Chapter Twenty

Moria – Part Three –

   The first thing Strider noticed, was the stifling air around him, and the suffocating smell of dust and decay in a room that had not been opened for years. He tried to open his eyes, but could not. A piece of cloth over his eyes hindered him seeing his surroundings. There was whispering a few paces away, and the shuffling of boots on stony ground. His head hurt worse than after the encounter with the warg, and he moaned quietly. The whispering went on, urgent, pressed. Strider understood little, but by the words, which rolled like stones down a ravine, he knew there were Dwarves somewhere close by. He was in a cave or a chamber; the words echoed quietly off the walls. And while his consciousness reeled, he remembered the order given by the Orc chieftain to not kill him. He found no explanation, so turned to the situation at hand.

   “Show yourself!” he demanded. His words echoed much louder than he had uttered them, and a calloused hand was pressed over his mouth immediately. He jerked his head up, but could not lift his hands to defend himself. They were bound behind his back.

   “Be still!” the deep voice in front of him demanded and took away the hand. “The Orcs have ears to hear and claws to dig. And you were meant to be their meal tonight.”

   “Who are you?” Strider asked quietly into his own darkness. “And where have you taken me?”

   “Off the Orcs' plates,” the voice replied, and soft chuckling came from the other side.

   Strider swallowed. He was dizzy with pain, but glad at the same time to have encountered kinsmen of the free folk, who were the known enemies of the goblins.

   “You are Dwarves.”

   “Aye. And you are a Man rousing the Enemy at a time most unwelcome,” another Dwarf, a few feet away, growled, shuffling the sandy ground uneasily.

   Strider sensed the tension.

   “Untie me. I mean you no harm.”

   “We saw you and that young lad enter our realm. Why-“

   “Have you taken him too? Where is he?”

   The Dwarf growled again, out of anger about the man's insolence.

   “The Orcs have not got him yet... as far as we know. He might have found his way out.”

   Strider nodded slowly, hoping that what the Dwarf said was true, and the Dwarf went on.

   “You came here unbidden, and no one enters Khazad-dûm without a reason. It has become a dangerous place. Did you flee from a mighty foe you could not best?”

   “No. I came here on a hunt.”

   The whispering rose again. The Dwarves discussed what they should do with the Man, and the eldest Dwarf grumbled about the danger the stranger brought with him.

   “He will not do it,” Darin said, stumping his stick on the ground. “He is here to steal what is ours.”

   “There will not be many more,” the other, Furin, who was considered a voice of reason among the Dwarves, reminded him. “We came here to fulfil a mission, but with our brothers dead we will not accomplish our it.”

   Darin still growled into his long white beard, shaking his head again. He had seen the most winters of them all, and his experience was unrivalled. Though his garments were old and travel-worn, he had won respect and renown in his long years as a chief and teacher. Furin, who came next, was younger, but had only seen with the eyes of a simple Dwarf. His forebears reached back to the Old Days, and he, too, was a hardened fighter. Right now, they fought a battle of wills to gain what would be best for them and the perilous task ahead.

   The two younger Dwarves, Dini and Lini, waited patiently for the elder brothers' decision. They would do what Darin and Furin decided though they had their own opinions. Young and reckless they were called by their kin, but even so, they were brave and ferocious fighters. Yet, they were grieved at the loss of their companions and wished to fulfil their deed and leave the dreadful place behind.

   Lini glanced at the bound man. He had fought very bravely, and by his demeanour he was not one of the sly and deceiving Dunlendings, who had allied themselves with the Orcs and that other scum, which entered the domain of the Dwarves from time to time, plundering what was left of the once proud realm. Lini was willing to give the Man a chance. He agreed with Furin: there was another way.

   “It is too great a risk,” Darin announced decisively and placed his stout legs apart. His face was grim and unrelenting. “If we fail in our deed-“

   “We will fail if we do not at least try to get his help.” Furin snorted, then turned toward the Man. As long as he was bound, he posed no threat. Though by the way he had fought, he would most likely be a considerable danger to all of them once they released him. He had not mentioned his errand, and Darin might be right that the myth of the hoard of the Dwarves still attracted Men and they would even accept them the risk of being killed by Orcs to get to it. Eventually Furin stepped over to Strider and took away the blindfold.

   “Why did you come here?” the Dwarf asked and looked straight into the eyes of his prisoner. “And you had better be honest with me.”

   Strider squinted in the light of the only torch the Dwarves had lit. When his eyes had adjusted to it, he said:

   “I came here to search for something.”

   Furin raised his chin and quickly exchanged glances with his brothers. They were cautious.

   “Did you find it?”

   Strider tried to sit up, but Dini pressed him down again. Strider struggled only briefly, but gave in, seeing the distrust in the Dwarves' eyes.

   “No. Not yet.”

   Furin pursed his lips, then turned to Darin. The eldest Dwarf stared at him menacingly. He had never been overruled in his long life as a chief. Furin's behaviour was like a stab to his heart and his pride.

   “He might help us if we help him,” Furin whispered in Dwarvish, but Darin was too furious to even think about such a solution to their problem. His answer was a quick barking before he turned his back to Furin. “How much time do you think we have? And how many more of us must be killed before you will see and understand?” But Darin's mind was set, and Furin pondered long about the right conclusion. His shoulders sagged. For the length of their audacious journey and the many weeks they had already stayed in the mine, there had been agreement about Darin's decisions. They had ventured and fought at his side. They had mourned for the dead together, but now Furin knew that only one chance was left and that it did not lie with the Dwarves alone.

   Strider watched the Dwarves' bitter discussion. Though he could not follow every word, he understood enough Dwarvish to know Darin's last sentence: ‘Men are treacherous, and they are with him.’

   “I will not deceive you,” Strider broke into the last silence.

   Furin pierced him with his stare.

   “Our task is by far more important than anything you came for.” He waited. Lini and Dini looked at him doubtful. But finally Furin made up his mind. They had lost four companions in the caverns of Khazad-dûm. He did not wish to lose one more. “If you help us, we will help you to find that thing you are searching for.”

   “What would you have me do?”

   Again Furin hesitated. The Man's agreement was swift and without restrictions; a Dwarf would have pondered long before ever uttering a word of willingness to oblige. Furin heard Darin murmur at his back that there were no Men to be trusted, and a part of him agreed. They had never met a Man, who was trustworthy and who did not in the end steal from the hoard of the Dwarves. Men were greedy and reckless, and he knew that they all would be bound for death if he erred.

   “You will know when we get there.” Furin crossed his stout arms in front of his chest and waited. Lini mimicked the stance while Dini held the torch so they could see the prisoner's face more clearly. “We will take you with us.”

   “I agreed to helping you with your errand, whatever it may be,” Strider admitted grudgingly, “but not as a prisoner.”

   “We could leave you here like this and you would die,” Lini sneered, and his brother nodded with determination.

   Strider was not fooled, and his voice was firm when he replied:

   “Without me you will not get what you seek.”

   There was a pause in the dim light, leaden with the mixed emotions of the parties present. There was hesitation and fear, longing and doubt. The Dwarves retreated into the rear of the room. Strider watched their backs, but his thoughts were with Daevan. He hoped he would be safe by now.

   Finally, after murmurs and angry rebukes, of which Strider understood too little, to make any sense of it, Furin spoke again.

   “We agreed on letting you walk with us, but we keep your weapons and one of us will hold a leash on you.”

   “No. How shall I be of any use unarmed? The Orcs have been roused. They will patrol the ways. There is no safe passage, so you should better rely on the strength of my arm than on your distrust.”

   “Then be without hope.” Another pause followed. Aragorn shifted uncomfortably in his shackles. There was no denying that his fate rested with these Dwarves. They did not trust him any more than he trusted them. Still, they seemed to urgently need him. “Our eldest supposes you came for our treasures. Is it not so?” Lini finally asked.

   Outside the roaring command of an Orc was heard, and all fell silent. A calloused hand was pressed over Strider's mouth once more, and he could not move away from it; right behind him the rough wall hindered him. When the noise abated, the hand was taken away. The wanderer sneezed before he spoke.

   “I'm searching for a creature. His name is Gollum. He might have come here in search of a place to hide.”

   “A creature, hum?” Lini nodded slowly. “A bony, sleeking thing? We saw it. Filthy thing that! That is why you came?” he added in open disbelief.

   “Aye.” Strider exhaled. “Where did you see it?”

   “It moves here and there, but it is still here. Does it have any value for you?”

   “It does. Can you take me to him?”

   “We might.” He would not say more, so Strider asked about what they planned to do. Lini stroked his grey beard and exchanged a long, thoughtful glance with his brothers. Furin nodded curtly.

   “We have to go to a place in Khazad-dûm to open a chamber.”

   “Aye. And once you get there, what do you want? Go in or go through it?”

   “That is all you shall know for now.”

   “So if I fulfil my share, will you stay true to your word?” Aragorn demanded to know, scrutinizing his new allies. A growling by the other two Dwarves answered him, and he felt the tension rise.

   “We are Dwarves,” Furin declared solemnly and propped his short-fingered hands on his belt. “Our word is worth more than that of yours, treacherous Man!”

   “Then take away the shackles,” Strider demanded his deep and clear voice, bearing a superiority the Dwarves immediately perceived, “for I am Thorongil, and you will have heard of me. If I am to trust you, then you will have to trust me.”

   Furin hesitated when Darin shook his head decisively. Under the bushy brows, his eyes had narrowed to slits, and it was obvious he wanted to get rid of the man instead of asking for his help. Though Furin had been bold, he was no fool. Darin had seen many a war against Orcs and Men, and his distrust could not be easily overcome. Right now, they had the Man shackled and secured; he would do them no harm. But the moment they set him free would be the moment of greatest peril. He could either take what he wanted by force, or betray them to the Orcs.

   “I will not be of any help bound like this,” Strider repeated. His grey eyes rested on Furin. “And you will not burden yourself with me in that fashion.”

   “Swear by the Valar that you keep your word,” Darin demanded, holding his hand on the shaft of his axe.

   Strider turned toward him, bowing curtly.

   “I do, but I expect you to swear by Durin that you will do the same. Once your chamber is opened you will help me find Gollum.”

   “We agree,” Furin said, and finally the rope was cut. “Get up slowly. The ceiling’s too low for your stature.”

   Therefore, it came to pass that the Great Warrior became companion of four Dwarves in the deep mines of Moria.

-o-o-o-o-

   Daevan crouched in a small crack, shivering with fear and uncertainty. The darkness lay heavily on his mind, and it seemed as if hours had passed since he had been parted from Strider. He had crawled forward to the adjacent small corridor, and from a spot, where the torchlight did not illuminate him, watched an Orc patrol march by. By chance, the Orcs came upon a Man in tattered clothes, bearing a short bow and sword upon him, and they halted. Daevan did not understand all of their conversation, but the words “escaped” and “a den behind stone” reached his ears, and he was glad. Judged by the furious disappointment the Man displayed they had anticipated Strider's arrival and planned to capture him. Daevan frowned. The Man said something like “the beast said so” and “find him to get the precious”. Then there was a brawling, and Daevan ventured a little closer.

   “Should not have let him go,” the tall Orc said in rumbling Westron, and the Man took it like an accusation.

   “Your men watched this thing, Brúnak!” he barked. “It was you, who let it get away!”

   “I would have followed it,” Brúnak rebuked, baring long teeth. “You, Hrunas, said it's worth no more. Ask Gurim.”

   Grudgingly Hrunas complied, and his voice dropped to a growl.

   “Find the exit of that cave and get me the intruder. And the other one, too. Double the watch at the gate.”

   “Aye.”

   They parted, and Daevan sat alone in the dark. He was relieved to come to know Strider had escaped, but the tidings that the beast had reached the mountains and allied itself with the Orcs irritated and worried him. And it made his task even more difficult: the enemies would be ever watchful. Carefully he moved on. In the small clefts, there was none or little light, and he felt his way more than he saw it. It was his intention to get back to Strider somehow, though he did not know how. He decided to follow a few Orcs in secret. If they did not lead him to the Great Warrior, they might at least provide him with the information about the well. His water-skin was almost empty, and he would be in need in less than a day.

   In a passage nearby the barked command of an Orc leader resounded. Daevan braced himself and ventured on.

-o-o-o-o-

   Strider crouched low and rubbed his brow. He had lost count how many times he had already hit himself at the ceiling. At every corner he took behind the quick marching Dwarves, the sharp-edged stones seemed to strike at him. Cursing silently, he moved on.

   They had used a brief rest, in which they had shared water and food, to introduce themselves formally. Darin had rejected that polite gesture, and Strider had seen the other Dwarves' awkwardness. It was unheard of that a Dwarf had ever failed to offer a proper greeting.

   Now the Dwarves led the wanderer through the cave and exited through a narrow gap between two boulders. From the outside, the gap was hidden, and content with their doing the Dwarves hurried on. Darin walked behind Strider, never leaving him out of sight. He had been enraged to watch Furin give back the Man's belongings with a courteous bow to their new ally. All of the Dwarves had held their breath in that moment. Both Lini and Dini had kept their hands on the shafts of their axes, ready to strike if that tall ally proved himself as an enemy. However, Strider had shouldered his pack and bow, girt his swords and sheathed the knife. In the moment of expectant silence, he had opened his hands in the unspoken question if they could leave now. The younger Dwarves had nodded curtly and moved on. Furin had eyed the stranger by the name of Thorongil a little while longer, but then agreed to set out. Only Darin had been wary, and his hand had loosened the axe in its holder. The name the Man had given was known to him, but there was no proof at hand to satisfy him. Darin stayed vigilant.

   Strider bent his back as they passed a low arch and then stood in a lofty cavern carried by four strong columns, engraved with Dwarvish runes. Relieved he stretched to his full height, resting one hand on the hilt and wiping his brow with the other. The Dwarves stepped back, again distrustful and about to defend themselves. Strider looked at them and - realising his stance - took away his hand from the sword.

   “I vowed to help you, Furin, son of Nurin, and I will not break my word. You can trust my name and my renown. There is no need to be afraid of me. The Enemy is all around us, and I expect the Orcs have multiplied to swarm all of Moria by now. We should not fight amongst ourselves.” His gaze found Darin, but the oldest Dwarf grumpily evaded it. “Will you still not tell me about your search?” he asked when they crossed the cavern to enter another small corridor, dimly lit like the ones before.

   Lini, who held the torch, looked to Furin, and when he had nodded his agreement, explained,

   “There is a chamber we must enter, but its entrance is blocked.” He flinched. “We lost four of our companions, whom we set out with, so that we are in need of your strength to remove the barricade.”

   “Aye.” Strider looked from one Dwarf to the other, and by their expressions knew he would not get any further answers about the content of the chamber. “Is it far?”

   “Beyond the main hall and up the western path into the mountain peak.” Lini swallowed and added in a gloomy voice, “The path is patrolled by Orcs since our last attempt. There might be resistance before we reach our destination.”

   Strider agreed. He was still tired from the exertion, but moved on; knowing the hardy folk of Durin would not pause until they reached their destination.

-o-o-o-o-

   Daevan knew the encounter to be inevitable. He had ventured far into their domain, dared to get a closer look at the patrols on their way and had been lucky for too long for it to last. He knew by now where the main host had gathered, and he had marked the ways with pebbles or scratches on the walls. He had kept moving without sleep, too afraid to risk being caught unawares. He had even been led to the well, but had not yet found it unattended so that he could fill his water-skin. He was thirsty and hungry, but those needs had to wait. Two Orcs gained on him the moment he left his hideout. Strong they stood with their patched armour covering massive, stout bodies. In their swarthy hands, they carried notched scimitars, blackened with the blood of their enemies. They sneered at him, and the fangs they bared were filled with yellow teeth.

   “Got away too easy, you slimy maggot! We'll bring ya in and get the reward!”

   Daevan had no time to think; he reacted out of instinct and launched his attack the very moment the smaller Orc raised his weapon. He struck him hard where the armour did not protect him: beneath the crude breast plate. The Orc gasped in shock. Blood spilled out of the ugly wound as Daevan slashed his belly. His minion, taller and broad-shouldered, roared with anger. The scimitar came down on Daevan hard enough to cleave his head. He dodged the blow to his right, and with the upward momentum thrust Ranaél into the beast's body. The scimitar fell off the Orc's powerless hand and clanked on to the ground. The beast stared at Daevan out of breaking eyes, then thudded forward as Daevan pulled out his blade. He breathed heavily and needed a moment to compose himself. Two bodies lay on the stones before him, saturating the ground with their blood while the breath of life left them.

   Breathing through his mouth the young fisherman listened anxiously to the sounds around him. There was only silence answering him and the low crackling of the torch, which had fallen from the Orc's hand. Knowing the patrol would be missed and searched for, he sheathed his sword quickly. He needed to get away, but there was one thing he must do first.

-o-o-o-o-