The
Witch of Angmar
Legacy
of the Fellowship
Part
Fourteen
Azil the Goblin
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R
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ose
and Peri stared back at Salrean, in wordless horror.
Sting
glowed blue; the light illuminating the dark forest in which they stood. Even
more shocking, Salrean had just told them that she knew their stalker’s name.
It was Rose who recovered her wits to speak
first.
“Who is it?”
“Do you remember, on the first night we
met, I told you of how I discovered Morwyn of Angmar’s plan to steal the Red
Book?” Salrean asked, unsheathing her sword and casting a penetrating gaze
around the forest glade.
Both Rose and Peri shook their heads.
“Remember,
I told you of Azil. The goblin we captured in these woods?”
Rose stared back wide-eyed at Salrean,
suddenly remembering the tale.
“The goblin that deserted the Goblin King?”
Salrean nodded.
“That’s right,” Rose continued. “You beat
him till he told you all he knew.”
Salrean shook her head, her mouth
compressing. “You make me sound cruel and unreasonable. Yet, if there had been
another way to make Azil talk, we would have taken it. Even with some
‘persuasion’, Azil spoke mostly inane babble. However, before he escaped we did
manage to extract some details, including the news that Morwyn’s ambitions were
greater than we feared. It was from Azil that we learnt of her hatred and fear
of hobbits; of her plans to destroy the Shire before taking the north of Middle
Earth for her own.”
“And you think it’s Azil who is following
us?” Peri asked, drawing the short sword he had been gifted in Farnost.
“I can’t be completely sure, till I see
him,” Salrean replied, “but I’d say it is. I’d thought Azil would have left
this desolate place after escaping us – but thinking about it, after the deep,
dark of Moria, the Black Woods probably make a somewhat pleasant home. I suspect
he’s still here.”
“So what should we do?” Rose asked.
“Watch your backs,” Salrean replied, her
expression hardening. “Azil is a vicious and cunning creature. He will not stay
in the shadows long.”
***
A still, damp night settled over the Black
Woods. Not a breath of wind feathered the faces of the two sleeping hobbits,
curled up by the smouldering fire; or stirred the hair of the woman, who had
fallen asleep while taking her watch.
Salrean sat, slumped, swaying slightly as
sleep dragged her down into its embrace. Occasionally, she would jerk awake,
and rub her eyes in an effort to stay alert. A short while later, fatigue would
best her once more.
They sat at the edge of a small glade,
surrounded by moss-covered, rotting logs. The travellers’ packs lay, half
over-shadowed by the boughs of the nearby trees, at the far end of the
campsite.
Nearby, in the deep shadows, something
moved.
The woman by the fire did not appear to
notice the small, wiry figure that slipped from tree to tree, gradually drawing
close to the camp. Salrean seemed to pay little heed to her surroundings, as
she waged war with sleep. Meanwhile, the shadow moved carefully, cautiously –
ever closer to the glow of firelight in the dark woods.
A pair of large, pale eyes shifted from the
immobile forms of the sleeping hobbits, to the slumped figure of the dozing
female. Then, the eyes, bright with greed, fastened on the packs that had been
dumped on the edge of the campsite.
Had
the travellers not given a thought to who might carry them off during the night?
The prowler grinned in the darkness,
revealing a mouth of small, sharp teeth. Despite that he recognised the woman,
and feared her; and the fact that he had never before set eyes on a hobbit and
was nervous of them, the creature longed for the contents of those three packs.
There would be food – lots of it most probably – weapons and clothing. Winter
was long and cruel this far north, and even though it was only early autumn,
the nights were starting to get uncomfortable. These packs would contain
blankets and tools which would make an exile’s life much easier here in the
Black Woods.
With any luck, and with the light touch
that had ensured his survival out here in the wild till now, the shadow would
be able to lift those three packs without being noticed, and slip away into the
darkness without being seen.
The grin widened and the creature’s breath
hissed gently between bared teeth. He reached the edge of the shadows under the
boughs of the ancient trees, and tentatively reached out a thin, sinewy,
knobbly-jointed arm. The skin was an unhealthy yellow in the flickering
firelight.
The spidery hand stretched towards the
first pack; reaching out of the night with silent intent.
Suddenly, the darkness exploded in a flurry
of movement that sent the thief reeling backwards with a squeal of fright. Too
late. The shadow tried to scurry away, but not before two small, but compact
and strong, hobbit bodies landed on top of its wriggling form – pinning him
flat to the damp earth.
Then, a woman’s voice, quiet but laced with
triumph, spoke above him.
“Hello, Azil.”
***
The flames flickered, illuminating the
faces of the four figures around the small campfire. Two hobbits, one woman;
and the gaunt, frightened face of one, small goblin.
They had bound their captive, from hand to
foot, with rope. This time, Salrean was determined that he would not slip free
during the night.
Seeing the gazes of the three individuals
fixed upon him, the goblin snarled.
“Never seen a goblin before halflings?” he
hissed. His eyes had narrowed into slits as he stared back at Peri without
blinking.
“Unfortunately, I’ve seen enough of your
kind in the past weeks to last me a life time,” Peri snarled back. “They’re
usually rushing at me with the intent of sticking a blade in my belly.”
In response, the goblin’s snarl grew wider;
as if confirming Peri’s claim.
“Enough Azil,” Salrean spoke up. “Spitting
like a cat won’t help you. Frankly, I’m surprised you let us catch you so
easily. It was an old trick, and you fell for it.”
“Months in this nasty wood,” Azil hissed
once more. “Cold, hungry and lonely – you too would take such a chance if it
presented itself.”
Salrean shook her head. “I would stay clear
of someone I knew to be dangerous. Now, I have you again, I have no intention
of letting you free.”
Azil’s defiance suddenly melted. He stared
back at Salrean with huge eyes; appearing so vulnerable and frightened that
Rose felt a stab of compassion. Anyone could see he had suffered. He was like a
beaten dog, turned vicious after years of abuse. Rose knew he was a goblin, and
therefore never to be trusted, but she pitied him all the same. Beside her,
Peri continued to regard their captive only with distaste.
“Where will you take me?” Azil asked, his
voice quavering. “Back to Farnost?”
Salrean shook her head. “We are not
travelling in that direction.”
Azil frowned, not understanding.
“North,” Salrean continued. “We go to Carn
Dûm, and you are coming with us.”
The goblin’s face crumpled, and for a
moment Rose feared that he would start weeping.
“No,” he whimpered. “It’s madness. Don’t
take me there – anywhere but there. If you want to go to that sorceress, and
kneel before her, that’s your business. I want nothing to do with the Witch of
Angmar. Leave me behind, I beg you.”
Salrean shook her head, her face hard.
“Once we leave the Black Woods behind, our journey becomes more dangerous. The
landscape is rugged but exposed. You know it much better than me. You will lead
us to Carn Dûm.”
“You are mad!” Azil wailed, looking around
at them hopelessly. His huge eyes shone with unshed tears. “What do you want
there?”
“Morwyn has an item of great value, stolen
from the hobbits,” Salrean replied as she put another log on the fire. The
flames guttered slightly before igniting the wood. “We want it back. I plan to
slay Morwyn of Angmar before we leave Carn Dûm.”
Azil stared back at her in horror. “You
truly are mad,” he whispered. “One woman and two halflings travelling through a
land covered with armies of hill-men and goblins. Unless you can sprout wings
and fly, you won’t live long enough to reach Morwyn.”
“We know of a secret way into Carn Dûm,”
Salrean replied coldly, “although that doesn’t concern you. What does, is the
terrain between the northern edge of these woods and the mountains. Unless you
want to come to a painful end, here in these depressing woods, I suggest you do
as you’re told.”
“Never!” Azil shrieked, shaking his head
vigorously. “Do what you want, I’m never going back there. Never!”
“Azil,” Salrean’s voice was a low growl.
“I’m not fond of torture, but you remember what we had to do to you last time?
If you don’t cooperate, I promise you it will be much worse.”
“I care not!” Azil shouted at her. Tears
now coursed down his thin cheeks. “Kill me if you have to but I will not return
to that witch. My master is at her side. My fate in his hands will be far worse
than anything you could do to me.”
“Very well,” Salrean’s face was grim and
fierce. Rose had never seen the ranger look so forbidding. At that moment, even
she feared her. She watched as Salrean removed a small knife from the sheath
that hung on her belt. “You leave me no choice.”
The ranger got to her feet in one fluid
movement and stepped around the fire towards Azil.
The goblin shrieked and cringed away from
her.
“Stop!” Rose jumped to her feet and blocked
Salrean from advancing further. “Don’t hurt him!”
“Rose!” Peri tried to pull her back, but
she shrugged him off and stood firm.
“If you hurt him, you make us just like all
those ready to march south and destroy any who get in their way. He has done
nothing to us. Leave him be!”
“Your soft heart does you credit, Rose,”
Salrean replied, shaking her head, “but here, in the wild north it will get you
killed. This creature would have robbed you and then slit your throat in your
sleep without compunction. Do not be fooled by his tears and whining. ‘Tis all
a ruse.”
“Yet, he’s our prisoner,” Rose persisted,
not giving an inch. “And he has done us no harm. If you hurt him, I won’t go a
step further with you.”
“Rose,” Salrean’s voice dropped low in
warning. “Be careful.”
“I mean it,” Rose shook her head. “There
are other ways to gain obedience besides torture and terrorisation.”
At that point, Rose swivelled round and met
Azil’s gaze. The goblin sat, staring at her, wide-eyed, as if he was looking at
her for the first time. Like the others, he appeared stupefied by her protests.
“Azil,” Rose began, holding his gaze. “If I
give you my word that we will set you free once you have led us to Carn Dûm,
will you help us?”
Azil returned her gaze, and inclined his
head slightly as he gave her offer some thought.
“You can’t make deals with goblins,”
Salrean cut in, her voice flinty with anger. “They have no honour.”
“She-hobbit,” Azil gave a tremulous smile,
ignoring the ranger. “It seems I have little choice. I accept your offer. If
you let me free once I lead you across the hills to the witch’s fortress, I
will help you.”
Rose swivelled round and met Salrean’s gaze,
her own triumphant.
“See – there are other ways to obtain what
you want besides intimidation.”
Salrean shook her head, her face still dark
with anger. She re-sheathed her knife in one vicious movement and stepped back
to her side of the fire.
“You make a pact with a goblin, Rose
Fairbairn,” she warned, “and you pay with your own blood – and ours.”
End of Part #14
Be back for Part #15
on 10 January!
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