Delioron’s eyes got gradually accustomed to the wan moonlight that was casting dim light in the room through the window. A lonely room in an unmemorable guesthouse or an inn had been Delioron’s home for more than a decade. Each room was like a mirror image of the previous. There was a bed, a nightstand, a cheap painting above the bed, a dresser and a desk made of lebethron, painted to resemble black lebethron though a fairer and cheaper brand of lebethron wood had been used in their making. Delioron’s gray eyes catalogued all the elements in the room, all the elements of his life, as he waited for the last sound he would ever hear – the sound a crossbow makes when it releases a bolt. This is exactly how a spy was supposed to die, he thought calmly: alone in a small room in a nondescript guesthouse, leagues away from his own roots and living memories, trying to solve a dirty little case nobody could understand. He was amazed at his own tranquility.
The room itself could have been vacant, so few were the signs of it’s current resident. Delioron had lived in a thousand rooms just like this one and he had learned to leave no signs of his stays behind, just like he had learned to leave no marks upon the people and places he passed by in his life’s journey. When he left in the morning and somebody came to clean up the room, it was like a ghost had lived there. Slightly wrinkled bedsheets were the only indicators that anyone had resided there at all. Delioron’s whole life could be fitted in the small, bumpy saddlebag in the back of the closet. It contained his clothes, his dagger and all the other tools of his trade.
Delioron had met Demrîng for the first time in Kravod, in King Seddîd’s court. Delioron had been Gondor’s emissary to Kravod and Demrîng had fulfilled a similar role for Sauron. In King Seddîd’s court they had worked as mirror images of each other, making their moves and countermoves, pushing around their deadly pawns and circling each other like duelers in the lethal game they both played so well.
They had been enemies back then, but they had both harbored a reluctant respect for each other. Sometimes they had even dined together. In a world where everything is a secret or a lie, the difference between a friend and an enemy was sometimes hard to distinguish.
After Rhûn they had not met each other in almost fifteen years, until Delioron had suddenly bumped into Demrîng in Bree last year, where they had both been working on the same case. Demrîng had even saved Delioron’s life there. He had claimed to be his friend.
Delioron had paid him back with a lie: trust me! In the shadow world they both lived in, in a world where all shadows were true and good and all light bad and frightening, they could understand each other. Which did not make them friends, even though they both might have secretly wished so. On the contrary, it made them dangerous enemies.
Delioron had paid Demrîng back for the saving of his life with a betrayal. He had arranged Demrîng into the hands of the Dúnedain of the North. Demrîng had managed to escape captivity, but Sauron had punished him severely for his failure.
And now he was sitting in a dark room with a hand-crossbow, aiming it at Delioron’s chest.
”So you are the man in a gray cloak”, Delioron finally said.
”Perhaps”, Demrîng said. The tone of his voice revealed nothing.
”Why has Sauron let you out of Mordor?” Delioron said to provoke him, but Demrîng did not get provoked.
”I don’t carry grudges”, Demrîng said. ”Even though you betrayed me.”
”I did.”
”Even so. I am not your enemy.”
”No?” Delioron said. ”Then why are you pointing a hand-crossbow at me?”
”I saved your life in Bree.”
”You did. And you tried to have me killed in Kravod. More than once, if I remember rightly.”
Demrîng made a face. ”Kravod was Kravod. It was a different time. I have a crossbow because it forces you to listen to what I have to say. I have learned that you react too hastily otherwise.”
”Alright then. I’m listening.”
Demrîng made another face, as if disappointed in Delioron. ”We can’t trust the Rangers of Ithilien. They are here, in Imloth Melui. You know that.” He looked sadly at the gray-haired, hard-faced Gondorian standing at the door of the dimly-lit room. ”There has been a lot of bad blood between our realms. But it doesn’t have to be that way. Sauron has sent emissaries to Minas Tirith to talk to Denethor about a new treaty. A treaty that could bring a lasting peace between Gondor and Mordor.”
”That’s politics.”
”Yes. But the Rangers of Ithilien don’t want peace. Not if it means retreating from Ithilien. This Blue Wizard, this ’Romenstar’, is an impostor, Delioron. The Rangers of Ithilien have set him up.”
”Is that so?”
”This is not a game”, Demrîng said, struggling to find the right words to make Delioron believe him. ”You must trust me.”
”Trust me”, Delioron repeated. His voice was cold and flat, without resonance or tone.
”Your masters don’t trust the Rangers of Ithilien either. That’s why they have sent you here. But you don’t have to take my word for it. I can prove what I’m saying.”
”Then prove it.”
Slowly, as if in a slow motion, Demrîng lowered the hand-crossbow on his lap. Delioron did not make a move. Demrîng reached into a pocket of his cloak and pulled out a scrolled parchment. He tossed the scroll on the floor in front of Delioron’s feet.
”You will see”, Demrîng said. ”Everything you want to know is in that scroll.”
Delioron picked up the scroll and opened it. It contained an encrypted message:
OL OBRR CA AU OBEF EFL ASLQIEBAU BU YBUIZ EBQBEF. HLULEFAQ YDZE UAE ZBCU IUG EQLIEBLZ OBEF ZIDQAU, IUH OL YDZE YIML ZDQL BE HALZ UAE FISSLU. QAYLUZEIQZ QLEDQU OBRR FLRS EFBZ ASLQIEBAU.
YICAQHBQ
Below the text was a decrypted translation of the message, apparently written in Demrîng’s own handwriting:
We will go on with the operation in Minas Tirith. Denethor must not sign any treaties with Sauron, and we must make sure it does not happen. Romenstar’s return will help this operation.
Magordir
”What does this mean?” Delioron asked.
”It’s the proof that the Rangers of Ithilien want to sabotage the peace between Gondor and Mordor.”
”Do I have to take your word for it?”
Demrîng looked at the scroll in Delioron’s hand. ”You have proof right there.”
Delioron looked at the scroll with distaste. ”This is not a proof of anything. It does not answer any questions. It creates more questions than it answers. Besides, you could have crafted it yourself.”
”It’s information”, Demrîng said patiently. ”You know it’s like this in our trade. Small bits and pieces that make the puzzle.”
It was the truth. Real information, once it had been sifted through thousands and thousands of bits of disinformation, was rarely more than these few lines on a parchment.
”It is a bluff”, Delioron said after a while.
”It doesn’t matter what you believe”, Demrîng said. ”You have to send this bit of information to your masters in Minas Tirith. It is your responsibility.”
”I have no responsibilities for Sauron.” Delioron smiled for the first time. ”Don’t you believe in miracles, Demrîng?”
”This is not a joke”, Demrîng said. ”The warmongering Rangers of Ithilien are trying to betray us all, they are trying to ruin Sauron’s attempt at peace. But we will not be betrayed. Do you really think that the piece of information I’m giving you is just a trick? The Rangers of Ithilien have gone too far. They can’t fool us.”
Delioron dropped the parchment on the floor. His mind made several connections suddenly: Parthadan’s interest in this case, his insistence of using Delioron because of his background in Rhûn. But what about Romenstar’s ’miracles’ in the Hall of the Gentle Hand? What about the presence of both Saruman’s agents and now Sauron’s too?
”The Rangers of Ithilien do not want the truth”, Demrîng said. ”They do not want peace between our realms. They only want war. They want their Ithilien.”
Delioron stared at Demrîng in the dim light. They had been enemies for closer to two decades, which was almost the same thing as being friends. Was that what Demrîng was counting on?
”What happens if I choose not to send this piece of ’proof’ to Minas Tirith?”
”I have other ways to make sure Denethor finds out that the Rangers of Ithilien are scheming behind his back. But you have to ask yourself this, Delioron: why have your masters sent you here if they trust the Rangers are playing square?”
Delioron thought about it. It would make things easier for him if he just did what Demrîng asked and sent the parchment to Parthadan. Parthadan could do with it what he will.
He could turn his back on this case, go back to his home in the Cape of Belfalas to wait for another assignment. He would not have to use Radawen. He would not have to betray her.
”And what if I don’t?”
”Then there would be trouble.” Demrîng pointed the hand-crossbow at Delioron again. ”Do you understand?”
Delioron nodded. He understood.
