The Black Hand and the Red Scar
Mordomin > January 30th, 2021, 09:31 PM
Mordomin swiftly descended the broken mountainside. The rain had fully become snow, and the lightning no longer lit the way, but Mordomin had no trouble making his way back down the slope to the base of the rock which thrust outward from where of the Redhorn Pass curved about the mountain. Here he found, overlooked before now, a faint, winding track passing around the foot of the rock. He followed it to the right, and soon found himself once more standing before the cave in which the bodies of the companions of Celebrían had been secreted. The bodies lay there still, a thin covering of snow now upon them, hiding somewhat their wounds.
Goblin horns sounded behind him, much nearer now. Mordomin heard the sound of goblin boots crunching the snow, goblin weapons clattering in the night; they were moving swiftly, and without regard to silence.
Mordomin stepped up to the cave mouth, and over the bodies that lay there. There was just enough room between the heads of the dead as they lay and the back wall of the cave for the tall Elf-lord to stand. He stood facing outward, listening to the approaching goblins. He could hear their harsh voices. It seemed that some sort of debate was taking place among those in front.
“Why do we have to go past that cursed cave?” one goblin complained.
“Because Red Scar said so, didn’t he? He’s taking most of the lads to the bottom of the stair to keep the Elves in the mountains and away from that cursed woods,” answered a second goblin, who seemed to be the leader.
Mordomin smiled grimly. He had been right; the way to Lothlorien was closed to the sons of Elrond.
“Then why are we going west at all? We should go this way, straight up to the road an’ come at the thieves from behind!”
“Because they might not go east, see? They might run for home, even tho it’s further t’ go for ‘em. So we’re to go quick-like along this trail and block their way out, see? Drive ‘em back to Red Scar if they do come our way, else come up behind an’ finish ‘em, if they go where they ought.
“Either way, we catch ‘em an’ take back our prize.”
“Some prize,” the first goblin grumbled. “One Elf-woman. And we couldn’t even have hardly any fun with her.”
Mordomin stiffened. Slowly he pulled the glove from his cursed hand and tucked it into his belt. Then he drew his sword and placed its point on the ground before him, his black hand upon the hilt. Wrath filled him then, the anger that he had held down during his ride across Eregion and his pursuit up the sides of Caradhras now welling up inside of him. At last he would face the goblins who had dared to lay hands upon his kinswoman. They would discover their horrible mistake, as they died upon his sword.
But when the goblin-leader spoke next, the blood of Mordomin ran cold.
“The Black Hand said, ‘no spoiling of the prisoner; the Elves won’t pay to have her back, else.’”
The goblins were near by now. Suddenly two goblins came into view on the goat-path as it passed before the mouth of the cave where the dead elves lay and Mordomin stood, concealed by darkness.
“Let’s pass this cursed place double-quick” said the Complainer. “Elfs that are kept from their rest are the worst kind of vengeful spirits, I hear. Worse than the Nazgûl, even.”
“Some are far older, they say,” said the Leader in a low voice. Then he halted. The Complainer, coming up behind, ran into the Leader and let out a grunt of surprise.
They saw that the spell which had closed the cave-mouth was gone. The bodies of the Elves which they had slain lay there still, a light covering of snow upon them. But this was not what had stopped these goblins.
High above the bodies of the slain Elves in the dark of the cave floated the ghastly white face of a wrathful Elf, pale blue eyes glaring down at the goblins as they looked. Before it stood a silvery sword, poised upon its tip.
“Far older, indeed!” the pale Elf said. “And far worse! From death on the slopes of Dorthonion which is no more I am come! To avenge my kinsfolk, I am come!”
The goblins shrieked. The face advanced and then they could see that it was attached to the body of a tall Elf dressed all in black. It raised up the silver sword as it came, and its eyes seemed now to blaze with a pale light. The hand that gripped the sword was black as night. That hand rose and fell, and swiftly died the Leader and the Complainer.
Horns blew in answer to the shrieks of the goblins, very close now, just beyond the rock. Mordomin then would not wait for their onset but strode swiftly back down the trail to meet them. The battle ululation of Mordomin echoed in the mountainside, as the goblin-horns blew wildly, and then one by one fell silent.
Elrohir sent two of his company back up the road, to ambush and forestall any pursuit by the goblins of the mountains as they carried Celebrían away. But they soon returned to say that there were no goblins in pursuit of them upon the Redhorn Pass; the horn-calls had come from below, or else far to the east, and even now were fading rather than coming nigh.
Then Elrohir said that they must return and support Lord Mordomin in his battle. But his brother Elladan, no less valiant, said that they must carry away their mother to Elrond their father at once that he might heal her.
“Then I shall stay here, where the pass is narrow, and if Lord Mordomin has failed, it will fall to me to buy your escape,” said Elrohir.
Then Elladan embraced his brother fiercely.
“We will meet again in Imladris,” Elladan said.
Yet Celebrían shivered beneath the black cloak taken from Lord Mordomin. And her party of rescuers rode down out of the mountains of mist, while Elrohir knelt upon the trail and bent his bow.
In truth, Mordomin did not call for aid. He wished for none and had no need of it, as he slew one goblin after another, each as he came upon them on the narrow trail. He swiftly cut down all but one of the goblins that had been set upon the trail to intercept the Sons of Elrond.
When Mordomin had slain all save one of the goblins upon the path below the Redhorn Pass, he restrained his Black Hand in its deadly fury. That goblin made to strike at Mordomin; he cut its sword-hand from its arm and smote the goblin to the ground with his left fist. There it lay, stunned and bleeding.
Mordomin knelt and grasped the stump of the arm of the goblin with his Black Hand, and despite the writhing and shrieking of the goblin, burnt the wound closed. The goblin fainted; Mordomin waited.
As he waited, he noted that his captive had a red stain of some sort drawn diagonally across its right eye. Looking about the other goblins lying near, Mordomin saw that they all bore the same marking.
“Hello, Snaga” Mordomin said, when the goblin awoke. “I am Mordomin BlackHand.”
The goblin, seeing an Elf-face above him, spat and spluttered wordlessly. It tried to rise up, but Mordomin knelt upon its chest and easily restrained it.
Mordomin said, “Alas! I could not grant you the quick death that I gave to your fellows, for I must have words with you. Speak truthfully to me, and I shall slay thee swiftly. Else, you will know the torment of the Black Hand.”
And indeed, the ungloved fingers of the Black Hand were wrapped around the throat of the goblin, and from them came a most unnatural heat.
The goblin looked at the Black Hand of Mordomin and whispered, “Ask.”
Mordomin said, “Where is your leader? Where is the bearer of the Red Scar?”
“We all bear the Red Scar!”
That had not escaped the notice of Mordomin.
Mordomin said, “You wear paint. Where is he who has the Red Scar?”
The goblin sneered, “Gah! He is about to descend upon you, slay you, and free me!”
Mordomin then struck the goblin with his left fist.
Mordomin said, “Lie to me again, and my Black Hand closes!
“Do you think that I do not know the meaning of goblin horn-calls? They call to retreat! But to where? For I much desire a meeting with them.”
Then the goblin looked at him slyly, and said, “Do you not know? The ‘Black Hand’ would know.”
The goblin knew a moment of triumph, as horror and grief passed upon the face of the Elf-lord above him. But Mordomin, stricken, released his will upon his Black Hand, and its fingers crushed the neck of the goblin, throttling forever any cry it might have made.
But the goblin had been right; Mordomin did know where to find the lair of the Red Scar. He wiped the gore from his Black Hand and stood. He replaced his sword into its sheath, and then strode swiftly down the path up which the goblins had come. The snow fell heavily now, obscuring their tracks, but Mordomin did not need them to guide him.
Red Scar returned to his lair, secure below the path of the Redhorn Pass, hidden from even Elven sight. Or so he had always thought. But, though the secret door to his caves was closed, there was a single set of footprints before it that the snow had not disguised. He spoke the secret words that opened the door, and sent his youngest warriors in before him, while keeping his mightiest and most loyal about him; Red Scar was not a fool.
All seemed much as it had been when they had departed, until they came to the innermost chamber, their great Gathering Hall. Here the sconces upon the wall had been filled with oil and lit, and a tall, pale Elf-lord with white hair sat upon the chair of Red Scar, a long naked sword upon his lap.
Red Scar cried, “Who dares to sit upon the throne of Red Scar?”
And Mordomin saw that he who spoke was a great Orc, no mere goblin of the mountains, and the red slash across his face was not paint but a scar in truth.
The Elf-lord said, “My name is Mordomin. You have raised your hand against the wife of the Master of Rivendell, who is kin to me. She is now free, thanks to the valor of her sons.
“I have come to avenge myself upon those who took her, that such may never chance again!”
But Red Scar laughed, and at his next words the blood of Mordomin ran cold.
“’Take the woman, and he will come’ the Black-Handed One told us,” Red Scar said. “And so you have. Fool!”
“Do you tell me that you insulted the Lady of Lothlorien and the Master of Imladris merely so that I would come and sit upon your chair?” Mordomin cried.
Red Scar said, “And have you not done that very thing? Even as the Black-Handed One foretold.”
Mordomin said, “I am Mordomin Blackhand, and I foretold no such thing!”
Red Scar said, “You are not the Black Hand!”
Mordomin said, “I find that I grow weary of being told so. I am the Black Hand, and I have come to destroy you, Red Scar, for having assailed my kinfolk.”
Red Scar shouted, “We are fifty warriors!”
Mordomin said, “No doubt that will be mentioned in songs, if any hear of our meeting.”
Red Scar then screamed to his warriors, “Kill me this Elf!”
But Mordomin held up his Black Hand, and all of the goblins were stayed.
“There is a saying amongst the Men of the South,” Mordomin said, “’In the Kingdom of the Blind, the One-eyed Man is King’”.
And then Mordomin cried a word in the High Tongue of the Elves and the fires that he had lit in the sconces went out.
“Thee of the true Red Scar shall I slay last,” Mordomin said from the darkness.
“Kill him!” cried Red Scar.
With the light also went the hold of the Black Hand upon the will of the goblins; they leapt at the throne to do the bidding of their chieftain. But their knives and spears and scimitars only struck air or stone, for Mordomin was no longer before it.
Mordomin swung his sword again and again in the darkness. Sometimes he struck naught but air. Sometimes he struck the wall of the cave. But often his strokes clove goblin-flesh. Then goblins howled, and they died. But perhaps more deadly to the goblins was the Black Hand of Mordomin, which reached out into the darkness and needed not sight to seize the neck of a goblin and snap it, nor to block a goblin-sword in a stroke that would find the Elf-lord. For Mordomin wielded his sword in his left hand, leaving his Cursed Hand free to do evil upon the minions of Sauron. And so it did.
The goblins cried out, in anger and fear and pain. And death-agony. At times, they struck down their fellows, unknowingly. Goblin-eyes are keen in the dark, it is said, but not when newly come from the light.
There were many goblins in the Chamber, but only one Elf. That Elf went as he would about the Hall, killing all that he met, for he knew that no friend could be struck by his blade. For their part, the goblins struck about wildly, so that at times they slew one another.
At last, the Chamber became silent, but for the moans of the few goblins that were not yet quite dead. Satisfied, Mordomin made his way back to the chair of Red Scar and, tossing a goblin-body aside, resumed sitting upon it.
Mordomin spoke then another word in Elvish, and the sconces re-lit. All of the goblins that had accompanied Red Scar into the chamber lay dead or dying. Red Scar himself stood pressed into the doorway to the Chamber, his sword held upright before him; for he had at the last instant understood the words of the Elf and thrown himself back from the dark chaos of the battle. His eyes were wild, as he beheld all of his guard fallen before him.
Mordomin sat once more upon the chair of Red Scar, his bloody sword upon his lap.
Mordomin said, “Before I slay thee, as I have promised, I would have speech with thee, foul goblin.”
Red Scar said, “I have nothing to say to you, Elf, save curses!”
Mordomin said, “Very well. My wrath toward you is so great that I would much rather torture you than speak with you.”
Red Scar laughed, and said, “I call that brash, coming from an Elf whose blood is even now spilling out on my chair! I have but a little while to wait before I reclaim it from your lifeless body. Or can you stand up long enough to die upon my sword?
“My guard did well, having slain you at last, Mordomin so-called ‘Black Hand’.”
And indeed, during the battle in the dark, goblin-blades wildly swung had struck the Elf by chance more than once, and the clothes of Mordomin were much rent, and the Elf bled of many wounds..
Red Scar walked across the room, stepping over his dead warriors, until he stood just outside the reach of the blade of Mordomin. In his hand he held a long dagger.
Red Scar said, "You are not the Black Hand."
“Listening to you say so no longer amuses me,” Mordomin said.
Mordomin slid his sword from his lap. It clattered upon the floor.
Then the wounded, bleeding Elf-lord rose from his seat and stood before Red Scar. A great Orc was Red Scar, but Mordomin was taller still. Like a striking snake, his black hand seized the throat of Red Scar.
“I would not think to be so rude a guest as to disagree with my host,” Mordomin said, as he wrapped the fingers of his black hand about the throat of the goblin-lord and lifted him free of the floor.
Red Scar grappled to no avail with the iron-like hand that held him aloft, writhing and choking. When his movements became slow, Mordomin threw him down before the stone chair.
Mordomin then knelt beside Red Scar. He resumed his grip about the throat of his foe.
“Tell me where to find the one that you call ‘Black Hand’” Mordomin said.
The dying orc rasped, “You will know him when he finds you.”
Mordomin said, "Tell me why it is that you insist that I am not 'the Black Hand'?"
Mordomin recoiled at the answer, and anger rose swift within him once more, as the goblin laughed.
Mordomin now allowed the fingers of his cursed hand to close. Thus died Red Scar, at the very foot of the throne that the Black Hand had once caused to be raised up, an Age before, and for a different goblin-king.
Then Mordomin feasted in the caverns of the goblins of the Redhorn Pass. For though his cursed hand gave to him great strength and vitality, it came at a cost. And that cost was food, no matter how coarse, and drink, no matter how foul, and rest, even if it be upon a floor of stone. What he ate that day he barely spoke of (simply calling it ‘orc fare’), but it is said that he wrapped himself in the cloak of Red Scar, and slept upon his stone chair, with those that he had slain laid at his feet.
When Mordomin awoke the sconces had burned low; he rose and walked slowly about, idly touching his cursed hand to the walls. Suddenly, at a place directly behind the chair of Red Scar, the stone of the chamber pulled apart, revealing a dark, cold tunnel.
Mordomin sniffed the air from the tunnel, and exclaimed, “Moria! Ah! Have these foolish goblins delved their cave upon one of the airways of the Mansions of the Dwarves?
“Alas! Did I not advise them to do this very thing, when I was the thrall of Sauron?
“Perhaps I may cause them to regret having heeded me.”
Mordomin then entered into the tunnel, and the doorway snapped shut behind him.