The Last Ring-bearer - Kirill Yeskov [45]
"No. I remember it well: nothing can happen to a person who is not afraid. Is this really ancient magic?"
"None more ancient."
Suddenly he understood that Sharya-Rana was trying to smile but could not: the darkness under his cowl, alive and flowing like a spring in the night not so long ago, now resembled a brick of coal dust.
"Farewell, Haladdin, and remember: you have everything you need to win. Repeat it as an incantation and don't be afraid of anything. Now, take this… and turn away."
"Farewell, Sharya-Rana. Don't worry, everything will be as it should be."
He carefully accepted a heavy dim ring from the nazgúl's hand and stepped away obediently, so he did not see the wizard slowly push back his cowl. Only when he heard behind him a moan filled with such anguish that his heart nearly stopped (so that's what "all the World's pain, all the World's fear, all the World's despair" means!), did he turn around – but there was nothing except quickly melting shreds of the black cloak where Sharya-Rana just sat.
"Was that you screaming?"
Haladdin turned around. His comrades, up in flash (the baron was still whirling the wickedly glinting Slumber-maker over his head), were looking at him gloomily, awaiting explanations.
Chapter 19
Perhaps a clandestine operations professional would have done it differently, but he was not one, so he simply told them everything (save burdening Tzerlag with all the 'parallel worlds' stuff). He had a visit from a nazgúl (here's the ring) who told him that he, Haladdin, is the only human able to prevent the Elves from turning all of Middle Earth into their fiefdom and all Men into slaves. To do so, he must destroy Galadriel's Mirror within a hundred days. He has decided to accept the mission, since there's no one else to do it. So far, he has no idea how or what to do, but hopefully he'll come up with something.
Tzerlag looked the ring over warily and of course refused to touch it (the One preserve us!); it was obvious that the doctor had ascended to stratospheric heights in his esteem – as opposed to the Nazgúl, who had descended a similar distance. It's one thing to send a man to certain death – war is war – but to give a subordinate an impossible task is quite another. A real frontline officer would never do that. To sneak into Lórien, where no man had ever managed to enter, to locate, in a hostile town, what is undoubtedly a well-guarded object, which for good measure can't be destroyed on site, but has to be lugged a hell of a distance… In any event, he, Sergeant Tzerlag, scouting platoon leader of the Cirith Ungol Rangers, will not so much as lift a finger until he has a tangible job to do; all these 'go there – don't know where' games are not for him. What? Well, that's your problem, Field Medic, sir – you're the senior officer here.
Tangorn's statement was short: "I'm twice in your debt, Haladdin. Therefore, if the third sword of Gondor can help your mission in any way, it is at your service. However, the Sergeant is right – infiltrating Lórien directly is suicide, we'll have no chance. We need some sort of a ruse; as I understand it, that's your business."
That's how it came to pass that he went to sleep that night a leader of a company of three, with the other two (accomplished military professionals, unlike him) looking to him for a tangible task – something, alas, which he did not have for them.
Haladdin spent the next day sitting by the stream; he noticed that his comrades were gently relieving him of all housekeeping duties ("Your job now is to think"), and realized to his acute displeasure that he was incapable of thinking to order. The sergeant had told him a few things about Lórien (the