Chapter 9
Teleziel walked the perimeter of the small room and trailed his fingertips over the walls. His nerves were stretched taut and there were knots in his stomach. No one other than his guard had been to see him all day and he wondered why. Every time he felt the urge to dig and claw at his skin, he hummed. He hummed hunting songs and marching songs. He hummed the lullabies he’d learned as a child. But the urge was becoming stronger, despite his efforts, as he grew more and more nervous.
Part of that nervous tension came from his guard, the one called Mablung. Teleziel sensed his hostility, even though the man said little. He’d heard Captain Faramir’s orders and knew that the guard would not hesitate to hurt him if he tried to harm himself, and something in those chill gray eyes warned him that Mablung wouldn’t hesitate to use force.
Noises outside intruded on his thoughts and he stopped moving, barely breathed, as he recognized Faramir’s voice. How strange it was to him that in only a few days, he’d come to rely on and trust the strange red head. He longed to talk to him, but at the same time, he was also afraid. He never stopped being afraid.
“We searched their bodies, but found nothing of importance,” Faramir’s voice echoed off the stone walls.
Someone replied, but Teleziel could not make out the words. He heard the captain’s voice again, but the language was strange to his ears and he frowned.
A shadow filled the room and Faramir entered. He was covered in blood and dirt and sweat. He stank of battle. “We ran across a party of Haradrim. I would like for you to come look at their bodies.”
Teleziel recoiled in horror. “Why?”
“Because you can tell us things about them.”
Teleziel shook his head and his hands twitched. “They are Haradrim. They are my own people. You want me to paw over their broken bodies?”
“Forgive me. I did not think how my request must sound to you.” Faramir stepped back. “In a few hours we will relocate to Osgiliath. From there, I will take you to Minas Tirith.”
Teleziel felt his world spin away from him for a moment. “Is that, then, the bargain? I must look on the dead faces of my people or face your Steward?”
“That isn’t what I meant at all. I hoped you were willing to help us. Taking you to my father has nothing to do with it. My orders are not questionable.”
“How many were there?”
“Fifteen, all dressed in red and black.”
“The colors mean nothing.”
“They carried short bow, the kind with the curving handles, and long knives. They had no possessions.”
“Scouts.”
“Are you sure?”
“No, but based only on what you have told me, they sound like scouts. Our army travels lightly, but we do have bedrolls and some of us even carry small tents. We each carry a cooking pot and a water skin. We have rice and dried fruits to eat as we travel. And we carry swords. These men did not have their swords. They were a scouting party.”
“So many for a scouting party?”
“They were not the first advance. Already, someone has patrolled the area, scouted it searching for signs of enemy movement. Then a second team has come, a larger team, to draw you out. If they do not return to the main body, then the army will know why.”
“Because we killed them.”
Teleziel nodded. “It isn’t a tactic we use often because it costs too many men. However, if we are certain that the enemy has troops in a specific area, we might try to lure them into giving away their position. This tactic works well in mountains and forests, where visibility is limited and there are many places for the enemy to hide. A large force is coming and they want to take a short cut through the mountain passes. One hundred, at least. If two groups have joined together, then count on two hundred. If one of them has elephants, then the numbers will include handlers. Maybe three hundred men.”
“You have won your reprieve.”
Teleziel smirked. “I thought I might.”
“Only until we have secured the area.”
Teleziel’s dark eyes rounded. “I spoke the truth.”
“Yes, I know.” Faramir smiled. “Everything you told me, I already knew. So now I can say to my father that you aided us. Whether or not this will help you is another matter. In the meantime, I have to prepare my forces.”
*~*
Teleziel couldn’t eat the food his guard brought him. He anguished over his decision to reveal information about his people, but rationalized that he’d told the captain nothing he hadn’t known. When that rationale failed, he reminded himself that he was an outcast, left to die because he was what he was. Nor was that any comfort. As his thoughts swirled in his brain, he sat and rocked back and forth, until he rocked hard enough that he smacked his head against the wall. This brought him up short, but only for a moment.
What if Imiro was among those slain by the Gondorians? He tugged at his hair, pulling fine, dark strands lose from his scalp. What of it, he asked himself? What does it matter if Imiro died? Hadn’t his only true friend raped him and left him to die? Another chunk of hair fell to the floor. Yet, to willingly betray one’s own people? Would the gods forgive him for such a thing? Would the ghosts of his father and brothers haunt him for the rest of his days?
Not until he felt the hands grasping his wrist did Teleziel realize that his hands were tangled in his hair. He came to himself and blinked into the angry face of Faramir.
“Stop this madness,” Faramir hissed through pale, stiff lips.
Gulping air, Teleziel closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. His scalp burned and itched where he’d pulled out his hair. The comfort came to him, as he concentrated on the pain. “Killing me would be mercy.”
“I cannot.”
“Then give me a knife and I will fulfill your obligations for you.”
Faramir dropped Teleziel’s wrist and stepped away. Presenting the young Haradrim with his back, he thought about the request and reasoned that Teleziel was right. Try as he might, he couldn’t convince himself that Teleziel wouldn’t be killed in Minas Tirith. The torture would be excruciating and, while Teleziel certainly had endurance, he wasn’t sure that he could subject the Haradrim to it, not knowing what he knew, anyway. “I have had news and my plans to return to Minas Tirith are now delayed.”
“Poor news for the examiner.”
“Teleziel, I don’t want to turn you over to,” Faramir stopped, appalled that his tongue had gotten so far out of hand. “I do not want to turn you over to the guards. They have other duties. I want to trust you.”
“Did you find what you sought on the patrol?”
At last, Faramir turned. “Yes, we did. You were right about the beasts.”
“The Dark Master will strike soon. He has been gathering his strength in small numbers, but now that more and more troops with beasts come, he will soon be ready to march on Gondor.”
“He only lacks one thing.”
“What is that?”
“My lord? There is something you should see.” Mablung stuck his head inside the door and spoke to Faramir, ignoring Teleziel.
With a nod towards his prisoner, Faramir gratefully made his escape. Faramir followed the soldier to the sacred waterfall and stared down into the pool at the bottom. There, in the moonlight, a loathsome creature swam and splashed and sang obscene songs. Stepping back, he motioned to his archers to be prepared and then he went back inside the caves to wake yet another guest.
“Come,” he said as he touched the shoulder of the Hobbit called Frodo.
Silently, he led the sleepy Hobbit to the rim of the pool and, with one finger held to his lips, he pointed downward with his other hand. He carefully observed Frodo’s expression and then tapped his shoulder and pointed to the guards. “Bathing in the sacred pool is punishable by death. My men have orders to shoot,” he whispered.
Frodo’s blue eyes filled with horror and he shook his head. “No. He is my servant. I am bound to him and he to me.”
Faramir arched a brow and cocked his head, waiting for more information.
“Please, don’t hurt him. Let me go down to him. He will follow me.”
Faramir signaled his archers to stand down and allowed Frodo to retreat down the hidden paths to gather his ‘friend’, but even as he pondered the nature of the relationship between Frodo and the foul creature swimming in the falls, he wondered at his own strange relationship with his prisoner. For the third time he was defying orders. First, he refused to send Teleziel directly to Minas Tirith for questioning. Frodo and Sam were problematical on many levels, but in not binding them and sending them to his father, along with the burden they carried, he also defied orders. And maybe even doomed his people along with himself. Yet the Hobbit knew things about Boromir and the prophecy and he was loathe to send the weapon of the enemy to his own city. Now, too, was this creature, this filthy thing swimming in sacred waters who appeared truly bound to Frodo. He watched with a frown as Frodo led the creature from the water. There was lots of shouting and splashing as the thing was captured, with Frodo screaming “don’t hurt him,” as if his men could.
Faramir pursed his lips. Too long had he been soft. He must end this and now. He’d allowed Teleziel too much access to his heart. It was not enough that he committed treason, but he also endangered his people.
Enough.