Chapter 16 - Khand

Sauron returns just as everyone is sitting down to the evening meal and beginning to worry about what can be taking the Maia so long to return. He approaches from the west, the blazing red-yellow sunset behind him dancing like a fire in the sky as another sand storm begins on the horizon. There are many buzzards flying in circles over the swirling sand, disturbed from their homes by the storm. In the east, the distant hills are already lost to the bleak night and the stars are beginning to shimmer weakly. The moon will not be long in rising and they will be grateful for the little light it provides. 

They breathe with relief to have their leader returned to them at last. The other horses and the ponies are also glad to see their missing comrade and they toss their heads and stamp the ground, their tails swishing happily. Rick’s horse, still unnamed, whinnies gently and Sauron’s stallion returns the call.

Sauron stops in front of them and dismounts. He looks disheveled and his eyes fall upon the food hungrily, but he appears to be otherwise unaffected by his travels.

“Where have you been?” Frodo asks as Sam prepares a plate. “We expected you back much sooner. You must be exhausted.”

“I am, but I can manage one more ride before I must succumb to sleep,” Sauron reassures them. “After I was satisfied that no one was following us and set a couple of false trails, I decided to scout ahead, just in case. We’re in the clear, but from the looks of that storm it seems it was all for nothing. It will sweep away any sign of our passing for a good many miles. It shouldn’t reach us here though.”

“So, no one’s following us, are they?” Rick says in an I-told-you-so voice. “No one jumped us at the port, and Semira was never anything short of professional and trustworthy. You know Sauron, this all comes back to what I was saying before about learning to trust people and not being so paranoid.”

“Look, just because I’m paranoid doesn’t mean something couldn’t have happened,” Sauron defends himself as he sits but the others only laugh. He fixes Rick with a pointed look. “Spy or not, she was still a danger to the mission. She knows the hobbits' true identities, I'm certain of that at least. Who knows what else she was able to piece together?” 

Rick says nothing. He doesn’t dare mention Semira’s parting words with him. 

Sauron turns to Frodo, who is still watching him with much amusement, and takes his plate from Sam. “How are you, Frodo?” he asks.

“I’m well,” Frodo answers with a grin at Rick. “Better than well, even, thanks to Rick.” He had wasted no time in thanking Rick for his frankness when the lad woke earlier, and they are both much the gladder and more at ease for their open discussion.

“Good, because there will be no room for error once we reach the Blue Wizards’ fortress,” Sauron warns.

“Begging your pardon, sir, but what exactly are we going to do once we sneak into that fortress?” Sam asks. “You do know where to go, don’t you? You know where the wizards keep their rings and all that?”

“I know where the rings are hid but I've only been there once since the fortress was originally built. Don’t worry,” Sauron replies calmly. “I was the one who commissioned it to be built, and as I didn’t trust the wizards even then, I had it built in exact replica to one of my former strongholds. It was the only way to ensure that I would know all its secrets, and I remember the layout well. I’ll know where to go.”

Sauron is correct about the sand storm. It dies out before ever reaching them and by the time they set off that night, the faint cawing of the displaced birds had quieted once again to eerie silence. They continue due east and as each plodding step forward draws them nearer to the night-shrouded hills, their sense of dread and apprehension grows. Sam casts constant fretful glances at Frodo, watching his master closely for signs of distress, while Frodo simply attempts to concentrate on staying on his pony despite his now pounding headache. Rick tries to break the tension with a couple of traveling songs but the words soon die on his lips, and Sauron often looks over his shoulders as though he still expects to find someone following them.

Two mornings later, they reach the hills and camp under a crooked tree with small oval-shaped leaves and small white flowers. Frodo has grown pale and quiet, and after he fumbles the water jug twice, Sam gently takes the jug away and sends his master to relax under the tree. Frodo takes out his vial of frankincense and breathes the fumes deeply. The headache alleviates greatly, but it does not go away entirely, remaining a constant pressure inside his head. When some water is heated, Sam brings him some tea and he sips at it gratefully between whiffs of the oil. Rick joins Sam at the fire once the tent is up and Sauron joins Frodo as soon as he is finished patting down the horses and ponies. 

Sauron sits quietly for many long minutes, watching Sam and Rick at the cooking or else looking up into the boughs of the tree. After a time he says, “You can feel their power, but I do not think they are aware of you yet.”

“Does your head hurt too then?” Frodo asks. “Why aren’t Rick and Sam being affected?”

“They have no connection to the wizards,” Sauron answers. “They will be safe enough for now, and the wizards cannot affect me so easily. Remember Frodo: it’s not about resisting their power. It’s about protecting yourself. Concentrate on veiling your mind, or the headaches will continue and you’ll be too worn and exhausted to face the wizards when the time comes.”

“Block them. I can do that,” Frodo says with a careful nod and immediately begins to protect his mind as Sauron has taught him. Almost instantly, he begins to feel better. “We’re nearly there, aren’t we? Just a few more days. How bad is it going to be?”

Sauron breathes heavily, reluctant to answer but knowing he must. “How much do you remember of Cirith Ungol?” he asks softly.

“Too much,” Frodo answers with a shiver. “Enough to know I never want to go there again.”

Sauron nods and grows more reluctant, but he eventually finishes, “You may come to look on it fondly.”

The next morning Sauron leads them to a trail that crawls between two hill ranges and they slowly wind their way deep into the narrow valley. The same crooked trees grow thick all around them, blocking the searing heat of the day so they can rest easier, and everywhere there are patches of yellow grass and tall cacti with bright pink flowers. Scattered amongst the trees and leading up to the bare hilltops are giant boulders and slabs of sandstone. 

On their second night into the hills, they come to a river that Sauron says will lead them to the base of the Blue Wizards’ fortress. Frodo and Sam share a steadying resolve while Rick inches closer to the hobbits. They have noticed his increased vigilance of them and assume it is due solely to their destination, now so near even Sam begins to feel the pressure of unseen eyes watching them from afar. He shivers involuntarily.

Sauron notices this and catches Frodo’s eye. He nods towards Sam and Frodo easily understands the unspoken command. He begins at once to stretch out with his mind, shielding Sam from the dark energy that now envelopes them. The headache threatens to return as they begin to follow the river away from the path and up into the hills, but Frodo soon enough masters this extension of his powers and the pain abates again. 

The ground along the riverbank is soft and steep, making it difficult for the beasts to climb. Sauron leads them away from the river to more solid ground, but even there they soon must dismount and lead their beasts along the steep and narrow pathways between the trees and boulders. There are sections of worn sandstone that had been cut into steps, and they use these whenever possible though they provide no safer footing than the earth. The steps are old and crumbling and even the hobbits’ light footsteps often displace whole chunks of sandstone. The horses’ small hooves find cracks in the steps, causing them great distress and pain when their feet become trapped. It soon becomes apparent that they cannot continue by night and Sauron stops them while the moon is still high in the western sky.

“We need to begin traveling by day at any rate,” he announces. “There is a village in the hills above us and it would be unwise to come upon it at night. We should reach it late tomorrow morning. I’ll speak with some of the villagers and find out how things stand before we continue.”

“Will the villagers be friendly, living so close to the wizards?” Rick asks. “They’re not Variags are they?”

“Variags?” Sam asks.

“A warrior caste of half-orc men,” Sauron explains. “Some of them at one time might have lived in the village or others like it, to keep the peace. Like the orcs though, most of the Variags were lost in the War and those that remain hide in the mountains. 

“The villagers here are just simple people. Many of the Khand were called out to war for me, and their loathing for the Westrons are no less than that of the Haradrim. They will not be our allies, but they are no friends of the wizards either. They have been enslaved by the wizards for centuries and the wizards are not kind masters. If they try to stop us, it will only be for our safety and for theirs. They will not want the wizards to think they have sent for assassins.”

“If they’re not our allies, won’t they try to—?” Sam begins but Sauron cuts him off.

“They won't. They wouldn't dare anything that might draw attention to them, not while the wizards have been quiet so long,” he says. “Now, I know you’ve only been awake a few hours, but try to get some more sleep. We’ll set out again at first light.”

They do not bother with the tent but pull out their sleeping rolls and toss these on the ground near the beasts. Rick takes the first watch and while the others sleep, he sometimes hears the faint sound of mournful lutes and the gentle tapping of drums on the night air. He hopes the sounds come from the village and that they carry no ominous message. He keeps a hand on the hilt of his sword, trembling every time he remembers his promise to Semira but determined to keep his word. He is grateful when Sauron wakes and relieves him four hours later, but even though he lies down and closes his eyes, sleep eludes him until the moon falls beyond the hills.

Just before dawn, Sauron wakes them. The hobbits look no more rested than Rick but they groggily follow Sauron’s order to strap their daggers onto their belts so that they are all armed. The hobbits then are obliged to don their boots again.

After a hasty breakfast, they leave their beasts and gear in the camp, except for a small bag that Sauron carries over his shoulder, and continue up the steep, rock-strewn hillside on foot. The river cascades down a sheer cliff about a mile from where they camped. The drop is high but they find more steps carved into the sandstone that take them with ease to the higher level. 

The land levels out at the top of the waterfall. The trees thin from dense jungle to scattered copses and after a league or more they see a village of many huts. Behind the village are more scattered trees running towards a final rise in the hill, to solid sandstone climbing sharply into the sky. Beyond this last summit, they can just glimpse a tall turret of black obsidian. 

With effort, Rick and the hobbits peel their eyes from the far-off turret and back to the village. As they come closer, they see that the huts are made of mud bricks with thatched roofs. The windows are instead simple holes in the wall, cut into oval shapes with painted designs around the holes that remind the hobbits vaguely of flower blossoms. The doorways are covered only with a long strip of drab cloth, and above the doorways are embedded rocks arranged in odd patterns. The walls had at one time been painted but the paint is now faded, the colors and designs nothing more than dim shadows of their former glory.

There are animals milling around the huts and in the gardens, pigs and chickens looking for what food they can find. Around the huts and spreading out before the village are plots of vegetable gardens and crop fields. The river flows between the fields, and there are old men and women and young children in the fields, bent over to their work. These unlikely laborers are the first to notice them and they send up an alarm call, an imitation of the buzzards that live in the open desert. 

There are people sitting in the clearing at the center of the village or under the shade of the hut roofs, and they are all working at some task, but they look up immediately at the sound of the alarm call. Some of the villagers continue working but most of them stop what they are doing and come to stand at the front of the village. The workers in the field also cease their work and as Rick, Sauron and the hobbits pass, they leave the fields to follow behind them.

By the time they reach the edge of the village, nearly everyone is lined up and waiting for them, watching them with a mixture of curiosity and fear. The field workers remain behind them, blocking their way out while keeping a safe distance away, in obvious fear of the swords that Rick, Sauron and the hobbits wear at their sides. 

A elderly man and woman step out from the crowd in front of them and slowly walk to stand before them. Their dark faces are lined with deep wrinkles, their hair is silver white, and their hands are knurled and spotted. Their dark eyes are shrewd and attentive and they take in the travelers with one slow glance. The sheikhs turn to speak with each other; the other villagers seem to be waiting for the wise-man and wise-woman to do something.

Sauron motions with a hand for Rick and the hobbits to wait while he approaches the sheikhs. Rick, Frodo and Sam gladly hang back, feeling the weight of the gazes of all those people and shifting uncomfortably. They scrutinize the villagers in turn. 

The villagers are darker in color than Semira, their brown skin reminding the hobbits of the scorched earth of Mordor. The villagers are mostly women, young children and elders. The few men they see are horribly disfigured with scars or burns and most even have an appendage missing. A few of the women and children even carry visible scars or burns, and they all have dull, haunted expressions behind their fear and curiosity. 

Frodo knows that look well. He begins to shake at the horror of it and next to him, Sam pales considerably and his knees threaten to buckle. Rick places a hand on either of their shoulders to help steady them, but Frodo can feel that the young man is trembling also.

Ahead of them, Sauron is speaking quietly with the sheikhs. They cannot hear any of the words being exchanged, but from all appearances he is trying to explain their purpose for being here and the sheikhs are refusing to allow them to stay. The debate is becoming heated and the villagers are growing restless and more fearful as the wise-man and wise-woman become more agitated. 

Just when it appears that Sauron will lose the debate, a middle-aged woman with ashy brown skin and black plated hair that shines blue in the midmorning sun steps forward from the line of villagers. She is dressed differently from the others. The villagers all wear simple tunics and skirts or kilts of tanned hide, decorated with colorful beads sewn onto their clothing and arranged in zigzagging lines and odd symbols. The sheikhs have similar clothes, except their hides have been bleached white. This woman wears a dress dyed to a deep lavender and her dress is decorated with both beads and small gemstones. She comes to stand next to the elders, looking past Sauron and directly at Frodo. 

She speaks in a clear low voice with strange clipped words that carries over the entire village so that everyone listens and when she finishes she bows to the sheikhs. Whatever she has said, the villagers now appear excited. The wise-man and wise-woman converse amongst themselves for many minutes then turn back to Sauron and bow to him. 

Sauron returns their bows and looks back at Rick and the hobbits. He waves for them to join him and they come forward with reluctance. When they are standing next to Sauron, they can see that the woman has many tattoos on her face and neck as well as her arms, and in each of her ears are five small hoops of silver.

She waits until the elders introduce themselves before she speaks. She motions to herself and speaks in that strange clipped tongue. They look at Sauron for a translation.

“Her name is Aliya. She is the shamaness of this village. She has foreseen your coming, Frodo, and she bids that her people aid us as much as they are able, with the permission of the sheikhs, who are the elders, Khalina and Amh. They have agreed.”

“Does she… does she know who I am?” Frodo asks, looking with wonder into Aliya’s gentle black eyes.

“She knows that you are the one who will bring battle to the Blue Wizards. She believes you are their liberator,” Sauron says. 

“So no pressure or anything,” Rick jokes grimly.

Aliya removes her necklace, a cord with a row of four stones, two yellow and two green, and on either side of the stones are two long slim fangs of some beast. She puts the necklace around Frodo’s neck. She speaks again and Sauron translates. “She says the fangs of this serpent will protect you from the poisons of the wizards’ minds. She bids you to hide it under your shirt. It is also the symbol of the shamaness and it will bring you aid when you need it.”

“Another relic to hang about my neck,” Frodo says ruefully but he does as he is bid and tucks it under his shirt. Aliya smiles, bows again, then turns and disappears back into the village. They do not see her again while they are there. 

At the sheikhs’ bidding, Sauron, Rick and the hobbits are taken to the village center and sat down, then food is brought to them. Sauron warns them not to refuse the offerings, for it will be seen as disrespectful of those sacrificing their stores, and to disrespect your hosts is to bring bad luck upon yourself. They eat all that is brought to them, feeling both guilty and touched that the villagers are willing to spare them so much. When even the hobbits begin to fear they will not be able to eat any more, the wise-woman comes for them and leads them to a small round hut that has been prepared for their stay. They discover, through Sauron’s translation, that many of the huts now stand vacant. 

Sunlight filters dimly into the hut. Inside, there are no rooms and no kitchen, just one circular living area where they now stand. In the dirt are curving lines of rocks, separating the room into sections, though for what purpose these sections once served, they can only guess. The hut is entirely bare except for a couple of straw-stuffed pads on the floor and a small table. On the right corner of the table is a statue of a faceless woman carved from sandstone. On the left corner is a small wooden box and in the middle is a long flat rock with a line of holes drilled into its smooth surface. From the holes stand four smoking stems of incense. The smoke fills the hut with a faint but pleasant scent, and Sam sniffs at it appreciatively. 

“Jasmine and something else I can’t place,” he says softly.

“Is that for good luck too?” Rick asks as he selects a pad and sits. 

“It is,” Sauron answers. He sits on the pad next to Rick as the young man yawns widely. 

“What do we do now?” Frodo asks, crossing his arms and joining Sam.

“We wait until the incense has purified us - until it has burned out - then we are to seek the village elders again. They will see us on our way. We should rest, maybe get some sleep if we can.”

Rick nods sleepily. He had only managed a couple of hours sleep near dawn, and he is quite ready for another opportunity to sleep before continuing any farther. Frodo and Sam look hesitantly at the straw pads. They are not particularly tired but they too wouldn’t mind the excuse to linger here just a little while longer. 

They lie down and close their eyes, only then noticing the thickness of the air and the absolute silence of the hut. No sounds from outside reach them here and as they close their eyes, the smoke of the incense curls around them. They breathe it in deeply and their minds become groggy, their limbs grow heavy, and they slip into a deep sleep from which they do not wake until the incense burns out. 

It seems as though only mere moments have passed before the wise-man is gently shaking Sauron awake. Sauron blinks, sits up and notices instantly that the incense is now completely burnt out and the smoke cleared from the hut. 

The sheikh motions outside. “You will need to be restored now,” he says in Khand, his voice soft but scratchy, as of one unaccustomed to speech. “A meal has been prepared for you.” 

“Thank you,” Sauron says, yawning. He waits until the sheikh is gone, then wakes the hobbits. “It is time,” he says softly and holds a finger to his lips as the hobbits blink up at him. Rick is still asleep on his mat. 

“Isn’t he coming?” Frodo whispers, barely audible. “He won’t want to be left behind.”

“Aye, he hasn’t been very keen on leaving our sides since Semira left,” Sam adds.

“If all goes as planned, we should be back before he wakes,” Sauron says, looking back at his friend with gentle concern. “No need to put him in harm’s way.”

“I don’t know,” Frodo says doubtfully, standing and helping Sam to his feet. “He’ll be upset.”

“I’m willing to suffer his wrath,” Sauron says with a fond smile. He removes another incense stick from the box and lights it with a flint stone, then motions for the hobbits to go ahead of him out of the hut.

The sun is nearing mid-afternoon when they return to the village center. There they are given small plates of a thick, fleshy green fruit the hobbits have never had before. They eat it and find it sweet and watery. Sauron explains it is the flesh of the cacti that grow on the hillsides below and that the plant will hydrate and rejuvenate them after being so long in the hut. When they finish their meal, the villagers and sheikhs follow them to the river and send them off with cries of what the hobbits can only assume are for good luck. 

“The fortress is still a couple of miles ahead,” Sauron says once the village is behind them, switching his bag from one shoulder to another. They follow the river along the plain towards the rock cliff rising high ahead of them.

“Are there stairs?” Sam asks.

“There’s a path that goes about a half-mile up. It comes out between the summit of two hills. We will find the fortress there,” Sauron explains. “Frodo, are you still blocking your thoughts and Sam’s? Are you feeling all right? Good. Sam, stay close to Frodo. If either of you feel the slightest bit of discomfort or disorientation, tell me immediately.”

Frodo nods, focusing his energies with effort. He has been feeling the same great weight bearing down on him for the last few days, so he says nothing about it again. He waits instead for signs that it is increasing in some way but no such sign comes, for which he is grateful. He can feel it like fingers trying to get inside his head, and he shudders to think what it might do if it finds its way inside. He looks to Sam and is glad to find that his friend seems completely unaware of this burden; he at least is being shielded from it.

The trees and vegetation grow thick once more, the enchanting twisted trees growing taller here than on the hillsides below. Rich earth surrounds the feet of the trees, and strange thorn-covered bushes grow amongst them, bearing an ominous red berry that Sauron warns them, unnecessarily, not to eat. They reach the cliff and discover that the river runs violently through a low arch disappearing under the cliff base. They cannot follow it anymore.

“What now?” Frodo asks.

Sauron steers them right and they follow the cliff wall for another mile before they see a gap in the cliff, leading up into the hilltops. They go towards it and find more steep steps climbing upwards through the sandstone cliffs. The steps here are in much better condition than on the hillside below and they have little difficulty following the trail as it winds its way ever upward. By the time they reach the summit, they are all panting heavily. Sam wipes the sweat off his forehead and looks up at the sun-filled sky. It is now late afternoon and in less than two hours the sun will disappear behind the summit.

In front of them, the hilltops fall away at either side, running in a circle to join more hilltops at the other end of the enclosure. The trail continues down a steep slope that runs to the shore of a clear blue lake, the water shadowed by the hills. There is little vegetation to provide cover so they huddle against the cliff wall as their eyes follow the gentle ripples of the  lake to an island of stone and granite that juts out of the clear surface of the water. 

Sitting upon the island is a bleak and menacing fortress, its foundation coving every surface of the island as though it were built from the stone itself. The fortress rises high over their heads, the base about a hundred feet up into four separate towers that jut high into the air, ending in pointed turrets. Though not as high as Orthanc or as black as Barad-dûr or as chilling as Minas Morgul, it is twice as large as any of those other towers and there are many dark windows from which they can be spied. The only way into the fortress is by a drawbridge that lies open in horrid invitation. The main gate to the fortress is guarded by sentries dressed in deep blue.

Sam studies the fortress critically. He has the feeling he has seen this all somewhere before, even though he knows that is impossible. “How are we supposed to sneak into that?” he asks, his heart sinking. “We’ll wait for the cover of night, I take it.”

“There won’t be any need to do that,” Sauron says and his voice is different, oddly strangled and filled with malice. 

The hobbits look back at the Maia and to their horror see him narrowing his eyes into slits as he sneers down at them. The bag he had carried is dropped to the floor and a set of manacles is in his hands. 

“What are you doing?” Frodo asks, his breath coming in quick hitches as the truth unveils before him. In his surprise, his own power fails for but a moment but that is all that Sauron needs. The hobbits are suddenly overcome with a great heaviness that pins them to the cliff wall, unable to move or even call out for help, though what help they will find here is not a comforting thought.

“I must thank you both for being such pleasant company on the road and for coming so willingly,” Sauron gloats, bearing down upon them. He slaps the manacles over their wrists, then pulls Frodo towards him, gripping his shirt as he lifts the Ring-bearer off his feet. 

“No!” Sam yells, realization slowly coming to him as he struggles to process this sudden turn in events. “You can’t! You wouldn’t!”

“Please, what madness has come over you?” Frodo pleads, his voice trembling and his eyes bulging in his fright.

“I am not mad. I am the Deceiver,” Sauron says calmly and drops Frodo to the ground. He tugs on the chain. Frodo scrambles to his feet so as not to be dragged as Sauron leaves the shelter of the cliffs and makes his way down the slope. 

Sam reaches out and helps Frodo to his feet. “I knew it!” he spits. “I knew it away at Bag End and I let you trick me!”

“Yes, you’re both very stupid,” Sauron says, tugging harder as he strides ahead, bringing them closer and closer to the drawbridge. The sentries watch them approach but do not move from their posts. “You, Sam, would have done better to listen to your heart, not your head. Isn’t that what your Gaffer always tells you? Or, told you, since you’ll never see him again. And you Frodo, agreeing to all those lessons, learning to block your thoughts from outside influence, providing just the cover I needed to arrange this little meeting with the wizards. They’re very eager to meet you, and they have all sorts of fun activities planned for your stay.”

“So you did all this just to bring us here to be killed?” Frodo says, outrage fighting with fear. “Why didn’t you just kill us in the Shire and be done with it?”

“And lose the trust of everyone? Of poor gullible little Rick? Of your precious Strider, our noble King?” Sauron says with a sickening laugh. “Just because I can’t kill you myself, doesn’t mean I’m going to stop someone else from having the pleasure. No, this way I can say that the wizards together were too much for me, what with my weakened powers and all. I’ll say that they took you and killed you instantly, that I barely escaped with my life. Rick won’t think to question me and no one will come to rescue you. We’ll be long gone, back in Gondor, mourning the passing of our beloved Ring-bearers, and you’ll be here, slowly being tortured to death. Or maybe not. Maybe they can keep you alive long enough to create a new race.” Sauron pauses at the lip of the drawbridge and looks down at them thoughtfully, as though this idea has just occurred to him. “Now that would be something to see.”

Whatever the hobbits might say in response to this, the words die on their lips as two figures step forward from the main gate. The sentries remain rooted to their spots as two ancient and formidable wizards in sea-blue robes glide towards them. The wizards have tough leathery skin tanned to a deep brown but their eyes are as blue as their robes. They observe the hobbits with calm hatred. “You have brought them,” says one of the wizards in halting Westron, his voice wooden and hollow.

“We are greatly honored by your gift,” the other wizard says, his voice equally dull, like the low timber of a wood flute. They almost sound like Ents but for the malice in their voices.

“We were pleased when you beckoned us. You are earlier than we expected,” says the first wizard.

“They were very cooperative traveling companions,” Sauron says, smiling smugly. He tugs on the chains a final time and sends the hobbits flying onto the drawbridge, where they land at the Blue Wizards’ feet. “It’s been too long, Alatar, Pallando,” he continues, greeting the wizards in turn, then looking up at the fortress. “I like what you’ve done with the place. Now, where’s my reward?”

The first wizard, Alatar, waves his hand, revealing long claw-like nails, and one of the sentries steps forward. “Give him whatever he wants,” Alatar instructs in Khand.

Pallando waves to the other sentry. “Take the halflings to their cage,” he commands. “See that they are comfortable.”

The hobbits cower away from the sentry who steps forward to grab their chain. They dig their heels into the wooden planks of the drawbridge, but their efforts offer little resistance. The sentry, a large burly man with black plated hair, easily outmatches them. He drags them screaming in protest behind him into the fortress as the wizards, Sauron and the other sentry slowly follow.

To be continued…

GF 6/7/07

Note: The names of the Blue Wizards comes from The Unfinished Tales, “The Istari”.