Dawn came early on the exposed eastern flanks of the mountains. The sun crept up out of brown smoke and haze, dimming at last even the sullen glow of Orodruin. The men awoke and stood wrapped in their blankets against the morning chill, looking out over the plain far below that they must somehow cross. Orodruin itself was wreathed in sulphurous fumes and it loomed only as a dark shadow piercing the sullen roof of grey clouds. Nothing could be seen of what lay beyond the Mountain.
Elendur woke to find his father already about, ordering the preparations for the day's march. He rose, stretching and bending to work the kinks out of his back after the night on the hard ground, then went to the eastern parapet and looked out over Gorgoroth. His father joined him there a few minutes later.
"Whence comes this perpetual low gray cloud, father? Is it the fumes of the Mountain, or is it some devise of Sauron's?" They watched a spurt of flame suddenly shoot from a fissure in the plain, sending up a plume of black smoke.
"Sauron's forges and foundries lie beneath the surface, in a vast warren of tunnels and caverns, tended by slaves who work endlessly in the dark and heat. Many of the tunnels are natural, formed when the lava flowed out from beneath its cooling skin. These were connected and expanded by many passages hewn out of the rock by his slaves. We suspect that there are secret underground entrances to the Barad-dûr through which they receive their supplies, for even orcs must eat. We have searched for them, but it is dangerous and bloody work to try to fight our way through the underground passages where the orcs have every advantage.
"But the plain is also rent in many places by fumaroles and other vents for the fiery violence beneath. And it seems that Sauron even has some control over the volcano, for it is most active as his power waxes, and it is said it bursts forth in fury when he is angered. His power is great indeed."
Even as he spoke the ground trembled beneath their feet. The Mountain grumbled and roared. Flame gushed from a red-lipped wound in its side. Elendur looked out over the ravaged, blasted plain, wavering in the heat and steam of the fumaroles. "He must be in a foul mood this day," he observed. "Why would even Sauron choose such a place in which to live?"
"Sauron does not love life and light. He seeks only ever greater power. The natural furnaces of the Mountain power his machinery. He delights in bending the land to his will, forcing it to yield up weapons and engines of destruction. He would rather see flames and slag heaps than green growing things. He goes always in shadow and cloud.
"But Orodruin is yet more to him. He is linked to the Mountain in some manner we do not understand. Celebrimbor, in his vision that revealed Sauron's treachery, saw that Sauron used the flames of the Sammath Naur, the great chambers of fire high on Orodruin's slopes, to forge the One Ring, the lens that focuses all his malice and power. Celebrimbor suspected that the Mountain was the earthly gate to the dread Flame of Udûn, and that this was the source of Sauron's power."
Elendur looked upon the Mountain with loathing. "Must we go right to the Mountain, father? My heart quails at the sight of it."
"No, even the mighty arts of Sauron cannot build on the heaving flanks of Orodruin itself. The Barad-dûr is beyond it to the east, upon a jagged southern spur of the Ered Lithui. It must be forty miles, I would guess, from the Mountain to the Tower, but Sauron has built a road from his gate to the foot of the Mountain, and from there it winds up to the mouth of the Sammath Naur itself. There he has built a door that faces directly toward the Barad-dûr, so that he might look out from his abode and see directly into the Flame of Udûn. Our road will pass close under its flanks before striking Sauron's Road, but we need go no closer."
Ohtar joined them to report that the men were fed and ready.
"Then let us ride," said Isildur, and they turned and joined the Elf-Lords. Cirdan and Elrond were already mounted. "To horse," cried Cirdan. "We have many leagues still before us. Tonight we shall sleep in the camp of Gil-galad and Elendil."
They rode then, down from the heights of the Morgai ridge into a shallow ravine that gradually widened as they descended until it opened out onto the plain in a wide fan of broken rock. The road at last ceased its tiresome twisting and stretched away toward the east, turning only to avoid slag heaps and the steaming fumaroles.
Once they spied of group of dark figures on the road ahead, but they fled from the road at sight of the host, leaving something dark lying in the road. When they reached the spot, they saw that it was the body of a great black stallion. It was gaunt and covered with streaks of foam.
"A magnificent animal," said Elendur sadly. "From the looks of him, someone rode him to the death."
"I know this horse," said Ohtar. "Remember, Sire? We last saw him at Erech."
"Aye. You may be right, Ohtar. He is much like, and I never knew you to be wrong about a horse."
"What a sad end for such a noble beast," said Elrond. "A curse on him who destroyed it."
"Many curses has he already had," said Isildur, "for his master was Malithôr of Umbar, the Mouth of Sauron."
"And no sign of him or the orcs we saw either," said Elendur, looking about at the trackless wastes all around them.
"Gone down their rat holes," grumbled Ohtar.
"But he was alone when he left Minas Ithil," said Elendur. "Has he gathered a body of orcs to him, do you think?"
"No," said Isildur. "He is a proud Númenórean. He will not deign to associate with orcs. He is long gone by now."
"But the orcs that fled at our approach?" asked Elrond.
"I fear they admired Malithôr's horse only as dinner," said Isildur, pointing to a short crude knife dropped by the horse's head. "Let us ride on. Perhaps we can overtake him."
The sun was climbing high when the road descended the last slopes and entered the blackened lava fields of Gorgoroth. The temperature rose to a suffocating heat. Ribbons of grey wind-blown dust writhed across the half-buried road, whipped here and there into twisting dust-devils that moved slowly across the landscape like ghosts. Foul-smelling fumes that burned the eyes erupted from cracks in the lava, and many riders tied cloths across their faces against the stench. They rode on in silence, each enduring the miseries alone, lost in his own thoughts. Gradually the Mountain crept nearer, looming ever higher before them.
Then, just as the leaders topped a low rise and could see the whole Mountain rising before them, the plains groaned and heaved and the air shuddered with a mighty, deep-throated roar. The horses reared and screamed in their fright, and several fell. The ground shook so violently that many crags and slag heaps nearby crumbled and fell, and new fissures and cracks split the ground. Steam and smoke issued from every vent.
When they had their mounts under control, they looked up at Orodruin and saw that it was in full eruption. The topmost crags burst asunder and fell tumbling and rolling down its steep sides. A great fountain of flame burst from its summit. The face of the Mountain was slashed and scored by searing rivers of thick clotted lava. Choking clouds of fiery ash boiled from a dozen new vents. The column halted in awe.
Elrond looked to Gildor. "What means this, Lord? Think you it is but another eruption? Never have I seen one more violent."
Gildor looked upon the Mountain's torment as yet another gout of flame shot up. "I know not, my friend, but I fear that Sauron is roused to anger. Mayhap he has learned somehow of the taking of Minas Ithil. Perhaps he even senses the approach of the Rings, so closely are they linked to his own."
Isildur rose in his stirrups, peering into the roiling clouds of smoke wreathing the Mountain. "Orodruin and its fumes prevent any glimpse of the Barad-dûr beyond. Would we had some news of the Kings."