Imagine, they did figure out how to turn those stupid ‘flying drops’ into real weapons. That the drops’ accuracy would improve dramatically if they were made to spin in flight like an arrow was fairly obvious, but how do you make the damn jar spin along its axis? They have tried attaching spiral wings to it after the manner of arrow fletching – total failure. Then someone recalled the ‘ring of fire’ – a kind of fireworks they had in Barad-Dur – a light ring on an axis spun by powder-filled cylinders attached to it tangentially. So they married this toy to the ‘drop’ by drilling several channels sideways through the sides of the jar’s mouth where the flame exits, and the flying jar spun like a charm.
It is the description of this particular invention that Wolverine is now carrying in his backpack on his escape through Mirkwood. Well, he’s an old hand at this, the forest is home to him, he should make it. Once he finds the boat with a stock of food hidden in the reeds, he can make his getaway good. It’s a long way to Minas Tirith and he will only be able to sail at night, but it’d make no sense to hurry at this point. So even if their group doesn’t make it, His Majesty will acquire a fabulous new weapon!
A lookout interrupted his musings: “Lieutenant, sir! There’s a rider up ahead, going at full speed!”
When the lieutenant recognized the man who had dismounted near the head of the group, he did not believe his eyes at first and then broke into a decidedly non-regulation grin: the Old Man brought help all by himself, rather than trusting somebody else – a real father to the troops!
“Hail, Captain!”
“At ease, Lieutenant,” Cheetah saluted curtly. His grey cloak (maybe one of those they wore at the Field of Pelennor?) and the exhausted horse were all splattered with road mud. “Make a defensive perimeter – the Elves will be here in a quarter of an hour.”
“How many?”
“About two hundred. They’ve crossed over into the northern Brown Lands the day before yesterday, took the highway and are now coming to meet you.” “I see,” Grizzly mumbled, remembering with a sudden clarity his moment of relaxation ten minutes ago: did we really make it? Should’ve knocked on wood – my dumb head, for example.
“Captain, you see how many men I have… we can’t hold out until the main force arrives.”
“What main force, Lieutenant? There is no main force.”
“But you…” was all Grizzly could say.
“I’m here, as you can see.” The captain shrugged, the gesture momentarily making him look absolutely civilian.
“So we were simply sold out?”
“Now, now, Lieutenant – sold out?” Cheetah drawled mockingly. “Not ‘sold out,’ but ‘sacrificed in the name of the Highest State Interests.’ You know, the way you did with the defenders of Dol Guldur – sacrifice the few for the many, right? Long story short – Minas Tirith has decided that now is not the time to meet the Elves ‘point against point,’ so all our forces and their support structures have pulled back from the highway. Dol Guldur? What Dol Guldur? No idea what you’re talking about.”
“As I understand it, Captain, you didn’t like that decision at all, sir?”
“I’m here, as you can see,” the chief of Task Force Féanor repeated deliberately. “Our Service doesn’t allow the luxury of a resignation…”
“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
Lórien, 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 falclass="underline" 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 palantír? 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…