Demrîng pushed open the door to his study in what were called his private quarters. The door was not locked – he had no key to lock it – so ’private’ was an exaggeration. The curtains were drawn. The sun had started to shine early in the afternoon. It was dark in Demrîng’s chambers. He closed the door behind him. He dropped the documents he was carrying to a sturdy writing desk by the wall – official letters to Lord Forlong and Minas Tirith. Master Arthon had tasked Demrîng to copy them in his fair handwriting.
Delioron sat in Demrîng’s straight-backed, uncomfortable chair, which he had dragged over beside the small brazier in the corner. Demrîng stared at the Gondorian with his blank, expressionless eyes that never reflected any emotion. He removed his cloak slowly and hung it carefully to a coat stand by the door. He took a few steps into the room until he stood at its centre, clasped his hands behind his back and fixed his gaze on Delioron.
”You have no ale here”, Delioron said.
”I thought you favoured red wine.”
”I have lost my taste for it. Perhaps I am growing old.”
Demrîng stood very still. He noticed how deeply he hated Delioron. But hatred merely made his eyes seem distant and unfocused. It had been a useful trait in a trade built on deception.
”Do you want to know why I have come?” Delioron asked.
Demrîng did not reply. He was waiting for Delioron to make his move. He considered killing Delioron. Was he armed? How quickly could he pull a dagger from the folds of his cloak? Demrîng was strong. He could topple Delioron from his chair and break his neck with a single, well-placed blow. He had done as much before.
”I saved your life in Bree”, Demrîng said.
”Perhaps the Valar punished you for cheating fate. Perhaps I was meant to die that night.”
”So you think it was fate that brought me to this place?”
”Is it such a bad prison?”
”Are there any good prisons?”
”I don’t know.” Delioron stared. A thin beam of light slipped through a tear in the curtain, but it did little to pierce the gloom. Demrîng’s features appeared indistinct in the dim room. Demrîng stayed in the shadows.
”Your Westron has improved”, Delioron said. ”You have acquired a true Gondorian accent.”
”Inevitable, dear friend! If I had you thrown in Barad-dûr for three years, you would be fluent in the Black Tongue.”
”I would not stay alive for three years.”
”You are wrong. Some of them live forever. I have met prisoners in Barad-dûr who had been there for three or four centuries. Not elves – common men like you and me. They will not die unless the Dark Lord allows it.”
”I would not stay alive”, Delioron repeated.
”Perhaps so”, Demrîng replied.
Neither moved.
”They have given you a good place to hide.”
”Not good enough, since you found me.”
”I worked for the people who put you here, Demrîng!”
”What do you want?”
”The question is, what do you want.”
”To never see you again.”
”How about your treasure?”
”What are you talking about?”
”You served Sauron for two decades. You traveled to Rhûn, Harad, Gondor, Rohan, the Dale-lands and Eriador during those years. Are you going to claim you did not steal away a hoard of gold in those years and hide it somewhere? I know you, Demrîng. I have known you for a long time. You are a thief.”
”As are you.”
”Precisely. As am I. The only difference between us is that I may reach my coin, and you cannot.”
”Is this what you have come here to tell me?”
”Sit down!”
”And I will stand in my own study!”
Delioron smiled. It was a deliberate smile, without warmth or joy. He did not say anything.
”I did gather a hoard of gold and jewels. But I buried my treasure in Ithilien. I shall never lay my hands on it again.”
”I know. Or at least I figured you would have done something like that.”
”So what do you want from me?”
”Copying documents, polishing stones. Sketching maps from memory of old places you once walked. What a wonderful life!”
”At least I live!”
”And you have me to thank for it!”
Hatred burned in Demrîng’s eyes, yet it gave them a wide, gentle, almost merficul look. In truth Demrîng was nothing of the kind.
”Should I thank you for putting me here?”
”Yes. Because you cannot get your treasure without me.”
Demrîng waited.
”If you fled this place, they would raise hue and cry, and send hounds and soldiers after you. You would be outlawed in Gondor. And with all the henchmen and spies Sauron keeps in Gondor, your Dark Lord would hear of it too – the traitor he thought long dead, escaped and loose in the land of his enemy. Sauron’s servants would begin hunting for you too. Even if you did manage to flee from Gondor, you would never be safe anywhere. You would always have to look over your shoulder. But I can get you out of this prison and set you free. Nobody would come after you. You would be free to go to Ithilien to your hoard of gold and then disappear. Go anywhere in the world you please and live your life on your own terms.”
Demrîng walked slowly to a shelf loaded with scrolls and parchments. He sat down on a small stool across from Delioron and crossed his arms. He looked at the Gondorian without blinking his eyes.
”It has already been arranged”, Delioron continued. ”I have talked to Lady Ivordes, Castellan Erthordor and Captain Taendir. I have shown them a document signed by Parthadan, the Warden of the Green of Minas Tirith. You are to be released into my custody. You can walk out of that gate with me. Nobody will stop you. Nobody will ask you anything.”
”What do you want me to do?”
”What you used to do. I have a weapon for you and a horse. It is waiting in the stables.”
”This is a trick!”
”No, it’s not. We can’t begin on such a footing. You must trust me just enough to do exactly as I tell you.”
”And why do you need me to do it, of all people?”
”Because I have no one else.”
”What has happened?”
”Let us say only that certain people would gladly see me buried. But you – you have become invisible.”
”Which side hunts you?”
”Perhaps both. But at the least, Sauron’s.”
”And why should I help you?”
”It is not so hard to imagine, is it? You can never go back to Mordor. Sauron would tear you apart. I need someone I can trust, someone not caught in the game. One who may still have threads to pull in Pelargir. You were there, were you not? Ten years ago, was it? I want to make contact with Sauron’s people…”
”You would make me a traitor to Sauron?”
”I made you a traitor to Sauron already three years ago, remember? So it doesn’t really matter anymore.”
”I’ll kill you!”
Demrîng lunged at Delioron, and the two of them crashed to the floor. Demrîng kneed Delioron in his side and pinned him down, his spindly fingers tightening around Delioron’s throat. Another moment, and Delioron would be dead.
A racking pain shot through Demrîng’s loins. He fell backward and struck his head against the chair. He staggered to his feet as Delioron rose, bracing himself on Demrîng’s writing desk. There was blood on Delioron’s lips. In his hand he held a dagger with a blackened blade.
The two men stood there for a moment, breathing hard.
”Sit down, you cur!” Delioron said.
Demrîng sat slowly on his stool.
Delioron sat on the chair opposite him. He did not put the dagger away. Delioron looked at Demrîng pensively. ”I suppose I hate you too. I haven’t forgotten about Kravod. But I would not hate myself so much that I would forget my own self-interest. I am talking about the hoard of gold and gems you have buried in Ithilien. And the one hundred silver pennies I will give you once your work is done.”
Demrîng said nothing.
”Let it be, then!” Delioron said. He bent forward to hand Demrîng the dagger, holding it by the blade. ”Take it!”
Demrîng took it.
”If you are so eager to kill me, then kill me! Just remember that they will hang you in this castle. You will never see the world beyond these walls again.”
Demrîng looked sharply at Delioron. Here it was, the moment he had been dreaming of for three years. Demrîng and Delioron were equals in skill, but now Demrîng had the blade while Delioron was unarmed. He could kill him easily.
But then, it was quite a treasure hoard he had buried in Ithilien.
Delioron suddenly smiled.
”It is quite a treasure hoard”, Demrîng said. ”In Ithilien.”
”Good. I was counting on it. One hundred silver pennies would not have been enough to entice you. I know you, man of Mordor.”
”Are your deeds sanctioned by the throne?”
”No. Not anymore.”
”What do you want to know?”
”Everything about a man called Captain Fangnir in Pelargir. And all that you can find out about a certain venture of the Corsairs there.”
”How long will it take?”
”Hopefully no more than a week or two.”
”Are you escorting me to Pelargir?”
”No. You get to go there by yourself. I will join you later.”
”What makes you so sure I won’t slip away and disappear if you leave me without supervision?”
”Like I said. If you betray me, I will make you an outlaw. If you want to be truly free, you have to do this one thing for me. Only then I will set you free, and give you enough coin to buy or bribe your way to Ithilien.”
Demrîng was quiet for a moment.
”What you ask of me carries a certain risk”, he finally said.
Delioron smiled. ”Of course it does! But you need not to worry about that, man of Mordor! You won’t have to walk into Pelargir unarmed.”
Demrîng shook his head, a slow smile touching his lips. He touched the blade of the dagger with his index finger. It was razor sharp.
”I have another dagger for my own use”, Delioron said.
