Two: Groan in the Gloom

Masego sent a messenger south to his people as soon as he could, since he was wounded and could not go himself without worsening his wound or letting infection set in. Fan Xiuying, however, was not injured, so she set off with a small guard, striking out south and east toward the Gap of Núrn and leaving her twin Fan Xiulan in charge of the wounded Easterlings sheltering in Mordor.

Four days later, Mozû Iron Arm arrived, greeting Talion with a flurry of axe swings, which the Ringwraith dodged without even blinking. Mozû just grinned fiercely in response and then yanked Talion into a hug that nearly crushed his ribs. "Good to have you back with us, Gravewalker," the Savage Orc said, dropping the wheezing necromancer back on his feet. "Saw your girl down in Núrn, but couldn't convince her to come north with us."

"Still stubborn."

"Same as she ever was." Even though Mozû was of the Feral Tribe, known for their mastery of Mordor's beasts, Daerwen had resisted all attempts at others taming her, much less riding her. The Feral Tribes under Talion had worshiped her and him as avatars of true loyalty and beast mastery. It was considered a high honor to receive one of her shed scales, and Mozû had a necklace of eight of them in various sizes. Well, it had been eight; now there were ten on the chain around his neck.

"She's in good health," the Uruk went on. "Got in some fights with the Black Wings, but she wasn't ever badly hurt."

"That's my girl."

Mozû had brought supplies from wherever he had been hiding in Núrn, which were quickly organized and distributed or stored away. Then Talion and the four of the Five present met up in the Tower of Cirith Ungol, unknowingly in the very room where Frodo had woken from Shelob's sting. "So what's the plan, Gravewalker?" Ishmoz asked, sitting heavily on a crate of torture instruments and leaning on his staff. "You say the other Ringwraiths are still out and about, causing trouble. Where do we start with that?"

"By taking control of Núrn and Lithlad," Talion answered. "They can't follow in Sauron's footsteps and raise another army to conquer the world if they can't feed it, and we also need to feed ourselves. We should also at least attempt to keep control of the Morgul Vale, to keep any forces they canraise partially contained."

"So Núrn first," Nákra said, rubbing his chin. "The fortress there - whatever ridiculous name Sauron gave it -"

"Sharkhburz."

"-yeah that, and Graveshadow and Coldharbour. If we close the Gap of Núrn, it'll help us control who leaves Gorgoroth by any way other than on the wing or freezing to death in Seregost, at least. And we can get you your girl again; you'll move faster that way, can hunt the other Seven easier."

"It would be good to have her back. And if we leave a captain and their band to watch over the Vale, I can be here in a few hours if anything happens, but I don't think we have the numbers for that right yet." Then another thing occurred to him. "Has anyone been out to Minas Morgul yet? To see if the palantíris still there? That would be faster than relying on messengers."

"Much lower chance of being intercepted," Mozû agreed.

"And since Sauron's no longer around to spy on us all, you can watch without worry," Ishmoz finished with a grin. "If Mozû'll lend a caragor, I'll send someone to look, and check on the vault, too."

There was a brief scuffle over whose follower would actually be sent, which Talion ended by saying that he would go himself. "I need to check the city anyway," he said, looking through an arrow slit towards the other end of the Vale, "see if there's any salvageable materials, anything else that needs to be removedright away. I suspect Gondor will want Minas Morgul back now that Sauron is no longer here to hold it against them."

"Why can't we take it, at least right now?" Skoth asked with a frown. "I got told to stay back and guard the crossing at the river, but I still saw part of the fight around Tirith; Gondor won, but they also got hit. Recovery's gonna be slow going - might be years before they get around to doing something about Morgul. We could hold it ourselves, set up a trading station the way we did before, help the south-men and east-men get their treaty and make a little money on the side getting their goods to Gondor…"

"Having some mercenary thoughts, Skoth?"

"Always, Gravewalker. But war costs money, and so does rebuilding. The mithril we've got ain't gonna last forever."

"If I can find Daerwen again, we can get more, but you're right. But Mordor needs better relations with the rest of the world if we're going to survive past Gondor and the West doing rebuilding of their own."

That had been a hard lesson to learn, especially in Mordor surrounded by Orcs, especially after Celebrimbor's betrayal. It had cut him to the bone, even after Swinsere had told him of the Doom, and made it difficult to trust even the Five, who had been his most loyal soldiers for their long campaign against Sauron. But no man could be an island while facing down the Dark Lord and the other Eight. He had learned to trust again, or at least rely on others, and dealt with betrayals as they came.

Talion nodded to himself. "We'll come back to that. Mozû, you came from Núrn; what can you tell us?"

"Sauron had us off on some wild hell-hawk chase in the wild when everything went down in Gondor, so some would-be Overlord's took the fort. But he's only got two warchiefs and their bands under him. It's not Ratbag and Az-Harto again, I checked." The grumble in his voice said it had not been easy to do so in stealth with his army on the move. "Couldn't get a good look, but we've got more caragors than they do fighters, so it should be easy enough to take it from 'em. And Graveshadow's got stragglers, too, but not many - no Overlord or even a measly warchief. If you show up at the gates, they'll fall in line easy enough."

"Where are Ratbag and Az-Harto? Ishmoz, you said they survived…"

"They did," the Mystic Overlord said, thumping the butt of his staff against the stones. "They're holding down the fort in Seregost. Or Az-Harto should be, anyway; Eru only knows what Ratbag's doin'. Had them under me in Gorgoroth after you fell. When Sauron marched, the mountain started wakin' up and throwin' rocks everywhere. Everyone who didn't go west against Gondor I sent east to try and get them out of the way. Good thing too, cause the damned thing blew its top and was on us like lightning. Honestly, I'm surprised so many of us made it out."

"But we're glad you did," said Talion, looking back at the orc. "I'll check on Minas Morgul, and speak with Shelob if we can be brief. All of you - and Ghûra when she arrives - start organizing everyone who's fighting fit to march south; plan for a stopover to set up a garrison at Moon- Graveshadow before pushing on to Sharkhburz. The wounded we'll leave here for now, with as much of a guard as we can spare. If any of the Haradrim or Easterlings want to come, I'll allow it, but don't bully them into it; the offer's open until we leave."

"You got it."

Talion found the spider in her tunnels, shivering in the dark and dripping black ichor from an ugly wound in her abdomen. He leaped from his caragor in an instant and raced to her side, wary of any instinctive attacks. "Shelob, what can I do to help?"

The great spider hissed a laugh through her fangs. Nothing, Gravewalker; this is my burden to bear for taking part in Sauron's defeat. The wound festers, but it will heal in time.

"What do you mean 'your burden'? Can I not at least stitch the wound shut?"

No. There were halflings carrying the One Ring to its Doom, and I had to drive them from my tunnels to keep them from becoming another Gollum. One used an Elvish blade, and it is anathema to me; the wound must bleed to let the poison out. But if you have any water…

Sustained as he was by Isildur's Ring, Talion did not need to eat or drink, but he still carried supplies for his more mortal allies. "It's not much," he said, pulling the waterskin from his belt. "I'll fill it while I'm in Minas Morgul and bring it to you on the way back. Do you want food as well?"

I am not so far gone as that, Talion, but I thank you for your concern. Shelob accepted the water, though, and sipped delicately from what he poured into a small rock hollow for her. When it was little more than dampness on the rock, the spider hummed. Your palantír is no longer in Minas Morgul. Sauron removed it to Barad-dur shortly after your fall, and so it was most likely destroyed when the tower came down.

"More's the pity; we could have used it, especially with the other Ringwraiths in the wind."

Indeed. But we must deal with the world as it is, not as we wish it to be.

The pedestal in the tower's central chamber was empty, just as Shelob had said it would be. Talion still called up a wave of shades to search the tower from top to bottom, just in case, but they, too, returned empty-handed. He was disappointed, but there was nothing to be done for it, and he bade the shades a distracted farewell.

"I forgot to ask about Swinsere and the others," Talion murmured to himself, guiding his caragor up onto the citadel's innermost wall, starting a slow sweep of what he could see of the city. Some would need to be observed from the very top of the tower to get the full scope of it, but this was enough for a cursory look.

Minas Morgul looked pretty good, actually. There were a few more buildings in ruins than last he remembered, but overall the city was sound, if still corrupted. Yet with the Witch-king's demise, already it felt less evil than before; Talion suspected they would not need to rotate the non-Orcish soldiers out of the garrison to prevent madness nearly as frequently as before, if at all.

Assuming Gondor did not come in and raze it to the ground, of course. Minas Morgul was theirs by right, and they had already burned the fields in the valley below; though the Uruks had worked hard to build something of worth on the ashes of Minas Ithil, it would do them no good to start feuding with their neighbors when they were trying to make peace.

Privately, though, he wondered if Denethor would fight him over it. As Skoth had said, Gondor had been hard hit during the War of the Ring; though Minas Tirith was out of sight below the horizon, even in the dark he could see dark tendrils of smoke still rising from the fields of the Pelennor. They had long been allies, and even friends; perhaps the Steward could be convinced to let them hold Morgul for a time, even just until the other Seven were defeated. He should send a spirit-messenger-

Fell power shivered over his skin, and he had Urfael in hand to defend before he even realized he was under attack.

It was one of the other Seven, Suladân, who had once ruled Númenor under the name Ar-Pharazôn. Prideful in the extreme, he had been taken in when Sauron had offered him a Ring of Power as tribute in feigned submission to his might. Ultimately he had fallen under the Maia's sway - him and all of Númenor with him.

Well, most of it.

He was no longer a faceless shadow under a deep hood, but he was still visibly corrupted, his once-handsome face permanently withered as if by sun and salt and driving wind into an ugly sneer, skin like leather and teeth like sharks', eyes sunken but bright and cruel. "Oh, it's only you, Ranger," he said with his nose in the air. "I thought you were someone important."

"I have never cared for being important, or for the self-important titles you heap on yourself, Suladân," Talion replied, adjusting his grip on his sword and shifting his legs to better hold his caragor, the beast growling and planting its feet in a mirror of his own readiness. "Words are carried away by the wind. Deedsmatter, and I've already beaten you more than once, if memory serves."

As expected, the other Ringwraith snarled, fist clenching tight around the handle of his own blade, pride smarting. "I am Ar-Pharazôn the Golden, High King of Númenor, greatest of all the realms of Men, and I will not be spoken to so by a baseborn whelp!"

And then he coated his blade with balefire and lunged. For someone so old and powerful, it seemed he had learned nothing under the rule of the Witch-king, who had been a legend in his own right and led the Nazgûl and Sauron's armies to many bloody victories against the West. Though swift and deadly, Suladân used the same basic cuts and swings and strikes as were taught in Gondor an age after his lifetime, and against someone who could match his Ring-begotten strength and speed. He could not simply cut Talion down as he had thousands of other Men before. In addition, the style had been developed to fight Men either on foot or on horseback, not another Ringwraith astride a deadly predator.

Talion spurred his caragor forward, and it lunged for Suladân's legs with a snarl, clawed paws outstretched, knocking the other Ringwraith off-balance. He called up Aeglos for a longer reach, and swung the ghostly glaive around to stab at the other wraith's back even as the caragor whirled for another pass. Suladân spun away from the blade, barely, still trying to get his feet under him, and Talion saw his opening. He swung the glaive at the wraith's ankles, sending him sprawling, and his caragor leaped in to rip out the former king's throat. Suladân brought his sword up to block, and the caragor caught the blade between its teeth, whipping its head from side to side to disarm the other wraith. The sharp edge bit into the soft flesh of its mouth, but it didn't seem to care in the slightest. As man and beast snarled, Talion let Aeglos and Urfael fall, yanking Acharn from its sheath and throwing himself from the armored saddle.

Suladân kicked the caragor away, but it held him down for just long enough. Talion slammed the hand that bore one of the Nine down onto unforgiving stone. The other wraith reached for him with his free hand, trying to tear him off and throw him free, but he got there first, driving the blade of his dagger clean through ghostly flesh and bone, severing the other Man's finger - and the Ring on it.

Suladân jerked under him and shrieked. Then, as he got to his feet, the other wraith flaked away to ash before his very eyes, hands groping desperately for his Ring. Talion pinned it under his boot and dragged it out of reach, metal scraping over stone, and watched the once-king of Númenor turn at last to dust.

One down; six to go.

Only when a low gust of wind swept into the vale and carried off the ash did Talion remove his foot and stoop to pick up the Ring.

It was very different from Isildur's, in appearance and power and temperament. For all that Númenor had been an island nation, reliant on and akin to the relentless surge of the sea, Suladân's Ring was one of fire, hot and dry like the desert when inert but rising to a blazing inferno when awakened, its ruby gemstone flickering like firelight against Isildur's steady glow. The Ring answered his probing, offering its power like tongues of flame, but Talion shied away from the burning heat and light and life, turning instead to the unquiet grave in his own Ring, the sickly sweet rot of death and the cool, damp silence of the tomb.

He hunted through the city, found a length of serviceable twine, and knotted Suladân's Ring on it, hanging it around his neck. Then he finished his survey of the city, collected some supplies he thought would be useful - a few of the more valuable treasures from Celebrimbor's barrow and the last small chests of mithril, some discarded weapons, and all the food he could find, together with cloth and a great many long coils of rope, which he sent on ahead with a small horde of shades - and then filled his waterskin again and returned to Shelob's tunnels.

The spider queen seemed to have settled some - had stopped shivering at least, though her abdomen still dripped ichor - and stirred from her half-slumber when Talion poured another measure of clean water for her. You have defeated one of the other Nazgûl already; I'm impressed.

"He attacked me in Minas Morgul, and I wasn't about to let him slip away."

May the others come as soon and die as swiftly on your blades.

"Thank you. Get well soon, Shelob."