Author: Sian Pham  
 
 
Rating: PG-13 (For Action/Violence.)  
 
 
Feedback: scarlett_dragon99@yahoo.com  
 
 
Summary: The Dead are coming, the Morticai is Dead. And the Morticai-
in-Waiting is captured by Shade. Who will save Middle-earth?  
 
 
Author's Note: Below the Harad, below Middle-earth, there's an empty 
continent. Though Shade doesn't show this, I am making this called 
Chung-Kuo (Which literally means in Chinese 'Middle-kingdom'.) I am 
making this a bit like Chinese culture. Just so you know where this 
is....  
 
 
Chapter 1: Shade's Revenge  
 
 
The scent on the wind roaring south was Blood. Shade smiled 
maliciously. For too long had the Morticai slipped through his nets. 
Now would be the night, the one night, were Shade had the upper hand. 
This would be the night the Morticai would die...Shade would make sure 
of it. Nothing could go amiss. It would be his last chance to kill the 
Morticai. His one last chance...  
 
 
Shade looked like a normal man-and could pass for an elf. His face was 
fair enough, and his body was strong, thin, and tall. But his eyes! 
they betrayed all his cruelty and malevolence, for they were red and 
orange like the flames of hell. His smile bore no joy, only hatred and 
spite, for Shade hated all things that walked upon the earth. He was 
born to control the Lesser and Greater Dead, to destroy all that was 
good. For the last thousand years, nothing constructive had come out 
of his mind. He drew his sword, and the black steel it was made of 
rang slightly. He grimaced at the sound, which had always had made his 
teeth grate.  
 
 
His smile faded as he looked at his reflection in the ebony blade. A 
long, silver gouge ran down it; it had been put there many years ago 
by his grandfather, Wozniak, in the final battle before Wozniak fled 
the South, to the Blue Mountains in Middle-earth. Shade glared with 
hatred at the thought of his grandfather and impulsively and cruelly 
hacked off one of the heads of the Hands standing nearby. His 
grandfather would pay, and tonight would be it.  
 
 
The silvery form that was the Dead Hand's spirit drifted out of the 
corroded body, and came close to Shade's face. He backed up, for the 
spirit's eyes were black and dark, hungry for Blood. His blood. Shade 
was unafraid. He knew that the spirit could not hurt him. But the face 
and whispy body loomed closer, and it opened it gash-like mouth in a 
sneer. It cried in a voice thin and terrible:  
 
 
'Your doom will come!'   
 
 
The voice grated against Shade's ears, but he didn't clap a hand over 
them; pain was a way of life for him. It didn't matter anymore. He 
held his black sword out in front of him, and whistled the sound of 
Kibeth, the Walker. The power of the sound flooded through the blade 
turned it white, (So that any mortal who was not a necromancer would 
be blinded.) and the stream of white light hit the silver form. With 
its face stretched into a soundless scream, the lesser-spirit 
disappeared.   
 
 
There was no lasting effect of the spell that Shade had used...Or 
there wouldn't be, soon.  
*  
 
 
A faint sound reached Wozniak's ears. He paused and looked around. His 
companions, two elves of the city of Rivendell, had visibly heard 
nothing, for they did not seem disturbed. The white-haired man drew 
his hood over his face, and pulled his cloak closer to him, covering 
the Morticai's surcoat: midnight blue patterned with a silver key.   
 
 
The wind whispered in the trees, and Wozniak and his companions rode 
on, speaking rarely, and then only in hushed voices. What Wozniak was 
doing was daring, and maybe even perhaps reckless. After the death of 
his son, Sameth, he had set out, but first visiting Rivendell to bring 
death tidings and to speak with the Lord Elrond about the journey he 
was embarking on. Elrond had seemed troubled, and frowned at the man's 
idea, but had sent two of his messengers with Wozniak; the Morticai 
worried him [Elrond], as did his [Wozniak's] dark business, even 
though Elrond and Wozniak were close in age, in wisdom, and in 
friendship.  
 
 
So preoccupied in his thoughts was Wozniak that he did not even see 
the ambush coming. When he did, he yelled to his horse, and to warn 
the two elves, noro lim! noro lim! The great black horse sprang 
foreword, but Shade, who had been waiting for him in the trees nearby 
(For this was a wooded road they were on.) said the Charter Mark for 
opening and for dirt, and a great chasm, nearly five feet deep, opened 
where the horse's fore hooves would be in a moment.  
 
 
Wozniak saw this and sprang clear, just as black arrows pierced his 
companions and his horse died at a Hand's blade. Wozniak felt them 
die, but had little time to grieve their passing, for no sooner had he 
pulled out his bright sword, Moondancer, then Shade stepped out of the 
trees. The red-haired man laughed, which sounded like crows cawing and 
fire burning all at once. Wozniak winced, but otherwise said nothing. 
He had Seen it like this before...the end was near.  
 
 
'And so you have come.' hissed Shade. 'My father's sire. I made the 
mistake of letting you live once. I will not make it again.' He drew 
his sword back, and Wozniak saw it come slicing through the air to his 
side. He did not block the blow nor try to evade it. Sharp pain sprang 
through his side, and he heard his ribs crack with the force of the 
power Shade had put into the dark blade as it buried itself into 
Wozniak's torso.   
 
 
As Wozniak fell and his hands let go of the sword that was his 
birthright, he said only, 'You wasted your stroke. You will never be 
rid of my bloodline.' This angered Shade, and he sprang foreword and 
brutally stabbed at Wozniak's chess, puncturing the blue fabric and 
silver keys. Wozniak's eyes shut, and so did his mouth. A moment 
later, Shade felt his spirit pass from earth. Still angry, he hewed at 
the body of his grandfather, relishing in the ripping of the silk 
fabric and the blood that slowly seeped to his grandfather's white 
skin; it was visible even in the moonlight. Soon, Shade's anger faded, 
and he stabbed the black blade into the earth of the road and sat 
beside it. He and the Hands stood motionless for several moments. He 
stood up suddenly.  
 
 
'Have at him.' Shade said, meaning that they could have what remained 
of the body, 'But leave the head only. I will take it.' Just as he 
finished, the Dead Hands flung himself at the body. No more will be 
said of that here.  
 
 
Shade walked forward and picked up his grandfather's fallen sword, and 
grinned at the white blade. It showed his reflection all the clearer, 
and it held great power. But this sword, like the bells in their 
bandolier that hung across Shade's chest, was tricky, and would turn 
on its master. But instead of the familiar humming that it made when 
Shade had picked it up in his days of youth, when he was still pure of 
heart and mind. There was nothing, only an unpleasant freezing 
sensation that started when Shade's fingers had touched its hilt and 
crawled up his arm. It had rejected them.  
 
 
Shade swore violently, and then forced the blade into the ground. But 
with a sharp snap! the blade was cloven in two. He had come to the 
realization that he could not wield this sword; only the rightful 
Morticai could. He was a corrupt necromancer, and though his surname 
was Morticai, he was not the Morticai.   
 
 
Shade had killed his one key to power. His anger proved too great, and 
he flung the black sword into a tree, where it shook as it buried 
itself inside the tree. The Hands, engrossed in the bodies of the 
Morticai, elves, and horse, didn't notice. He sat, staring into space, 
until he decided what to do.  
 
 
He stood, released his sword from the tree, and calmly blew apart the 
Dead who swarmed like flies on the bodies. He left the head, and 
ordered his men, the archers who had shot down the two elves from 
Rivendell, to send sentries to Middle-earth to the Blue Mountains. 
Shade gathered the two pieces of Moondancer carefully, and called to 
his black horse. He put the two pieces of the blade in the sheath that 
hung from Dark Eyes' black saddle, mounted, and swiftly rode to 
Canton, his black fortress.  
 
 
*  
 
  
 
 
Shade arrived in Canton a day later. He only had to wait three hours' 
time for the sentries to return, and though he was pleased with such 
progress, he did not show it. Let them think he would fly into a rage 
any moment. It made them more efficient, and gave Shade their power. 
He liked that power.  
 
 
They delivered such news that was satisfactory to Shade. The Prince of 
Mirkwood had fallen in battle three days ago, and his younger brother 
was in charge of Tower Watch in Mirkwood. Reports and rumors said that 
the young elf was inexperienced in terms of actual battle. Shade 
smiled. Mirkwood...It was a dark place, perfect for hiding dark deeds 
such as this.   
 
 
The only thing that pleased him more then that was the news of the 
Morticai-in-Waiting...He was coming South, in search of Wozniak 
Morticai...And the reason the South had been forbidden to him long 
ago.  
 
 
As Shade stared out the window to the West, the red setting sun in his 
eyes, he smiled again, the third time in three days. The young 
Morticai would walk right into his trap...Shade would bend the 
Morticai's mind with small effort...Shade could wield the sword 
through the Morticai.  
 
 
Then at last Middle-earth would be ready to fall.