Кирилл Еськов: The Last Ringbearer

“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.

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 fall: 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…

“How is your search going, esteemed clofoel of Stars?” Eornis inquired with courteous indifference while they were taking their places around the Council table.

“Not good. I have asked you all to gather here for a much more grave reason…”

Eornis looked at the master of the magical forces of Lórien in amazement – the woman looked ill and her voice was strangely lifeless. It does look serious, doesn’t it?

“I will not bother you with a detailed description of our magical rituals, esteemed clofoels of the Council and you, o radiant Lord – we have too little time… maybe no time at all. For about a week now the dancers and I have been feeling strange pulsations in the Mirror’s magic field. First it was a light vibration, then it turned into real convulsions, and yesterday those convulsions assumed a definite and highly unpleasant rhythm… Do none of you feel anything?” The clofoel of Memory broke the ensuing silence suddenly: “I feel it!” It was hard to tell what shocked the Council more – the report of the clofoel of Stars or this unheard-of violation of protocol. Formally all clofoels were equals, but never before did any of the minor ones – all those palace librarians, nurses, and masters of ceremonies – dare interrupt the discussions of the Sovereigns and the Big Four. “It is exactly as you describe, o esteemed clofoel of Stars! But I didn’t know it was caused by the Mirror…”

How would you ever know that, you timid mouse, thought Eornis in annoyance. Do you know anything but your dusty Beleriand scrolls and stupid sagas? But I – how did I fail to connect all those vibrations with the Mirror? So that’s where my chills come from… The question is – do I acknowledge this fact and thereby assist that Star bitch?.. Yes, and I should go even further, in fact.

“I believe that the esteemed clofoel of Memory has shown tremendous courage by openly stating what we all feel but are afraid to mention aloud. The feeling we are having is a strong irrational fear, is it not?”

“Maybe some girls feel strong unreasoned fear, but I personally fear no damn thing, clofoel

of the World! So don’t you go around saying…”

“Thank you, esteemed clofoel of Might; we have taken your opinion into account. As I understand it, the other members of the Council share the opinion voiced by the esteemed clofoel of the World.” The clofoel of Stars bowed slightly to Eornis. “However, our fear is not irrational. The thing is that the Mirror… how should I explain this… it is somewhat alive. The pulsating rhythm it is now creating is well-known in magic: it is the rhythm of labor pains, but in reverse. It is a horrible thing. The Mirror is anticipating its demise and our World’s with it… It is anticipating, and trying to reach out to us, do you see? And the stars over Lórien seem to have gone mad…”

The clofoel of Tranquility leaned forward: “Could this be related to the magical object your dancers can’t find?”

“Yes, it could,” the clofoel of Stars nodded glumly; she was obviously indisposed to develop this idea further and even refrained from adding something appropriate about the Guards having done no better.