The Last Ringbearer (2011)

by Kirill Yeskov

  “Something got confused somewhere. You say ‘shatter the Elvish magic’, but I don’t know the first thing about magic! I have never had any talent for magic; I can’t do even the simplest trick – find a hidden object with a frame.”

  “You don’t even know how right you are! A complete lack of any magical ability such as yours is incredibly rare and almost impossible. You see, Nature had deprived you of a sword, but gave you a wonderful shield instead: a man who is totally incapable of magic is also totally immune to others’ magic. The Elves are in such power now that they can easily wipe out any wizard, but they’ll have to deal with you by the rules of the rational world, where your chances are more equal. Plus this tendency of yours towards unpredictable emotional decisions is also no walk in the park… Frankly, the chances of success are very small, but in all other alternatives there are none.”

  “But please see that I can’t do work that I don’t understand!” He was in despair. “That I’ll die is not such a big deal, but to doom the efforts of so many people? No, I can’t! Besides –you’ve just said that Sonya is safe and I can take her to Umbar, and now it seems like she’s working for you, too? How so?”

  “Don’t worry about Sonya, she’s splendid. I saw her in Barad-Dur back then. The city burned for several days straight, the Men of the West couldn’t even enter it, and there were numerous people in the basements – the children, the wounded… She was searching for people under the ruins and did totally impossible things sometimes. You must know she has this gift of absolute fearlessness; she can be afraid for someone else, but never for herself.

  By the way, have you noticed that women have this gift incomparably more often than men?

  Understand this: nothing can happen to a person who is not afraid; it is not for naught that her medical squad considers her a living talisman. This is real ancient magic, not some cheap spell, please trust a professional. She is now in one of our hideouts in the Ash Mountains – thirty-six children and Mama Sonya. That place is as safe as can be.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Not at all, she’s in her rightful place. Listen, Haladdin, I think I’ve scared you too much with all this talk. Don’t look so downcast! Please summon your healthy cynicism and look at this business as a purely scientific, theoretical challenge. A mental exercise, you know –putting together a puzzle.”

  “You should know,” Haladdin responded gloomily, “that a scientist won’t lift a finger until he’s certain that he has all pieces of the puzzle and that it actually has a solution. Searching a dark room for a black cat that’s not even there is not for us, that’s philosophers’ business.”

  “I can reassure you that there definitely is a cat in our dark room, the problem is how to catch it. Here, then, is the puzzle. Given: a large magical crystal, code name ‘Mirror,’ located smack in the middle of the Enchanted Forest, in Lórien, at Elf Queen Galadriel’s.

  Problem: to destroy said crystal. Care to give it a try?”

  “Parameters of this crystal?” Haladdin joined the game without much desire.

  “Ask away!”

  “Eh… Well, to begin with: shape, size, weight?”

  “It is shaped like a lens. Dimensions: one-and-a-half yards in diameter and a foot thick.

  Weight: about a thousand pounds, not for one man to lift. Besides, it mostly likely has a metal setting.”

  “All right… Mechanical strength?”

  “Absolute, just like that of the palantíri.”

  “What do you mean – ‘absolute’?”

  “I mean literally absolute – impossible to break.”

  “Whoa! Then how?”

  “This information,” the nazgúl’s voice was suddenly metallic and officer-like, “is already in your possession, so please work your memory.”

  Damn, just what I need… get lost, willya? Wait, what was that he’d said about the Mirror and the palantíri?

  “The Mirror and the palantíri arose as product of separation of the Eternal Fire, so the same Fire would destroy them, right?”

  “Bravo, Haladdin! Precisely so, and in no other manner.”

  “Wait a second, where am I supposed to obtain this Eternal Fire?”

  “The entire Orodruin is at your service.”

  “Are you kidding? Where’s Orodruin and where’s Lórien?”

  Sharya-Rana spread his hands: “This is precisely your riddle.”

  Haladdin shook his head. “Yeah, no joke… So: one, sneak into the Elvish capital; two, charm their queen; three, steal a thousand-pound medallion; four, drag it to Orodruin… all right, I won’t count lugging it up to the crater as a separate task… and I have how long to do all that?”

  “Three months,” the nazgúl said drily. “A hundred days, to be precise. If you’re not done by the first of August, you can wind up the operation – it won’t help anyone anymore.”

  To appease his conscience, Haladdin had actually tried solving the riddle, wracking his mind for two or three minutes – no way, no how! – and finally asked in relief: “All right, Sharya-Rana, I give up. What’s your solution?”

  “I don’t have one,” the other replied calmly, turned what used to be a face towards the stars and muttered with a strange sadness: “How time flies… less than an hour left…”

  “What do you mean, you don’t have one?” Haladdin finally managed to get out. “Didn’t you say that there is a solution?”

  “True, there is, but I don’t know what it is. Even if I knew, I would not have been able to divulge it to you, as that would immediately doom the entire enterprise. The rules of this game stipulate that you have to travel this road all by yourself. This doesn’t mean that you have to go it alone; you’re free to accept any technical help from other people at your discretion, but all the decisions have to be yours alone. As for myself, I stand ready to provide any information that can be useful in your mission, but no concrete hints; consider me a sort of an Encyclopedia of Arda, but bear in mind that you have less than an hour.”

  “Any information?” Curiosity overcame all his other feelings.

  “Any non-magical information,” the nazgúl corrected. “Anything your heart desires: mithril technology, Elvish dynasties, the Ring of Power, Mordor’s sleeper agents in Minas Tirith and Umbar – ask away, Haladdin.”

  “Wait a minute – you said ‘non-magical’ and just mentioned the Ring of Power! How so?”

  “Listen,” Sharya-Rana remarked in some annoyance, looking at the sky again, “you only have about fifty minutes. Honestly, that stupid business involved no magic and has no bearing on your mission!”

  “That’s a concrete hint!”

  “Touché! All right, if you can spare the time – listen. It’s up to you now to decide what’s important and what isn’t.”

  He regretted his curiosity, as he understood that those memories were rather unpleasant to Sharya-Rana. But the nazgúl had already begun his tale, and once again it seemed to Haladdin that the darkness under the cowl hid a ghostly sarcastic grin.

  “This had been one of our many attempts to split the Western coalition, which, unfortunately, did no good. We made a luxurious ring – the goldsmiths had a lot of fun –spread a rumor that it’s supposed to confer power over the entire Middle Earth, and shipped it over Anduin. The hope was that the Gondorians and the Rohirrim would battle each other over this little gift. Well, those did indeed swallow the bait, hook, line, and sinker, but Gandalf figured out whose idea it was right away. To save the Western coalition from falling apart, he tricked them all: got to the Ring first, but rather than keep it, caused it to be thoroughly lost.

  “He hid it really well; our intelligence service took more than two years to pick up the scent.

  It turned out that the Ring was in the Shire, a backwater in the far North-West: whitewashed shutters, rose gardens, a pig in the mud in the middle of the main street… So what to do?

  Neither the Gondorians nor the Rohirrim have ever stepped foot into this Shire. Steal the R
ing and drop it off at Anduin again – our involvement would’ve been clear as day. So someone had a good idea: to pretend that we’re seeking the Ring, too, and thus dislodge its lazy owner. But in our conceit we Nazgúl decided to do this ourselves, quick and easy, here today, gone tomorrow… this was way below our pay grade, to put it mildly, but a dilettante is always a dilettante, no matter how smart he is. Two real spies would’ve done a lot more good than our entire Order.

  “Strictly speaking, the Nazgúl can take any shape they want, but back then we used our real look, just like now. Take yourself – you’re an educated man, and still you paled a little, so can’t blame the local yokels. To make a long story short, we dressed to impress and paraded in a few local towns, just about shouting from the rooftops: ‘Where’s the keeper of the Ring of Power? Get him over here!’ It’s a good thing they don’t even have police over there, let alone a counter-intelligence service; the professionals would’ve realized immediately that this was not at all how you catch someone. Well, those village simpletons – the Ring-keeper and his friends – took it all for real, so we herded them East slowly, just scaring them once in a while so they wouldn’t hang around the taverns for too long. In the meantime, our people led Gondorian Prince Boromir to them. The whole operation was for his sake, really: that guy was ready to make soup from his father’s bones to get the Ring of Power. So when the prince joined the party, together with a bunch of other people, we thought it all set – no more need for us to shadow that gang and scare them. Now our ring will sail clear to Minas Tirith with no problems…We tasked a company of Orocuens to escort the Ring and forgot all about it – and paid for it. Sometime later our people watching the Anduin spotted a funeral boat, checked it – surprise! Boromir! Apparently they had some sort of a brawl in the company, and someone bested him. No one has seen the Ring since then, nor has anyone looked; whatever for?

  “So, to sum it up, we’ve screwed this one up royally, no question, I’m still ashamed to remember… So, doctor, have you been amused by this morality tale? Are you even listening?”

  “My sincere apologies, Sharya-Rana!” Haladdin finally tore his fixed gaze from the orange embers and suddenly smiled. “This story gave me an idea somehow. I may have found a solution to this puzzle… or at least an approach to a solution. Tell me – by the rules of this game, may I share it with you, or would it be a hint?”

  CHAPTER 18

  “No,” Sharya-Rana said after some thought. “I mean – no, it won’t be a hint. Tell me your solution.”

  “Please tell me about the palantíri first, all right?”

  “As you please. Those, too, are magical crystals; with your magical limitations they can only interest you as means of communication. Anything surrounding one crystal can be transmitted to another – images, sounds, smells. Let me stress: it is the phenomenon itself that gets transmitted, rather than information about it. How this happens is rather difficult to understand, nor do you need to. Thoughts and feelings don’t get transmitted, that’s a fairy tale. A palantír can work in sending, receiving, or two-way mode; in principle, it is possible to set up contact between more than two crystals, but that is very complicated.”

  “What do they look like?”

  “A ball of smoky crystal, about the size of a child’s head.”

  “So they’re portable, at least, that’s a big plus. Then here’s the idea. The seven palantíri and the Mirror are a complementary pair and can’t exist without each other, right? So instead of the Mirror we can drop the palantíri into Orodruin, with the same result! You will tell me where to look for them; would that be legal?”

  “Hmm… Ingenious! Unfortunately, this is technically impossible, at least as far as I can see. The thing is, you need all seven to succeed, and some palantíri are quite out of reach.

  We have only one in Mordor, that one’s not a problem. I surmise that Aragorn grabbed Denethor’s palantír, and Gandalf has Saruman’s. Those are at least within theoretical reach, so that’s three. But then there’s the palantír of the Western Elves; their ruler Kirden keeps it in the tower of Elostirion in Emyn Beraid – how is that any better than Lórien, it’s only further away? Finally, there is the palantír of Osgiliath, tossed into Anduin ages ago – who knows where it is by now? – and the two of Arnor, from Annúminas and the tower of Amon Súl; those are in a sunken ship at the bottom of the Bay of Forochel. I can give you exact coordinates if you wish, but I really don’t see how that will help you.”

  Haladdin felt the tips of his ears burn. Impudent whelp – to think that you could solve in three minutes a puzzle that the greatest mathematical mind of all time must have been pondering for many years… He was incredibly surprised to hear Sharya-Rana say:

  “Great job, Haladdin. Honestly, only now am I somewhat at peace. This means that you have actually started working on this puzzle, and nothing will stop you now.”

  “Yes, you’ve suckered me in quite deftly, no question,” he grumbled. “By the way, where is our palantír, of Mordor? Just in case.”

  “Try guessing. Tzerlag must’ve taught you a few things over the last month, no?”

  “Some guess! At least tell me when it was hidden?”

  “Right after the Battle of Cormallen, when it became clear that Mordor will fall.”

  “All right…” He thought for a couple of minutes. “So. To begin with, where it certainly can’t be is all your hideouts, guerilla bases, and the like. Should I explain?”

  “Not to me. Next?”

  “No way you’d hide it in Barad-Dur, for all of its wonderful hiding places, because of the coming siege and fires.”

  “That’s logical.”

  “To move it abroad is dicey. First, it was precisely at that time, right after Cormallen, that the roads were at their riskiest; second, who knows what the local agents will do after the defeat? Although it would be tempting to hide it in Minas Tirith!”

  “Well… All right. Accepted.”

  “Caves, abandoned mines, old wells are out: there are a lot more accidental observers around such places than is commonly known. For the same reason, can’t sink it under a buoy in some pretty cove of Núrnen – the fishermen are curious folks.”

  “Right again.”

  “In other words, I would bury it in some faraway, unpopulated, and undistinguished location, in the mountains or in the desert, noting the landmarks really well. Of course, this carries its own risk – in a few years the boulder under which it’s been hidden might wind up in the river together with the entire bank after a landslide… Actually, wait – there’s a better alternative! Abandoned ruins with real hiding places, far from human habitation, where a normal person would never go, like Minas Morgul or Dol Guldur.”

  “Yeah…” drawled the nazgúl, “you’re real sharp. Dol Guldur it is. I took it there myself.

  Used a glider and walked back, as no one else was there to operate the catapult. The palantír is in ‘receive’ mode and so is invisible to the other crystals; it’s in the hiding place behind a six-sided stone in the rear wall of the fireplace in the Great Hall. It’s in a pouch made of sackcloth woven with silver, so it can be handled safely. The handles opening the hiding place appear when two stones are pushed simultaneously: a rhombic one next to it and the lower left one in the fireplace’s arch, which can only be reached with one’s foot.

  Remember this, I won’t repeat it.”

  “Could I use this palantír?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  “Well, you said that it’s a magical crystal and I’m not supposed to use any magic.”

  “The crystal is magical,” Sharya-Rana explained patiently, “but the communication is not.

  For example, if you use a palantír as a sinker, the fish you catch will not be magical.”

  “Then can you tell me how to use one?”

  “Who are you going to contact – Gandalf? Although that’s your business… It’s not complicated, actually. Are you familiar with optics?”

 
“Yes, from a university course.”

  “Then I’d better keep it simple. There are two constantly glowing orange sparks within a palantír. The line connecting them is the main optical axis of the crystal…”

  Haladdin listened to the explanation quietly, marveling at how the nazgúl was neatly slotting all that complex and voluminous information into his memory. Then, weirder things began.

  The tempo of Sharya-Rana’s explanations kept increasing (or, perhaps, time was slowing –he would not have been surprised by that now), and although at any given moment Haladdin’s brain perceived only one phrase – a glyph completely out of any context – he was absolutely certain that whenever necessary all this information about guerillas in the Mountains of Shadow, palace intrigues in Minas Tirith, topography of Lórien, passwords to contact Mordor resident spies in all the capitals of Middle Earth, and all the rest, will immediately surface in his memory. So when suddenly it was over and a thick silence, as if congealed with the morning chill, filled the camp, his first thought was that he had to immediately find some poison in Eloar’s medkit and always have it on him. Who knows what might happen – he now knows so much that he must never be captured alive.

  “Haladdin!” Sharya-Rana called; his voice was unusually quiet and halting, as if the nazgúl was catching his breath after a long climb. “Come here, please…”

  He’s in a really bad way, Haladdin recognized belatedly, how could I not have seen it myself, selfish bastard… what’s wrong with him? Looks like heart trouble. Somehow, the idea of heart trouble in a ghost did not seem ridiculous to him either then or in the next moment, when he realized with terrible clarity: this is it! He has seen too many dying men during those last few years not to be sure. The head of the sitting nazgúl drooped listlessly, and he touched the shoulder of the man now kneeling in front of him.

  “Did you understand everything I’ve told you?” Haladdin could only nod; something caught in his throat.

  “I have nothing more to give you. Forgive me. Only the ring…”