Another Man's Trash by Uvatha the Horseman

Chapter 1 - A New Ringlord

Chapter 1 - A New Ringlord

They crested the top of the promontory after leading the horses up a long and difficult climb, and there it was, Barad-dûr. It stood before them, black, threatening, and impossibly huge.

"Well, Worm? What do you think?" Saruman pointed to the immense structure. Wormtongue's jaw dropped, and his eyes traveled up, and up, and up some more. Saruman's own reaction was little different.

The mists that once cloaked the Tower were gone. Bright sunlight played on its gate houses, stone buttresses, and the highest watchtower, which by itself was taller than Orthanc.

Barad-dûr perched on a spur of rock cut off from the rest of the promontory. A slender bridge arched over the drop to reach a set of stairs weaving through a maze of boulders on the way to the main gates

The base of the Tower rose to a great height before ending in crenelations and overhanging defenses. A banner bearing Sauron's device, a red Eye against a black field, hung from the outer wall. The wind stirred, lifting the edge of the black silk. From this distance, it looked the size of a standard carried in battle.

The main gates were at least three stories tall, and immeasurably massive. Fingers of rust dripped down their iron panels. At the moment, the gates stood open. Good, he and Worm would be able to get in.

It was remarkable that the Tower was standing at all. It sat on enchanted foundations and should have collapsed a week ago when the Ring was destroyed. Yet, right after the disaster, the Crebain had reported that the Dark Tower was still standing. When Saruman heard the news, he dropped everything and raced to get here.

He touched his own ring and felt its power surge through him. He'd made it himself. It was a source of great pride to him, but it wasn't a Great Ring. At the moment, that was beyond his skill.

Saruman had studied Ringlore for years, but some aspects of the craft were still a mystery to him. He'd never learned what other metals went into the gold alloy. He didn't know how the binding spell worked. He didn't even know if he should use a binding spell when he made his own Ring.

If the missing knowledge existed anywhere, it would be inside Barad-dûr. Sauron always kept his notes from any project that was important to him, at least he had back in their apprentice days. There was no reason to think he'd changed.

"Mount up. I want to get a closer look." Saruman swung into the saddle, and Worm followed suit.

They rode toward the Tower. White dots, which at first he took to be birds, clustered around the foot of the bridge. On closer inspection, they proved to be an encampment of about a dozen tents. A brush corral nearby held twenty or more horses.

A large tent stood in the center of the encampment, dwarfing the ones around it. The air stirred and lifted the pennants which flew from its peaks. Saruman could just make out a white star on a blue background, an Elvish device. On the far side of the bridge, a pair of Elves assisted a starved-looking creature stagger out through the main gates.

Saruman had come here as quickly as he could, but the Elves got here first. Wonderful. He'd have to work around them.

The wind shifted. The smell of decay made him gag. The bodies of Orcs lay where they'd fallen, not yet gathered up and burned. In the distance, a pair of Elvish warriors pursued an Orc, caught up with it, and drove a spear between its shoulder blades. They turned and dispatched another one, then wheeled around to give chase to a third.

Saruman grimaced. "Did you see that, Worm? I wouldn't want to get on their bad side."

They reached the edge of the Elvish camp. Saruman dropped to the ground, shaky from a long day in the saddle, and threw the reins to Worm.

An Elvish nobleman walked up to them. Half a dozen Elvish warriors trailed in his wake. "What brings the White Wizard so far from Isengard?" the nobleman asked.

He looked familiar, but Saruman couldn't place him. Oh right, Gil-galad's standard bearer. He'd served on the White Council, but what was his name? Elroy or Enron, something like that.

"I am an emissary of the Valar. I've come to learn whether Sauron has hidden himself in the depths of Barad-dûr to avoid capture, as he did long ago in the pits of Angband." said Saruman.

"This from someone who breeds his own Orcs," said one of the Elves.

Lord Enron shot him a look, then turned back to Saruman. "Yours is a worthy mission. Please let me assist you in any way I can. If you mean to enter the dungeons, perhaps one of my people could serve as your guide."

"I thank you, but I'd rather not expose your people to danger. I only ask that I be allowed to move around the Fortress unimpeded."

He followed Lord Enron into the Elvish camp. A wooden rack of graceful design held a line of spears. Nearby, shields decorated with Elvish-style heraldry lay on the ground or were propped against saddles.

In the center of camp there were a group of people who looked like they'd been starved. Their clothing hung from their bodies in rags, and their flesh was the color of a fish's underbelly.

"Prisoners from the dungeons of Barad-dûr. We're bringing out as many as we can, but I'm not sure we've found all of them yet," said Lord Enron.

A bonfire burned in the center of camp. Flames shot up from it and fragments of ash danced in the air. Saruman stepped closer to look. Sheets of parchment curled and turned black in the flames.

In the middle of the bridge, an Elf struggled across with his arms full of scrolls and loose paper. He left the bridge and approached the bonfire as if he intended to throw his burden into it.

"Stop!" Saruman stepped between him and the fire. "Those papers may contain important evidence against Sauron."

"I don't see how evidence against him could matter, since he's dead," said the Elf, but he dropped the armload of papers on the ground.

Saruman knelt and began to sift through the pile of formally worded memos, columns of financial accounting, and a few hand-colored maps. None were in Sauron's handwriting. Relief swept over him.

"Give me your word you won't burn any more paper," Saruman said. Lord Enron inclined his head.

The fire pit was deep in ash. Saruman was dying to ask, "What have you already burned? Was any of it about Ringmaking?" but he didn't dare tip his hand.