Into the North

With gusto, Pallando bit into his third blueberry tart. Purple smudges around his mouth were testimony of his enjoyment.

“These are really rather good,” he said.

Alatar had not touched the tarts and stuck to his mug of coffee. “Aluir made them.”

“Ah. He’s better at baking than at diplomacy.”

“Don’t mock,” said Alatar. “He wasn’t quite ready for the task. His sister would have acquitted herself better in his stead, but I needed her here. The palantír had taxed me greatly and for a day or two, I feared I would lose my mind. But Uilara saw me through.”

Pallando licked the crumbs off his lips. “Tell me all. Jarin said you saw the Krâ and you saw Olórin. I wouldn’t have thought either of these would have caused you such distress. So what did?”

“More than one thing. To begin with, as I told Jarin and the Archseraph at the time, several of the other stones are still in use, and I could sense that at least one of them was connected to a mind of great malice. Very great malice, Pallando, do you understand me? And I said at least, because I felt there might be two such. I wondered, who could the other be? How could there be a second Sauron in Middle-earth? So this unsettled me greatly. Then I thought about what I had glimpsed of Olórin, and the more I mulled over it, the more convinced I became that the dark creatures I had seen attacking him were Nazgûl.”

“That is very bad news indeed.”

“It gets worse. The following day I looked into the palantír again, trying to find out more about the second malevolent presence. I did my utmost to steer clear of the mind of Sauron, and I hope I succeeded, though it cost me much. But the second mind caught me! That was the shock from which I struggled to recover. Pallando, the second mind…the second mind is Curumo!”

Pallando put down the fourth tart. “Curumo!”

“Yes. He has betrayed us. He caught me suddenly in his gaze, and then he laughed and mocked me. He said, Soon I shall have the Ring and there is nothing you and the other fools can do about it. What ring, I ask you? There is only one ring he can mean.”

They stared at each other for a while, until finally Pallando sighed and shook his head. “You are right,” he said. “And if the One Ring has arisen again, then the peril to Middle-earth is much greater even than we thought.”

“Yes.”

“And with Curumo a traitor, there is even less chance of defeating Sauron.”

“Yes, or a chance of defeating him only to replace him with a new Dark Lord.”

“But Olórin remains true?”

“It appeared so.”

“Aiwendil?”

“I saw nothing of him.”

“If Sauron conquers the West, he will conquer the East next.”

“Yes. Pallando, what can we do? Even if we took dragons and went out to Gondor, what aid could we bring? And I am loth to abandon the Kûzeen, especially after what you tell me about the Council.”

“I agree.” Pallando pressed his hands against his brow. “We should have acted more decisively earlier. Ten years ago when that ambassador first came.”

“I know,” replied Alatar bitterly. “I was foolishly hoping this would pass us by, and as long as we kept the Kûzeen to the Way, all would be well here. I thought we didn’t have to step up until…later, some kind of later. And there was me thinking procrastination was Olórin’s domain…”

“Alatar, if you can bear it, I think we should look into the palantír together. We should try to find out what Olórin is doing. If we do it together, we should be able to protect each other from Sauron and from Curumo.”

“This has been my thought also. But it is risky.”

“Yes, it is risky. But we are in the Sacred Cave of the Unquenchable Light. If in this place, you and I cannot show courage, then what hope is there for Middle-earth?”

Without a further word, Alatar stood up and fetched the palantír from the chest where it was stored. They joined hands across the table, with the stone in the middle. Silence spread as they gazed, their fingers tightly clasped, for an hour, maybe more. At long last they released their grip and leaned back. Pallando breathed hard, like one who has been running.

“What do you make of this?” asked Alatar, somewhat breathless as well. “What did you see?”

“It was a very strange assembly. Elves, dwarves, men – those little people? But they were not children.”

“Elrond was there.”

“Elrond was presiding. So they are at his place. And that man…?”

“He’s the spitting image of, what was his name, Mallor. Must be a descendant. But how can they have the Ring? Unless it was one of the others – a dwarf ring, perhaps?”

“Not by the looks on their faces. What were they saying? That’s the crucial matter here. Fëanor should have found a way to include sound in these things.”

“Not you as well!”

“What?”

“Oh, Hamûjil said the same.”

“Well, if the Kûzeen made anything like this, it would have sound.”

“A thing like this is beyond the Kûzar skill, and you know it.”

They stopped and exhaled. Pallando slammed the table, making the palantír jump. “This is infuriating! What use is it to us to see this? We can do nothing!”

“We can think,” said Alatar. “We know Olórin was there. If he was there, he was very likely the leader. Do they know of Curumo’s betrayal? He was not there.  So let’s assume for now that whatever they do will follow Olórin’s counsel. What would he do with the One Ring?”

“What would we do with it?”

They thought for a moment and then, “Destroy it,” they said simultaneously.

“Can it be done?” said Pallando.

“Not easily. You would need a fire drake. Do any of them remain?”

“Not if the dwarves’ rumours are true. What about Orodruin?”

“Yes, that would do it. But does the West have armies that can invade Mordor? Even without all the Variags and the steppe tribes, Sauron’s might must be formidable.”

“So then, do it secretly. Make him think you are bringing down hosts from the North, make a big distraction, meanwhile have a few people go down the river, sail to Pelagir, come at Mordor from the South. Hide the ring well, maybe encase it in iron, let it be carried by an unlikely-looking person –”

“– one that looks like a child, perhaps? That one little fellow … there was something about him…”

“You saw that too? Yes, someone like that, perhaps. So, come at Mordor from the South; there are a couple of passes on the Harad side that they might attempt if they have decent maps. Then cross Nurn, but make sure your friends keep Sauron’s eye in the North while you get to Orodruin. That’s how I would do it.”

“Perilous,” said Alatar.

“But possible.”

“So where do we come in?”

“I don’t know. Not yet. But I think you should come to Levare with me. Whatever we decide to do, Hamûjil will play a part in it. Mûn can have no objection to carrying you.”

“I will come, but I will travel by land.  I want to bring Uilara with me. Besides, Mûn will struggle as it is, with you being so full of blueberry tarts.”

“Ah, but my heart is pure.”

-oOoOo-

Only when it was fully dark did Jarin dare peek out of her hiding place. When the chase had started, she had slipped into a gap between a wood shed and the palisade, shielded by a heap of debris on one side. She had pulled some sacks over herself and lain still, and eventually the shouting and the sound of running feet had stopped, though her heart was still pounding.

But now all was silent.

Jarin considered whether she should attempt the gate. If the Krâ were at all organised, the guards would be on high alert there; her chances of sneaking out were very low. She had to either hide in the citadel until their vigilance relaxed again, or else climb over the palisade. Her instinct was to hide, but that fourth company was on the road and she had no time to spare. She rummaged among the broken planks and burst buckets, but she found nothing of use to her. Where had she seen rope? By the stables.

Gathering the courage to go down into the busier part of the citadel took her a good while. She told herself to be calm – if she didn’t run or creep about, nobody would think her a spy, would they? It wasn’t so long ago that she had brazenly climbed on the cart. However, getting so close to being caught had unnerved her. And she was covered in mud, which might attract attention.

As casually as she could, she walked over to the stables. Some lamps were lit there, and through the main door she could hear the grooms talking inside. An irregular rattling sound told her they were playing at dice. When she stuck her head round the doorway, she could see that the noise and the lamp light came from one of the stalls. She looked around: buckets, hay bales, old boots. And there on the opposite wall among the tackle hung a coil of rope. Should she make a dash for it? No, better to take it slow. Step by ginger step, she crept up to the wall. The voices of the grooms continued unabated. She tossed the rope over her shoulder and slunk out.

Back in her hidey-hole behind the wood shed, she made a noose and after several attempts succeeded in flinging it over the pointed tip of one of the stakes. She tugged it a few times and looked at it doubtfully. Then, with the rope secured round her waist, she scrambled to the top of the palisade and peered over. On the other side, an alley ran along the back of a row of houses.  No-one was about. Jarin clambered over the top and abseiled down the other side. She left the rope hanging – she had no intention to be anywhere near it when it was discovered.

Krandi at night was eerily quiet and dark. On most of the houses, the windows were shuttered. Where in Levare there would have been lanterns or glowstone paving, here only the occasional torch by the door of a tavern gave any light, but even their doors were closed and no sounds reached the outside. Moreover, the layout of the city was haphazard, the result of growth over many years rather than of design. After stumbling about for a while, Jarin finally came upon a wider street with a paved sidewalk that had fist-sized glowstones set into its edge every few yards. This road she followed, sticking close to the shadows of the houses. The few folk she encountered seemed as eager to be unheeded as herself. Once again she was in luck, for after a little more than half an hour, she came to the edge of the town. It seemed to her she was on the northbound road, close to the shore. A beech hedge fenced it on the inland side, and along this she walked on.

Dragons couldn’t fly far in the dark without getting lost. Nevertheless, when she had reached the open fields and was sure she was out of earshot of the town, Jarin pulled her flute from her pack and played her tune.

“Why do you call me at night?” said Wan. “What happened?”

“I was nearly caught. I’m very scared. If it pleases you, stay with me and guard my sleep.”

“Very well. And do you wish to return to Levare in the morning?”

“No, not to Levare. We must go to Longhaven. I have to warn the dwarves.”

And she told Wan what she had overheard in the citadel. Then she laid herself down and the dragon curled around her, and in this nest of scales and love, she fell into an exhausted sleep.

-oOoOo-

For one hour each day, strictly within the confines of the Royal Gardens, Alamûjil was allowed to roam about on his own. He had a new game in which he was the most famous lungi ever and travelled across the mountains and into the Riverlands, where many adventures awaited him.

All the leafy trees had turned by now into hues of rusty orange and purple brown, and the flowerbeds had been covered with straw mats to protect the more delicate roots from the frost that would soon descend.  But winter was not yet here, the air felt fresh and wholesome, and for a boy wrapped up warm by his minders there was no hardship in sitting on the damp grass or running among the shadows under the trees.

The adventures! There were the spiky husks of the beech nuts to inspect, piles of leaves to jump into, and the crazy dance of the sycamore seeds to watch – could he catch one? Was that a squirrel? With a cry of delight, he picked up a long, pure white feather, lately shed by the peacock Vani. The boy regarded his trophy, then he ran back to the palace to show it to his father.

Not far from the spot where he had just stood, the laurel hedge rustled.

-oOoOo-

“There they are!”

On the road below, Jarin had caught sight of what had to be the fourth company: a long line of men marching four or five abreast, with about a dozen horsemen at the front. Wan began to fly in loops above them.

“Count them!” he cried.

“Ten, twenty…fifty…two, four, six. Look like about three hundred to me. I don’t understand. Alatar said the Ezens would be able to raise a host of twenty or thirty thousand.”

“This is just a foray,” replied Wan. “Enough for a surprise attack on Longhaven. They could capture the ships and be out on the lake before the dwarves know what hit them.”

Someone on the ground had spotted the dragon, and an instant later a hail of arrows went up, one flying high enough to brush Jarin’s boot. Wan rose to get out of range.

“They shot at us!” Jarin stared down in horror. “They actually shot at us!”

“What did you expect, a friendly wave? We’re on our way to rat them out to the dwarves, so of course they will try and stop us.”

“I know, said Jarin miserably. “I just didn’t imagine that things would become so…so war-like, and so soon.”

Wan made no reply and headed out over the lake, seeking to get to Longhaven in a direct line while the road had to make a wide curve to the West. The day had started crisp and sunny, but now dense purple clouds were moving in from the mountains. They flew on for several hours while the air grew chilly and the wind picked up. Eventually they could see, still many miles ahead, the northern end of the Sea of Calma. The mountains came close to the shore here, and somewhere, Jarin was not quite sure where, the port of Longhaven was tucked away on the mouth of the River Harrowling where it emerged between two peaks. It was only mid-afternoon, but the sky had become so dark with clouds that it felt like twilight. The wind was so strong now that it was impossible to talk, even at a shout. A corner of Jarin’s scarf had come loose and was flapping around her head with a deafening noise, but she did not dare fix it, clinging instead with both hands to Wan’s mane.

The storm increased. In wave after wave of bluster it came down from the North and shook the dragon like a toy. Wan struggled to gain more height, and for a short while he seemed to have found a calmer plane, but then the wind seemed to turn and swept them along. Jarin had her eyes closed, and when she risked a glimpse, she saw rocky peaks beneath her. Suddenly, the dragon dropped, only to be picked up again and be tossed about, upwards, sideways, any which way. Then the ground reared up in front of them, and Wan tumbled, over and over and over, until Jarin lost her grip and fell four, five yards into a tangle of shrubs. There was a sense of the world turning. The light flickered. And where a moment ago a dragon had been, there was now nothing but the empty air.