Night was falling on the eve of the solstice when Thorongil, Gwethien, Aldamir, and his company arrived on the slopes of Mount Doom. Timothy foolishly wished they had time to visit the famous Cracks of Doom where The Ring had been destroyed. Such a shadow lay on that cursed place that he likely could not have forced himself to enter it. Rock and stone would not forget the influence of the dark lord in five thousand years, let alone fifty.

They began the climb up Sauron's Road and quickly came to a small orc camp. One armored troll and thirty orcs waited for Ingacarca's arrival. As they prepared their attack, Thorongil and company snuck within bow range of the enemy camp.

"We need to take out the troll first," whispered Aldamir.

"My arrows can't pierce that armor," replied Thorongil.

Astra drew the black arrow from her quiver. "I bet this can!"

She slowly took aim. The troll stood in the middle of the camp. Astra had made shots this long before, but never uphill. Though she would never tell her friends, she had also missed plenty like this.

"Maybe you should do it," sighed The Huntress, offering her arrow to Thorongil. All the others gasped.

Thorongil nodded and took the arrow. Conjuring his black bow in his other hand he quickly killed the troll, sending the orcs into a panic.

"Charge!" cried Thorongil, leading the warriors among the company up the road and into their camp.

Thorongil and Gwethien did most of the killing. Caranel held her own with her bow. Aldamir and Eddil only got two apiece.

They quickly searched the tents and corpses for their quarry. Thorongil found a large bundle of glass vials wrapped in cloth.

He handed them to the vampire. "Gwethien, take these to Minas Tirith!"

"Close your eyes," commanded Thorongil. Only Mirumor understood.

"Look east or close your eyes!" roared Thorongil. The mortals slowly did as they were told.

Once no one was watching, Gwethien transformed. Two bat-like wings sprang from her back and she took off, westward and upward, with incredible speed.

"Alright, search the bodies one more time, and then we leave," said Thorongil.

Aldamir guessed, and Timothy and Mirumor knew, that Gwethien was a maia and thus were not too surprised that she had vanished. Astra, Caranel, and Eddil were amazed. Thorongil refused to answer their questions.

Their second search through the bodies was less profitable but proved critical. Eddil stumbled upon another vial of plague. Some clever orc must have stolen it, intending to sell it himself at a later time.

Thorongil was furious with himself. There had been no reason to send Gwethien away so quickly! His trepidation regarding her transforming in the presence of Eddil, Caranel, and Astra now left the fate of mankind resting on their ability to outrun Ingacarca and whatever he brought south with him.

Timothy lost count of how many hours - or days - they spent running west towards Cirith Ungol. Thorongil drove them onwards and lent them his strength so only he tired. They set a pace to match the Three Hunters' chase of the Uruk-hai across the Eastfold. The wolfriders of Inga's hunters were faster still; they were within sight of Thorongil's party as they reached the steep and winding ascent toward Cirith Ungol.

At the base of the cliffs Thorongil handed Timothy the vial. "Take it, and don't look back."

"We can't leave you here!" objected Caranel.

"Acceptable losses," replied Thorongil. "And I'm not dead yet."

Inga's hunters were now well within sight on the road they had come by. Aldamir regretfully rallied his friends and led them up the winding road towards Shelob's Lair while Thorongil stood barring the narrow entrance.

Perched atop a monstrous white wolf, Ingacarca rode confidently up to Thorongil. The canine monster stood eight feet tall, and Ingacarca himself was taller than any ordinary orc. He wore light armor - he relied on his speed and reflexes to protect him in battle. In his right hand he held a beautiful sword almost as old as he was. On his back he carried a metallic longbow, much like the one Thorongil could summon at will.

His voice was fairer than his looks belied, with his deathly pale skin covered in a web of scars. "It's been a long time," he grinned, though he looked puzzled. He could tell something was amiss with his ancient adversary. "You're ... not all here, are you? If you were you'd have flown away by now. You look more like a shadow, or a painting..."

"How did you escape?" asked Thorongil, stalling for time. "I thought we had Angband well surrounded."

"It's a good tale, but one for another time," replied the orc. "I have a plague to start."

Thorongil held up his sword and flames licked down the blade. "Come and take it."

Inga laughed. "You don't have it, Captain! I need not waste my time with you."

With a word to his wolf it began to climb the cliff to Thorongil's right.

"Kill him, then join me by the tower," Inga shouted to his troops. They began to funnel into the narrow road cut into the cliff.

Without his full power Thorongil knew Inga was beyond his strength to harm at range. He did have one idea to even the odds, however. Ingacarca would surely parry anything thrown at him, but perhaps not something which missed.

Thorongil threw one of his daggers just along the general's back, and sure enough Inga made no effort to parry it. As it flew past him there was a loud 'crack' as the knife cut his bowstring.

"That is a wonderful trick!" roared Ingacarca, furious but impressed. He had intended to pick the mortals off one by one from the cliff beside the road to Shelob's lair. "It will do nothing to save your friends!"

Thorongil was much too busy to respond. He spun to and fro, slaying orcs and wolves by the handful. One thousand feet above, on the road to Cirith Ungol, Timothy and his friends heard what sounded like a thunderstorm on the plains below.

Ingacarca's wolf bounded from ledge to ledge, scaling the rocky face with ease. For twenty minutes it ran atop the cliff beside the road the passed by Cirith Ungol, until near the entrance to Shelob's lair he passed the fleeing company by. The monster leapt into their path one hundred yards ahead of Aldamir and his friends. Slowly the beast and its rider came towards them. Timothy looked in vain back down the road into Mordor, desperately hoping to see Thorongil come striding up to save them.

Ingacarca felt very strange as he approached his prey. His eyes, which thanks to Morgoth's sorcery could see both the world of the living and that of spirit, were suddenly blind to all but light men can see.

Astra set the Black Arrow to her string. Timothy held up his stone. Steel flashed in the evening sun as Aldamir, Caranel, and Eddil drew their blades.

Ingacarca slid off his massive mount. "Hand over the vial, and I'll let you go. Spend a few more years with your loved ones before the plague takes you all! Or perhaps you'll get lucky; there were clearly some survivors last time."

His offer sounded oddly appealing, for among the many gifts bestowed upon him by his ancient blood was a power in his voice. Though he rarely negotiated, he had far more skill for it than a common orcish commander. Another gift of his heritage was intuition bordering on precognition: while some of the eldar were blessed with long foresight, Inga, like Eönwë among the maiar, instead could see the immediate future with utmost clarity. This was of little help in council but it made him nigh impossible to surprise in a fight. This is why he was so horrified to find that even as he spoke he felt a biting pain in his right arm - Mirumor's first dart found its mark.

Timothy's stone was doing more than restrict his vision, it also blinded his foresight! Realizing the threat this would present, Inga quickly made his move.

"Brave, but futile!" he laughed, turning to Mirumor with a grin. "I'm immune to poison."

"Poisons for orcs, I know," replied Mirumor meeting his smile with her own. "Because you're not an orc... you're an elf."

It had been one of the Witch-King's greatest triumphs - a poison to kill the Eldar. Deep in Minas Morgul Mirumor had found his lab, and taken one of the few remaining doses of the unholy serum.

"Kill the archer," whispered Inga to his giant wolf. The beast immediately charged the company and lept ten feet into air, clear over the three swordsmen.

The Huntress had no time to aim, but Smaug's Bane would gladly claim another beast out of legend. Her arrow met the wolf mid flight, lodging itself deep in its skull. The beast died before it hit the ground.

Unfortunately for Astra the arrow could do nothing to slow the beast's fall. It landed right where it had intend - on The Huntress. She screamed in pain under its crushing weight, but Aldamir had no time to help her, for Ingacarca drew his sword and engaged all three of Eddil, Caranel, and himself.