The Last Ringbearer

by Kirill Yeskov

  "Elves!!" came a cry from up ahead, full of not even fear, but a hopeless despondency.

  "No panic!" roared Cheetah; leaping into the saddle, he stood in the stirrups and, raising a narrow Elvish sword (yes, the very one from the Field of Pelennor!) to the solidly overcast sky, ordered: "Square formation, Lieutenant! Horsemen to the right!" Perhaps he added something else, appropriately historic, like the "Donkeys and scientists to the middle!" that was sounded over the dunes of a neighboring World under similar circumstances. But be that as it may, those words did not make it into the history textbooks of Middle Earth: the approaching Elvish line was too far to hear, and none of those now taking up defense next to Cheetah were destined to see the dawn of August the first. So it goes.

  Chapter 65

  Lrien, Caras Galadhon

  August 1, 3019

  They have gathered in the Blue Hall of the Galadhon Palace at the crack of dawn at the insistence of the clofoel of Stars. The morning felt like fall: crisp and cold like water in a forest spring, so the chills that bothered Eornis (invisibly to anyone else) may have been due to that; at least that was what she wanted to believe. What is the Master of the Stars up to? Great Eru, what if her dancers found the palant r? No, that's impossible, but what if they've figured out where it is? In the meantime, the main problem -- how to get to the Mirror, closely guarded by clofoel of Might's men, today at noon -- remains unsolved, and she is still bereft of ideas.

  It has been clear to everyone for the past week that they had to look for a physical object (the possibility of swamp fire or another magical emanation, suggested by the clofoel of the World, has been duly checked and found untrue), and a methodical search began. When it is said that the dancers of the clofoel of Stars `sniff out magic,' it is a fairly accurate metaphor: they do work like sniffing dogs. Throughout the last few days the girls have been walking around Caras Galadhon in a trance, feeling the air with outstretched palms, as if hunting a bird hiding in the fallen leaves or playing a game of `hot-cold.' So far it was `cold' -- the magical object was somewhere very close but beyond their reach. That was as Eornis expected: she had been much more concerned with the Guards of the clofoel of Tranquility and their banal police methods than with the dancers' magic. Danger sneaked up on the clofoel of the World from an unexpected quarter. The clofoel of Might, left in charge during the Lady's expedition to Mirkwood (the old battleaxe, who never played his own games, was the only member of the Council she could trust), took to his duties with excessive zeal. Among other things, his subordinates have replaced the Galadhon palace guard, so that one fine morning the bewildered clofoels discovered that they could not come into the Blue Hall for a Council session. All their attempts to reason with the new guards failed against their implacable "no such orders!" Of course, the misunderstanding was rectified right away, but now everyone was aware that the rules were now being set by the clofoel of Might at his discretion until the Lady's return. Since the Lady had directly forbidden the clofoel of Stars to access the Mirror while she was away (a very sensible precaution), he simply barred all clofoels from the Moon Tower where the magical crystal was kept -- "can't overdo a good thing." Should she fail to overcome this hurdle in the few remaining hours, her well-crafted plan will be for naught and nothing will save Eloar then...

  "How is your search going, esteemed clofoel of Stars?" Eornis inquired with courteous indifference while they were taking their places around the Council table.

  "Not good. I have asked you all to gather here for a much more grave reason..." Eornis looked at the master of the magical forces of L rien in amazement -- the woman looked ill and her voice was strangely lifeless. It does look serious, doesn't it?

  "I will not bother you with a detailed description of our magical rituals, esteemed clofoels of the Council and you, o radiant Lord -- we have too little time... maybe no time at all. For about a week now the dancers and I have been feeling strange pulsations in the Mirror's magic field. First it was a light vibration, then it turned into real convulsions, and yesterday those convulsions assumed a definite and highly unpleasant rhythm... Do none of you feel anything?"

  The clofoel of Memory broke the ensuing silence suddenly: "I feel it!" It was hard to tell what shocked the Council more -- the report of the clofoel of Stars or this unheard-of violation of protocol. Formally all clofoels were equals, but never before did any of the minor ones -- all those palace librarians, nurses, and masters of ceremonies -- dare interrupt the discussions of the Sovereigns and the Big Four. "It is exactly as you describe, o esteemed clofoel of Stars! But I didn't know it was caused by the Mirror..." How would you ever know that, you timid mouse, thought Eornis in annoyance. Do you know anything but your dusty Beleriand scrolls and stupid sagas? But I -- how did I fail to connect all those vibrations with the Mirror? So that's where my chills come from... The question is -- do I acknowledge this fact and thereby assist that Star bitch?.. Yes, and I should go even further, in fact.

  "I believe that the esteemed clofoel of Memory has shown tremendous courage by openly stating what we all feel but are afraid to mention aloud. The feeling we are having is a strong irrational fear, is it not?"

  "Maybe some girls feel strong unreasoned fear, but I personally fear no damn thing, clofoel of the World! So don't you go around saying..."

  "Thank you, esteemed clofoel of Might; we have taken your opinion into account. As I understand it, the other members of the Council share the opinion voiced by the esteemed clofoel of the World." The clofoel of Stars bowed slightly to Eornis. "However, our fear is not irrational. The thing is that the Mirror... how should I explain this... it is somewhat alive. The pulsating rhythm it is now creating is well-known in magic: it is the rhythm of labor pains, but in reverse. It is a horrible thing. The Mirror is anticipating its demise and our World's with it... It is anticipating, and trying to reach out to us, do you see? And the stars over L rien seem to have gone mad..."

  The clofoel of Tranquility leaned forward: "Could this be related to the magical object your dancers can't find?"

  "Yes, it could," the clofoel of Stars nodded glumly; she was obviously indisposed to develop this idea further and even refrained from adding something appropriate about the Guards having done no better.

  "Wait, what does this mean -- demise of our World?" That was Lord Cereborn; imagine the man actually waking up!

  "Literally, o radiant Lord -- one moment it exists, the other it doesn't, and we along with it."

  "Then do something! Clofoel of Stars! You, too, clofoel of Tranquility! I... I order you as your Lord!"

  What would we ever do without your orders, o precious liege -- that was what showed clearly on the faces of the Big Four. The clofoel of Stars traded looks with the clofoels of the World and Tranquility, lingering a bit on the clofoel of Might, and finally uttered:

  "First, o radiant Lord, I must take a look at the Mirror immediately, without delay."

  "Yes, of course! Go right away!"

  So this is my end, thought the clofoel of the World detachedly, staring at the play of the shades of green in the emerald of her ring. I can make no objection to her suggestion -- she played her cards well and the entire Council, including that doddering fool, is on her side... However, at that moment a figure clad in shining armor, its size and delicacy of features resembling those of the stone idols guarding lower Anduin, loomed over the table. While Eornis wondered idly whether the clofoel of Might ever took off his helmet and mithril mail (to make love, say), the man informed them of his opinion of cowards and civvies -- which are really one and the same to him! -- in plain soldier's language. He, for one, feels no such ominous rhythms, and how would the clofoel of Stars and her dancers know this childbirth rhythm, anyway? Aren't they supposed to be virgins? In any case, he has a direct order of the Lady not to let the clofoel of Stars to the Mirror, and any attempt to violate that order will be treated as rebellion, with all that follows... Yeah, and what did you think, o radiant Lord?!

  "Yes, yes," mumbled
the Lord of L rien (obviously the inescapable wrath of the Lady scared him a lot more than any hypothetical end of the world), "let's wait for her return from the Dol Guldur expedition..."

  "Come to your senses, radiant Lord!" Amazed, Eornis stared at the clofoel of Memory -- the poor woman must've lost all grip on reality to utter such unthinkable words. "Our world is already sliding into an abyss, the only one who has any chance of saving it is the clofoel of Stars, and this helmeted idiot is standing on an order received ages ago! All right, can't blame a man with a bronze lump for brains, but you all -- Almighty Eru, can't you rise above your petty intrigues even now, on the eve of destruction?!" Suddenly Eornis realized that the timid book mouse has simply voiced what the entire dozen of lesser clofoels were thinking. Not just them, either, as became clear the next second when the enraged clofoel of Might tossed his chair aside -- for the clofoel of Tranquility was already coming around the table towards him, stepping softly as a tiger, hand on the hilt of his sword, and a smile fit to freeze the Eternal Fire on his lips.

  "You've just mentioned rebellion, esteemed clofoel of Might... that's an interesting thought, isn't it, o radiant Lord?"

  "Hey, you... both of you..." the Lord mumbled and shrank in his chair: the lesser clofoels already backed to the walls, and...

  "Stop!!" The solution that occurred to the clofoel of the World was akin to a flash of lightning: all the pieces of the puzzle she had been trying in vain to assemble suddenly fell together in the only possible way. "I am speaking to you, clofoel of Might!" He probably would not have listened to anyone else, but over the last few years' worth of intrigues she had always taken the Lady's side, and thus had some influence over him.

  "The radiant Lady did mention -- in passing and half-jokingly -- that the clofoel of Stars was not to preen before her Mirror. However, she had imposed no restrictions on the other clofoels' access to the crystal. Do you agree, esteemed clofoel of Might?"

  "Yes, that's true..."

  "See? It's settled, then: by the will of the Council I will ascend the Moon Tower. Of course, my magical capabilities can't even be compared to the talents of the esteemed clofoel of Stars, but I'm at least capable of comprehensively reporting the Mirror's condition to her."

  The clofoel of Stars shook her head. "Do you have any idea, esteemed clofoel of the World, how dangerous it is to look in the Mirror to anyone not protected by my magical talents, as you've referred to them?"

  "I have no intention of looking in the Mirror -- my selflessness doesn't go that far," laughed Eornis. "As far as I know, the radiant Lady uses L rien's human visitors for this purpose; they are mortal anyway, sooner or later. We happen to have one handy -- that flying Troll. I hope he hasn't been liquidated yet, has he, esteemed clofoel of Tranquility?"

  "No, not yet. We'll have to fix him up some, though: when the poor slob read his testimony, he totally fell apart -- first tried to kill himself, then went catatonic."

  "That's no obstacle to what we need to do. So it's agreed -- you will turn the Troll over to me before noon?"

  "Agreed. However, esteemed clofoel of the World... I'm a little concerned for your safety. A Troll is a Troll -- a wild and unpredictable creature. The three of us will go to the Moon Tower together -- you, me, and him. That'll be safer."

  "I am so touched by your concern, esteemed clofoel of Tranquility."

  "Not at all, esteemed clofoel of the World."

  Chapter 66

  The sun was already approaching its zenith when they have passed the guards of the clofoel of Might at the entrance to the Moon Tower. The narrow spiral staircase forced them to go single-file. The clofoel of Tranquility went first, easily taking every other step; of course, he was not afraid of the Troll following him and had not even handcuffed him, relying on a Web spell instead. Milady Eornis brought up the rear, going over the details of her plan for one last time. Yes, there's a chance of success, but it's really minuscule, and the worst part is that everything depends on a myriad of coincidences, rather than her own abilities. In any event, her long game with the clofoel of Tranquility had reached its end -- only one of them will be coming out of this tower, with only chance determining which one... The top chamber of the Moon Tower was a round room about ten yards in diameter, the Mirror its only furniture. The crystal was set in a mithril setting with curved legs a foot and a half long, so that the whole thing resembled a small table. Six elongated windows offered an excellent view of Caras Galadhon. It's funny, Eornis reflected in passing, that this Troll is probably the only Man to ever see the real sight of the Elvish capital, but he won't relate it to anyone. Those guests that we intend to release are never allowed beyond the talien next to Nimrodel, so those simpletons leave believing that we actually live on those perches...

  "Bring him up to the Mirror, clofoel of Tranquility, but don't remove the Web just yet..." Only after uttering these words did the clofoel of the World realize that the Mirror was, indeed, in a bad way. The crystal was ink-black, the blackness lit up by pulses of scarlet light at regular intervals; it felt distinctly like the Mirror was emitting one endless silent scream of terror and pain. Maybe it's not good for it to be close to a palant r? she wondered belatedly. Whatever, can't change anything at this point. Please endure this a bit longer, she thought at the Mirror; this will all be over in a few minutes. As if in response, the crystal almost exploded from inside with a singularly powerful scarlet flash which for some reason reminded her of the Eternal Fire... The thought came and went as other matters occupied her attention: the clofoel of Tranquility had apparently noticed (felt, to be precise) that the room was not as empty as it seemed. According to her plan, that was exactly what he was supposed to do, without any prompting from her. Imagine the irony of relying on one's mortal enemy's intuition and professionalism!

  The clofoel of Tranquility had thoroughly scanned the room and saw nothing suspicious, as was to be expected. It's useless to search for anything magically here -- the Mirror generates a magical field of such intensity as to drown those of all other objects. A totally empty room and a low `table' on thin legs... Could I have hidden an object here, a small one? Yes, I could have... sure I could! Wait -- a small object? What did the Troll say? "About the size of a child's head!" So that's why you wanted to get up to the Mirror!..

  "Clofoel of the World! You're under arrest for treason. Stand against the wall!" They stood facing each other, the Mirror between them; the clofoel of Tranquility had his sword out -- he was not about to give that snake any chances, she was mortally dangerous as it was.

  "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 palant r."

  "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 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 palant r 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 f
loor! 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 loser's haggle, Eornis had been pushing 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 imprint of its caster, making him the only one able to lift it -- doing so is a mortal danger to all others, and usually useless, too. Fortunately, the Web is 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 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 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 sweep his gaze 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 decoration while six-sided flagstones raced at him. His last thought was: what if those bastards piece me together again?..