Its location was forbidding, surrounded by leagues of arid desert, built into a rocky island outcrop which had originally formed the end of a promontory lying upstream in the Falkir estuary far to the south of Umbar. Well protected by high cliffs on all sides, it could be reached by land only by a narrow drawbridge, easily defended and which was firmly shut on the Fortress side. Since the Battle of the Brown Lands, Tuor and Ottakar’s fleet had blockaded the mouth of the estuary with a huge mesh chain, made by the dwarves of Erebor and supplied to Ottakar expressly for this purpose, one of the key items negotiated by Lothíriel in the meetings leading up to the signing of the peace and trade treaty in Minas Tirith many months before. More easily sealed off upstream, any escape route from the Fortress was now completely cut off by land and water.
The slave markets themselves were outside the Fortress, in the town of Sennebar which lay above the cliffs at the very mouth of the estuary. Ottakar’s forces had taken it by stealth at dawn the day the staff was broken, a flight of three great eagles overhead signalling that all was in place and the battle in the Brown Lands imminent. Ottakar had overseen its execution himself. Always meticulous in his planning, no man, beast nor bird made it out of the town to warn the Fortress the town had fallen. The stage was set for the first part of Maglor’s plan to be played out in the Fortress itself.
Their spy within the Fortress had given them a good idea of the number of Astari, slaves and supplies that remained after Pallamir and his men had left. The Quartermaster had been fooled into loading one of Tuor’s own pirate ships with half the supplies stored in the Fortress to send to Pallamir’s forces in the notoriously inhospitable Brown Lands while the Grand Master was distracted with the impending battle.
Within the Fortress, the breeding grounds, as the women’s quarters were called, were the nearest to the quays, built out from the base of the Fortress on the estuary side in water deep enough to provide harbour for large sea faring ships. Ottakar understood that reducing the food and water supplies would not be enough, as did his spy. For such as the Astari, the women and children would also become food. Unless they were removed from the Fortress, the remaining men could survive another two months at least. Take them away and the Astari would have to turn on each other to survive, increasing the odds of success for their plan.
The spy’s greatest feat had been to empty the breeding grounds of distrustful women and their screaming children onto a second ship at the height of the battle while the Grand Master’s full attention was focused on sustaining the vortex, when the enchantments around the Fortress were at their weakest. The ship had to reach the open sea as soon as the enchantments were lifted, so the chain could be set across the estuary. The last of the women and children were being encouraged on to the ship as the staff was sundered. A wave of energy triggered by the force of its power over Sennebar breaking had thrown the last few escapees into the water, forcing the ship away from the dock on a wave which was too strong to turn back for them, nor for their spy who had still been on the Fortress docks.
That had been over two months ago.
Sent by Mithrandir to the aid of Ottakar’s forces surrounding the Fortress, Radagast had proved most helpful. His immense powers forever underestimated by both Saruman and Pallando, Radagast’s ability to communicate with creatures deemed insignificant to the two wizards was such that soon after his arrival fish no longer swam in the waters surrounding the Fortress, no birds flew near it and even the rats began to leave, as those defenders on the surrounding land closest to the shores could attest. They had seen many arriving on the shoreline having swum the distance across from the Fortress. And the rats had much information to divulge to one who cared to understand them.
For the first month, the Grand Master had refused to negotiate with such lowly men as Ottakar or Tuor. He had insisted on speaking only to Mithrandir. He had called on Mithrandir to come on his own to meet him. He was ignored. Once Maglor’s plan had been adapted to new information that Radagast had been able to impart, Aragorn used the Palantir of Orthanc to summon Pallando to speak with him, suggesting that he was merely the mouthpiece of Mithrandir. His interest, Aragorn claimed, lay only in the return of the Palantir, and Pallando would be given safe passage to the Grey Havens to join Mithrandir on a ship back to Valinor if he wished as all Elves and Wizards were destined to leave Middle-earth.
Ottakar estimated that unless there had been supplies his spy had not been aware of, the remaining Astari would by now have begun to turn on the weakest. The Grand Master must by now be ready to negotiate terms. Ottakar was ready to play this game, far more difficult than a game of Faradin. Faradin might have thousands of set moves, but they were set, this was different, far more unpredictable. If the mind of a man was far more complex than a game, how much more so that of a Maia?
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With no news of events outside and his men becoming restive, Pallando knew it was only a matter of time before they turned on him, and he no longer had the power to defend himself against them if they did. He had, however, one remaining threat to keep them in line. His Watchman, who was utterly loyal and was stronger than any within the walls of the Fortress. They all knew better than to try to escape while the Watchman was there, but even he was becoming unstable. He had already taken those breeders who had not made it onto the ship. He took them as soon as he had been released from the confines of his cell when the enchantments of Sennebar had been shattered. He had killed without permission, understandable when you are suddenly free to enjoy what you do best unfettered by the power of the staff. But he had at least protected his master when some foolhardy Slaves tried to revolt against their lot when he had the Quartermaster and his men executed most cruelly for their ineptitude in protecting their crucial supplies. He had been most effective then; it had sufficiently cowed the others.
But without food and limited fresh water, it would not last, and here was that damn fool Mithrandir offering him safe passage to Valinor! No…. there could be no Valinor for him without Alatar. Did they not understand? There was no life for him anywhere without his beloved. He had not lived since that day. It was the Elf’s fault. He had been overjoyed at his chance to play foster-father again, he had blinded Alatar to the reality of what it meant to keep the brat. He should have let his daughter starve, and she would have done, had it not been for Maglor’s knowledge of how to sustain a child on milk taken from animals mixed with special berries and herbs. She should have died. She will die, together with that bastard Elf. Her line will die.
His spies remained active and the Condir was still undetected, he had been able to send the Grand Master a message by his special birds from Minas Tirith even after the blockade. His Condir would continue the fight regardless, he had no choice... Alatar knew his power was broken, but he had the Watchman, they did not know about him. If he could lure them into the Fortress, he could still destroy Alatariel’s last remaining heirs: Tuor; Ottakar; and the one Maglor loved above all, Lothíriel. He would finally be rid of her filth and make sure that Maglor would be there to watch her die before finally dispatching him to face his fate, a proper judgement of his foul deeds. And Maglor thought to judge him, Pallando, one of the great Maiar! Burning his skin until it melted on his body had not been sufficient punishment, making him watch the torture of those of her heirs he had captured and brought to the Fortress, none of this had been enough.
Over seven hundred years he had kept Maglor suffering, he had seemed so cowed, demented almost. He must have had help to have escaped, and to have slaughtered his remaining henchmen... Was it Mithrandir? Elrond, his foster son? The mighty Glorfindel would have had the power to have pulled Anguirel from his place. But whoever it was, the bastard Elf had taken Anguirel for his own, his most prized possession, far more valuable to him than the Palantir or the mithril armour made for Maglor by his nephew, Celebrimbor.
He had recognised the power of the sword as soon as he had seen it, dangling by the side of an Easterling princeling so many centuries before, only a few decades before Alatar was ensnared by that whore. How it had got there, Pallando would never know. The Easterling had no idea of its significance - it was insulting. Relieving him of it had been his only choice, that he killed the man as a result was of no consequence, although he had kept this hidden from Alatar and Maglor. Alatar would not have understood his murder of the man and Maglor, well, with his past, he would have begun to covet it as he had the Silmarils. He was not to be trusted.
So it pleased him to appease Aragorn and play along with the notion he would give up the Palantir and depart Middle-earth with Mithrandir, but only to the heirs of Alatariel under the auspices of Maglor. Of course Aragorn would know it was a trap, but he was so desperate to retrieve the Palantir he would sacrifice them to have it returned. He could even have it, in exchange for his enemies. His spy in Rohan had told him that his favourite son, one of his woman-men, was still active and trusted by the enemy. He could take the Palantir back to Aragorn, kill him if he could, or find the Condir and together rebuild his great work.
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It had taken weeks, but they had finally come to terms. Those he feared the most: Elrond, Mithrandir and Glorfindel, he wanted to see in Minas Tirith through the Palantir with Galadriel and Aragorn. He would not lower the drawbridge to the Fortress to their lackeys unless he saw them all through the Palantir in the Throne Room of Minas Tirith beforehand. He would have preferred his enemies to have arrived by water, but Ottakar, it seemed, had a fear of sailing after his experience with Pallakir. It had been most annoying that that Ka’moruk had had something of extreme importance to trade when he had had Ottakar in his grasp that first time, but it was of no consequence now, no one of importance but his spy would be allowed to escape the Fortress now.
Pallando had specified the four envoys must be Maglor, Tuor, Ottakar and Lothíriel. They had offered to bring in supplies. Did they think he was a fool? A goodwill gesture as the men in the Fortress must be starving! They would bring the food and water in with serving women, not men at his insistence, and the four envoys were only allowed one armed guard each. They had themselves insisted that they did not enter the main Fortress but went directly to the docks outside the main walls. It seemed they understood the weaknesses and defences of the Fortress well. It was the route those women and children destined for the slave markets a few leagues away downstream took after their ‘selection’ on that very quay. Once they had been rejected, Pallando had not wanted the detritus of his raids sullying the floors of his Fortress and he had built a route around the cliff face out of sight leading directly to the drawbridge.
It was the only safe route to the quay, and they had made the exact error Pallando had hoped for. They thought that the quay they had chosen, the one furthest from the Fortress, the one closest to the estuary, would be the safest. It was true they would be able to see any of the Astari approach and they could not be hit by arrows shot from the Fortress, but they would be even closer to their Doom.
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The drawbridge slowly lowered. None of those on the land side of it were ignorant it was a trap, but they all knew the possible scenarios and what they should do in face of each threat. It was late afternoon, nevertheless, Ottakar had ensured plenty of beacons were lit along the coastline and their party was well supplied with individual torches and fuel, for the skies might darken before they were able to leave the Fortress. The drawbridge stopped just above their heads. A man pulled himself to the top of it and told them to stand away from the edge. They would jump down to inspect them and ensure that there were no others lurking on the land side.
Six men dropped down from the top of the drawbridge. The men checked over the party looking for hidden weapons among the women, a most cursory of searches, distracted by the aromas of the food and the women were dressed in the scanty fashion of the slave girls of Far Harad, not so different from Lothíriel’s costume for the Dance of the Crescent Moon. They were clearly not carrying any weapons, besides the guards had been told that one of their own would be among the women, one who could be mistaken for a man in another setting, and he must be allowed through.
The women were instructed to carry food and water for the remaining Astari within the Fortress. To ensure it had not been poisoned, they would be instructed to eat and drink a selected part of what they had brought before Pallando would allow them to offer it to his men. Intoxicated by the prospect of the food, the guards speedily called out to their comrades within the Fortress to lower the drawbridge to the ground and let the party in, led by the four emissaries, each with their favoured guard: Maglor with Gallend; Tuor with his second in command, Marmadan; Ottakar with Bakiran, his huge, handsome Haradrim bodyguard he had had with him in Minas Tirith; and Lothíriel with her brother. They made their way cautiously across the drawbridge, taking the left-hand pathway down towards the quays instead of entering the Fortress itself. The drawbridge was quickly raised behind them.
Pallando watched closely as they arrived on the far quay. He was standing with his back to the open water of the estuary, on a raised platform which would normally act as a support for a gangplank from the side of a ship. There were further supports alongside the quay, holding up a wooden walkway which led to an open cave entrance. The emissaries and their guards knew it led directly to the inner sanctum of the Grand Master’s quarters deep within the Fortress and likely heavily guarded by unseen Astari.
Tables and benches were laid out on the quay in front of Pallando. As the visitors scanned the scene for threats, all eyes were draw to what was behind him. High above his head was the Palantir, stuck on a podium in the water out of reach unless you could jump a considerable distance over the water. Maglor, with his keen eyes, could see faces within the orb. He knew who they were. Pallando would not order the drawbridge to be lowered unless he saw them all clearly in the Palantir of Minas Tirith and that of Orthanc, both now in Aragorn’s possession. He could make out Galadriel clearly, Mithrandir, Glorfindel and Elrond also, Aragorn himself, of course, but also Imrahil, Faramir and Éomer, who looked sick with worry. He thought he glimpsed Éowyn and Arwen in the background.
Pallando was amused to see Lothíriel dressed in the mithril suit of Alataturë. Of course Maglor would try to protect his precious surrogate daughter above all. The fool! The armour would be no protection from his Watchman. The full contingent was now assembled at the quayside, the women laying down the food on the tables. How could they possibly have agreed to his terms? Thirty serving women and six undoubtedly superb fighters, that imbecile Ottakar and the brat of Dol Amroth excluded, although admittedly she had fought Pallamir well and tricked him with releasing her sword. He took comfort in the knowledge that she would be no match for his surprise. The orc elf was addressing him, he shuddered in revulsion.
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Maglor’s voice rang out clearly, ‘Pallando, I thank you for your welcome. I would like to say it’s good to be back but we both know that would be a lie. However we are here, to give you and your men sustenance and exchange this simple fare for the Palantir. I would rather not linger too long as the King is impatient to retrieve his rightful inheritance, so while we sit and eat part of what we have brought as agreed, I thought we might as well be entertained. It would spare us both the need for conversation. I have brought my lyre and one of the girls can dance, but I see the object we are here to accept from you is somewhat out of reach. Might I ask how you are proposing to honour your pledge to King Elessar?’
Pallando turned his back on Maglor and spoke to the Palantir. ‘If he wants it, he just has to take it, but surely, Mithrandir, you do not trust this Elf to return it to Aragorn. It belongs to him, Maglor, son of Fëanor, and not to Aragorn. Given his singular failure to retrieve his family heirlooms, the temptation to keep this one may prove too great. Are you sure you wish me to release it to he who has shown himself so unreliable? Perhaps I should deliver it to Lothíriel instead, if she would step forward to receive it?’ He saw Mithrandir nod his consent.
He turned back to Maglor, ‘I did wonder why the White Council trusted you for this task, but once you have proved that the provisions are not poisoned, Lothíriel may claim the Palantir and you can be on your way. The men who accompanied you down will tell you which parts of the food you should eat. You may start,’ he commanded arrogantly. Maglor nodded to the women and picked up his lyre. One of the serving girls stepped forward to perform a dance, while Lothíriel walked towards Pallando on his platform. Pallando could see that she was armed with a long sword and gestured for her to stop.
Maglor began to play. The girl slowly started to respond to the music. Only the Valar themselves exceeded the power of his music and his voice when he sang. On Middle-earth itself he was peerless. Even Pallando became entranced. The girl twirling around in front of him he barely noticed, but the six Astari guarding their Master, famished as they were, suddenly found their gnawing pains diminished as they feasted on the music and the girl’s exquisite dancing.
As he almost lost himself in the music, Pallando began to sense his Watchman becoming distressed, he turned around to see the podium on which the Palantir lay sway as if it were being buffeted by the water around it. He was confused. The water seemed to be moving almost to the music. Part of his mind screamed at him, but he remained absorbed by the majesty of Maglor’s singing. He had to fight it, he had to fight the music. His Watchman was troubled, he could see him recoiling from an unseen power, one which was forcing him from his hiding place.
To Pallando’s great confusion, the dancing girl leapt into the water from the quayside, only there was no splash on entry, instead she rode on a wave carrying her to the Palantir. Pallando’s uncomprehending mind was slow to react, as was the Watchman, who seemed to be distracted by the roiling water, until something sharp stabbed him hard where he had been holding the Palantir, which was released into the air, caught and thrown by the dancer to Lothíriel waiting on the quay. The girl quickly followed the stabbing with a slash of such force that it severed the limb.
The Watchman erupted from the water in terrifying fury. He had been bred by Pallando in captivity deep under the Fortress in the hidden caverns beneath. One of the great evil creatures of the water, its kin had lurked in the lake beside the West entrance of Moria, but unnurtured as that beast had been, it had been far lesser in size and lethality. The water had protected the girl from his revenge and had delivered her on to the quay on the opposite side of the walkway to where Pallando was still standing. The Watchman would not be able to reach her unless he destroyed his master’s escape to the cave entrance. But the one in the shining armour was the closest, the one who had caught the orb. He went for this nearest enemy.
‘Amrothos look out!’ the dancer screamed as a huge black tentacle flailed towards him. As he whipped out his sword to defend himself against the attack, Amrothos threw the Palantir at the oncoming Maglor, who batted it on to Ottakar.
The quayside simultaneously erupted. The six Astari guards had attacked the envoys as soon Lothíriel retrieved the Palantir and were swiftly dispatched in their turn. The serving women would be no match for the Watchman with the kind of weapons they had managed to secrete around their persons and the lit toches, but at Hadán’s command, they quickly formed a protective ring around the quayside waiting for an expected assault from the remaining Astari. These were some of Tuor and Ottakar’s best fighters, despite their penchant for presenting themselves quite differently.
Pallando had been quick to understand the deceit and was bearing down on an unprotected Lothíriel. Her friends watched in horror, but none could not get past the Watchman to reach her; he had launched his full force onto his master’s enemies. Amrothos had sliced a deep cut in the tentacle that had tried to strike him, only to be struck by a second that flung him hard against the rocks of the cliff face and he fell into the water. Tuor, Marmadan and Bakiran all followed Maglor to fight the beast. Lothíriel was yelling above the fray to her brother, ‘Get him out of the water, Erchirion. Save him!’ She saw him dive into the water before she herself rolled forward to avoid a blow from Pallando’s sword. She only had her hidden mithril daggers with which to defend herself.
She could see both Hadán and Gallend desperately trying to get through to her past the lashing tentacles of the Watchman. She could also see the remaining Astari pouring out from their hiding places to ambush her friends. She leapt back again, blocking his sword with her daggers. Old man he might seem, but he was still a fearsome swordsman, driven by rage and hatred, and with nothing to lose. He would beat her and they both knew it. He swung at her again and again, raining down blows she could not sustain. Both daggers were smashed out of her hands and she tumbled backwards over a rock. Pallando swung his sword triumphantly to strike right through her.
Out of nowhere, a sword blocked the fatal blow. It was one of his own, one of the Astari. She saw Hadán leaping towards them launching himself on the Astari as the closest to Lothíriel. Suddenly the Astari’s face came into the light and Hadán’s blow stalled, partly blocked by the Astari but also pulled by Hadán himself. Pallando, however, had not hesitated, he had thrust his sword at the Astari, only missing because Hadán had altered his momentum to block it. As one the Astari and Hadán turned on Pallando. He stepped back from them, fear etched clearly on his face.
‘My children,’ he cried out to them, ‘you should be fighting for me, not against me…’
Gallend had reached them and had pulled Lothíriel protectively away from the impending fight three-way fight which trapped them beside the cliff wall.
‘I must get to the Palantir, Gallend,’ she shrieked above the noise of the battle, picking up her mithril daggers from where they had fallen and re-sheathing them. Gallend was barely paying attention, he was staring open-mouthed at the woman dressed as an Astari as she, together with Hadán, faced Pallando.
It was the girl from Lothíriel’s drawing, she was Ottakar’s spy who had been left behind. It was the only explanation. It was Assa. He heard Lothíriel shout to him but could not tear himself away from the fight. The pair were devastating in their attack on Pallando. They came at him from two sides and skilled though he was, he was no match for the determined and clinical strokes swiftly dealt against him. His sword was cut from his hand by Assa, falling at Lothíriel’s feet and it was done. Hadán skewered Pallando though the heart.
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Lothíriel’s mind had been absorbing the many battles all happening around her and she made her decision. She grabbed Gallend, picked up Pallando’s sword as it landed clattering in front of her without waiting to see his final fall and ran towards the Watchman. Gallend came to his senses. The remaining Astari were no longer resisting, even before Pallando’s death it seemed many of them had already changed sides. Some were even helping to battle the Watchman, but the casualties were strewn across the quayside. Only Maglor and Tuor remained standing against the beast battling it together with a number of Astari and those of the ‘women’ who had managed to find better weapons. The Watchman was truly terrifying, as the enormity of its body emerged from the water. They had been warned the creature could crush any ship with ease, but Lothíriel could see one of her father’s ships bearing down on the creature from the distance captained by her eldest brother’s best friend and second-in-command, Benethrin.
Arrows began to whizz past Lothíriel and Gallend as they ran towards the tentacles and the clattering of hooves was heard over the fray. It was Maela, ridden by Legolas carrying Gimli behind him. They had hidden on the cliff under where the drawbridge would land over them and they had pierced the wood with Gimli’s axes to support them as the drawbridge was raised. Legolas had scaled the Fortress wall and sent a rope down for Gimli. Together they had succeeded in lowering the drawbridge, with Maela the first to cross.
Legolas and Gimli jumped off Maela to join the fight against the Watchman, Radagast too was not far behind. Swarms of Ottakar’s forces were now pouring from the Fortress. The wounded Watchman was beginning to retreat. Lothíriel ran towards Ottakar who had been holding the Palantir with his back to the cliff face as far from the fighting as possible but watching attentively. Early in the fighting, Lothíriel had seen Amrothos dressed in Alataturë not moving, lying curled up beside Ottakar with Erchirion defending them both.
Amrothos was still not moving. Panicked, Lothíriel ignored the disappearing Watchman, which was slithering back into the water, bypassed Ottakar and ran straight to her brother, her mind screaming. Erchirion was crouched down beside his brother as she got there. ‘He took in a lot of water, Lothi. He was unconscious when I got him out. I pumped him like you showed us to when we were children. He is breathing but barely and I don’t know if there was any internal damage.’ Between them they delicately got him out of his armour. Heavy bruising was already beginning to show and he was still not conscious.
With the Watchman in retreat and the Astari dead or surrendered, Ottakar risked walking cautiously with the Palantir to Maglor and Tuor who were assessing the devastation around them. At the halfway point, without warning a black tentacle lashed out from the water and struck him, knocking the Palantir out of his hands. Lothíriel screamed ‘Alatar’ as the Palantir was whipped up by the tentacle. Tuor ran forward, his sword aiming to strike. Legolas shot arrow after arrow into it but the hide was too thick and the tentacle’s grip too fast; it refused to give up the stone.
As one Maela and Maglor moved, he vaulted onto her as she sped towards the quayside and leapt into the sea with Maglor flying from her back over her head, sword raised above his head to strike as the Watchman came out of the water to engulf him. Radagast had warned him that the beast had only one weak spot, in between its eyes. The Watchman’s remaining tentacles had all retracted as one in a desperate bid to catch Maglor as he flew through the air and crush him. Just before the tentacles reached him, Maglor released his sword. It twisted in the air with terrifying speed and power, embedding itself deep into the flesh of the foul beast between its large bulbous eyes.
Lothíriel screamed in horror and ran to dive into the waters after them both. Gallend grabbed hold of her before she could and through the Palantir which was now flying high in the air Éomer could see him struggling with her. She viciously kicked him in the balls, but he still held on, refusing to allow her to enter the water. The beast was mortally wounded but still thrashing about dangerously, and it still had Maglor enmeshed in its tentacles. Lothíriel was screaming.
Erchirion and Tuor both leapt in to save him, as well as those strongest swimmers of Tuor’s men. Maela had not been touched by the Watchman and was attacking those tentacles holding Maglor with her hooves. The Palantir dropped into the water and the vision of those in Minas Tirith submerged with it.
The beast was shuddering and flailing madly in the water, finally succumbing to Maela’s hooves, it freed Maglor from its grasp and he slumped onto her back. Swarms of sea creatures were now attacking the weakened Watchman as the crew of the fast-approaching ship of Dol Amroth thrust long spears tipped with mithril to pierce the beast’s skin as it slipped into deeper water.