Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

He is dead.

From Uruk to Uruk the news was spread.

It was Glûg who had done it, his knife the first to plunge into their Lord Father's body, before the other nine jumped in, slicing and ripping with sharpened steel. Glûg was also the last to deliver the final, killing stab, hot with fury and pain, flush with a sense of betrayal and eager to betray in kind. Then before the night fell Glûg was dead too.

Leave no elf alive, the new dark lord instructed, in the chaotic, abbreviated interregnum when he claimed lordship over the city before he went in pursuit of refugees who had escaped and were headed in the direction of Khazad-dûm. And so, needing no further incitement, they sacked the elf city until the paving stones were stained red and corpses littered in the streets.

And when the city was taken and each elf left either running for their lives or put to the sword, they gorged, drank to intoxication on casks of beer, and fought with one another over spoils, full of passion and fury of the blood revelry. There was no knowing where the plunder and slaughter ended and the reveling began.

The former lord of the city had been left skewered on the point of spear and full of arrows in the wreckage of the large central forge in the remains of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain, the jeweler’s guild house. When recruiting a regiment to hunt down the fleeing refugees, Sauron had ordered that the body be affixed onto a pole and carried by two Uruk soldiers at no less than the front of the line, a symbol of victory and a warning to the refugees, and especially the other elf lords he was chasing down, of the Dark Lord's power and how he responded to acts of treachery and disobedience. When some of the Uruk, fresh from the seizing of the city, balked at chasing down refugees instead of sacking easy prey and enjoying the spoils of battle, Sauron chose the loudest complainer, severed his head, and ordered it placed on a battlement on the wall by the western gate as an object lesson for the rest. So his newly enthused volunteers gave chase up the road north to the dwarf mines that ran parallel to the mountains alongside Sauron, who had put two of his lackeys - one of whom wasn't even a praetor - in charge of the entire army and conquered city.

It was the second day of the sack. With the residents mostly dead or fled, after the initial pillaging, the army began to prepare to hold the city they’d taken and put out the initial fires, literal and metaphorical, of the siege - and starting new ones. Gritt was supervising the cremation of the Uruk dead in communal pyres in the northern end of the city. She’d spent the morning heading an operation to smoke out and crush a last holdout of elves where they’d scuppered in the northern part of the city to hide and mount a feeble and ill-fated resistance. Despite living in a fortress city, the golug here were mostly craftpeople, not soldiers, and many had forgotten how to fight.

The daytime mood, after the first flush of victory, was more quiet than would be expected after taking a prosperous city. Every Uruk Gritt spoke to was hung over and behaved as though slightly on edge. The mid-afternoon smoggy gloom seemed too bright and the smoke from the previous days' burning of the flammable structures had begun to dissipate. Sun-shielding cloths and skull helmets were donned over armor for the daytime crews, brought out of their brief retirement when Mordor came into being and they could stroll freely under the sunless skies. The battlefield odor of blood and excrement and death filled her nostrils, mixed with smoke from plumes that rose all over the outskirts of the city to join the blanket of thick atmosphere over what was left of Ost-in-Edhil. It reminded Gritt of parts of Mordor’s southern perimeter, furthest from Mount Doom, where the sky was less of a brooding gloom and more of a smokey haze. Areas that supported the growing of stunted crops, fed by weak sunlight and good soil, that were farmed by the Southlanders they took into service as vassals of Lord Adar. Gritt’s thoughts wandered to home and family, the family Glûg would never see again, as she and the others stripped the fallen legionaries of armor and valuables, collected dog tags, and arranged the corpses into piles for burning.

It was Jeck, her friend and consul, the highest ranking Uruk in the praetorate, who told her the full details of Glûg’s death and where to find his body – left unburied and uncremated upon the hill where he’d fallen.

"Shagram and I can take you to him. He was your brother and my friend."

"Shouldn't you be in the infirmary?" Jeck had a bandage on his head from a concussion and used a crutch to walk around. The right leg was twisted and appeared broken. Shagram stood by him, another praetor and Jeck’s mate, whose shoulder he occasionally leaned on.

"I was there earlier. They stitched me up. The leg can wait. It’s not as bad as it looks. I have more pressing matters to see to, and they’re overcrowded as it is. Plus," He leaned in. "There are things we should talk about. with no other ears around."

Gritt nodded, and after putting Margolg, her second cohort captain, in charge of overseeing the unit, the three of them quietly and slowly made their way up the wooded ridges to the northeast in the foothills of the Misty Mountains. The site of heavy fighting the previous day, a quiet had settled over the disturbed area and if there was anyone around, they were well hidden.

Glûg’s body lay where it had fallen among the boulders by the cliff that overlooked the smoking city. Vultures and Crebain and other crows scattered to a nearby tree when they approached the corpse and shooed them off. His eyes were pecked out and his throat was a mess of blood and gristle. The legs had been chewed by wild boar. It was said that he had told the dark lord bad news about the dwarves' recent arrival to the city to aid with the retreat of refugees out of the city and had, therefore, been the first Uruk in Eregion to become the direct target of Sauron’s wrath. If Gritt had any remaining doubts about the nature of their new self-proclaimed leader, the sight of Glûg's mangled body with only a severed neck for a reward cleared them away.

Gritt knelt by the body of her brother while Shagram cut firewood to stack on a nearby flat stone that would serve as the base for a pyre. Glûg wore a sheathed elven dagger and bracelets around his right arm, the intact one, under his clothing. His pockets were stuffed with strange little devices. Maybe they were to be gifts for his mate and kids back home. Or maybe they were for him to hoard and study, take apart, and attempt to copy. It was his way to pocket the various trinkets and objects raided from a sacked village or town where another Uruk might destroy them out of spite. He’d take them to their encampment to stash in some hiding place to look at or disassemble later, trying to figure out how they were assembled or how the mechanical objects operated. Glûg enjoyed making things, taking things apart and recombining their elements, but his curiosity and enthusiasm surpassed his skill and dexterity with tools and when the thing he attempted to create or refurbish wound up broken, and no amount of tinkering could get it working again, he would be left in a sour, frustrated mood for days. He'd often spoken about building a large house for Mog and his children after the Southlands were conquered and the Uruk homeland was established. Then the Uruk had to go to war again, to defeat this enemy called Sauron, and all of Glûg's plans were deferred, for the final time.

For the first time in years, Gritt thought of their mother’s death when she and Glûg were both very young. For a week after their mother’s cremation, Glûg crawled beside her in bed in the tent they shared, holding and squeezing her hand and clinging to his elven dagger in the other. The blue light emanating from the blade was a comfort to him. Gritt held her own knife, but it was made by Men and did not glow. But there was a pearl inlaid in the sheath that gleamed in the blue light of Glûg’s blade. They mock-fought with the blades as they whispered and told each other stories: Graznak the Balrog-tamer and his brother Lurg the dragonrider in the land of Rhûn in the east who quarreled and started a war which burned up all the rivers and caused that land to become a desert. The story of the Dagor Bragollach, when the Uruks, under Morgoth, broke the siege on Angband, their long-ago home, and laid waste to the lands of their besiegers and took their vengeance upon the king of the elves. The story of an Uruk city called Gorgorin that was so rich and beautiful that it had to be hidden in a valley that was towered over by mountains with only one pass in and out that was monitored by dragons that circled above, ready to burn up trespassers. It was ruled over by a powerful Uruk king. But the key to the gate was given to their enemies by the king’s wicked nephew, who was in love with the king’s daughter who said no to him. Just as the city was to be taken, the king’s daughter, who also was a sorceress that took the shape of a dragon, cast a spell that caused the city to sink into the sea but encased it in crystal to preserve it so that one day it would rise again over the waves with its former glory restored.

In a few months, Glûg would leave their camps and join the taminn as a novice student. Gritt didn’t realize it at the time, but it wasn’t fear of leaving home or of dying that made him dislike being alone at night, but fear of losing her.

“I don’t want to go away,” He told Adar, on the day of his entrance examination. “Gritt needs me. I want to stay and protect her.”

“Gritt will be in the care of your aunts, and then in a few years she will join you,” Adar told him. “Your teachers at the taminn will train you in hunting and fighting, the sword and the bow, thievery, espionage, killing. Everything that makes a good soldier. You and Gritt will be stronger together at the taminn, trained and tempered and with your classmates, who will be your new family.”

“Wasn’t Mama strong? Why did she die?”

“She was strong, but that is not always enough to hold back death. She received a wound from an arrow that was coated with poison, which caused her to grow very sick and quickly die, before the healers could save her. You will see many of your companions die, Glûg. Learning to conquer the fear of death is the essence of being an Uruk.” Then, seeing Glûgs pensive, worried expression, he added, “You are young. You have plenty of time to learn this, and plenty of time to learn how not to give death more than its due. Your love and concern for your sister is only right. Always hold on to the love for your people as you would hold onto a shield in battle.”

After she'd collected Glûg's belongings, she and Shagram hefted Glûg’s remains onto the bundles of wood. "Brother," She whispered, feeling both anger and pity, and a deeper sense of grief for the future of her people. Glûg had, at one time, represented the best of them. If he could be led to follow Sauron and betray Lord Adar, what chance did they have? She could not grant him forgiveness, not while their lives were in tumult. "Be at rest." He was allowed that, at least. For his treason, he had certainly paid with his life. Reflexively, she knelt and scooped a handful of dirt and placed in his hand to take with him into death, to nurture his sleep and provide the foundation for life to spring anew. Before the first Uruk had awakened, went the story that all Uruk knew from childhood, long ago in the fortress of Utumno in the far north, they’d lain deep in the warm, sheltering, gentle darkness while the winter of the world, with its bitter frosts and harsh lights, raged above, like dormant seeds protected by layers of earth until spring came, when they were brought forth, and the breath of Illuvatar was breathed into them and ignited their souls with the Secret Fire.

Thinking of these words, Gritt set the pyre alight with a torch, speaking the words of the rite, "In flames, he returns to darkness." Smoke from the fire stung her eyes as the three of them stood at the pyre until Glûg's body was consumed and they let the fire burn out.

They approached the rumored spot where where their Lord Father was betrayed and killed. The grass was disturbed and stained black, the blood smell still fresh. There were no Uruk around and no body lay there, for Sauron had ordered it be taken into the city, to an unknown location, and guarded. He wanted no mourning for his vanquished enemy, no ceremony, no sacramental laying to rest - not by his children. What Sauron intended to do with the body Gritt could not venture to guess, but they were willing to risk much to consecrate the body with fire rather than leave it to Sauron’s disposition.

"What was it for?" Shagram said. "We fought the war to finally defeat Sauron. Now Sauron is claiming the right to rule over us."

The thought was disquieting. Gritt felt helpless and unmoored and she hated the feeling. They'd always had Adar for guidance and leadership. They'd always had faith in him, until Glûg and the others decided he was leading them off course, sacrificing their lives merely to settle a grudge.

In tales told of how the Uruk came to be the people that they were, they could all recite the story of Adar triumphing over Sauron when he came to seize full control of the Uruk after Morgoth’s banishment, that Adar slew him using the very crown of his coronation as a weapon. And as Sauron was slain, freezing the land for leagues around in his death throes, the Uruk became a free people. Sauron was the figure in their nightmares, the ultimate foe. Mothers told their small ones that if they wandered too far into the woods alone that Sauron would get them and take them away and turn them into monsters.

Gritt thought of her son Azog in the ranks of the host that Sauron had ordered to join him on the hunt for the fleeing elves. He was just 16, an early graduate of the taminn, freshly blooded from his first battle in Ostirith. Eager to prove himself further, he had volunteered to go where many of his comrades dragged their feet. She thought: He wandered beyond my sight, and Sauron took him after all. Would he return? If so, would he return the way he had left?

"You said his guard was sent away, and that's when they attacked." Gritt said. "He sent the guard away himself?"

"Shagram and I questioned them, " Jeck stated. "They all had the same story, that Adar slipped something on his finger, then he turned away, covered his face, and told them to go away and leave him alone until he called them back. Ghob, I don't know about, but the other three were very distraught. Bagrak killed himself from the shame of it."

"That's as well. Dismissed or not, they were his personal guard. They should have stayed near and avenged him."

"They killed three of 'em, before Sauron took them with him in his excursion up the Sirannon. Slit their throats. Sauron, well, they didn't dare go after him."

"Not yet." Shagram added. "Soon."

There it was, spoken in the light of day.

"Sauron," She spit her contempt. "Him leading Uruk? That's madness. Unthinkable, stupid madness."

"Aye," Jeck said. "So how do we deal with him?"

"He’s near. We could assemble a field army to go after him directly." Shagram suggested. “It will need to be taken to the praetorate, of course, to work out the wrinkles. I’m not saying we attack without a plan. I’m saying we have the numbers to overpower him, while his claim on our army is new and before he’s been accepted by the praetorate. The iron is hot and won’t be for long.”

“You sound like you’ve been speaking to Xurek,” Jeck said.

“Is that your way of saying go back to the drawing board?”

"Not exactly. I think if he saw a legion coming at him he would evade us. A surprise attack, if it could be managed, would be a better plan, but, to speak plainly, I don't know that we'd succeed in killing him, only getting more Uruks killed. He is no ordinary foe, if even some of the rumors are true. That’s what I believe, though Xurek thinks otherwise. Adar had a plan to defeat him, using a weapon designed to kill such as he is, but one that he did not include us in."

“Would that he had.” Gritt said. Their Lord Father, for all his efforts to instill leadership abilities in the Uruk, particularly when they reached the level of praetor, had nevertheless kept many secrets. They were catching up to all of them now. "There's another option, if mutiny fails. Retreat to Mordor and defend it against him. He will run roughshod over us, and the praetorate, and any authority not his, if he gets the chance. He’s demonstrated that already.”

"There are some who are willing to go over to him, we know that. Fools and idiots, like Rarfu and that imbecile Perthag." Jeck said. As one of the two consuls that headed the praetorate, he took it personally that Sauron had appointed two junior Uruks in authority over him and the other consul, Xurek.

Gritt stood silent for a while. They lacked the power to defeat him on their own and already he had supporters among the Uruk by virtue of being a dark lord and by felling Adar, which by their reasoning bestowed on him the right to be their the next leader.

"They will be fooled, just like my brother. It will take all Uruk unified to stand up against him and already he has many on his side. I’m concerned about the strength of our resistance. We cannot overthrow a god, if god he is.”

"Never said it would be easy," Shagram said. "I'm saying we have no choice. It’s seeing the original plan to completion. We attacked Eregion because they harbored Sauron and Adar would want us to finish the job."

"I understand Gritt’s concerns." Jeck said. "and her frustration with Adar’s damned secretiveness. It makes the task we face that much harder. No matter what, we must retain control of Mordor and defend her borders. Mordor is ours. We fought for her and died for her and I will not allow any entity to take her from us."

Gritt thought of her brother’s mate with her infant still at the breast and four young ones, being raised alongside her own small daughter. Glûg had been so proud of his family and so excited when the last one was born, the first of his family to be born in Mordor, their own land. If their attack failed, the war would be fought on their doorsteps. Everything they had fought for to create safety and stability to raise their children in was at risk. "There would be some praetors who would surrender to Sauron to avoid a civil war that would tear Mordor in two and imperil their children." Gritt said. "If there is no quick, decisive victory, it will be bad for us. Many will go over to the other side if there's a protracted siege, or will surrender if our defenses are breached."

"The next few days are crucial." Shagram agreed. "We must do it fast. There's a party of elves he's chasing to the gates of Moria. Once he’s done with them, he'll return to the city and take control of his army. We should be prepared to strike Sauron before he returns."

Gritt hesitated and looked at Jeck. Jeck took a swig of his laudanum bottle, wiped his mouth, and said, "It’s a starting point. I'll call an emergency session of the praetorate this evening. I've sent a company to comb the city and outskirts to find where they took the Lord Father’s body. We owe him a funeral. It's a disgrace to let him lie uncremated and unmourned. An insult to all the Uruk."

"The funeral," Shagram said, "would be the right place to gather the Uruk together and rally support for the new strategy."

"Aye, the sooner the better,” Jeck said.

"Where's Xurek?" Gritt asked.

"Clearing out some dwarves that were seen in the woods to the south and east."

"Have you spoken to him?"

"In passing. He's mad as hell. Wanted to go after Sauron right away with a brigade of his own, Without the council’s approval needless to say.”

“Sounds like Xurek. Kill em all and let Mandos sort them out.” Shagram said.

“Had to talk him down and send him off on a goose chase after the dwarves to get him out of the way.”

"Well, we knew what side he's on then." Gritt said. "And you weren't sure about me, what side I'd be on? Because of Glûg and what he did. He didn't confide in me about his intentions. Just in case I need to make it clear."

"I thought as much. I'm glad to be sure.”

"And were I a traitor, I'd never have made it back down this mountain?"

"Let me put it this way. You’re very dear to me, but if you'd had praised your brother's actions, or spoke in praise of Sauron, there was room for two on that pyre."

---

The gloom over the sky was darkening as they made their slow way down the hill and into the city. A few minor skirmishes were still being fought, mostly in the outskirts to the north, but most of the city residents were dead or had fled or were so well hidden that it would take days to roust them out. Officers approached them after they’d crossed through one of the sizeable gaps in the destroyed wall that had taken the strength of an angry troll to bring down, letting them know that Sauron had not returned and was not currently seen on the northeast road. Adar’s body still had not been located. Pantries were fully stocked in the commissaries but supplies and beds were running low in the infirmary. Jeck sent messengers to the praetors to summon them to the emergency war council at sundown in the largest of the assembly halls.

The injured were still being located and assessed by triage medics who, under an officer's supervision, either mercifully dispatched them or carried them to the infirmary that had been set up in one of the central meeting halls. The infirmary was a cacophony of injured Uruk moaning, cursing, yelling, chatting, some on cots, some on tables, and many more on the floor and medical staff stepping over live and dead bodies to get to the next patient. A scream was heard behind a curtain in a makeshift operating room as a ruined leg was sawed off while two surgeons argued with each other over the right place to make the cut. Jeck hobbled in and looked for a place to sit in the overcrowded room.

"Oy, can we get a chair for the consul over here," Shouted Gritt over the noise, waving her arms. Shagram went over to a patient who didn’t look as badly injured as some, ordered him off the chair, and dragged the chair over to Jeck. Cragg, the officer in charge of the hospital, examined the twisted leg while Jeck bit down on a stick and Shagram administered morphine. As he reset the leg, Cragg remarked that he had sent an assistant to scout supplies and a location for the overflow of injured patients.

"A map would be useful," Cragg said, "But they probably went up in flames along with all the other scrolls. Overzealous bunch they were with the book burning, just to taunt some elves. Could have held back the useful stuff while they were torching silly Elvish frou frou."

"Don’t guess they knew the difference.” Gritt said. “That building should have copies, the guild house, where the city commander lived."

Cragg shook his head. "It's under guard. They won't let anyone in. They just told us to fuck off when we tried to enter and I told them why."

"Did they now. All right, let's see if I can be more persuasive. Let’s see them tell us off when I shove a dagger in their faces."

Gritt and Margolg, a junior officer, ambled several blocks to the guild house, an enormous towered star-shaped structure with that stood on the west side of the city near the now-dammed lower branch of the Sirannon. A recently toppled statue of some elf ancestor lay in pieces in the courtyard. Looks like a real twat, Gritt thought, eyeing the stone sculpture of an elf gem-smith that looked overly enamored of his own work, as she and Margolg approached the blasted, crumbling staircase that led to the regal looking door. The Uruk guards assembled on the staircase adopted threatening postures at their approach and sneered at the newcomers.

"You there, what do you want?"

"Watch your tone, soldier. You’re addressing a superior officer, legatus legionis and praetor. We need in the building. The infirmary is full and we need the extra beds for the injured. Now, open the door and let us through.”

"Go somewhere else. We have strict orders, no one is allowed in."

Gritt took a step forward. A guard did the same, brandished his scimitar.

"Threatening a praetor? You're treading on thin ice. This means demotion IF Consul Jeck is in a good mood. I wouldn’t rule out your tongue being nailed to the door for insubordination."

"You don’t scare us. This comes from an authority higher than you. I'm telling you, you better leave or you'll need the next infirmary bed for your own ass." A couple other guards stepped forward. Gritt snarled at them, but she and Margolg made her way off, as much as she wanted to answer the guards’ rudeness with a cudgel to the teeth.

She turned a corner when they were out of sight of the front of the building and circled the exterior of the building. Every door was similarly guarded. There were two unguarded entrances with doors with no apparent handles and with strange writing inscribed on a metal plate on the stone. Gritt and Margolg pushed and shoved them but they would not budge. Some elf magic was required to get in, Gritt decided. Gritt kicked the door and then went off to tell Jeck what she’d found.

Jeck was a block from the infirmary, leaning on his crutch to take weight off his newly splinted leg. He was supervising the execution of bound and gagged elf captives that were danging upside down by ropes tied to a tree, one of the handful that hadn’t been incinerated in the days prior. One by one their throats were slit and blood was being drained into buckets. Very efficient, Gritt noted with approval. There were abundant meals’ worth of blood pudding waiting for them in days to come.

"The big building with the square in front that they call the guild house.” Gritt explained. “Most of the towers are all busted to hell from our artillery. There's nine guards in the front entrance. Several others patrolling the area. Said Sauron assigned them. If it's not his body in there, then there's something we need to know about. Else why would he put a guard up?"

"Right then. We need to sort this thing out before tonight’s council."

“A dozen should do it. Our top guys, that means Shagram and Farghed and Ragash and -”

“And Xurek! Here he comes, the mean son of a bitch,” Jeck said, waving and beaming at his co-consul, who was approaching leading a string of dwarf captives.

“Left the dead ones at the commissary. Should make a nice sausage for tomorrow’s breakfast,” Xurek laughed. He was bruised, bloody, had half an ear missing, and was in a good mood. He grabbed one of the blood buckets and thrust it at a sullen looking captive. “Here you go. You must be thirsty. Long walk back to town.” The blood splashed on the dwarf’s face, who spat and cursed through his gag. “Oh that’s not very nice. I was only trying to be a good host.”

Jeck laughed. “These dwarves. No appreciation for the finer things in life.”

“Too much time spent in rocks, digging for trash. Makes you go a little soft in the head. Hey, how about we make them play football for our amusement.” Xurek pulled a shape out of the bag he was carrying and lifted it high, displaying the helmeted dwarf’s head. “With this. Could be a laugh. They look like they could use the exercise and fresh air.”

“As much as I’d enjoy it, ‘Rek,” Jeck said. “We have bigger halflings to fry. Put down your quarry. We have things to do here. Don’t worry, war is on the table, that’s why I know I still have your interest.”

“Will do, and if it involves plotting of the downfall and destruction of a certain blondie pretty boy elfie looking cunt who should be getting buggered by Morgoth in hell instead of leading a fucking army, then count me in.” Xurek gave the orders and the dwarves were strung up on the branch on the tree. Xurek’s soldiers took their time killing them while Jeck told Xurek about the suspected location of Adar’s body, the plan to storm the building, and the gathering of the praetorate that evening.

----

Gritt and Glûg each left their older relatives when they turned seven and joined the taminn. The taminn’s purpose was rigorous battle and survival training from childhood to the cusp of adulthood. Every Uruk went through the program, and most survived. The culture was competitive and often brutal among the adolescents, both in unofficial cliques and gangs that formed, hazing inductees and undermining rival gangs, and official classes and clubs and tournaments in which individuals and teams competed.

Gritt and Glug did very well, despite some misadventures, and were taught mainly by the older students while elders, all hardened veterans, dropped by to supervise the students and the quality of instruction. Their class, as Adar had told them, became their new family. They learned survival skills and the basics of soldiering early on. Stealth was crucial, as was learning to do everything in complete darkness, and learning to steal without being caught. As they matured into puberty, female soldiers were taught basic midwifery, and the making of concoctions to halt a pregnancy in its early stages, and for the blocking of estrous and estrous symptoms. After students passed through the taminn and mastered the basics, they were taught higher level lessons on military history, battles lost and won, strategies that succeeded and failed, mistakes made by generals and the kings that commanded them. As they grew older, they were given students of their own to monitor and mentor and sometimes make life a living hell for, if they chose. Lifelong bonds of friendship and love and enmity and rivalry were forged in the taminn during those crucial years.

Gritt had one final test before she completed her education at the taminn and was ready to be put into battle as a trained legionary or be apprenticed into a specialization. When her instructors told her what she was to steal, it sounded impossible. She was, within seven days, to steal the crown of Morgoth from Adar’s possession and bring it to them, without being caught. She pondered how to do it for days, spying on his tent, observing his movements, the pattern of his comings and goings. That chest was always with him in his tent, and always guarded.

She chose a day Adar was out supervising progress that was being made on the Great Project and came up with two separate distractions that would lure the guards away form their posts, and delay the coming of their replacements. She sneaked into his tent, disabled the wards on the chest, and picked the chest open. It was a false lid, so she pried open the next lid. It was locked, and her tools for lockpicking kept breaking in the lock. She searched the tent and located a key for the third lock. She opened that lid, and found the trunk completely empty. She replaced all the lids, and sat to think. She felt like it was near, but couldn’t say where or how she knew. Then she circled the inside of the tent, letting her mind go blank, and then thought of the iron crown...and she opened her eyes and was kneeling down and staring at it, camouflaged into the wood structure but it jumped out at her. She placed the crown in her bag, and was just about to slip out of the tent when she was blocked by Adar, who just arrived back in his tent. At first, she tried lying about what she was doing in the tent, but Adar took the bag from her and retrieved the crown. She’d failed at her mission, though Adar praised everything she’d done up to the fatal point of not keeping adequate guard on the entrance – her exit. That’s when she learned all students who had shown high levels of aptitude were given the test, that the protections on the object changed slightly so that few students encountered the exact same puzzle. Only three in the last hundred years had succeeded; one of them was Xurek. The challenge served both as a test of their skill in stealth, planning, ability to sense and locate Dark objects, and talent, if any, to break charms and wards. The exercise also kept him from falling into complacency when guarding the crown.

----

The sun had set and the streets in the central section of the city were in shadow when Gritt and the dozen others in the yunk approached their assigned entrance in a coordinated attack on all entrances to the building, ready to draw blood.

“You’re outnumbered, you fleas,” Jeck announced to the guards that were lounging nonchalantly on the stairs before the doors. “Surrender now and you may survive to walk out of here.”

"Is that you, Jeck?” One of them sneered. “Of course it’s you. Adar isn’t here anymore and you’re not in charge anymore either. You either, Xurek, you toad. All of you are going back in the ranks where you belong and you’re taking orders from us now. Maybe if you play your cards right I’ll let you scrub pots and pans instead of cleaning out my piss pot with your tongue.”

"Is that how you want to play? Have it your way." Xurek leapt forward thrust his spear into the nearest guard's neck. The rest of the yunk leapt into action and took down their assigned guards. In short time, seven lay dead on the steps and two had fled.

Four members of the unit assumed guard duties in front of the building while the rest pushed open the double doors and made their way into the large, empty foyer at the front of the building. The rich scent of fresh elf blood sweetened the air but as they made their way through the hall, there was no movement beyond the sound of running water burbling from a stone fountain. Torches were lit and they split up to search separate rooms.

Gritt and Farghed were tasked with searching the empty first floor sleeping quarters. The shadowy rooms were not as despoiled as the libraries, which were now mostly emptied of the books, scrolls, and paintings that the elves had made such a fuss about when they were tossed into the fire. There was wooden furniture and greenery and beds covered in flax linen with mattresses stuffed with leaves that gave off a soporific scent when one sank down on them. They would be good for the infirmary, thought Gritt, sitting down upon the bed and rubbing a sprained ankle that she’d neglected all day.

Farghed came over and sat beside Gritt on the bed. Then he took her her ankle in his lap, pulled off the boot, and begun massaging it. Gritt leaned back against the headboard and began to relax a little as the pain eased away. Farghed’s hands slid up her calf. “You want to?” He asked. Gritt wasn’t in season, so her libidinous urges were weak, but here in the dark in a comfortable bed with the electricity of battle still fresh in her mind, Farghed, a friend and loyal comrade, seemed an appealing lover, so she removed her armor and clothes and he did the same and they had sex in the quiet, darkened bedroom until her tension eased and he groaned and they lay side by side for a little while as their pulses slowed, listening to distant sounds from out in the street or coming from searchers inside the house. After a few minutes, Gritt and Farghed got up, dressed, donned their armor, and continued the search in other rooms.

There came the sound of footsteps from overhead, doors opening and closing. A messenger met up with them to summon them to the chamber at the top of the southwestern tower, explaining that the room had been shut and locked, but one of the consuls had forced the lock. Gritt guessed it to be Xurek.

At the top of a circular wrought iron staircase, they encountered a neatly organized, sparsely furnished room that appeared undisturbed by the siege. It smelled of stale ash and metal and...something else. A substance that was familiar but also foreign, seductively sweet but putrid and poisonous.

On a large wooden table in the front of the room lay a body that was covered with a black cloak, dimly lit by the crackling flames within the forge. They approached and formed a circle around the figure that lay upon the table. Gritt pulled down the part of the cloak that covered his face. And it was he, the face they all knew, the eternal face that was older than their grandmother's grandmother's grandmother, that was now still and fixed in death.

"His death must not be in vain." Jeck said at last, breaking the silence that had fallen. "His funeral will provide the occasion for the Uruk to rally together. He will be publicly mourned, and the traitors called out."

"Surely he would want us to finish what he started." Xurek said. "Ambush and kill Sauron. Then we will be free. Truly free."

"Adar wanted us to live free of Sauron. That means we may have to fall back to evade his grasp for a time and prepare for a long siege."

“Shelob’s balls, it's our army, not his army, and I don't plan to give an inch to him. We can end this thing now before it starts. I plan to fight, and we all must fight, fight or die together."

"You plan to kill Sauron, then, Xurek? Yourself? Our Lord Father, may he rest in darkness, didn’t do as much, just sent him away for a long time, only for him to return again. But I suppose you think you have better odds?"

"I plan to use the crown of Morgoth that slew the Sauron, the first one, all those millennia ago. But more likely, that won’t even be necessary. He will go down just like any other elf. A sword through the heart. Just like him," Xurek gestured toward Adar. "He was immortal, yet he died. This Sauron will die too.”

"Organize your attack, then. We risk much by rushing headlong into an enemy we don’t fully understand. We don’t know the range of his strengths and weaknesses. We misjudge him at our great peril.”

“I have faith in the army we command. If an entire army cannot eliminate a single individual, what are we good for?”

“We must allow for contingencies. If catastrophe occurs and we lose our army to him -”

“That will never happen. These traitors, the ones that did this to him, they are the minority. I know who we are, I helped train every soldier that came up through the taminn and I know every Uruk worth his spit will fight our enemy until our last breath, and that’s most of us.”

“We will discuss this at the council. For now, let’s get him out of here.”

“How will be get him down?”

“I wish to carry him,” Gritt said firmly, stepping forward and looking at Jeck.

“You?” Xurek looked at Jeck. “A traitor’s sister? I hope she’s been questioned about any role she might have played in this.”

“Quiet. I vouch for her. She is not a traitor.” Jeck nodded, then, a moment later, Xurek nodded.

Gritt gathered the supine, cloak-wrapped body in her arms and lifted him. Then, with Gritt at the center of the group, they descended the wrought-iron staircase and filed out of the building in a silent procession out into the streets and toward the hall to praetorate war council.

-----

In the large gathering hall, the praetors were seated at tables, chatting or in each other’s faces and shouting, or pacing the hall with impatience, bringing hands to the hilts of sheathed weapons. In normal circumstances, weapons would be confiscated at praetorate meetings to prevent rash actions resulting from flared tempers, but in an active war zone, they kept their weapons ready and their eyes trained on each other.

The double doors opened and the funerary procession made its way through the chamber. The noise in the room fell to an excited buzzing as the line of Uruks strode up the aisle and Jeck gave an order to clear out the table in the front of the room on which to place Adar’s body. The praetors abandoned their tables and gathered around. Gritt placed the body on the table, and pulled back the cloak so everyone gathered around would be able to identify him. She and the others stood guard as the crowd surged forward, eager for a look. Jeck went up to one of the praetors and spoke to him quietly; Gritt heard the words funeral, body, preparations. Mûdagog saluted and disappeared out the door. The chattering faded to whispering, then to a silence that stretched over several minutes as Jeck and Xurek took their places in the front of the room.

“So you see,” Jeck said, as Shagram assisted him in getting to his feet, on a bench to give him some height over the room. “You heard, maybe you did not believe at first, but now with your own eyes, you see how our Lord Father was betrayed and murdered by our own brethren. Some of them were our colleagues, members of this very assembly. Traitors. The blood and guilt and shame is on their hands. Ten of them there were and may their memories wither and die with them and their wretched lives be short. Some have faced their doom, already. Some will face it soon. Rarfu, Durz, Rurbag, Muzgash. The earth cries out for their blood and it will be sated.”

Gritt lowered her head, and an image came to her mind of Glûg on the day he was awarded marshal status, the highest military honor, after distinguishing himself by being the first to recognize the signs of an ambush on a bridge near their encampment after returning from a raid on a Southland town, then sending in a decoy to distract the fighters while their brigade counterattacked, wiping out the Southlander squadron and their elf commander. How proud he’d been and how proud Adar had been of him when he was given that shield of recognition of his skill and bravery, patting him on the shoulder in a gesture of paternal pride and affection in the ceremony in which his marshal status was awarded.

“Not for the destruction of the enemy alone are you given this honor,” He told him, “But for the Uruk lives you have saved in cleverness, courage, and keen observation of the enemy's maneuvers. Using your talents to preserve the lives of your Uruk kinsfolk will always be the highest good. Stronger than hate for your enemies and punishment you wish inflict on them must be the love for your people.”

“Revenge will be meted out. But it's not just revenge I'm up here to talk about, but a plan. We in this hall must decide our course and follow it through. A course that will decide the future of the Uruk as a nation and fighting force. Our Lord Father is gone. In his place, we must decide what our fate will be!”

There was a low murmuring in the pause that followed.

“Some will tell you we Uruk have no choice. That the choice has already been made for us when our Lord Father was slain and another claimed his place. You know of whom I speak. The so called Lord Sauron.”

Jeers and shouts rose at the mention of the name.

“There are some who would say, just let Sauron take control of the Uruk. The Uruk cannot rule themselves; we need a dark lord to rule over us because we can’t work together and lack the wits to make decisions...”

“No, never!” Came shouts from the praetors.

“To those liars and cowards who would make that claim, I defy you and I spit in your face. We will be under our own command and forever reject the tyranny of Sauron or any other pretender lord!”

Xurek stood and joined Jeck on the bench, towering above the crowd and throwing his fist in the air. “We will wage war with Sauron and defeat him just as we defeated the elves of Eregion, just as we defeated the Men of the Southlands, just as we’ve struck down every foe in our path. In the name of Adar, for his honor, we will finish what he started and kill Sauron!”

Cheers and shouts rose up as half the praetors exclaimed,“We will defeat him! We will kill him!” Gritt noticed many others looking apprehensive and dissatisfied, talking to their companions or saying nothing, just watching noncommittally.

Vraka stepped forward, asking, “What is your plan for defeating Sauron? And why do you expect to succeed where Adar failed?”

Voices rose in agreement and argument at her words. Xurek held up a hand. “Adar was murdered before he was able to confront Sauron. What we believe he meant to do was slay him using the ancient crown as a weapon as he had done before, to Sauron’s predecessor. That item is now in Sauron’s possession. We will take it from him and use it against him.”

“Where is Sauron? He’s not returned to the city, is he?” Someone asked.

“Sauron is still several leagues to the east and north near the dwarves’ stronghold with a host of our soldiers, chasing down fleeing elves,” Jeck said. “We have reliable intelligence that is tracking the movement of Sauron’s host and is reporting back to us. The first thing we must do is fortify the city against his return and initiate full defensive protocol. Starting tonight. Before dawn, guards at every tower that remains standing and a patrol around the city’s perimeter, several legion strong. We must begin to rebuild the wall. Trenches that can be rebuilt and put to use, we will put to use. Then, at a favorable hour, we send out a legion to surround and box in Sauron’s brigade from every direction. Then we send in a strike team to capture and disable him. With the weapon that we seize, we deal the fatal blow.”

The praetors began discussing this, some nodding in approval, others shaking their heads, others looking confused.

“After he is dead, the dwarves and elves will advance in the coming days and try to retake our city. And then,” Jeck glanced at Xurek, “We must decide if it’s worthwhile to hold what we have taken or to retreat to Mordor.”

There was a roar of “No” and “No surrender!” among the praetors.

Gritt looked around the room at the dozen praetors in attendance, six of whom were marshals, wondering who could be trusted and who would go over to Sauron’s side given the chance. How many harbored the same bitterness and resentments that her brother had? Each praetor was in command of their own legion of 5,184 Uruk with a hierarchy of command down to 12 432-soldier cohorts, divided into three hosts of 144, six 72-soldier companies, six 12-soldier yunks, composed of two squads each. Everyone who had been invited was presumed reliable and loyal to Adar. There were five who had been deliberately excluded either from direct involvement in the coup, or were close associates of Rarfu’s; the guards outside were directed to keep them out and the consuls had sent spies to make sure they weren't getting up to any trouble. Eight praetors had been killed in the battle and another nine were in the infirmary. Many of the attendees were walking wounded, some with severe looking injuries, as severe as Jeck’s, who was sweating and being held steady by Shagram as he addressed his audience, explaining the battle plan with Xurek, fielding questions and assigning roles.

A representative from the auxiliary brigade of Southland men was in attendance, though he had no voting rights and his opinions carried little weight in the praetorate. Although Adar had freed the Southlanders from service shortly after their supposed king was in his custody, a number of them had stayed, bound by the oath they’d made over their kinsmen’s blood. Now that the master they’d sworn their service to was dead, they would likely scatter, and it was just as well. Most of them were poor fighters and it took weeks of training to get them up to minimal competency with weapons the most inept Uruk child could manage within a week of entering the taminn. On second thought, it would probably be best to kill them outright lest they betray the Uruk to their enemies just as they’d betrayed their communities.

The meeting drew to its end with everyone being given duties to perform in the coming days. Mûdagog re-entered the hall with two Uruk who were draped in black head to toe, whose job it was to direct the rituals for preparing the body for cremation. Most Uruk funerals were simple enough affairs, conducted by family or comrades in their regiment, or close friends, except in rare cases of heroic sacrifice in a major battle or the death of a consul; for those occasions, all the Uruk publicly mourned and attended the ceremony and funeral feasts and ancient, mysterious rites were undertaken by those trained in those arts. But there was no precedent for the death of Lord Adar. “The bier and pyre are prepared in the designated place, consuls.” Mûdagog told them. The meeting hall emptied out as the praetors waited outside while the six selected to prepare the body stayed behind.

---

They worked by the light of a single torch. One of the ravens, as they were known, hummed and muttered incantations in Proto-Black Speech. Piece by piece his armor was carefully and reverently removed and set aside - the torn and ravaged cuirass, the boots, then the rest of the clothing, and finally, the studded gauntlet that covered a left arm that was, from the elbow to fingertips, merely stark white bone connected by invisible taut threads of sinew. The tough flesh of the limbs and lower torso bore innumerable ancient scars from the application of fire and poisoned blades and were carved deep with pictographic symbols and writing in some unfamiliar script. The ravens produced a jar that contained the ash of burned alfirin flowers and another with a deep red oil infused with the essence of Seregon. They rubbed the ash on the corpse, covering the black crusted wounds on the chest, and doused it with droplets of the oil. Then they wrapped the body in the winding sheet and lifted him onto the bier.

----

The funeral procession began its march around the central city to the destination of the amphitheater. Gritt took her place as one of the four rear guards that followed the bier that was carried by Farghed, Shagram, Xurek, and Vraka. Four lit the way with torches in front, and four in back, with drummers setting the rhythm of their march on either side. As they marched, Jeck blew the horn that summoned all the Uruk to communal gatherings.

"Nampak Uglursha,” they shouted in unison, to the beating of the drums. Some Uruk stopped what they were doing to watch, or came out on the street to see what was taking place. Many joined the procession, and some disappeared back into the buildings, and some stared. Gritt strode with her bow at the ready, scanning doorways and windows for sudden movements or the shadow of an arrow or blade or glint of iron in torchlight. For three quarters of an hour they marched and the procession grew in number.

Then, around a corner stood a small band of Uruk standing in their path, their weapons drawn, headed by Rarfu and Perthag.

"Let us through," A front guard commanded.

"You have no permission to do this." Sneered Rarfu. "The new lord told us to leave the body in the House of the Mírdain and that he'd deal with him later. He didn't say anything about allowing for a funeral."

"There is no new lord, there’s only us," Jeck stated, hobbling forward. "Consul Xurek and I are still in command. You will let us pass and not hinder us as we perform the rites, or you will die on the street tonight."

Rarfu hesitated, sizing them up. The praetorate consisted of the most skilled fighters in Urukdom - each of them had many enemy kills under their belt, allowing them to enforce their own authority. And behind them was a throng of mourners who would not easily be dismissed.

"Very well, this time." He said grudgingly. "But dare you speak a word against Lord Sauron, he will hear of it and will have your heads." He and his group stood aside to allow them through, glowering at the marchers as they passed.

By the time they reached the amphitheater, where the pyre had been constructed on top of an empty plinth at the center, the participants numbered in the thousands and were quickly spreading out and filling the available space. The procession cleared a path through the crowd and to the plinth, and lay the bier they’d carried on the oil-soaked wood. The praetors arranged themselves in rows close to the pyre.

The final ritual item was brought to the pyre: Jeck took a handful of the dark and ashy soil from a wooden box and placed it into Adar’s right hand and folded it over his chest.

Then, with a torch, the pyre was lit.

Ghâsh thrak burzum. The crowd took up the chant as the fire grew to its full strength. The darkness brings him home. Over the chant, from watchtowers above, a horn gave a long rumbling wail and was joined by the drone of the second horn in a different pitch.

Jeck had taken his place on stage. When the chanting and the sound of the horns subsided, his voice boomed out over the crowd, amplified by the acoustic design of the theater's architecture. "Uruk brothers and sisters, we come together not as an army, but children of the same father. I rue that I have to begin this tribute, because the sooner I begin speaking, the sooner we all will say our final goodbye to our deceased Father. But I must begin because I am obliged to do my duty as a son to see our father's passage into the world unseen, in the presence of my family and on behalf of all the Uruk, those present with us tonight, those we have left at home, and those who have of late gone before us into death."

“Adar watched over all of us. More than a father, he was our protector and champion and a teacher who taught us to rely on ourselves and be wary of the stranger. He taught us to recognize enemies that wish us harm. How much would it dishonor him, then, if we were to stray from his wishes and consent to be led by his greatest enemy of all. The one with many names, many faces, and all of them false.

We have fought long and fought hard for what we have won. We were an itinerant people, weak, wanderers, scavengers, driven from place to place, year after year, century after century, until Lord Adar united us under one cause, the establishment of a nation of our own where we would no longer be under the heel of any masters or foreign races. Under Lord Adar’s leadership, the mighty strength of the Uruk laid waste to settlements of elves, dwarves, men, and trolls. And when Mordor came into being with the eruption of Mount Doom on the Plateau of Gorgoroth, through our collective effort, the promise and prophecy made millennia ago was fulfilled. And that is why when Lord Sauron returns, we will unite in the final act of war and secure our victory, by rejecting him and destroying him. We will finish what Lord Adar started and fulfill his final wish, to kill Sauron and forever free the Uruk folk from the enemy’s grasp!”

A roar of assent rose from the crowd, as well as other angry shouts and jeers scattered throughout the audience. “Treason!” Someone yelled and chants of Sauron’s name. Other chants answered: “Finish the job, finish what he started, finish him!” “Kill Sauron” and “Nampat!” Weapons were raised and swung, scuffles between factions were breaking out, and the crowd seemed on the verge of brawling en masse.

“Brothers and sisters,” Jeck’s voice rang out again, and waited until the cacophony settled into more subdued tones. “Save your righteous fury for the battle to come and unleash it on your enemy – the one who would seek to make you his slave. This is not the time for fighting one another, but to honor your slain lord father with a celebration of his life and commitment to his vision for all of us.”

A score of Uruks forced its way through the crowd to where the pyre stood. Rarfu was leading them. He was fully armored and enraged as he pointed his drawn sword in Jeck’s direction. “You speak treason! Adar is dead and his wishes and his vision no longer matter. Lord Sauron is our master now! You’re all fools, each one of you, who tries to go against him!”

Xurek jumped in front of Jeck, his own sword drawn, “Say the word treason again, you sack of shit, and I will cut the gangrenous tongue out of your pus filled face.”

Gritt drew her sword and joined the other praetors in formation against Rarfu’s group of combatants. The opponents squared off like a taut string on a bow waiting to be released. Jeck shouted loudly. “Let no treason stand against Adar and the children of Adar! Down with Sauron. Hail, Lord Adar!” An answering roar rose from the crowd.

Then Rarfu leapt at Xurek and Perthag lunged at Jeck, and was tackled by Shagram. The opposing sides clashed meters from the still burning pyre. Gritt had one of Rarfu’s Uruks tackled to the ground in a prone position, arms twisted behind her. Most of the praetors had similarly shunted the attack and their opponents were felled, though some managed to get to their feet and vanish back into the crowd, which had again become noisy and restless. The Uruk beneath Gritt’s knee struggled and twisted her head to one side. Gritt saw it was Durz, one of the group of Adar’s murderers. Gritt only hesitated a moment before thrusting her own dagger to Durz’s throat while jerking her head back. “Any last words?” She rasped in her ear. Durz gave out a chuckle. “Hail, Lord Sauron,” Gritt slashed the throat and stood, while Durz bled out and died beneath her.

The funeral attendees began to disperse toward the dining halls or formed gangs to roam the city, fight one another, and find some still-intact structures to smash. The chant of “Hail Lord Adar” was spontaneously taken up here and there within the crowd.

Around the pyre, a dozen Uruk were dead or dying – the majority were in Rarfu’s gang, but one praetor, Mûzgûl, had fallen. Rarfu himself lay lifeless in a puddle of blood, having been gutted by Xurek. Perthag had vanished into the crowd after being pummeled by Shagram. Several of their people had suffered injuries in the attack. Vraka, Gritt noted after examining her, was unconscious but breathing. “We need to get her to the infirmary,” She told Farghed, who stood beside her.

“Infirmary’s full.” Farghed said. “But they’ve been taking patients to the guild house and other nearby houses.”

They remained stationed at the forum, supervising the transport of the injured to the new field hospitals, until the flames died down and finally were doused with wine. A gray film of oily smoke hung in the sky above their heads. All that was left now were the corpses sprawled on the ground near the pyre. Farghed and Gritt bent over one.

“Stop,” Jeck said, from where he sat on a stair, resting his bad leg.

“What for?”

“Let them lie. It feels fitting. Three of them are his murderers.” He gestured with his crutch at the grisly tableau. “Durz – you killed her – and Rarfu, scumbag- and Muzgash, weak-minded fool. Let them rot on the ground by the pyre for a few days. Let the carrion have them.”

The praetors who’d remained to witness the final funeral rites stood by while the Ravens collected the burnt remains of the Lord Father’s body in the box that had brought the soil from Mordor, mingling the ashes and the soil together as one. “To Mordor they’ll return,” Jeck said, “to be interred in a crypt at the base of Mount Doom. Where he belongs. Where we belong.”

-----

The city after the cremation was shadowy and firelit by piles of burning debris, lanterns, and torchlight as the Uruk legionaries gathered for the funeral feasts in the many large dining halls and around outdoor fire pits and drank and dined on roasted dwarf kebabs and elf drumsticks, served rare. The floors of the dining halls were littered with discarded elf bones, sucked clean. In the courtyards outside the halls, massive barbecue pits gave off a mouth-watering savory odor as slow-roasting dwarf meat dripped from spits and crackled on coals below. The funeral, the declaration of war against Sauron, and the bloodletting seemed to have snapped the tension of the past few days since Adar’s death, altering the general public’s mood. In some quarters, the atmosphere was still brooding but was beginning to mellow under the influence of good food and strong ale. Other gatherings were given to wilder energies where talk was boisterous and laughter was loud and raucous, tempers were flaring, and fists flew at eye sockets for delivering the wrong look.

Food was brought in from the kitchens and served on large polished tables - elf liver pate on toast points, elf steak and kidney pie in a flaky crust, elf liver and onions. Because elf was hard to come by, the chefs were trained to ensure that no part of the elf carcass went to waste and stretch the meat as far as it would go; however, the elf carcasses were so plentiful as a result of the battle that even the lowest common soldier was able to consume their fill, when in normal times elf fare was the privileged bounty of the officer class and the common soldier had to make due with dwarfmeat (satisfying, but stringy) or manflesh, which was half fermented on the bone and as often as not was contaminated with pestilence. Not so elf flesh, which was pristine and succulent.

Near midnight, the praetors found their way to their shared dining hall after making the arrangements for the coming day that couldn’t wait for the morning. Intelligence reinforcements were deployed to the north and east and each tower in the fortress city was staffed with sentries and well provisioned. Those who had to miss the funeral festivities with their comrades were provided plates of food and the promise of ten times more after the war was concluded. Gritt sat at a candlelit table with Farghed, Margolg, Mûdagog, and Shagram and Jeck, who were nuzzling each other and playfully stuffing the other’s mouth with morsels of dripping meat. Gritt speared a cutlet swimming in a greasy broth fragrant with cinnamon, orange zest, peppers, and honey, and brought it to her mouth, closing her eyes with delight and enjoying the flavor.

Everyone in the dining hall was eating and drinking heartily, filling their horn vessels and bone and clay cups with some of the finest wines the First Age had produced until they grew light-headed and some of the grief and uncertainty of the past few days melted into the background. "Good wine, eh.” Mûdagog said, seeing Gritt examining the bottle. “We found em in the guildhouse cellar while combing the place for medical stock. Just crates and crates full of bottles.” He gestured toward a label on a nearby bottle. “Nivrim, FA 404. Whoever he was, he knew his way around a vineyard."

Margolg brought a spoonful of soup to his lips, made a face, and spat it out. “Damned cooks. They let this soup grow cold.”

Everyone around the table who heard him laughed. “It’s elf-tongue soup, which is served cold” Gritt explained.

“It’s what called a delicacy. Not that you’d know that, Margolg,” Farghed teased.

Margolg looked embarrassed. He’d recently been promoted and hadn’t attended many dinners with officers. “A delicacy. All right, yeah.”

“And it’s eaten like this,” Shagram said, demonstrating drinking out of the bowl. “Not with a spoon. You have to swallow the whole tongue in one gulp, or it’s bad luck.”

“Like this?” Margolg lifted the bowl to his mouth, gulped and then choked and sputtered as the tongue got caught in his throat. Everyone nearby roared with laughter. Margolg caught on that he’d been tricked. “You fuckin wankers.” He coughed, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

“Sorry, Margolg. It was too easy,” Shagram laughed.

“I’ll get you for this. And I’m heating up this damned soup, too. Private Borb, take this to the kitchen.”

“That part was real. It really is taken cold.” Gritt told him, chuckling. Margolg shrugged, heaped an entire rack of ribs onto his plate and began gnawing on it.

They lingered in the dining hall for several hours past midnight, groups moving in and out of the hall, mingling, chatting, and telling stories, until about a dozen remained, leaning on cushions or sleepily lounging on sofas, playfully wrestling or coupling on chaises that lined the walls, as large stone busts of elfish dignitaries and heroes looked on.

The topic moved to Adar and they began telling stories about Adar and the Southland Wars. Gritt, when it was her turn, related one of her stories, one that was most important to her.

--

She’d been six months in the taminn when she had been chosen to go along in her first raid. First year novices were normally not brought on raids, but the upperclassmen had been pulled away for a special mission – rumors of a possible location of the key to unlocking Mount Doom in a cave in the lower range of the Ephel Duath – and it was early spring and they were running low on supplies after a botched raid in Hordern the previous month, when a company of elf soldiers and one exceptionally skilled elf archer gave them trouble and had driven them to the far south.

The maneuver was low risk – a midnight raid on a storehouse outside of a farming village. Gritt was to be lookout with another student – her senses of smell and vision were keen – and fetch things as needed since she was small enough to get in any cracks or crevice where something of value might be kept.

The night of the raid came. A dozen of them hurried through the woods in the direction of the village until they found the storehouse, largely depleted, but there were stacks of seed wheat, potatoes, and dried meat in burlap bags, and shelves of sundries like wax, flax, and wool. Gritt stood outside with a third-year student, listening and sniffing for signs of Men. When in the distance, torchlight was seen, they ran in to report. Then two of the captains started arguing about whether they should run away or take the fight to the men. The men got closer and closer to the storehouse. Gritt and her companion panicked and ran west in the direction they’d come in, but then she got separated from the other, and backtracked to the storehouse, where fighting was going on, clutching a knife in her hand, and stepped on a piece of ground that gave way. She tumbled into a rectangular compartment in the ground, several spears’ lengths deep. It was a trap, deliberately designed to catch wild animals and Uruks. She screamed for help. No one came. She tried to climb but could get no purchase. She thought she heard voices, but distant and faded, and finally, no voices at all.

Morning came. Daylight began to filter through the leaf and net covering of the trap. She could see the walls were made of stone masonry and wooden planks near the base that she tried to pry free with no success. The walls narrowed further up toward the top, and were smooth with nothing to grab on to to climb out. Then she began to dig downward as best she could with a knife in an attempt to tunnel out of the trap.

Late in the morning, the cover of the trap was pulled up. Gritt looked up. She could see a face looking down at her. She had never seen a Man up close before. Only this looked like a Juvenile Man’s face. A boy’s. “Hi!” He yelled down at her. She didn’t respond, but bared her teeth. The boy got scared and vanished. Seeing the cover pulled free, she leapt up again, trying to escape, but slipped to the bare earth floor, unable to find anything to grip in the walls.

“Hi, I’m Balan,” Said the boy, reappearing. “What’s your name?” The human’s voice sounded odd to Gritt, spoken in a higher pitch than she was used to hearing. The boy spoke Common, but in a strange accent and with unfamiliar intonations.

“Let me out of here!” She yelled up at him several times as clearly as she could in Common, between efforts to scrabble up the sides of the hole.

“But you’ll kill me,” The boy said. “Won’t you?”

“No,” Gritt lied.

“But you’re an orc, aren’t you?” The boy was looking down at her, curiously.

“What’s an orc?” She asked.

“You are!” The boy giggled. “An orc! But I think you’re just a kid, like me, not a full grown one.”

He’d throw things down at her, sometimes bits of bread, sometimes mice and frogs and other small animals, to see her react to them. He would ask her about strange meaningless things and make conversation that came across to Gritt as senseless babble.

“Get me out of here. Please,” She finally said, which took him by surprise, since it wasn’t cursing and growling. “Just throw down a rope and run away, if you don’t trust me.”

He seemed to consider, then shook his head. “No, I’d better not. You’re savage now, but I think I can tame you and maybe in a few years you can be trained to hunt wolves for father and me.”

With that thought it mind, he’d lower food to her on a stick and jerk the stick back when she attempted to grab it. “Tell me your name, and you can have the food.” He said. Gritt snarled and grabbed the stick to wrestle it from him and they tugged at their ends of it until he finally dropped the stick. After that, she’d thrown the items he’d tossed down to her back up at him whenever he stuck his head over the trap door.

Over that day, the boy kept visiting and disappearing again and Gritt surveyed the hole she was in, using her knife to dig footholds into the wooden planks. “Hey, don’t do that,” the boy shouted, when he saw her carving creases into the planks with the knife.

The next day, the boy came back and was joined this time by three or four older boys, not yet full grown Men. They hooted and laughed when they saw her, then began poking her with long wooden spears. She screamed, and threatened, dodging their attacks best she could in the trap she was in and grabbing the spear when she was able, jerking it downward, then the man-boy pulled it back. “This one is wild.” He said. “Should we kill it now or play with it some more?”

“I’d like to know who’d win, the orc or a vampiresnake.”

They laughed. “Let’s find out. My silver is on the snake.”

“I say it’s a draw.”

They were gone for a while, then returned, lifted in the cover of the trap and tossed the snake down onto her head. Gritt screamed. With the knife already clutched in her hand, she slashed at the orange and red venomous serpent that was half the length of her body and as thick as her arm. It was slithering around the hole and begun to wrap around her, its head with sharp fangs striking her ankle, then slithered upward to strike at her neck, but she pinned its head to the wooden board as it lifted its head to lunge at her. The body thrashed and lashed as she held it there, then made a firm slice on the neck with as much strength as she could put into the blade, decapitating the snake, which continued to writhe and twitch around her more several minutes as the life left its body. Above her, the boy-men were cheering, or making noises of disappointment and handing over coins. Gritt felt the throbbing in her ankle and tore off a piece of her shirt and tied it on her lower calf to keep the venom from the bite from spreading upward.

The boy-men left and came back to taunt her, poke her with pointed sticks, throwing down pieces of rotten meat, and several large, venomous spiders that Gritt killed before they could deliver their stings.

When it got dark, they left. Gritt sank into the ground, touching her swelling ankle and shuddering at the intense burst of pain.

She resumed digging and scratching at the bottom of the trap, but kept striking solid rock.

Around midnight there was a noise at the covering. She looked up and saw the hatch open. Adar was there, bent over the hole, a torch in his hand. She felt a sense of relief and joy at the sight of him.

“Adar!”

“Can you climb up if I lower a rope?”

“Yes, I can.” She hoped she could. She tried to get to her feet but her foot would not support her and she fell back down.

“Are you hurt?” He looked and noticed the dead snake for the first time. “You have been bitten. I will lower a harness attached to a rope. Take this harness and put it around your waist. Jeck and I will pull you to safety. Keep your legs lower than your chest as I pull you up.”

Gritt did so, and in a minute Adar and Jeck, at that time a recent graduate and young teacher at the taminn, were hoisting her to the surface and Adar gathered her up and set her down on the solid ground, giving a cursory examination of the leg and ankle when she pointed out the location of the snakebite. “The venom hasn’t traveled far, but it requires immediate treatment.” They set off for their camp deep in the woods, putting distance between them and the village, with Gritt carried in Adar’s arms and Jeck following behind them.

At the camp, Jeck prepared the fire while Adar bandaged and tended the ankle. “Athelas is needed to make a salve to draw out the poison,” Adar told Jeck. “A rare herb, but it comes up early in the year. Look for the tear-shaped white blossoms. It tends to hide under sharp brambles, so take care.”

Gritt sat on a log facing the fire with her leg stretched before her and sipped a skin of mead and chewed a piece of dried meat as Adar retied the tourniquet and cleaned the wound, applying a bandage with herbs that stopped the bleeding. She began to feel calmer and sleepy. “Stay awake.” Adar said. “Until Jeck returns with the kingfoil. There is too much poison in your bloodstream and it needs to be drawn out.”

“I will,” She said, as Adar began to tell her about the rest of the raiding party regrouping and finding her missing. The captains guessed that she was killed, and had taken the party to meet up with the taminn when it migrated west. When Glug found out, he became very upset tried to organize a rescue party for her. The news reached Jeck, who told Adar, and Adar and Jeck had come after her themselves, being the most familiar with hidden underground traps that had lately come into use in that part of the Southlands.

There was a rustling sound in the trees. At first, they took it for Jeck returning, but a strange smell hit her nostrils. Seeing her sudden alertness, Adar turned and drew his sword just as two Men approached behind him, weapons raised. He felled them both as Gritt got to the ground and ducked behind the log she’d been sitting on. She grabbed at the nearby knife on the ground and someone grabbed her and brought a knife to her throat and Adar, from across the fire, threw a dagger that went through the attacker’s eye, causing blood and brain matter to splatter all over, and her would-be killer fell backward, dead.

Jeck came running up then. He was covered in blood himself, both his own and acrid, metallic-smelling human blood. He looked around at the bodies sprawled around the campsite and looked at Adar and Gritt. “I think that’s all of them.” He said. “I saw them, about six, heading in the direction of the camp. I chased them. Killed three.”

“And these three are dead.” Adar said. “Did you find the herb?”

Jeck handed the herb, wrapped in a cloth, to Adar. Adar began preparing a paste, mixing athelas leaves with several other herbs. He removed the bandage, spread the salve onto the wound, and wrapped the ankle again. The wound ached and itched as the poison oozed out of the wound and into the bandage and gauze. Adar added the leaves to a poultice which he gave to Jeck, whose chest had been slashed in the fight and was bleeding profusely.

They left the camp as soon as they could, Adar carrying Gritt on his back and Jeck carrying their equipment.

They traveled along the shadowy border between forest and pasture, under a waxing white moon that Gritt found herself looking up at.

“If the sun is made of fire, what is the moon made of?”

Jeck said, “Crystal. It’s a great crystal sphere. The light of the sun is trapped inside.”

“Why does the sun hurt us and not the moon?”

“The story I heard is Morgoth stole the sun from where it was living on an island in the west,” Jeck said, “because he wanted to give it to his children in Middle Earth as a gift, but the gods got mad and cursed his children to perish in the sun to punish Morgoth. Morgoth couldn’t undo the curse entirely because it was too powerful, but he brought all his children back underground in the north, and made the forests and mountains to give us a place to live, and he made the sun go away half the day and that’s where night came from. Then he broke off a piece of the sun and captured it in a crystal sphere, and called it the moon. He had his two youngest sons, Rangash and Fangash, pull the moon along in their invisible chariots. Some of the Uruk of Middle Earth didn’t want to go back underground after Morgoth recalled them to Utumno, because they were used to roaming free, so he placed a ladder to the moon and they climbed it and set up their dwellings on the moon and they live there to this day. You can see the dark shapes of the city where they live, on a clear night.”

“Is that true, Adar, that Morgoth stole the sun?” Gritt asked.

“There are many stories of the sun and the moon and stars.” Adar replied. “The one told by the Quendi is that the moon is a flower plucked from the shining silver tree of Telperion, and the sun is a fruit plucked from the radiant golden tree of Laurelin, and they were set in motion in the sky above Middle Earth to provide light and to divide time into day and night. The moon is possessed by a spirit, Tilion, that is in love with the spirit of the sun, Arien. He is enamored of her and is always chasing her, though at the beginning he didn’t know what she was and was burned by her fire, which left its mark upon him, and this made him love her all the more. Rarely do they meet in the sky and when they do, it’s a time of strong omens and good and ill fortune. The events wrought when celestial bodies meet shape the course of events thereafter.”

“The moon is one of the wonders of Arda where the One most shows their true nature. The One has two faces, one in light, and one in shadow, but they are one and the same entity. The two that are One is the source of all creation and all music. Their endless battle for control of the music shapes the very nature of the beings of Eä. The creator and their shadow are locked in opposition, and with them, all of Middle Earth. But what they create together, even in their conflict, surpasses what they could achieve alone. If only one aspect of the One, light or dark, made the music they wished, Arda and the beings who dwell in it would be much the lesser and poorer.”

“We Uruk were formed deep underground, in the dark, which was our home, our shelter, the place that nurtures us and protects us, allows us to germinate and strengthen. We honor darkness, yet are dependent on the light for sustenance. The Shadow molded us, but the Light enlivened us, and we, children of Eru upon Arda, are defined by and beholden to neither. We possess the ability to shape our own music, and therefore our destinies, with our thoughts and deeds and intentions, for as long as we endure.”

They walked until dawn was about to break, and found a very old, abandoned barn that they set up camp in after sweeping it for traps or signs of Men. Adar changed her bandage and examined her ankle, bending it this way and that. “No sign of dead flesh.” He said. “And the wound is fully drained of poison. The ankle is swollen, but within another application of athelas leaf, you ought to be able to walk on it tomorrow, after a good night’s rest.”

The next day, as they were packing up camp, Jeck discovered a trapdoor beneath the rotting wood floor of the barn. Beneath it was a small vault, roughly coffin sized, containing no corpse, but a stash of relics, bundles of cloth and rotting paper, and weapons and armor wrapped in disintegrating linen.

“What we’re looking for could be right here,” Jeck said excitedly as they pulled objects out of the vault. They spread all that was retrieved onto the floor, examining each item, and separating them into piles. Adar let Jeck sort through the weapons, separating what was salvageable from the junk. Gritt took a wooden box from the pile and slid it open, peering inside. There was a piece of dark red fabric inside, folded into squares. Lifting it and letting it fall open, she could see that the cloth was much more intact than the others that were in tatters, was actually a map, though she didn’t immediately recognize the territory it represented.

“What is it?” She asked.

“This is the complete map,” Adar said, reaching for edges, taking it from her, and turning it in different angles for examination. “And this shows the location of the key,” He indicated, pointing to part of the map that seemed to be marked. “This brings our search nearer its conclusion. The key is hidden on Gorgoroth itself, not in one of the mountain caches, as I had believed from other sources. And it is under the guardianship of Men.”

“Shame, looks like we’ll be mixing it up with that damned elf again,” Remarked Jeck, “and his damned arrows.”

“The elf and his regiment have been tasked by his High King to keep the Men of the Southlands from turning to the dark, as they have so often done in the past. A noble effort, but doomed to fail. It’s been foretold that it will be Men that complete the final task that brings forth the fire from Mount Doom, while the Uruk make preparations and lay the foundations for the land which is to come, and guide these Men toward their destiny.”

They returned to the taminn’s encampment late that evening in good spirits, good health, and loaded with treasures. She met with Glûg who was relieved to see her and upset that she’d been abandoned by the rest of her crew when danger came. Adar called out the leaders of the raid of the storehouse, saying it was their bad planning that caused the crew to get separated, and their failures in conducting exfiltration forced Adar to get involved personally, to shame them and to demonstrate what they should have done in the first place – preserve Uruk unity and not leave any Uruk behind on a mission, and especially not left to the mercy of their heartless enemies.

Since that fortuitous day, Adar refocused their attention and most of the military might of the Uruk to the Gorgoroth Plateau, while engineering crews and slaving crews together helped make the land ready for its transformation into Mordor.

----

“Let’s drink a final toast to Lord Adar before the night ends.”

A dozen of them were left in the dining hall at that late hour, lounging comfortably around the table and on chaises, and drunk on a melange of stories, memories, sex, food, and wine. Jeck pulled the last bottles out of the nearest crate on the table and the group leaned in and offered their cups. After the first bottle was drained, he removed the final bottle from the crate, one that was wrapped in plain brown paper, uncorked it and filled the cups of those nearest the table – Gritt’s, Xurek’s, Shagram’s and his own - with the liquid that looked amber in the bottle but gleamed in a bright flash as it was poured into their drinking vessels. He lifted his own, a hollowed out Man’s skull, announcing, "To Adar!" “To Adar,” they responded. They clinked cups and tossed back the libation, which burned like brandy in Gritt’s throat as she drank it down.

As someone else began to speak, Gritt began to feel strange as a sensation like cold fire shot through her body as the liquid roiled within her stomach. Outside noises faded. Then, Bliss as she had never experienced it filled her, and behind it, Horror. The sensations collided and exploded into pain and pleasure that ran through her simultaneously. She thought she might die. She sank back onto the bench.

She looked up at the others. Most looked concerned and perplexed. Farghed sniffed his cup and then tossed it away. But a few others looked as she felt, sick and awestruck or collapsed where they sat or lay. Jeck had fallen to the floor and Shagram was sprawled on the sofa, moaning. Xurek was leaning against a wall, shaking his head back and forth.

“Are you all right?” Someone said.

“They don’t look good. Something’s poisoned them.”

“I’m f-” Gritt started.

Then a light burst behind her eyeballs and the visions came.

---

It was long ago, near to the beginning of the world. She felt herself in an ancient pit with uncountable chambers separated from one another and echoing deep with excruciating cries of misery and despair that echoed in hollow places in the subterranean void. Beings that were utterly alone except for a Shadow that held all the power and control, who delivered pain and took it away again at its whim. Screams of others far away undergoing the same torture, which was the only indication of the existence of others or knowledge of any reality outside of the dark cell.

Then, she was aware of a new vision. Centuries passed. The inhabitants of the pit were allowed to interact with each other in darkness, and they fought and bred with and killed one another, eliminating the weak ones and teaching each other innovative new methods of cruelty and brutality. Then they were released out of the pit and into the world but they were bound to the master of that pit, a master that changed shape and face but always he had them on a leash. They were obliged to heed his commands, although he’d instilled in them his own antipathies and desires and molded them after his own mind, ensuring that they would follow their programmed instincts in his absence. And they increased in number and became their master’s foot soldiers on Middle Earth and when he was banished, it made little difference to them when his servants assumed control over them. The creatures were Uruk in their primitive form, the expression of Morgoth’s pure vision, barely sentient, driven by the will of a stronger power.

Soon, one of the lesser servants of Morgoth declared himself a guardian and won the allegiance of more and more of the slaves and bonded himself to the chief and most powerful servant of the banished Shadow, who called himself Mairon. And the guardian used his influence over Mairon to intercede for the Uruk, whom he called his children. He objected when his liege lord wished to keep refining their design according to his ideas, and insisted that the original blueprint imagined by the Shadow be allowed to come to fruition on its own without further modification. The two came into conflict, and the weaker killed the stronger. And slowly, over centuries, under guidance of the guardian, who took the name of Adar, the Uruk as Gritt knew themselves came into being.

A wavering vision followed. She saw Sauron collect the Uruk army once again under his command and henceforth their entire destiny was in his hands and they became chained to his will for millennia; their identity smudged and bodies and minds reshaped to make them more subservient and pliable slave soldiers while maintaining their aggression and bloodthirst. But then that vision faded and another one came into focus; She saw Uruk communities scattered across Middle Earth, in Mordor and elsewhere, to the far north and east, in forests and mountain dwellings, governing themselves under their own laws and customs and not under the yoke of Sauron or any of his lieutenants, and opposing those lords who would coax or coerce them into servitude. She saw the passing of ages in which they lived and bred and fought and adapted and flourished, under the dominion but none but themselves.

---

Gritt’s vision begun to clear and her mind returned to present. Farghed was sitting beside her and was squeezing and shaking her. “I’m all right,” She told him, shrugging his hand off her right shoulder. “The others?”

“Over there,” Farghed gestured to where Shagram and Jeck were sitting, leaning on each other on the sofa. Xurek was curled up on the floor by the wall, apparently unconscious. “It must have been bad wine. Bad or poisoned.”

Gritt got to her feet. Her legs tingled and she was shaking slightly but otherwise she didn’t feel permanently harmed.

"It was the wine,” Shagram said as she walked over to them. "There must have been some magic in it, or it was tainted. I don't know which."

Gritt said, “It was like the sun, but also freezing.”

Jeck stated, “My leg. It’s...healed. The fracture is gone.”

They stared as Jeck removed the splint and stretched and bent the left leg.

“My ribs aint broke anymore either,” Shagram exclaimed, patting them.

"I saw it. I saw Sauron dead. I know he can be destroyed!" Xurek gasped from the corner, struggling to his feet. “And my right ear’s whole again. After that dwarf bugger cut it off today.”

"I had visions too. Or hallucinations. They were cruel. But also beautiful." Jeck said. "I saw him destroyed, many times, and many ways. But most times, it was not Uruks who killed him, but something else, and not directly but...something of his was destroyed that held his life and power, something precious to him, and he was vanquished with it.”

“I saw the future,” Xurek exulted. “Sauron dead, and the Uruk reigning over Middle Earth. Elves, dwarves, men, they will all bow before us and their cities and lands will belong to us. We will hold dominion over all!”

Jeck said, “I too saw a future for the Uruk, but not the one Xurek saw. I saw our people in an age to come in lands in the south divided from this land by a wide sea. There were vast and prosperous cities and new and strange tools and machines and weapons. The Uruk folk of that place found ways to protect themselves from the sun and no longer needed to hide from it.” He sighed. “It’s a strange hallucination and part of me reckons it’s a trick. Some deceptive spirit within the bottle. A djinn. But then, would a spirit that’s malignant also heal the body?”

Gritt sat on the sofa. Her mind felt scorched and bewildered from the effects of the burst of light that was glorious but alien and incomprehensible that made her want to crawl into a hole in the ground to hide and stay there for a good long while.

She brought to mind everything the visions from the wine had given her. A future that was possible, but by no means certain, at the end of one of several paths available to them, one that malign forces of the world would, if they could, drag them away from and onto the path of servitude and death.

Mordor was home. To be driven into new lands again, made homeless refugees, at the mercy of strange clans and having to scrape out of living while being hunted by those other races of the world that they shared nothing with but mutual hatred: elven scum, miserly dwarves, and barbarian men, was an unbearable thought. She grew angry at the idea. What if, as Jeck suggested, the visions were a deception, crafted by some devious Elven magic, designed to weaken and divide the Uruk and make them easy to pick off?

But deep within her, she knew, or at least believed, it wasn't so, of the possible future that wasn't enslavement of the mind and body to the will of a tyrant. She believed them because they didn't promise effortless paradise, but pointed a road of work, strife and struggle and begrudging, hard fought reward, the only life an Uruk could expect, but a future in which they were their own masters and lived life on their own terms.

Gritt said, “We can’t know for certain how real it is. I don’t believe it’s a deception though. I think it’s a warning and an omen that we should heed.” She described her visions in detail and the others nodded.

Shagram described his vision: Nine rings that grew and twisted into shapes of wraiths, endowed with Sauron’s power, that would, over centuries to come, harry and hunt them out of their Uruk-holds and press them into unwilling service in their armies.

Jeck said, “If there’s anything these visions seems to be pointed to, it’s that keeping the army in one place is inviting catastrophe.”

“And dividing our army, how is that not courting disaster?” Xurek asked. “You all speak of flight, running from Sauron, but I don’t hold with this plan. My vision is as real as yours and I saw him dead, and us victorious.”

“How about this,” Jeck said. “Evacuate all but a few of our legions in Eregion to Mordor. That’s more than enough to overpower Sauron and his 144. If the plan succeeds, and Sauron falls, we recall them. But if, Melkor forbid, we fail, it gives the army needed time and resources to regroup and plan a counter-attack.”

“Or, if the worst comes to worst and we lose Mordor, we have the option to break into smaller units and scatter,” Gritt said. “Establish new bases elsewhere, not under centralized control. We have maps of sacked villages and towns all over Rhovanion and Khand. I would think many of those are still abandoned or would be easy enough to retake.”

‘It will be difficult to make the argument to retreat,” Shagram said, “After we’ve roused them to go to battle.”

“But they will do it.” Jeck said. “If we order it.”

"I’m not going to countermand your decision, Jeck.” Xurek said. “But what a disgrace, on the day after we give him to the flames, to withdraw when Adar himself refused to retreat until that bastard’s heart was ripped out of his body.”

“We make the decisions now, ‘Rek. If Adar had seen what we saw, he might have changed his mind.”

“He would want us to fight for what's ours," Xurek argued.

"He would want us to survive," Jeck stated. “What’s ours, more than our land, even, is our autonomy. That is what must be preserved at all costs.”

“Well we might not have one if we don’t have the other.”

“That’s just what I’m saying.”

“No I don’t think you -”

“Consuls,” Lûrgor jumped in. “Just received word that several members of the espionage unit just arrived in the city and are being detained by guards at the eastern wall.”

They stood and stretched. The strange cordial had renewed their energy and neither of the four of them felt like sleeping, though the others, who were mostly looking on in curiosity and puzzlement, still looked exhausted and excused themselves to nap on sofas or find a nearby bed to retire to.

“Let’s regroup at daybreak with the praetorate.” Jeck said. “If all goes to plan, we will begin the withdrawal of the majority of the legions at 10 a.m. and march with the remaining at dusk, depending on what we hear about what Sauron’s location is.”

They left the hall.