The Last Ringbearer (50 page)

Kumai’s superiors at Dol Guldur decided that he was dead: “Apparently he has miscalculated his altitude during the most recent flight, which was at night, and hit a tree. Attempts to locate the body and the remains of the glider near the castle have not proved fruitful yet.” The next day, following his instructions, Grizzly sealed the engineer’s papers, including the flight maps, and sent them all to Féanor headquarters in Minas Tirith without reading.

Lórien, Star Council

July 25, 3019 of the Third Age

Clofoel
of Tranquility
: … As you can see, it is quite possible to do without torture and the brain-busting truth potion.

Lady Galadriel
: You’re a real master of your craft,
clofoel
of Tranquility. What did you find out?

Clofoel
of Tranquility
: The dragon driver’s name is Kumai, his rank is Engineer Second Class. As we suspected, he flew here from Dol Guldur. Judging by his tales, it had been turned into a real snake nest where escaped Mordorian scientists are creating unheard-of weapons under the auspices of their intelligence service. His real mission here was from the Order of the Nazgúl – to drop a sack with some magical item, whose nature is unknown to him, onto the ‘sky’ next to Nimrodel. I believe it is the presence of that item that the esteemed
clofoel
of Stars and her dancers have felt. My Guards have conducted a thorough search of the valley of the Nimrodel, but found nothing: someone had removed the sack. Therefore, o radiant Sovereigns – please understand me correctly – therefore, I insist that the esteemed
clofoel
of the World be removed from this investigation.

Lady Galadriel
: Let us call a spade a spade,
clofoel
of Tranquility. Do you believe that the
clofoel
of the World had somehow treated with the Enemy and that the item dropped from the sky was intended for her?

Clofoel
of Tranquility
: I did not say that, o radiant Lady. However, only the dancers and the
clofoel
of the Festival had access to the ‘sky.’ Had the Troll’s gift been there during the Dance of the Fireflies, they certainly would have sensed it, whereas the
clofoel
of the World was the only one there after they left …

Lady Galadriel
: Could the Elves that gather up the phials at sunrise have found that Mordorian sack and taken it with them, out of ignorance?

Clofoel
of Tranquility
: They could have, o radiant Lady, and my Guards are working on that possibility. Which is why I am only asking that the
clofoel
of the World be temporarily removed from the investigation of ‘the case of the Mordorian sack’ until this is ascertained, nothing more.

Lord Celeborn
: Yes, this does seem a reasonable precaution, isn’t it?

Lady Galadriel
: You’re right as always, Lord Celeborn. However, as long as we allow the possibility of treason by a
clofoel
, why don’t we suppose that conspiring dancers have indeed found the Mordorian sack that night and took it away for their own purposes? That would explain why they still haven’t found the source of such a powerful magical disturbance in Caras Galadhon …

Clofoel
of Stars
: How am I to understand your words, o radiant Lady? Are you accusing me of conspiring?

Lord Celeborn
: Yes, Lady, I have to admit that you have lost me, too … A conspiracy of dancers – is such a horror even possible?! With all that they’re capable of …

Lady Galadriel
: There is no conspiracy of dancers, Lord Celeborn, please calm down! I was speaking hypothetically, as an example. As long as we’re suspecting everybody, let it be everybody, with no exceptions; but I believe it’s time for us to listen to the
clofoel
of the World.

Clofoel
of the World
: Thank you, o radiant Lady. First of all, I would like to defend the
clofoel
of Stars, strange as it may seem. She is being blamed for being unable to find a powerful magical source in Caras Galadhon. However, I would like to suggest that this task may be akin to looking for last year’s snow.

Lady Galadriel
: Could you be more clear,
clofoel
of the World?

Clofoel
of the World
: I obey, o radiant Lady! For some reason the esteemed
clofoel
of Tranquility keeps talking about a magical object dropped on the ‘sky’ and surreptitiously removed from there as if it was a firmly established fact …

Clofoel
of Tranquility
: It
is
a firmly established fact, esteemed
clofoel
of the World. You and I were not the only ones present at the Troll’s interrogation – at least three independent witnesses can confirm his testimony.

Clofoel
of the World
: Esteemed
clofoel
of Tranquility, your memory is playing tricks on you, as does your predilection to see conspiracies everywhere. The Troll testified that he had dropped a sack the contents of which he knew nothing about. Why are you looking for a physical object? Could it not have been swamp fire or some other intangible magical filth that simply melted in the sun and poisoned the countryside? Actually, I dare not discuss magical techniques in the presence of the esteemed
clofoel
of Stars.

Clofoel
of Stars
: I find your suggestion quite likely, esteemed
clofoel
of the World. More likely than a conspiracy of the dancers, at any rate.

Lady Galadriel
: Did you want to tell us anything else in connection with the investigation,
clofoel
of the World?

Clofoel
of the World
: Most assuredly, o radiant Sovereigns! The esteemed
clofoel
of Tranquility is convinced that Dol Guldur, from whence the dragon came, is run by Mordor, but I have reached a different conclusion. Certainly the notion that the Troll was working on orders from the Nazgúl is nonsense – we know better than anyone that the Black Order is no more. This Kumai’s history, however, is very interesting. He was captured on the Pelennor Fields and was rotting away at the Mindolluin quarry, as is normal, when he was rescued precisely because he was a builder of mechanical dragons. The Troll is still convinced that it was his country’s intelligence service that got him out, but it looks like the poor man had been swindled. Queen Arwen’s entourage has reasons to believe that all those escapes from Mindolluin had been engineered by none other than His Majesty Elessar Elfstone, who desires Mordorian military technology. According to Arwen’s data, he had set up a special super-secret service for this purpose, the core of which are the dead he had revived with the Shadow spell; the little that is known about these characters includes the fact that they are all named after predators. Esteemed
clofoel
of Tranquility, why do you think the Troll gave the nickname Jackal to the supposed Mordorian intelligence agent when spinning his clumsy lie? Simply because all such agents he had dealt with at Dol Guldur had such names! I have no doubt that Aragorn’s service controls Dol Guldur and had dispatched the dragon here. This prompts the following question to the esteemed
clofoel
of Tranquility: what did he talk about with Aragorn in private for over two hours, back during the latter’s January visit to Caras Galadhon?

Clofoel
of Tranquility
: Excuse me, but I had talked to him by order of the radiant Sovereigns!

Lady Galadriel
: Lord Celeborn, do you see the kind of interesting picture you get when your information comes from not one, but two independent and not too friendly sources?

Lord Celeborn
: Yes, yes, you’re right, but I’m a little confused … This idea that the
clofoel
of Tranquility is connected to those … those living dead – it’s just a joke, right?

Lady Galadriel
: I do wish that it turns out to be a joke. Our first priority, then, is to destroy Dol Guldur immediately, before they are alerted …

Clofoel
of Might
: O radiant Lady, I will burn out that snake nest!

Lady Galadriel
: I seem to remember that you and Lord Celeborn have already burned it out not three months ago … No, I have other, more important plans for you. I will deal with Dol Guldur myself this time: we have to knock down its walls once and for all – then it may work. Besides, I would really like to capture one of those beasties of Aragorn’s alive. How many people man that fake fortress,
clofoel
of Tranquility?

Clofoel
of Tranquility
: A few dozen, o radiant Lady, I can check …

Lady Galadriel
: There’s no need. Turn a thousand warriors over to my command,
clofoel
of Might, I’m leaving immediately. As for all of you …
Clofoels
of Tranquility and the World are to continue their joint investigation; I find that their cooperative work is producing excellent results, keep it up. The dancers and the
clofoel
of Stars are to continue looking for the magical object that had been dropped on Caras Galadhon, but only together with the Guards, lest the finder be tempted to study its magical properties alone. As for you,
clofoel
of Might, you will remain in charge here and watch over all of them: those are really children who might set the house on fire while Mom’s away. For example,
clofoel
of Tranquility shouldn’t play soldier with his beloved Border Guard, the
clofoel
of Stars shouldn’t preen before my Mirror, the
clofoel
of the World … do you understand me,
clofoel
of Might?

Clofoel
of Might
: How could I not, o radiant Lady?! I know these scheming troublemakers like the back of my hand!

Lord Celeborn
: What about me, Lady?

Lady Galadriel
: You, Lord Celeborn, are to represent Lórien’s supreme power, as usual: show yourself to people, sign royal proclamations, and all that …

CHAPTER 63

Mirkwood, south of Dol Guldur

July 31, 3019

T 
he rain seemed endless. Fall-like cold drizzle hung in the air for three straight days; when thunder rolled, it seemed like someone leisurely kicking water out of an enormous mattress sagging almost all the way down to earth. Over the last three days the little creek that Grizzly’s company had just run up against had turned into a raging river rolling small stones in its path. While six men were rigging a suspended rope bridge to ferry over the seriously wounded, the rest of the soldiers stood motionlessly on the bank. Icy rivulets ran down their tired faces, turning sweat-soaked clothing into ice packs and steadily eroding whatever fighting spirit they had left. Running, standing still, and icy chills – a winning combination.

Grizzly looked at the taut rope suspending the first of the helpless wounded on chest and waist harnesses, then at the ford where crossing horsemen fought the current, kicking up coffee-colored water, and once again clenched his teeth. What rotten luck – he had not expected to spend nearly an hour crossing this stupid creek, what with the Elves already breathing down their necks. Most of his men were still desperately fighting at Dol Guldur, their only task to preoccupy the main forces of the Elvish army that had invaded Mirkwood the day before yesterday. Grizzly himself, having miraculously slipped through the tightening noose of the besiegers with a column of Mordorian and Isengardian engineers in his keep, was now going south along the highway with all possible haste, concurrently diverting the Elvish pursuit from Wolverine, who was escaping alone with papers in his backpack – what of the Weapon Monastery documentation they had not yet sent down.

Grizzly’s entire plan hinged on the Elves’ sending only a small contingent to chase them, one they would be able to repulse once joined to Aragorn’s forces guarding the Brown Lands portion of the highway against the real Mordorians. Everything was going fine until they ran into this damned creek … time, they were running out of time! Grizzly stood hidden by the mossy trunk of a Mirkwood fir, expecting to see silent shadows in gray-green camouflage cloaks flit through the trees at any second. Actually, he was not likely to see anything – his last experience would be the brief whistle of an Elvish arrow.

“Lieutenant, sir!” One of his subordinates showed up by his side. “The escorted persons and personnel are all across. Your turn.”

That was fast, Grizzly congratulated himself; then he froze, looking at the raging river and treacherous water-slick boulders on its banks with a new, appreciative look. Well, Firstborn, just you wait – betcha we’ll get all the lost time back with interest.

“Sergeant!”

“Yes, sir?”

“How many steel crossbows do we have?”

Lord Ereborn and his troop reached the creek about half an hour after Grizzly’s company disappeared in the rain on its other side. For about ten minutes the Elvish lookouts spread around behind the trees and studied the opposite bank, seeing nothing. Then a volunteer, one Edoreth, his sword tied up on his back, carefully entered the stream and picked his way forward between breakers and eddies, expecting a shot at any second. When the water reached the middle of his thighs, he got swept off his feet, but the Elf could swim like an otter; having luckily escaped the gauntlet of boulders, he soon reached a small backwater under the opposite bank, where large heads of yellowish foam piled up between the branches of semi-submerged willows strung with grassy debris. Edoreth got out of the water, waved to his friends and halted, figuring the best way to get through the slick boulders without breaking his neck; the lookouts caught their breath and put their bows down – it looked safe. The field manual of any army in any world demands that the scout be given time to ascertain the situation, but Ereborn was in a hurry to catch his prey before dark and decided to save on the precautions. Five Elves followed Edoreth at his sign.