The Last Ringbearer (53 page)

“Unclip the dagger from your belt … now the stiletto in your left sleeve … Kick them away with your foot! Now, we’ll talk. The magic object that Star fool’s dancers can’t find is attached to the bottom of the ‘table,’ right? One has to drop on all fours before the Mirror to see it – surely no one will think of that. It’s impossible to find it magically – the dancers are like a dog that has to find a perfumed handkerchief hidden in a sack of crushed pepper. An excellent idea, my compliments! By the way, what is it?”

“A
palantír,
” Eornis responded dejectedly.

“Whoa!” He apparently never expected that. “Whose gift is it – the Enemy’s?”

“No, Aragorn’s.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“It’s the truth. His Majesty Elessar Elfstone is a farsighted Man, he never puts all his eggs in one basket. You think you’re the only who had talked to him privately back in January? Get rid of me, and he won’t help you in your game against the Lady.”

“You’re wrong, my dear: the fewer one’s allies, the more valuable they become, so he’s not going anywhere. You, however, can look forward to a real education under the Mound: the boys there are quite creative, and I’ll make sure you won’t die too quickly.”

“To do that you’ll have to offer proof of my treason, which means turning the
palantír
over to the Council. Would it not be better to keep it and turn me into your agent in the Lady’s retinue? I can offer a lot, you know.”

“All right, enough talking! Face the wall, now! Sit down on the floor! On the floor, I said! How did you attach it – with magic?”

“No, just the sticky
ankasar
juice,” she replied, and then added pleadingly, staring at the wall: “Please listen to me …”

“Quiet!”

The last word came out slightly muffled: apparently, the
clofoel
of Tranquility behind her back had already bent over, feeling the bottom side of the crystal – meaning that it was time. While pretending to conduct a pitiful and useless loser’s haggle, Eornis had been pushing determinedly through the dense crashing waves of the Mirror’s magic field to the sticky gray ropes of the Web spell binding the Troll. Every spell carries an indelible imprint of its caster’s personality, making him the only one able to lift it – doing so is a mortal danger to all others, and usually useless, too. Fortunately, a Web is created by one of the simplest spells, purely technical and almost bereft of a personality imprint, so it’s worth a risk. Now everything will hinge on what the freed Troll will do. Of course, he’s been broken by knowledge that he had somehow told everything he knew to the enemy; the question is – how broken? If he had turned into jelly, I’m finished; but if he’s still a Man and would like to at least pay back the one who’d tricked him into a betrayal, I can help him. I help him, he helps me …

Suddenly Eornis ripped at the Web the way one rips a bandage stuck to a wound – in one swift movement, the only possibility here. A horrible, excruciating pain knocked her out for a moment; so this is what lifting another’s spell is like, even when it’s a trifle like the Web being removed by an Elvish
clofoel
… By the time she surfaced from her unconsciousness a few seconds later, it was all over – the
clofoel
of Tranquility lay prone on the floor near the Mirror, his head turned at an unnatural angle, as if trying to see something behind his back. The Troll must have fallen on the Elf kneeling before the Mirror from behind and simply wrung his neck with bare hands; he was now on a windowsill, clearly about to escape, which Eornis had no intention of stopping. She smirked: the esteemed
clofoel
of Tranquility had released the Troll and imprudently looked away, while I had no time to do anything. It happened so fast, esteemed Members of the Council! I am eternally grateful to the late
clofoel
: had he not volunteered to accompany me, undoubtedly I would have been dead …

Kumai had only a split second to look over the amazing panorama of the Elvish capital while taking his last step; all those towers and suspension bridges fell on him like a theatrical backdrop while six-sided flagstones raced at him. His last thought was: what if those bastards piece me together again? …

Perhaps they would have (who really knows the limits of the Elves’ power?), but they had no time left for that or anything else. The sun was already at zenith, so Eornis took the
palantír
out of its protective silver-shot sack and brought it right next to the maddened Mirror, which looked fit to gallop away on its bent little legs. After waiting the prescribed time, the
clofoel
of the World brought together the two orange sparks within the magic crystal, thus switching it to ‘send-receive’ mode …

CHAPTER 67

Arnor, the Tower of Amon Súl – Mordor, western edge of Orodruin

August 1, 3019 of the Third Age, a quarter-hour before noon

H 
old it!” Gandalf ordered in a voice hoarse with strain, as if he was supporting an immense weight – which he was, no matter that the weight was not a physical one. All the four wizards of the White Council were totally exhausted, sweat rolling down their wax-like faces as they were ready to collapse. This job really took a pentagram, but their numbers only sufficed for a square … ah, Saruman, Saruman!

A huge map of Middle Earth, drawn somewhat schematically but with careful attention to scale and orientation right on the stones, took up the entire floor of the hall. A
palantír
rested in its middle, which corresponded to Arnor, casting flashes of colored light – yellow, blue, greenish – haphazardly in all directions. The efforts of the White Wizards were not in vain, though – slowly the flashes merged into a steady emanation which then separated into needle-thin colored rays. Gandalf uttered a short ‘fixing’ spell, which served as a “Down!” command; the wizards repeated it in unison and let themselves relax, as if they have just put down a cupboard full of crystalware they have been carrying. The first part of the job was done.

The colored rays that now fanned out across the floor and beyond the walls from the
palantír
in the center joined the crystal to the other six throughout Middle Earth. It was impossible to tell exactly where on those lines the other
palantíri
were, but to know the direction was also useful. First, Gandalf studied the golden-yellow ray leading due west into the ocean. Yellow meant that the other Seeing Stone was in regular working state, meaning that this was the
palantír
of Círdan the Shipwright, king of the Western Elves; the wizard checked that the ray went through the part of Lindon shore where the Tower of Emyn Beraid stood and nodded in satisfaction: their map had been drawn accurately and they could go on.

The two clouded-green rays that formed an almost straight line leading north-north-west to the Bay of Forochel in one direction and south-south-east to the delta of the Great River in the other, were of no interest to him: those were the sunk
palantíri,
the two on the lost ship of Prince Arvedui and the one carried by the Anduin from Osgiliath. The ones that had prompted this whole exercise were azure-blue (meaning that the
palantíri
were working but enclosed in silver-shot protective sacks) and led south-east, only very slightly apart. To Mordor. Damn it all!

“Where did they get a second crystal, Gandalf?”

“Look at the map – see any lines leading to Emyn Arnen? Looks like His Highness the Prince of Ithilien has kept up his pre-war games with the East and handed Denethor’s
palantír
to those spawn of Morgoth, the cockered knave! I wish Aragorn had strangled him back at that hospital …”

“Now, now, Gandalf! What if Aragorn and Faramir had simply made a secret alliance against the Elves, using the remnants of the Orcs? Then it could’ve been Elessar Elfstone himself that gave the Minas Tirith
palantír
to the Orcs. I mean, everybody is now working against the Elves, including ourselves, just separately.”

Even so, Gandalf thought in consternation, the overall picture is no clearer. Vakalabath’s prophecy has many possible meanings, but it can be read as “Magic will depart Middle Earth with the
palantíri
” – today at noon – or not at all. How can this be? He stared at the dark-blue rays again: one goes through Barad-dúr and the eastern part of Núrnen, the other slightly to the west, through Gorgoroth and Orodruin … Orodruin?! So that’s what they’ve decided to do!

Or, perhaps … no, there are no such coincidences! Looks like those Mordorian idiots have decided to drop their crystal into the Eternal Fire, thereby destroying it. What do they hope to accomplish? Sure, this will tweak the magic fields of the other
palantíri
and even the Mirror, but, really, not as drastically as to banish magic from Middle Earth! Even if another
palantír
that happens to be in receiving mode is destroyed at the same time …

“Gandalf, look! Something strange is happening to the eastern ray!”

The head of the White Council has already noticed something weird about the ray going through eastern Mordor: it started changing color and brightness at fixed intervals, as if storm clouds were moving across an evening sky.

“But that’s impossible!” the wizard in the blue cloak spoke again. “There’s only one thing in all of Middle Earth capable of influencing a
palantír
’s field – the Mirror. But the Mirror is with the Elves in Lórien while the
palantír
is in Mordor …”

A terrible guess pierced Gandalf’s brain. “That
palantír
is not in Mordor,” he rasped, pointing at the map. “Its ray goes through eastern Mordor, true, but first it goes through Caras Galadhon – look at the map! – and that’s where it is, right by the Mirror!”

“Wait – could this be a coincidence? The Elves of Lórien have never had a
palantír
, and Círdan’s is in place.”

“They haven’t before, but they do now! I don’t know who made Lady Galadriel this gift – Aragorn, Faramir, or the Orcs – but she put the crystals together for some reason. At noon the Orcs – or maybe they aren’t Orcs, how am I to know? – will drop their
palantír
into Orodruin, the Eternal Fire will jump from the Orodruin
palantír
to the Lórien one and from there to the Mirror, and then it really will be all over! And when the Mirror is destroyed, all the other Seeing Stones will turn into clots of Eternal Fire, including ours.” At those words the White wizards shrank back involuntarily, as if the deadly fire was already singeing their faces. “There’s Vakalabath’s prophecy for you! Make a triangle, quick! Help me – perhaps we’ll be in time …”

Gandalf knelt before the
palantír.
A dense chain of blue-violet sparks shimmered into existence between his palms, and he began winding it around the crystal exactly as if he was winding woolen thread into a ball; a tangy freshness came into the air, as if a lightning had struck somewhere nearby. The other three wizards have already poured all their power into the head of the White Council and now stood around him motionless and silent, like statues; none of them dared think of the all-consuming fiery dragon that could hatch out of its crystal egg at any moment. Gandalf’s hands moved faster and faster; hurry, White Wizard, there’s a lot at stake! A lot? How about everything?!

Finally he sank to the floor and just sat there for a few seconds, eyes closed. He had to use his teeth to uncork the flask of Elvish wine – his hands were now forever numb, as if frozen. Holding the flask between insensate palms, he drank a couple of swallows and handed the flask to Radagast without looking. They made it, despite everything … The ray of light going from their
palantír
to the one at Orodruin was now scarlet-purple rather than blue; the moment those guys take their crystal out of its protective silver net, Gandalf’s spell will coil around it like a blue snake. He wouldn’t want to be the one to touch that ball … Now it was time to catch his breath and consider how they might grab the
palantír
that will surely remain lying there among the rocks of Orodruin.

Haladdin tore himself away from contemplating the scarlet gold-tinged lava boiling almost at his feet in the crater. Squinting and shielding his eyes with his palm, he estimated the position of the sun, already a bit past noon. Lórien lies substantially to the west of Mordor, so noon at Orodruin should be about a quarter-hour before Lórien’s. Looks like it’s time to take the
palantír
out of its bag and wait for the Mirror to appear in it – provided that Kumai did his job … He rebuked himself: don’t dare think that! You know with absolute certainty that he did everything exactly as requested. You can look forward to killing that woman – all right, Elf-woman, what’s the difference – in just a few minutes. Well, that’s been mulled over a thousand times. I suppose I could ask Tzerlag (there he is, snoozing by the rocks – nerves of steel!) to ‘carry out the sentence,’ but that’d be really …

The voyage to Orodruin had not been too hard. Runcorn accompanied them to the Hotont pass – the ranger wanted to scout a good place for a house in the upper reaches of the Otter Creek anyway – and handed them over to Matun. The Troll saw the rendezvous with ‘Haladdin’s scouting team’ as a short vacation from the front lines – war still raged at home in Mordor, whereas here, beyond the Mountains of Shadow, everything was nice and quiet. By that time Faramir had made every possible effort to make peace with the Shadow Mountain Trolls, fully succeeding in his diplomatic efforts last week when a delegation of three Trollish elders visited Emyn Arnen. Someone – let’s not point fingers – did not like this rapport one bit, so a special assassination team waited for the elders at the outskirts of the Settlement. However, Baron Grager’s intelligence service acquitted itself admirably: not only did it avert the attempt, it also proved that the provocation was directed from beyond the Anduin. The assassins that survived the battle were let go with an order to ask His Majesty to vary his methods a bit. In any event, Grager’s proofs were enough for the elders: they broke a traditional flatbread with the Prince of Ithilien and departed, leaving their younger sons to serve in the prince’s personal guard as a sign of their covenant. By that time the Ithilien farmers have already established lively barter trade with the Trolls without waiting for any royal permissions. The Elves controlling the Cirith Ungol pass watched all that with hot fury but could do nothing about it – not enough manpower.