Note: Since you had to wait for chapter 18 quite long, here comes chapter 19. As RS put it so very fittingly: fasten your seatbelts, please!

- T.

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Chapter Nineteen

Moria – Part Two –

   Their advance was slow. Sounds reverberated around the hallways. They seemed to come from every direction, and ever and anon, the wanderers halted and strained their ears. Two groups of Orcs marched by, and Strider and Daevan pressed themselves sideways against the walls. Crouching they waited until the creatures were gone, talking about prey and blood, and how they would feast upon their enemies. When the noise ebbed away, Strider went back on the main path. They delved deeper into the mountain. Daevan turned and looked back. Beyond the abyss, the last light of the waning day shone through the doors at the Dimrill Gate.

   “Come, hurry!” Strider urged, and after the next bend, Daevan could see the entrance no more.

   The ways were lit where the Orcs used them frequently, but Daevan realised that the system of tunnels and crossways was much larger than any horde could occupy. Encountering the enemy could be avoided, and Strider had an excellent sense of hearing. So they walked on, peering left and right into openings and rooms. They did not halt until they were both stumbling with fatigue.

   “We need to rest,” Daevan pleaded when they halted at a watchmen's chamber and looked around to make sure they were still alone. “I already feel that I have marched through half the mountain.”

   “We have not.” Strider's smile was strained. “But what we need is to find the main hall and a fountain.”

   “Aye.” Daevan pulled himself up off the wall and moved on, glancing back over his shoulder. “Quick, hide!” He pushed Strider into a smaller tunnel and ran after him. He swallowed hard. Their hiding-place was narrow and not secure, but they had ducked not a moment too soon: a brawling group of Orcs tramped their way. They were quarrelling over a dead rabbit. There was shoving and punching. It got rougher with every step, until the first pulled a knife to ram it into his opponent's belly. The Orc shrieked in dismay and went down bleeding. The first took the rabbit, baring his mighty teeth.

   “And don't ya dare take it from me!” he barked. “I'd take ya down too!” He growled at them, and the others slackened their speed, whining, snarling, but intimidated by the big Orc's stance. They retreated while the other trod past Strider and Daevan without ever turning his head into their direction.

   Daevan allowed himself to breathe again. The stench of blood and Orc saturated the air, but he was grateful to have escaped. He was sure they had feasted upon them both if they had detected them.

   “You have learned much,” Strider praised him and slowly rose from where he was crouching. “I am glad to have your company."

   “Aye.” Daevan smiled feebly, but his eyes roamed here and there, making sure they could continue their march. He was so weary he wished that they could find a small chamber to lock themselves into and get a good night's sleep.

   They continued their march warily. It became warmer as they went deeper, down the slopes, which wound west and north. Daevan glanced back again. Though the tunnels were only dimly lit, Daevan could have found his way back to the Dimrill Dale. Being used to memorizing ways through the fen, he had no difficulty in orientating himself by stones and scratches in the rock. He left some pebbles at corners, securing them out of the way of walking feet. And ever and anon he saw Dwarvish runes on the walls, and though he could not read them he memorised the form.

   Strider raised his hand, signalling Daevan to come to a halt. Lowering himself on to one knee, he peered around the corner. More torches were lit in the adjoining tunnel, almost enough to see the way beyond the hall. Voices could be heard, Orcs and Men, and the smell of meat, burning over an open fire, and wafting toward them. Gesturing, Daevan crept closer. A large hall lay before him, supported by columns. To his left the laughter and noises were loudest. Tankard clanked, boots stomped on the hard ground, and growls were emitted when two Orcs fought about a piece of the prey.

   “They have something to drink.”

   “Aye”, Strider nodded. “There must be a well nearby.”

   Securing their passage, they hurried on, leaving the area of bright light as quickly as possible. But Daevan was already weary, kept on his feet solely by the will of the wanderer and the necessity to find a safe spot to rest. He stumbled, and the chape scraped over the tiles. It was not loud enough to rouse the men feasting behind them, but it did not pass unheard. They crossed at the outer side of the hall and were about to leave it when the sound of iron-shod boots brought them to a skidding halt.

   “That way!” Daevan urged, pointing toward a tunnel, which was small and led away from the beasts approaching them. Strider nodded, and in haste they made for the narrow passage.

   Daevan pressed his sword tight against his thigh and ran. There was little to be seen, and he hoped he would not crash face forward into a wall, but the way led gently down in soft curves. He heard Strider's laboured breathing behind him, but nothing else. After a hundred paces, he halted and turned. They listened. Nothing. Not a single sound. Daevan breathed through his wide-open mouth, slowing down his racing heartbeat. Strider held his hand on the hilt of his sword, ready to fight any shadow. They waited in vain. Finally, the wanderer nodded, and Daevan saw just how tired he was.

   “We have to rest,” he whispered urgently, but Strider passed him by, shaking his head.

   “This is no place to rest.”

   On legs quivering with exhaustion, they moved on, halting here and there to listen into the darkness. Then they heard it: water dripping from a source they could not yet see. It was a hollow sound, echoing from the walls. Then another sound was added: a bucket was lowered over a rope, screeching on the hinges. Daevan stepped forward, but Strider held him back. There was another sound emerging closer by.

   The scraping of metal against metal.

-o-o-o-o-

   Strider unsheathed his sword faster than the enemy could hew him down with his blade. The blades clashed with each other, and in the flickering light of three torches, Strider saw that his opponent was a tall and strong Orc, bearing the sign of a white hand on his helmet. He thrust Strider back, opened his mouth to mock him and pressed forward with a yell. He never saw Daevan's sword; it was embedded in his flesh the same moment. The Orc thudded on the ground. Daevan swallowed hard, pulled out his blade and faced the next foe, raising his blade immediately to avoid being decapitated. Strider scrambled to his feet, sword raised; ready to defend the way back. The Orcs were many. He counted seven, and he knew there would be more soon.

   “Retreat!” Strider shouted over the clamour.

   Daevan nodded, hewed the arm off an Orc, who had advanced too recklessly. The beast clutched the stump and fell forward with a piercing cry. The young fisherman fought well, but knew his abilities and strength had limits. Already he had fenced off two .Strider thrust his blade into the side of one fierce goblin. Daevan dodged a blow and parried the next. In the upward momentum, he punched his opponent in the face, and when he stumbled back, Daevan finished him with a thrust into his throat. Yet another took his place, and his blade would have ended the young man's life if Strider had not deflected the blow with his own sword. Daevan was granted a moment to catch his breath and to kill the Orc with one stroke. Strider nodded his approval, and they both shuffled backwards once more, giving in to the pressing numbers of foes. Daevan raised his blade, weary, out of breath, yet determined to defend himself, when suddenly Strider pushed him hard into the right side.

   “Out of here! Find your way back!”

   Daevan looked back, saw Strider's grim and determined face before the warrior launched his weapon again and barred the way to keep the enemies from pursuing his companion. Daevan tumbled down the narrow passage, unable to find a hold. He heard the clanking of the blades fade away. In a desperate attempt to stop his slide, he stretched out his hand while the other clung to his sword, but caught only scree. He grazed his palms and bit back a cry of pain. Down and down he slid, as if pulled by unseen fingers, and he feared he would fall into an abyss and never be able to reach the surface again. Yet, presently his right foot hit a larger stone, and immediately Daevan clung to it with his free hand before he slipped past it. Breathing heavily, he listened to the now faint sounds of the fight. His muscles tensed and quivered; he was at the end of his strength. Dust was in his nose and covered his face, and his body hurt from blows and the slide. He did not know if he was wounded, and in here, it was too dark to see. With an effort, he sheathed his sword to keep his hands free to climb downwards.

-o-o-o-o-

   Strider retreated, challenging the remaining Orcs to follow him. Sharp orders came up from behind. A man's voice bellowed:

   “Catch him alive! No hacking and slashing with this tark!”

   The tunnel allowed only two Orcs to fight side by side at the same time, and Strider fended them off skilfully. His right arm bore scratches already, but the wounds could be neglected. Knowing they would not kill him, he fought recklessly, diminishing the goblins with mighty strokes. When his back touched an edge, he blindly chose the even smaller path. He could not heed where he was going or if the way led to another. Too many goblins pressed toward him, cornering him like wolves corner their prey. When he glanced over his shoulder he realised he had chosen a dead end. He cursed under his breath. The Orcs were multiplying, and he had nowhere to run.

   The Orcs drew closer, yelling, hissing, waving their scimitars. Strider stood with his back pressed tight against the wall, hitting his blade left and right, cutting down his enemies and filling the way with their dead bodies, yet there were many waiting to take the places of the fallen.

   Suddenly there was a sound of stone grinding on stone behind him. The wall moved! Darkness, even darker than were he was standing, opened behind him as if the depth of the mountain itself was bending toward him. The Orcs shrieked in sudden fear, and for a heartbeat, they stopped fighting. Strider felt a breath of wind, then strong hands pulling at his cloak. He stepped backwards, still brandishing his sword at those, who had recovered quickly from the shock. Strider dared to look over his shoulder, but the same moment a goblin launched his weapon. He deflected it by instinct, but stumbled backwards from a heavy pull on his garments. He could not regain his balance, but fell on his back, right into the darkness. From the left side a solid rock closed the gap, shutting out the enemies with a dull sound. Strider hit the back of his head, but still held the hilt of his sword. The Orcs outside on the path shrieked in dismay as they watched the gap close again, separating them from their prey. Strong arms held Strider on the ground. He heard the muffled cries of his enemy, but only saw the outlines of four stout figures when a club appeared before him and sent him to oblivion.

~~~~

   Daevan heard the echo of shrill cries reverberating through the tunnel. He tried to imagine how the Great Warrior fought his enemies and that they were dismayed at how ferociously one man could withstand their vicious strength. Through his admiration for Thorongil, he felt the sting of hurt pride: he had been shoved out of harm's way. Strider had found him too inept to fight on and stand beside him to the end. While Daevan was lying in the darkness and the sounds ebbing away, he ground his teeth. The sudden onslaught of the Orcs had been gruesome, but Daevan was sure that together they would have won. He listened again: the fighting had ended; yet the Orcs scuffled over the ground, gnarling and bellowing. They did not sound as if they captured their prey, and in the darkness, Daevan smiled grimly: Strider had escaped as he had anticipated.

   Slowly he crawled through the dark tunnel, feeling his way more than he saw it, until the way ended in a larger pathway, leading left and right and to a chasm where the stair had been destroyed ages ago. Daevan realised he was alone. There was no protection now for him. There was no assurance he would be able to find the Great Warrior again. Even if he had fended off the enemies by now, none of them knew where the other would head. Suddenly the chill of fear crept upon Daevan. Strider had ordered him to find a way out; to retreat to the dale. But that was not what he wanted to do. Though Strider had finally abandoned him, he would summon his strength and courage and remain in Moria.

   Carefully he looked to both sides and before he chose his way, he remembered the curves and turns they had taken before meeting with the Orcs. Only then, did he slide the last paces and warily moved forward to find his friend and teacher.

-o-o-o-o-