The Trap
Khamûl might not even be alive. Mairon clutched at a cold lump in his chest. He looked over the walls of Dol Guldur at the forest canopy and focused his thoughts.
Khamûl, where are you? he called silently, and listened for any sign of his servant's voice.
Khamûl should have answered right away, but Mairon heard nothing beyond the creak of the earth as it settled on its foundations and the last lingering notes of the Music that created the world, but those sounds were always present.
Mairon called again, but again, there was no reply.
-o-o-o-o-o-
Khamûl sat against the wall and studied his bare feet, waiting. His hair was stiff, and moisture from the ground soaked into the seat of his pants. He stared into the darkness, bored and worried at the same time. With an effort, he kept his mind still, listening.
Then something seized his whole attention, something as bright and unmistakable as a signal fire on a high platform.
Where are you?
Khamûl heard the cadences of his Master's voice, not in his ear, but in his mind. He couldn't make out the individual words, but he learned something important, something he hadn't known before. His Master knew he was missing, and was looking for him.
I am here, Khamûl replied silently.
He couldn't know if his Master heard him or not. He couldn't send as powerful a signal as his Master could; he simply wasn't as strong.
Soon after, there was a second summons from his Master, more urgent than the first. His Master hadn't heard him. Khamûl kicked the bars in frustration; flakes of rust knocked loose and fell on him.
-o-o-o-o-o-
Mairon climbed the spiral stairs built into the wall until he reached his room in the highest level of the Keep. From the window facing west, he could see beyond the southwest edge of Mirkwood, across the River Anduin to the edge of Lothlorian, the ancient elvish stronghold.
From that great height, he called again and held his breath, listening. There it was! In his mind, he heard Khamûl calling to him. The signal was distant and faint to make out Khamûl's exact words, but he formed an impression of hunger and thirst, the smell of damp, and stone walls pressing in on a too-small space. And then it was gone, but it had told him what he needed to know, Khamûl was alive.
He sensed Khamûl's presence to the west, distant and faint, in the direction of Lothlorian, near where a tributary joined the larger River Anduin.
Mairon considered what to do. Lothlorian was unassailable. At the height of his power, he'd launched a determined attack against it, without success. He was much weaker now; he'd been crippled by the loss of the Ring. Lothlorian had nothing to fear from him. If the Elves were holding Khamûl in Lothlorian, they would hold him until they decided to give him back.
His hand flew to his mouth. What about Khamûl's ring? Had the Elves taken it from him? But no, Khamûl must still be wearing it. If he weren't, Mairon wouldn't have been able to hear him.
-o-o-o-o-o-
In his cell, Khamûl heard his Master's voice. He replied, and almost right away his Master answered. The signal was faint, and Khamûl couldn't make out the words, but he felt sure that Sauron knew he was alive. Even better, Sauron now knew roughly where he was, based on the direction and strength of Khamûl's call. Khamûl felt sure he was going to be rescued, and envisioned companies of Orcs storming this place to free him.
Khamûl sat in the dark humming to himself, a song his mother used to sing when he was young. His stepmother, actually. She'd been his father's second wife, the only mother he'd ever known.
He remembered how stricken he'd been when he learned he wouldn't inherit her Elvish immortality. He'd just assumed he was immortal like she was. When he'd learned he wasn't, he'd wanted it all the more. Sauron had told him there was a way to recover the immortality Khamûl had lost, and Khamûl had decided to accept a Ring even before it was offered.
-o-o-o-o-o-
Mairon then summoned Uvatha, the most vicious of the Nine. On the far side of the upper courtyard, Uvatha stepped out of the stables wearing riding clothes, spurs, and a sword belt as if he'd been about to go on patrol. He walked across the courtyard towards the Keep with a pinched expression on his face and narrowed eyes.
The Nazgûl were so different from one another. Angmar and Khamûl had chosen to follow him before they'd even heard of the Great Rings, and became his most trusted captains. But most of the others had been lured by the gift of a ring that gave them wealth, power, and long life. That same ring also eroded their free will and replaced it with his own, but by the time they realized it, they already belonged to him.
Uvatha was the most vicious of the Nine. A king in his own right before he entered Mairon's service, Uvatha had accepted a ring in a desperate attempt to preserve his realm. He resented his enslavement more than the others, and was openly rude and disrespectful, but Mairon didn't care. Willing or unwilling, Uvatha obeyed him.
.
When Uvatha had almost reached the base of the Keep, Mairon started down the stairs to the guardroom and went outside to meet him.
I suppose this is important? Uvatha was thinking.
Mairon glared at him to remind him of his place. Uvatha looked away and bobbed his head, the smallest gesture of obeisance he could get away with.
"I have a prisoner I want you to question. Do you remember the spy we caught yesterday? He hasn't talked yet, but from his clothes and weapons, we can tell he's a Ranger," said Mairon.
They passed the Great Hall and the craftsman's shops of the upper courtyard, with Uvatha following. They went through a narrow gate and down a short flight of stairs to reach the lower courtyard, where the cobbled surface was steep enough to make walking difficult. Lean-to structures, from pig pens to woodsheds to barracks for soldiers, had been built in every available space against the curtain wall.
"The Rangers are advised by the Noldor Elves, who in turn are in league with the Valar," said Mairon.
They reached the bottom of the lower courtyard. Before them was the Gatehouse, an enormous stone structure straddling the main gate. Beneath it, in the mining tunnels dug by the Dwarves long before the fortress was built, lay the dungeons of Dol Guldur.
"I want you to learn whether the prisoner is in league with the Valar or the White Council, and if so, what they're planning," said Mairon.
They reached the Gatehouse and entered the arched tunnel housing the portcullis and the huge wooden doors of the main gate. Recessed into the thick stone wall was a narrow doorway flanked by two sentries, who stepped aside to let them pass.
It was dark inside the guardroom, but after a moment, his eyes adjusted enough to pick out an iron grille on the far wall which covered the stairs leading down to the dungeons.
"Do whatever you need to extract the information, but don't allow him to die. I may need him later," said Mairon.
"Understood," said Uvatha.
Mairon didn't shy away from using torture when it served his purposes, but after giving the order, he rarely stayed to watch.[1] While there was great satisfaction in seeing the prisoner break and give up everything he knew, to reach that point, he had to endure hours of standing around with his ears ringing, trying not to be sick.
Uvatha, for his part, would lean back with his eyes half closed, breathing through his mouth as if he were watching a woman undress. Whenever Mairon had to use harsher methods of interrogation, Uvatha usually volunteered to do it, and Mairon usually let him.
Uvatha turned towards the grille. A guard jumped up to unlock it and hold it open for him.
"Wait, I'm coming with you. Do your work, but I'll ask the questions," said Mairon.
Uvatha put a restraining hand on Mairon's shoulder. "No, let me do this myself."
"I know what I want to learn from him, you don't," said Mairon.
"I'm trying to say this in the nicest possible way. It's no place for the squeamish. Do you remember what happened last time?" Uvatha asked.
Mairon had thought himself unaffected by what he was watching, until the first bone broke. His vision went black and he was unable to catch his breath. He'd sunk to his knees, head down. It hadn't helped, he'd had to lie down on the stone floor and stay there.
"You fainted, and I don't want to be stepping over your unconscious body while I'm trying to work, it's annoying," said Uvatha.
"I did not faint. I lay on the ground to avoid fainting. There's a difference," said Mairon.
Mairon watched Uvatha descend into the dungeons, then hiked back up to the upper courtyard. He took the stairs that ran beneath the Great Hall and followed the corridor to the Council Chamber. Beyond the Council Chamber, there was a small room whose walls were covered with maps.
A large map lay unrolled with weights at its corners holding it open. Dol Guldur was pictured at its center, and the terrain around it was illustrated in detail: the features of the rock, the animal trails through the forest, and the courses of streams.
He needed to know more about the Sirith Bridge, the proposed site for the hostage exchange. He traced the road from Dol Guldur, and found the bridge in a steep gorge about twenty miles to the west. It spanned a fast flowing stream not easily forded or crossed. Steep, heavily forested banks could provide cover for archers. It was the perfect site for an ambush.
Adûnaphel entered the room and stood beside him. She leaned forward to get a better look at the map, almost pushing him out of the way. He glared at her and growled like a wolf When he first entered Melkor's service, Sauron often took physical form as a wolf.
She backed off and stood at a respectful distance, shifting from foot to foot.
"We'll get him back tomorrow, won't we?" she asked.
But Mairon already knew he wouldn't be going the bridge tomorrow. He bowed his head and cursed softly. He was deeply sorry, but he couldn't risk being captured himself to save his servant.
-o-o-o-o-o-
In late afternoon, Halbaron was startled awake by a scream, followed by another. There was silence for a while, then a shriek that sounded almost inhuman. When it stopped, he thought he heard a grown man sobbing, which bothered him more than the screaming.
Soon after that, they came for him. He was taken back to the room that housed the rack and other machinery used to extract confessions. The flagstones were cold under his feet, and the chill from the stone floor ran through his body.
They brought him to the same room as before and forced him onto the low stool. The same two interrogators regarded him from across the table. Halbaron looked towards the door. One of the black-robed creatures was leaning against the door frame, watching them.
"What is your relationship with the Elves?" said the first interrogator.
This was a different line of questioning than before. Halbaron wondered what was going on.
"I repeat, what is your relationship with the Elves?" said the first one.
Elrond's sons Elladan and Elrohir often visited the Rangers and advised him. Elrond took a special interest in Arathorn. Arathorn was Isildur's heir, but Halbaron wasn't about to tell his captors that.
"What is your relationship with the White Council?" said the first one.
Elrond sat on the White Council, a gathering of the Wise. Halbaron assumed they met in Lothlorian to plan Sauron's downfall.
"What is your relationship with the Valar?" said the first interrogator.
The Valar had something to do with the Elvish religion. There were dozens of them, but he could only name Manwë, Chief of the Valar and Mandos, Lord of the Underworld.
"What are the Valar planning to do?" asked the first one. Halbaron had no idea what he was talking about.
The interrogator picked up an iron bar and slammed it on the table. Halbaron jumped.
"I repeat, what are the Valar planning to do?"
The Orc guards seized him and held his arm down on the table. The interrogator raised the bar high in the air and brought it down hard across Halbaron's fingers. There was a crunch, and Halbaron's vision went black.
-o-o-o-o-o-
Mairon was finding Adûnaphel annoying, so he sent her off on some imaginary errand before turning his attention back to the map on the table.
He drew a line from Dol Guldur in the direction of Khamûl's call, trying to pinpoint exactly where in Lothlorien Khamûl was being held. On the way to the Elvish stronghold, the line passed through a large farmhouse, a cave large enough to shelter in, and on the western border of Mirkwood, a small fort called Sarn Cardh.
Mairon frowned. What if Khamûl wasn't in Lothlorian?
He'd assumed Khamûl's signal was weak because it came from far away, but what if Khamûl were being held below ground? Mairon had seen an image of a cellar-like prison cell in Khamûl's mind. The underground location and the thick stone walls would make the call seem faint and distant.
If Khamûl wasn't in Lothlorian, he was on this side of the Anduin. Mairon looked at each of the three places where someone might be held, but thought that Sarn Cardh was the most likely. He decided to attack the small fort. It would take a few days to plan, and it posed some risk to Khamûl, but it was the best he could think of.
[1] Sauron conducted the interrogation of Gollum in the dungeons of Barad-dûr. "The Black Hand has four fingers, but they are enough."