Chapter 27:
"She's in fine health," Khrosh said quietly, brushing the tent flap aside as he, Murazor, Akorahil and Morgomir stepped inside. "Bit bruised up; gave me a damn good chase, I'll tell ya, but nothin' serious." Taking a quick glance over Murazor's shoulder, he sighed. "Would ya mind horribly, Captain, tellin' your fellows to quit terrorizin' the troops?"
"We'll be out of your hair as soon as we collect her; I'm certain you'll be back to preventing back-stabbing and general chaos in no time," Murazor said, vague amusement coloring his voice.
"Man, Adunaphel's really been workin' on her stare, hasn't she?" Khrosh muttered, no doubt observing his fellow orcs cowering away from the gaze of the wraiths standing at the edge of the camp, their horses stomping and snorting in a way the resident soldiers no doubt found just as terrifying.
"No, I think she's just gotten sick of Khamul and Ren's pun war," Morgomir said.
Murazor bit back a laugh, eyes falling briefly to the other slave bound to a pole by the far wall of the tent. He was trembling and sweating, not even able to meet Murazor's gaze. The Witch King quickly looked away; there was no need to torment the wretched creature further. His eyes moved until he located Irideth's bound and unconscious form, slumped forward in a chair next to the table.
"I gave 'er the medicine, exact dose you specified," Khrosh said, coming up to him again. Murazor looked to the admiral again. "Good thinkin'. I'd probably have done something like it, anyway; poor mite's terrified near out of her mind."
Murazor barely held back a sigh. "I don't blame her. Lord Sauron is far from pleased with her at the moment."
"I told the others he sent her on a scouting mission, and that she failed in her objective, which is why the Lord is so bent on gettin' her back," Khrosh said, switching to a less-used dialect of Black Speech. "That'll take care of one problem, at least. Ya know how bad orcs are with gossip, especially when it involves the Tower."
"Well done. Hopefully that will assuage at least some of his anger," Murazor said, in the same dialect.
"How bad?" Khrosh asked quietly, glancing quickly at the unconscious girl before moving his focus back to the Witch King. "Don' get me wrong, she disobeyed him in a big way and I understand she needs to be punished for it, but stars, she's a kid, he can't…"
"I do not know," Murazor interrupted sharply, almost hissing. "I do not believe he intends to hurt her, but considering the severity of her offense…"
He was cut off by a loud… rushing noise, accompanied by something like a loud burst of thunder and a rush of unfamiliar but powerful, chilling energy.
"I smell weakness!"
He barely turned around in time to dodge the swing of an absolutely massive broadsword that had apparently been aimed with the purpose of slicing him in half.
Irideth considered it lucky she'd been able to feign unconsciousness long enough to activate the scrolls Irianna had given her. Seven Dremora lords, as well as five churl sorcerers, were running around wreaking havoc in the camp before anyone had time to blink. Irideth had quickly burned through the ropes binding her wrists; her chair had been knocked over by a stray spell before she could untie her legs, but one of the chair legs broke on impact, which made things that much faster.
She barely kept herself from screaming when a body landed on the table, shattering the wood upon impact and knocking her back.
It was Morgomir, who shrieked in pain when the Dremora he'd been fighting slashed his arm, setting his cloak aflame in the process. He quickly brought his own sword up and slashed at the creature's chest. The blade didn't do much damage even to the Dremora's armor, but the force behind the blow was enough to knock it back so the wraith could regain his footing and counterattack.
Irideth grabbed her pack from the wreckage of the table and proceeded to crawl over to Scuff as quickly as she could. The man had curled in on himself as best he could with his bound hands, but the way the fight was going it would be no surprise if he were hit by a stray blow or spell. Judging by the smoke and screaming, half the camp was on fire at this point.
Irideth drew her dagger from her belt and began sawing at the ropes. It took barely any pressure at all, and the ropes gave way almost immediately. Irideth had the passing thought that Sauron would not approve of the use she was putting his gift to as she pulled Scuff sideways toward the tent wall.
"Kid?" the man asked, clearly bewildered as well as disoriented.
"Go! Find the others if you can and run for it!" Irideth hissed, shoving him beneath the tent wall before crawling under herself.
Things outside were just as bad as inside; Khrosh was trying to get his soldiers and Captains arranged in some semblance of a formation while said soldiers were fighting for their lives against blood-thirsty, battle hungry Dremora. The Nazgûl seemed to have their hands full with the churls, dodging lightning and fire blasts and managing to get a few blows in now and then. Judging by the laughter and shouted 'I honor my lord's Irideth was hearing, the daedra were quite enjoying themselves.
The human slaves, both the recaptured ones and the ones the orcs had dragged along with them, were for the most part seizing their chance to escape.
Irideth did the same, joining up with a sort of minor stampede of fleeing humans in the general direction of the northwest. They split up when they reached the edges of the camp by what seemed an unspoken understanding; despite the absolute havoc being wreaked at the camp (or perhaps because of it), many orcs had begun chasing down the escaping slaves. Scattering meant pursuers had to scatter too, and your odds against a single orc were far better than against two or three.
Many of the slaves still stayed in smaller groups, mostly in threes and fours, but Irideth did not join any of these smaller bands. If the fight was resolved quickly, she did not doubt the Nine would be after her again, and the last thing she wanted to do was put anyone else at risk.
She was knocked over… well, more tackled, really, as she was scrambling over the top of a hill. Her breath was knocked clean out of her lungs, but she still managed to turn onto her back to kick at…
Castor. The man's face was twisted into a snarl that would have fit an orc perfectly as he pinned her down.
"You wretched little bitch!" he hissed. "You belong to the Nameless One! You led them right to us!"
"No," Irideth gasped as she tried to pull her hands free from beneath the man's knees. "I didn't… I didn't know that…"
Castor punched her so hard she saw stars. As her head snapped back, mind reeling, she started seeing something else…
The room is dark enough a human would be all but blind. The chandelier is unlit.
His gaze snaps to the high windows; almost no light penetrates them. There is a fleeting vision, a ghost of pain, and then the feeling he had been seeking. He reaches out instantly, grasping…
Irideth broke the connection, gasping as much from horror as a need for breath.
Castor had slid off of her, gripping a bleeding, plainly broken nose and a horribly bruised cheek.
Irideth realized then what had happened to Basaam, as she felt her own blood dripping down the back of her throat and down the sides of her face. The collar. A protective enchantment. And now…
"You godsdamned idiot," Irideth muttered, spitting blood out of her mouth as she forced her aching body to sit up. Castor managed to open his eyes to glare at her.
"He now knows exactly where I am," Irideth hissed. A small part of her felt gratified when the man's eyes widened in terror. "He also knows exactly who hurt me and how."
Castor's face twisted again and he was on her before she could run, one hand on her throat and gripping hard enough to bruise.
"At least I can take something from the bastard," he said. Irideth felt her heart skip a beat when she saw him raising his other hand, holding a rock, above his head.
She was just about to drive her dagger into his leg, unfortunately the only part she could reach, when Castor was suddenly knocked aside with terrifying force; Irideth wondered briefly how the blow hadn't snapped his neck.
She stopped wondering when she saw that her erstwhile savior was Hoarmurath.
Sheathing the dagger, she activated a Fireball scroll.
The resulting explosion engulfed the entire hilltop. Irideth heard Castor scream, heard Hoarmurath's unearthly shriek as the flames rapidly spread.
She rolled and tumbled down the north side of the hill, pulling her last dose of Torpor from the pack as she gained her feet; it was now or never.
She uncapped the potion, tossed it to the back of her throat and swallowed.
Sauron released the slave, barely restraining a snarl. The man fell to the ground with a quiet cry; he likely would have screamed had he been able. Irideth's spell had caused second and third degree burns over a good portion of the man's body, and he'd inhaled a good bit of smoke.
Hoarmurath, thankfully, had been able to get away before he was much more than singed. Given what had happened to this one, the girl may have managed to disembody him had he caught the brunt of the blast.
"He knows nothing," the Dark Lord said, turning and pacing back toward his throne for a few steps. "She didn't tell any of them anything."
Sauron supposed it had been a bit much to hope for; Irideth was reserved at the best of times, and she was far from stupid. She hadn't confided in any of the slaves she'd worked with in the Tower, it was highly unlikely she'd have divulged anything of value to four runaways she'd barely met. This scenario was certainly one the girl had considered, and from what he had been able to pull from the slave's mind, Irideth had trusted him the least of the bunch.
She had good instincts. Which did not bode well for him.
"You say you could not track her?" Sauron snapped at the wraiths.
"No, my lord," Hoarmurath said after a brief pause. "We tried searching for her once the flames and smoke had died down slightly. There was no trace."
"No footprints, no torn cloth, no stray hair strands, no nothing," Indur said, sounding vaguely awed. "It's as though she cast that spell and disappeared into thin air, like one of those conjuring tricks Khamul kept talking about way back when."
Sauron, despite his anger, almost laughed at both the image Indur's words conjured up and the faint tinge of embarrassment he could feel from Khamul.
"I highly doubt we're dealing with that sort of magic, Indur," the Dark Lord said dryly as he turned back toward his servants. "Go back. Get Khrosh to help you. I want her found, and I want her brought back to me alive and, ideally, unharmed."
A silent question from the wraiths had Sauron's gaze falling briefly to the blackened, whimpering form on the floor.
"Do as you wish. He's of no use to me."
Irideth woke when her right hand met cold water.
She jerked her head up, closing her eyes for a moment so the dizziness could pass.
But when she opened them, it made no difference. A look up revealed no stars and no clouds, just utter, all-encompassing blackness. She could hear water running just in front of her, sounding like a small stream, and dripping water a bit further away, but she was utterly blind.
An underground stream?
Irideth cast a couple of Magelight spells, the little glowing balls coming to a stop a few feet ahead of her. She'd never through the light that bright before, but after the pitch blackness she had to squint for a moment so her eyes could adjust.
She was most definitely underground, in a cavern with several tunnels leading off of it. The ceiling was a good twenty feet up, massive stalactites hanging down. There was a small stream, no more than ankle deep, in front of her, that split into two little tributaries around a raised section of rock before joining again and flowing down one of the black-mouthed passages.
Well… water always flowed downhill, right? Maybe following the stream up would…
Oh, gods, she had no idea where she was. She was underground, no idea how deep, no idea how to get out of what was apparently a network of caves…
Irideth kicked off her shoes and stuck her feet in the stream. The shock of cold drew her immediate attention, her thoughts slowing down enough to take a deep inhalation.
A couple of slow breaths later Irideth drew her feet out of the water, wrapping her arms around her knees and resting her cheek against them, idly brushing her fingers over the silver bracelet Colette had given her.
Everything was such a mess.
Irideth wiped furiously at her cheek when she felt a tear slide free. Why did I have to be so stupid, riding into the middle of that fight? Why did Murazor have to decide to take me? Why did Sauron decide to keep me in the first place? Why did any of this happen?
It was then that she heard the music.
It was so soft at first she didn't register it. When she started paying attention, though, it got slightly louder. It still wasn't very loud, but it was definitely music. It sounded like… not trumpets, pipes, maybe? Something like the wooden ones Tyrhir would play at the inn when he wasn't half unconscious.
This was a bit different, but Irideth couldn't identify in what way.
When she looked up again, she blinked.
The stream was glowing.
Or, well, something in it was; the Magelight spells were fading, but the cavern had been illuminated by a blue-green light emanating from the stream, beginning close to the spot she was sitting by and continuing down through one of the tunnels.
Irideth drew back from the water, tugging her shoes back on before moving a bit further away.
The music grew louder for a moment. It… sounded almost insistent, actually.
Slowly, Irideth crept forward again. The music gained a sort of trilling quality for a moment, making Irideth think of a happy puppy or something of that nature, before quieting. The pace and tone still seemed to be insisting on something, though.
Irideth recalled a story from one of the Sindarin texts she'd read in Sauron's library. There were references in several old Elvish tales to the Lord of the Waters, and it had long been said in Rohan that Elves that heard the music of the sea were never the same again.
Irideth, before she could talk herself out of it, removed her shoes once more and tied them to the back of her pack. She rolled up the legs of her pants and stepped into the water.
It was still very freezing, but the… whatever was making the stream glow immediately flashed brighter, then began flashing rapidly in a sort of wave, making it look like the flashes were moving down the stream.
I must be insane, Irideth thought, but she followed the lights anyway.
Irideth started running when she saw the light at the end of the tunnel, no matter how leaden her legs were feeling.
She tripped and slid the last several feet, but when she'd manage to stumble upright she found she didn't care how wet she was.
Grass. Green, long grass. Trees and stars!
Irideth spun about in several circles, taking in her surroundings, wondering if it was possible she was still dreaming.
There was no ash. No sulphur scent. The sky was completely clear. And the stars! The trees! Trees like this didn't grow in Mordor, Gorgoroth's soil simply couldn't support trees this large and numerous, and Nurn was too warm for these.
The stars… the constellations… Irideth quickly ran a mental comparison to the star charts she'd spent the last she didn't even remember how many weeks studying in Sauron's library.
She clapped both her hands over her mouth a moment later, a poor attempt to muffle her gasp.
She knew these stars.
She was in Sunlending (Anórien, as the texts had referred to it).
Irideth fell to her knees, keeping her hands over her mouth as tears flowed freely down her cheeks.
She was out. The potion had worked this time!
Oh, Valar, she was almost home!
"The water daedra helped her?" Lucien asked. Without looking, Sithis knew the child had a deeply furrowed brow. If he'd had a form at the moment, he'd have been grinning.
"Yes. Our dear brother Eru created his underlings a bit differently than the rest of us unimaginative ones."
"Not that different, at the core of things," the Night Mother sniffed. "Well, for the most part." This last bit was said with a gentle stroke of Melkor's hair. She'd taken to holding the young daedra quite a lot lately, Sithis had noted. The poor thing couldn't notice this much, of course, but his sleep was far more peaceful than it had been for some time.
"My dear Blood Flower, you knew we'd have to let him go back to his own eventually."
"I know, I just hate the thought of those… ignorant siblings of his treating him so thoughtlessly!"
Sithis sighed, taking form again so he could kiss his wife. "I know, darling," the Dread Lord murmured, embracing her carefully to avoid crushing the Vala she held. He glanced down at the scarred, pale face, running a careful hand through onyx hair. "We will be in a much better position to provide assistance this time, though. He has been with us for far longer this time, and the little dragonborn has opened such a… convenient hole in my brother's little veil."
The Night Mother grinned. It would have sent an entire crypt of Draugr sprinting for their coffins at the mere sight.
Sithis chuckled, kissing her again. "I do so love when you get vengeful, dear."
"When do you suppose the fire Maia will figure things out?"
"Oh, I don't anticipate it will be long. He has all the pieces now, he just needs to fit them together. He certainly won't stop working on the puzzle just because the keystone piece is temporarily unavailable."
The Night Mother giggled. "Oh, she and her sister are such wonderful little chaos twins, aren't they?"
"Indeed," Sithis mused, looking down at Melkor again. "They could be almost as bad as this one, should they put their minds to it."
"Oh, come now! You make them sound like their brother! The khajiit mage is not that senseless!" the Night Mother chided.
"They are still Dragonborn, unawakened though they may be," Sithis said. "Hermaeus will have his sights on them as well, as no doubt will all my siblings and cousins when Alduin returns."
"Ah, yes, the Elder Scroll," the Night Mother said with an eye roll. "I'd forgotten about that. I do hope he doesn't just enslave all the mortals again. So terribly boring, them not being able to plot and scheme amongst their own kingdoms. It's so much more chaotic now, even if the wars may not be fought on quite so grand a scale."
"Give them a bit more time, love. The humans do have to relearn things as the mer do not, but I think that makes them so much more inventive in the long run."