[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Two figures crouched in conspiratorial whispers, their words but dimly heard. They cast nervous glances about themselves, winking and devious in the low light of their den. They are plotting…planning, seeking out the time to attack him and his friends. They are enemies.

“Who are they?”

“I show you your enemies, Faroz. They are gathering about you, and you are blind to it.”

One of them turns and he sees her face. It is sharp and pointed, and he wonders that he has never noted its ugliness. The ears, misshaped and hideous, the eyes bright and deadly with years of cunning and secrets kept for their own kind. Her cub is at her side, his own mouth twisted into a smile of wolfish glee at the prospect of moving against the Men he hates.

“I know them! They are the wife and child of my General. They plot against me now. They blame me for the death of my beloved wife and Queen.”

He lies in a broken heap upon the stone, struck down by the power of the One Lord for his blasphemy. He has forgotten know, but the visions hover still about his mind like the stench of offal in the heat of the sun. His fear is that of the weak who hate and envy the strong. He desires only to throw down that which is good and powerful. He is the enemy of Men, the opponent of Annatar, the servant of violence and death. An innocent girl clutches the wounds that he has inflicted upon her.

“He dares to wound the innocent! I had not thought it possible for Morgôs to be so wicked. I must protect my people from him and his kind. I must find some way to prevent their envy of us from destroying the world of Men.”

The Elf is speaking with his son. They are huddled together in a corner, casting envious eyes upon him, and plotting his overthrow. The boy, his eyes wide with youthful innocence, is growing monstrous and twisted, becoming as they are. His features are human but his soul is corrupted with the taint of the immortals. He is being corrupted, has been corrupted, is corrupt. There is not hope for him. It will be a kindness now to see that he shares the fate of his corrupter.

“My son, my son! They have turned you against me! My gentle boy, the one who I had hoped to follow me to the throne…you are overthrown and drawn into the webs of my enemies! Thus do they work and conspire. I have known it always, but never have I seen.”

She strides through the streets and at her throat is a terrible emblem of fire and blood, a stone that stabs his mind and shows the evil that she intends. Her soul is rank with the converse she had enjoyed with demons. She claims to speak with the goddess, but she is in league with the powers of darkness. She preaches against him, telling those who follow her in their ignorance that Pashtia is ill, when it is her own soul that has been infected with doubt. Her hands will stain the flesh of his wife with her impurity. She will defile the good of his beloved.

“If the servant of Rhais is such, then what is the goddess? A demon! We have been misled by the priestesses to worship the shadow when the light shone clear above for us to see. Her time will come, yes, it will come. When the temple of the One Lord is completed I will have the house of the pretender pulled down brick by brick, and all Pashtians shall be brought to the light of the true faith. They shall be saved, and those who follow the false goddess will drown in the blood of her false prophets!”

“I am sorry to have caused you such pain, my friend. But sometimes truth is sadness.”

“No, no, I am glad that you have shown me these things my friend. I see now that I have been blind and weak. My enemies are almost upon me, but now I see them and will be ready for them. It will be difficult, but I can counter them if I move quickly.”

“How can you counter such enmity, such betrayal? Your friends are few.”

“In that I have you to thank, Lord Annatar, for I am not wholly alone. Your servants are here in the City and will aid me for the sake of the love that we share. As to the others, where love fails, there is always self-interest, vanity, greed and ambition. It is with these that I shall bind up my rule and save my people from those who wish to destroy it. My daughter and the Lord Korak crave power and dominion, but only I can offer it to them. They will join with me against my enemies, for if I fall, then they are to fall with me. My brother is greedy and foolish beyond all else, and thus easy clay to my managing. The One Lord will require a Priest, so that my people may be brought to the truth. Tarkan will snap up that dainty as a dog scrambles for a ragged piece of meat dropped from the table of his masters. Yes, yes…yes…they shall do nicely. Yes, they shall help me.”

“But you have forgotten one thing, my friend. Your wife is dead. It is not seemly that you should be alone in your trials. Your people will need to see that you have someone at your side. For the King to rule, there must be a Queen. You cannot hold your throne without a mate”

“Indeed! And she must be a Pashtian so that all can see I am not swayed to the part of our enemies…”

“You are cunning my friend, cunning and sly. You have already thought of a replacement to your wife. You have already settled your mind upon another.”

“I have. But I cannot say summon her yet, not yet. It would not be seemly. But soon, I shall. Very soon.”