The Last Ring-bearer - Kirill Yeskov [56]
"So you've seen them before?" The prince felt a sudden mortal weariness – did he, in fact, misjudge this man?
"No, but they told me… Anyone who looks into his palantír sees them!"
"Don't worry, Beregond." There was relief in Faramir's voice. "This is not Denethor's palantír; that one is at Minas Tirith, and no danger to you."
"Really?" With some trepidation the captain picked up the Seeing Stone and looked into it for some time, then put it down with a sigh. "Forgive me, Prince, but I can see nothing."
"You have already seen everything you need, Beregond. You are not guilty of Denethor's death; you can sleep calmly."
"What?! What did you say?"
"You are not guilty of Denethor's death," the prince repeated. "Forgive me, but I had to trick you: this is, indeed, his palantír. It is true that blackened fingers can be seen in it, but only those who were involved in the murder of the King of Gondor see them. You saw nothing, so you're innocent. On that day your will had been paralyzed by someone's powerful magic, most likely Elvish."
"Is this true?" Beregond whispered. "Perhaps you just want to console me, and this is some other palantír…" (Please tell me it's not so!)
"Think about it – who would give me another palantír? They only gave this one back to me because they believe it to be irretrievably damaged; they can see nothing in it past Denethor's hands, which block the entire field of vision. Luckily, they don't even suspect that people innocent of the crime can still use it."
"So why did you tell me that it was another one?"
"Well, you see… you're trusting and easily influenced, Beregond, and the Elves and Mithrandir have used that. I was afraid that you'd convince yourself that you could see that picture; self-hypnosis does weirder things sometimes… But now, praise Eru, it's over."
"It's over," Beregond repeated hoarsely. He kneeled and stared at the prince with such
doglike devotion that the latter was embarrassed. "So you will let me serve you, just like before?"
"Yes, I will, but please rise immediately. Now, tell me: am I the sovereign of Ithilien to you?"
"How else, Your Highness?!"
"If so, do I have the right, while remaining a vassal of the Crown of Gondor, to replace the personal guard imposed on me by the King?"
"Certainly, but this is easier said than done. The White Company is only nominally under my command; I'm more of a quartermaster here."
"Yes, I've figured that out. Who are they, by the way – Dúnedain?"
"The soldiers are, but as for officers and sergeants – those are all from the King's Secret Guard. Nobody knows where they came from to Gondor; there're rumors –" Beregond shot a glance at the door, "that they're living dead. Nor can I figure out who their chief is."
"Well, well… in any case we should get rid of these guys, the sooner the better. So, Captain – will you take the risk by my side?"
"You have saved my honor; therefore, my life is yours with no reservations. But three against forty…"
"I think that we're way more than three." Beregond stared at the prince in amazement. "About a week ago the men from one of the forest hamlets brought a cart of smoked deer meat to the fort and got into an argument with the gate guards – those demanded that they leave their bows outside, as is their procedure. There was a black-haired guy there who made a big racket: how come noblemen can enter the Prince's residence armed, but the merry men from the Blackbird Hamlet can't? Do you remember?"
"Yes, I recall something like that; so?"
"So that guy was Baron Grager, lieutenant of the Ithilien regiment and my resident spy in Khand before the war. I'm inclined to think that he's not alone in that Blackbird Hamlet. Your task is to establish contact with Grager, then we'll play it by ear. You and I will only contact each other via a dead drop from now on – if you stand on the sixteenth step of the spiral staircase in the northern wing, there is a small crack on the left wall at elbow height, just right for a note.