The Last Ringbearer

“What do they look like?”

“A ball of smoky crystal, about the size of a child’s head.”

“So they’re portable, at least, that’s a big plus. Then here’s the idea. The seven palantiri

and the Mirror are a complementary pair and can’t exist without each other, right? So instead of the Mirror we can drop the palantiri into Orodruin, with the same result! You will tell me where to look for them; would that be legal?”

“Hmm… Ingenious! Unfortunately, this is technically impossible, at least as far as I can see. The thing is, you need all seven to succeed, and some palantiri are quite out of reach. We have only one in Mordor, that one’s not a problem. I surmise that Aragorn grabbed Denethor’s palantir , and Gandalf has Saruman’s. Those are at least within theoretical reach, so that’s three. But then there’s the palantir of the Western Elves; their ruler Kirden keeps it in the tower of Elostirion in Emyn Beraid – how is that any better than Lorien, it’s only further away? Finally, there is the palantir of Osgiliath, tossed into Anduin ages ago – who knows where it is by now? – and the two of Arnor, from Annuminas and the tower of Amon Sul; those are in a sunken ship at the bottom of the Bay of Forochel. I can give you exact coordinates if you wish, but I really don’t see how that will help you.”

Haladdin felt the tips of his ears burn. Impudent whelp – to think that you could solve in three minutes a puzzle that the greatest mathematical mind of all time must have been pondering for many years… He was incredibly surprised to hear Sharya-Rana say:

“Great job, Haladdin. Honestly, only now am I somewhat at peace. This means that you have actually started working on this puzzle, and nothing will stop you now.”

“Yes, you’ve suckered me in quite deftly, no question,” he grumbled. “By the way, where is our palantir , of Mordor? Just in case.”

“Try guessing. Tzerlag must’ve taught you a few things over the last month, no?”

“Some guess! At least tell me when it was hidden?” “Right after the Battle of Cormallen, when it became clear that Mordor will fall.”

“All right…” He thought for a couple of minutes. “So. To begin with, where it certainly can’t be is all your hideouts, guerilla bases, and the like. Should I explain?”

“Not to me. Next?”

“No way you’d hide it in Barad-Dur, for all of its wonderful hiding places, because of the coming siege and fires.”

“That’s logical.”

“To move it abroad is dicey. First, it was precisely at that time, right after Cormallen, that the roads were at their riskiest; second, who knows what the local agents will do after the defeat? Although it would be tempting to hide it in Minas Tirith!”

“Well… All right. Accepted.”

“Caves, abandoned mines, old wells are out: there are a lot more accidental observers around such places than is commonly known. For the same reason, can’t sink it under a buoy in some pretty cove of Nurnen – the fishermen are curious folks.”

“Right again.”

“In other words, I would bury it in some faraway, unpopulated, and undistinguished location, in the mountains or in the desert, noting the landmarks really well. Of course, this carries its own risk – in a few years the boulder under which it’s been hidden might wind up in the river together with the entire bank after a landslide… Actually, wait – there’s a better alternative! Abandoned ruins with real hiding places, far from human habitation, where a normal person would never go, like Minas Morgul or Dol Guldur.”

“Yeah…” drawled the nazgul, “you’re real sharp. Dol Guldur it is. I took it there myself. Used a glider and walked back, as no one else was there to operate the catapult. The palantir is in ‘receive’ mode and so is invisible to the other crystals; it’s in the hiding place behind a six-sided stone in the rear wall of the fireplace in the Great Hall. It’s in a pouch made of sackcloth woven with silver, so it can be handled safely. The handles opening the hiding place appear when two stones are pushed simultaneously: a rhombic one next to it and the lower left one in the fireplace’s arch, which can only be reached with one’s foot. Remember this, I won’t repeat it.”

“Could I use this palantir ?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Well, you said that it’s a magical crystal and I’m not supposed to use any magic.”

“The crystal is magical,” Sharya-Rana explained patiently, “but the communication is not. For example, if you use a palantir as a sinker, the fish you catch will not be magical.” “Then can you tell me how to use one?”

“Who are you going to contact – Gandalf? Although that’s your business… It’s not complicated, actually. Are you familiar with optics?”

“Yes, from a university course.”

“Then I’d better keep it simple. There are two constantly glowing orange sparks within a palantir. The line connecting them is the main optical axis of the crystal…”

Haladdin listened to the explanation quietly, marveling at how the nazgul was neatly slotting all that complex and voluminous information into his memory. Then, weirder things began. The tempo of Sharya-Rana’s explanations kept increasing (or, perhaps, time was slowing – he would not have been surprised by that now), and although at any given moment Haladdin’s brain perceived only one phrase – a glyph completely out of any context – he was absolutely certain that whenever necessary all this information about guerillas in the Mountains of Shadow, palace intrigues in Minas Tirith, topography of Lorien, passwords to contact Mordor resident spies in all the capitals of Middle Earth, and all the rest, will immediately surface in his memory. So when suddenly it was over and a thick silence, as if congealed with the morning chill, filled the camp, his first thought was that he had to immediately find some poison in Eloar’s medkit and always have it on him. Who knows what might happen – he now knows so much that he must never be captured alive.

“Haladdin!” Sharya-Rana called; his voice was unusually quiet and halting, as if the nazgul was catching his breath after a long climb. “Come here, please…”

He’s in a really bad way, Haladdin recognized belatedly, how could I not have seen it myself, selfish bastard… what’s wrong with him? Looks like heart trouble. Somehow, the idea of heart trouble in a ghost did not seem ridiculous to him either then or in the next moment, when he realized with terrible clarity: this is it! He has seen too many dying men during those last few years not to be sure. The head of the sitting nazgul drooped listlessly, and he touched the shoulder of the man now kneeling in front of him.

“Did you understand everything I’ve told you?” Haladdin could only nod; something caught in his throat.

“I have nothing more to give you. Forgive me. Only the ring…”

“Is this because of me? Because you… for me…”