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By Root 968 0

the remaining trip and ordered them to take cola. He knew that tomorrow (if there was a tomorrow) their bodies would pay a nightmarish price both for this drug and for the poppy balls, but there was no other way to make the trek. Later Haladdin realized that he could not remember any of it. He remembered clearly that the cola had not only breathed new life into his weary muscles, but also sharpened all his senses amazingly, greatly expanding their range – from the familiar constellations, which suddenly shone with a multitude of previously invisible tiny stars, to the smell of dung smoke from someone's incredibly distant fire – but he could not remember a single detail of their journey.

That memory gap ended just as suddenly as it began; the world became real once again, and reality brought back pain, and weariness so enormous that it even pushed the sense of danger somewhere to the back of his consciousness. He found himself lying flat against the ground behind a tiny ridge about thirty yards away from their desired ruins, with the massive cube of the outpost looming behind it in the predawn light.

"Maybe we should sprint?" he asked in a barest whisper.

"Like hell!" the scout hissed furiously, "see the sentry on the roof?"

"Does he see us?"

"Not yet: he's silhouetted against the grey sky, we're against dark ground. But if you move he'll definitely see you."

"But it's dawning already…"

"Shut up, willya? It's bad enough as it is…"

Suddenly the stony ground under Haladdin vibrated with a new ominous sound: a dry fast drumming which quickly congealed into a rumble resembling an avalanche. A large troop of riders was approaching along the highway, and resurgent fear was already yelling at him: "They saw you! They're surrounding you! Run!.." – when the sergeant's calm whisper brought him back to his senses:

"Ready! On my mark – no earlier! – run as fast as you can. Take the pack, the crutches, and the weapons; I'll take the baron. This is our one and only chance."

Meanwhile the troop had arrived at the outpost and the usual commotion ensued: cursing riders were pushing their way through the throng of milling foot soldiers, their commander was arguing with the local one, the guttural shouts of the Easterlings mingled with the Elves' alarmed trilling, the roof suddenly sported three silhouettes rather than one – and then unbelieving Haladdin heard a quiet: "Now!"

He had never run so fast in his life, never mind failing strength. He made it to the blind zone under the dilapidated wall in a flash, dropped his burden and still managed to get back to help Tzerlag, who was halfway there, lugging the baron on his back. The scout shook his head – no time, it'd take longer to switch. Faster, faster! Oh One, how much longer will those dumb sentries stare at the new arrivals – a second? three? ten? They got to the ruins, expecting an alarm any moment, and dropped to the ground immediately; Tangorn must have been in bad shape, as he did not even moan. Scraping their faces and hands on the bactrian thornbush, they scrambled into a wide crack in the wall and suddenly found themselves in an almost intact room. All its walls were whole, only the ceiling sported a large gap through which they could see the rapidly graying dawn sky; the entrance was entirely blocked with a mound of broken bricks. Only then did Haladdin realize: they've made it after all! Now they had the best hideout possible, just like a duck sitting on her eggs right under a falcon's nest.

He leaned against a wall and closed his eyes just for a moment, and immediately gentle waves carried him away, whispering: it's all over, rest for just a few minutes, you've earned them… up, down, up, down… what are these waves? Tzerlag? Why is he shaking my shoulder so furiously? Oh damn! Thanks, friend – of course I have to attend to Tangorn immediately. Nor do I have a few minutes to rest – the cola's effect will wear off soon, and then I'll just plain fall apart… where's that damn medkit?

Chapter 14

Mordor, Morgai plateau

April 21, 3019

Evening