Chapter 360: The Number to Sacrifice
Sauron had not foreseen how swiftly the Elves would grow wary. They forged the Three Rings in secret, beyond his sight, and never wore them openly before the One Ring was lost.
The Dwarves, hardened by their own nature, proved almost immune to the Rings' intended sway. The seven Dwarf‑rings did little more than enrich their bearers and stir their greed.
Only the nine Rings given to Men worked as planned, rotting nine human kings into the Nazgûl.
For all that, Morgoth and Sauron each carried their own designs, and in the end they struck their bargain.
Sauron would use Morgoth's strength to regain his power and a body.
Morgoth, in turn, would feed on Sauron's sacrifices, using them to build his own might until he could break his chains.
To give his servant a taste, the will that loomed above the altar drew together a drop of pure dark essence and poured it into the Eye atop Barad dûr.
The blazing Eye swelled, its fire burning hotter and fiercer. Its presence pressed heavier on all who felt it.
To Sauron's parched spirit, that sliver of strength was like rain to a desert. It was only a drop against his vast need, but it was enough to prove that hope was real.
The will at the altar, spent by that gift, unraveled and was gone.
The huge stone platform stood empty beneath the dark sky. The lava in its trenches had dimmed as if much of its heat had been drawn away, and only the harsh stink of sulphur clung to the air.
The bones of Men, Elves, and Orcs were nowhere to be seen. The magma had swallowed them all.
"Carry my command," Sauron's voice rolled down from the Dark Tower.
"From this day, the armies of Mordor will go out in companies. Their chief task is to seize Men and bring them back to Mordor. As many as possible."
A roar of harsh assent rose up from the hosts of the Shadow.
"Lord," the Witch‑king of Angmar asked, bowing low, "do you mean to march on Gondor or Rohan?"
"No," Sauron said. "If we strike at Gondor or Rohan now, the Elves and the wizards will be roused at once. They would spoil what I plan. What matters now is captives, not conquests."
The Witch‑king hesitated. "But, Master… without those realms, it will be hard to gather a million for the sacrifice. Gondor and Rohan hold much of the West's strength. They are our best source."
"There is no need to hurry," Sauron answered. "We begin with Rhovanion and the lands about the Sea of Rhûn. Beyond them lie Rhûn, Khand, Harad—many Men dwell there. The hosts of Mordor will march east, and every tribe that does not bow will see its people driven west in chains."
He paused, then went on, voice cold and patient. "And time is our ally. A few decades are nothing. Men are like grass in a field. Cut them down, and in a season new blades rise. In a few short generations, there will be more than enough.
"Those we seize, we will pen and breed in safety. Let them multiply.
"At the same time, the Orcs will go on breeding, and the forges will work without rest. We will arm greater armies than ever before.
"Then, when the hour is ripe, our full might will sweep out. We will fall on Rohan and Gondor together. We will not linger to rule. We will strike fast and drive as many living captives as we can back to Mordor."
At his word, the legions of Mordor poured from the Black Land's eastern marches.
One host turned north, towards the lands of the Easterlings.
Another wheeled east into Khand.
A third swept south into Harad.
Those regions all lay under Sauron's dark shadow. Easterlings, Variags, Haradrim—many among them had already bent the knee and marched with Mordor against Rohan and Gondor. They were Men whose hearts had turned towards the dark.
Yet not all had yielded. With the help of the two Blue Wizards, some tribes had risen in revolt.
They were the first to feel the new storm.
Each Mordor host had a Ringwraith at its head. Wherever Men resisted, the blows fell hardest.
This time, though, something was different. The dark armies did not simply butcher those who stood against them.
They took them alive when they could.
The captives were chained, whipped into line, and driven west towards Mordor like herds of beasts.
Those tribes that had long since bowed were no safer.
Under the cold eyes of the Nazgûl, each was forced to send a portion of its own people as tribute, to march with the other prisoners into the Shadow.
From Mordor itself, bands of Orcs fanned out across the northern wilderness, guided by flocks of crows and great bats.
Village by village, clan by clan, they fell on Men who had thought themselves far from Sauron's reach, dragged them from their homes, and drove them towards the Dark Land.
Far Eastern lands sank into fear and chaos.
Even Dorwinion, on the north‑western shores of the Sea of Rhûn, did not escape.
Its wide vineyards were trampled under Orcish boots. The Men and Elves who lived there had to fight for their homes.
Though they rallied and struck back, many were still taken.
The two Blue Wizards called up every ally they could find, mustered their scattered forces and even met the Nazgûl in battle.
In the end they drove the Ringwraiths off, but their followers paid dearly. Whole companies were left dead on the field.
By the time the smoke cleared, half the people of Rhûn seemed to have vanished.
Rhovanion and the great wild north of Mordor—lands once dotted with small clans and hamlets of Men—were nearly emptied. Nine out of ten homes stood cold and bare.
Rohan and Gondor did not see the same black tide, but they were not untouched.
No great army crossed their borders, but raiding bands of Orcs slipped into their lands time and again, snatching folk from border villages and lonely farms.
Both kingdoms hurried their riders and soldiers to the frontiers.
Garrisons were raised. Lines of spears and shields bristled along the marches.
Their kings believed an invasion was imminent and prepared to meet it. Through their Seeing‑mirrors, they sent an urgent plea to Kael, Gandalf, and Elrond.
Yet month after month passed, and still no vast horde came west.
Only the raiders kept testing the edges, and the Rohirrim and the men of Gondor hunted them down and cut them apart whenever they could.
Always there were more, but never in numbers large enough to storm a city.
Suspicion and unease took root in the hearts of both realms. They could not lower their guard, yet they had no idea what Sauron hoped to gain.
In Rivendell, Kael and his allies did not have to guess.
The first reports of mass abductions from the East had brought Saruman's last warning back to their minds.
In the highest garden of Imladris, the White Council gathered again.
Gandalf was there, with Galadriel, Elrond, Romestámo of the Blue Wizards, and Kael.
Since Saruman's fall, the Council had stripped him of his leadership. All its members had turned, as one, to Gandalf in his stead.
On the Grey wizard's invitation, the two Blue Wizards of the East, Romestámo and Morinehtar, had also taken their places among them.
This time, Círdan could not attend. He was still upon the western shores, helping the last of the Eldar take ship.
Morinehtar, too, remained in the East, rallying those who would stand against Mordor's advance.
Romestámo had come west in his stead, both to speak for them and to ask for aid.
None of the Council even thought of refusing.
Elrond promised warriors from Imladris. Galadriel spoke for Lothlórien.
Between them they sent a thousand Elven soldiers east.
Kael, in the name of the Ministry, pledged a hundred Aurors to march with them.