By Kirill Yeskov
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For that, we will need another dead body, preferably with minimum damage; the sentry killed by Haladdin’s arrow will do just fine. Carefully Tzerlag carried the body to the spot where he hid the Elf, slit the Easterling’s throat from ear to ear and drained the blood the way hunters do with big game; then he dropped the body into the pool of blood and arranged it in a natural-looking way. It now looks obvious that the mercenary died on this spot; a normal person is not very likely to look for a body right under another one, in blood-soaked sand, unless he knows exactly what to look for.
He did manage to prevent overall sepsis, but the wound developed a large local inflammation; Tangorn ran a fever and became loudly delirious, which was the worst part – enemy soldiers used the back of the ruins as a latrine and were constantly coming and going, so much so that the sergeant began seriously considering putting him out of his misery before he gave them all away with his mutterings. Praise the One that this did not become necessary – by the end of the second day the Elvish antiseptics had worked, Tangorn’s fever went down and the wound started to close quickly.
Yes, you. Still, not everything is clear, which is why I’m here to ask a few questions. Most of them will be… rather personal, and I only ask for one thing: please answer as honestly as you think necessary, but don’t invent anything; that’d be useless anyway. And please stop looking around all the time! There are no other people for…” – the nazgúl paused for a moment – “at least twenty-three miles in any direction, and your friends will sleep soundly until we’re done here. ” “Yes, I can,” the nazgúl nodded, “but I will not.