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By Root 925 0

directly into ash – and Haladdin put Tzerlag's 'Khandian' bowl into the brewing pot and took it down to the stream to wash up. He had already put the clean pot down on the shore gravel and was warming fingers numb from icy water with his breath when quick flickers on the surrounding boulders told him that the fire was building up again. Who's still up? – he wondered, – can't see anything against the firelight… The black silhouette by the fire was motionless, its hands stretched towards the quickly rising orange flames. The circle of light widened smoothly, illuminating their packs, Tangorn's crutches leaning against a boulder, and both sleeping forms… Both?! So who's sitting by the fire? Suddenly the doctor realized something else: he had gone on his twenty-yard dishwashing mission without any weapons. No weapons at all, which probably had just doomed his friends.

The person sitting by the fire turned unhurriedly towards the hapless sentry and made a commanding beckoning gesture. It was clear as day that had he so desired, all three of them would have been dead by now. Haladdin made his way back to the fire in a kind of a daze, sat down opposite the black-cloaked intruder – and caught his breath as if hit with a body blow: the closely drawn cowl concealed nothing but emptiness, with two dim scarlet embers gazing intently at him from the inside. He was facing a nazgúl.

Chapter 15

The Nazgúl! An ancient magical order, ever surrounded by most ominous rumor. Black wraiths, supposedly in touch with the highest powers of Mordor; the miracles ascribed to them were such that no serious person would ever believe them. Nor had Haladdin believed them, but now a nazgúl was here for his soul… Having said that common phrase in his mind, he almost bit his tongue. Despite being a skeptic and a rationalist, Haladdin had nevertheless always known that some things are better left untouched, lest one lose his fingers… Suddenly he heard a voice, quiet and a little husky, with a hard-to-place accent, issuing, it seemed, not from the darkness under the hood, but from somewhere off to the side, or from above:

"Are you afraid of me, Haladdin?"

"Well, to be honest…"

"So say it straight: yes, I'm afraid. You see, I could have assumed… er… a more neutral

form, but I've too little strength left. So please bear with me, it'll not be for long. Although it must be creepy to one unused to such things."

"Thank you," Haladdin answered gruffly, feeling his fear suddenly dissipate without a trace. "Could you at least introduce yourself, since you know me but I don't know you?"

"Actually, you do know me, if only by hearsay: Sharya-Rana, at your service." The edge of the cowl dipped in a small bow. "To be more precise, I was Sharya-Rana in my previous life."

"Amazing!" Now Haladdin was sure that he was dreaming, and tried to behave accordingly. "A personal conversation with Sharya-Rana himself – I would've gladly given five years of my life for that. By the way, you have a rather interesting lexicon for a Vendotenian who lived more than a century ago."

"It's your lexicon, not mine." Haladdin could have sworn that for a split second the darkness under the cowl coalesced into a smirk. "I'm simply using your words, it's no effort for me. Although, if you prefer…"

"No, this is fine." Total delusion! "But tell me, honored Sharya-Rana, they say that all the Nazgúl are former kings?"

"There are kings among us, too, as well as doctors, lawyers, merchants, chiefs, and such. As you can see, some of us are mathematicians."

"So is it true that after publishing The Natural Basis of Celestial Mechanics you turned completely to theology?"

"Yes, but that, too, is all behind me, in my former life."

"And when you leave those former lives, you simply shed your tired flesh and acquire unlimited powers and immortality?"

"No. We are long-lived, but mortal. Indeed, we are always nine – that is the tradition – but members of the Nine change. As for unlimited powers… it's really an unimaginably heavy burden. We are the magic shield that