Five: For Whom It Tolls


Horza showed up the very next day, with a band of about a hundred or so following in his wake, Orcs and Men alike. "Gravewalker. Looks like I missed out on some action."

"Only a little, Horza. Good to see you; I'm glad you made it through."

The Orc thumped him hard on the back, almost enough to make him stagger. "Good, good. Golm, go find that shrakh Mozû and ask him where we're staying. The rest of you, follow Golm. Gravewalker and I need to talk."

It was a good thing Talion was no longer actively capable of feeling nervous; as it was, all he got was a vague prickle of trepidation. He put it aside in favor of observing the band tromping past, taking note of the patchwork homespun clothing - and the brands on most foreheads. "Former slaves?"

"Yep. The Five hid a bit too well, so after the Tower went down, they came and found me instead. But we got a problem. You said some of the Shriekers are still running around causing trouble?"

"Given that Suladân tried to kill me in Minas Morgul, I'm going to say yes."

The Orc captain nodded. "Saw one of 'em heading south across the Sea yesterday morning," he said, sweeping an arm out to indicate the glistening waves stretching away to the hazy mountains far off in the distance, "right before we got your message."

Talion hummed quietly. "Any idea which one? Or too far away to tell?"

"Too far. But they looked like they were headed for the Tower's old fortress in Ered Glamhoth."

Now there was a name he had not heard in a long time, and a place he had not been in even longer. Some Orc had run around wearing the Tower's armor for a while, but Talion had put him down permanently after he was resurrected in Minas Morgul's arena alongside Zog. The armor had disappeared after that, probably melted down as scrap. And the actual fortress… he had not been there since killing the Tower himself.

"Hm. How do you feel about a road trip before our spar?"

The Orc grinned. "When do we leave?"


The fortress was almost completely overgrown, which was hardly a surprise after being abandoned for sixty years, not worth the effort and expense to maintain so far from the seat of Sauron's power. But there were also signs of recent disturbance, creepers torn down where they had blocked doorways, weeds growing through the paving stones now crushed and ground into paste by heavy boots.

Talion exchanged a glance with Horza, then signaled for Daerwen to stop growling at the Black Wing now cowering in a corner of the main courtyard. He drew his sword and stepped through the archway into the fortress, following the path made by the disturbances to the beginnings of a sorcerous lab deep in the fortress. Still hooded and cloaked, a Ringwraith was bent over an old worktable, grinding some herbs to powder with a mortar and pestle. Without looking up, the other said, "Ranger."

Talion relaxed, or gave the appearance of it, lowering his sword to rest the tip against the stone floor. "Akhôrahil. I thought you might be Khamûl."

"Worried about a fight?"

"Of course. You know he and I have never gotten along."

"You defied the Witch-king too long for him to ever even tolerate you." The blind sorcerer emptied the mortar carefully into a clay pot, then set everything down and turned to face the other wraith.

It was difficult to see under the hood in the dim light of the lab, but his eyes were still black pits, empty and seemingly sightless. Despite that, Akhôrahil shot Horza a disdainful glance, which the Orc returned with a sneer, fists going tight on the handles of his shield and halberd. "I see you've reclaimed your pets."

In an instant, Talion brought Urfael up again and pressed the tip threateningly to the shadowed space between the other Nazgûl's collarbones. "There is nothing wrong with having allies, Akhôrahil," he growled, letting the sharp metal dig in just enough to raise a welt on the wraith's hidden flesh, "or with taking care of those allies. I find I work better with someone watching my back - that much less for me to worry about."

After a second he stepped back, lowering the sword again, and the sorcerer huffed and turned back to his potion-making. "Suit yourself."

"Thank you; I will."

And then, Isildur's Ring having at last rotted through the sorcerer's wards, Talion lunged and drove Urfael up to the hilt in his back. He had angled the blade downward to bury it in the worktable, pinning the other Nazgûl in place even as he writhed in pain and the start of his death throes. Acharn flashed to the necromancer's fingers, and he slammed that blade down, too - and missed. At the last second, Akhôrahil jerked his Ring-bearing hand out of reach, then swung to try and backhand the other wraith.

But Horza was already there to intercept, braced to take the hit on his shield. Akhôrahil snarled a curse, then the start of some spell, but Talion had already darted around to try again. He caught the sorcerer's Ring-hand in a tight grip, trapping his fingers between his own thumb and Acharn's edge - and cutting.

The sorcerer shrieked, making Horza stagger back and cover his ears in pain, cursing in Black Speech, but like Suladân before him, Akhôrahil started fading right before their eyes. Yet he seemed to melt instead of burn, flesh and robes and staff and armor dripping away to nothing and pouring through minuscule cracks in the stone floor, leaving only his Ring behind.

Horza grimaced and poked the thing with the very tip of his spear even as Talion wiggled Urfael out of the workbench. The blade was not even so much as chipped when he finally got it free, so he sheathed it and added Akhôrahil's Ring to his necklace, such as it was.

He needed to retrieve the Witch-king's Ring soon. It was far from safe to leave it lying in the Pelennor Fields. But in the meantime…

Talion dug through the sorcerous components and ingredients that Akhôrahil had collected or otherwise retrieved, comparing them to the ones he knew… and a memory from his time as a true Nazgûl filtered back to him, warped and dim but enough to make the cold inside him deepen.

"Gravewalker?"

"Mutagens," he growled, lips curling up off canines sharpened to fangs by Isildur's Ring, "to turn Men into Orcs, now that the Eldar have gone and the Dark Lords are no longer here to torture them into shape. Give me a hand with these - throw that into the fire. And once we're done here, we need to search the rest of the fortress; he hadn't finished this project before Sauron fell, so I bet he's got prisoners somewhere nearby for experiments."


Ringwraith and bodyguard returned to Sharkhburz with half a dozen or so former captives, and once there Horza got his spar in the arena overlooking the sea. In a very short time indeed, the Orc ended up disarmed and on his back in the dust, grinning broadly despite being held at swordpoint. "Looks like you've still got it after all, huh, Gravewalker? I got worried when you started losing your touch there at the end."

"It's not easy to fight a war on two fronts, especially when one of them is inside your own mind and you have no defense against the Enemy. But yes, I'm back."

"Good. Was getting boring without you."

"Mm, Eru forbid. I'm going to take Daerwen to Cirith Ungol and have the wounded start heading this way; the fresh air from the Sea will do them some good, and it will keep our supply lines short. Did you want to come? Or are you going to stay here and bait Mozû into a fight?"

"I hadn't planned on it, but now that you mention it…"

Talion just rolled his eyes when the Orc's sharp grin widened. "Try not to kill each other," he said, then called Daerwen. She had been fishing further out in the Sea, but she returned soon enough, slurping down the bones of a fish that had been the size of an Olog before she got a hold of it. The drake swooped overhead, shrieking, and her Ringwraith flashed up into her saddle, settling back where he belonged.

The wide fields of Núrn rushed away below them as Daerwen picked up speed, and before long the spire of Graveshadow appeared out of the haze on the horizon. Take us down please, sweetheart. I need to speak with Skoth about having the wounded stop over here for a few days to recover before they press on to Núrn.

Daerwen rumbled an acknowledgement and pulled in her wings to dive sharply, spreading them again and beating hard to land easily inside the citadel's innermost wall.

One of Skoth's watchers must have sent a runner to get him, because the Orc in question stepped out of the tower within moments of their arrival. "What's the word, Gravewalker?"

"Núrn is ours again," Talion informed him. "I want to start moving the wounded there - better air for healing, and shorter supply lines. Can Graveshadow handle them if they need a stopover on the way?"

"Easily," Skoth answered, drumming his fingers on the handle of a belt knife. "Been taking stock of the fort. Looks like Sauron had everyone just up and leave when the Men came to the Black Gate. We've got supply carts that haven't even been unloaded yet. But Gravewalker, we've got news too - a Shrieker took Coldharbour. Don't know which one, but I sent a captain and his band to check it out - only one of 'em came back."

Talion shot a glance north and east in the direction of the other fortress, hidden below the horizon in the distance. "I'll take care of it on my way back. Anything else?"

"Yeah, Swinsere sent word on down from Torvin. Idril's still alive, and she's got the Witch-king's Ring."

"Tell me she's not wearing it!"

"Oh no. Or at least I don't think she is. Torvin says she's waiting for you to come get it, 'cause she can't leave the court to bring it to you. Not without looking suspicious, anyway. But I think that about covers it for now."

The Ringwraith let out a sigh of relief, his sudden tension draining away as quickly as it had come. "I'll handle it, thank you. I've killed another one of the Seven, but don't let your guard down just yet. There are still five to go, including this one."

"You got it. Wind be with you."

"And also with you."


Daerwen swung around the Maegond Spur and aimed for Cirith Ungol, the desert edge of Gorgoroth crawling away below them. Occasionally Talion glimpsed distant figures moving on the ruined plain far below and had the drake descend to meet them. Most would-be travelers were former-enemy Orcs trying to find their way, and the necromancer gave a few supplies and directions to those that were not openly hostile. But as he drew closer to Cirith Ungol, he came across humans, former slaves of Sauron, including a husband and his son carrying his wife on a stretcher, her face pale and drawn with pain and her leg broken and inexpertly splinted. They were terrified of him - rightly so, the wraith thought mournfully, remembering enough of the terror he had caused when finally loosed to seek the One - but even so they recognized him, called him Gravewalker, and let him close enough to check the woman's health.

Talion tried very hard not to see in them what his family could have been if Sauron's Black Captains had taken prisoners that night on the Black Gate. Instead he let a trickle of his power probe the woman's injury, his lips thinning at what he found.

"How bad is it?" she asked quietly, gasping and gritting her teeth on a scream as he carefully straightened and re-splinted her leg.

"How bad does it hurt?"

"Very. I want to scream every time it's jostled, but it's not as great as it once was. I could barely move when my family pulled me from the ruins of the mines."

"Then you are lucky as well. Too few escaped the eruption of Orodruin and all its consequences. But the wound is poisoning your blood; if you do not reach a healer soon, you will be beyond help even if you are still many days from dying."

"You cannot…?"

Talion smiled tightly. "My particular powers are especially ill-suited to healing - at least, before death. But I am bound for Cirith Ungol, where an Elven healer is tending other wounded, and Daerwen is large enough and strong enough to carry us all, if you are willing to brave the flight."

The three former slaves looked to the drake, who stretched and yawned widely and looked to all appearances like a contented cat lying on the barren earth, spiked tail flicking back and forth in absent-minded interest. "...I say we do it," the son said finally, looking admiringly on Daerwen. She preened under his gaze.

The husband sighed heavily, then turned to Talion. "You truly will take us to this healer?"

"I will."

"And he will save my wife's life?"

"If it is within his power to do so, then he will."

The man sighed again. "So be it. Let's do it, then."

Daerwen held perfectly still as they carefully lifted the woman onto her back and strapped her in, and Talion unlatched his cloak and wrapped her broken leg in it to provide some cushioning. Then her husband and son tied themselves to Daerwen's harness and held tight. She took flight as gently as she could.

It would have taken the family several days even just to reach the foothills of the Mountains of Shadow, let alone make the climb to Darz-Gurum, but on drakeback they landed in the fortress's courtyard in a little over an hour. Talion sent a runner to find Swinsere and Ishmoz (who had stayed behind with his warriors to guard the wounded), and the Elf appeared in time to help lift the injured woman down from Daerwen's back before carrying her away to treat her, her husband and son trailing in his wake.

Talion was reattaching his cloak and settling it over his shoulders when Ishmoz pushed through the crowd, whacking people with his staff when they moved too slowly for his tastes. "Good to see you again, Gravewalker. And you, Great Lady," the Orc said to Daerwen, earning an affectionate huff of smoky steam in his direction.

"Núrn is ours again; I want to move all the wounded there for recovery."

He explained his reasoning, and Ishmoz nodded in agreement. "It's gonna take us a few days to get ready to go, though."

"There's no real rush. We've got time and I have a few things to take care of, but we'll be back in time to escort everyone south."

"Understood."