The
Witch of Angmar
Legacy
of the Fellowship
Part
Twenty
Secrets and Betrayal
R
|
ose
turned to Azil, her heart still hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
“What
in the name of the Shire was that foul thing?”
“A
wight,” the goblin replied grimly. “One of the undead that feeds on the living
to stay alive.”
Rose
shuddered at these words. A wight.
She had heard that some inhabited the Barrow Downs, far to the south, but had
never thought to encounter such a being here.
“What
is a wight doing under Carn Dûm?”
Rose
sagged against the wall and attempted to catch her breath. She had a painful stitch
in her side. They had fled along a series of damp, dark tunnels, and up a
spiral staircase that seemed to go on forever. However, it had been a long while
before the enraged, pain-filled wails of the wight had faded.
“‘Tis
a gate-keeper – from the time of the Witch-king himself, I’d guess,” Azil
replied, his yellow gaze flicking around the shadowy landing, on which they
rested. “Once, that creature would have been a man.”
Azil’s
explanation chilled Rose. What a terrible existence, living in that gallery,
year after year, century after century, scavenging on rodents – and waiting...
However,
her attention could not remain on what they had just survived; instead, she had
to focus on what lay ahead.
First
though, she had someone to thank.
“You
saved my life, again, Azil,” she smiled at the goblin. “How will I ever repay
you?”
Azil
shook his head, avoiding her gaze. “I don’t want repayment,” he replied.
“Enough said, she-hobbit.”
“But
you followed me – why?”
The
goblin gave an impatient hiss, their gazes momentarily meeting. “I don’t know.”
Rose
was flummoxed by his reticence. Yet, she could see that Azil had no desire to
explain himself further so she let the matter drop.
“Whatever
the reason, I thank you,” she said gently. “I will never forget this.”
“Come,”
he replied, still avoiding her gaze. “We cannot linger here.”
The
hobbit and goblin made their way up the last set of steps and emerged into a
wide corridor. The fresh air, after many hours underground, made Rose inhale
deeply. They were now inside Carn Dûm’s keep. A chill wind ruffled Rose’s hair
and made her eyes water.
Rose’s
gaze moved around the lofty corridor, taking in the piles of rubble and the sight
of the washed-out sky through the arched windows. Judging by the light, it was
late afternoon. She had spent most of the day wandering under Carn Dûm. They
would have to be very careful now – this area of the fortress would be crawling
with guards.
They
needed to make their way to the Witch Tower – but which way was it?
“Azil,”
Rose whispered. “Do you know which way to go?”
He
nodded, his thin lips compressing. The goblin’s thin body was taut, his right
hand sitting on the hilt of his iron sword. “Follow me.”
They
turned right and made their way down a long, straight corridor.
The
pair had only walked a short distance when the rough sounds of men, and the
cackle and hiss of goblins, broke the silence. Rose and Azil halted.
Rose
looked around frantically. It sounded as if the voices were coming from behind and in front of them.
Moments
later, a company of goblins, their armour jangling noisily, rounded the corner ahead.
The goblins skidded to a stop, their goat-like eyes fastening on the two
figures standing before them. Panic flared, and Rose turned to flee in the
direction they had come. However, she came face-to-face with a company of men
wearing filthy boiled leather armour.
They
were trapped.
Rose
turned to Azil, her hand reaching for Sting’s hilt. This time, there would be
no running away. This time, they would both need to fight.
However,
Azil did not respond as she had expected. Rose had thought he too would draw
his sword. Instead, as quick as a striking adder, he leapt towards her,
pinioning her arms against her side.
“I
have her!” he cried, his thin voice high with panic. “This is the she-hobbit
our Lady seeks. Take us to Morwyn!”
Rose
writhed in Azil’s grip, astonished by the sheer strength of such a slight
creature.
“No!”
she screamed.
She
could not believe it. He had saved her life, and put his own at risk. Yet, he
had done it to win her trust – it had all been a ruse. The goblin had not
returned to help her out a sense of responsibility, or out of worry for her. He
had seen a chance to win back his king’s favour, to return from exile.
Azil
had betrayed her.
***
Peri
and Salrean watched, neither daring to utter a word, as Morwyn – the Witch of
Angmar – glided across the cavernous chamber to the stone plinth where the red
book sat. Behind her, arms folded across his broad chest, stood Targkok, the
Goblin King.
Peri
had never seen a goblin so massive. He was easily twice the height and width of
Azil, the only other goblin he had been able to study at close quarters. At
first glance, Peri had thought that Targkok was overweight, but on closer
inspection, he saw that the Goblin King was all muscle and brawn. He wore a
sleeveless chain mail vest and iron bands decorated his huge, scarred arms. A
heavy broadsword hung at his side.
Targkok
had a heavy-featured, pugnacious face, and a collection of brass rings
decorated his large, pointed ears. His bald head gleamed in the silvery light
filtering in from the thin windows that ringed the chamber. Aware that he was
being observed, Targkok’s gaze, narrow and calculating, met Peri’s.
The
hobbit swallowed nervously and looked away.
“The
Red Book,” Morwyn’s voice was once again, soft and beguiling. She had stopped
before the plinth and was running her hands – beautiful hands with long
tapering figures – over its worn leather cover. “Long have I coveted it.”
Morwyn
opened the book; the creak of its spine and the rustling of its pages was the
only sound in the deathly quiet.
“Ever
since my servant brought the book to me, I have pored over its pages,” she continued,
“I have read it all, suffered through the tale of these ridiculous hobbits and
their adventures.”
Her
mouth twisted as she uttered the last word, as if she had just tasted something
vile. Listening to the witch, Peri felt a rush of anger at her derision.
However, he wisely held his tongue.
Ignoring
the other occupants of the chamber, Morwyn opened the book near the end, her
gaze fastening upon a page.
“Often
have I read this page,” she mused. “It tells of my brother’s death – at the
hands of a woman and a hobbit nonetheless. What an irony.”
Her
gaze swivelled then, to where Peri and Salrean stood, flanked by goblins. “He
feared women, you know. That’s why he never married. Then, he took Sauron’s
ring and became his creature, and his dislike for women turned to hatred.” Her
gaze fastened upon Salrean then. The ranger stared back at Morwyn, her face
like stone. The witch’s angular face split into a smile; an expression that
chilled Peri to the core.
“He
especially loathed strong women, which is why he rid himself of me,” Morwyn
concluded, turning back to the book, her gaze resting once more on the page. “I
should have been the one to end his miserable life.”
Silence
followed her words. There was nothing for any of them, the Goblin King,
included, to say. The Witch of Angmar reeked of bitterness and rage. One wrong
word and she would turn that fury upon them.
“I
digress,” Morwyn sighed, as if realising she had an audience. “What matters
most, is that the Red Book is mine – and that I must know its secret.”
The
witch glanced over her shoulder then, her gaze snaring Peri’s.
“Pericles
Took,” she murmured his name as if they were old friends, although her eyes
were like pieces of flint. “I have read this book again and again – but cannot
find the secret I seek.”
She
then flicked back to the start of the book. “Come here, Pericles,” she ordered.
When
Peri did not move, the goblin flanking him shoved him between the shoulder
blades. Stiffly, Peri walked forward and stopped at Morwyn’s shoulder.
“Find
it for me,” she hissed, her hand fastening on his shoulder like a claw. “Look
and tell me what you see.”
Her
proximity caused Peri’s heart to race. She smelt dry and musty – with a faint
trace of iron. Her nearness made his skin prickle with alarm, and her grip on his
shoulder hurt. It took all his will not to shrink away.
“Find
me this secret,” she demanded, her voice suddenly harsh. Her fingers bit
cruelly into Peri’s flesh. “I must know it.”
The
hobbit reached out and began to leaf through the pages. The tale of Bilbo’s
journey through Mirkwood, to the Lonely Mountain, and the defeat of Smaug,
greeted him. He continued to search the book, noting the change in handwriting
as he began Frodo’s tale. When Peri reached the part where the Fellowship found
themselves lost inside the Mines of Moria, he paused and dared look up into
Morwyn’s face. Her expression was hard and hungry.
“Have
you found it?”
Peri
shook his head. “There is no secret,” he
told her, his voice trembling. “‘Tis an epic tale, nothing more.”
A
terrible silence followed his words. Finally, Morwyn replied, her voice low and
threatening. “You lie.”
“It
appears you have wasted your time.” Salrean spoke for the first time since
entering the chamber; her voice was sharp with victory. “How disappointing for
you to discover you went to so much trouble, for nothing.”
Morwyn
moved then.
She
released Peri and swivelled towards Salrean – and before anyone in the chamber
had time to inhale – the witch flung her outstretched hand at the ranger. A
column of fire erupted from her finger-tips. It shot across the wide space and
hit Salrean in the centre of the chest.
Salrean
cried out, although the sound was cut off, as the column of fire lifted her
into the air and flung her across the chamber. She hit the far wall before
crumpling like a broken doll to the ground.
Peri
stared at the ranger’s unmoving form, aghast. He moved towards her, but
Morwyn’s hand shot out, her fingers grasping his shoulder and pulling him up
short.
At
that moment, the boom of a heavy fist knocking on the door to the chamber,
interrupted them. Still gripping Peri’s shoulder, Morwyn swivelled towards the
sound, her face twisted in rage.
“Who
dares interrupt me?”
The
door swung open and Peri turned cold when he saw who stood before them.
There
in the doorway, her dirt-smudged face streaked with tears, stood Rose. Azil was
at her side, but Peri saw immediately that the goblin was not captive, for he
wielded an iron sword in one hand and gripped Rose’s arm with the other.
“Rose,”
Peri whispered, torn between joy to see her alive, and despair that she too had
been captured. His gaze then flicked to Azil.
“Traitor,”
Peri hissed at him. The goblin looked away, avoiding his accusing glare.
“Azil,”
Targkok spoke for the first time since the captives had been brought before
them. His voice was deep and powerful. “So you dare show your face before me
again.”
“Sire,”
Azil’s voice was a plaintive whine. “I apologise for deserting you, but I
brought you a prize – one that I hope will earn your forgiveness.”
The
Goblin King’s gaze narrowed. “Spineless worm,” he growled. “Do you think I am
so easily appeased?”
Targkok
was about to say more but Morwyn interrupted him.
“Rose
Fairbairn,” the witch’s gaze was riveted upon Rose’s face. “You will be of more
use to me than this dolt.” With that, she shoved Peri away, back towards the
goblin guards. She pushed him with such force that he stumbled and fell.
Ignoring him, Morwyn beckoned to Rose.
Peri
climbed to his feet, wincing at his skinned knees. He looked at Rose and saw
that she looked on the verge of fainting. Her eyes were huge on her pale face;
her body trembling.
“You
know of the Red Book’s secret, don’t you?” the witch crooned, a cruel smile
spreading across her face. “Your forebears were clever, weren’t they? They wove
the secret into the words of this book, and passed the secret down the
generations.”
Rose’s
face twisted in confusion.
“What
secret?” she stammered as behind her, the door to the chamber boomed shut.
“It’s a story book, nothing more.”
Morwyn
of Angmar shook her head, the smile still plastered to her face. However, Peri
saw the look of vicious desperation in her eyes.
“There
is a secret,” she told Rose, her voice harsh. All pretence at civility was now
gone, “and you will reveal it to me.”
End of Part #20
Be back for Part #21
on 4 April!
