Deep within the earth’s crust where magma lakes heat the stones, a creature lies languishing in the sleep of ages.  Steaming vents hiss as warm spouts of heated water spray the air with a humid mist and cover all with saturated clouds of vapor.  Heat, scorching heat permeates the atmosphere and fires plume and disappear within the rock crevices.  The rock sweats a river of fog that pools in quiet nooks and alcoves and the beast rolls and stretches with lazy groans, reluctant to awaken.  But it is time.  The young ones gestating in its belly twitch, now eager to leave their ever shrinking environment.

          Undulating muscles rippled along the lizard-like body and dried and wrinkled scales slid off its back and rained down upon the ground as it shed its ancient hide.  New, glistening ebony skin shown through the low hanging vapors and thick sharp talons clicked against the stones as the primordial behemoth slithered farther along the rocks, its yellow underbelly glowing orange with the heat it absorbed.  A huge yellow eye languidly opened; its vertical pupil a black slit against the fire-golden hue of the surrounding iris and a long, red tongue flicked out tasting the muggy air.

          Naurnyar yawned, opening wide her jaws and exposing row upon row of sharp, spiking teeth and then she roughly shook her massive head.  Red-orange flames snorted out of her puffing nostrils as her lungs expelled the noxious fumes of long hibernation.  Thin tendrils of black smoke filtered out through her snout and then slowly dissipated about her reptilian face.  A slow rumbling growl emanated from her throat and vibrated throughout the cavern of her den as she extended her claws and flexed her stiffened joints.

          The dragon awoke.

/////////////////////////////

          Strider hastily galloped into the Ranger encampment and swung down from the saddle before his horse came to a complete stop.  He tossed the reins to an awaiting youth and jogged toward the group of rough looking men seated cross legged beside the central fire pit.  He was bone weary and in much need of sleep, but the messenger who found him just north of the Shire had told him he was urgently needed in the North and he had traveled hard both day and night to get here.  With a silent nod, he joined the circle of his fellow Edain.

          “Ah, Strider,” said Lomyr.  “Join us.”  The dark-haired soldier indicated a spot near the warming fire, his weather-beaten face cracking into a smile of pleasure at seeing Arathorn’s son.  When the younger ranger crouched down beside him, he continued.  “We were just discussing the disturbing news out of the Ettenmoors.  It seems that an alarming number of young men have gone missing from the towns and villages along the northern mountains near Gundabad.”

          “Gundabad?  The ancient orc stronghold?” questioned Strider.

          The group of seated northmen nodded.  “The Dwarf Lords overran that citadel ousting the orc forces centuries ago.  Gundabad is supposed to be abandoned.”  Strider accepted a mug of warm tea from one of the rangers and sipped at it gratefully, warming his numb fingers against the sides of the cup.

          “Apparently someone’s taken up residence within the mountain again.  We’ve had credible reports of black smoke and fire seen rising from the peaks.”  Lomyr looked pointedly at Strider.  “We haven’t been able to send anyone to investigate close to hand.”  The older man continued to stare at the young ranger.  “We hoped you’d be willing to go.”

          “And what has smoke in Gundabad have to do with the missing men from the villages?” asked Strider, eyeing each man in turn.

          Caraedry, a youngster just shy of eighteen, shook his head.  “We don’t know for certain if there’s a connection or not, but we suspect renewed orc activity in the mountains.”

          “Right now my men are stretched thin and with the problems in the Wild, we have no one to spare to make the journey north,” added Lomyr.  “Are you willing to take this on, Strider?”

          Exhausted as he was, Aragorn knew that someone had to go and it may as well be him.  He slowly nodded his assent.  “I’ll leave at dawn.”  He rubbed at his gritty eyes and sipped another bit of tea.  “But I need some rest first or I won’t be able to stay atop my horse.”

          The men seated about the fire nodded their heads and looked greatly relieved, some murmuring their thanks.  “Certainly, certainly,” said Lomyr.  “Come, we’ve food at the hall.  Eat and rest first.  We’ll see to getting you all the provisions you’ll need for your journey.”

          Lomyr and Strider arose from the fire and headed toward one of the wooden outbuildings.  Those remaining near the fire watched after the pair and then began to talk quietly among themselves as the two rangers disappeared from view.  Upon entering the rustic structure, Lomyr indicated a table and Strider thankfully dropped into a chair, stretching out his long legs while his host went to the kitchens for a plate of food and mugs of ale.  He returned a short time later with the food and drink and set the platter down in front of Aragorn.

          “Eat up, Aragorn.  You look a mite skinny to me.  Isn’t Lord Elrond feeding you properly down there in Rivendell?”

          Strider chuckled.  “He feeds me just fine; however, I haven’t seen my family in months.”  He picked up a piece of warm bread and breathed in the delicious aroma.  “Actually,” he mused, half to himself.  “It’s been over a year now.”

          Lomyr nodded his understanding.  “I’m sorry to have to send you farther away, Aragorn, but this situation is dire.  It’s more than just a few missing men.”  The craggy ranger hefted his mug of ale and took a long swallow before continuing.  “I didn’t want to alarm the others just yet, but the latest reports I’ve had are that entire settlements have been stripped clean of their inhabitants.”

          Aragorn stopped in mid bite and looked up at his father’s old friend.  There were a lot more worry lines in the man’s forehead now and the black hair at his temples was much greyer than Strider remembered.  “What do you mean ‘entire settlements’?  All were slain?”

          “Not slain,” Lomyr answered.  “Not there.  Gone.  Vanished.”  He shook his head slowly.  “No bodies, nothing.  It has me baffled,” he paused.  “and frightened.”

          Strider frowned and set down his mug.  “Slavers?  This far north?”

          Lomyr shrugged his shoulders.  “No one knows.  Like I said, we haven’t been able to spare anyone to go up there and get a firsthand look.  But it smells of Mordor to me.”

          Aragorn nodded wearily.  Mordor – it seemed everywhere he turned these days that foul darkness was spreading, creeping ever more insidiously into their daily lives.  “I’ll find out what I can, Lomyr, but I may not be able to get word back to you by way of a runner.  If there’s no one there to send, I’ll have to bring back the news to you myself,” Strider answered.  “With the last of the winter winds and snows still lingering in the mountains, it may take me some time just to get there and back again.”

          “Do your best, lad,” the veteran smiled.  “And take care of yourself.”

He rose from his seat and clasped Strider’s shoulder in a brief gesture of farewell.  “I won’t see you in the morning, Strider.  I’m leaving tonight for the Weather Hills.”  He laughed humorlessly.  “Always trouble coming from the Wild.”

          “Take care yourself, old man,” Strider grinned back.

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          Lord Udûn walked out onto the steep rock overhang on the western slope of Gundabad and gazed out at the harsh, barren wastelands of the Forodwaith.  The demon maiar despised it here in this vast, cold outland and longed for the heat and warmth of Orodruin and the Sammath Naur.  His long, black hair billowed out and about his pale, harsh features as the north wind whipped it to and fro and he shivered with the cold.  Gathering his dark fur cloak more closely about his shoulders, he averted his face from the wind and looked to the south.  His thoughts returned to Mt. Doom and his beloved balrogs, now without their master.  But the Dark Lord Sauron had ordered him to reawaken Gundabad and here he was, like it or nay.

          The orcs should be returning by now, he mused, his black gaze scanning the narrow southern pathway leading into the mountains.  Far off in the hazy distance a thin, dark line was snaking its way through the foothills and he smiled.  They have been successful, he sighed.  Good, good we need more slaves to tend the fires and work the forges.  He stood upon the rock shelf a moment longer and then hastily turned and retreated back into the mountain’s side, longing to return to the warmth of his personal chambers, but there were other duties he must attend to first.

          As he passed through the rock passageway and came back into the main tunnel, Erashnâk, the uruk-hai captain of the Black Legions was standing there waiting for him.  The foul creature fell into step beside the minion of Sauron and walked with him deeper into the mountain stronghold.

          “News, my Lord?” asked the uruk.

          “The raiding parties are returning.  Hopefully you will have enough slaves now to man your bellows and forges,” Udûn replied.

          The beast nodded.  “Are you ready to inspect the iron works?”

          “Yes,” the dark lord answered. “I need the heat of the fires.”  He quickly glanced at the black captain, sorry now that he had admitted this weakness, but the creature’s face showed no notice of this particular remark and he continued.  “How far down have they dug?”

          Erashnâk consulted a slate tablet he was holding.  “Almost a thousand feet, master.  They should reach the magma pools in short order.  If we can harness the great heat of these flames it will help greatly to temper the iron into steel and our weapons will be superior to anything in Middle Earth made by the hand of man.”

          “Excellent,” Udûn nodded.  “I wish to see this work close up.  We shall go there first.”

          “As you wish, my lord,” the uruk replied, leading Sauron’s deputy toward the volcanic mountain’s core.

          When they reached the massive inner cavern, Udûn stopped to survey the progress that had already been made to convert this mountain garrison into a vast foundry.  Great, billowing vats of hot iron ore bubbled and gurgled along one rock wall, heated by the flames of giant forges, while the banging and clanking of hammers on anvils could be heard throughout.  Hundreds of chained and filthy humans sweated and strained at forced labors, beaten and whipped by their orc overseers should they slacken in their assigned tasks.  Within the foundry itself a huge shaft had been dug, burrowing deep down into the core of the fiery mountain.

          The heat was stifling and humid gases and vapors hung in the air from the numerous cooling vats.  Loud hissing sounds echoed throughout as the hot iron was dipped into the water by the armorers and great clouds of steam arose to the cavernous ceiling.  Udûn nodded approvingly at what he saw before him, and motioned to the uruk-hai guard to move toward the pit.  He could barely be heard over the deafening noise of metal ringing upon metal as the slaves worked to make arms and armor for Sauron’s orc armies.

          “How many slaves do you have laboring down there now?” the demon inquired, raising his deep voice to be heard over the din.

          “About a hundred, my lord,” the captain answered, indicating the walkways and ladders along the sides of the shaft.  “They have constructed scaffolding and bridgework all the way to the bottom.”  He turned his face to the Lord of Gundabad.  “Would you like to go down and see for yourself?”

          “Yes,” Udûn yelled over the noise.  “Lead on.”

          Erashnâk started climbing down the nearest iron stairway and the dark lord followed close behind.  As they traveled farther and farther down into the shaft, the heat intensified.  Udûn smiled.  At last, he thought, heat. Glorious heat.