Artíre's Revenge by WendWriter

Chapter 8

In the temple of Moko, Sauron sat on the High Priest's chair and brooded. Contending with Artíre had been bad enough, but now Narcawë had declared enmity towards him. Surely a plan was afoot to destroy him or to sunder him from Melkor by sowing mistrust between them. This would have to be firmly dealt with, but how?

Narcawë's arrogance only proved that he had, indeed, been ordered by Melkor to spy on him. If either Maia should fail to report back, Sauron would surely be blamed for their disappearance. Therefore he was forced to tolerate this appalling situation until he could find a way of regaining control of it.

What was the worst they could say - that he had made images of beings who looked like himself? That he had made a spell to bind Artíre because he thought him responsible for the ruin of the inauguration ceremony? Those statues and other images could be interpreted as resembling any of the Maiar or Valar who usually took forms that looked similar to those of the Firstborn. As for the binding spell, who else but Artíre could have been responsible for the disruption of the inauguration of the temple?

There! He was justified... but only in the eyes of those who would accept his word.

Unfortunately, the evidence so far could be misconstrued as an effort to overthrow Melkor. Something would have to be done if he was to prove his loyalty to his Lord.

Sauron regarded the statue at the back of the temple. If he made it look more like Melkor as he wished to be seen, then a plank of the evidence against him would be gone. Focusing his will on the stone, he softened and stretched it, moulding it to the desired shape. When Sauron had finished, he stood back and admired his handiwork. The statue now looked more like Melkor had before he laid hands on the jewels. Sauron had, however, crafted an iron crown very much like the one Melkor wore now upon the statue's head. It only required three jewels to set in it, and the image would be perfect. Sauron decided to pay a visit to the king of Rhûn. Surely he had some large diamonds he could spare to perfect the image of Moko.

At the house of the High Priest, Sauron entered him and bade him go to the palace.

As he entered the palace, Sauron, looking through the High Priest's eyes, noticed that Men feared him more than ever. Word of the walking dead man and of demon possessions had spread, and every Man believed he was at risk. All of them recoiled from him as he walked unchallenged through the doors and into the throne room.

The king was waiting for him, and the room began to empty as the members of the Court quickly found other things to occupy their time. Only his trembling bodyguard remained.

"Greetings, O King," said the High Priest in affable tones. "I hope you are well."

"As well as can be expected," retorted the king. "Fear and panic sweeps over my land like a cloak. My people are terrified of this demon that devours men's souls and moves their bodies like a child's puppet. I agreed to the building of the temple of Moko only because I was afraid of the curses you would lay on my house if I refused. Now I see that, whether you will it or not, curses follow you like hungry dogs after a butcher. I remember the fate suffered by those plotters who sought to have you assassinated, how they swelled up horribly and died in agony, but that may well have been a coincidence. There are many diseases that can cause such misery and pain. You promised us blessings, Lokan. Where are they? Only curses have we suffered, and terror and fear. I am weary of it!"

"Have I not brought prosperity to this land?" asked the High Priest, annoyed that the King addressed him with such familiarity. To be named thus was to give him the rank of an ordinary Man. He very much preferred to be called "High Priest."

"The seasons came and went, with plenty and famine in their turn before you arrived, bringing the foreign god Moko and his horror in your wake. Now we must not only do as you wish to avoid famine and disease, but also give up the best of our children and young people, since Moko desires to feast on their flesh! Thus we are diminished, with nothing to show for it. Where now are the power and glory you promised me? I have grown old before my time, and when my people come to me, it is to complain about their suffering," the king replied, despair drowning his fear.

"You claim to fear Moko, yet you speak to me thus," replied the High Priest. Sauron was angry. What more did this ingrate want? Did he not have the finest temple in all the land, with visitors from all over the country coming just to see it from the outside and to marvel over it? Did they not spend what they had in the inns and taverns as they lingered in the city, bringing wealth to the merchants, butchers and bakers who supplied their needs?

"My personal physician says I have the canker, and that there is no cure, Lokan. There is nothing more for me to fear, now that the lingering death of the tumours is upon me. The blood of my eldest son was required to bless the foundation stone, and my other sons were killed in battle as they fought to steal treasure from our neighbours to pay for the building of this edifice of yours. Whatever you want, I have nothing left to give you," the king replied wearily.

Sauron, inside the High Priest, paused for thought. Looking around through Lokan's eyes, he saw that the throne room was empty now, apart from the king's bodyguards, who were steeling themselves not to turn and flee. "I see you do not trust me any more," said the High Priest.

"Behold!" said the king, opening his robes. Pulling back the sleeve of his tunic, he revealed an ugly dark tumour, which was pushing its way through the skin just forward of his armpit. "I am dying already, and in terrible pain. The medicines and drugs do not avail me, they just make me insensible. Begone from this land, for the curse is with you, and the darkness has covered us all."

Sauron paused again. If the king died thus, the kingdom would fall into disarray. His youngest son had just turned twelve, and needed time to grow into the role prepared for him. There was trouble enough as it was. Order was breaking down. He was losing authority. After what he had just heard, Sauron now realized he could not blame this failure on Artíre; he himself would have to shoulder some of the blame. But could Sauron's hands, that had harmed so many, now heal? If he could remould stone, surely he could heal the king of this canker? If he did this, perhaps the people would cease to think of him nothing more than a bandit and order would be restored.

"Let me see that," the High Priest said, pointing at the tumour. "I may be able to help."

"Can the destroyer also heal?" asked the king, incredulity straining his voice to a higher pitch.

"My lord," said the High Priest, his mouth guided by Sauron, "you just told me you have nothing left to lose. Let me look."

Standing up with all the dignity he could muster, the King made his way down the steps from his throne to the High Priest. "If you can help me, then do so," he said, defeated.

Gazing at the king's wasted body, Sauron saw through Lokan's eyes that he was gaunt and haggard as the ravages of the disease ate away at him. Concentrating on the Man who stood before him, Sauron gazed through bone and muscle and sinew. He beheld the tumours that had spread throughout his body, colonizing his innards and distorting them so that they could no longer work properly. He saw that this was of natural origin, but there was no way he could expect the king to accept this truth. The fact was, the king held him responsible for the disease that was destroying his body in the same way as Sauron's policies were destroying his country. If his attempts at healing the king should fail, there was every possibility that Rhûn itself would fall. The people would panic and riot as frightened Men were prone to do. He had seen this wild terror in the temple of Moko on the day of the disrupted inauguration. If he permitted that to happen again, the order he had sought to build would descend into chaos as the country fragmented. This could not be allowed to happen. What could he do?

Staring intently at the king, he began to chant a spell that caused the tumours to recede, swallowed by the organs they clung to. He sought every cell of the canker and drove them all into the king's bloodstream, to be swept into his intestines and bound to his dung for removal later on. The chanting continued until the last of it was gone, and a healthier Man stood before him. "Go and get something to eat," he told him. "You will find you can keep it down, now."

"Thank you, High Priest," replied the king, "I feel better already. Go in peace with my blessing, for you have blessed me. Is there anything you want from me?"

"Yes, O King," the High Priest told him, flushed with success. "I wish for three of your biggest white diamonds for the crown of the statue of Moko. Alterations have been made to it."

"Take whatever you need from my treasury, High Priest," replied the king, and immediately he ordered his men to bring the High Priest to the treasury, and to carry back to the temple anything he chose.

The men, awed, obeyed at once, and word spread throughout the palace that the king had been healed by the High Priest of Moko.

On his way through the wastelands to Angband, Artíre decided to be careful not to say anything overly negative about Sauron, but rather to let Melkor come to his own conclusions based on what the Watcher would tell him. He considered that it might also be useful to go to Angband and find out more about Sauron's doings there, so that he could form an idea of what it was that Melkor usually thought of him.

The Watcher insinuated himself among the Orcs and moved among them, gathering what information he could about the state of their master's affairs.

Six months later, on the occasion of the second inauguration of the Temple of Moko, the event went smoothly and entirely according to plan. Even Narcawë was impressed at the sheer majesty of the ceremony, and the king looked hale and hearty as he observed the proceedings from his throne. The statue and other images of Moko were beautiful, and Narcawë had to concede that they did indeed look more like Melkor now, as he had appeared before he had been taken to Valinor in chains.

Only Artíre was absent, but Sauron was not surprised. He was probably skulking somewhere, afraid. Fear had as many advantages as disadvantages, Sauron mused. Since everything was now under control in Rhûn, it occurred to him to find out for himself where Artíre was, and what he might be doing to undermine him. One thing was certain: Narcawë had no idea where the Watcher was. Sauron had his suspicions. He also now knew Narcawë's mind.

Since the other Maia craved lordship, Sauron asked him to oversee the work being done in Rhûn, and to keep order for him until he returned, as he intended to go back to Angband to report to his master himself. Unable to resist the opportunity to exercise power over others, Narcawë agreed at once. Sauron was now free to leave, and he did so at once. With a final backward glance at the temple, which was full of dignitaries and other people of note, he left Rhûn and made his way to Angband. Surely Artíre was there, pouring poison in his ears about him to Melkor. This would have to be dealt with properly.