Chapter 30
The icy rain had already soaked through his clothes, clinging to his skin with a piercing chill. Meereen stumbled forward across the muddy waste, each breath thick with moisture and the trembling of life. He dared not stop. From the direction of Shagerion came the faint sound of pursuing horns, obscured by the torrential rain and flood, yet it lashed him like an invisible whip. Ulmo had answered his prayers, and the raging flood scattered the Orcs and Elf guards, giving him a glimmer of hope, but at the cost of nearly exhausting his strength.
He found a rocky hollow that barely provided shelter from the rain, curled up, and tried to wring the water out of his clothes, but the cold and exhaustion were like thorns on his bones. He had escaped, finally escaped Fëanorion's control, and he forced himself to rest for a while, to regain some strength, and then he had to leave this dangerous territory of Caranthir as soon as possible.
However, fate always seemed to cast a darker shadow when he saw hope.
A few days later, when he was walking like a ghost through a desolate and dilapidated valley, trying his best to avoid all possible eyes, an unbelievable scene made his blood freeze and he held his breath.
Deep in the valley, hidden behind a ruined wall, two figures whispered. One was the burly figure of Ulfang, leader of the Easterlings, and the other... that hunched, ugly creature, emitting a stench of sulfur and decay, was actually a well-armed Orc chieftain!
Meereen's heart pounded so hard it threatened to break his ribs. He clung to the cold rock like a gecko, his breathing nearly stagnating.
"...That guy's attitude towards me has always been lukewarm," Wu Fang's voice came in a low voice, with a hint of subtle irritation. "He seems to have noticed something and is deliberately distancing himself. I've tried several times, but I haven't been able to get any more information about his abilities or the inner world of the elves."
The Orc leader made a hoarse grunt, as if mocking: "Lord Morgoth does not care about the attitude of a human cub! Your task is to continue to lurk beside the self-righteous fool Caranthir. Stay quietly like a maggot in a rotten tree root! When the elves and those stupid western humans gather their armies again and march north, it will be your time to play a role. Stab them in the back and let their blood water the land of Angband." The voice was full of cruel expectation.
Meereen felt a chill. This was undoubtedly a naked betrayal, targeting the entire alliance between elves and humans.
Wu Fang was silent for a moment, as if weighing the pros and cons. Then he lowered his voice even lower, with a greedy temptation: "The reward after the success..."
"Be patient, human!" the Orc leader growled impatiently. "The generosity of the Lord far exceeds your meager imagination. Now, what you need is more weapons to equip your people, so that they can become deadly stings in times of crisis, rather than useless burdens."
"Weapons?" Wu Fang's voice brightened. "When can they be delivered?"
'In three days' time, at sunset, I will be here again,' hissed the Orc Lord. 'I will bring enough steel swords and poisoned arrows to arm your inner guard. Do not disappoint Lord Morgoth, or...' The threat was evident.
The Orc leader finished his words, glanced cautiously around him, then turned and disappeared into the shadows of the jagged rocks. Ulfang stood there, watching the Orcs disappear. His face showed no gratitude or loyalty, only naked disgust and contempt. He spat a mouthful of thick phlegm in the Orcs' direction, then pulled from his bosom a letter wrapped in rough leather—branded with the disgusting emblem of Angband. Without even glancing at it, he tore the letter into pieces with his hands, threw it carelessly on the muddy ground, and crushed it with his boot several times, as if to crush the shackles of humiliation. Then, cursing, he turned and walked away.
A deathly silence fell upon the valley, leaving only the monotonous sound of raindrops hitting the rocks. Meereen's heart still beat wildly, but fear had been replaced by a cold rage and a deep sense of responsibility. He truly resented the Fëanorion brothers' captivity and exploitation, and hated the madness their oath had unleashed. But Morgoth and Angband were the common enemies of all Arda. The alliance of Elves and Men was the last bulwark against the darkness. If Ufang and his Easterlings stabbed him in the back at this crucial moment, what a horrific sight it would be.
But he had finally escaped, the warmth and safety of Nargothrond within reach. If he returned to Shagelion, into the hands of Celegorm and Curufin, he would surely face imprisonment and guards ten times harsher than before. Curufin would never give him another chance. And what proof did he have? Just his own words? Why would Caranthir believe a "prisoner" who had just escaped their clutches? The calculating and suspicious lord would likely believe this was a lie fabricated by Meereen to escape or exact revenge.
"There's no evidence..." Milin closed his eyes in pain. Returning meant a huge risk, and he might lose his freedom again. If he didn't return... the Alliance would face catastrophic destruction, countless lives would be lost, and he could clearly prevent it.
Time seemed to stand still, as cold rain streamed down his hair and dripped onto his clenched fists. Glorfindel's teachings, Finrod's trust, and the faces of ordinary humans and elves struggling to survive the war finally converged into a heavy but inescapable decision.
"I must go back." Milin's voice was low but firm, as if he was trying to convince himself, "For those...whose blood should not be shed for this."
He took a deep breath, suppressed all fear and hesitation, and like the most alert beast, stalked to where the Ukrainian side had discarded the fragments of the letter. He carefully picked up the muddy scraps one by one, wrapped them in a relatively clean piece of cloth, and tucked them away tightly in his arms. This was the only, slimy piece of evidence.
He resolutely turned around, abandoned the southern road to freedom and safety, and instead went upstream towards the Shagerian camp that he had just escaped, which was full of danger and imprisonment.
The night was dark and the rain had stopped for a while. When Meereen stepped back into the guard area of Shagelion, covered in mud, he was discovered almost immediately. The one in charge of the night patrol was the irritable Celegorm.
"Ha! Look who this is?!" Celegorm was like a beast that had found its prey, with anger burning in his eyes as if he had been teased. He rushed forward in one step, and with his immense strength he instantly pressed the exhausted Meereen down hard into the cold mud, pressing his knee against his back. "You cunning little mouse! How dare you run back?! Do you think it's a pity that the flood didn't drown you?" His voice was filled with violence.
Meereen's cheek was forced to press against the damp, cold earth, nearly suffocating him, but he struggled and screamed with all his might: "Celegon! Let me go! Take me to Caranthir! Now! I have... a terrible secret! It concerns the life and death of everyone!"
"A secret?" Celegorm scoffed, his grip tightening. "What tricks are you planning to pull?!"
"It's not a trick!" Meereen's voice was distorted by oppression, but it carried an almost desperate urgency and an unquestionable sense of reality. "The Easterlings... Ulfang... betrayed the Alliance. They defected to Morgoth and planned to stab the Alliance army in the back when it attacked. I saw it with my own eyes and heard it with my own ears! I risked my life to come back just to tell you, if you don't believe it and don't stop it... everyone, everyone will regret it! Everyone will shed tears for this!" His last words were almost roared, and sounded particularly shrill in the silent night.
Celegorm froze. The desperate determination in Meereen's words, the mention of "Morgoth," "betrayal," and "everyone's tears of regret," pierced his rage like an icicle. He understood Meereen's dislike for Fëanorion, but he knew even more clearly the man's inherent integrity and his concern for the greater good. He had come back so desperately for more than just a clumsy lie.
"What did you say? Ulfang's betrayal?!" Celegorm's voice dropped to a low, uncertain tone. He roughly pulled Meereen to his feet, like a drowned rat, but his grip was noticeably looser. "You better not be seeking death!"
"Take me to see Caranthir!" Meereen panted, staring at Celegorm, "I have evidence! Hurry! Time is running out!" His mention of "evidence" made the doubts in Celegorm's eyes deeper, but also a hint of solemnity.
Celegorm cursed under his breath, but was ultimately overcome by the gravity of Meereen's words. He roughly escorted Meereen, followed by several equally stunned elven soldiers. Under cover of darkness, they quickly found Caranthir, who hadn't rested yet and was checking accounts by candlelight.
When Meereen was pushed and appeared in front of Caranthir, covered in mud, the lord known for his calmness also showed obvious surprise.
"Meereen?" Caranthir put down his quill, his grey eyes sharp as a hawk's. "Celegon, what is going on? Why is he..."
"He says that Ulfang betrayed the Alliance and joined Morgoth." Celegorm spoke briefly, his tone still harsh, but no longer as violent as before. "He also claims to have evidence."
Caranthir's gaze instantly locked onto Meereen, his eyes as cold as the polar wind. "Betrayal? Evidence?" His voice was calm, yet filled with a storm. "Meereen, do you know the price of accusing an ally of betrayal, especially after you've just 'successfully' escaped? If you're lying..."
"I have not lied," Meereen interrupted, his voice trembling with emotion and cold, but his eyes unflinching. He told him quickly and clearly all he had seen and heard in the valley: the plot between Ulfang and the Orc-lords, Morgoth's command to lie dormant and betray, Ulfang's attempts at reward, his demand for weapons, and his promise to meet again in three days' time. Every detail was painfully clear.
"Where's the evidence?" Caranthir uttered these three cold words with a blank expression. His fingers tapped unconsciously on the table, revealing his inner trembling.
Without hesitation, Milin took out the wet, muddy small cloth bag from his arms, opened it with trembling hands, and poured out the torn black leather fragments with Wu Fang's boot prints on the edges onto Caranthir's table.
"These are fragments of orders from Angband... torn and discarded by the Ulrichs." Milin's voice was filled with a desperate fatigue. "I pieced some of them together. You can see the emblem and some words on it." He pointed to a few fragments that could be barely pieced together, with distorted Dark Language symbols and the hideous emblem vaguely visible.
Caranthir's gaze was fixed on the fragments. He didn't need to be fluent in the Dark Tongue, but the unique crest of Angband, the texture of the leather, and the roughly torn edges of the fragments hammered at his understanding like a hammer. He reached out, his fingertips trembling imperceptibly as he carefully picked up several larger pieces and tried to piece them together. Though the words were fragmented, the sinister aura and commanding tone matched Meereen's description remarkably.
The study was deathly silent. The candlelight flickered on Caranthir's pale face, illuminating the turbulent waves in his eyes—shock, disbelief, rage at being deceived, and a hint of fear. He had been shrewd all his life, boasting about being in control, yet he had raised a deadly venomous snake right under his nose. If Meereen hadn't discovered it, if betrayal had occurred at the critical moment...
"Three days later... sunset... valley..." Caranthir repeated the meeting time and place provided by Meereen in a dry voice, as if confirming this nightmarish reality. He raised his head suddenly, and there was no longer a trace of doubt in his eyes, only cold murderous intent and determination.
"Celegon!" Caranthir's voice was firm. "Mobilize the guards immediately. Where's Curufin? Have him come too, Meereen." He turned to the young man, soaking wet, pale-faced but with a determined look. "Point out the exact location. We... need to 'witness' it with our own eyes."
For the next two days, Shagelion remained calm on the surface, yet secretly tense as a bowstring. Under the pretext of strengthening border patrols and guarding against Orc remnants, Caranthir quietly dispatched his most loyal and reliable Elven warriors to the perimeter of the devastated valley, exploiting the terrain to set up a meticulous ambush. Celegorm personally led the charge, while Curufin remained in the rear, ensuring a smooth transition within the camp and secretly increasing surveillance of any remaining Easterlings. Meereen was under close protection, and Caranthir described the terrain and possible rendezvous points in detail.
On the third day, at sunset, the setting sun was blood-red, casting an ominous hue over the desolate valley.
The elf warriors, hiding in the crevices of rocks and behind dead trees, held their breath like the most patient hunters, while Caranthir and Celegorm hid in an excellent observation point, their eyes sharp.
Time ticked by, and finally, the familiar figure of Wufang appeared, accompanied by a few trusted followers. He glanced around cautiously and entered the agreed location. Not long after, the ugly Orc leader also arrived as promised, followed by a group of Orc soldiers carrying heavy wooden boxes - which obviously contained the promised weapons.
When Wu Fang stepped forward and was about to inspect the goods and talk in a low voice with the Orc chief, a cold light flashed in Caranthir's eyes.
"Get started!"
A sharp elven horn tore through the silence of dusk. In an instant, countless agile figures emerged from all directions like ghosts. The elves' swords flashed with deadly cold light in the setting sun, and the sound of arrows breaking through the air was like the whisper of death.
"For Fenorian! For the Alliance! Capture the traitor!" Celegorm's roar resounded through the valley. He was the first to rush down like an arrow, aiming directly at the terrified Wu Fang!
The battle was a foregone conclusion. The Easterling's henchmen and the Orcs were caught off guard and instantly overwhelmed by the Elven fury. Ulfang tried to draw his sword to resist, but Celegorm's overwhelming strength and the Elven warriors' siege knocked him out of his arms in just a few rounds, forcing him to the ground in disarray. The Orc leader, seeing the situation was dire, attempted to flee, but a well-aimed Elven arrow pierced his calf, sending him screaming and collapsing.
Caranthir slowly descended from the heights, his face gloomy enough to drip with water. He looked at Wufang, who was tightly bound and full of fear and resentment, then at the brand-new poisoned weapons scattered on the ground, which had fallen out of the wooden box. Finally, his eyes fell on the captured Orc leader. He had caught him red-handed, the evidence was overwhelming.
"Ufang," Caranthir said in a voice so cold it lacked a trace of warmth. "The betrayal of you and your people ends here." He turned to his lieutenant and issued an order as sharp as an icy blade: "Secure all Easterling camps, disarm them, and place them under strict guard. Anyone who dares to resist will be killed without mercy."
Under the night sky of Shagerian, a purge of traitors quietly unfolded. Fires flickered in the camp, and the panicked cries of the Easterlings and the harsh rebukes of the elves echoed. Caranthir stood high, gazing at the chaotic camp, his heart swirling with fear and anger. His gaze involuntarily shifted to the pale yet remarkably calm young figure guarded by the elven warriors.
This human, whom he had tried to imprison and exploit, and who had just escaped, had returned to this cage, bearing deadly intelligence that could upend the situation, risking everything. For the first time, Caranthir regarded Meereen with a profoundly complex, calculating gaze. This human's value seemed far more inestimable, far more dangerous, than he had imagined. He waved his hand, his tone unequivocal, yet with a subtle undertone of meaning: "Take Meereen away. Give him hot water, clean clothes, and food. Keep him under strict guard... but treat him with courtesy." He paused, a deep glint in his gray eyes. "He must remain here until Maglor arrives." Those last words marked the end of Meereen's brief freedom, yet hinted at a subtle, yet unforeseen, shift.
Meereen heard the command and didn't struggle, simply closing his eyes in exhaustion. He knew this would be the outcome. He had fulfilled his mission of warning, at the cost of being shackled once again. Yet this time, besides the heaviness in his heart, he also felt an inexplicable sense of relief. At least the terrible betrayal had been prevented. As for the future... he could only wait once more, waiting for the unknown fate shrouded by the Fëanorion Oath and the arrival of his elven brother with the deadly voice.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
