Delioron’s sleep was fitful, feverish and full of nightmares. Actually only one nightmare that seemed to last forever, and every time he woke up and rolled over, sweat beading his forehead, he would soon fall back into that same dreadful dream.
It was a vision of a dark, barren, lifeless landscape full of sharp rock formations, crevices and hollows. Dark, thick clouds filled the sky, blocking all the sunlight and poisonous gases fumed out of the holes and cavities on the ground. Far in the horizon there stood a tall, black volcano spurting out clouds of ashes and red-hot lava. The oppressive red glow was the only light in this gloomy land of eternal night and shadow.
He also saw a tall, dark tower, and on top of that tower another light, like a beacon. The light on top of the tower was just as red and oppressive as the light from the volcano. Delioron was floating in the air above that depressing land, drawn towards the tower as if pulled by a lodestone, faster and faster. And as he approached the beacon he saw a shape forming, a terrible shape, like a gigantic, fiery eye of a snake held by a claw-like tip of the tower. The terrifying eye turned about in it’s fork, turning this way and that, as if looking for something. When Delioron drew closer, the eye suddenly fixed on him, and he flew towards the dark, vertical pupil at ever-increasing speed. Just before he plunged into the eye the dream always ended, just to start again exactly the same, like in a neverending loop.
When he stirred awake for the last time he saw that the room now looked different. A gray light broke through the square of the window beyond his bed. Gray morning light drove away the shadows, and Delioron decided it was time to wake up.
He opened his eyes, but lied still until he remembered all the details from yesterday. In the light of day the meeting with Demrîng felt like a dream too, and for a moment he thought that perhaps it had been just a dream after all, a prelude to the long nightmare that had filled the rest of his night. But there was still that smarting and tingling sensation in his back, and he had to take a mirror from a saddlebag to inspect it. There was a scar where the knife had entered between his ribs, an ugly scar, like someone had burned it with acid. Delioron wasn’t sure how he felt by the thought that his life had been saved by Sauron’s magic. He thought about his dream again and wondered about it’s significance. Had Sauron’s magic started to corrupt him, pull him towards the darkness? Would he end up a living, wandering shadow, doomed to walk the earth for all eternity, a lifeless, mindless husk in the service of Sauron?
Nonsense.
Delioron studied his face and grimaced at the reflection, the gray face and black bags hanging below bloodshot eyes. He looked terrible, like he had just survived a long illness. He felt tired and dirty.
Elwil. Elwil had betrayed him, and now he would have to do something about that. Yesterday she had made him feel warm and more alive he had felt in years. Now there was nothing left but the gray light of the morning, raindrops pattering against the window and the familiar numb coldness inside.
Navelwort had never returned to see him either. Perhaps Navelwort knew more than he had led to believe. He would have to do something about Navelwort too.
He picked up his tunic from the floor. There was a hole and a big stain of blood in the back. He would have to buy a new tunic or wash and mend the old one. It would have to wait now. He had a spare tunic in a saddlebag, and he pulled it on now. Then he pulled on his heavy brown cloak. The hood shadowed his drawn face. It was time to start another day.
A sundry collection of people had gathered into the common room of the Prancing Pony to enjoy their breakfast. Delioron spotted some who looked like locals from Bree, a small group of hobbits and a couple of traveling dwarves. And a solitary figure in dark gray cloak and hood, sitting alone in a shady corner. Demrîng.
”Good morning”, Demrîng greeted when Delioron approached him. ”You look terrible.”
Delioron sat down on an empty seat next to Demrîng and looked what he was eating: eggs, bacon and grilled tomatoes. The fat innkeeper approached their table and took Delioron’s order. He asked for the same Demrîng was having. Barliman looked at them with curious expression in his eyes. It must not have been an everyday occurrence to have so many traveling southerners in Bree these days. So far the Prancing Pony had housed Demrîng, Elwil, Delioron, the false Delioron and who knows who else, and the innkeeper had talked to all of them. Barliman must have been bursting with questions, but he just took Delioron’s order and went away.
”Why have you cut some of your coins in half?” Demrîng started the conversation.
”Did you go through my belongings?” Delioron asked.
”Of course”, Demrîng said, almost frowning at the question. ”I didn’t take anything. Everything is back their rightful place.”
”To lessen their value”, Delioron explained. ”The person who owns both halves can then restore the full value by soldering them back together. It’s been a helpful method in the past.”
Demrîng raised an eyebrow. ”I can’t decide if that’s ingenious or just insane. But that’s what I always loved about you, Delioron. You’re the only person with a mind even more twisted than my own. Pray tell, who has the other halves?”
”Who was the man who tried to kill me last night?”
Demrîng smiled, skewered a fatty piece of bacon and lifted it into his mouth. He proceeded to chew it, slowly and carefully, still smiling. ”I have missed these little conversations of ours.”
Delioron’s plate of food arrived, along with a pot of tea. Delioron filled his cup with hot tea and tasted it. It warmed him, even if just a little.
”What are you doing here in Bree, Demrîng?”
”I am here to help you. I want to be your friend. I want you to trust me. What are you doing here?”
”I already told you last night.”
”I want you to trust me”, Demrîng said again, ”so I’m going to be completely open an honest with you. I will reveal to you all that I know, and then you will do the same for me. Deal?”
”Deal.”
”The man who tried to kill you, the false Delioron and the group that is camping in the forest outside of Bree – they are Rangers of Ithilien.”
Delioron stared at the face of the Variag. His own face was blank, just as blank as the stare in his ice-gray eyes.
”You don’t believe me? They come from the south, they look like Gondorians, they speak Sindarin in Ithilien accent and they are dressed in green and brown cloaks and armed with bows, swords and spears. So what can be deduced from all that? If it walks like a duck and so on. They are Rangers of Ithilien.”
”Perhaps. And what is your connection with all this? What is Sauron’s interest in Bree and the Shire?”
”Very little”, Demrîng said. ”I don’t believe Sauron has ever even heard about the hobbits or the Shire, meaningless creatures as they are. Just as interesting as a labour of moles. I was sent to Eriador to scout out the location of the secret hideout of the Dúnedain. I had spent some time in Bree getting familiar with the lay of the land, as you might put it, when I suddenly stumbled into some very odd, very curious developments. And something tells me Sauron would be far more interested about the game the Gondorians are playing here than the hideout of the northern Rangers. Perhaps it would be interesting enough for the Dark Lord to reward me with an assignment to a more interesting region. Like Rhûn, yes? You remember Rhûn, Delioron, don’t you? That is something that unites us, a common ground.”
”Carry on”, Delioron said.
”What are you going to do with the woman?”
”What woman?”
”The woman who seduced you. The woman you took to your bed and made love to.”
”So you were hiding under the bed then? Really, Demrîng? How can you know all these things? Don’t you ever sleep? Or do you make duplicates of yourself with Sauron’s magic?”
”The answers to the two latter questions are ’never’ and ’maybe’.” Demrîng chuckled. ”You surprise me, Delioron. Did you really believe that the woman thought you so irresistably beautiful that she had to have you right there? You have become weak in your old age. Now you must kill her. It will be the best thing for you. It will make you strong again.” Demrîng looked at Delioron with something that resembled almost genuine concern.
Delioron didn’t say anything. His eyes were blank, his face expressionless. They had both finished their breakfast by then. The young hobbit, Nob, came to collect their empty plates and cups and asked if they wanted anything else. They both shook their heads, and the hobbit went away.
”Your turn now”, Demrîng said. ”Why did you come here?”
”To enjoy the climate.”
Demrîng shook his head. ”We made a deal, Delioron”, he reminded. ”I show you mine and you show me yours.”
”You haven’t shown me anything yet. I want to know exactly how do you know all these things and perhaps then we can talk.”
Demrîng stared at Delioron for a while, as if trying to read his mind from the stony face. Then he smiled, an innocent, disarming smile. ”Let’s go for a walk. It’s raining outside, but we are both dressed for the rain. I have always enjoyed walking in the rain. It clears the mind.”
They stood up and walked outside of the inn into the rainy street. They walked down the street into the market square. Bree was almost desolate in the morning rain. Only the most stubborn vendors had set up their stalls and were now bundling up in their thick clothes against the chilly rain of late autumn. Delioron and Demrîng just walked in silence, taking in the sights and smells of the town.
”The false Delioron”, Demrîng finally broke the silence. ”I followed him around. He would meet with another foreigner in Bree, a dark, limping man. A Dunlending, I thought. They talk, and the false Delioron gives something to the dark man. A pouch, probably filled with coins. I follow the dark man, and he goes to the last house in Bree before the Gatekeeper’s lodge near the Southern Gate. The man who lives in that house has a very bad reputation here in Bree. Why are the Rangers of Ithilien interested in associating with such shady characters in this desolate land so far in the north?”
”And how do you know all this?”
”A little bird told me. A black bird. Or several of them. Birds talk to me, did you know that, Delioron?” Demrîng chuckled.
”Go talk to your birds then. You are crazy, Demrîng. And you haven’t told me anything. I’m going back to the Pony.”
Demrîng pouted. ”I haven’t told you a single lie yet. It is you who refuses to share.”
”There is no reason for the Rangers of Ithilien to come to Bree to mingle with local criminals. Your story is nothing but a far-fetched fairytale. The more I think about it, the more I’m inclined to believe that you have orchestrated it all – the seductress, the assassin, the whole game. You always did like those kinds of games.”
”And why would I have done so this time, in this place?”
”To turn me over. To make me an ally, or a tool for Sauron’s cause.”
”Do you really believe you’re that important, Delioron? To me? To Sauron?”
”Who was the man who tried to kill me last night?”
”I already told you. A Ranger of Ithilien. A very bad man.”
”We’re all bad men.”
”He killed that old Dúnadan in his own apartment. Butchered him like a pig. A Ranger of the North. An ally to Gondor, and to the Rangers of Ithilien. Doesn’t that make him bad enough in your eyes?” Demrîng stopped walking and turned to look at Delioron, his expression quite serious now. ”You must tell me your reason for being here. You must tell me everything.”
”Or else you will have to kill me?”
”Exactly so. Or else I will have to kill you.”
”I don’t know what they sent me here for”, Delioron said. There was a partial truth to that. He had been sent here for what had seemed like a simple task at the time, but now he didn’t know anymore. There were too many games being played, too many players and too many sides involved. Nothing made sense anymore.
”You are lying to me”, Demrîng said. ”They sent you here for a purpose, and you know what that purpose was.”
”Perhaps.”
”But you are not going to tell me?”
”No. Will you kill me now, Demrîng?”
”Perhaps.” Demrîng looked at Delioron, his big blue-gray eyes full of sorrow. ”You are a disappointment to me, Delioron. Your masters have betrayed you, and still you stubbornly hold on to your misplaced loyalty for them. We could have been friends. I could have saved your life. I could have given you Rhûn.”
Both cloaked and hooded men stood in the pouring rain in the center of the market square, facing each other. The silence between them lasted a full minute. Then Delioron turned his back to Demrîng and disappeared into the rain. Demrîng stood still, watching him go.
