The Last Ringbearer (3 page)

“You don’t believe this yourself,” Gandalf shrugged calmly.

“No, I suppose I do not,” Saruman shook his head sadly. “You know, those who are motivated by greed, lust for power, or wounded pride are half-way tolerable, at least they feel pangs of conscience sometimes. But there is nothing more fearsome than a bright-eyed enthusiast who had decided to benefit mankind; such a one can drown the world in blood without hesitation. Those guys’ favorite saying is: ‘There are things more important than peace and more terrible than war’ – I believe you’ve heard this one, no?”

“I accept the responsibility, Saruman; History will vindicate me.”

“Oh, I have no doubt that it will; after all, this history will be written by those who will win under your banner. There are tried and true recipes for that: cast Mordor as the Evil Empire that wished to enslave the entire Middle Earth, and its inhabitants as non-human monsters that rode werewolves and ate human flesh … I am not talking about history now, but rather yourself. Allow me to repeat my rude question about the people who hold the knowledge of the civilization of Mordor. That they will have to be killed, quite literally, is beyond doubt – ‘uproot the weed entirely’ – otherwise the whole endeavor is meaningless. I would like to know, then, whether you – yes, you personally – will participate in the weeding; will you cut off their heads yourself? … Silence? Such are ever your ways, you benefactors of humanity! Craft the Final Solution to the Mordorian problem, sure, but when it’s time to implement it, you always hide in the bushes. It’s executioners you need, so that you can later point at them in disgust: it’s all their excesses …”

“Drop the demagoguery, Saruman,” one of those seated, clad in a blue cloak, cut in abruptly in annoyance, “and better look in the Mirror. The danger is obvious even to a blind man! If we don’t stop Mordor now, we will not be able to do it ever: in fifty years or so they will complete this ‘industrial revolution’ of theirs, figure out that saltpeter mixtures are good for things other than fireworks, and that will be the end of everything. Their armies will become invincible, while the other countries will fall over themselves copying their ‘achievements,’ with predictable consequences … Speak, if you have something relevant to say!”

“While I wear the white cloak of the Head of the Council, you will have to listen to everything I have to say,” the other replied curtly. “Actually, I am not going to mention that by deciding to determine the fates of the World you four are usurping a right that wizards never had; I can see that this would be useless. I will therefore speak in terms you can understand.”

The body language of his opponents vividly conveyed indignation, but Saruman has already decided to abandon all diplomacy.

“Strictly from a technical standpoint, Gandalf’s plan to strangle Mordor through a prolonged war and a food blockade seems sound; however, it has a weakness. In order to win such a difficult war, the anti-Mordor coalition will need a powerful ally, and so the plan proposes to wake the Powers that have been slumbering since the previous, pre-human Era; to wit, the inhabitants of the Enchanted Forests. This is madness all by itself, for those Powers have never served anybody but themselves, but even so it’s not enough for you. To ensure victory, you have decided to turn the Mirror over to them for the duration of the war, since only participants have the right to use it to plan military action. That is madness squared, but I am prepared to consider even that option, as long as colleague Gandalf can intelligently answer just one question: how does he propose to reclaim the Mirror afterwards?”

Gandalf waved his hand dismissively. “I believe that problems ought to be resolved as they come up. Besides, why should we assume that they will not want to return the Mirror? What the hell do they need it for?”

Silence fell; indeed, Saruman had failed to anticipate such monumental stupidity. All of them, then, consider it proper … It seemed to him that he was floundering in the icy water of a March ice-hole: another moment, and the current will drag him under the edge.

“Radagast! Would you like to say anything?” It sounded like a plea for help.

The brown-clad figure gave a start, like a pupil caught sneaking a look at a cheat sheet, and awkwardly tried to cover something on the table with a sleeve. There was an indignant screech, and a baby squirrel that Radagast must have been playing with all along raced up his sleeve. It sat on his shoulder, but the embarrassed forest wizard whispered something to it, bending a bushy gray eyebrow, and the animal obediently slunk somewhere inside the folds of his garment.

“Dearest Saruman … please forgive an old man, but … erm … I wasn’t listening all that closely here … Just don’t fight, all right? I mean, if even we start to bicker, what’s gonna happen to the world, eh? See … And as for those folks from the Enchanted Forests, I mean, aren’t you … you know … a bit hard on them? I remember seeing them when I was young, from afar, for sure, but they seemed all right by my reckoning; they have their own weirdness, but who doesn’t? Also they’re always at one with the birds and the beasties, not like your Mordorians … So I reckon, it might be fine, eh?”

So that’s it, concluded Saruman and slowly ran his palm across his face, as if trying to remove a spider’s web of enormous weariness. The only one who might have supported him. He had no strength left to fight; it’s over, he’s under the ice.

“You are not just in the minority; you are alone, Saruman. Of course, all your suggestions are of enormous value to us.” Gandalf’s voice was fairly dripping with false respect now. “Let us discuss right away the question of the Mirror – it is, indeed, a complicated question …”

“This is your problem now, Gandalf,” Saruman answered quietly but firmly, undoing the
mithril
clasp at his throat. “You have long sought the White Cloak – here, take it. Do whatever you think necessary, but I quit your Council.”

“Then your staff will lose power, you hear!” Gandalf yelled at his back; it was clear that he was stunned and no longer understood his perennial rival.

Saruman turned around and took one last look at the shadowy hall of the White Council. An edge of the white cloak spilled down off the armchair to the floor, like moon-silvered water from a fountain; the
mithril
clasp sent him a farewell flash and winked out. Radagast, who must have risen to follow him, was frozen in mid-stride with arms spread out awkwardly; the wizard suddenly looked small and miserable, like a child in the middle of a parents’ quarrel. It was then that he uttered a phrase that amazingly matched the one spoken on a similar occasion in another World:

“What you are about to do is worse than a crime. It is a mistake.”

In a few weeks Mordor’s intelligence reported from the edges of the Northern woods the sudden appearance of ‘Elves’ – slender golden-haired creatures with mellifluous voices and permafrost in their eyes.

CHAPTER 5

Middle Earth, the War of the Ring

Historical brief

S 
hould our reader be minimally acquainted with analysis of major military campaigns and examine the map of Middle Earth, he would easily ascertain that all actions of both new coalitions (Mordor-Isengard and Gondor-Rohan) were dictated by merciless strategic logic, undergirded by Mordor’s dread of being cut off from its food sources. Through Gandalf’s efforts the center of Middle Earth turned into a highly unstable geopolitical ‘sandwich’ with Mordor and Isengard the bread and Gondor and Rohan the bacon. Most ironic was the fact that the Mordor coalition, which wanted nothing but the preservation of the
status quo
, was ideally positioned for an offensive war (whereby it could immediately force its opponents to fight on two fronts), but highly unfavorably for a defensive one (in which the united opponents could conduct a blitzkrieg, crushing foes one by one).

However, Saruman lost no time, either. He visited Théoden and Denethor (the kings of Rohan and Gondor) and used his personal charm and eloquence to convince them that Isengard and Barad-dúr wanted nothing but peace. In addition, he partially revealed to Denethor and Sauron the secret of the two
palantíri
that have been kept in both capitals since time immemorial, and taught them the use of those ancient magic crystals as a means of direct communication; this simple move did much to build trust between the neighboring sovereigns. An Isengard consulate was established in Edoras at King Théoden’s court; it was headed by Grima – an excellent diplomat, experienced spy, and master of courtly intrigue. For quite some time Saruman and Gandalf carefully jockeyed for position, strictly in the area of dynastic relationships.

To wit, Théoden’s only son Théodred, known for his sober mind and temperance, was killed in the North under suspicious circumstances, allegedly in an Orc raid. As a result, the new heir was the king’s nephew Éomer – a brilliant general, the darling of the officer corps, and, obviously, one of the ‘war party’ leaders. In a setback to Gandalf, however, he began ‘measuring the drapes of the palace’ way too openly with his friends. Grima, who had an excellent intelligence network, had no trouble putting together a good collection of all the drunken boasts and submitting it to Théoden through a proxy. Consequently, Éomer was excluded from active politics to such an extent that Grima stopped paying any attention to him (which turned out later to have been a big mistake). In Gondor, Saruman succeeded in undermining the position of Prince Boromir, another well-known brawler, and getting him removed from the court; the prince left in a huff, seeking adventure in northern lands (with rather unpleasant consequences, but again later). In general, the first round went to Saruman.

Nevertheless, although all three kings understood clearly that “a bad peace is better than a good war,” the state of affairs remained highly unstable. The food situation in Mordor continued to deteriorate slowly but surely, so the security of the trade routes to the South through Ithilien became what is known as “national paranoia.” In such circumstances the smallest provocation can cascade, and there was no lack of those. So after several caravans in a row were wiped out near Ithilien Crossroads by people who came from nowhere but wore green cloaks of Gondor (although they spoke with a pronounced Northern accent), there was a full-fledged reaction.

Saruman immediately contacted Sauron via his
palantír
; he cajoled, pleaded, and threatened, but to no avail. Logical arguments did not work any more, and the king, whose power had always been rather nominal, could do nothing about the fear-crazed storekeepers sitting in the parliament. So it was that on the morrow of April 14
^th
, 3016 of the Third Era the army of Mordor, two hundred light cavalry strong, entered the demilitarized (under a recent treaty with Gondor) Ithilien “to provide security against robbers to the trade routes.” In response, Gondor mobilized its army and took control of the Osgiliath Crossing. The trap was sprung.

Mordor then made its second mistake … although, as it always is with strategic decisions, that could only be judged
post factum
: had the move worked, as it had every chance of doing, it would no doubt have been recorded as brilliant. An attempt was made to split the enemy coalition by getting Rohan out of the spat over Ithilien, which was of no real concern to them. To that end, four best battalions of Mordor’s army were sent over Anduin. This expeditionary force was supposed to covertly travel over the northern edge of the Plains of Rohan, where intelligence reported no regular armed presence, and join the army of Isengard. The risk was great, but smaller detachments have already traversed that route without incident. Indeed, had a strike force capable of reaching Edoras in five days’ march been established in the Rohirrim’s backyard, without a doubt the latter would have concentrated on guarding the exit from Helm’s Deep and abandoned any thought of a raid to the South. Mordor could then seek a compromise over Ithilien with the suddenly lonely Gondor.

That was when the Mirror first made a difference; imagine a contemporary fast-moving war in which one side has the advantage of spy satellites. Éomer, practically under house arrest at the time, received comprehensive information on Mordor’s move from Gandalf and realized that a general only gets such a chance once in a lifetime. Taking advantage of Théoden’s illness and his enormous popularity among the troops, he roused the elite Rohan army units and led them north. At that point he had nothing to lose; failure would no doubt have cost him his head for treason.

But the Mirror spoke truly. Five days later the armored cavalry of Rohan swiftly struck Mordor’s expeditionary force out of Fangorn Wood; the enemy had no time to even break out of the marching formation. The sudden attack was devastating; nevertheless, a significant part of the heavy infantry (mostly Trolls) did manage to form into its famous ‘granite blocks’ and fought back for several hours, taking a large toll on the attackers. When night fell, they tried to move into Fangorn, hoping to escape their mounted pursuers in the thicket, but all fell to the poisoned arrows of the Elvish bowmen in their tree perches.

The Rohirrim paid dearly for their victory, but the elite of the Mordorian army was no more; only the light Orocuen cavalry managed to escape. Éomer triumphantly returned to Edoras, and Théoden had to pretend that all was going according to a pre-existing plan. At the same time the king was publicly presented with evidence that the Isengard consul was spying on Rohan; although nearly all diplomats have been doing so since the world was created, Théoden now had to support the war party and had no choice but to declare Grima
persona non grata
.

In the meantime, Rohan troops, still drunk with the Fangorn victory, filled up the palace square, clanging swords against shields, and demanded of their beloved Éomer that he lead them forward, no matter where. The general raised his sword high, as if to stab the setting sun, and cried: “To Isengard!” – whereupon Gandalf, standing not far away in the shadow of a counterfort, knew that he had earned some rest. His work was done.