood upon either side of the threshold. They were almost as tall as the spear shafts they held. As the rider dismounted, the oaken doors opened wide, and out came a robed figure who strode purposefully towards him. The rider clasped his hands in front of him, and waited.

"Must you be so laggard when we send for you?" the robed figure asked as it approached. The voice was deep, held a note of vague irritation, and came from a woman. The rider discerned her fiery eyes staring at him from under the shadowy folds of her hood.

He waited until she stood before him. "I have long lost the habit of being summoned by you...Priestess Lomiphel." he said with a smile that was itching to sneer.

The priestess however, sneered freely. "Yet I see your habit for insolence is still as strong as ever."

The rider grunted. "Have we done away with all courtesy which would have us seem no better than those whelps in the cage." He pointed to the iron barred box placed just beyond the reach of the splayed torch light of the doorway. Two unhappy slaves languished in their small prison and both were naked, save for feeble loin cloths. "Surely that is not the way to greet an old acquaintance."

The priestess bristled a touch before sweeping away her hood to reveal a rich mane of flowing dark hair. Her face was of an alluring beauty that sought to entice with its black-shadowed eyes that rumoured the hypnotic ability of a snake, and full lips painted with glistening crimson which voicelessly spoke of the dark pleasures of unbridled decadence. The rider's sneer dampened and he would have swore. He had forgotten how easily she affected men with her lusty beauty. The priestess noted his grudging appraisal, and her long lashed eyes softened as her ready lips rose to a gentle smile of sympathy. "Apologies, Dolguthon," she chimed. "My manners escaped me." She gave a low curtsy, yet rose to look upon him with a withering stare of seething contempt. The sudden change was startling, but Dolguthon was too weary for confrontations he was bound to lose.

He raised a hand in supplication. "Forgive me, priestess," he said. "Yet as you can see, I am weary. It has been a long arduous task that has finally returned me here."

"I should have you flogged for your insolence," hissed Lomiphel with flashing eyes. "However you are not a fool, and whatever made you brazen enough to flout me must be worthy of my forgiveness."

"It is," said Dolguthon with a curt bow.

Lomiphel's soured face freshened a little. "You bring good news then?" she queried with checked excitement.

"I do," replied Dolguthon, his weary mood in stark contrast to the rising of hers.

"And the task you were given?" she asked, clasping his arm with a trembling hand.

"Is done," nodded Dolguthon.

"And the proof of your deeds?" she begged.

"In here," answered the toying man, placing his hand upon a brown sack that hung from the saddle.

Lomiphel stared at the bulging sack and thrust Dolguthon aside as she flew towards it. She lay her hands upon the swinging contents and began to feverishly caress them. "Great Mulkher be praised!" she breathed in a trembling whisper of chanted repetition.

Dolguthon watched her passionate display with as dispassionate a response as he could muster, yet her trembling body, heaving chest, clasping hands and breathless praise from those glistening lips roused heats that were hard to deny. However, the Lord Priest could not be kept waiting. "Priestess," he said softly.

Lomiphel stilled herself. Her shining eyes were glazed with the fervour of her servile obedience to their god of darkness. The seeds of his grand plan had been sown, and its firstfruits were in her very hands. How could she not be overcome by that! Still, she had to regather herself as much was still to be done. Lomiphel gave a delicious shudder and turned her moist eyes to the man who was clearly in the agitated throes of desire. She laughed inwardly at the easy effect of her charms but tonight was a good night. She would reward him well enough later. "You have done well, Dolguthon," she purred with playful ease.

"I live to serve, my priestess," came his quiet reply. He looked away with a clenching jaw.

Lomiphel smiled lustfully and set a long finger to Dolguthon's cheek, tracing the hardening line of his jaw. "Indeed you do," she breathed. "And later perhaps we will serve our master...together." Dolguthon gave her a querying yet hopeful glance but Lomiphel laughed and strode away towards the oaken doors. "But you know what comes first," she called. "So please, follow me." Dolguthon released the sack from his saddle, flung it over his shoulder and followed after her.

A tall dark hooded silhouette stood watching all from a high unlit window. Its sharp piercing eyes had brightened when it saw the rider plodding towards its doors. They had brightened even more as they witnessed the rider and priestess converse beneath them. They flamed as the priestess clasped the sack's contents in her quivering arms. A cold smile rose within the dark hood and the figure turned away, satisfied. The first trickling stones had begun their long descent down the slopes of the Meneltarma. The first of the toppling heads that in due time, would most surely lead to the awaited avalanche. The smile deepened at the dark thought. Indeed, it was a good day to be a Black Numenorean.

Author's Commentary:

Here's another chapter to this ever darkening tale. I'm getting depressed just writing it!

As always, I hope you enjoyed it!

Thanx!