If you wish to understand a bit more of what had happened at the castle where Thorongil fought Altazîr and his men and learn a bit more of Altazîr’s plans, you must return to shortly after Thorongil had scaled the castle wall and silently eliminated most of the garrison outside the keep.  Altazîr, oblivious to his danger, was meeting with most of the highest ranking officers of the city guard who remained in Umbar. Also present were a twenty or so men loyal to Altazîr’s family in heavy armor. His plot to wrest hold of the city was nearly complete - all that remained on his part was a little theatricality.

A man from his own Department of Internal Affairs burst in through the front door of the keep.  “Director! I have a report from our intelligence agents who infiltrated the Dead Hand!”

Altazîr opened the letter and read it loudly for all to hear.  “At great loss the headquarters of the Dead Hand has been taken and destroyed.  Though the cultists burnt most of their records before we could seize them, we found remnants of documents signed by the following names…”

Altazîr read out the list in full.  It was a list of old, important families in the city - anyone left who might challenge him.  No one noticed that his eyes were hardly ever on the page he read - he didn't need to read it, he had written it!  While it was true that many of the families listed did have ties to the Dead Hand, his own name should have been front and center.

Armed with this new ‘evidence,’ Altazîr would have rounded up and executed hundreds, and forced those he spared to surrender their wealth and influence to the new emergency government - his government.  It would be ruthlessly efficient; gone would be the pompous and gluttonous ministers who threw lavish balls while even princesses were mugged in the market square. As far as King Elessar would ever know, the great Altazîr of Umbar had prevented an insurrection and turned the most rebellious province of his kingdom into a prosperous haven of trade and commerce - at least for those of Numenorean stock.

“What concerns me, Director, is the Princess,” said one of the Gondorian officers present.  “What news of her?”

“She has not been seen since attack on the ball,” said Altazîr.  “She might yet turn up alive - but I do not think the odds favor it.”

“And what of the rumors that your men attacked the Ranger’s garrison?” asked another officer.

“There is no truth to that,” replied Altazîr, trying his best to hide his irritation at the question.

“Then why is that entire city block cordoned off by Internal Affairs?” interrupted a third officer.  “What happened there? If Gadron is alive and well he would be here. I sent a rider to their camp and he was refused entry on your authority, Director.  The Rangers technically report to me, and I have a right to know what happened to them!”

“I have no idea what happened to them, General,” replied Altazîr.  “Their camp is empty, and there are signs of a struggle. Let me assure you that my best men are looking into it…”

“What gives you the authority to conduct the investigation?” objected the General.

“I am the highest ranking official remaining in Umbar,” replied Altazîr, “and I have ordered Internal Affairs to conduct that investigation!  Are you accusing me of something, General?”

It did not go unnoticed that Altazîr clearly had the most swords in the room.

“Of course not, Director,” replied the General.

“Very good,” said Altazîr.  “Then our chief concern should be…”

Altazîr was interrupted by a crack of thunder.  The main gate into the keep swung upon; the bolts to lock it lay smoldering on the floor.  Thorongil, in his black armor, stood in the doorway.

Before Thorongil could speak Altazîr cried: “To arms!  The Dead Hand’s revenge is upon us!”

Two of Altazîr’s soldiers nearest to Thorongil drew their swords and charged.  Soon all his men had done the same, and the Gondorian officers along with them.  Altazîr followed at a short distance.

Thorongil drew his sword and easily dispatched his first two assailants.  By the time he had killed ten of the soldiers Altazîr decided discretion was the better part of valor.  He grabbed a small shield from one of his fallen men and retreated towards the back door of the keep, which was open.

“You’ll not get away that easily, traitor!” shouted Thorongil.  He lifted his left hand towards the ceiling and slowly closed his fingers into a fist.  Then he pulled his hand down, as if he were pulling some lever, or the handle on the end of a rope hanging from the rafters.  As he did so every door out of the room slammed shut. Altazir struggled to open the back door to no avail.

By now Thorongil had killed more than half of his men, and a good number of the Gondorian officers as well.  He drew one his silver knives and hurled it at Altazîr, who raised his shield just in time to prevent a killing blow.  A second dagger soon followed, and this one pierced the shield and stuck an inch into his left arm beneath.

Altazîr turned away from the battle and threw himself shield first through a glass window.  Thorongil's spell hadn't sealed those, and he landed amidst broken glass outside the keep.

“Make sail!” he screamed,  struggling to his feet. “Cast off!”

He sprinted down to the pier below, slipping and tumbling down the steps which looked like a small waterfall in the storm.  Fortunately his armor protected him from serious injury.

“Cast off!” he cried again.  The men manning his flagship, a black and gold warship that could match the Tar-Minyatur in battle, immediately dropped the sails and raised the anchors.

He left a few soldiers to guard the pier and ran up the ramp onto the deck of his flagship. With his own sword he started cutting the mooring lines which tied the ship to the docks.  Slowly the massive vessel began to leave the dock.

Altazîr looked up towards the castle.  He saw Thorongil reach the top of the stairs - everyone inside the keep was dead.  Thorongil cut his way through the guards Altazîr had left behind without breaking his stride.  As he reached the pier he paused a moment, wondering if he could catch the warship by swimming.  He knew he could not.

Thorongil stuck the tip of his sword into the wooden pier and held put his left hand.  A metallic bow appeared in his hand, and a similarly made arrow sprang from his right. He took his first shot, and Altazîr ducked just in time.  After killing a few of Altazîr’s soldiers on deck who had not realized their danger, Thorongil’s bow dematerialized as the black ship sailed out of range.  He tore his sword free from the wood at his feet and stood silently, trying to feed the storm with his rage - to summon winds that could sink the warship in the bay.  Unfortunately for Thorongil the ship was well made, and it weathered the maelstrom. Soon afterwards Amdirien and the Rangers found Thorongil on the pier

Altazîr met with his chief advisers, the conspirators behind the coup, in his cabin on his flagship.

“What in the world happened?” asked one.

“First, a drink!” said a pale looking Altazîr, taking a shot of whiskey.

“You look like you've seen a ghost!” said another.

“Not a ghost...“ replied Altazîr.  “A demon.”

“Was that the same man who turned the tide against our assassins at the ball?” asked another, who had been Altazîr’s agent inside the Dead Hand.

“He's not a man,” replied Altazîr.  “He cut through fifty soldiers like a knife through butter.”

“Where did he come from?” asked a conspirator.

“He came with the Princess,” answered Altazîr.  “He was a member of her guard, I believe. I got a glimpse of his sorcery at the market when he rescued the Princess from a bandit, and then it was on full display when he slaughtered our assassins at the ball.”

“When did the Gondorian royal family get servants like that?” cried the former infiltrator of the Dead Hand.

“I suppose Sauron's monsters had to go somewhere,” theorized another conspirator.  “Power attracts power…”

“It doesn't matter where it came from or how it got here, what matters is whether we can kill it!” said a conspirator.

“We have to!” replied Altazîr.  “He doesn't seem like the diplomatic type.”

“Are you mad?” said another conspirator.  “Look around you!” He pointed to the far side of the able from Altazîr, where several seats sat empty.  “You're telling me a third of our number were killed in minutes in a hall full of our soldiers, by one ‘demon,’ and you want to go back… where it is waiting for us?”

“You’d rather flee like a dog with its tail between its legs?” cried Altazîr.

“Did anyone even wound him?” asked the infiltrator of the Dead Hand.

Altazîr took another shot of whisky and shook his head.  “Nothing. Not a scratch.”

“Well then I'm not going back there!” replied the conspirator.

“Where would we go?” asked Altazîr.

“To Harad?” one replied.  “To Bozisha-Dar, perhaps.”

“Harad?” hissed Altazîr in disgust.  “To live among savages?”

“They know the value of gold,” replied another man.  “It won’t be so bad.”

“Not me!” roared Altazîr.  “You all may go where you wish, but I am going to the Golden Palace, to rule my city.”