(PTII)Defenders of Middle Earth: A Middle Earth Story(Book 4)

Chapter 5: The Face of Evil

Eastern Wilderness

Zaskia pulled the silk tent flap away slowly to make room for her entry. Immediately the strong scent of incense filled her lungs, a vain attempt to cover the smell of death that pervaded the entire tent. As she entered she could see little, as there was only a solitary candle lighting the interior.

"Come," A raspy voice said quietly. "Step into the light so that my eyes may see you better."

Zaskia slowly obeyed, taking a small step closer to the candle. The voice had come from the darkest corner, a patch of pitch blackness in the already dark room. As she stepped forward she could see a broad-shouldered figure approach slowly from the darkness. As it did a large sconce lit from behind it, and it seemed now that the figure was wreathed in bright fire.

A torn cloak hung from its shoulders, and a horned helmet gave it a demonic appearance. Dark red paint trickled down it like dried blood, and two points glowed from the skeletal eye slits... eyes made of pure fire and hatred.

"Zaskia. You are impudent to think that you can arrive late," The figure said menacingly. The fire of the sconce ignited brighter, revealing the intricate Rhunic writing that covered the figure's helmet. The gold letters ran across the curved bronze as if they belonged there, and though Zaskia's grasp of Rhunic was weak she could understand some of the words. I came out of the fire unscathed. I arose from the field of corpses. I am the storm that will engulf the west.

"We are equals, Khanar. Remember that," Zaskia replied with as much courage as she could muster. Despite her own strength as a powerful sorceress, Khanar frightened her. Once a great Easterling warlord, he had died at the Battle of the Redoir, where an insurgent Easterling prince had run him through with this sword. Yet somehow, he had returned. And he had not been the same. Some dark magic had brought him back, darker than any Zaskia had seen in the past. For even she could not resurrect the dead. More than that she could feel his aura, his fae as it were, and she had only felt such pure evil once before.

"Only in name," Khanar hissed. "I rule all of Rhun now, while you simper in your hovel in the shadows of Mirkwood. Know your place."

Zaskia could feel her hands shaking in a mixture of fear and anger, but she suppressed her feelings. "Yes, well... I did not come to discuss that. Our lord wishes for us to move, for the time has come."

"We must strike Erebor," Khanar replied, his voice unnaturally void of emotion or pity. Any human qualities that the man had once had seemed drained from him, as if he was only a husk of his former self.

"Then I take it the dwarves are not cooperating," Zaskia said, her dark lips curving down into a frown. "We will have to kill them too then."

"I had planned on it," Khanar rasped. "I command fifteen thousand battle-hardened warriors of Rhun. The Haradrim tribes loyal to our master have sent five thousand men and Mumaks up the south road to meet us in Esgaroth, once we take it."

"Do you have a plan?" Zaskia asked skeptically. She was no military mastermind, but she knew that it would take more than a simple assault to take a city that was situated in the middle of a lake.

"Of course," Khanar said confidently. "A thousand men will travel to the north, cutting off all escape from the city. We shall send your orcs to build makeshift platforms across the lake. Our men shall storm the city from all directions once the platforms are in place, but before then we shall batter it with siege weapons. The entire city is constructed of mostly wood so fire will travel quickly."

"I can have my orcs in position by the end of the week," Zaskia replied as she began to walk to the entrance of the tent. "But let us step outside to discuss this further. The air is stifling in here."

"No," Khanar growled as he grabbed her arm roughly. His grip was vicelike, and the steel claws of his gauntlet bit into her unprotected skin. "Darkness is better. You had better get used to it. Soon all of Middle Earth shall be as this."

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Dale

Astrid watched sadly as soldiers and craftsmen hurried to bolster the defenses of the city. Though the walls were thick and the gates were dwarven wrought, King Brand and Kell had known that they would not hold against the forces of darkness on their own. Even now carpenters nailed extra boards of strong oak wood to the tall gates, and archers hurried to place barrels of arrows at strategic points along the top of the wall.

How did it come to this? Astrid thought to herself. She had always thought that somehow they would work things out with Mordor, that some sort of deal would be struck that would keep Dale safe. But part of her had always known that this was merely wishful thinking. The wounded soldiers that slowly trickled into the city from the outer settlements were testament to that, as were the stories of horror that they brought with them.

"Dwarven made gates are stronger than any other," King Brand said as he approached from behind her. "They will not easily fall to the Eastmen."

Astrid turned to look at him. With the sun casting its bright rays behind him, the king appeared noble and regal as he surveyed the defenses. He wore a red cloak embroidered with gold, and it fanned out majestically behind him. His dark hair wreathed his chiseled features, and for a moment he seemed to have come out of the distant past, a deity of old.

"What do you think of our chances, my lord?" Astrid asked. Brand's expression momentarily turned from one of confidence to one of sadness.

"We can not truly know until the time comes," he said with a sigh. "Though your father seems to believe that the wood elves are our only hope. Alas, that the Enemy knocks on even the oaken gates of the Woodland Realm. It seems that nowhere is safe from his grasp."

"What of Gondor? Gondor could aid us."

Brand shook his head, his steely gaze landing upon the Lonely Mountain. It was beautiful in its barrenness, a lone sentinel upon a field of grey. "The Gondorians have more troubles than even us, I fear. A messenger of Dain arrived from Rivendell with news that the Enemy will soon strike Minas Tirith."

Astrid cast a questioning look at the king. Her knowledge of the greater world was not as comprehensive as it could have been, but she knew enough to realize that Rivendell was far to the west, seemingly away from the troubles of Sauron. "Why would the elves of Rivendell know what we do not?"

"Lord Elrond sees much, Astrid. He has even seen our plight, and so he sent forth what reinforcements he could gather together to aid us. Word is that they were last heard from in the Misty Mountains."

"What? How many?" Astrid asked, a glimmer of hope in her eyes.

"Only three hundreds at the most," Brand replied. "But," he began, as if to reassure her. "Many of them are of the Dunedain, and of Dain's kin in the western mountains. The Dunedain are seasoned soldiers not averse to war, led by a renowned warrior of their people. They are the last of the King's men in the north, and they have fought to defend their lands from all manner of vile creatures."

"They sound like valiant men," Astrid said. "I only hope that valor alone can save us, for numbers are not on our side."

Brand smiled sadly at Astrid. "So do I, kinswoman. So do I."

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Well, here we go! The first chapter after a long break! I realize it's shorter than normal, but it's a good staging point for what's about to happen. Hope you all enjoy it!