Chapter Twenty-one

Moria – Part Four -

   Strider stumbled behind Lini and almost fell forward on the Dwarf's shoulder. He halted, steadying himself against the wall and squeezed his eyes shut against the sudden dizziness. Somewhere close by, water dropped from an unseen source and a far rumbling spoke of the activities of their enemies far away. Lini turned and lifted the torch higher.

   “You cannot go on,” he stated flat-voiced. Darin behind them snorted disgusted at the delay. “Aye, we have to rest. You are of no use to us tired to the bone.”

   Darin exchanged angry glances with Furin and marched on, leading them to a stairway, which lay hidden behind a massive boulder. It reached up twenty paces high and ended in a cavernous protrusion.

   “Sit down and rest,” Darin ordered, and Strider accepted. “We will take the watch in turns. Sleep if you can.” With that, he left him and his fellows behind.

   “Hard times lie behind us and more are before us,” Furin said quietly, leaning his back against the wall. “I ask you to not mind his behaviour. There are Men mingling and working with the scum of Orcs. Balin, son of Fundin, perished under these mountains by the foul hands of Orcs, and our colony was destroyed. For three and twenty winters the Dwarves have been toiling to save what can be saved of our great halls and relics in Khazad-dûm. Our folk dwindle,” he added sadly. “There are not many of us left now, Thorongil, and we, too, have to leave or will be slain. Rest now. We will wake you in three hours.”

   With that, he turned and went to sit with his companions, leaving Strider alone in a remote corner. He unpacked his bedroll and closed his eyes. Sleep came immediately.

~~~~

   The chasm was deep, a gaping mouth in the darkness: toothless, but deadly nevertheless. Whoever vanished in the depths would only surface if the mountains themselves belched him up. Daevan never heard the dead Orc land or his minion, who followed him. Content to be rid of his foes, Daevan turned and picked up the torch. He stank. He hated it, but it could not be helped. The garments and armour of the taller Orc did not fit him properly, but the disguise would suffice for now. He smeared dirt on the back of his hands and on his beard and put on the helmet, covering his flaxen hair. Daevan wrinkled his nose, girding on his sword and knife, but keeping the scimitar stuck through the belt. He shouldered his pack, and – sending a prayer to his Gods – set out toward the main hall.

   Though clad in stained garments and covered with a breastplate that had been made for another being rather than an Orc, he avoided contact with others of that race. Listening carefully to every sound emerging from the paths he dared to walk, he hid under arches and behind protruding stones in order to remain unseen. He had shed the smell of Man, but still his task was dangerous: the well loomed beyond the hall, lit by two torches set in holders. Daevan was sweating and the stench of Orc was all about him, a nuisance he had yet to learn to cope with. To his left, the main host of Orcs had gathered, and they were feasting upon animals that some had slain in the darkness outside the Dimrill Gate. The barking and fighting was loud and menacing; Daevan wished them to be additionally distracted as he slowly descended. The iron-shod boots had not fit him so he had kept his own boots on, which made less sound on the stair. They would give him away if closely scrutinized, but that he could not help. His heart beat fast and strong against his ribcage as he passed by the Orc guards in the dimness.

   His mouth was dry and the thought of being detected and caught did not leave him. He reached the well and took out the two water-skins he carried with him. A bucket on a rope stood on the rim, and he lowered it carefully. Thus, he pulled up the bucket full of water, drank with a ladle and hastily refilled his bottles. Glancing up, he found two Orcs engaged in a heavy brawl, and while they were rolling over the ground and being cheered loudly by their companions, Daevan made for the rear of the hall, escaping stealthily along yet another path.

-o-o-o-o-

   Strider woke to the stillness of the hidden cave. Furin and Dini were asleep while Darin and Lini had left to watch over their hiding place. His muscles were tense, and he was stiff from lying on the stony ground. He drank water and stood up. The darkness of Moria with its endless tunnels, stairways and paths lay heavy on his mind, like a burden he could not lose. There was no time to count, and no miles to measure within the roots of the mountains. In spite of all his experience, Strider felt lost in the vastness of the mine.

   Outside Lini had the watch, and he swivelled around on his heels, his axe ready to strike. Strider lifted his hands, and the Dwarf lowered the blade.

   “Stay behind. It is not safe here,” he said in Common Speech, mingled with a hard accent.

   “Are there Orc patrols around here?”

   “They are everywhere,” Lini replied gloomily. “From the day we arrived and were spotted we have been hunted like animals. They seek our treasures to plunder and destroy. But we do not yield. Our brothers did not yield.”

   “Your companions were taken captive?”

   “Aye.” Lini let go of his breath. “It had been wrong to assume Balin still ruled as King under the Mountain. It had been a dream, but reality caught us ere we had covered half a league.” He fell silent, and they both stood and were lost in thought until Darin came up to them.

   “We move on. The ways are empty at the moment. We have to hurry!”

   Now that they were in the open, the companions advanced with care, sending a vanguard now and then to seek the safest road. With similar caution, they reached the main hall and heard the Orcs beyond. Their guard nearby was less attentive than a dead warg, and the Dwarves passed him by in the deep shadows of the cavernous hall. Lini gazed upward, but he could see nothing of the beauty and vastness of the Dwarrowdelf, and they hurried on, ever on, until they turned west to ascend the stairs toward the chamber.

   “Wait,” Strider suddenly whispered and left the Dwarves behind. Amid the far-off dripping of water, there was the shuffling of iron-shod boots as if someone loomed behind a corner. It was a threat Strider felt more than when he saw a glimpse of the enemy. Yet, when he got closer the breathing of a creature became distinct. Strider crouched and approached the corner slowly, quietly, while the others held their breaths. Without a sound or a light to give him away, he held his hunting knife ready. With his left hand, he felt the rough edge of stone, then, like an arrow sped from a bow he jumped forward. Two Uruks of Mordor were hiding on the stairs. Strider came upon them, slashed the throat of the first one with one strike and granted the second no time to cry for help. He was an unstoppable force, and the second foe fell prey to his ferocity. The Uruks lay drenched in their own blood as Strider turned back. Silence reigned again. Lini stood two feet with the torch, his face a mask of stunned disbelief. He shrank back from the grim expression of the Great Warrior. The other Dwarves joined him, and for a moment stared at their companion. Strider wiped the blade clean and sheathed the knife. “We must move on. There might be more of those foul creatures nearby.”

   For the first time Strider took the lead with Lini, who held the torch. The Dwarves were silent while they marched, but even without a word spoken, the tension within the group had eased. Though Darin remained wary, he could no longer deny Thorongil to be a valuable ally.

   At the end of the flight of stairs, rubble lay in a large heap on the way. Even with the torch held close, the entrance toward the chamber of the Dwarves could not be descried above the many big and small stones, which had fallen from the ceiling. Strider took off his pack, adjusted his gloves, and began to remove the rocks. Some were so heavy; they needed the axes as levers to push them aside. Darin held the torch while the others joined the wanderer in his toil. Each stone had to be taken away carefully: they did not wish to alarm other foes patrolling beyond the path they had taken. Lini almost smiled through the exhaustion they all faced. Finally, they would get through and claim what was rightfully theirs. And then they would leave Moria behind until the Orcs were scattered and dead and a new circle of life could begin under the mountains.

-o-o-o-o-

   Daevan almost broke down from weariness. He had not slept for more than a day, and with every step he took, he stumbled over his own feet. In need of a place to hide, he almost fell into a cavity. He caught himself, but halted to explore it. Then his lips curled in a thin smile: he had found a place to rest. Carefully he extinguished the torch and settled down. From the outside, the cavity looked like an overhanging rock; he would not be spotted by torches even if they got closer. Relieved to close his eyes, Daevan lay down, still holding his hand on the hilt of his sword.

-o-o-o-o-

   Darin glanced over his shoulder, and repeatedly he handed the torch to Lini to go back the way they had come stealthily and make sure they were still undetected. The clamour of the Orcs had ceased; they were fed and had drunk and now rested. Yet, the unsafe quietness made it even harder for the companions to remain hidden from unfriendly eyes and ears. Darin reminded them to be quiet, but the further they dug, the more dangerous their toil became. Pebbles slid by, and danced down the steps with a light clanking noise. The companions halted ever again to listen. Their laboured breathing seemed unnaturally loud then, but they granted themselves no rest. They nodded to each other and went on carrying the stones out of the way. Strider was the first to take the larger stones down and handed them to Dini, who stowed them away safely, barring the way further west.

 So the work went on for many an hour and they all were exhausted when finally a hole was opened wide enough for a Dwarf to climb through.

   Strider wiped his brow and took out his water-skin to drink from while Lini struggled through the hole, followed by Furin. The older Dwarf loosened some stones with the tip of his boot, and they tumbled down the stair. Breathlessly Furin halted, then, when the silence remained unbroken, he moved on - more carefully now - and vanished in the chamber

   “You are indeed a worthy ally,” Dini said with a courteous bow, “but we have to enlarge that entrance a little further.

   “But you are small, you can fit through.”

   “Aye, but what about you?” He waited for Strider to stow away his water-skin, but when they were about to move another stone from the door, Darin hurried up the stairs, his old face contorted with strain.

   “An Orc patrol is coming this way!”

-o-o-o-o-

   Daevan woke from the distant sound of running feet. He shook with fear, afraid he had drawn attention to himself. However, the barked commands of the Men and the growling of Orcs moved away from his hideout. Daevan swallowed his uneasiness and climbed out. The path lay empty and dark before him. He felt his way back until he reached a branching of ways. A torch was set in a holder, illuminating his surroundings.  A clamour rose over the distance. Shouts, clanking of blades, cries of pain and dismay. Daevan would not have wished to be amid the uproar, but if he wanted to see Strider again, he had to finally throw away the fisherman and become a fighter.

   Daevan took a deep breath. Then he ran.

-o-o-o-o-

   “Who was the fool throwing down stones?” Darin hissed. He did not wait for an answer, but squeezed himself through the hole. The hard soles of Orcs could already be heard at the bottom of the stairway. Commands were shouted; there were ten goblins at least coming their way, and a Man was somewhere behind them. “Dini!”

   Hoarse laughter echoed; the Orcs knew of their enemies’ presence and were advancing fast. The ringing and clanking of metal filled the way.

   “I will stay!” the Dwarf rebuked and loosened his axe beside Strider. “I will help to defend us.”

   “Follow them,” Strider urged. “I will hold the passage, and you can make it wider from the inside!”

   “Aye!” Dini threw in his axe first and crawled nimbly over the rubble.

   That moment two Orcs swivelled around the corner. Behind them, fed by the flickering torchlight, great shadows leapt forward and up the walls. Dark growls resounded, multiplied by the path beyond. Uruk-hai appeared in darkened armour and with spears clasped in large hands. Strider gripped the hilt of his sword tightly. The Orc stopped short, undecided what to think of the picture he saw. He never completed the thought. Strider swung his sword in a mighty strike, felling the enemy. The rushing of feet came to a sudden halt as the Great Warrior brandished his blade left and right, thrusting the enemies back into their horde. Some tumbled down, some moved aside, bellowing in dismay. Blood spilled forth, and the dead bodies filled the stairs. However, the more they were driven back, the more their anger grew. From afar through the clanking of blades voices cried. The goblins shrieked in surprise; the order was to leave the tall Man alive! Spitting and hissing, stomping with their feet on the stairs the Orcs advanced, pressing Strider to move back against the stones still barring the entrance to the Dwarves' chamber.

   Strider stood strong and unrelenting as the affray went on. He slew many, and hewed a goblin's head with a single strike, sending its body down toward the others. It dismayed the Orcs to lose their minions in such numbers, for there was not enough space to attack the tark from all sides. His blade seemed to have a mind of its own and was faster than they could assault him. They cried loudly, and then, by an unspoken command, four of them rushed the Man. They held their scimitars down, but their massive bodies crashed Strider against the wall, driving all the air out of his lungs. The warrior cried out. Pain numbed his back. He lashed out his blade one last time, and then swarthy hands wrenched the hilt from his grip. He fought with bare hands, but in vain. Hard punches from hard fists hit his face and belly. Ever more followed as the Orcs unleashed their anger on him. He felt blood trickle down his nose and lips when he finally collapsed.

   His last thought was with the Dwarves, and that his failed defence would lead to their captivity and the plunder of their hoard.

-o-o-o-o-

   Daevan dared not get any closer. A moment ago, an Orc had crossed his way, but in his disguise, he had been safe from detection. He could not deny the risk he took in walking the trail the Orcs had used, and he quickly pressed himself into a crevice to defer being seen as two more goblins limped along the way toward the stair.

   He frowned. The clamour had reached its peak, and from the bottom, the same Man, Daevan had seen before, shouted commands to those that were fighting.

   “Get him down here! Don't kill him, you fools! Whoever kills him, I will kill!”

   There was an echo of disgust and protest. Some goblins growled threats, but the Man stood fast. He waited impatiently, and when the fighting ceased and the rush of bloodlust left the Orcs he moved upstairs, shoving aside his minions. Daevan found himself following him, but pressed himself into a cleft the moment he realised his boldness. He would be of no help if he were caught. Breathlessly he waited and listened.

   “You braying maggots! I said I wanted him alive!”

   Daevan's heart stopped for a moment and he squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing the bitterness of loss and defeat. He should have been faster, more reckless, but he had only hidden himself. He was a coward in the end, and with shame, he would return home – if he ever made it out of Moria. Shivering, Daevan stood pressed between rough walls. There was no way out now. He must wait until the Orcs had left the path.

-o-o-o-o-