“Yes. I’ve figured out how to plant our little gift on the Elves.”
“So?”
“So now I’m pondering the eternal question of whether the ends justify the means.”
“Hmm… can be either way, depending on the circumstances.”
“Precisely. A mathematician would say that stated generally, the problem lacks a solution. Therefore, instead of a clear directive the One in His infinite wisdom had decided to supply us with conscience, which is a rather delicate and unreliable device.” “So what does your conscience say now, Doctor?” Tangorn looked at him with faintly mocking interest.
“Conscience says clearly: no. Duty says, equally clearly: you must. So it goes… It must be nice to live by the knightly ethic: do what you must and let the chips fall where they may, right, Baron? Especially when someone had already let you know what you must do…”
“I’m afraid that no one can help you make this choice.”
“Nor do I need any help. What’s more,” he turned away and, shivering, stretched his hands towards the cooling embers, “I would like to free you from any obligation to participate in our mission. Believe me, even if we win with my plan, it will not be a victory to be proud of.”
“Really?” Tangorn’s face went hard, and his gaze suddenly weighed like an avalanche. “So your plan is of such a quality that to take part in it is a greater dishonor than abandoning a friend in need – and so far I have considered you to be one? Doctor, I greatly appreciate your concern for my conscience, but perhaps you’ll allow me to make this judgment myself?”
“As you wish,” Haladdin shrugged indifferently. “You can listen first and decline later. It’s a fairly complicated scheme and we’ll have to start from afar… What do you think is Aragorn’s relationship with the Elves?”
“Aragorn and the Elves? You mean now, after they’ve put him on the throne of Gondor?”
“Of course. I think you have mentioned knowing Eastern mythology pretty well; perhaps you remember the tale of the Dwarves’ Chain?”
“I have to confess to forgetting it.”
“Well, it’s a very edifying story. A long, long time ago the gods were trying to subdue Hahti, the hungry demon of Hell, who could’ve consumed the whole world. Twice they restrained him with a chain forged by the divine Blacksmith – first of steel, then of
“Fishes’ voice and the sound of cat’s footfalls?”
“Yes. That’s why neither of those are found in the world – all used up in that chain. Actually, it seems to me that some other things got used up as well, such as gratitude of kings. Speaking of which, how do you think the gods paid the Dwarves?”
“By liquidating them, I suppose; how else?”
“Exactly! Actually, they only intended to liquidate them, but the Dwarves were to be reckoned with, too… but that’s a different story. Back to Aragorn and the Elves…” His tale was long and detailed, as he was also testing his logic. Afterwards, a silence fell, disturbed only by the howling wind outside the tower.
“You’re a scary man, Haladdin; who would’ve thought?..” Tangorn said thoughtfully, looking at the doctor with a new interest and – yes, respect. “The job we have undertaken brooks no timidity, but if we are, indeed, to win in this manner… In other words, I doubt that I will ever want to reminisce about it with you over a cup of wine.”
“If we are to win in this manner,” Haladdin echoed, “I don’t think that I will ever want to look at myself in a mirror.” (In any event, he added to himself, I will never dare look Sonya in the eye.)
“Actually,” the baron smirked, “allow me to take you back to earth: this discussion rather resembles dividing spoils before the battle. First you win this fight, then do your soul- searching. So far we see a light at the end of the tunnel, nothing more. I don’t think that our chances of survival are any better than one in five, so it’s an honest game, in a way.”
“Our chances? So you’re staying?”
“What else can I do? Why, do you think that you can do this without me? For example, how did you plan to approach Faramir? Your whole scheme will end before it begins without his participation, albeit passive. All right… Here’s what I think: this lure of yours has to be dropped nowhere else but Umbar. I will undertake that part of the operation, you and Tzerlag will only burden me there. Let’s go to sleep now; I will consider the details tomorrow.”
However, the next day they had another task: the long-awaited guide finally turned up, and off they went to conquer Hotont. It was the second week of May, but the pass still hadn’t opened up. The company was thrice hit by blizzards, and only the sleeping bags made from thickhorn skins saved them; once, after spending a day and a half in an igloo that Matun fashioned from quickly cut bricks of thick firn, they barely managed to dig themselves out. In Haladdin’s memory the whole trek was one thick, glutinous nightmare. Oxygen deprivation had weaved a curtain of tiny crystal bells all around him – after every move all he wanted to do was to sink down in the snow and listen blissfully to their hypnotic tinkling. It is not said for naught that freezing to death is the best way to go. The only time he broke out of that half-dream was when a huge furry figure appeared from nowhere on another side of a gorge about half a mile from where they were – a cross between an ape and a rearing bear. The creature moved awkwardly but preternaturally fast, disappearing amidst the boulders at the bottom of the gorge without paying any attention to them. That was the only time he had ever seen a scared Troll, something he thought impossible. “Matun, what was that?” The guide only waved a hand, as if warding against the Enemy: it’s gone, and that’s good enough… So now they are walking a nice path amongst the oaks of Ithilien, enjoying the birdsongs, while Matun is going back, alone, through all those screes and firn fields.
…That same evening they reached a clearing where a dozen men were putting up a stockade around a couple of unfinished houses. Seeing them, they all grabbed their bows and the leader told them in a serious voice to put down their arms and approach slowly with hands up. Tangorn approached and informed them that their company was heading to Prince Faramir himself. The men shared glances and inquired whether the newcomer was from the Moon or an insane asylum. The baron looked closer at one of the builders, who was sitting at the top of a house astride a roof beam, and laughed heartily:
“Well, well, Sergeant! Nice welcome you have for your commanding officer!”
“Guys!!” yelled the man, almost tumbling off his perch. “May my eyes never see if it ain’t Lieutenant Tangorn! Sorry, sir, we didn’t recognize you; you look, you know… Hey, now we’re all back together, so we’ll do that White Company like…” and, elated, he aimed an expressive obscene gesture towards Emyn Arnen.
Chapter 25
Ithilien, Blackbird Hamlet
