The Watchers
"Come see something," Dírhaborn said.
Arathorn followed him up the ladder to the catwalk around the inside of the palisade. The other Rangers were staring into the underbrush at the edge of the tree line.
"I think we have company," Dírhaborn said.
He pointed to a thick stand of trees. Arathorn looked where he was pointing, but only saw motion due to the wind, or to birds and woodland animals. Then he saw it. A branch at the height of a man's shoulder jerk, then stilled too quickly. Nothing about it looked natural.
"There it is again. The Enemy is watching us," said Dírhaborn.
This was not good. The Rangers would have to move their prisoner before the fort was attacked.
"Perhaps the creature draws them like a beacon," said Mallor.
"Then moving it will accomplish nothing. They'll just find it again," said Arathorn.
But while the paralyzing aura of fear the creature emitted was impossible to miss, Arathorn didn't think it could be detected at a distance. He didn't think either Men or Orcs could sense it beyond the walls of the fort, or from the woods beyond. How else might the Enemy have learned where the creature was being held?
Elrond said the faceless creatures were undead ringwraiths, servants of Sauron. They became wraiths when they accepted a Great Ring, which conferred power, wealth, and long life, at a terrible price. When someone wore a Great Ring, Sauron could read his thoughts, and after a time, control them, as well. Unless the bearer took off the ring and never touched it again, his free will eroded away to nothing, and he became Sauron's slave.
Arathorn knew how the servants of the Enemy had tracked the creature to Sarn Cardh. Sauron was reading its mind.
If Arathorn was right, the creature wasn't a beacon that drew the Enemy, it was it was Sauron's eyes and ears inside Sarn Cardh. When the creature heard something, Sauron heard it too. Even if the creature couldn't understand their language, Sauron could. Elrond had told him that Sauron spoke every tongue in Arda.
Arathorn tried to remember what he'd said in front of the creature. He'd called the other Rangers by name. He'd asked the Bailiff how many men defended the fort, and how long they might be able to withstand a siege. He's said how much he cared about Halbaron, and that he'd pay any price to get him back.
How much of it had the creature passed on to Sauron? For the safety of the fort and everyone in it, Arathorn had to know. He plunged down the palisade ladder two rungs at a time and ran for the cellar door. He grabbed a torch from a bracket and ran down the rickety stairs with several of his men following at his heels. In front of the cell, he confronted the creature directly.
"Does your Master know where you are?" Arathorn demanded. The creature didn't answer.
Arathorn tried again, enunciating each word. "Sauron? You talk to?" The creature looked away and hugged its knees.
Arathorn didn't like to do it, but maybe the threat of force would loosen it's tongue. He grabbed the Bailiff's cudgel and banged it against the iron grate.
"Get back!" he shouted.
The creature backed away and hissed.
"Does it understand you?" asked the Bailiff, working the lock.
"I'm not sure. It may be reacting to me hitting the bars," said Arathorn.
He addressed the creature again. "You tell Sauron where you are? You tell him about the fort?" Arathorn shouted, yanking open the cell door. "Well, that's going to stop right now."
He smacked the cudgel into the palm of his hand. In that moment, he blamed the creature for the danger Halbaron was in, the rejection of his ransom note, and for the unseen watchers just outside the fort. His whole body tensed. He stepped forward and raised the cudgel over his head, ready to strike the creature again and again and again until he'd beaten the unclean thing senseless.
The creature shrank into the far corner of the cell, one hand raised before its face and the other shoved behind its back, to the extent its chains would allow. The links rattled, and Arathorn realized the creature was shaking.
It thinks I want to take its ring, he thought. It needn't worry. Arathorn wasn't about to risk becoming one of those creatures himself.
His arm fell to his side, the cudgel loose in his fingers. From all he'd heard, the creature was a mindless slave. Beating it wouldn't accomplish anything. It probably wouldn't understand what it was being beaten for, anyway.
Then the now-familiar wave of dread horror washed over him, but he ignored it. From the corner of his eye, he saw Dírhaborn and Mallor drawing their weapons. One of the Bailiff's men fell to the ground, weeping.
Arathorn kicked the creature in the stomach. "Stop it."
He left the cell. The Bailiff locked the door behind him, and they all went upstairs, leaving the creature curled up on the floor with its arms wrapped around its middle.
In the sunlight of the yard, Arathorn asked each of them what they'd said in front of the creature, particularly if it was something they wouldn't want the Enemy to hear.
"If we want to stop sending information to Sauron, we're going to have to watch what we say in front of that thing," Arathorn said.