Lighting a torch, he sat down at his great desk. The dark-haired woman in his bed awoke and spoke drowsily.Д¬Гўssimir did not answer. He stepped away from the window, climbed down a few dozen steps, and walked into a spacious room. A divided Umbar would be of no use to ZigГ»r and would doom them all. The coffers, overflowing in his father's time, were long since empty. What little authority he maintained over Umbar's lords was ever-dwindling. This was a sure path to Umbar's long-lost glory, but power came slowly for CГўssimir. The thought often plagued him: a failure to adequately uphold his oaths to the Dark One would go very badly for him. When that time came, CГўssimir knew he would have to be ready. It would be a matter of time ere he would call upon CГўssimir's loyalty, handed down from his distant ancestors. ZigГ»r had returned from the dark depths of time. Over the last few years, messengers from the dark land of Mordor had come and gone. For CГўssimir knew that an opportunity for revenge would soon come. Revenge was all well and good, and over the years there had been the occasional raid on Gondorian outposts, but a full-scale war brought the risk of utter ruin, just when it seemed that Umbar might be on the mend.ДЄnd yetвЂ¦ if he could rein his brother in, temper his most destructive tendenciesвЂ¦ he could make a formidable ally - under his strict authority. CГўssimir sensed his brothers' purpose - the time of his vengeance had come at last.ДЇor a while, CГўssimir stood lost in thought.

A great number of ships accompanied him, manned no doubt by hosts of raucous Men. But never before had CГўssimir seen him return in such force. Whenever he did, the city had reeled under his pressure. CГўssimir knew him as the second son, his errant little brother, a dangerous nuisance who had thankfully rarely visited for most of the thirty years since the great calamity. Squinting, CГўssimir thought he could make out a great dark shape at the edge of the greatest pier, far in the distance: the ship of BГ»rodapГўn - the so-called Lord of Waves, the Corsair-lord whose cruel reputation preceded him amongst the waves of the southern Belegaer and beyond. It was not some northern pretender that had come to cleanse Umbar of his enemies. He would have prevailed where his father could not.Д«ut tonight, the glow that illuminated the docks that had been dark for so long did not come from any Gondorian force. How different things might have been, had he been allowed to cross swords with this вЂEagle of the Star', he had often thought. His father perished that day, unable to withstand the mastery of his assailant. Thorongil had only sought to burn the fleet. His father had held him back at the palace, telling him to bar the gates and organise the last defence. He had not been able to meet this cruel warrior in combat. A pretentious name, something meant to hide an identity CГўssimir could only guess at. вЂThorongil', they had called him - the leader of the pack. Many great warriors had perished, and the power and grandeur of his name and lineage were marred.

During that night the great Umbarian fleet was largely destroyed. The sight of fire upon the docks reminded him of his father's disastrous defence against that sudden Gondorian raid, nigh on thirty years ago. His grip on the window's rail became stronger. The sounds had reached him in his uneasy sleep and wakened him, after which he could not return to rest.ДЄs he looked, he saw great fires being lit all over the distant docks, their tall flames grasping towards an unreachable black sky, their glow eating away the brightness of the stars. The sprawling port-city of Umbar lay below, livelier than it had been for decades. CГўssimir stood silently, gazing out of the highest window of the tallest tower in his ancestral palace. No clouds obscured the net of stars above.

Raise of the witch king