Emissary by Uvatha the Horseman

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Minas Morgul

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Chapter 9 - Minas Morgul

Twilight came early in the high mountain valley. It was getting dark when the bell announced the evening meal. Urzahil descended from his room on the third floor and found his way to the Great Hall. Rows of trestle tables stretched the length of the room. Hundreds of people, mostly Orcs, were packed elbow to elbow on the long benches. Others walked up and down between the tables, looking for a place to sit. The sound of so many talking at once filled the Hall with a dull roar.

At the far end of the room, the High Table sat on a raised platform. It was covered with a white cloth that hung to the floor. At its center was an empty chair, as massive as a throne. Behind it hung Sauron standard, the Lidless Eye in red against a black background.

Almost every other place was filled. Urzahil recognized the Steward and the Chief Ambassador, but all the others were Nazgûl. Their faces were invisible, and they were identically dressed in black.

Two lesser tables flanked the High Table. Like it, they were covered in white cloths, and had chairs with high backs and arms. The steward pointed Urzahil to his place at one of the lesser tables, next to Gillis. The chair on his other side was empty.

"That's Gaerna's place. He's in Harad right now," said Gillis.

Urzahil narrowed his eyes. Gaerna was probably fine, but Urzahil would feel better once he saw him in person.

The room went suddenly quiet. Everyone looked towards the High Table. The Orcs and servants at the trestle tables rose to their feet. A tall figure in black swept across the platform and took the place to the left of the throne-like chair in the center.

"That's the Witch King of Angmar. He's the Lieutenant of Minas Morgul, and Sauron's Second-in-Command. He's in charge of the Garrison here," said Gillis.

"What kind of man is he?" asked Urzahil.

"He's a great general, but humorless and unapproachable. He has a wicked temper. Whatever you do, don't get on his bad side."

The Witch King sat down at one of the few empty places at High Table, to the left of the large chair in the center. A servant with a pitcher came over and filled his goblet.

The conversation at the center of High Table drifted to the lesser table where Urzahil was sitting. He tipped his head to listen.

"… never have enough horses… have to go back to Rohan…" The Witch King's voice rich with the cadences of Númenor.

Like most nobles in Umbar, Urzahil spoke with the trace of a Númenorian accent, which got stronger when he felt the need to impress others with his social status. But the Witch King's accent was more ancient and refined than any Urzahil had heard before.

"He speaks as if he came from Númenor itself," Urzahil said to Gillis.

"I imagine he did. He's the son of Ciryatan the Shipbuilder," said Gillis.

Ciryatan the Shipbuilder, Twelfth King of Númenor. Urzahil's eyes widened. Ciryatan had two sons, the Thirteenth King of Númenor and Er-Mûrazôr, the Black Prince.

Er-Mûrazôr, a famous navigator and a great general, founded the Haven of Umbar. Urzahil had visited the colonial-era house once on a school trip. It was on the Square in the oldest part of the city, a one room mud brick structure with furnishings of astonishing workmanship, imported from Númenor.

"The Witch King is Er-Mûrazôr?" asked Urzahil.

"That's what I hear from Akhôrahil. He was court physician at Armenelos[1], and they knew each other before either of them became a Nazgûl," said Gillis.

Urzahil looked at the center of High Table from the corner of his eye, trying not to stare. The Witch King sat rigidly straight, his back not touching the back of the chair, his elbows against his sides. The posture was characteristic of one who been born into the highest strata of the most civilized nation in Arda. But it could also be a mark of inhibition, of holding something back.

A servant set a plate in front of the Witch King, then served each of the others at High Table from the center of the table to the edges. Urzahil glanced at the High Table. Everyone was concentrating on their food. Urzahil lowered his voice.

"What's his relationship with Sauron?" he asked.

"They're seldom together[2], and when they are, they're fighting," said Gillis.

"What about?"

"The Witch King speaks up when he thinks Sauron is wrong. Sauron doesn't like that."

When everyone at High Table had been served, servants carried plates to the flanking tables. An Orc set a pewter plate was set before him. The main course was a thick stew in a dark colored sauce. Another filled his cup. He raised it to his lips and tasted ale, not wine. It wasn't even well brewed; it was cloudy, with bits floating in it.

Urzahil broke off a piece of bread and soaked up some of the sauce. It had a flavor he hadn't encountered before, pungent but not unpleasant. He speared a piece of meat with the tip of his eating dagger and lifted something white and angular with a rough texture He wasn't sure what he was looking at.

"It looks like we're having tripe tonight," said Gillis.

Not likely, that's what poor people ate. Urzahil waited for the rest of the joke, but Gillis wasn't laughing.

"No, really. We use every part of the animal here. Mordor is a poor country."

-o-o-o-o-o-

Urzahil stood on the small platform in the tailor's shop, clad from head to toe in the transforming black. It was his second day in Minas Morgul, and Sauron had not yet met with him, or let him know what his duties would be.

"Here, hold this at arm's length and look at yourself." The tailor handed him a disk of polished silver, very like a shaving mirror.

Urzahil tilted the mirror, examining his official robes bit by bit. The tailor had done a good job. He'd shaped the fine wool into something that set off Urzahil's height and build to best advantage. It was a thrill to look at his left shoulder and see and see Sauron's badge, a stylized Eye embroidered in red on a black background.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Urzahil arrived for the evening meal wearing his new black robes, Sauron's badge on his shoulder. He sat down at his place just below High Table, and the Orc who filled his goblet called him 'Sir'. That hadn't happened the day before, even though it was the same Orc. The highest ranking officials in Mordor wore black all the time. He would, too.

There was a scraping of bench legs against the floor and a sudden hush. All rose. The Witch King strode the length of the Great Hall and mounted the platform. He took his place to the right of the massive chair in the center, the place where he'd been the previous evening.

The meal served on the evening of the second day was no more appetizing than it had been on the first, root vegetables and liver. In Urzahil's mind, parsnips and turnips were peasant food, and offal was for dogs.

Urzahil studied the High Table. Other than high-backed chair in the center, every place was full, four men and six Nazgûl.

"Aren't there supposed to be nine of them?" he asked Gillis.

"The others are in Dol Guldur. Khamûl the Easterling commands the fortress, Adûnaphel assists him, and Uvatha the Horseman carries messages between Dol Guldur and here."

"… did you ever do that when you were young?" another Nazgûl asked the Witch King, who stiffened and turned away. People of very high rank were often reserved, but not like that. Urzahil could guess what it meant. He's hiding something. Because people who are hiding one thing often hide everything.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Urzahil had been in Minas Morgul for three days now, and was running out of things to do. He'd no idea what his official duties were, or what he was supposed to be doing.

"You've never been in Mordor, have you?" asked Gillis.

"What do you call Minas Morgul?" asked Urzahil.

"Minas Morgul isn't in Mordor. It's in Ithilien, which is part of Gondor. It straddles the road just below the Nameless Pass, the only way into Mordor from the West. Let's take a hike up to the Pass tomorrow. It's steep, but it's not that far. If you stand in the Pass and then take one step, you'll be in Mordor."

It was a difficult hike. Just below the Pass, the road was a steep as a flight so steep, he was tempted to his hands and knees could stretch out his hands and touch the road in front of him.

And then, in a wedge between two pinnacles of rock, the road leveled off. Urzahil stood in the Pass itself. His chest heaved, and his mouth was dry from breathing hard. He stretched out his arms and touched the rock on either side. The wind whistled through the narrow slot, chilling the sweat on his body.

"Go on, take another step," said Gillis.

Urzahil walked through the notch, to the point where the road began to slope downward. He stopped and put his hands on his knees, breathing hard.

Beyond the Pass, the road descended into a knife-cut chasm with a sheer cliff on one side and a precipitous drop on the other. It had the look of deadly peril. He couldn't imagine anyone wanting to go there.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Urzahil was due to leave on his first mission as an emissary to Khand in a few days.

He spent the morning with Mordor's Chief Ambassador, who told him what he would need to do.

"This first mission is very simple, really. You'll carry a message to their Caliph, inviting him to send an emissary of his own to Mordor for an audience with Sauron."

"Is that how one gets an audience with Sauron? By being an emissary from another nation?"

"I trust you won't use that tone with the Caliph? See that you don't," said the Chief Ambassador.

They went over countless details of what was a simple mission. "Khand is one of our traditional allies. You can expect to be well received. You don't have to do any negotiating. You're only delivering a message and waiting for reply."

The ambassador went on to say that while the mission would be uneventful, there were some danger in making the trip. There were always bandits and highwayman to worry about, so he would be traveling with an armed escort.

"I wish I could send Khamûl with you, he's from Khand. He knows how to get there, and could have explained the local customs. But since he's Lieutenant of Dol Guldur, he's in Mirkwood right now.

Urzahil left the Ambassador's study feeling reasonably well prepared for the mission, but he would have really liked some high-level guidance from Sauron himself. Sauron was supposed to have returned within a few days, and it had been more than that. Surely he would be back soon.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Urzahil went to the Steward's office, and after a couple of tries, found him in.

"When will Sauron be back?" asked Urzahil.

"He's been back for a couple of days. I met with him first thing this morning," said the Steward.

"He wasn't at High Table last night," said Urzahil

"He gets busy and forgets to eat. I had to send a plate up to his room," said the Steward.

Urzahil left the Steward's office, discouraged. He saw one of the Nazgûl on the stairs, and ran to catch up with him. It was one he hadn't seen before. This one was heavyset, and moved as if his joints hurt.

"Have you seen Sauron?" Urzahil asked.

"I passed him on the stairs a few minutes ago," said the wraith. His accent suggested he came from the Island of Númenor.

Urzahil hoped he would see Sauron at the evening meal tonight, but when he entered the Great Hall that night, Sauron's place at High Table was empty. When the meal was over, Urzahil approached another of the Nazgûl.

"I need to speak with Sauron about my mission to Khand. What's the best way to find him?"

"Oh, you just missed him. He's gone back to Lugbúrz." [3]

-o-o-o-o-o-

Later in the day, Urzahil passed another Nazgûl in the corridor. This one was medium height with a wiry build. He swung his arms and walked with the energy of a coiled spring.

"I think here for over a week and I still haven't seen Sauron. Is that normal?" said Urzahil.

"Most people aren't allowed to know this, but you're of high rank, I can trust you with the secret." He spoke like the desert people from the Far East.

A second wraith joined them, the one that always moved slowly, as if exhausted. "Indur, don't tell him that!" he said.

Indur lowered his voice until it was barely audible. "Sauron was killed at the end of the Second Age. He's not coming back. We Nazgûl take turns pretending to be him." He pointed to the other Nazgûl. "Ren played the role of Sauron when your delegation came here last month. The next time we have important visitors, it will be my turn."

Urzahil felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. The handwriting in the letter had matched the handwriting on the ancient fragment. For a few weeks, he'd really thought Sauron had returned.

The wraith was so close, Urzahil could feel the chill from his body. Nazgûl were undead and cold to the touch, but when Urzahil sat beside Sauron in his private study, Sauron had radiated heat.

"Liar!" Urzahil took a swing at Indur, but the wraith deflected it easily.

"You actually believed me, didn't you?" Indur hissed, laughing.

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Chapter End Notes

[1] Armenelos was the capital of Númenor

[2] When Sauron was in Dol Guldur (TA 1100-2941) or Barad-dûr (TA 2951-3019) the Witch King was in Angmar (TA 1350-1975) or Minas Morgul (TA 2000-3019). They may have overlapped at Minas Morgul (TA 2941-2951) but it's more likely Sauron was overseeing the rebuilding of Barad-dûr during that interval.

[3] Lugbúrz is Black Speech for Barad-dûr