Aglahad and the Dead City (In Tharbad: Volume Three)

12

I rode back to Emyn Beraid with Laergil, a strand-guard I knew from the old days. A company of a hundred riders had left the city soon after the beacon had been lit. We galloped in their path, up out of a night sea-mist that enshrouded the city into the deep blue, spangled sky of the High Moor. As we reached the top of the Sky's Edge Elostirion appeared, standing proudly above the hills, her beacon twinkling, piercing through the night. But something was amiss with Minas Glingal beyond.

"The beacon." Laergil said. "It must be veiled." We sped on towards Elostirion.

As we neared the tower, a dozen or so cavalry greeted us with sombre faces. Outside the doors, there were other guards stood around like attendees at a funeral.

A captain I knew called walked towards us. "Laergil, has been –" He tried to grabbed his arm but Laergil's horse took him closer to the tower. He was staring up at the doors with a strange, sad expression. I knew the Guardian of Elostirion was a good friend of his. Laergil dismounted then ran to the top of the stairs. The guards there parted and he pushed the door wide.

But he paused on the threshold, hanging onto the door jamb. "Dorollas!" He pushed himself back outside and slowly turned towards us. His face was gaunt and pallid. "Come, Siriondil," he called weakly. "Come up here."

I tethered the horses before rushing up the stairs. The Guardian was lying face down on the tiled floor of the vestibule. A small, dark pool of blood, glistening under blue lamplight, surrounded her head.

Tarondor appeared behind us. "Her neck is - broken." His voice wavered. "The palantír. It has been stolen."

Laergil stared at the captain in horror.

"Tarondor," I said, "you must send word to Mithlond. Círdan must know of this."

"I sent a rider just as you arrived."

I placed my hand briefly on his shoulder then turned to Laergil. "Come, old friend. We must away to Minas Belthil"

"Leave it to the cavalry, Siriondil," the captain protested.

"Laergil is the cavalry." We ran back down to the horses.

A dark foreboding filled my being as we rode towards Minas Glingal. I had felt it nibbling at my mind as we left Mithlond. Now it was gnawing.

I looked up at the dark pinnacle of the second tower as we rode. Another two dozen riders were standing guard while some of the others stood at the top of the stair.

"The doors are locked," a rider called out as we cantered past. Laergil started to slow and seemed ready to dismount.

"Come, Laergil. Onwards."

I urged Losnoron into a gallop, my eyes fixed on Minas Belthil.

"Siriondil!" the rider cried. "Where are you going?"

I heard Laergil's horse coming up behind as we rode down into the valley east of Minas Glingal. Both towers disappeared as we crossed the bridge over the beck. The valley was full of strange sounds and foreboding shadows. The road climbed up the hillside and again the top of the tower came into view. Without its beacon, it looked dead; even in its splendour, it looked like a ruin.

"Riders!" Laergil cried as we climbed onto the high, rolling plateau. "Where are they going?" I looked off the north. The dark shapes of the cavalry under their torchlight danced on the brow of a hill before fading into darkness.

"Orcs," I said simply. But it was more a question to myself than anything else.

The courtyard of Minas Belthil was empty. The doors were ajar and the dim blue light filtered down from above. As I climbed the stairs I could feel the emptiness of the place. Edenithil had been here so long that a part of his being had been absorbed into the very stones of the tower. But now it was gone. The living quarters were as silent as a tomb. I only now realised that Edenithil's cats too were gone. I climbed up to the lamp room and stared silently at the remains of the lamp. Feeling nauseous, I leaned on the window sill and looked to the north into the star-radiant night. I remember my mind reeling at the irrationality of it all, the sheer wanton destruction. I was about to turn away when a small figure caught my eye in the garden. I ran for the stairs.

I found the figure sitting on a low wall. A pretty Sinda with bedraggled auburn hair. For a moment of madness, I thought it was Raindis. Her only clothing was a rough, linen dress. She was sobbing and bleeding from a knife wound in her flank. The stolen palantír rested on the ground at her unshod feet, where a raven sat, eyeing Siriondil.

"I remember!" she wailed and tore at her hair. "I remember." She fell sobbing and moaning to her knees then forward onto her hands, covering the palantír. The raven jumped away before flying onto the wall behind her. When the Sinda lifted her head she wore a strange grin, her eyes full of rage. She knelt upright and looked down at her wounded belly. She dabbed at the blood with her fingertips then raised her hand to her mouth. The raven hopped once along the wall then, with a brief flurry of its wings, jumped onto her shoulder. The Sinda licked her fingers, smearing the blood across her lips and chin. After wiping her hand on her gown she grinned up at Siriondil. "I remember."

Her pale skin at once turned black and her body twisted and bulged violently. The raven launched itself from her convulsing shoulder. Within moments, a great bat sat over the palantír. It spread its wings and sprang up from the ground. Its long, taloned feet grasped the Elendil-stone as it beat its huge black wings. Now it was high above the garden.

An arrow whipped past one of the great, black wings. I turned to Laergil at the top of the garden; he loosed another dart as the bat lost its grip on the seeing stone. As the bat dived to catch it, the arrow flew over its head. The bat banked and swooped over the garden then flew off with all haste to the north.