The Raid
When the light began to fail, Mairon descended the stairs of the Keep and entered the building that housed the Great Hall. He took the corridor to a private dining room behind the Great Hall, where he and his high ranking advisors took their meals.
The others were already in their accustomed places. Mairon's Steward sat at the foot of the table, the apothecary and the captain of the guard were on either side of him. The three Nazgûl, Khamûl, Adûnaphel, and Uvatha when he wasn't in Minas Morgul, sat at the head of the table near his own chair. Khamûl's place at Mairon's right hand was empty.
Mairon was the last to arrive, and the others had started eating without him. Not a surprise, since he was often late. Half the time, he got absorbed in what he was doing and didn't show up for meals at all.
A servant fixed him a plate from the communal platters on the sideboard and set it before him. Several kinds of meat, each with its own sauce. Mushrooms, preserves, pickled vegetables. His most important servants were highborn and well-educated; they had refined tastes. Mairon, a blacksmith's apprentice when he was young, would have been just as happy with bread and cheese.
Mairon told Uvatha to sit in Khamûl's place so they could talk. "I think Khamûl is being held in the fort at Sarn Cardh. I want you to lead the attack to free him," he told Uvatha.
Uvatha agreed, and got up so quickly the chair tipped over and struck the floor.
"Wait. We need a plan first," said Mairon.
Uvatha set the chair back on its legs and sank into it with an exaggerated sigh. Uvatha, a fierce warrior who'd led countless raids and skirmishes, hadn't seen battle in years. Mairon used him to carry messages between Dol Guldur and Minas Morgul, it seemed he longed for more.
"The map shows very little about Sarn Cardh, other than its name and location," said Mairon.
Mairon pushed his plate aside and put pieces of bread on the tablecloth to represent the fort, cave, and farmhouse. He arranged the salt cellar to represent Dol Guldur. In an artistic flourish, he stuck the salt spoon upright in the salt to be the Keep.
"Ride out at first light tomorrow to study the fort. Visit the cave and the farmhouse on the way, if only to rule them out." He showed Uvatha their locations on his map.
"Think about how the fort should be attacked. Look for weak points in the palisade walls. Where is the high ground? Where is the thickest ground cover? What is the best route by which to approach?
"But most of all, find out how many men defend it. Notice whether it's occupied, and if it is, count the sentries on the walls and the number of men coming and going through the gates. Better yet, grab one of them and ask," Mairon said.
"The spy might know some of those things. He's already begun to talk," said Uvatha.
"Good. Pay him another visit tonight and ask him about the fort," Mairon said.
Uvatha got up and headed for the door. He paused in the doorway, turned and bowed almost imperceptibly, then strode in the direction of the gatehouse tower and the dungeons below it.
-o-o-o-o-o-
They came for him during the night. Halbaron was brought back to the small room and forced him back onto the stool across the table from his two interrogators.
He sat on the low stool with his hands resting on his thighs. He couldn't close his hand, which was purple and swollen, and throbbed with his pulse. He set his jaw, determined not to speak.
"Tell me about Sarn Cardh" said the interrogator.
It was a small fort. He couldn't imagine what interest the Enemy might have in it.
"How many men defend the fort?"
He had been in the fort, but not recently, and only to eat and sleep. He didn't know how heavily it was garrisoned. Maybe ten or twelve, whatever was typical for small forts.
"How long could it withstand a siege?"
Not long. It wasn't exactly a sophisticated fortification.
"Are there any secret entrances?"
He had no idea. It wasn't his fort.
"I asked you a question, are there any secret entrances? Perhaps the fort has a sally port in back, or an escape tunnel?"
"I think it's time to go to the next level," the creature said. Its voice was something between a whisper and a hiss.
They took him to the chamber where the terrifying machinery was kept, and forced into something like a chair, a device of wood and iron with leather restraints. His hands were pinned above his head, and a crosspiece forced his knees apart. He noticed a nearby table held an unusually shaped pair of tongs.
"Prepare him," said the creature.
"Do you want everything off?" asked the interrogator.
"No, just below the waist."
Halbaron clenched his teeth.
-o-o-o-o-o-
It was late, and Mairon had retired to his room for the evening. He sat at the table in front of the fireplace, arranging pieces on the chessboard. He placed two pawns, one black and one white, in the center of the board, the two hostages standing on the bridge.
He put a black king, which stood for himself, on his own side of the board. Then he covered the opposite side with powerful white pieces, the setup for an ambush. His hand closed around the black king, and he took it off the board. Whatever happened, he was not going to be caught unawares on the Sirith Bridge.
Mairon turned the chessboard around and studied it from the other side. He tried to understand the Rangers' motives to predict what they would do, but while he knew what he would do under a given set of circumstances, he couldn't guess what other people would do.
A new thought struck him, and he stiffened. What if they tried to force him to the bridge by threatening to hurt Khamûl? He tipped the black pawn on its side. He wouldn't allow that to happen. Mairon resolved to protect Khamûl, and he would do it by feigning indifference. He dipped a pen in ink and wrote,
The creature is of little value to me.
Mairon would free Khamûl by launching an attack on the place where he was being held, but it would take at least two days to plan the attack, and the Rangers proposed to conduct the trade at noon tomorrow. To stall for time, Mairon would pretend to bargain with the Rangers, but he would drag out the negotiations as long as possible.
Mairon considered what to ask for. He needed time, so he couldn't offer terms they would accept right away. Nor could he propose something so objectionable they would rip his note to pieces. He had to think of something in between that would provoke a counteroffer. Mairon decided to leave the terms as open-ended as possible.
Offer me something I care about.
What did he care about? To get his Ring back, to take revenge on Gondor, for Melkor not to be dead. To see Eönwë again. Now all he had to do was think of something realistic to ask for.
The Men of the West must leave Southern Mirkwood forever.
It wasn't more than they could pay, just more than they wanted to. A lot more.
-o-o-o-o-o-
Halbaron fought against the leather straps, but instead of twisting free, he only made them cut into his skin.
"Tell me about Sarn Cardh," the creature hissed.
Halbaron was silent. The creature made a gesture to the Orc guard, and Halbaron felt something tighten. He sucked in his breath, and his eyes rolled back in his head.
"Once again, tell me about Sarn Cardh."
He had been in the fort, but not recently, and only to eat and sleep.
"It's a small fort, a stone tower three storeys tall surrounded by a log palisade." he said.
"How many men defend it?" The creature leaned over him. Where its face should be, there was only a black pit.
"Ten or twelve," said Halbaron. He didn't know how heavily it was garrisoned, but that was typical for small forts.
"How long could the fort withstand a siege?"
Not long. It wasn't exactly a sophisticated fortification. "Two weeks," he said.
"Are there any secret entrances?"
"Not that I know of," Halbaron said.
"Once again, are there any secret entrances? Perhaps the fort has a sally port in back, or an escape tunnel?" asked the creature. It waited, then turned to the Orc. "Give him another quarter turn."
"Wait! There's a nearly invisible postern door, hidden in the back."
"Tell me about it."
They twisted the screw again, and something inside him ripped. His stomach heaved and his mouth filled with acid. They released the screw slightly and he slumped forward, gasping for breath. The front of his shirt was warm with vomit; the smell of it made him retch.
Halbaron had nothing left to give.
"Give him another turn," said the creature.
"Please no! I'll talk, I'll tell you everything I know! My name is Halbaron son of Amarion. I'm a deputy Captain of Ranger. Our Captain is Arathorn son of Arador, Isildur's heir. There are fifteen of us, and their names are …"
The words spilled out of him so fast, he doubted they heard half of them. The whole time he was blathering, not one of them wrote anything down.
-o-o-o-o-o-
Khamûl called to his Master during the night, and was surprised that he answered right away. Normally his Master didn't stay up late, except during wartime or in a crisis.
-o-o-o-o-o-
Halbaron slumped against the wall of his cell, in too much pain to sleep. He couldn't find a comfortable position, sitting or lying down. He was so tired; he hadn't slept more than a few hours at a time since he was captured.
He'd lost his sense of time. He no longer knew whether it was day or night, or how long he'd been a prisoner here.
He wanted to curl up and make himself as small as he felt, a coward who'd betrayed his friends. He was haunted by the sound of his own voice jabbering about the Rangers and their mission, Elrond's sons, Isildur's heir, and the Ring of Barahir.
Something made him look up. His wife Evonyn was standing outside the cell, holding their son Halbarad by the hand. She looked care-worn and old before her time; a widow's life was hard. Halbaron knew he was dreaming, but knowing didn't interrupt the dream.
"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to leave you, not like this," Halbaron said.
She smiled kindly. She forgave him, even though he couldn't forgive himself.
"You never got to see me grow up," said his small son, Halbarad.
Halbarad was six years old, and such a beautiful child. He was kind, and good to his friends. Halbaron was sure Halbarad would become a good man. Halbaron was so proud of him. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead on his knees.
He was glad his wife and son couldn't see him like this. The things that had been done to him had broken him.
He remembered hearing his own voice screaming, begging, saying he'd do anything they wanted. He'd told them everything. When people learned he'd broken and cooperated with the Enemy, they wouldn't want anything to do with him.
They'd promised that if he talked, they would release him. Nobody needed to know that he'd told them anything. He didn't really believe them. He did believe that if he told them everything he knew, they would release him through death. By now, he welcomed it. He only hoped it would be quick.