The fell creature soared aloft on the shifting air currents above the dark granite towers of Dol Guldur and slowly descended to the ancient structure in a slow, graceful glide.  Its clawed feet grasped the stonework of the outer tower wall as it landed, sending tiny stone shards flying and fragments of rock tumbling down onto the walkways below.  Once it had steadied itself upon this unnatural perch, the creature eyed the flooring beneath its talons, and satisfied by what it saw, hopped down to the flagstones within the outer battlements.  Slowly and methodically it settled its great black body down upon its belly and enfolded its massive membranous wings back alongside its flanks.

          When the shadow creature finally ceased its movements, the Ringwraith atop the creature slid from the beast’s back and quietly moved away from it toward the doorway in the tower’s central keep.   As it passed through the narrow opening, a particularly hideous orc scurried out of the passageway and hurried toward the fell beast lying upon the stones without.  A long, dark robe was clutched within the orc’s claws and trailed out behind him as he scuttled forward.  The intricate silvered threads that were interwoven about the hem and sleeves of the silken garment sparkled in the moonlight with the orc’s passing.   The orc stopped several feet away from the bat-creature, and with head bowed, waited.

          The still air surrounding the prone shadow beast began to shimmer and waver like the mirages seen in the lands of the Haradrim.  The creature’s appearance and substance also began to shift, melt, and reform into varying shapes.  Abruptly the supernatural metamorphosis came to an end and a malevolent yet sensual, raven-haired woman remained crouching naked upon the stones.  Her smooth skin was so white and pale that it appeared translucent in the moon’s faint glow.  The evil she-demon looked up with yellow reptilian eyes at the orc before her, coolly noting his subservient posture.   Gracefully and unhurried in her movements, she gradually rose to an erect posture.

          The orc darted forward, head still lowered, but with gnarled arms outstretched, extending the ebony robe to the woman.  She took the proffered garment from the creature’s claws without comment and with a single movement, swirled it about her bare body like a succubus performing in some primeval ritual dance.  The delicate material of the robe slid over her ivory limbs and lithe body and she drew it closely about her torso, snuggly tying the fitted sash at her slender waist.   Once clad, she patted the orc upon the head with an almost loving touch.  “Come, Râzgulduk.”

          Her voice sounded low and husky, as if untold years had passed without its use.  At her spoken command, the orc scampered in front of her and made for the iron door in the tower wall.   He grasped a blazing torch from one of the curved sconces at the door’s entrance and stepped into the hallway beyond, lighting the darkened corridor ahead for his mistress.   The shadow being followed the orc’s lead, making no sound as she moved across the stones.  Her actions were fluid and gave the impression of someone floating rather than walking along the dark tower pathway.   Her sinuous robe swirled about her legs like some dark and foul sea crashing against a rocky shoal.

          Arriving at their destination, Râzgulduk halted before a set of formidable double doors made of lusterless black metal.  These portals were huge, tall and heavy, with great brass rings attached to them for use in pulling the doors apart.  The orc clasped one of the rings and strained backward using his weight to inch the great metal bulk of the door along its grooved floor track.   He struggled with the heavy gateway, but was eventually able to pry it open enough so that his mistress could pass through unhindered.  The she-demon could have easily opened the chamber’s door with but a wave of her slim wrist, so great was her power over material objects, but she enjoyed the orc’s groveling attentiveness and allowed him this pleasure.  She glided into the dark chamber and silently moved to the plinth arising from the reflective surfaces of the stone flooring in the center of the room.  The obsidian pedestal was the only fixture within the circular area, although heavy black draperies lined the walls, keeping out the daylight, and affording the chamber an atmosphere akin to that of a tomb.  The air within the space was chill and dank, but she smiled as her golden eyes surveyed the stark interior of the room.  Ultimately, her gaze alighted upon the black pillar and the ancient treasure resting upon it.

          Reaching out an alabaster hand to the pedestal, she grasped the silken cloth covering the sphere and quickly pulled it aside.  The dark crystal orb lying below the silk hummed at the sudden kiss of cool air as its hood was removed, and the clouds within its murky depths began to swirl and writhe.  Râzgulduk shied backward, sidling closer to the doorway and avoided looking directly at the globe.  Although apprehensive and fearing the orb, he made no move to leave the chamber.  In due course, a red-gold, fiery eye similar to that of a serpent or dragon emerged within the crystal’s core, and a reverberating voice echoed throughout the once soundless chamber.

           “What news, Thuringwethil?”

           The Woman of Secret Shadows, Messenger of Sauron, a primordial evil from the time of Morgoth and Tol-in-Gaurhoth, the Isle of Werewolves, inched closer to the dark, seething crystal.  “I have seen them, Master.  They are near.”

           “Are you certain it is the heir?” the disembodied voice questioned.

          Yes, Lord.  The ranger and the Elf travel alone.  I entered the Elf’s mind as I hovered above them.  I was able to discern a name…Aragorn.”  The undead being bowed her head slightly, a satisfied smile forming upon her blood red lips.

          “Yesssss,” the orb hissed.  “At last…the legacy of the Edain.  You have captured him?”

          Thuringwethil glowered.  The thought of having to tell the Dark Lord about the debacle of the failed orc raid was not something she relished, yet she did have an alternative.  “The orc raid was not successful,” she murmured.

          The orc cowering in the shadows beside the door whined in terror at his mistress’s words.  The Dark Lord’s wrath was not something that he wished to encounter either.  He was prepared to flee should something manifest itself from the Great Eye and strike within the chamber. But at the anticipated roar from the orb, Thuringwethil hurried on, “But I have a much better plan, my lord.”  She clasped her pale hands around the ancient palantir and peered into its depths, her malicious smile deepening.  “The Elf’s allegiance to this human is beyond that of friend or brother.  We can use him as bait to lure the Son of Gondor to us.”

          “And you think this stratagem will work?” the snide voice thundered.

          “Yes, Lord,” she purred. “If the ranger’s devotion to this Elf is even half as strong as his woodland companion’s, he will certainly attempt to rescue the fair creature; quite possibly, he might even try to come alone.”

          The Dark Lord’s interest was not with the Firstborn; his only desire was to crush the heir of Isildur.  “Use the Elf as you please,” he allowed. “I care not.  But see that you bring me the last of the Númenórean line.”

          “As you wish, My Lord

          Thuringwethil lowered her head once more, and then slowly brought the silken cover up and over the orb, shutting out the flames of the Eye.  Once concealed, the thrumming sound began to fade away and the room again fell silent.  The were-woman turned to face the orc Râzgulduk and her lips twisted in a cruel and depraved smile.

          “Come, my pet.  We’re going to have guests.”

          The orc cackled with glee at the much anticipated torture of an Elf, for he had heard all that had been spoken within the chamber.  Hopping excitedly from one clawed foot to the other, his mouth began to drool and slather and his tongue darted in and out between pointed, foul-smelling teeth.

          He worshipfully gazed up at the she-creature beside him, willing to do whatever task she would ask of him, but for now, he was content to walk along with her as she left the Seeing Stone behind.   The skies outside the fortress were lightening and she would need the sleep of the were-beings.  He would safeguard her resting place so that she could slumber undisturbed throughout the dread light of day.

          The incongruous pair halted before another obscure chamber deep within the walls of the fortress of Dol Guldur.  Thuringwethil casually flicked her bloodless hand to the side and the door opened on noiseless, well greased hinges.  The interior of the room was completely dark.  No windows or other visible passageways led from the room’s interior to any other part of the tower structure.  As light from the outer corridor filtered into the chamber, a stone sarcophagus could be seen standing alone within the room.   Along the sides of the tomb were carved the words of the unspeakable Black Tongue, insuring that its occupant was protected by the dark spells of Morgoth.

          Thuringwethil ran a caressing hand along the top of the crypt and sighed with pleasure.  Gradually, the massive lid slid to the side, creating a small aperture within the stone.  The were-beast glanced at her orc companion.  “Come to me at dusk.”

          “Yes, Mistress,” Râzgulduk answered.  As the orc watched from the shadows, he witnessed her form change once more from that of a woman into a black and swirling mist.  The foul vapor poured into the stone tomb in a rushing cloud and when the last traces of its fog had curled into the burial vault, the colossal lid slid shut with a resounding thump.  The black robe, no longer supported by a corporeal body of any sort, dropped to the floor in a glittering cascade.  The orc sidled over to the crypt and scooped up the silk garment of his beloved mistress.  He tenderly carried it back toward the doorway and hung it upon one of the numerous hooks imbedded within the chamber’s wall, there to join several other robes and gowns already suspended from the various pegs.

          That task completed, Râzgulduk closed the door to the chamber and using the great iron key hanging about his neck, he locked the portal preventing any from gaining entrance to his Lady’s resting place.  His repulsive lips curved up into a mockery of a grin as his evil thoughts once again turned to the nameless Elf and his imminent doom.

          “She will give him to me,” he hissed with unconcealed excitement.  “Once she has finished with him…she will give him to me.”  His appalling laughter echoed through the halls as he scampered away to let the others below know what was to come.