The Price Of Immortality
A month passed, and the number of victims was only increasing.
Beregond was now at his wits’ end. One night, he had placed several teams in certain key sections of the sewer maze in the hopes that the murderer would be ambushed, but that resulted in two of the soldiers ending up dead; murdered when they were out of their comrades’ sight. The only thing that Beregond could make out of this dual homicide was that one of the soldiers had only half-drawn his sword, whereas the other had never even reached for his weapon.
That, however, led Beregond to an important deduction. The murdered soldiers were no fools and they knew how to be on their guard. However, the murderer still managed to approach them closely enough and so kill them. The knife was in the soldier’s throats before they had the chance to draw their swords.
That meant the soldiers allowed the murderer to approach them. Allowed him, because they didn’t feel threatened - because they knew him.
That, in consequence, proved once more that the culprit was someone of Faramir’s household.
The question was… who? Beregond tried to locate everyone who seemed to be acquainted with both soldiers in the hopes of narrowing down the list of potential murderers, yet the list was still long. So he tried to narrow it down again by taking out the people who were confirmed they couldn’t read or write. And when that list proved long again, he took out all the names of the people who hadn’t previously worked in the library of Minas Tirith – anyone who couldn’t have possibly seen the circle of the dark sorcery.
Only Lady …owyn was excluded this time. He himself, Dûrinas, all the captains and some of the soldiers, as well as a significant number of servants, were among the suspects. And when he tried to narrow the list down to those people who had no alibis that night, he reached to a dead end. Everyone had one, and he couldn’t possibly tell who was the one lying.
And so, all that Beregond could do now was wait for two things: either the murderer to make a mistake that would cost him his identity, or Faramir’s return in the hopes of finding any further evidence.
Troubled sleep had already claimed the captain when the sound of a knock on the door stirred him to wakefulness. Opening his eyes with a sigh, he forced himself to get up. He gripped his sword so he would be prepared to fight, if need be; then opened the door slightly.
He almost jumped when he saw a cloak-covered man standing by the door, but then the newcomer’s eyes locked on his. Beregond felt his heart missing a beat.
“Faramir…”
“Shh… Not here,” Faramir said at once, a finger placed over his lips to signify the need for silence. He quickly stepped inside Beregond’s room, pulling the hood down and veritably collapsing on one of the captain’s chairs.
Beregond gasped as he caught a good glimpse of his friend’s face under the candlelight. Faramir looked awfully pale, as though he hadn’t slept in a long time. Not only that, but he noticed that slight wincing expression on Faramir’s face as the prince sat down.
“How hard were you riding to get here?!” Beregond asked, taken aback.
“It is of no importance,” Faramir answered. His voice came out raspy and croaked, hardly the powerful timbre that Beregond was used to.
“I will fetch you some water,” the captain declared, but he only managed to take two steps before Faramir grabbed him by his arm.
“Leave it! This cannot wait!”
Beregond stared at Faramir for many long moments, trying to decide whether his friend was maddened by weariness. However, it quickly dawned on him that this wasn’t so. His eyes widened, and he sat down, facing the other man.
“Did you discover what that circle was?” he asked anxiously.
Faramir nodded. “And now I realise why Gandalf would not let me know of it. The evil behind it is powerful and old, and I still feel tainted after reading about it.”
Beregond swallowed hard, mentally shuddering at his friend’s words. “What is that circle?”
Faramir didn’t answer at once. He leaned forward, as though afraid that the very walls would try to listen to his revelation.
“Beregond… what do you remember about Númenor?”
The captain blinked his surprise, unsure what to make of that question. “Only the stories my father would say about it. How it was blessed by the Valar and how it was finally destroyed because of Sauron’s corruption. But how is this related to the circle?”
“Do you not remember?”
Beregond sat back, his mind going back into the time that his father told him about Númenor in an attempt to understand what his friend was telling him.
And then, it finally dawned on him.
“A temple with a circle at its base, where Sauron resided and the corrupt Númenóreans worshipped him… this is the same circle?” he said, his voice no more than a soft murmur. He found it difficult to utter such a despicable possibility.
Faramir nodded. “And there is more to it.” He reached for the inner part of his shirt, where there was the piece of paper with the circle on it. “The corrupt Númenóreans worshipped Sauron by making sacrifices on his behalf. They would place the victims in the centre of that circle, slit their throats and let their blood flow out, all the while praying to Sauron to offer them immortality.”
“Slit their throats? Just like…?”
Faramir nodded again.
Beregond felt the blood drained from his cheeks. “So what you are suggesting is that someone recalled that ritual, and now he is using it to gain immortality for himself.”
“Yes.”
“But, Faramir… The Imperishable Flame, the very life within our bodies, can only be granted by Eru. Sauron could never offer that kind of gift, much less now that he’s gone to the Void.”
“And yet that circle offered precisely that.”
“What are saying?”
“Is it not obvious?” Faramir said. “Of course the forces of darkness could never create life. But they could easily take the life of others and distort it for their own means.”
“You mean the way Orcs used to be Elves once that the Dark Lord tortured and mutilated?” Beregond asked.
“Yes.” Faramir held up the piece of paper and pointed at the circle. “This is the product of such sorcery; a medium to obtain what they cannot create.”
“Is that even possible?” Beregond wondered.
“According to the book I read, it is,” Faramir answered. “Our blood contains part of the Imperishable Flame. If it was spilt in that circle, the circle had the power to absorb the Flame and keep it there, ready to be used by someone who knew how to unlock that power.”
“Someone like Sauron,” the captain said. “That is why he insisted on those sacrifices. He wanted the Imperishable Flame for himself.”
“Precisely. And now the murderer is after that very same thing. He hopes that, if he obtains enough of the Flame he can wield it and use it onto himself, thus becoming immortal.”
That proved too much for the captain, who rested his head against his hands in an attempt to take in everything Faramir told him.
“Valar, save us…” He locked his gaze on Faramir again. “Could the librarian tell you who consulted those papers last?”
Faramir shook his head. “There is a new one now, replaced after the previous one died a year ago. He couldn’t possibly tell me anything. However,” he continued on, “that circle must be somewhere within the city. If we find it, we might be able to find the murderer as well.”
“And I think I have a pretty good idea where it is.” And with that, Beregond told his friend of everything that he had come across in the last month, as well as his conclusions and suspicions.
“So it is someone within the fortress?” Faramir finally said, once Beregond had finished his narrative.
“It has to be,” Beregond answered. “Everything is pointing to that direction.”
“Even though they all claim to have alibis?”
Beregond nodded. Faramir sighed and closed his eyes, a rueful expression settling on his tired features.
“They say I can read the hearts of men, yet I always seem to be proven blind! First my father and now…”
But Beregond didn’t let him continue. He clasped his friend’s shoulders with both hands, making him look into his eyes. “Stop it. You do remember what Gandalf said, do you not? Evil always has a way of concealing itself from the eyes of the righteous. That is what happened now, but no more.”
Faramir didn’t speak for many moments. However, Beregond’s words must have registered within the prince’s mind, because he lifted a hand to pat his friend on the shoulder. “You are right. Forgive my glum disposition.”
“You are simply tired,” Beregond assured him. “You should have some rest.”
“No one knows I am here. I have used the secret passages to come and confide in you before we do anything else. And, besides, I have had worse, my friend.”
“Perhaps, but even the great descendants of Húrin need to strengthen themselves,” the captain answered with a teasing chuckle, standing up. “Come on, I will prepare Bergil’s bed for you.”
It was then that Beregond stopped in his tracks, his heart missing a beat as a terrible realisation dawned on him. And when he heard a sudden gasp and turned to see a stunned expression on Faramir’s face, it was evident that the same thought had occurred to his friend as well.
“The bloodline…” they both breathed out.
They had just found out the connection between the victims. And as they realised that, they both left Beregond’s quarters and walked hurriedly down the hallway.
“It is all clear now,” Faramir said. “He chose the people whose Imperishable Flame was stronger within them; those whose Elven blood was not completely spent in their veins. It provided him far more quickly the power he was in need of.”
“It certainly appears to be so,” Beregond seconded. “What I do not understand is why did he not come after you?”
Faramir shrugged. “For a number of reasons. For one, I was well-guarded. Moreover, if he had attempted anything against my person and succeeded, he knew that he could never get away with murdering me – you would have made certain of that. And, I want to believe that he is not all corrupt. There is probably some twisted sense of loyalty which prevents him from harming me.”
“His corruption shows where his loyalties truly lie,” Beregond said grimly.
“And now it is time to put an end to it,” Faramir answered, and knocked on Dûrinas’s door. When there was no answer, Faramir knocked on it again. Finally, at the third time, the old man opened the door, eyes widened at seeing who it was before him.
“My Lord? When did you come back to Emyn Arnen?” he exclaimed.
“Surprised?” Faramir said in a dark manner to which Beregond wasn’t accustomed. “May the captain and I enter? I have some news to share with you.”
“Of course,” the old man said, stepping aside, beckoning the two men inside with a motion of his hand. He closed the door as soon as the prince and the captain stepped in. His expression masterfully concealing any emotion, he knitted his bony fingers together. “May I ask what the news is?”
“As you very well know,” Faramir started, “I set off for Minas Tirith more than a month ago in the hopes of finding any useful information concerning a symbol of dark sorcery which one of the victims kept safe within his mouth until his death.” Beregond caught sight of a small motion of Faramir’s eyes and he understood had he had to do. He took two steps closer to the door.
If Dûrinas registered that movement, he certainly didn’t show it as he asked in a quite natural tone: “And what did you find?”
“That it is a symbol of history. It was used by the Númenóreans of old in sacrifices in order to honour their new lord, Sauron,” Faramir said. “The very evil that filled Men’s heart with fear and despair at the prospect of death and so had them come up with all sorts of means and tricks to prolong their life. Even steal their comrades’ life-force, if need be.”
Dûrinas didn’t speak.
“And that was what finally made me realise the connection between the victims. They were all direct descendants of those Númenóreans who survived the destruction of their homeland. Their blood did not match an immortal Elf’s, of course. But there was enough life-force within them that they easily qualified as the next best choice.”
Here it comes, Beregond thought, his hand resting on his sword.
“Of course, locating those descendants could prove challenging for one who did not know of the bloodlines. Gondor and Ithilien are vast lands, after all, and many people reside within them. However, this task would be easier if that someone registered all the newborns and kept a track of their family tree for archive purposes – because he was already assigned to such a duty by their lord.”
Dûrinas still remained silent; yet it was only too clear what was going through his mind. Faramir stepped close to the old man, locking his gaze on the wrinkled face.
“Why, Dûrinas?”
“I did not want to die. Should there be any other reason?” The answer was quiet, but without a trace of regret. “If you can, it is difficult not to try.”
“At the expense of others?!” Faramir cried, revulsion in his every word.
“Even at the expense of others,” Dûrinas replied. “Do not misjudge me, I did not take pleasure in killing them, but it was necessary. Once I had enough, I would stop and this matter would be forgotten.
“But then you found the circle, and I couldn’t dissuade you from searching for it. All I could do was hurry up and finish this before I was discovered.” He suddenly faced Beregond, sparks of hatred within his grey depths. “And then you discovered my means of moving about without being missed and placed the guards in the sewers, making things even more tasking.”
“Should I apologise?” Beregond asked sarcastically, raising an eyebrow.
“No,” Dûrinas said in a sneering tone. “I just wanted to say that, even so, I am just one step away from my goal. And I will not allow my plans to fall apart now.”
Suddenly, Dûrinas let two strange balls slip from his long, loose sleeves and fall on the floor with a cracking sound. Smoke filled the entire room, blinding Faramir and Beregond, and, by the time the smoke was dissolved, Dûrinas was gone.
Both men cursed loudly as they realised they had been tricked.
“I’ll raise the alarm. He won’t be able to go too far away.” Beregond said. He immediately went to one of the windows and raised a candle three times. Once he got a similar signal from one of the guard posts nearby in response, he knew Damrod would be notified at once. That system had been perfected long ago. But when he turned around, he saw that Faramir was frowning, his eyes reflecting his dismay. “What is it?”
“He is just one step away from his goal…” And with that, he pointed at a small table nearby, where a piece of paper was left forgotten. A piece of paper with a list of names on it; the victims’ names, now crossed out.
Crossed out except for two. And when Beregond read them, he rushed out of the room as though Sauron himself was after him.
Because one was his name and the other was Bergil’s.
When Beregond arrived at the barracks, he was horrified to see that his worst fears had come true. Captain Damrod was already there and his news was ill indeed. The door to Bergil’s quarters was ajar, whereas the room itself looked as though the boy had put up quite the fight before he was taken away. Feeling as though drowning in the sea of emotions that washed through him, Beregond nevertheless still managed to think clearly enough. He ordered Damrod to contact Lady …owyn at once, and he ran back to his own room, soon to be joined there by Faramir.
“What are you doing?” the prince asked, eyes widened.
Beregond grabbed the map that was still on his bed, and frantically started scanning it with his eyes. “After my venture underground, I tried to locate the room that was behind that dead end I reached. I circled the area on the map, but since there were several rooms, I could not determine the exact place for certain. That is, until now.”
“What made the difference?”
“Dûrinas. Whenever I asked him about his whereabouts at the time of the murders, he answered that he was at the library. That means…”
It was then that he found what he had been looking for. Without missing a beat, he ran out of the room again, this time with Faramir close at his heels, hoping that he wouldn’t be too late.
Little did Beregond know that he was running to his death, and to the most unlikely destiny imaginable.
TBC…
Beregond was now at his wits’ end. One night, he had placed several teams in certain key sections of the sewer maze in the hopes that the murderer would be ambushed, but that resulted in two of the soldiers ending up dead; murdered when they were out of their comrades’ sight. The only thing that Beregond could make out of this dual homicide was that one of the soldiers had only half-drawn his sword, whereas the other had never even reached for his weapon.
That, however, led Beregond to an important deduction. The murdered soldiers were no fools and they knew how to be on their guard. However, the murderer still managed to approach them closely enough and so kill them. The knife was in the soldier’s throats before they had the chance to draw their swords.
That meant the soldiers allowed the murderer to approach them. Allowed him, because they didn’t feel threatened - because they knew him.
That, in consequence, proved once more that the culprit was someone of Faramir’s household.
The question was… who? Beregond tried to locate everyone who seemed to be acquainted with both soldiers in the hopes of narrowing down the list of potential murderers, yet the list was still long. So he tried to narrow it down again by taking out the people who were confirmed they couldn’t read or write. And when that list proved long again, he took out all the names of the people who hadn’t previously worked in the library of Minas Tirith – anyone who couldn’t have possibly seen the circle of the dark sorcery.
Only Lady …owyn was excluded this time. He himself, Dûrinas, all the captains and some of the soldiers, as well as a significant number of servants, were among the suspects. And when he tried to narrow the list down to those people who had no alibis that night, he reached to a dead end. Everyone had one, and he couldn’t possibly tell who was the one lying.
And so, all that Beregond could do now was wait for two things: either the murderer to make a mistake that would cost him his identity, or Faramir’s return in the hopes of finding any further evidence.
Troubled sleep had already claimed the captain when the sound of a knock on the door stirred him to wakefulness. Opening his eyes with a sigh, he forced himself to get up. He gripped his sword so he would be prepared to fight, if need be; then opened the door slightly.
He almost jumped when he saw a cloak-covered man standing by the door, but then the newcomer’s eyes locked on his. Beregond felt his heart missing a beat.
“Faramir…”
“Shh… Not here,” Faramir said at once, a finger placed over his lips to signify the need for silence. He quickly stepped inside Beregond’s room, pulling the hood down and veritably collapsing on one of the captain’s chairs.
Beregond gasped as he caught a good glimpse of his friend’s face under the candlelight. Faramir looked awfully pale, as though he hadn’t slept in a long time. Not only that, but he noticed that slight wincing expression on Faramir’s face as the prince sat down.
“How hard were you riding to get here?!” Beregond asked, taken aback.
“It is of no importance,” Faramir answered. His voice came out raspy and croaked, hardly the powerful timbre that Beregond was used to.
“I will fetch you some water,” the captain declared, but he only managed to take two steps before Faramir grabbed him by his arm.
“Leave it! This cannot wait!”
Beregond stared at Faramir for many long moments, trying to decide whether his friend was maddened by weariness. However, it quickly dawned on him that this wasn’t so. His eyes widened, and he sat down, facing the other man.
“Did you discover what that circle was?” he asked anxiously.
Faramir nodded. “And now I realise why Gandalf would not let me know of it. The evil behind it is powerful and old, and I still feel tainted after reading about it.”
Beregond swallowed hard, mentally shuddering at his friend’s words. “What is that circle?”
Faramir didn’t answer at once. He leaned forward, as though afraid that the very walls would try to listen to his revelation.
“Beregond… what do you remember about Númenor?”
The captain blinked his surprise, unsure what to make of that question. “Only the stories my father would say about it. How it was blessed by the Valar and how it was finally destroyed because of Sauron’s corruption. But how is this related to the circle?”
“Do you not remember?”
Beregond sat back, his mind going back into the time that his father told him about Númenor in an attempt to understand what his friend was telling him.
And then, it finally dawned on him.
“A temple with a circle at its base, where Sauron resided and the corrupt Númenóreans worshipped him… this is the same circle?” he said, his voice no more than a soft murmur. He found it difficult to utter such a despicable possibility.
Faramir nodded. “And there is more to it.” He reached for the inner part of his shirt, where there was the piece of paper with the circle on it. “The corrupt Númenóreans worshipped Sauron by making sacrifices on his behalf. They would place the victims in the centre of that circle, slit their throats and let their blood flow out, all the while praying to Sauron to offer them immortality.”
“Slit their throats? Just like…?”
Faramir nodded again.
Beregond felt the blood drained from his cheeks. “So what you are suggesting is that someone recalled that ritual, and now he is using it to gain immortality for himself.”
“Yes.”
“But, Faramir… The Imperishable Flame, the very life within our bodies, can only be granted by Eru. Sauron could never offer that kind of gift, much less now that he’s gone to the Void.”
“And yet that circle offered precisely that.”
“What are saying?”
“Is it not obvious?” Faramir said. “Of course the forces of darkness could never create life. But they could easily take the life of others and distort it for their own means.”
“You mean the way Orcs used to be Elves once that the Dark Lord tortured and mutilated?” Beregond asked.
“Yes.” Faramir held up the piece of paper and pointed at the circle. “This is the product of such sorcery; a medium to obtain what they cannot create.”
“Is that even possible?” Beregond wondered.
“According to the book I read, it is,” Faramir answered. “Our blood contains part of the Imperishable Flame. If it was spilt in that circle, the circle had the power to absorb the Flame and keep it there, ready to be used by someone who knew how to unlock that power.”
“Someone like Sauron,” the captain said. “That is why he insisted on those sacrifices. He wanted the Imperishable Flame for himself.”
“Precisely. And now the murderer is after that very same thing. He hopes that, if he obtains enough of the Flame he can wield it and use it onto himself, thus becoming immortal.”
That proved too much for the captain, who rested his head against his hands in an attempt to take in everything Faramir told him.
“Valar, save us…” He locked his gaze on Faramir again. “Could the librarian tell you who consulted those papers last?”
Faramir shook his head. “There is a new one now, replaced after the previous one died a year ago. He couldn’t possibly tell me anything. However,” he continued on, “that circle must be somewhere within the city. If we find it, we might be able to find the murderer as well.”
“And I think I have a pretty good idea where it is.” And with that, Beregond told his friend of everything that he had come across in the last month, as well as his conclusions and suspicions.
“So it is someone within the fortress?” Faramir finally said, once Beregond had finished his narrative.
“It has to be,” Beregond answered. “Everything is pointing to that direction.”
“Even though they all claim to have alibis?”
Beregond nodded. Faramir sighed and closed his eyes, a rueful expression settling on his tired features.
“They say I can read the hearts of men, yet I always seem to be proven blind! First my father and now…”
But Beregond didn’t let him continue. He clasped his friend’s shoulders with both hands, making him look into his eyes. “Stop it. You do remember what Gandalf said, do you not? Evil always has a way of concealing itself from the eyes of the righteous. That is what happened now, but no more.”
Faramir didn’t speak for many moments. However, Beregond’s words must have registered within the prince’s mind, because he lifted a hand to pat his friend on the shoulder. “You are right. Forgive my glum disposition.”
“You are simply tired,” Beregond assured him. “You should have some rest.”
“No one knows I am here. I have used the secret passages to come and confide in you before we do anything else. And, besides, I have had worse, my friend.”
“Perhaps, but even the great descendants of Húrin need to strengthen themselves,” the captain answered with a teasing chuckle, standing up. “Come on, I will prepare Bergil’s bed for you.”
It was then that Beregond stopped in his tracks, his heart missing a beat as a terrible realisation dawned on him. And when he heard a sudden gasp and turned to see a stunned expression on Faramir’s face, it was evident that the same thought had occurred to his friend as well.
“The bloodline…” they both breathed out.
They had just found out the connection between the victims. And as they realised that, they both left Beregond’s quarters and walked hurriedly down the hallway.
“It is all clear now,” Faramir said. “He chose the people whose Imperishable Flame was stronger within them; those whose Elven blood was not completely spent in their veins. It provided him far more quickly the power he was in need of.”
“It certainly appears to be so,” Beregond seconded. “What I do not understand is why did he not come after you?”
Faramir shrugged. “For a number of reasons. For one, I was well-guarded. Moreover, if he had attempted anything against my person and succeeded, he knew that he could never get away with murdering me – you would have made certain of that. And, I want to believe that he is not all corrupt. There is probably some twisted sense of loyalty which prevents him from harming me.”
“His corruption shows where his loyalties truly lie,” Beregond said grimly.
“And now it is time to put an end to it,” Faramir answered, and knocked on Dûrinas’s door. When there was no answer, Faramir knocked on it again. Finally, at the third time, the old man opened the door, eyes widened at seeing who it was before him.
“My Lord? When did you come back to Emyn Arnen?” he exclaimed.
“Surprised?” Faramir said in a dark manner to which Beregond wasn’t accustomed. “May the captain and I enter? I have some news to share with you.”
“Of course,” the old man said, stepping aside, beckoning the two men inside with a motion of his hand. He closed the door as soon as the prince and the captain stepped in. His expression masterfully concealing any emotion, he knitted his bony fingers together. “May I ask what the news is?”
“As you very well know,” Faramir started, “I set off for Minas Tirith more than a month ago in the hopes of finding any useful information concerning a symbol of dark sorcery which one of the victims kept safe within his mouth until his death.” Beregond caught sight of a small motion of Faramir’s eyes and he understood had he had to do. He took two steps closer to the door.
If Dûrinas registered that movement, he certainly didn’t show it as he asked in a quite natural tone: “And what did you find?”
“That it is a symbol of history. It was used by the Númenóreans of old in sacrifices in order to honour their new lord, Sauron,” Faramir said. “The very evil that filled Men’s heart with fear and despair at the prospect of death and so had them come up with all sorts of means and tricks to prolong their life. Even steal their comrades’ life-force, if need be.”
Dûrinas didn’t speak.
“And that was what finally made me realise the connection between the victims. They were all direct descendants of those Númenóreans who survived the destruction of their homeland. Their blood did not match an immortal Elf’s, of course. But there was enough life-force within them that they easily qualified as the next best choice.”
Here it comes, Beregond thought, his hand resting on his sword.
“Of course, locating those descendants could prove challenging for one who did not know of the bloodlines. Gondor and Ithilien are vast lands, after all, and many people reside within them. However, this task would be easier if that someone registered all the newborns and kept a track of their family tree for archive purposes – because he was already assigned to such a duty by their lord.”
Dûrinas still remained silent; yet it was only too clear what was going through his mind. Faramir stepped close to the old man, locking his gaze on the wrinkled face.
“Why, Dûrinas?”
“I did not want to die. Should there be any other reason?” The answer was quiet, but without a trace of regret. “If you can, it is difficult not to try.”
“At the expense of others?!” Faramir cried, revulsion in his every word.
“Even at the expense of others,” Dûrinas replied. “Do not misjudge me, I did not take pleasure in killing them, but it was necessary. Once I had enough, I would stop and this matter would be forgotten.
“But then you found the circle, and I couldn’t dissuade you from searching for it. All I could do was hurry up and finish this before I was discovered.” He suddenly faced Beregond, sparks of hatred within his grey depths. “And then you discovered my means of moving about without being missed and placed the guards in the sewers, making things even more tasking.”
“Should I apologise?” Beregond asked sarcastically, raising an eyebrow.
“No,” Dûrinas said in a sneering tone. “I just wanted to say that, even so, I am just one step away from my goal. And I will not allow my plans to fall apart now.”
Suddenly, Dûrinas let two strange balls slip from his long, loose sleeves and fall on the floor with a cracking sound. Smoke filled the entire room, blinding Faramir and Beregond, and, by the time the smoke was dissolved, Dûrinas was gone.
Both men cursed loudly as they realised they had been tricked.
“I’ll raise the alarm. He won’t be able to go too far away.” Beregond said. He immediately went to one of the windows and raised a candle three times. Once he got a similar signal from one of the guard posts nearby in response, he knew Damrod would be notified at once. That system had been perfected long ago. But when he turned around, he saw that Faramir was frowning, his eyes reflecting his dismay. “What is it?”
“He is just one step away from his goal…” And with that, he pointed at a small table nearby, where a piece of paper was left forgotten. A piece of paper with a list of names on it; the victims’ names, now crossed out.
Crossed out except for two. And when Beregond read them, he rushed out of the room as though Sauron himself was after him.
Because one was his name and the other was Bergil’s.
When Beregond arrived at the barracks, he was horrified to see that his worst fears had come true. Captain Damrod was already there and his news was ill indeed. The door to Bergil’s quarters was ajar, whereas the room itself looked as though the boy had put up quite the fight before he was taken away. Feeling as though drowning in the sea of emotions that washed through him, Beregond nevertheless still managed to think clearly enough. He ordered Damrod to contact Lady …owyn at once, and he ran back to his own room, soon to be joined there by Faramir.
“What are you doing?” the prince asked, eyes widened.
Beregond grabbed the map that was still on his bed, and frantically started scanning it with his eyes. “After my venture underground, I tried to locate the room that was behind that dead end I reached. I circled the area on the map, but since there were several rooms, I could not determine the exact place for certain. That is, until now.”
“What made the difference?”
“Dûrinas. Whenever I asked him about his whereabouts at the time of the murders, he answered that he was at the library. That means…”
It was then that he found what he had been looking for. Without missing a beat, he ran out of the room again, this time with Faramir close at his heels, hoping that he wouldn’t be too late.
Little did Beregond know that he was running to his death, and to the most unlikely destiny imaginable.
TBC…
Subtitles
- Brother's Debt
- Fullmetal Body, Fullmetal Heart
- A Quiet Day
- In The Night
- Two Men's Faces
- Transfer
- Making Plans
- Shadows Of The Past
- Underworld
- The Price Of Immortality
- Departure
- The Key
- Enemy Revealed
- A Step Back
- A Step Closer To The Truth
- A Race
- Rush Valley
- Responsibility
- Izumi
- Time To Stand Still
- Wild Child
- Encounter
- Riddles In The Dark
- In Search For Answers
- A Teacher's Mistakes
- Complications
- Visits
- The Nature Of A Homunculus
- Dante Of The Deep Forest
- Kidnapped
- Fight At The Devil's Nest
- Innocence Lost
- Blood Spilt
- Recovering
- Bearers Of Ill News
- The Flame Alchemist
- True Colours
- Markings On The Ground
- The Mission
- Heading To Liore
- Change Of Plans
- The Scar
- Holy Mother
- A Mother's Face
- Final Moments