Chapter 1

The Errand

Darkness lay heavy on the Black Land. But it was not the darkness of night. It was, in fact, almost noon. But it was always dark in Mordor.
In the heart of the land was a great mountain, constantly spewing fire and lava. And east of this was an enormous tower, nearly as tall as the mountain. A bridge crossed over a moat of lava, fed by the mountain, to the huge doors of the tower, which had many smaller turrets here and there. At the top of the tower were two horns, and between these was a lidless Eye, consisting of fire, with a pupil like a cat’s. The uppermost part of the tower could rotate at the Great Eye’s will, so that it could see in every direction.
There were many orcs in Barad-dur, who played many different roles: soldiers, trackers, workers, overseers, torturers, and many more. But the Eye was the lord of them all. If they did not do His bidding, they would die.

He was searching, always searching. He would be stuck in this disembodied form forever… unless he found It.

In the orc sleeping quarters, one orc sat looking over some battle plans. He had dark pinkish-brown skin, and a rather stooped posture common among orcs. Though mostly bald, he still had some sandy hair in the back of his head. Set deep in their sockets were two pale, blue-grey eyes. It was Grishnakh, orc-captain of Barad-dur. Nearby, sleeping in his bed, was Snaga, one of his best sergeants. Snaga had pale grey skin, red eyes, and a rather distinct high-pitched voice.

Grishnakh started when a voice spoke from the door. It was an unearthly voice, a low growl. Grishnakh knew the voice well.

“Grishnakh, I have an errand for thee.”

Grishnakh turned and saw a tall figure standing in the doorway. Swathed in a black robe, he wore a great helmet that revealed only his mouth…and even when you could only see the mouth, his appearance was hideous. His skin was chalk white, his lips black, with seven horrible scars running from them. His mouth was filled with horrible, inch-long fangs with blood dripping down them. Grishnakh stood up and bowed low. Even he feared the Mouth.

“Stand straight, Grishnakh, and listen closely. Gather thou best soldiers, and maybe some trackers, too, and take them to Sarn Gebir. Wait there for a little fleet of Elf-boats going south down the River.”

Though Grishnakh did not understand, he nodded. “Carrying Elves, I suppose?” he asked in his raspy whisper of a voice.

“No,” replied the Mouth. “One will be an Elf. Two will be men. Another, a dwarf. And four Halflings.”

This made no since to Grishnakh. Elf-boats, but carrying only one Elf? And four Halflings…then the answer hit him.

“It’s the same group that was heading to Moria, isn’t it?”

The Mouth grinned, as he often did. “Clever, Grishnakh.”

“But wait…the Wizard…?”

“Dead. Our uruk scouts saw him fall from Durin’s Bridge. They have just returned, and they tell us that the group is heading south by way of Anduin. They would have attacked, but they had no bowmen, and the Elf is quite the archer. Thou must leave by tomorrow. If thou fails, thou may not be captain here much longer.” He turned to leave. But at the door he stopped and turned. “Oh, and Grishnakh, we may be send one of the Nine after thee. It would be a good opportunity to test their new…steeds.” And with that he left.

Grishnakh stood silent in thought for a moment. Why did the Dark Lord care so much for these Halflings? But there was no time to dwell on this. Turning to Snaga, he hit him hard in the back of the head. “Wake up!”

Snaga jerked awake. “What? Time to eat?”

“No, you damn fool! Come on. We’ve got work to do.” He left the room, Snaga hurrying to keep up.

Grishnakh had held his position for nearly a hundred years, and he didn’t plan to give it up now.