Strider slowly walked his horse down the muddy, rutted lane of the last human enclave known to the Rangers of the North.  For the past week he had ridden from town to village to settlement and had found no one alive or dead.  No bodies or livestock, only empty buildings and the remnants of cooking fires and work left undone.  Several of the settlements showed obvious signs of struggle as if the humans residing there had put up a fight, but with whom there was no clue, and little else was visible.  This shoddy refuge was the only Dúnedain encampment he had yet to investigate and it appeared to be abandoned as well.

          The young man halted and looked around at the rude huts and open pens, scanning the area for any signs of life or movement.  Just as he was about to move on he heard what sounded like someone moaning.  He tied the reins of his horse to a post near one of the empty sheep pens and then moved toward the nearest hut beside the lane.  The sounds were stronger and now seemed to be coming from inside the hut.  Strider hastened his step and entered the dimly lit shanty.  His gaze swept the sparsely furnished room and came to rest upon a dingy cot of straw and wood.  Laying half on and half off the bed was an elderly woman, obviously wounded and left to die where she fell.

          Aragorn rushed to her side and gently lifted her thin legs onto the cot so that she now lay completely on the crude bed.    Her eyes were closed and she was barely breathing, but her head rolled from side to side and she continued her low mumbling.  He grasped her bloodied hand and rubbed at the cold skin of her wrist trying to rouse her.

          “Can you hear me, old one?” he asked softly as his healer’s gaze made a critical inspection of the woman’s body, assessing her numerous injuries.  She was severely beaten and appeared to be semiconscious.  A gaping head wound bloodied half her face and it looked like her nose and cheekbone were broken.  Strider closed his eyes and shook his head sadly as he clasped her hand tighter.  Who would do this to an old woman?  What possible reason could they have for beating her thus?

          The woman’s eyelids fluttered and her groaning increased and then her eyes slowly opened and she stared at the young ranger with glazed, unseeing eyes.  “Who’s there,” she whispered in a thin reedy voice.

          “Shhhh,” Strider replied, placing a hand upon her forehead and clasping her fingers more tightly.  “I am called Strider,” he continued.  “I am a ranger of the northmen.  Who did this to you?”

          The woman’s head turned at the sound of Aragorn’s voice.  “A ranger?” she gasped.  “No use now.  Gone, all gone.   Taken to the mountain of fire.”

          Aragorn looked frantically about the small room for any sign of a water skin or pitcher and then spied a bucket near the cooking fire.  He rose from the woman’s cot and went to the pail.  Picking it up, he brought it to his nose, sniffing the contents to make sure that the water was not foul.  It smelled stale and warm, but drinkable.  He found an earthenware mug on the rickety table beside the fire and dunked it into the bucket, rinsed it out thoroughly, then re-dipped it into the pail and brought the cup of water to the dying woman.  He lifted her head gently and set the cup to her parched lips.

          “Drink,” he said softly and the woman responded with a few feeble sips.

          “They came in the night,” she whispered so quietly that Strider had to lean close to her lips to even hear her words.

          “Who came?” he asked.

          “Orcs,” she gasped.  “Took everyone…tried to fight…left me.”

          Strider’s jaw tightened and he lowered her head back down upon the cot.  “Lay still, old one,” he said.  “I have medicines in my bags.  Try to rest now.”

          She made no reply and Aragorn hastily arose and strode through the hut and out to his horse.  Patting the animal as he walked up to it, he untied his pack of herbs and salves from the saddle and hurriedly returned to the shack and the stricken woman.  He dropped down to his knees again and opened the leather bundle to extract several clean cloths.  He quickly placed one on the elderly woman’s head wound and daubed at the blood on her face with another, gently removing the crusted matter from her broken nose.

          It was several minutes before he realized that the woman was no longer breathing.  His dismayed eyes shut tightly and he lowered his head to the cot.  “I’m sorry old one,” he whispered.  “I’m too late.”

          He remained unmoving for some time, and then he gently covered the woman’s body with a tattered blanket that was lying across the foot of the cot.  He slowly rose to his feet, the sack of unused medical supplies still clutched in his hand by his side.  He would have to bury her.  It was all that he could do for her now.  Dejected, he turned away from the dead woman and left the tiny hut in search of a shovel.

          Outside the weak, late winter sun was close to setting and he could feel the temperature dropping.  The ground would be hard and he did not relish digging a grave, but he felt he could do no less for the woman.  He looked toward the mountain chain, closer now, and could see the peak of Gundabad smoking in the distance.

          Orcs, he thought, as the anger built within him.  Raiding human settlements and taking slaves.  Taking them to Gundabad.   For what purpose?

          He looked back at the darkened hut of the old woman and vowed to himself that he would avenge her senseless death, but he would find no more answers here.  He would have to travel to Gundabad and see for himself what new evil the Dark Lord was planning to unleash upon Middle Earth for he was certain now that the Eye of Sauron had finally reached this northern wasteland.

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          Naurnyar leapt from her perch upon the mountain top and swooped down to the valley between the great pinnacles of the Misty Mountains.  The hunger in her belly was growing and she needed to expel the noxious gases building up within her lungs.  As she glided along the wind currents, she scanned the stark regions below, but could see nothing but barren wastelands.  Anger and frustration built within her and she flexed her great, black wings harder, pushing her body faster and faster through the skies.  The ground sped by beneath her and then she gracefully circled about and turned back toward the western slopes of the mountain chain.

          As the dragon raced through the air across the plains, she opened wide her jaws and breathed forth a curtain of flame, belching out the smoking fumes that filled her great lungs.  The ground below her erupted into flames as the fires emitted from her throat swept across the sere winter grasses, easily igniting them and swiftly spreading the conflagration for miles.  Her thundering roar could be heard echoing off the cliffs and reverberating throughout the valleys.

          Strider heard the rumbling growl booming overhead and he looked up with a startled frown from the digging of the old woman’s grave.  At first he could see nothing in the darkening evening skies and thought he must have heard thunder in the clouds, but then a dark, massive shape appeared in the sky coming from out of the west.  He shielded his eyes, trying to better see what manner of creature this could be, and then his mouth dropped open in stunned disbelief as the huge black dragon soared over the tiny northern encampment and continued on toward the mountains.

          The shovel dropped from his hands and he stood frozen in place, watching after the vanishing monster as it sped toward Gundabad.  Suddenly everything had changed.  They were not just dealing with orcs and slave raids now.  Somehow, someone had acquired a dragon.  A dragon! His panicked mind screamed.  By the Valar, we cannot fight a dragon!

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          Udûn, the dark one, stood upon the mountain ledge near the entrance to Gundabad and angrily scanned the twilight skies searching for the errant dragon.  So far, he had seen no sign of the beast and he was growing impatient.  It should have returned to its nest by now and the longer it remained outside the caverns, the greater the chance that it would be seen; and he was not yet ready for the dragon’s presence to be known.  Erashnâk had removed the three dragon eggs from the nest within the bowels of the mountain and they now resided within Udûn’s private chambers, warm and safe.  There they would remain until he was sure that the dragon was under his control.

          He was about to re-enter the main cavern tunnel when he spied the black mass moving toward the mountains.  Ah, he sighed with pleasure.  At last, it returns.  He hastened into the passageway and signaled to his uruk-hai captain.  “Hurry,” he called.  “Clear the passages.  It’s returning.”

          The warrior barked orders to his underlings and the goblins and their human charges were hurriedly cleared from the main caverns and herded into the outer holding pens and storage areas.  Only those at work stations that could not be abandoned remained within the great iron works and continued their tedious labors.

          Udûn made his way to the central shaft, withdrawing a shiny black orb from his tunic as he walked and held it carefully within the palm of his hand.   He stood beside the volcanic shaft, defiantly anticipating the dragon’s approach.  He did not have long to wait before the clattering of the beast’s talons could be heard echoing throughout the rock tunnels, and then suddenly it was there within the main cave.  As Udûn studied the beast he was amazed at the size of the creature and he admired its dreadful beauty and strength of its form.  This dragon was easily over one hundred feet tall and more than three hundred long from snout to tail.  Its wingspan was enormous and its deadly black claws were easily six feet in length.  Magnificent! he smiled.

          Naurnyar lumbered forward toward the core shaft and her rumbling snarl boomed within the interior of the cavern.  She immediately spied the black demon standing alone at the pit’s rim and rose up on her haunches,  arching her neck and preparing to spew out a shower of flame to engulf his body, but Udûn’s commanding voice echoed throughout the caverns and the fell words of the Black Speech halted her.

          “Kul-izg Udûn, ghaash balrog-ob.  Koz-izish agh hiil-izub urdan*!” shouted Udûn, his voice ringing off the stones.  His outstretched arms were held up and outward and the black globe in his right hand glowed with the pulsing red flame embedded within its crystal mass.

          The dragon balked at the dark words and snarled angrily, her fierce gaze fixed upon the black crystal, the Orb of Utumno, and she spit and hissed savagely.  Naurnyar had no desire to heed this creature, but the Black Speech held sway over her mind and she was compelled to obey.  She shook her massive head back and forth in reluctant fury and roared with frustrated wrath.

          “Hiil-izg,”** the dragon growled in reply.

          The beast unwillingly settled down upon her belly and continued to glare at the demon with yellow eyes filled with hatred.  She hissed and black smoke tendrils shot out of her nose, but she made no further move toward the black creature of Sauron.

          Udûn gestured toward the fire pit below.  “I have taken your eggs…”

He raised the orb as the beast rose up at these words and he hurriedly continued.  “If you defy me, I will crush them.”

          A huge spout of flame shot out of her mouth and scorched the rock floor in front of the demon, but did not touch him.  The dragon roared anew with ill-concealed contempt as she eyed this morgul keeper of the Urulóki she saw standing before her.  Were it not for the words of the Black Tongue preventing her from harming him, she would eat this one in one swift bite.

          “What do require of me?” she spat as smoke trailed up and out of her nostrils.

          The deputy of Sauron motioned to several orcs and they scurried forward carrying a huge iron collar attached to an equally massive chain.  Etched upon the metal were the symbols and signs of the Black Spells of Morgoth.  The characters and words shone with a ruddy glow and seemed to pulse in rhythm with the flame flickering within the black orb.  He looked up at the behemoth.  “You will wear this collar and obey my word.  If you please me, the young ones live.”  He lifted the dark crystal again and held it before the dragon.  “If you prove difficult, I will smash the eggs and then I will destroy you.”

          Naurnyar hissed again, but made no move to resist as the orcs placed the iron band around her neck and fastened the locking mechanism.  The chain was then attached to a monstrous link that was entrenched in the rock wall of the main cavern.  She roared again and the orcs fled back to the safety of the alcoves and her yellow eyes glinted with barely controlled ferocity as she slowly lowered her great bulk down to the floor.

          Udûn smiled in triumph.  Now all would tremble in fear at his feet and the dominion of Sauron would reign supreme.  All of Middle Earth would fall before the Dark Lord and none would defy him.

*I am Udûn, flame of the balrogs.  Heed me and obey my command.

** I obey.