CHAPTER NINE

It was almost ridiculous, really, how easy it all was. Eicys slipped into the barracks, which – as it was still the middle of the day – were full of snoring, slumbering orcs. She snuck down the stinking, noisy rows until she found a mottled maroon-colored goblin with a White Handprint on the helmet that hung beside his bed.

Then she stole the helmet, replaced it with her own, and snuck out again.

Ta-da! And this helmet even had a nose guard, hiding that much more of her face. Eicys felt very proud of herself as she marched up the steps of Orthanc and swaggered past the doorguard, who did not offer a single comment.

The feeling wore off once she found herself in an echoing obsidian maze, as shiny, black, and unpleasant as a rat's eyeball. She headed down one hallway, then another, then backtracked and tried a third. After half an hour of staircases, echoing empty rooms, and long, deserted corridors, Eicys began to get seriously annoyed. She'd already done all the difficult daring bits. She didn't expect a "This Way to the Dungeons" sign or anything, but… didn't they have any consideration for visitors around here? How were you supposed to find anything in this crazy tower?

At last a jumble of voices came to her attention, and she headed eagerly toward it. She peered through an open doorway into what looked like – Eicys sent up a prayer of thanks – a kitchen.

"Hey, snaga!" someone shouted. "Where've y' been? Get movin'!"

"Um. What?"

The someone, who turned out to be a large, red-faced man brandishing a roasting fork like it was Anduril itself, thrust a bucket into each of Eicys' hands and shoved her towards the door again.

"But – " said Eicys.

"But wha'?" asked the man, jabbing his fork at her breastplate. "You get this medicine down t' those warg pens righ' now or – "

Eicys didn't wait to hear the threat. It probably wasn't going to be very original, anyway. She hurried out of the room.

Back in the black, barren hallway, she looked down at the buckets in her hands – they were full of some foul-smelling oily liquid – and looked around her, and tried to figure out what in the world she ought to do next.

But to be honest, there weren't a lot of options. She just had to start walking, and hope she found… something. Anything, really. This whole echoing-darkness thing was getting pretty old.

Twenty minutes later, it had gotten older still.

Use your head, Eicys. You were pretty high up according to the last window. You have to get back to ground level. So all you're really looking for is a staircase.

That simplified things. It only took five minutes more to find one of Orthanc's narrow stone staircases. It was, of course, black. And shiny. Eicys didn't care; she skittered down the stairs with the buckets held out to her sides, concentrating fiercely to offset her armor-skewed equilibrium.

That was why she didn't see the uruk until it was too late.

LCLCLCLCLCLCLC

Eicys' sister Cebu was having a much less exciting morning. Mostly it consisted of sitting in a cell, staring into the darkness, and feeling generally horrid.

She was bruised. She was tired. She was scared, and cold, and hungry. And her sister was…

No. She was not going to think about Eicys. Or Eredolyn. Cebu couldn't believe her friend would actually –

No!

Life pretty much sucked.

But the redhead was determined not to dwell on it. Cebu had a personality that perfectly matched her hair – cheerful, bright, and bouncy. Granted, her hair was currently full of mud and leaves, and – as stated above – her life right now was not exactly something that inspired bright bouncy cheer. But she was determined to make the best of things until she woke up.

Then, even though she was confident she would find herself in her nice clean safe bedroom, she was going to take a long, hot bath and lock herself inside with a book (which would not be"The Lord of the Rings").

Cheered slightly by this thought, she dug around in her pocket until she found what had been poking her all this time. It turned out to be the spoon from her daily bowl of gruel. She blinked at it, bemused. Was it really only a day ago that her sister had locked her in the closet? So much had happened since then. She would happily trade every foot of Isengard for that cramped little closet.

She tapped the spoon against her bars, and was rewarded with a clear metallic donngg!

Hm.

She wrapped her fingers around the bar about a third of the way down, and struck the lower half.

Dinng!

Ah-ha.

A few minutes later, Cebu was performing an enthusiastic xylophone-esque musical number on the bars of her cell. She wore a rather vicious expression as she filled the cramped, pitchy-dark room with the sounds of, ironically, Jingle Bells. But she hit the climactic chord a little too hard, and the spoon bounced out of her fingers and flew toward the back of the cell.

"Ouch!"

Cebu froze. "Is someone there?" she asked. She was sure no one had been in the room when they threw her in.

"Me, of course."

"Are you… the spoon?" asked Cebu. In her defense, it had been a long, terrifying, and sleepless night, and talking spoons would frankly be among the less surprising things she'd come across in the course of it.

"I beg your pardon?" said the voice indignantly.

"It's all yours," said Cebu, in a monotone. "My pardon, I mean. Um. I think I've gone insane."

"Ah." There was a rustle in the corner where she'd thrown the spoon. "I wondered, what with the Jingle Bells and so forth. It was very… ah, energetic."

"Sorry," said Cebu numbly. She imagined it wouldn't be very pleasant to be a drumstick.

Drumspoon.

Whatever.

"No, no, quite all right," said the spoon. "One grows used to these spontaneous bursts of creativity. It's all part of the job description."

Cebu peered into the corner where the spoon ought to be. It was almost completely black, but she could see something moving… "You're not a spoon!" she cried.

"Of course not," said the woman with a touch of aspersion. "I am a Muse. My name is Euterpe."

A slightly stunned silence followed this pronouncement, during which Euterpe picked up the dropped spoon and smiled at her bewildered cellmate.

"I'm Cebu," Cebu managed at last.

"Charmed," said Euterpe politely.

"Terrified," Cebu responded in the same tone.

"What?"

"I really have gone insane. You just told me you were the Muse oflyric poetry."

"Of course I did."

"But you're supposed to be in Greece! Mythological Greece! This is Middle-earth!" Cebu said indignantly.

"No, it isn't."

"Yes, it is. Note: dungeon. Orcs. Evil wizard named Saruman. Leaves from Fangorn Forest still stuck in my hair. Middle-earth." Cebu knew she wasn't being exactly polite, but she was still numb with fright over Eicys' fate, and bruised and aching in places she was only just discovering. Being insane was just the cherry on top of the little chocolate cake of misery that was her life right now.

She really wanted a bath.

"This is not Tolkien's Middle-Earth," the Muse insisted. "It is a spin-off, belonging to a writer named Lady Coralie."

"Yes it – what?" Cebu said, completely thrown.

"It is a spin-off, belonging to –"

"No, I heard you. But… but…" Cebu tried to pull herself together. "Coralie didn't put any muses in her story!"

"No, but she is in need of muses nonetheless. She never finished her tale."

"No kidding," Cebu muttered.

"So my eight sisters and I," said Erato, waving Cebu's dropped spoon like a scepter, "patrons of artists, writers, and musicians, the divine daughters of aegis-bearing Zeus, have come to inspire her, so that the story canon may proceed and the Third Age come to an end, and that a vast multitude of her readers may at last have peace."

"Oh," said Cebu. There was a long pause. "…Um, can I have my spoon back now?"

LCLCLCLCLCLCLC

Eredolyn was having an altogether different sort of morning. She was fast asleep in a four-poster bed, with a silk coverlet drawn up under her chin and an enormous leather book cuddled against her chest.

To explain this rather bizarre state of affairs, it is necessary to go back several hours, to the time when Eicys was busy being grossed out by the orcish mess hall. At that time, Eredolyn, Dilly, Tuima, and Cebu were all standing in a small, nervous knot in front of Saruman the Many-Coloured, nee The White, and listening to the sounds of Wilore's screams fade into the distance.

This is not the sort of situation likely to make anyone's list of Most Cherished Memories. Even Eredolyn was beginning to feel slightly apprehensive.

"…And now," said the wizard, leaning forward very slightly, "that that unfortunate business is out of the way, we can… talk. I am most interested in how you knew about the defeat of the uruk-hai." His dark eyes found Eredolyn, searing her skin like an icepack against a fever-flushed face. It was unpleasant, horribly unpleasant – but even so…

Eredolyn took a deep, shuddery breath.

"You must be very clever indeed," Saruman purred – and it was a purr, throaty and low. "I am sure we two could find a great deal to talk about."

"She's not interested," snapped Dilly, kicking her friend's ankle. She was relieved to see Eredolyn's eyes snap back into focus.

"Nope," Eredolyn echoed uncertainly. "Definitely not."

"You are certain?" the wizard asked. "One so well-informed as you are should be aware of the advantages of… cooperation."

But his thrust went astray. "Is that a threat?" Eredolyn asked belligerently.

"I am not a monster," Saruman objected, "whatever you may think of me. I strive only for safety and certainty in a troubled world. Too much has been lost already."

"Yeah," said Eredolyn, "like loyalty and principles and your position at the head of the Istari."

"Eredolyn," Dilly hissed, "shut up!"

Eredolyn, her hazel eyes locked with Saruman's smoldering black ones, felt an unfamiliar twinge of irritation with her friend. She was holding her own here! How often do you get the chance to throw a witty insult in the face of one of the most verbally devious villains in all of literature?

Saruman looked away. As those intense dark eyes dropped to the floor, he seemed to shrink – dwindle away to an old man, bent and weary.

"The Valar sent me to guide Middle-earth," he said. "I can do only what I think is right. If my choices anger those who should have been my fellows, then so it must be."

Eredolyn hesitated, mouth open. She'd never heard anyone sound so…

At her side, Cebu covered her mouth, blue eyes round and soft with empathy. But Cebu would take pity on an axe murderer in distress. Verbally devious! Eredolyn reminded herself. "No way are we falling for that," she said, her voice as hard as she could make it through a fog of guilt and sympathy. "You betrayed those who should have been your fellows."

Saruman winced. "Yes," he said, his voice low. "That is how they would see it."

That was the last thing Eredolyn had ever expected to hear. She stared at the wizard. "…Well, then, why did you do it?" she asked.

"Sometimes," said Saruman, "it is pointless to fight any more." At Eredolyn's side, Tuima drew in a sharp, hissing breath, and her fingers curled into fists. No one paid her any attention: all eyes were riveted on the wizard. "There are some forces too great to resist," he said. "So much has been lost; there is so much that has been forgotten. Sauron will crush all of it into oblivion, and then Middle-earth will be truly lost, and my purpose here will go unfulfilled. But by joining with him, I can keep my domain free and safe: a haven. A reed survives the storm more easily than a stubborn oak."

"So you're doing all this as a… a front?" Eredolyn asked. Her tone did not sound quite as skeptical as she would have liked.

"You seem to know a great deal about my affairs already. Do you honestly believe I would seek out the Ring of Power only to hand it over to Sauron?"

Eredolyn's head felt thick and slow, as though it had been stuffed with damp cotton. But she knew the answer to that one. "No," she said, shaking her head. "You would keep it."

"I would keep it safe," Saruman pressed, his eyes boring into hers, his voice trembling with earnestness.

"Safe?" Eredolyn repeated dazedly.

"I desire only what is best for Middle-earth," said the wizard. "Though my methods may seem harsh, still I use them only to serve the right."

"Don't listen," Tuima said thickly, and Eredolyn jumped: she had forgotten there was anyone else in the room. "He killed Eicys. He killed the Ringbearer. He's a traitor."

"Eicys isn't dead," Eredolyn insisted. "Cebu said she heard her calling. And Frodo isn't dead, either. All the hobbits are just fine. You should read the book."

"What book is that?" Saruman asked.

"Nothing you would find interesting," Dilly snapped, elbowing her friend in the ribs. Eredolyn moved away, looking annoyed.

"I am interested in most things," said Saruman, his attention now fixed entirely on Eredolyn. "You enjoy reading, then?" he asked. "That is an unusual interest for a beautiful young woman."

Eredolyn blinked uncertainly. "I'm not beautiful," she said, and then shook her head, trying to clear it. "—I mean, um, yes. I like to read." Her face was flushed – which did, in fact, make her look remarkably pretty. You could almost overlook the blood in her hair and the glassiness in her eyes. She was finding it difficult to think straight: that rich, rolling voice filled her head, echoing back and forth like ocean waves, smoothing down her worries and suspicions.

"I imagine you would enjoy my library, then," he said. "Especially if you like the tales of Rohan."

"Thanks," said Dilly sharply, "but no thanks." She lowered her voice and hissed, "Snap out of it, Ere!"

Eredolyn's fingers twisted uneasily, and she bit her lip. "I…"

"Only recently I acquired a new ballad about the exploits of Helm Hammerhand," said the wizard. "I am currently engaged in translating it to the Common Tongue."

This thrust was dead center. "Helm Hammerhand?" Eredolyn repeated almost reverently.

"You know of him?"

"I love his story," said Eredolyn, falling headlong into the echoing sea in her head.

"Then perhaps you could help me," said the wizard. "There are a few passages that are giving me difficulty; a fresh mind would be just the thing."

"Oh, but – I don't speak Rohirric."

"Nonsense," said Saruman, waving a hand. "I am an excellent teacher. If you apply yourself, I see no reason you should not be able to translate the ballad yourself in a month or two."

Eredolyn glowed. "Really?" she breathed.

"Of course, you would have to read several other ballads and poems, to acquaint yourself with the literary style," said Saruman, a bit uncertainly. "I would not wish to impose upon – "

"I would love to!" Eredolyn cried. Dilly covered her eyes. Hook, line, and sinker, said the pose.

The wizard beamed. "Wonderful!" he said. "I will have you all shown to your rooms. Jarzul!"

Dilly looked around sharply. "Hold on just one minute – " she began angrily. Tuima cut her off. "We appreciate your offer of hospitality, sir," she said, with a stiff little bow, "but we find ourselves unable to accept. We have pressing business – "

"Oh, no," said Saruman, his eyes glittering like chips of mica. "I insist." He leaned over and whispered something to the Dunlending servant who had appeared at his side. The man nodded, approached Eredolyn, and bowed clumsily. "If y'll follow me, Lady?" he asked.

Eredolyn smiled. "I'll see you guys later!" she called over her shoulder as she followed Jarzul from the room. The Immies stared after her.

Boom. The doors thundered shut on Eredolyn's heels, cutting her off from her friends as effectively as a knife. Dilly flinched. Cebu's eyes were round and dark with worry. "She – she looked… different," she ventured. "Her eyes were all…" She shivered.

Tuima looked Saruman straight in the eye. "Now that your audience is gone," she said, "you can drop the charade. We won't fall for your tricks so easily."

The wizard laughed lightly. "Presumptions of the ignorant," he said. "If I bent my will to any one of you for a few hours, I could have you convinced that I am Elbereth in mortal guise and Sauron is a small purple spider." Cebu shuddered. "But you are not worth the effort." He nodded to the orcish guards. "They are all yours," he said. "I don't want to see them again."

The three prisoners gasped and drew together. Tuima groped uselessly for the knives she no longer wore. Dilly whirled on Saruman. "You're going to have your work cut out for you explaining this to Eredolyn!" she shouted at the wizard as the orcs advanced on them.

"Wait," Saruman told his guards thoughtfully.

Dilly seized the advantage: "We're her best friends. She's going to want to talk to us. A lot. And you may have her eating out of your hand right now but she's definitely not stupid."

Saruman smiled. "Nor are you, I see," he said. "That was quick thinking; very quick indeed." He sat back lazily in his obsidian throne, lounging as though it were an easy chair. "Very well," he said. "It certainly doesn't matter to me whether you live or die. And who knows? You may come in useful once your friend has been thoroughly wrung out." His eyes gleamed. "Perhaps then you will wish I had killed you. Guards! Take them down to the dungeon. Unharmed."

The orcs wilted in disappointment. "Do we hafta?" one of them whined. "Jest lookit how soft an' scared…"

Saruman's long white hands tightened on the arms of his throne. "You dare to question me?" he asked, his voice soft and menacing.

"No – no, milord."

"Be glad," said Saruman, "that I do not give you to your companions for their sport in the prisoners' place."

"Yes milord," squeaked the orc.

"Now go," said Saruman. "I have other matters to attend to."

The wizard leaned forward to watch the three prisoners being dragged struggling from the room. "Don't worry," he told them, "your stay will not last long. I expect your friend's mind to be completely broken by the end of the week – though perhaps I will draw it out longer, for entertainment purposes." He smiled at Cebu's expression. "Farewell!" he called.

The doors to the audience chamber slammed shut in the Immies' faces. Saruman smiled.

This was going to be fun.

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