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By Root 1044 0

the battle were let go with an order to ask His Majesty to vary his methods a bit. In any event, Grager's proofs were enough for the elders: they broke a traditional flatbread with the Prince of Ithilien and departed, leaving their younger sons to serve in the prince's personal guard as a sign of their covenant. By that time the Ithilienians have already established lively barter trade with the Trolls without waiting for any royal permissions. The Elves controlling the Cirith Ungol pass watched all that with hot fury but could do nothing about it – not enough manpower.

"How's Ivar doing, Matun? How's maestro Haddami – still amusing you all with his jokes?"

"Haddami got killed," the Troll answered solemnly. "Gods rest his soul, he was a worthy man, even though Umbarian…" He looked at Haladdin's face and mumbled in embarrassment: "My apologies, sir! I wasn't thinking. What about that Gondorian of yours?"

"He got killed, too."

"I see."

They only spent a few hours in Ivar's camp. The lieutenant tried several times to detail guards to accompany them to Orodruin ("It's real dicey on the plains right now, Easterling patrols are all over the place"), but the sergeant only chuckled: "You hear that, Matun? They're gonna lead me through the desert!" He was right: helping an Orocuen in the desert is like teaching a fish to swim, and a smaller company is much better in their situation. So the two of them made the journey together, ending the way they started.

Yes, it was time. Haladdin untied the sack, pushed apart its stiff silver-embroidered sides and took the heavy crystal ball in his hands, looking for the orange sparks in its pale opalescent depths.

***

Here in Amon Súl the distant palantír at Orodruin was reflected as a large soap bubble some six feet in diameter. They could plainly see the unknown man turn the crystal around in his hands – huge images of hands moved around the surface of the ball, large and clear enough to read the palm lines.

"What's happening, Gandalf? Explain!" The wizard in the blue cloak could remain silent no longer.

"Nothing. That's the problem: nothing is happening." Gandalf's words had an even and lifeless quality. "My spell hasn't worked. I don't understand why."

"Then it's all over?"

"Yes. It is."

Silence reigned; everyone seemed to be listening to the sound of the last grains of sand streaming down the hourglass of their lives.

"Did you have a good time playing?" The voice that broke the silence was mocking, but still as beguiling as ever. "'History will vindicate me,' eh?"

"Saruman?!"

The former head of the White Council was already heading into the hall with his firm wide stride, waiting for no permission or invitation, and everyone immediately felt that the term 'former' was absolutely inappropriate.

He looked intently at the rays of light emanating from the palantír. "Vakalabath's prophecy, isn't it, Radagast?" He addressed the forest wizard to the exclusion of all the other Council members. "Aha… this ray leads to Orodruin?"

"They want to destroy the Mirror," a slightly revived Gandalf put in.

"Shut up," Saruman told him without looking at him, and thrust his suddenly stone chin at the Lórien ray, which had just dimmed again: "There's your Mirror – enjoy the sight, wannabe demiurge…"

"Can we help you, Saruman?" Radagast said soothingly, trying to mend bridges. "All our magic…"

"Yes, you can, by getting out of here immediately. Stick all your magic up your butts: haven't you understood yet that the man on Orodruin is absolutely immune to magic? I will try reasoning with him logically, perhaps that will work… Move!" he yelled at the Council members milling uncertainly at the doors. "Get the hell out, I said! This place is going to blow so high, you'll be collecting your balls for weeks!"

Paying no further attention to the quickly departing White wizards, he handled the palantír to put it into 'send-receive' mode and called softly: "Haladdin! Doctor Haladdin, can you hear me? Please respond."

Chapter 68

A few excruciatingly long