Black clouds were belched out from the workings deep below the earth, not strictly smoke or steam, but something darker and more foul than either, making the air itself taste of soot and grease and scorched metal. The ebon stone of the tower did not seem to be affected; if anything, it gleamed more in the unnatural shimmer that emerged between disgorgements than it would have under even the light of Menelmacar's shining belt.
The misshapen creature, a Man who walked here amongst creatures that usually slew Men at sight, bowed, but as he did, a sneer flashed across his face for just a moment. Did the Master see it? It was done only when the Master's eyes were not on him, but the Master saw much more than with just his eyes. And yet the Man was still permitted in the Master's presence.
"My place is now all but certain," the Man was saying. "When the time comes, all will be as you wish it. The head slumbers; the body will fall unguarded under the axe."
The Master seemed pleased. If he spoke, it was not with words. But then, he frowned. There was a question in his eyes. The Uruk-hai sharpened his gaze. The Master was displeased, perhaps. If he grew displeased enough, this Man might become a feast. Months passed and then years, and still he was told to wait, to eat scraps, and plants like some hated Elf. There would be a vast banquet soon, he was promised again and again. Soon. But the fire burned yet in the gut, and every time this Man came so close, his blood sang a song of hunger.
The Master's question hung unspoken in the air. The Man coughed, and in a small, timid voice full of fear, answered it. "It was the boy. Three years ago, he saw that--" The Man had the audacity to point at him! A snarl was the only answer, a snarl that spoke a threat he could not act on. The Master would not allow it. "--meeting me. You recall I had him sent over the edge of the wilds to perish, so he could not speak of what he saw? Somehow, he survived and returned, but--"
The displeasure of the Master was a thing a Man could feel even without the Master moving. The pain on his face was the only pleasure the Uruk-hai could hope for, so he reveled in it.
"But he will be no threat! The boy wishes to leave on his own. Gladsúnu, that fool, he even now sends the boy back into the north to stay. Whether he survives or not matters no longer, as he will be far beyond the reach of the King. He is told he may not return, and that will suffice."
The Man's rictus seemed to ease. He stood a little straighter -- at least so far as it could go with his twisted form. Still, the Uruk-hai thought it would be more certain if the boy's heart were spilling its last blood over his clawed hands and onto his scarred lips. He looked to the Master as if to volunteer, but the Man still held the Master's attention.
"It is better," the Man said. "It does not depend on a lie that can be found out. It is done."
The Master simply nodded. "Make the last preparations," he said. "The time is almost here."
The Uruk-hai licked his lips. It would begin soon. The battle would come to him.
