The Last Ring-bearer - Kirill Yeskov [73]
This plan had some weak spots (mostly where coordinated action was concerned), but overall it was pretty good, especially considering that its primary goal was death with dignity, with escape to freedom a possible bonus. However, as already mentioned, the Orocuen was kneeling when he opened the door, so Faramir's first blow hit him in the chest and he managed to put up a block. Amazed by the prisoner's perceptiveness – just imagine recognizing an Orc under a White Company sergeant's hood! – Tzerlag somersaulted back into the corridor, but by the time he got to his feet Faramir was already out of the room and had cut off his retreat, while his improvised club was a whirl of wood that was impossible to block. When a moment later that blond wildcat slipped behind his back, the sergeant was reduced to rolling around on the floor, dodging blows and calling out in the most undignified manner: "Friendly, friendly, Prince! I'm with Grager and Tangorn! Dammit, stop already!"
Then again, Faramir had already guessed something once he noticed the sentry lying down the corridor.
"Stand up!" he growled. "Hands on the back of your head! Who are you?"
"I surrender!" The sergeant smiled and handed the prince his 'enlistment chit.' "This is a message from Grager, it explains everything. You read while I drag this guy inside, we'll need his uniform."
"Cute," the prince grunted, handing Grager's paper back to Tzerlag. "So now I count an Orocuen amongst my friends?"
"We're not friends at all, Prince," the other objected calmly, "we're allies. Baron Tangorn…"
"What?! He's alive?"
"Yes. We had saved him back in Mordor. By the way, it was he who insisted that I go rescue you. Anyway, the Baron asked that you take the palantír when we leave the fort, as we're gonna leave it now."
"What the hell do they need it for?" The prince was surprised, but no more than that. He had yielded the initiative to the Ithilienians and switched to 'take this – go there' mode. He only nodded questioningly towards the Dúnadan whose jacket Tzerlag had already liberated. "Yep, he's alive," the Orocuen confirmed, "just a little sleepy. The other one, down the corridor, is also alive. We abide by your 'no bloodshed' order very strictly." The prince only shook his head: looks like this bloke is reliable.
"You just mentioned having saved Tangorn. If so, I'm in your debt, Sergeant; that man is really dear to me."
"Whatever, we'll settle it," the other grunted. "Put on the uniform and let's go. We even have an extra sword now."
"What do you mean – 'extra'?" Éowyn finally spoke. "No way!"
The Orocuen glanced at Faramir questioningly, but the prince only opened his hands: no persuading this one. "Will we climb the stockade or try the gates?"
"Neither, Prince. The courtyard is chock-full of Whites, all in position and looking for trouble; no free pass there. We'll try the tunnel."
"The one in the wine cellar?"
"I don't know of any others. Did Beregond tell you about it?"
"Certainly. Its door opens out but is locked from the inside, so it can be neither unlocked nor broken down from the outside – as is standard for any tunnel out of a fortress. There's always a sentry at the cellar door: nothing unusual about that, wine needs guarding. Beregond didn't know where the key was and didn't dare ask directly. Have you found the key?"
"No," Tzerlag responded lightheartedly, "I'll simply pick the lock."
"How?"
"Exactly how I picked the lock to your door and a couple more on the way, and exactly how I'll have to pick the lock to the cellar. That'll be the most dangerous part, by the way: monkeying