Finally they ventured out into the open air again. The air in Mordor was not very fresh, smelling of sulphur and dust, but in Záhovar’s mind it was ten times better than the damp tunnel air. Obviously the Nazgûl was glad about being out of the tunnel and back on the safe side of the mountains again, too. He hissed loudly, then he screamed. Far off an answering scream from the direction of Barad-Dûr signified the presence of another Nazgûl.

Záhovar mounted Nagíthas, then she noticed that Gothmog seemed to be in some kind of trouble. When she came closer she saw that he was trying to make Erishnak let go of his arm, which he had clung hard to when the Nazgûl screamed.

“Bloody weakling,” one of the uruk soldiers from Gothmog’s group muttered. Gothmog reached for his sword, but Záhovar hindered him.

“Do you have anything to complain about?” she asked the soldier with a cold, threatening voice.

“W-well…” The soldier became nervous. “If.. eh, if… If ye promise th- that he wonÂ’t kill me..” he stammered, looking at Gothmog. Záhovar gave him a glance.

“He will not harm you if your complaints are well based.”

“If so…” the soldier said, becoming a bit braver. “That small one, heÂ’s a spoiled weakling.”

“What makes you say so?” Gothmog growled.

“Ye’re way too protective, letting him sit up there, afraid that he’s gonna trip an’ fall if ye let him down. How ye think he’s gonna build up his muscles, if ye ain’t allowin’ him to use them? How ye think he’s gonna become a warrior if ye ain’t lettin’ him fight his own battles?”

“Oh, and I suppose you agree with Poshnak, don’t you? You advise me to give my son to him, don’t you?”

“No,” the soldier replied, swallowing as he saw the bloodlust in Gothmog’s eyes. “I only suggest, well, let him walk on his own legs a bit. Let him find his own strength, instead of being your shadow all the time.”

“Excluded,” Gothmog replied. “Never.”

Some of the other soldiers had closed in now, watching the scene with growing interest. Erishnak had been looking down on his own hands during the conversation. First he had been on the verge of crying because they called him a spoiled weakling, and ashamed because he knew it was true. Then a tiny spark of pride had been lit up in his chest. He lifted his head and turned to look at Gothmog.

“You think I am a weakling?” he asked his father with that whimpering voice he knew his father could not resist. Now was the first time he used it on purpose. Gothmog looked down at him.

“Of- of course not, son!” he answered, giving the soldier a murderous glance. “Of course not!”

Erishnak swung his leg over the WargÂ’s neck. Gothmog grabbed him to stop him from falling.

“What are you doing?”

Erishnak gave his hands a resentful look. “Let me go.”

“But what are you doing?!”

“I’m gonna walk the rest of the way.”

“Ye can’t do that! It’s too far!”

Erishnak looked at Gothmog with a stubborn look. “Wanna bet on it?” Gothmog let him go with an astounded look. Erishnak jumped down, first looking around a bit shyly. Then he straightened up and began to march at the Warg’s side, his head high and a stern look on his face. Gothmog looked around suspiciously to see if anyone dared to comment on the fact that he had just lost a contest of wills to a cub. But the soldiers of his group only grinned approvingly.

“That’s more like it,” the soldier who had commented on Erishnak being spoiled said.

“Now I recognise Gothmog’s son,” another one said. Gothmog gave Záhovar a helpless look, but she only watched Erishnak with an amused look.

“He had to do it some time,” she said as she noticed him looking at her. “You cannot keep him a child forever, and you are not going to lose him because of this.”

“Eh, I suppose not,” Gothmog replied.

They went on. After a few hours they reached the end of the mountain road.

“Finally,” Záhovar exclaimed. “Gorgoroth.”

“Wow,” Erishnak said as he saw the huge black plain. The ground trembled slightly as Orodruin had an eruption and spewed out molten stone and fire up into the dark sky.

“What is that?” he asked Gothmog and pointed at a glowing red spot in the darkness on the other side of the burning mountain.

“That’s the Eye,” Gothmog said, his voice full of reverence. “The All-Seeing Eye of the Dark Lord, located in the top of Lug-Burz.”

Erishnak felt a bit awkward as he saw the huge distance from where they were to the Dark Tower. The road went down to the foot of Ephel Dúath where a crossroad was located, splitting the road up in four. From there one road went straight up north to the Black Gate. One went south, and one west to where they stood. The last road went past the burning mountain, past a bridge over a huge chasm and up to the gates of the Dark Tower. Along the road a river of fire from the mountain rushed, and fell into the chasm.

“I’m not sure I can make this,” Erishnak said.

“Ye can ride the last bit if ye want to,” Gothmog replied. “Ye don’t have to be a warrior all the time.”

After running down the slope to the feet of the mountain, Erishnak was exhausted, and Gothmog let him up into the saddle again. As they went past a pile of rocks that the slaves had built up as they cleansed the road from the lava that covered it after each eruption, Záhovar halted Nagíthas.

“What is it?” Gothmog asked as he saw Záhovar dismount.

“I thought I saw something. Wait here,” she said as she leaped of the road and began climbing the rock pile. The Nazgûl had called the rest of the company to a halt, and now it came up to see what was going on.

“I just got a sudden urge to gather pretty stones, Master,” Záhovar replied. “You do not have to wait for us, we can catch up with you.” The Nazgûl stared at her for a moment, then it left without a sound, and the company left them. Gothmog looked after them for a while, then he turned to stare at her.

“Stones? You risked a punishment to gather stones?! Are… are you sure you didnÂ’t hit your head in the darkness?”

“This is not a usual stone,” she said when she returned to the road and showed them what she had found. The emerald she held in her hand had the size and shape of an egg. First it looked like a normal emerald, but as she held it up it began to glow with an eerie glow.

“It looks almost like the walls in Dushgoi,” Erishnak said, his voice full with awe.

“Indeed,” Záhovar replied. “Now perhaps you understand why I lied to him. Officially, all gems, jewellery and such that are found in Mordor goes to the Dark Lord. But if no one knows it’s here, they cannot take it.” She mounted again. “Come. Let us catch up with the rest of the group.”

They reached the group in front of the bridge. Now it was night, only a few slaves and soldiers passed the bridge as they went over. Erishnak leaned over to peek over the edge, and saw the burning river of lava far below, and he could feel the heat that radiated up from the stones and cliffs around them.

“What happens if one falls into there?” he asked Záhovar.

“Into the river? The heat is so strong, that he would be fried even before he reached the river itself. So do not try that, it is not a very pleasant ending.” Erishnak laughed nervously. Gothmog rolled his eyes.

After passing the bridge, they passed an area where the earth really twisted in agony. Here was huge pools and streams of boiling mud, the air reeked with sulphur and was difficult to breathe. The lava around the road had stiffened into strange shapes, at one place it had stiffened into a great vault that stretched over the road.

Just as they reached the gate, Orodruin had a huge eruption. The ground shook beneath their feet as they passed the bridge over the lava-filled moat and came into the tower. It was close to dawn in the outside world now, and most of the inhabitants of the Tower rested.

“Have you ever been here?” Erishnak asked Gothmog as the gates behind them closed with a thunder that echoed through the gigantic archway.

“A few times,” he replied, “but it was long ago now.” They led the Warg into the stable dungeons, which were placed on the left side of the archway. On the inside the stables were split up, one part for horses, one for Wargs, and one for other creatures. That part of the stables had an own exit, high up on the inner wall. Erishnak never saw that part, but he heard some strange croaking roars from the other side of the massive iron door.

Afterwards, Gothmog and Erishnak was showed to their room by a snaga. It was comfortable, quite big, and it even had a small table in a corner, made of wood and iron. Záhovar had been away on some errand, now she appeared in the doorway.

“The first meeting will begin tonight,” she said. “Gothmog, you and the other warlords are to assemble outside the throne room after dinner.”

“Will ye be there?”

“Perhaps.”

“…Right. CÂ’mon son,” Gothmog said and tousled ErishnakÂ’s hair. “LetÂ’s go find some food. Ye hungry?”

“Yeah!” As they went out the door, Záhovar left without a word. This was the first time Erishnak actually saw with his own eyes how Záhovar’s contours faded as the shadows in the corners began to gather and beginning to cling to her like black spiderweb. He felt the hair on his neck rise. The air suddenly felt cold.

***

Gothmog brought Erishnak to one of the better taverns in the huge underground city that had grown up beneath the Black Tower. The tables and chairs were better treated here, but he still took great care when he sat down on a bench, making sure it would not crumble to dust like that one in Dushgoi. Gothmog went over to the counter to order some food, along with the usual arguing about the prices. Erishnak took his time watching the people in the tavern. They had no sign, nothing that displayed their ranking, but their behavior showed how high they were. Here, one could clearly see the picking order among the officers of MordorÂ’s army. The bigger and stronger, the higher in ranking, and everyone lower than you had to move. People came and went constantly, and there was a lot of noise, shouting and laughter.

Gothmog returned with a tray, on which were two jugs and two plates with meat and some mixture that Erishnak did not recognise.

“Where are the High Officers?” Erishnak asked as he began to eat. “Don’t they need to eat?”

“Sure they do, but they do not come here. They have their own place, up in the Tower. They never mingle with us orcs, they think themselves too high an’ mighty for that.”

“Oh.”

Suddenly the noise stopped, and a murmur was heard from closer to the door. All guests in the tavern moved aside, so that a path was cleared. Some officers who had earlier thrown away some lower commanders from the table they sat at now quickly got up, offering the table to the newcomers. Erishnak’s eyes widened. He had seen the fine clothes that Záhovar wore, made of velvet and silk, but he had never seen orcs wear such clothes before. The newcomers were shorter than many of the officers, they carried no weapons or armour, but they moved in such a way that one could clearly see that these were very high ranking.

“Who are those?” Erishnak whispered to Gothmog as the newcomers sat down at the table next to them.

“They’re Gagnaz, helpers, servants in the Main Tower. They live their entire life at the feet of the Top Ones.”

“Oh…”

“Now, keep eating and stop staring at those. It’s better if they don’t take notice.” Erishnak did as he was told, but he couldn’t help but throwing glances now and then.

“They must have a nice job,” he said silently. “No fighting, no suffering, only following their Masters wherever they go.”

“I can assure ye, it’s not that nice. Sure, it gives a lot of privileges, but they have to endure the loathing of the Top Ones all their lives, and do their bidding no matter what the cost are. As soon as they make a mistake, they’re skinned and thrown from the topmost balcony.”

“Hm.”

***

Záhovar was exhausted, but she could not rest yet. She wondered where her attendants were, but they had probably not heard about her return yet, which meant she would have to go down to the kitchen herself and get food.

After having dinner and resting for some hours, she went down to the smithy, hoping to fit the gem into a necklace or the like. The smithy was empty when she arrived, but the fire was heated up already, so she began working immediately.

She felt His presence even before He entered. Záhovar spun around, keeping her eyes down, and knelt onto the dusty, filthy floor. The Dark Lord sounded slightly surprised, as if He hadn’t expected to find her here, when He asked her when she had arrived.

“We came this very morning, my Lord.”

“And how come you did not report to me immediately at your arrival?”

“I… There was nothing to report, my Lord. I did not find it necessary to bother Thee with nothing.”

“That does not matter. I want to know where I have my officers. And you are still one of my officers, are you not?”

“Y-yes, my Lord.” Now Záhovar was shaking with fear down on the floor. She had made a mistake, and one small mistake was often enough to anger her Master if one was of low ranking among the officers. And this was no small mistake. For a long moment, all was silent. Then a soft hissing sound was heard, like choked laughter. For a moment she was puzzled. Laughter? But no. The Dark Lord had no feelings, how could a being without feelings laugh, or even feel amusement? ‘It must’ve come from the fire,’ she thought.

“Arise,” He said. As Záhovar got up, the Dark Lord walked over to the table where she had been working and picked up the emerald. He eyed it closely.

“What were you doing with this?”

“I found it out on the plain. I thought that I could fit it into a necklace or the like.” She was worried that He might remember that, by law, this gem was His, and that she had, by keeping this to herself, stolen it from Him. But He made no remark on this.

“With these tools?” He said as He picked up a small hammer.

“Well… Yes.”

“Useless.” He threw it away. Then He took some other hammers and tools from a box below the table that she had not noticed before. Záhovar watched, amazed, as the Dark Lord began working the stone over thoroughly, creating a number of small fazes on its surface. The simple fact that He knew how to shape a jewel was enough to make Záhovar forget all manners. As He continued working, she glanced from the stone, to His face. Nothing could be seen, save the silhouette, dulled by the black mist that enshrouded His being. Only His eyes could be seen properly, glowing with a red fire that now and then flickered with yellow flames. ‘Almost like my own,’ Záhovar thought. ‘Only mine are blue.’

“There,” He said suddenly. Záhovar jumped and quickly looked down again. He lifted His hands towards her face, showing her the stone. Now it was shaped like a green-glowing oval, fitted into a beautiful necklace. Where He had got the chain, she had no idea.

“How-” she began, then she minded her manners and went quiet, staring at the jewel in awe but not making any move. After some time the Dark Lord sighed and began to move closer. Záhovar moved backwards, until He ordered her to stand still. He opened the chain and placed it around her neck. Then He took a step back to admire His work, both the necklace and the one who wore it.

“Záhovar,” He said silently. He stood there for a long time just watching her; she could feel His gaze. The darkness surrounding the Dark Lord began to expand until it filled the cavern completely. But this darkness was not the same as the black mist that she or the other High officers wielded, this darkness was alive, it was part of the Dark Lord’s very being. Záhovar could feel it engulf her, tightening slightly just to remind her of that she was inferior.
And then He suddenly let her go. She stumbled backwards as He turned away from her, the darkness retracting. She saw the glimpse of a pair of red eyes as He gave her a last glance, then He left without a word.

***

When they left the tavern, Gothmog and Erishnak went back to their room. Erishnak was overjoyed, because here they both had got thick, soft mattresses and leather pillows to sleep on. Erishnak rolled around on his mattress while Gothmog sat down with a concerned look. Erishnak noticed this.

“What is it?” he asked and stopped rolling.

“Eh, I got a little trouble,” Gothmog replied. “I have to visit the war council later, only I don’t know where to leave ye when I go.”

“Why not leave me here?”

“I donÂ’t know… What if ye get into trouble? These people here donÂ’t know who ye are.”

“Would I get into trouble only by staying in here?”

“Uhm… Would ye really stay in here? All the time?”

“Weeelll…” Erishnak replied evasively. Gothmog laughed at his dreaming look.

“Alright then, ye can stay, as long as ye don’t go bite people’s fingers. An’ if someone messes with ye, run. Preferably back here.”

“Right! So I can bite people’s fingers as long as I get back here!”

“What? No, ye-“Gothmog stopped talking and gave Erishnak a frowning look. Erishnak imitated his frown in a ridiculous way. Gothmog began laughing and shook his head. Then he reached into his backpack.

“I guess I shouldnÂ’t give ye this while ye are in that kindÂ’o mood, but… oh well, ye canÂ’t do anything worse than killing someone,” he said with a smile and gave Erishnak a long dagger with a curved blade.

“If ye cut yer bedroll or clothes with that thing, I’ll stand over ye with a whip and force ye to stitch it back together,” Gothmog said with a smile as he left.

Erishnak examined and played with the dagger for a while. He drew his thumb over the edge to see if it was sharp, as he had seen Gothmog do with his sword. As he did so, he realised it was sharp when he cut his thumb. He watched as a drop of black blood slid down over his hand.

After a while Erishnak was tired of staring at the same walls. He got to his feet, donned the dagger and scabbard and peeked out of the door, out into the hall. It was empty. He sneaked out and walked down the hall the same way as they had come earlier.

‘This entire place seems abandoned,’ he thought as he peeked around a corner down another corridor. Suddenly he heard voices and footsteps approaching. Erishnak hid behind a statue. After a few moments two dark shapes became visible. They were not orcs, that much was clear. They were too straight and tall, and their voices too melodic. Their armour was different as well. Erishnak tried to hold his breath as they came closer, and it seemed like they were going to pass without noticing him. But one of them suddenly stopped right in front of the statue and turned towards it.

“Come forth! There is no use in trying to hide there,” one of the warriors called. When Erishnak hesitated, they stepped up behind the statue and pulled him out into the torchlight. Then they dropped him onto the floor.

“Who are you?” one of them asked.

“N-no one,” Erishnak replied.

“Answer correctly!”

“Ju-just an orcling.”

“Your number?”

“Number?”

“Yes, number! All orcs in Barad-Dûr have a number! What is your? Answer!”

“I-I-I h-have no n-number..” Erishnak whimpered. The human warriors looked at each other.

“What are you doing here anyway?” One of them asked anew. “Orc children ane not permitted to be in the main tower.”

“I live here.”

Both warriors laughed out loud. Erishnak covered his ears, their laughter was so sharp it hurt his ears. Suddenly both stopped laughing, grabbed his arms and began to carry him away.

“Wh-what are you doing?? Let me gooo!!” Erishnak cried and tried to break loose. If they took him out of the tower he might not find his way back in again! And nobody knew him here, there was no one he could ask for help.

The orc guards at the main gate laughed as the humans threw Erishnak out of the tower. He tumbled down the stairs and landed in a heap at the end. He heard the humans tell the guards to make sure he didnÂ’t get back in again. He snivelled as he got up. He didnÂ’t even have time to use his knife… And what was he to do now? He knew nobody here… except Poshnak. He could find Poshnak, he knew what to do. He didn’t really want to spend any time with Poshnak, but he had no choice… But as Erishnak looked around, he realised how hopeless that quest was. This place was huge, Poshnak could be anywhere.. ‘And since heÂ’s an officer, he probably went to the same meeting as father,Â’ Erishnak thought as he walked away into a street. He spent a long time just walking around, looking at the people in the streets. Most of them were slaves, and not all of them were orcs. He saw many humans, most of them had dark skin like orcs, but some of them were pale as maggots, with yellow hair and eyes that looked like the colour had been washed out of them. But most of these humans was dirty, and they seemed tired.

All the time he had to jump out of the way of carts and wagons. ‘Now I know how a snaga must feel,’ he thought as he was roughly pushed out of the way by a huge Uruk soldier. Some of the orcs here were bigger than in Dushgoi, they were darker and they even looked more dangerous.

Erishnak looked at the people in the big street as he went into an alley. Suddenly he bumped into someone. A loud curse was heard as the black Uruk turned and grabbed the neck of his tunic, pulling Erishnak closer. Erishnak caught a glimpse of a tatooed face with deep green eyes and pointy pieces of metal pierced through the ears and lips before covering his own face with his hands.

“What the hell d’you think you’re doing?” the Uruk asked. Erishnak only whimpered.

“Wait Praktâsh, it’s just a cub,” another voice, softer, said from behind. Someone disentangled the Uruk’s hand from Erishnak’s tunic and put him down on the ground again. Erishnak curled into a ball.

“Bloody cub, should watch where he step,” the Uruk called Praktâsh growled. Then he muttered something unintelligible.

“Shut up,” The other one said. ErishnakÂ’s hands were removed from his face, and that ‘someone’ put his hand under his chin, pushing his face upwards.

“Come on, look at us. Danger’s over for the moment.”

Erishnak slowly opened his eyes, looking at the one who had helped him. He was still afraid, but when he caught sight of the other orc he stared. The orc was… white! Even paler than the humans he saw before, almost even paler than Záhovar! And like Záhovar, this orc had black hair. But ZáhovarÂ’s skin and hair was blue-tinted, this orcÂ’s skin and hair was more greyish. He had red eyes and pointy ears that were placed 90 degrees out from his head, making his triangular face look broader than it was. But except from his appearance, there was still something that differed him from other orcs. He was… softer, he seemed softer, like a person who would not be able to hurt anyone, even if he wanted to. He was strong, well trained, but definitely not a soldier. Erishnak wondered how he could survive here. But then he noticed the clothes that the white orc was wearing. It was one of the Gagnaz!

“What’s your name, little one?” The white orc asked.

“Erishnak. A-and you?”

“I’m Graznikh, and that’s Praktâsh, my friend,” the white orc said and nodded towards the other orc, who now leaned against the wall, picking his teeth with one of his sharp nails. As Graznikh nodded at him, he lifted an eyebrow and gave them a supercilious smile. Graznikh shook his head.

“Don’t mind him,” he said to Erishnak. “He’s always like that. But aren’t you a bit far from home?”

“I am. The guards threw me out, and I can’t get back in again.”

“Get back in? Where?”

“Into the tower,” he said and pointed. “I came here with my father, he’s a warlord from Dushgoi. He went to a meeting, and I wanted to take a walk and see things, but then those humans came and threw me out. They didn’t even listen to me.”

“Oh… I see. Well, lucky you bumped into us then,” Graznikh said with a grin. “We can get you back in again.”

“How?”

“Stop smiling like that,” Praktâsh said to Graznikh. “I’m supposed to be the smug superior-looking brat here.” Graznikh just laughed at him.

“But I am the leader. Anyway, I happen to have a good friend in there, who’s given orders to the guards to let me and Praktâsh in whenever we want. The guards can’t stop us, so if you go with us, you’ll get in. And if they try to stop us we have the right to kill them, so I don’t think they’ll be givin’ us trouble.”

***

“What’s your father’s name?” Graznikh asked Erishnak as they went back to the main tower.

“Gothmog.”

“Gothmog? Oh yeah, Záhovar has spoken about him at some point.”

“You know Záhovar??”

“Yes, sheÂ’s my lo-… ahm, friend of mine.” Graznikh gave Praktâsh a poisonous look. “Not a word.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t think about it,” he replied, covering his mouth to keep from laughing. Erishnak gave him a strange look.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Praktâsh, shut up.”

They went up the stairs that led to the Tower gate. The guards eyed Graznikh and Praktâsh, and then let them pass. But as Erishnak tried to pass, they stopped him.

“Hold it there, ya little spy!”

Graznikh came back to the gate. “Is there any problem?”

“W-well.. No, Shakh.”

“Why do you stop him? Didn’t you see he came here with us?” Praktâsh interposed.

“Pardon Shakh, but he… was here before, we got orders from-“

“From who?”

The guard broke into cold sweat of fear. “F-f-f-f-from a-a… o-one of t- the ambassad-dors f-from the C-capital of Rhûn…”

“Sooo, you prefer following orders from visitors, outsiders, and oppose us, instead of following the orders of the High Officers and save your life.” Graznikh sighed, and grabbed the spear that the other guard was holding, and offered it to Praktâsh.

“After you.”

“Oh no, after you.”

“Ladies first.”

“Shut up. We can both kill him.”

“How?”

“We just ask one of the sorcerers to resurrect him after you killed him, and then we can kill him again.”

“Nice! You mean we can kill him, resurrect him and kill him again, over and over until we’ve had enough of it?”

“Yeah! And it will hurt just as much each time for him.”

Erishnak couldnÂ’t believe his ears, and the guard was now shaking.

“Please! Please! IÂ’m sorry! You may pass! You may pass you may pass you may pass…” the guard repeated the phrase as he slowly sank to his knees, fainted. The other guard did his best to not see what happened.

***

After resting for a while, Záhovar went down to the library to see if she could find out something more about that gem she had found. In the library of Barad-Dûr was gathered almost all knowledge from Harad, Khând, Rhûn and the Far East and South. ‘Surely there must be some information,’ she thought as she entered into the huge library.

Then she stopped short, noticing something stir at the far end of the hall. For a moment it almost looked like the Dark Lord, but the two long thorns on each side of the helmet, and the richly embroidered robes told another tale. Yet here was a man nearly as frightening as the Dark Lord himself was.

The person seemed not to have noticed her, but then suddenly he closed the book he was holding with a snap, and went over to her, looming over her. Záhovar bowed low before him.

“Záhovar,” he said slowly. “So you have returned. Finally.” Záhovar nodded, hit by the force of his voice. If the voices of the Nazgûl went up like a shrill cry, and the voice of the Dark Lord echoed like a distant thunder, then this manÂ’s voice had terror in its own way. It was deep, soft and sensual, like the deepest notes on a harp, a voice that sounded completely misfit to a man like the Lieutenant of Lug-bûrz. He did own a sword, but as most said, the power of the Herald of Mordor was not in the strength of steel, but the force of his own voice.

“I must admit I have missed you,” the Herald continued, “Even this short period.” A slight smile appeared on his mouth. “No one dares to argue with me when you are gone, and those few who dare are not interested in arguing. The journey went well?”

“It did. But it was not much of a journey, I was only gone for ten days.”

“Few of us have the privilege to be away even so short a time. I do not even remember the last time I was away from Lug-bûrz.”

“But then you are not much for traveling.”

“Of course not. Why spend time on dusty roads when you can live a comfortable life here? I prefer to let the adventures come to me instead. But why have you come here?”

“I was hoping to find some information on an interesting stone I found on Gorgoroth,” she said and showed him the emerald. The Herald took it in his hand, examining it.

“Indeed a rare artifact. But who polished it? Do you have such skills?”

She shook her head. “No. And you would not believe me if I told you.”

“How so? Was it an orc?”

“No. You would have difficulties believing me if i told you.”

“Do tell.”

“The Dark Lord himself.”

The Herald had certain difficulties keeping control of his expressions. “What?”

“You heard me. I did not know that He had such skills, but obviously He knew what He was doing.”

“Well… According to common knowledge, He did spend time in Eregion when it still existed. Although I do not believe that He achieved his skills there. But, who knows? He never speaks of His past.”

“Hmm.” Záhovar picked a book and began searching in it.

***

After several hours and a mountain of books later, they still had found nothing about the strange emerald. Záhovar was sitting in an armchair, sleepily browsing through a heavy book. The Herald sighed.

“So many books, and still nothing. It has never happened to me before.”

“Well.. We have at least searched an eighth of the library.”

Suddenly Gothmog appeared in the doorway. He brightened up as he caught sight of Záhovar and began walking towards her, but when he saw the Herald he stumbled and stopped.

“I-I’m sorry,” he said, bowed and quickly began walking out again.

“No, Gothmog,” Záhovar said. “You may come forth.” He hesitated for a moment, then he gathered strength and came closer.

“What do you wish?” Záhovar asked.

“Ha-have you seen my son, MÂ’la- my Lord? I, eh… I canÂ’t find him.”

“Have you searched your room?”

“Yes, but he wasn’t there.”

Záhovar turned towards the Herald.

“I am sorry my Lord, but I must leave. I-”

“Of course, you may go.”

“Thank you.” She bowed before him and left, Gothmog following.

_______________
Notes:
Gagnaz – Helpers
Shakh – Lord