Thank you for sticking with this story for so long given my sporadic postings.
Shemyaza: thank you for your comment on my last chapter, I hope I can keep with what you said and post it, if not for my sake then for Cel's
I ask anyone who is reading to please read and review my work, I am facsinated to find out what others think of this little tale that comes out of nowhere. If something confuses you please don't be afraid to ask questions, I'd be happy to answer them. This story is clear in my head but its hard to fully translate my thoughts and imaginings for this story onto the page or screen. Unfortunately somethings do get cut or convoluted in an effort to not seem heady or overly detailed. lol Anyway onto the story...
The shadow that fell over them was instantaneous, the bright light of the sun was covered by a shadowy veil, yet it was an unnatural covering of the sun for the sky was cloudless and the sun was nearing the west far from where the Orocarni rose. The light of the day was dimmed and the wind ceased to move the brushes that scattered the landscape; the towers of stone around them stood menacing like silent black sentries fencing them in, preventing escape, whereas before they were glimmering pinnacles of sandstone that caught the light of the sun in multi-hued radiance. Though the heat of the day could still be felt it was a heat that chilled them to the bone especially when they looked upon the shrouded figure before them. Khamul the Dark Emperor of the East stood upon a flat stone towering above them. He wore a bright gold necklace that hung heavily upon his robes and seemed to float above the ground as though the very being before them did not exist. In the center of the necklace hung a large blood red ruby- though solid it glistened like a liquid held in place by some unknown power. It was the size of a human heart and though the sun was dimmed it shimmered and shined with an unholy light; were it lying upon the ground or upon another creature it would have looked as though it were made by the hands of dwarves or elves, but its beauty was marred by the presence of the Nazgul Captain.
The Gondorian soldiers unsheathed their hidden swords as shadowy figures arose from the dark recesses of the stone towers. Their bows drawn, they wore black boots and blood red scarves about their faces; their garb was that of the Khand: a long black or purple tunic that hung down to the knee, which was worn under a large black leather belt from which hung a curved sword made of black burnt steel; sable pants they wore which billowed at the end, where they were tucked into the boot. Their hands were wrapped in leather straps and upon the knuckles were embedded sharp pieces of glass or stone that glinted in the dim light of the ruby. All the Gondorians stood where they had been, prepared for battle, even if the presence of the Captain of the Nazgul sent shivers of fear from their groin to the base of their skull – all save for Narmacil Eradanion, who knelt by still twitching body of Hipherom, which lay in a pool of blood stained earth. Mithrandir the Istar stood facing Khamul, Black Emperor of the East, his face girt, his lips firmly shut, yet his eyes wide with surprise. The Dark being laughed and spoke in the accursed tongue of fallen Numenor,
"Why do you scurry, brothers, with this federation of rats and vermin, who are not worthy of your mighty presence? Leave them to me and I shall return your beloved king to you; for I am lord of this land and desire peace with Osgiliath the shimmering city."
Mithrandir placed his staff upon the ground and stood up straight,
"The only peace Ciryaher, King of Gondor, will have with the Eastern lands, is a land free of your foul hand. Leave this land and go into obscurity with all that is left of your Master."
A fiercely cold cry went up into the air causing the men to cover their ears in horror, Mithrandir could not tell whether it was a laugh or a cry of pain for it sounded like both; it sent a deep shudder into his heart.
"Ah, the infamous Incanus, we have been looking for you… Lower your staff and join me by my throne…"
Mithrandir lifted his staff and a wave of air seemed to pull at the dim curtain surrounding them; the men of Gondor for a moment halted their fear and moved into a formation with their backs toward each other in a defensive circle. The dimness returned and the old Istar gripped his staff firmly with both hands across his body saying with no break in his booming voice,
"The only time I will stand by you is with you in chains…for such is the fate of all despots!"
Khamul cried out again and raised his gnarled hand into the air, removing from his sable robes an immense axe that sang cruelly for blood, he charged the gray figure robes flying out like black fumes emanating from a chimney. The great axe was brought down and Mithrandir raised his staff, though only of wood the staff deflected the blow shattering the great axe with a thunderous crack. The Shade stepped back still holding the remnants of his weapon and Mithrandir fell to his knees, his arms shaking with the impact. The darkness around Khamul grew and a cold piercing cry was let loose throughout the land; the Gondorians fell to their knees as their hearts shook within them. Mithrandir could feel, in the deepest recesses of his heart the power of something as old as he- a dark power that reached into him and wrapped its self around his heart suffocating his hope and as he opened his eyes the music of Arda, which he had never ceased hearing was suddenly silent. The red ruby of Khamul glowed fiercely like a fading and dying star and like a fire turned all else to despair; even the Khand could not stand it and began to strangle, slaughter or maim their comrades in fear, like wolves who attack their own kin when desperate for food. Mithrandir bowed his head trying to struggle against the dark silence and he placed his left hand upon his breast and felt a sudden warmth there- the music could be heard again, though distantly like a lark's song in a thunderstorm of quiet. The ring Narya glowed upon his finger, hidden beneath his gray robes and he felt his heart aflame again. He planted his staff firmly in the ground and with great struggle brought himself to his feet. The fire in his eyes strove against the darkness of Khamul and for a moment there was silence…and then a horn rang out in the distance.
As Pallando rang out his horn he felt a sudden shift in the darkness that had come over him, the blood in his veins returned to their flow and he was brought back to Arda. Below him in the sun scared valley stood two figures staring at each other yet the sand itself moved and the earth seemed to shake with their strife. The men of Khand had already either killed each other or ran in fear, while the men of Gondor crouched in a huddled mass covering their ears with their hands or arms while still holding onto their swords. The young man beside the Blue garbed Ishama-hne covered his eyes from the bright light of the sun and looked into the dry valley below.
"Shalquidlku, should we not help them! I have one hundred men and all are willing to try their hand at killing the accursed one."
"No Dhraloku, now is not the time for men to be brave and swords will not help you, but call your men to dispatch the Khandi before you, they at least can be felled by human weapons. This is Ishama-hne work now."
The young chieftain of the Utashtegu whistled and his warriors appeared garbed in black robes, almost indistinguishable from the garb of the Harad, yet they wore a sash of turquoise signaling their alliance to the Blue Ishama-hne before them. Pallando, called Shalquidlku in the tongue of the Utashetgu, raised his staff and the hollow instrument emanated a sound like rain falling upon a tile roof or like the thunderous roar of a thousand horses running across a plain. He called out in a tongue foreign and alien to the young man at his side yet the words could be heard below them by the ears of the grey-clad old man.
The Darkness around Khamul lessened and he turned his gaze upward and gave a shrill cry; through the dim curtain he saw a bright blue light and the sound of water and wind broke the silence surrounding the Dark Emperor of the East. The shade twisted in his garments and like a swift cloud spun in a whirlwind kicking up the dirt around him obscuring him from the view of all.
When the dust settled Mithrandir opened his eyes and found himself lying upon the ground, his staff still held out in front of him warding off the evil that had fled. Light and the burning sun returned to the world and seemed like a welcome respite. The Gondorians too lifted their eyes from where they coward them beneath their arms and shields. Around them lay the dead bodies of the Khand warriors, some had been hewn by their own comrades in madness others had arrows coming out of their necks and backs. All that gathered assembly looked up on the hill and saw a vast force of nearly one hundred warriors, all clad in black robes and turquoise sashes crying out in victory. In the midst of them Mithrandir saw a familiar face, though it was darker and fairer than he remembered his piercing blue eyes reached out from all that long distance and a smile revealed luminous white teeth, he greeted him in that same tongue from across the sea,
"Greetings old friend, Arien shines gloriously today and she blesses our meeting well."
In the setting of the sun Mithrandir and Pallando knelt where Khamul once stood and where a pile of shattered robes lay lifeless and without form. Water-skins had been brought to the Gondorian soldiers and they warily took them from the Uteashtegu warriors. The ambush had left them paranoid and many wondered if these people of the East could still be trusted. Mithrandir looked upon his fellow Maia and said,
"I did not know these Nazgul feared you so, you should have been our guide from the beginning."
"There is little that brings fear to Khamul's heart, if indeed he has one still, but I am not one of them. There is a malice that he bears with him that makes him greater than all the others even though he was always been second to the mighty Captain of the Nazgul. I think the reason he fled was because he did not want to try his hand at two Maiar, especially one as powerful as you."
Pallando smiled and his soft wiry fingers pawed at the sandy ground sifting the shorn garment he cursed and stood slowly using his hollow staff as a support.
"The necklace he wore upon his frame is gone; I had wished he left it in his haste. It is a dark and evil thing but I suspect it is the reason he has grown to great power in the East above his Kin save the Witch-King."
Mithrandir stood beside his kin and looked at the mixed forces of the East and West; a few of the Gondorians who knew Alamb-Harad spoke to the few of the Utashtegu who knew it as well and both sides translated for their friends. The only place where there was silence was in the center, where the body of Hipherom lay wrapped in linens by Dhraloku the Chieftain of the Utashtegu and Narmacil the young captain of Gondor. Pallando sighed,
"The pass Hipherom would have taken you through is being watched by Khand and Harad soldiers loyal to Khahalazul; we came to warn Hipholuta and Cedlal before they sent you on this path but it seems we arrived too late, at least your men escaped death."
"Cedlal?"
Mithrandir said, a question burning upon his brow as brilliant as day- Pallando chuckled and said matter-of-factly,
"He with one hundred names, the elf you knew as Uial in the West. Cedlal is what he is called among the Utashtegu, it is by and large the only name he accepts as truly his own in these lands… now the path ahead is made clear. I myself shall lead you through other paths to another destination for the road to your King Ciryaher is blocked to you and your men."
"Is nothing done in this land secret? Uial himself knew of our coming even before we stepped foot into the Orocarni and Khamul knew the road we would be on! I am beginning to feel like a piece on a chess board."
Pallando smiled and patted Mithrandir on his back,
"Gondor is a fool if it thought the Valley of Fire was an unwatched entrance to Khamul's land; it is both his best defense and our best aid. Khamul often sends scouts into our lands and there are many spies we cannot identify, it is why there is constant movement of the Seven Nations. Every so often one of them slips through our guard and Khamul sends more to learn of our movements. As of yet he knows we are here and that we oppose him, but his reach cannot yet take hold of us, nor discern where our refuges lie. His appearance here, Olorin, is either a sign that he is close or that he is desperate…"
Mithrandir would have said more but he was interrupted by the appearance of a young man, roughly 20 years of age. His skin was dark and luminous and his gaze burst forth deeply and darkly from his almond shaped eyes. His hair fell to his shoulders yet was tied back in the manner of elves in war. He wore a small turquoise pendant in the shape of a great cat, around his neck and along his bare arms and chest were slight ridges that made winding designs upon his form. Dhraloku spoke Westron as Hipholuta had done, with a heavy accent, many of his t's and d's were softer making his speech much more musical as he emphasized the flow of the vowels when he spoke.
"We must leave this place…the Khand were but a fraction of their usual raiding parties, I think the Dark one will return with more men and catch us unawares in the night. We should head to the Tower lands, there at least we can defend ourselves until the Council convenes."
Pallando nodded and motioned toward the body of Hipherom,
"And what shall we do with him? We have no time to build a bier."
"The one called Naramcil has volunteered to take his body back to Hamadzon lands…He has such courage and justice in him…I am humbled by this…I did not expect it in one so young and from your lands."
As he said this last phrase he looked at Mithrandir with respect and bowed his head toward the old man in a manner not unlike an elf, or at least a certain elf he knew. All Mithrandir could do was smile and nod his own head; now was not the time for inquiries for just as soon as the sun set the Utashtegu called forth their horses and placed upon them the burdens of the Gondorian soldiers. The young man called Dhraloku whistled and a pure black stallion trotted toward him. The animal's obsidian coat was flawlessly black and shimmered as the last rays of the sun caught it- in the ensuing night it became harder and harder to see for it blended with its surroundings. Narmacil was given the black robes of a Utashtegu so that he could pass unseen in the night. Mithrandir walked over to the young Numenorean and asked him,
"Why did you volunteer to do this? You know the way is perilous and this is a foreign land to you? What makes you think that you can even find the Hamadzon, much less reach them alive?"
"Because, Mithrandir, it is the least we could do. You know as well as I that Hipholuta took a chance on defying her laws and trusting us; she showed us hospitality and from what some of the men have told me, she did so with the disapproval of her own generals. How can we leave her husband here to the Khand and whatever other creatures inhabit this land? She at least deserves to know that he was not alone when he died."
Mithrandir's heart was softened by this and he felt pity and fear for the young man, but also drew form him a certain strength that was like a blessed fire. He kept his eyes upon the youth as he rode off silently in the direction they had come, hoping that he lived through this war to see his family again.