IN DOL GULDUR
Dol Guldur, early morning, September 3, 3020

Written by Angmar

The great room was dark, the large windows heavily draped with black. No light shone except a flickering candle upon a long ebony table. The quietness of the room belied the presence of a number of soldiers and servants standing in respect at the sides of the room, ready to do their masters' bidding.

Lord Khamul and Lord Zagbolg stood over the table peering down at maps in Lord Khamul's meeting chambers. Looking up from the map, Khamul turned to Zagbolg and said, "As you know, the messenger from Lugburz arrived late last eve bearing news that an unknown party of horsemen was approaching from the southeast."

"And still no more than a supposition who they are and why they are riding in such haste?" Zagbolg asked as he looked to Khamul.

"No more than we knew before, my Lord Zagbolg. All that we have is a supposition, for the message from the Master contained only the information that I have already relayed to you."

"Has there been word from any of our other scouts?"

"Nay, but I expect to receive some word at any time," he said as he walked to a window in the tower and after he had pressed a lever, the window came open.

"And indeed those messengers are always most accurate," Lord Zagbolg said and chuckled.

"Never have they failed me!" Khamul exclaimed. "Now come to the window, Lord Zagbolg, and see if that dark shape winging towards the tower is what I apprise it to be."

Lord Zagbolg strode over to the window and stood looking out with Khamul. "Indeed, my lord, he is what he appears to be!"

"Zark!" Khamul exclaimed as a large, black raven streamed towards the opening. Both Nazgul lords moved aside as the bird came squawking in the window. Then after wheeling about the room, the raven came down and perched upon Khamul's outstretched arm.

Both men listened closely to the raven's speech, a mixture of jaded shrieks, harsh calls, chirps, rattles and soft words of mannish tongue that he had learned to mimic. "He complains that falcons were set upon him and took down some of his brethren and scattered others," said Khamul. "Thus, he says, that it cost him much delay.

"Aye, my lord, the messenger is most angry," Zagbolg replied, his voice a hiss, "and he requests leave for him and his fellows to take full vengeance on the ones who have done his flock this crime."

"Indeed he shall have it," Khamul said, his voice angry. "Set forth, my friend. Your chance will come soon and there will be much carrion upon which you can dine."

Then with a soft chirping sound, the gleaming black form took wing and was out the window, soon a black speck disappearing towards the south.

"He will be calling his comrades," Khamul said. "Plans for the feast have been laid. There remains but the serving."

"Come, Lord Zagbolg, have a goblet of wine while I write out some messages."

Khamul went back to the table and sat down. Taking a sheet of parchment from a stack on the table, he took a pen, dipped it in the ink well, and began to write. Lord Zagbolg refilled his goblet from a decanter at the table. "While I was at it, my lord, I replenished your goblet," he said as he handed the goblet across the table to Khamul.

"Narnulublat, Zagbolg," Khamul said, not looking up, as he reached his hand across the table and pulled the goblet to his side. After writing several messages, he turned the parchment in his hand and after placing them all in tubes, he capped them. He looked over to a young soldier, an Easterling in regal black livery. "Hasten and take these to the captain of my guard. There is much to be done."

The soldier walked to the table and after bowing in the presence of the two Nazgul, he took the proffered rolls and placed them in a dispatch case. Bowing again, he said, "As you wish, my lord." He backed backwards three steps as was proper and then turned, opening the door and closing it behind him.

"Lord Zagbolg, in addition to the troops that I sent earlier to the west, I have ordered my captain to send a detachment of troops under Captain Kamyar to the south of the forest and to prepare themselves for the unforeseen."

Turning back to Lord Zagbolg, Khamul hissed, "It will be a long afternoon!"

"Well, at least there are many more decanters in the wine cabinet to replace this one, should we empty this."

"Well, then, shall we begin?" Khamul said as he picked up his goblet of wine. He paused before the goblet rim touched his lips. A sweet fragrance drifted to his nostrils that quickly put aside thoughts of the wine. "My Lady Madurz is approaching, Lord Zagbolg." Turning to servants at the side of the room, Khamul commanded, "More candles and light some lanterns!"

Soft falls of footsteps were heard coming up the hallway and soon the door was opened and Lady Madurz entered. Khamul sat down his wine goblet as both he and Lord Zagbolg rose to their feet.

"My love!" Khamul exclaimed. "Sit beside me. A goblet of wine awaits you."

"Aanug zark, lady," Zagbolg said and nodded to her.

When they had all been seated, Khamul pointed to the map that rested on the table. "Shakh Baggins has gotten himself into a bit of trouble," he laughed, "and he needs us to rescue him."

Zagbolg almost choked in laughter on the wine that filled his mouth. "My lord," he said as his unseen hand wiped the wine that trailed down the corner of one side of his mouth, "I must protest! Your droll wit is far too heavy to take so early in the day. You should not jest about such matters when one is drinking!"

"What? Would you have me more serious?"

"Nay, I would have you not get me choked upon wine!"

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