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 Lórien’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 palantír? 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 palantír.”
“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 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 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 rip
ped 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?
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
“Hold 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 flagstones, took up the entire floor. 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 spread 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 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 Kirden the Ship-builder, king of the Western Elves; the wizard made sure 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 asshole! 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-Dur and the eastern part of Núrnen, the other slightly to the west, through Gorgoroth and Orodruin… Orodruin?! So that is 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 Kirden’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 kneeled in front of 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’s time to catch my breath and consider how we might grab that palantír which 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 Last Ringbearer (2011) Page 41