Chapter 51
With the elves' loving care, Yana and her people quickly recovered from their injuries. Hope for life rekindled in their eyes, and with boundless gratitude towards Meereen and the Greenwood Elves, they left the outpost, escorted by the elven warriors, and headed for a safer and more prosperous human settlement to begin a new life. Meereen watched them disappear at the end of the forest path, his resolve to reach the Eastern Pass of Mordor growing even stronger.
He began frequenting the port towns of Dorwinion more frequently, mingling in the taverns and markets like a true spice merchant, observing the caravans coming and going. His eyes quickly fixed on a particular group. It was a small caravan, its members wary and discreet. Their trade consisted primarily of Dorwinian spirits and a few necessities, but Meereen had keenly noticed that they never ventured westward to the main settlements of elves or humans. And eastward? The human tribes east of Rhún were mostly primitive and backward, with limited demand for expensive spirits and fine vessels. The only explanation was that their destination was the south—the corrupted tribes of men near Mordor, corrupted by darkness but in need of certain supplies. The caravan's leader, a shrewd middle-aged man with a greedy look, was clearly driven by the promise of lucrative profits.
Meereen approached the group, leveraging his eloquence and experience honed in Valinor and over the centuries, presenting himself as a spice merchant whose family business had failed and desperately needed to explore new trade routes. He showcased several exquisitely carved vessels and rare spices from Lindon, successfully catching the group's interest. After some bargaining and a deliberate display of "adventurous spirit," Meereen was finally accepted into the profit-seeking caravan.
The caravan set out from Dorwinion, heading south toward the Eastern Pass of Mordor. The closer they approached their destination, the darker the sky grew. Sunlight was swallowed by thick, seemingly endless, leaden clouds, and the daylight faded to dusk. At night, the sky was pitch black, starless, filled with an oppressive, unsettling silence. The air was thick with sulfur, scorched earth, and a deeper, evil aura, rooted in Mordor.
When they finally reached the fallen tribe of men near the Eastern Pass of Mordor, the sight before them made Meereen's heart sink. The tribe lay on a barren, charred landscape, its tents built of rough rocks and animal skins scattered in a chaotic pattern. The men here had hideous faces, fierce and cunning eyes, their bodies covered in scars and crude tattoos. The air was filled with the air of savagery, calculation, and depravity.
The caravan leader nervously warned Meereen: "Keep your eyes and mouth shut here, don't run around, and don't ask too many questions. Let's finish the transaction, get the money and leave immediately, don't stay a moment longer." He was obviously well aware of the danger of this place.
Bashor was met by Ugor, the tribe's leader. Ugor wasn't particularly large, but he was sturdy and strong, moving with the agility of a cheetah. His face, devoid of scars, appeared rather clean-shaven, but his deep-set, vulture-like eyes gleamed with an unsettling coldness and shrewdness. He casually inspected the merchandise, his gaze, like a sticky spider's thread, silently tracing over Meereen. Meereen's handsome features and calm demeanor, even in the dim light, caught Ugor's attention like a firefly in the night sky of this barbaric land.
"Who is this?" Ugol asked the leader in a hoarse but unusually steady voice, pointing at Meereen. There was even a hint of a kind smile on his face. "A new face? Doesn't look like someone who often runs this route."
Basso's heart tightened, but he quickly forced a smile. "Lord Ugor has good eyesight. This is a new member of the caravan. He knows a little about rare spices. Bring him out to see the world and help with the business."
"Oh? Spices…" Ugor nodded thoughtfully, his gaze lingering on Meereen for a moment. Then, turning to Basso, his smile unchanged, his voice lowered. "Basso, your goods are of excellent quality. So, for the sake of our long-standing friendship, I'll give you an extra 20%." He paused, his gaze once again at Meereen, a look of inquiry and assessment. "However, I'm very interested in your new buddy. Could you ask him to stay for a few days and tell me about the origins and uses of those 'rare spices'? Don't worry, I won't treat him unfairly."
The leader's smile froze. The extra two percent was a huge temptation, but Wugor's request shone with a strangeness. He knew full well that this leader, though outwardly affable, was actually ruthless and could turn his back on anyone. He struggled, trying to politely decline, "Sir, you're overly kind to him. This kid is clumsy and doesn't know anything about the business. He's just here to make a living. I'm afraid he'll spoil your fun."
The smile on Ugor's face faded instantly, and his eyes became like an icy blade, gently slashing across the leader's face: "We are old friends. Old friends should 'help' each other, right?" His voice was still not loud, but it carried an invisible, creepy pressure, "Let him stay for a few days, and I will buy the goods you have at a 20% price increase. Otherwise..." He didn't say anything else, but the cold eyes made Basso feel like he was falling into an ice cave.
Outside the tent, Meereen quietly left the caravan camp while Ugol was still talking to the leader, and moved quickly through the tribe, trying to find any trace of the blue-robed wizard or the prisoners. However, the humans here were extremely wary and xenophobic. As soon as Meereen approached, they immediately turned and retreated into their tents, or glared at him with hostile and warning eyes, their mouths tightly shut, refusing to say a single word. It was clear that Sauron's reign of terror and strict orders had penetrated their bones, and any conversation with outsiders could result in catastrophic consequences.
Having gained nothing, Meereen could only return to the caravan. The scene before him horrified him: the leader sat slumped on the ground, his face pale, his forehead bruised and swollen, and bloodshot at the corners of his mouth, clearly having been beaten. Ugol stood beside him, toying with a small but exceptionally sharp dagger, a playful smile on his face, a cat-and-mouse grin on his face, his eyes icy and piercing.
"It seems your new companion is very curious?" Ugol's voice was slow, his eyes entwined with Meereen like a venomous snake. "Not keeping your people under control, running around everywhere... This is taboo here."
Alarm bells rang in Meereen, knowing that Ugol was exploiting the situation. He forced himself to remain calm, his face showing panic and apology. "Forgive me, sir. I'm new here and don't know the rules. Everything is new to me, so I couldn't help but take a few extra steps... It's not the leader's fault. Please punish me!" He was extremely humble.
Ugor looked at Meereen with interest, with a playful smile on his lips: "Punishment? That's too much. Young people, curiosity is a good thing." He put away the dagger, walked in front of Meereen, his eyes became extremely aggressive, with a kind of confidence in control of everything: "I see that you speak very well, not like an ordinary businessman. How about staying with me? Take care of some...'special' matters for me. It's a hundred times better than living in the open with Basso. I can give you money, status, and even more exciting things." His voice was seductive, but it also contained a threat that could not be refused, "Everyone has agreed, right?" He glanced at the leader on the ground.
The leader trembled, not daring to look up at Meereen, and could only nod vaguely.
Meereen's mind raced. Ugor was determined to detain him. If he refused outright, Bashor and the caravan would be in jeopardy. He wore an expression of flattery yet hesitation. "I'm deeply grateful for your kindness, my lord. It's an honor to serve you, sir. But..." He deliberately expressed his embarrassment. "My wife awaits me at home. I vowed before I left this time that I would return... Would your Excellency be so kind as to allow me to return with the caravan, settle my family, and then return to serve you?"
The smile on Ugol's face disappeared instantly, and his eyes became extremely sinister: "Wife?" He uttered a short, cold laugh, leaned forward slightly, and lowered his voice to a very low level, like a venomous snake spitting out its tongue: "You are very smart, but don't try to be clever in front of me. You don't have any so-called family, right? Or your 'family' is far away." His sharp eyes seemed to be able to penetrate Meereen's disguise, "Stay, or they must die now! Choose one."
A cold murderous intent loomed over him like a physical presence. Milin knew there was no room for pretense. He took a deep breath, looked directly into Ugol's cold eyes, and suddenly smiled, a smile that held a strange, almost naive confidence. "Since your Excellency has spoken so much... how about we play a game? Let fate decide my fate, and it will also demonstrate your extraordinary magnanimity, Your Excellency, what do you think?"
"Game?" Ugol narrowed his eyes, obviously not expecting Meereen to bring this up at this moment, but Meereen's reaction piqued his interest. "What game?"
"Archery betting." Milin's voice was clear and loud. "I know that since you are in charge of a region, your martial arts skills must be exceptional. I also practiced archery for a few days when I was young, and I believe I have some accuracy. Let's compete with three arrows, shooting at the bull's eye a hundred steps away. If I lose, I will willingly stay and serve you, sir. If by chance I win..." He paused, his eyes sweeping over Basso on the ground and the terrified caravan members. "Please, sir, have mercy and let everyone in the caravan leave with their horses. Of course, the goods will be left behind as an apology to you, sir!"
On the surface, this bet seemed quite advantageous to Ugor. He stood to gain a valuable asset, a man of extraordinary potential and a mysterious identity; if he lost, he would receive a large quantity of goods for free, while letting a few insignificant merchants off would not be a loss for him. Furthermore, Ugor was extremely confident in his archery skills. He absolutely did not believe that this young man, who looked more like a bard than a bard, could surpass him, a leader forged in bloodshed. More importantly, this proposal was made in public; refusing would appear cowardly and undermine his authority.
"Hahaha..." Ugor let out a deep laugh, a calculating glint in his eyes. "Interesting, truly interesting. Okay, I'll play this round with you, and let everyone else open their eyes." He immediately ordered the shooting range to be set up and gathered the tribe to watch. He wanted everyone to witness his victory and his complete control over this young man.
Under the gaze of hundreds of wild and curious eyes, the gambling began.
With his first arrow, Ugor easily hit the edge of the bull's eye, drawing cheers. He looked triumphantly at Meereen. Meereen held his breath, his movements steady and smooth, releasing an arrow that landed precisely beside Ugor's, an inch closer to the bull's eye. The crowd erupted in amazement.
Ugor's expression changed slightly, but he remained confident. With even greater focus, he fired his second arrow, whistling and piercing the bull's eye, a piercing blow. He looked at Meereen defiantly. Undeterred, Meereen drew his bow again. His second arrow, strikingly split Ugor's first arrow at its shaft, allowed his own arrow to take center stage. The crowd fell silent, a pin drop audible.
Wugor's expression darkened completely, a subtle flash of shock and anger in his eyes. He felt threatened, but even more so, the humiliation of having his authority challenged in public. He took a deep breath, exerted all his strength, and with a touch of ruthlessness, launched his third arrow. With a piercing sound, the arrow pierced the bull's eye, trembling slightly.
Everyone's eyes were fixed on Meereen. He closed his eyes, then opened them again, a look of pure concentration. He slowly drew his bow, his movements graceful and steady. The bow resembled a full moon, the arrow a meteor. With a sharp whistling sound, the third arrow struck the tiny spot at the very center of the bull's eye, sending Ugol's third arrow flying.
"Wow!" The crowd erupted in shock, disbelief, and even a hint of awe for the powerful!
Wugor's face turned from pale to blue, and then from blue to red, and the knuckles of his fingers gripping the bow were white from being pinched. He stared intently at the arrow that was still trembling in the bull's eye, his eyes filled with murderous intent, shame, anger, and a kind of rage at being fooled. But he was worthy of being a cunning leader, and he suppressed all emotions in an instant. He forced an extremely ugly smile on his face, but tried to maintain his demeanor: "Good! Excellent archery! You really impressed this leader." He clapped his hands, but his voice was as cold as iron, "I, Wugor, am a man of my words! I accept defeat!" He waved his hand violently, pointing to the caravan, "Take your men and horses, get out, get out of here immediately, and leave the goods behind."
The caravan members felt as if they had been pardoned. They hurriedly helped their leader up, untied the horses, and without daring to look back, desperately fled from this horrible place.
As the caravan hastily vanished into the dust outside the pass, the forced composure on Ugol's face vanished in an instant. He stared at Meereen's departing form, his eyes as cold as a venomous snake's nest. With a wave of his hand, several of his strongest and most ferocious-looking warriors immediately surrounded him.
Driven by the threat of death, the caravan, carrying their injured leader, fled the suffocating confines of the Eastern Pass of Mordor at top speed. Only after running far enough and entering a relatively dark but familiar forest path did they dare to slow down slightly, panting and looking back with lingering fear.
"Oh my God...we...we really escaped..." A guy collapsed on the ground and said in a crying voice.
"It's terrible. Who would be willing to come here just because they offer so much money..." Another one looked towards the pass, his eyes full of worry.
Before they could finish their words of relief, something strange happened.
"Swish, swish, swish!" Dense arrows shot out from the dense woods on both sides, accompanied by cold whistles. Ugor led dozens of his men and rushed out of the ambush point. They had no intention of keeping their promise.
"Kill them! Capture that pretty boy alive, I will skin him alive with my own hands." Ugor's voice was full of resentment and cruelty. He held a powerful crossbow and aimed at the caravan himself.
The caravan members roared in despair and tried to resist, but were instantly dispersed by the ambushers who were far superior in numbers and combat effectiveness, and screams rang out one after another.
Milin pulled out the dagger hidden in his boot, swiftly parried the incoming blade, and stabbed an enemy with his backhand. But he immediately became a prime target, and several sturdy warriors, under the command of Ugol, surrounded him like hounds and attacked fiercely, intending to capture him alive.
Just as the caravan was about to be destroyed and Meereen was under siege -
"Woo--!" A loud and penetrating elven horn sound tore through the chaotic battlefield.
Then, the forest erupted in the deafening sound of horse hooves! Like golden thunder tearing through the gloom, Glorfindel led a squadron of elite Lindon elf cavalry, charging from the flank like a divine army. Their silver armor gleamed in the dim light, and their swords slashed with deadly cold light.
"For Lindon, for light." Glorfindel's voice was like thunder, his long golden hair flying as he charged, his sword pointing directly at Ugol.
The elven cavalry charged into the ambushers' formation like a hot knife through butter. Their well-trained horses sent their enemies careening backward, while their sharp elven swords easily slew their victims. Ugol's men were instantly stunned, their formation in disarray.
Ugor himself was shocked and enraged; he hadn't expected reinforcements. While commanding his men to resist, he attempted to aim his crossbow at Glorfindel. The Golden Flower Lord's swordsmanship was unparalleled, and after a few rounds of fighting, he was close to Ugor. Ugor's cunning was useless against sheer strength. With a deft thrust, Glorfindel's sword pierced Ugor's defenses like a venomous snake, piercing his chest fiercely.
Ungor let out a howl of resentment, his crossbow dropping helplessly. He glared at Glorfindel, then cast a venomous glance in the direction of Meereen. He seemed about to speak, but the blood pouring from his mouth silenced his words. His massive body collapsed to the ground with a thud, his eyes still filled with utter cruelty and disbelief.
With their leader killed, the remaining ambushers completely collapsed, crying and screaming as they fled in all directions. They were soon caught up by the elven cavalry and killed.
The battle ended incredibly quickly, and the smell of blood filled the forest path. The caravan's survivors, looking at the dreamlike scene before them and the golden-haired elven lord who looked like a god descended from heaven, could hardly believe they were saved.
Glorfindel sheathed his sword and, without even glancing at the corpse, walked straight towards Meereen. His handsome face was filled with suppressed anger and fear, his azure eyes like a frozen lake. "You better give me a perfect explanation! Do you think that just because you possess the blessing of the Valar, you can so recklessly risk it?" His voice was low, but it carried the pressure of thunder.
Meereen saw the concern and anger in his friend's eyes, and a wave of warmth and guilt welled up in his heart. He sheathed his dagger and frankly admitted, "Glorfindel, I was wrong. This time, I was too reckless. I underestimated the cunning of the Ungol and implicated the caravan. I promise you, I will never act like that again." His admission was straightforward and sincere.
A cold voice rang out from the shadows of a nearby tree. "Promise? Your promise to Glorfindel wouldn't be worth even a barrel of wine." Maglor walked out slowly, his silver-gray eyes sweeping across Meereen with a hint of helplessness and foresight. "Don't worry, I won't lecture you again. Glorfindel looks like he has enough rage to roast you three times over."
Meereen glanced at Maglor helplessly, then said seriously, "Though risky, this journey is not entirely without reward." He looked at Glorfindel, "I have observed the vicinity of the Eastern Pass of Mordor for several days and have noticed something quite unusual. Sauron's stronghold is nearby, yet the number of Orcs is unusually small, and patrols are rare. This is quite abnormal."
Glorfindel and Maglor's expressions instantly grew serious. They were both commanders who had experienced great wars, and they immediately understood the meaning of Meereen's hint.
"You mean..." Glorfindel's eyes were as sharp as a knife.
"Sauron's main force has likely been secretly transferred to Eregion," Meereen said firmly. "His previous tentative attack on Lindon was probably intended to paralyze us and conceal his true intention of a large-scale assembly and attack. Eregion is in imminent danger."
A gleam of cold determination flashed in Maglor's silver-gray eyes. Without further ado, he turned and walked towards his mount. "I will return to my domain immediately and muster all available forces. Glorfindel, you will lead Meereen back to Lindon or Rivendell." Before he had finished his words, he had already mounted his horse and, like an arrow from a bow, charged into the forest, galloping towards Fëanorion's domain, leaving only a swiftly fading figure behind him.
Glorfindel looked in the direction where Maglor disappeared, then looked at Meereen with a determined face, and finally sighed heavily, and stretched out his hand to Meereen resignedly: "Get on the horse! Let's leave here first!" The anger in his eyes had been replaced by deeper worry.
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