Another Man's Trash by Uvatha the Horseman

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Chapter 5 - An Expert Guide

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Chapter 5 - An Expert Guide

Angry and embarrassed about losing the Ithil Stone, Saruman trudged up the hill, threading around the boulders that covered the promontory. The space between them was filled with thorn bushes, and they snagged at his robe. He yanked it free with an angry tug and cursed when the fabric tore.

This day had not gone well. He'd thought the top of the watchtower would be the best place to search for Sauron's Ring-making notes. But after all that effort and risk, he'd come away with nothing, not even a replacement Palantir.

With any luck, Worm would have started dinner already or at least boiled some water for tea. Saruman looked forward to small comforts. He reached the campsite. Worm called out a greeting. He lifted his head. The Eye of Sauron stared down at him from the center of a huge swath of black silk. He yelped in surprise.

Wormtongue looked anxious. "I made us a tent. Did I do good?"

The fabric was draped over a structure fashioned from spears, with the spearheads jammed into cracks between boulders and the shafts lashed together at the top. The banner had been draped over the makeshift frame and its edges weighed down with rocks. The Eye faced downhill, directly at the Elvish encampment.

I don't know, Worm. It doesn't make me look guilty enough. Can you do better?

"This sandy hollow is just big enough for the tent and the fire pit. And there's a place right here for the horses." Worm said, dropping another armload of firewood onto an already large pile of brush.

They couldn't camp in a tent made from Sauron's banner, they simply couldn't. The Elves would think he wanted to be the next Dark Lord, not that they were wrong.

He tried to think of a way to tell Worm that, in spite of how hard he'd worked, the giant "I love Sauron" billboard would have to come down.

"A black tent will be too hot." Saruman stepped inside, into deep shade. Very little of the desert sun made it through the black fabric, and a pleasant breeze wafted through the openings on each side. Worm had laid their bedrolls in hollows of sand and stowed their saddlebags nearby. Saruman had an impulse to sink onto the blanket and sleep until Worm called him to dinner.

Bugger all. Let the Elves think badly of him. They already did.

When Saruman came out of the tent, Worm had arranged a circle of rocks for a fire pit and gotten a fire going. Kindling and larger sticks of wood from the twisted desert shrubs were piled nearby. Saruman sat on one of the saddles and watched a pot of water start to boil.

Down the slope, the promontory glowed orange in the late afternoon sun. A black-clad figure made its way from the hairpin path they'd climbed this morning, giving the Elvish camp a wide berth. He appeared to be headed directly for this camp. Saruman watched him approach and fingered the hilt of his dagger.

Elvish horsemen galloped to intercept him, the tips of their spears glinting in the sun. They surrounded him and held him at bay like a cornered animal. The man threw up his hands and dropped to the ground. Saruman expected to see him slaughtered.

"That doesn't look like an Orc," said Wormtongue.

"No. Orcs don't grovel," said Saruman.

The Elves appeared to talk to the pitiful figure, then raised their spears and rode away. The newcomer watched them go, then continued plodding up the slope. The hem of his robe was tattered and pale with dust, and the sole of one boot flapped with each step. He was tall, with the long face and wide jaw normally associated with a horse. He reached the edge of the fire pit and asked for water.

"I was at the Black Gates when the Disaster struck. I've been walking for days. I came here because you displayed the Eye. Do you have news of Lord Sauron?"

"He's gone," said Saruman.

"I suspected as much." The man seemed more resigned than grief-stricken.

"And who might you be?" asked Saruman.

"My name is Urzahil, Sauron's chief emissary. I also served as his private secretary."

"You're Sauron's private secretary?" Saruman sat bolt upright. Secretaries keep track of their employer's most important papers.

"Won't you sit down?" Saruman waved to Wormtongue's saddle. "Worm, make some tea for our guest."

Saruman turned back to Sauron's secretary. "Those are finely-made riding boots, stylish but notoriously uncomfortable for walking. What happened to your horse?"

"Blackie? He got eaten." The visitor looked morose. "After the Disaster, I lost control of the Orcs."

Saruman watched him drink his tea, then murmured the words of a spell and waited for the newcomer's eyes to turn glassy. "Where did Sauron keep his most important papers?"

"It would depend on what they were. Orders and reports are sent to the records room. Valuable historical documents, anything pertaining to Melkor or Utumno, are preserved in the library, but he keeps treaties and tribute agreements in his private study. I keep telling him they should be stored in a vault, but he insists on holding them in his own possession."

"Where did he keep personal papers?" Saruman asked.

"Like letters or diaries? I have no idea. If he didn't give something to me to copy, I wouldn't know of its existence."

Saruman suppressed a whoop of joy. He determined to find Sauron's study and search it. "I suppose you know your way around Barad-dûr? Can you find all the places you mentioned?"

"I've lived there most of my life. I know my way around."

Saruman wanted to go back into the Tower right then. He started to get up but his legs almost collapsed under him, the result of a long day of riding followed by a great many stairs.

The last of the daylight faded, and the brighter stars began to appear. A branch popped in the campfire. In the fire pit, the thorns on a scrub brush showed in black silhouette against the flames. Tomorrow was the first of April. Saruman felt sure his luck was about to get better.

He turned to the newcomer. "I want to go back into the Tower first thing tomorrow morning. You can have my servant's bed."

Worm squawked in protest, but Saruman couldn't risk having an invaluable guide wandering off during the night.

"Worm, find some more fuel. I want to build up the fire to scare off any Orcs that might still be around."

"Don't worry about Orcs. I have a spell to keep them away," said Urzahil.

Saruman raised an eyebrow. "I don't mean to be rude, but given that your horse just got eaten by Orcs, do you have a spell that actually works?"