Incunabulum 15: The Eye Is Surprised
"How do you know it's Mirkwood?" asked Bhagszh testily.
"It's got to be. That's the only forest around here. Unless it's Fangorn."
Bhagszh gave in. He didn't want to admit that he had led them in a circle.
"All right, then all we have to do is go south."
"Right," said Etwol. "Only, which way is souf? You don't know, do you? Not to mention the rangers—they'll find us the minute we poke our noses out."
"It's your fault they found us," said Bhagszh. "You should've been watching them zombies."
"For the matter of that, you should've been. You said you were in charge."
"Garn!" said Bhagszh and made a swipe at Etwol.
"The point is," piped up a snaga, "what do we do now?"
"Right," said Etwol. "This is Mirkwood, you know. It's crawling with elves."
All the orcs looked about fearfully at this statement. Even Bhagszh looked uneasy. There was nothing an orc hated and feared more than an elf. A man might spare an orc's life on a whim, or he might miss; but elves killed orcs with what amounted to a religious fanaticism…and they never missed. Orcs and elves might have looked very different, but deep down they were too similar to tolerate each other.
"Elves don't come south of Dol Guldur," said Bhagszh, trying to sound reassuring. "They keep away now that Khamul is running the place."
One of the snaga, who had been fumbling in his pockets a moment before, now gave a squeal and held up a square object with a small blinking light on it.
"My elf detector," he said. It was all the explanation needed. With various shrieks the whole party turned and ran in a direction they hoped was south.
Lord Elrond dumped his suitcase out on his bed and began to repack it. Lindir had predictably forgotten the most essential items, like socks and electric razor, while packing four or five pairs of clothes too many. Packing did not rank among Lindir's few accomplishments and Elrond's OCD wouldn't let him travel comfortably unless he packed his luggage himself, anyway. His motto was, "If you want a thing done right, do it yourself," which was also the reason why he was going on this errand in the first place, instead of sending Arwen.
He was delivering Narsil, which the elven smiths had just finished reforging, to Aragorn, who would need it in the approaching battle. The job necessitated a long and hazardous journey, but Elrond felt the need of exercise and there was no one to talk to in Rivendell anyway, now that most of the elves had left for Valinor. Arwen was still there, but she was too sick to do much of anything.
Elrond had just gotten Narsil to fit on top of the clothes in his repacked suitcase when his telepathic device began to ring inside his head. Galadriel had seemed to think recently that it was necessary to call even more often than she had before. He had been slightly flattered, of course, when she had called to ask his advice about sending elven archers to Helm's Deep, but had been annoyed to reflect that she would probably have sent them anyway, whether he had advised her to or not.
"I hope it's urgent," he said. "I'm just leaving."
"It is urgent," said Galadriel. "I need to talk to you."
"What about?"
"Remember that project you were working on in your research facilities? The one for cognitive recalibration?"
"You mean the one where I tried to turn orcs into less harmful life forms? That's dished. It never got out of the planning stage."
"Why not?"
"Because—predictably—I couldn't get any orcs to test it on. For some strange reason they seemed reluctant to be turned into something harmless."
"You advertised, didn't you?"
"Yes, of course. Actually, to be quite fair, one or two orcs did come in response to the advertisements, but my sentries didn't get the memo and shot them."
"So you're giving up on that project?"
"I gave up on it months ago. I never really believed it would work, anyway."
"Well, I want you to start researching it again. It has potential."
Elrond snapped the clasps shut on his suitcase and hoisted it off the bed.
"Do you realise," he said, striding towards the door, "that we're about to be at war? Technically we're at war already. The Dark Lord is mustering his forces and may strike at any moment. All research of secondary importance has been put on hold for the time being."
"This isn't of secondary importance," said Galadriel.
"Even if we could get it to work, it would take time to inoculate each orc." Elrond was now striding down the long hallway towards the stairs. "We can't possibly make even a dent in Sauron's forces before the blow comes. We have to depend on Aragorn and the Dead Army."
"I wasn't thinking about the battle at all," said Galadriel. "This is a more personal issue."
"All personal issues must be put aside for the present," said Elrond. "I'm almost to the courtyard. I have to hang up now. Good bye!"
"I know what will change your mind," said Galadriel, after a short pause. There was a click at the other end of the line.
Elrond mounted his horse with some misgivings. He did not understand his mother-in-law's last sentence, but he knew she could be extremely manipulative—in other ways than hypnotism.
Etwol paused in his headlong flight to wipe the perspiration out of his eyes and wait for the others to catch up. The snaga's elf-detector had not been wrong. He could smell the elves now. They were getting closer.
Bhagszh came crashing through the dead brambles behind him and stopped as well, taking a rapid survey of their surroundings.
"Did we lose anybody?" asked Etwol.
"Not as yet, but those zombies can't keep up."
The rest of the group was now stumbling into the small clearing where Etwol stood. The zombies did not look particularly fagged, but they had not been running very fast. Now that the first panic was over Bhagszh began to take a more orderly approach to their retreat.
"The sun's coming up over there," he said. "So we ought to be going just a little to the right of it. That'll bring us soufeast to the Black Gate. Come on, let's get a move on!"
They started off again, with Bhagszh plying the whip behind them. Etwol had never known that Middle Earth was such a dangerous place for an orc. It seemed as if he had not stopped running since leaving Isengard. He looked back.
In that instant a strange feeling came over him, as if his life had suddenly been telescoped. He saw the forest behind him, grey in the dawn light and leafless, and it was as if the image had been laid over some other image imprinted in his mind long ago. He had been here before. Suddenly he knew where he was.
"Stop!" he cried, turning to look for the others. "Stop! We're going the wrong way!"
Bhagszh struck him a blow with the whip. "Get moving!" he said.
"Not this way!" said Etwol. But it was too late.
They had come up to the foot of a high rock wall, hung with mosses and dead vines, about fifty feet high and too steep to climb with any rapidity.
"We'll make lovely targets up there, mate," said Ghashbug, blinking.
"There's got to be some way round it," said Bhagszh.
Nobody looked for one, though. They all looked behind them in terror for the silently approaching elves. They couldn't hear anything, but they could smell elf on the air. It smelled like hairspray.
Etwol's mind was clicking. There was something familiar about this place, and what was more, there was some way through it. He had once known many secret paths through the forest—he knew there was a gate to one somewhere close by. He turned to examine the rock wall, and his eyes ran rapidly over it, probing for something half-forgotten.
There it was: a small keypad partially concealed behind a stone. Etwol pulled the stone out of the way and punched in some numbers. There was a a creaking and grinding noise and then an opening about three feet high appeared in the cliff face.
" 'Ow did you do that?" asked Ghashbug.
"I remembered the combination," said Etwol. "Come on, get inside."
"Wait a minute," said Bhagszh. "We ain't going in there wivout a looksee first. Could be a trap."
"It's no trap," said Etwol. "And if we stay here, this'll be a trap. Get in, I say!"
"I'm in charge here, maggot," said Bhagszh.
Etwol whipped his hammer from his belt and brought it down on Bhagszh's head. "No, you're not," he said.
Bhagszh was not an uruk-hai. He crumpled up in a lump on the ground, twitching slightly.
"Come on!" said Etwol. Nobody dared say no. With a rush they tumbled into the tunnel and the door closed behind them.
It was just in time, too, for as Etwol paused for a moment inside, he could hear voices on the other side of the door. They were speaking in horrible elven speech, but somehow he could understand much of what they were saying.
"I thought there were more, for some reason."
"There were. Where are they?"
"They cannot have returned without us seeing them, and there is no escape from here save by the secret paths."
"We had better take that one back."
"It is dead."
"What of that? Orders must be obeyed. Come."
Etwol scrambled after the others, trembling as he went. For a long time they went in darkness, but of course they preferred the dark and found it comfortable. At last they came up against another wall and, groping along it, Etwol found a second keypad. He punched in another set of numbers and with more creaking and falling of loose earth, the wall opened and they were out in the light again. They were on the border of Mirkwood.
It was Sauron's last chance to talk to Saruman in the palantir, as it turned out, but he did not know this at the time. Saruman sounded rather distracted and couldn't seem to understand why Sauron wanted to talk about trivial matters like the zombie shipment when the wizard had a major battle on his hands.
"I don't care what happens at Helm's Deep," said Sauron. "Either way, Rohan will be tied up for awhile. Right now I'm thinking of Mirkwood."
"Good," said Saruman. "Why don't you go take care of it, then? I've got angry ents outside."
"I'm calling about your elf."
"My what?"
"I mean your orc. The one that used to be an elf. I forget his name. I know now why you didn't want to send him. Don't you think I notice what goes on?"
Saruman was now more attentive.
"You mean you want to keep him?" he asked. "But I want him back."
"Naturally you do. You want him for your own purposes when you've finished Rohan. You want to attack Mirkwood yourself, probably."
"What are you talking about?" said Saruman. "At the rate things are going, I'll need another army before I can attack Mirkwood."
"Or a secret weapon."
"What?"
"Why did you tell me you got nothing out of him about Mirkwood? What did you think you'd gain by concealing his knowledge from me?"
"What knowledge?"
"He led the group you sent through Mirkwood using the secret elven paths."
Saruman looked innocently amazed.
"He did? How did he do that? Are you sure?"
"Don't play games with me," said Sauron crossly. "If you think you're busy with one little battle, how busy do you think I am with a whole war to plan? I didn't call you up to chat. I want to know what else you're hiding from me."
"Nothing," said Saruman, a trifle too quickly.
"No halflings?"
Saruman turned out his pockets. "Not a thing."
"I hope not—for your sake. Remember, I have ways of learning what I want to know. In any case, I'm going to keep that orc for the Mirkwood offensive. You won't need him back before then, so you'll have nothing to complain about."
"All right, if you insist," said Saruman reluctantly. "But being the loyal ally that I am I'll give you a word of caution. I've never used that orc for fighting because I've never trusted him. He was an elf once, and that kind simply can't be trusted. They may turn on you unexpectedly."
"So might any orc. I can handle him."
"You don't know the elves as I do," said Saruman. "They hang together despite anything. True, they quarrel and bicker among themselves, but against an outside force they will fight to the death for the clan."
"What makes you the expert on elves? I'm older than you. I saw Feanor fall and the fall of Beleriand."
"I know quite a bit about elves," said Saruman haughtily. "And Valar, too. It may have slipped your mind, but I originally came from Valinor. You can torture him out of all semblance of an elf, but he is still an elf underneath it all and you'll never change that."
"You're still so pathetically one of them," said Sauron. "You haven't learned yet that anything can be twisted. –And the stronger it is to begin with, the better."
"Do as you please, then," said Saruman. "I wash my hands of the whole affair."
The palantir went dark.