Sauron

The road stretched endlessly before her, beaten and dry beneath the early summer sun. Deorla walked—her boots scuffed, legs sore, cloak tight around her frame. She had no horse anymore.

But she was used to walking.

The land itself seemed at peace now. She saw no riders, no merchants, no enemy scouts. Even the wind was calm. Fields rolled on her left and right, broken only by distant fences or rotted wagon wheels half-swallowed by tall grass. For the first time in weeks, there was no urgency behind her steps.

Deorla sat alone in the quiet of the Bree homestead, the letter from Naridalis trembling in her hands. The familiar script, once a source of comfort, now bore words that cut deeper than any blade.

Trust, once solid among the Company of the East Road, now wavered like smoke. Naridalis’s words painted a picture of disillusionment, of friendships strained to the edge. Promises had been broken. The past Deorla had fought to bury clawed its way into the present, and now it stood like a specter between her and those she'd once called kin.

The Istari ("those who know"), who some call wizards, are emissaries from the Valar, sent to aid Men and Elves in their struggle against Sauron. They appear to be old Men, but that is deceiving. Initially some thought them to be Elves due to their longevity and wisdom. For that reason the one the Eldar call Mithrandir is known as Gandalf ("Wand-elf") by Men in the northwest of Middle-earth.

The ride had taken two more weeks. Fortunately a considerable amount of time had been through uninhabited lands, so she had not had to use any energy in maintaining an illusion. She had followed the south road, through Enedwaith, and across the Gwathlo at Tharbad and on to Herne. She knew from that time forward the roads would be busier, she would need the best illusions she could muster. 

‘Hello, Lord of the Black Land of Mordor, the Land of Shadow!’ I called in ringing tones.  ‘Let the wicked King Sauron come forth and do battle with us, the Host of the West, the Captains of the West, the Bearers of the Last Ring, the Lords of the West!’

Lightning peeled open the sky and thunder boomed across the hellish landscape. Flames from the desperate push of armies lit the night sky as smoke billowed in green and red hues. The warrior, sword and shield raised, blocked the attacks of a dozen or more iron blades that reigned down upon her. The flash of a flaming blue blade eliminated half of the orcish arms that wielded them. Side to side the elves fought as one.

~~The Ambitious Corsair~~

Part I