Almost the very second Frodo, filled with excitement, ran toward the bar, several gazes turned in his direction.
"Pippin, shut up!"
"What's wrong, Frodo?"
Grabbing Pippin by the shoulders, Frodo whispered, "Gandalf said we mustn't reveal who we are. It would put us in danger!"
Pippin looked flustered. "Sorry, I didn't know..."
Clack.
Just then, another hand seized Frodo's shoulder. He spun around sharply, only to see a swarthy, shifty-looking man staring straight at him with a malicious glint in his eyes.
A thug, or perhaps, a spy.
That was the words that suddenly popped into his mind.
Bilbo's storybooks had described such people. They lived in the unnoticed corners at the edge of towns, making their living by selling others out. But according to him, after returning from the Lonely Mountain, the Rangers of Bree had already purged the spies and lowlifes. They were supposed to have vanished long ago.
"I'd like you to come with me for a bit, dear Mr. Baggins."
Feeling the man's grip on his shoulder tighten painfully, Frodo snapped back to his senses, alarm bells ringing in his head.
He recalled Gandalf's warning once again and shouted at the top of his lungs, "Garrett! Help!"
Clack.
A hand suddenly came down on the spy's shoulder, and at the same time, a dagger was pressed against his neck.
The first to react, however, was the innkeeper, who shouted angrily, "Who are you, and how can you draw a weapon here!?"
"Ranger of Bree," the man said coolly.
The innkeeper fell silent.
Technically, disputes were forbidden in this protected area, but the man standing before him was one of those who enforced that protection.
"Carry on."
The Ranger turned his gaze back, pinned the spy with a firm hand, and barked, "Stay still. You're coming with me. And you, the shouting Hobbit, you're coming too. I need to know your purpose here."
Clack.
Just as the Ranger, now revealed, was carrying out his duty, yet another large hand landed on his shoulder.
"Who, hmm?"
The Ranger turned and found himself face to face with a man nearly two metres tall, dressed much like himself.
"Lord Aragorn."
"Hand these Hobbits over to me. I know them. I can take responsibility for them."
"Very well," the Ranger nodded.
Aragorn stepped aside, ready to give the Hobbits a stern talking-to.
Clack.
At that moment, yet another hand came to rest on his shoulder.
Aragorn turned silently.
"Gandalf!"
This time, Frodo cried out before he could.
Aragorn glanced down at the Hobbits, then over at Gandalf, and couldn't help remarking, "Seems today's full of surprises, one after another."
"Indeed. Quite a few things have happened on my end as well..."
Gandalf sighed, about to continue, when suddenly the spy on the floor, taking advantage of the Ranger's distraction, twisted violently and broke free.
But it did him no good. Before anyone else could react, the Ranger recovered and kicked him hard to the ground.
"Where did this spy come from?"
Gandalf walked over and tapped the spy on the head with his staff, just hard enough to knock him out without causing real harm. The old wizard's hand was, as always, steady and precise.
"To think there are still people wasting their lives on such crooked business these days."
Gandalf shook his head repeatedly at the unconscious spy on the floor.
Bree had already offered such generous subsidies to its surrounding areas. It was hard to imagine that under such good living conditions and a peaceful cultural atmosphere, there could still be spies serving Mordor. Such people were either outsiders, or simply heartless villains and lazy scoundrels, deserving of a good beating.
"I'm glad to see you all. Frodo, Sam, and... the two foolish Tooks."
"Hey, Gandalf! How can you say that?"
The two Tooks immediately protested, especially Merry.
"Pippin was the one talking just now. I didn't say a word!"
"All right, all right, then it doesn't count for you."
Gandalf sighed, feeling a headache coming on. The arrival of the two Tooks was certainly unexpected, but perhaps not a bad thing after all. Sometimes, solid friendship was more reliable than great power.
Casting a glance at the messy scene around them, he waved his hand toward Aragorn and the four Hobbits and said, "Come. Let's go discuss this somewhere private."
---
Bang!
At the outer gate of Isengard's walls, Garrett kicked down a soldier of the Dunlendings, then grabbed him by the collar and hauled him up.
"M-my lord, please don't kill me!" the soldier screamed with his eyes shut.
"What are you talking about killing for? Why are you running?"
Garrett was almost startled by the man's shout.
"I'm well acquainted with Saruman. We're on the same side. Haven't you sworn allegiance to him? What are you so afraid of when you see me?"
Garrett narrowed his eyes. And if he wasn't mistaken, the guards had seemed ready to draw their bows and attack before he'd even approached.
"What's this then, have you betrayed your master?"
At those words, the Dunlending soldier began trembling like a leaf in the wind.
"Interesting," Garrett muttered.
"Well then, tell me, whose orders are you following now?"
Unable to bear the pressure, the soldier spilled everything he knew, his experiences and everything that had happened recently.
A moment later, Garrett sighed.
"I knew it. Saruman wasn't wrong after all."
These Dunlendings were unreliable.
Though they lived on lands that were technically free and had homes of their own, they'd always leaned toward the side of darkness. At the end of the last age, when the final battle against Sauron came, their ancestors had refused Gondor's call to arms, unwilling to stand against Sauron.
And the price of breaking that oath was this: the souls of those oathbreakers were still trapped in the Paths of the Dead, unable to find peace.
As it turned out, the Dunlending soldiers guarding Isengard now served the Nazgûl. Whenever those dark riders' beasts cried from above, they immediately bowed and obeyed their command.
To collapse at the first show of force... truly pathetic.
"Even though I've never thought highly of Saruman," Garrett said coldly, "I'll still give you this warning. Tell your people to use their brains and think carefully, think about what became of those who broke their oaths."
The soldier slumped to the ground, too terrified to speak.
Since the man had been cooperative, Garrett decided not to trouble him further. He turned and strode toward the inner keep of Isengard.
Bats hung from the fruit trees along the path, and faint, watchful gazes flickered from the dark corners on both sides, prickling at Garrett's back. He glanced sharply toward the source of the stares, and at once, the feeling vanished.
Drawing his blade, he saw that it was glowing faintly, but the light quickly dimmed and faded away under his gaze.
That meant whatever had been there was now gone.
"Wise choice," he muttered.
The rest of the way was smooth. Nothing stood in his path.
Soon, Garrett arrived at the base of Orthanc.
The great gates were tightly shut, layered with enchantments that made the tower even more impregnable.
So strong, in fact, that even a catapult would barely scratch the surface. Ordinary means could never break through. But right now, that hardly mattered. However strong it was, it was still just strong, a matter of hitting it a few more times.
Clack.
A hole opened in the gate once more, and Garrett simply walked through.
Inside the tower, it was deathly quiet, unnervingly so.
Normally, a few attendants would be around to keep the place in order. But today, not a single soul was there.
---
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Completed at Chapter 405!
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