“How is it? What’s the situation in Isengard?”

Outside the castle, in a clearing, three of them each found something to sit on and rest, holding an impromptu meeting.

In response to Gandalf’s question, Garrett thought for a moment and said, “It’s quiet, too quiet, actually. Saruman isn’t there, and there’s no trace of the Nazgûl either. What I can confirm is that the garrison from the Black Land has rebelled. They now take orders from Mordor. I have reason to believe that the Uruk-hai there have also gone rogue. That’s… quite something.”

“Reaping what he sowed,” Gandalf supplied the most fitting phrase for Garrett.

“I did try to talk sense into him,” Garrett continued. “Not only did he refuse to listen, he even tried to fight me.”

Aragorn, sitting beside them, said, “This just shows that even the ‘wise’ can have their eyes clouded and become foolish.”

“The wise…”

Gandalf repeated the word.

“Indeed, Saruman was wise, but the trouble is, his wisdom was never used for the right things. If only he could’ve listened, dropped that pride and bitterness of his, things wouldn’t have ended up like this.”

As he spoke, Gandalf’s gaze suddenly fixed on Garrett’s hand.

“If I’m not mistaken, that’s Saruman’s ring?”

“I was just about to tell you about that.”

Garrett took off the Ring of Stars and tossed it to Gandalf. The loss of its power left him feeling a bit hollow, but he quickly adjusted.

“Through this ring, I’ve sensed something, vaguely. But it’s too indistinct for me. Maybe you can interpret it.”

Gandalf frowned, carefully examining the pristine white Ring of Stars in his palm. There was a familiar power within it, the same power that had sent him out of the tower. Pure, flawless, with the faintest hint of violence. It matched Saruman perfectly.

“This is what I meant when I said Saruman was wise.”

He held the ring up and said, “If we hadn’t fought back then, the Nazgûl could never have threatened him.”

“Unfortunately, it’s too late now.”

“Not too late,” Garrett replied, his eyes on the ring. “There’s still a chance to make things right. Did you feel the guidance I mentioned?”

Gandalf pondered for a moment, then nodded slowly.

“East. To the east, beyond the Misty Mountains, in a dark place where the sun never shines.”

“Can you be more specific?” Garrett pressed.

“Not too far, but not close either. Only one place fits that description.” Gandalf spoke the name: “Mirkwood, Dol Guldur.”

“Just as I suspected.”

Garrett took the Ring of Stars back and said, “It’s unlikely the Nazgûl took him to Mordor. The distance is too great. They couldn’t possibly keep that movement hidden. If they crossed any airspace, someone would’ve noticed, but none of our scouts or allies have seen anything.”

“Looks like Dol Guldur’s danger level needs to be raised a few notches.”

“Ah!”

Just as the three were contemplating their next move, a sudden cry of terror came from the side.

“What happened?”

Garrett stood up and shouted.

“Dragon! There’s a dragon!!”

The four Hobbits were kicking their legs in panic, scrambling behind the three of them.

Even from afar, Garrett could see the dragon’s look of disdain.

It didn’t even glance properly at the Hobbits. If anything, it looked more like they had woken it up.

Gandalf stepped forward to shield the four and said, “All right, don’t be afraid. That’s not some evil dragon from the stories. That’s Garrett’s own dragon, gentle and well-behaved. His name is…”

“Weymir,” a voice interjected.

Gandalf had been forced to speak up only because the usually silent dragon had opened his mouth.

“Yes, his name is Weymir,” Gandalf quickly corrected himself.

Aragorn looked astonished. “So he can talk? In all these decades I’ve never heard him say a single word.”

“He just doesn’t like to talk,” Garrett explained. “Don’t underestimate Wormi. He’s read and learned just as much as you have. Besides, he’s a dragon. Dragons are naturally fast learners. Even if they never study, they’ll pick things up just by listening.”

As he spoke, Garrett waved away the huge claw that Weymir was trying to nudge him with, ignoring the dragon’s anxious eyes and the great head swaying from side to side.

“And think about it,” he continued. “All the dragons in recorded history, Smaug, who took the Lonely Mountain, or Scatha the Worm, who drove the Dwarves from the Grey Mountains and was later slain by the ancestors of the Rohirrim, they all spoke the language of Men, and no one ever taught them how.”

“Wormi?”

The Hobbits, to their credit, caught on to the key detail immediately.

“Is that your name too?” Pippin was the first to ask, turning around.

Weymir shot him a look right away, but it wasn’t fierce in the least, and carried no menace whatsoever.

Gandalf stepped in again. “Show some respect, Pippin. Don’t call him Wormi. That was his childhood nickname. It’s no longer appropriate.”

“All right,” Pippin replied, nodding, though it wasn’t clear whether he actually meant it.

Still, after this encounter, their fear of the dragon had mostly vanished. The Hobbits, now full of curiosity, gathered around Weymir and tried talking to him.

But clearly, Weymir wasn’t interested. He coiled himself up, buried his head under his wings, and ignored everything that was being said around him.

So noisy. Enough to drive a dragon mad.

Among all these guests, the only one pleasing to his eyes was that grey-robed wizard.

Weymir sighed inwardly, helplessly.

The quiet under the mallorn tree didn’t last long.

A Ranger returning from the front lines approached Garrett with news, the kind that made Garrett frown deeply.

After thinking for a moment, he made his decision, “Abandon Carn Dûm. Withdraw everyone behind the Wall. That fortress, stripped of its magical protection, has little defensive value left. There’s no point holding it. Tell everyone to pull back. I’ll go there myself and see what’s really going on.”

“What happened?”

Sensing the change in Garrett’s expression, Gandalf stood up and came closer.

“It’s the snowfields north of Angmar again. Wargs and trolls are becoming more and more active. They’re everywhere now.”

“And besides those creatures, something else has appeared. Strange. Unsettling.”

“What?”

“Orcs.”

“Orcs? What’s so surprising about that?” Gandalf asked, puzzled.

“It’s true, orcs themselves aren’t anything new,” Garrett said, then turned toward the Ranger beside him.

“They wear rotten, corroded armor,” the Ranger explained, “but they’re fiercer than any orcs we’ve ever seen.”

“Those orcs on the northern tundra look the same as ordinary ones, but there’s something wrong with them. They have no reason left. Sure, orcs are always savage and brutal, but our enemies in the past, at least you could talk to them.”

“These northern orcs… they’re more like madmen.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep