Chapter Twenty-eight

A Valuable Tool

   “We will accompany you,” said Darin, placing his stout legs apart. The others stood by his side, determined to go.

   Daevan shouldered his pack and rope and put the helmet back on his head.

   “Not all of you,” he stated astonished and with a deep frown. “We cannot leave Thorongil behind without protection.”

   “The chamber is safe.” There was deep mistrust in Darin's eyes, and Daevan sensed the unrest of the free folk as if it were spoken out loud.

   “If I fail…” He shifted uneasily. “If I fall you have to get Strider out of here. He won't make it alone.”

   Darin spoke rapidly with Furin. The oldest Dwarf stayed his ground, and his beard trembled while his eyes were ablaze with anger. He glared at the young man.

   “They fear for their treasure,” stated Strider from his place. His voice was still strained and low. He grimaced when he tried to sit up. “They think you would take it and disappear.” Daevan nodded slightly.

   “I know you are brave and strong warriors,” he said with all the politeness he could muster. “Therefore two of you will be enough to accompany me to that hiding place.”

   Furin, seeing the reasoning behind Daevan's words, replied firmly:

   “You have to swear by the Valar that you will not keep what is ours.”

   Daevan's face went blank, and he did not know what to say.

   “You already asked me to fulfil Strider's vow, did you not?”

   Furin furrowed his thick brows, and again Darin muttered unintelligible words. Strider, leaning against the wall, looked up to his young companion approvingly and with a hint of amusement. The Dwarves were undecided and had many a word to say about the young lad's behaviour.

   “I will go,” said Darin finally, the hand on the shaft of his axe. He sounded as determined as if he was about to fight the young man. “And Lini will go also.”

   Daevan bowed to the old Dwarf.

   “Your decision is wise,” he said quietly, remembering the lesson about Dwarves, which had taken place ages ago as it seemed to him. The journey had been happier then. He turned to Furin. “If we do not return…” He found the words hard to say. He had survived the dangers of the mine to free Strider, and now he would leave him behind once more without knowing if he would live to continue his journey with him. “You have to promise me to get Strider out of here safely.”

   “We would never abandon our ally,” Furin replied bowing low.

   “We should be gone already,” Darin huffed and left the chamber first.

   Daevan and Strider exchanged glances, then, without a word, Daevan turned and followed the Dwarves.

-o-o-o-o-

   It was up to Lini to secure their exit as they departed. Daevan came next, followed by Darin. The stairs lay empty and silent before them, and the only sound the young man heard was his beating heart. The time in the place of safety had been short, and once again he felt fearful anticipation creep through his body. They moved stealthily down the steps and halted at the branching of the ways. Frowning, at the still paths Lini grabbed his axe tight and ventured further down the main way. Daevan looked left. Far away he descried a small dot of fire. He told Lini, and the Dwarves and their ally hurried on, away from the light. They shielded their own torch, and with only a little light to break the everlasting darkness the small group continued quietly and depressed.

   Presently, there was a roll of thunder, followed by a hiss from depths unknown, as if steam was ventilated through a narrow hole. The earth rumbled beneath their feet. The Dwarves shrieked and cast themselves on the ground near to the wall, heedless of the pebbles hitting them. Daevan frowned. Though anxious he dared to look down the abyss. There was a blinding flash of fire, a single burst of orange flame, followed by a heavy silence. No one stirred. No one came from the deep. The thunder faded away; the earth was once more still and unmoving. Upon turning Daevan watched the two Dwarves recover from shock.

   “What was that?” the young man asked, astonished at the Dwarves' behaviour.

   Darin grumbled in his beard, and both Dwarves looked embarrassed as they dusted their coats.

   “You are better off not knowing,” the old Dwarf said passing him by. He took the torch and the lead, and they hurried on.

   Daevan followed, shaking his head in confusion

   They led Daevan on, back to the habitable parts until Lini finally halted and turned. His face bore an expression of longing mingled with regret and fear. Daevan understood that his part had begun. He pressed the helmet on tightly, and while Lini repeated the description of the way to take, the young man put the coiled up rope across his shoulder and loosened the blade in its sheath.

-o-o-o-o-

   Without the Dwarves, Daevan felt the stillness of the way ever more threatening. The darkness looked like a gaping mouth, ready to swallow him if he ventured too close. He overcame his nervousness. He had been in these tunnels for days; why should he fear them now? The torch in his left hand was heavy as he approached the branching leading to the ledge Furin had spoken of. Sheer walls, which seemed to fall deep into the earth, greeted him as he dared to look down from the ledge. Darin had said that the ladders had been destroyed long ago, and that no enemy could reach him with his sword. Yet their lances and arrows would carry far enough if he was descried from beyond the way. Carefully Daevan moved on. The soft sound of the flickering torch was the only thing he heard for a while. There was no wind, no sound apart from his soft steps, and the growling of thunder he had heard before, seemed to have taken place in his imagination. Then, at the turn of the small path he was walking there were low voices. It was a snarling and hissing going on; of what they spoke Daevan could not tell. It was unavoidable; he had to march out into the open. He hunched his shoulders as the Orcs did, took the curve and hurried on, hoping to pass unseen.

   Daevan saw the creatures crouching on the ground, guarding a pathway ten feet deeper and beyond the cleft. They had only one torch with them, and the light was dim. Getting closer, he understood their words in the Common Speech and knew they brawled over the leadership of the Dunlendings and that none of those Men was worthy of that position. Daevan held the torch low, pressed himself against the wall, and walked on, ever on, keeping an eye on the enemies below. One goblin spat on the ground. The other growled at him, and on they went with their argument, while above them the young fisherman vanished from their sight into yet another path.

   It was a small way, covered with pebbles, and the walls towered above him. Daevan held the torch higher, searching for the scratched sign Darin had told him about. It did not take him long to find it. He put down the torch to look into the cleft, which was hardly a man's width. Down there, almost out of the fire's gleam and out of the reach of his arms, lay a thick wooden handle, which end was decorated with branded symbols. The headpiece was made of dark iron, broad and thick, notched slightly at its edges. Daevan grinned despite the tension. Quickly he unwound the rope and tied it in a sling. He lay on his belly and carefully let down the rope. To his disappointment, his intention to use the sling around the headpiece to pull up the hammer went awry. He cursed under his breath and searched for a way of fastening the rope. Time passed, and with it the danger of discovery rose. Only faintly the voices of the Orcs could be heard, and Daevan was as quiet as possible. He tied a thick knot and pressed it into a crack. The rope was thin and of a material Daevan did not recognise. It looked silvery grey, and when he tested its strength, he tried to forget that he would be stuck forever in this cleft if the rope tore apart. Leaving his pack and sword behind, he slowly and carefully climbed down the cleft until he could reach the valuable tool. It had been made for a man of a larger size, and its weight outmatched those of any Daevan had ever held in his hand, but he stowed it away safely in his belt on his back and pulled himself up again. The rope gave way, and for a moment Daevan thought it would slip, but he reached the rim safely. Torch and pack lay untouched, yet the voices from afar had faded away. Only briefly Daevan wondered if the enemies had noticed his presence, but he was too glad of having accomplished his mission than to think about its possible failure.

   He shouldered his pack and belongings and halted a moment to scrutinize the Hammer of Aulé in the torchlight. Apart from the symbols or letters (he could not tell) on the handle there was nothing special on it. It lay heavily but well-shaped and balanced in his hand, and the surface was smooth to touch. Yet when he turned the handle there was a flicker of light in it. What he saw made him gasp. Along the handle a silver ribbon was embedded in the wood, and it shone on its own. Daevan looked at the head and found the same shimmering light embedded in the iron. The ribbon ended in curved signs on top of the head. Daevan would have whistled if he had dared. That tool was indeed of incredible value! The moment he lowered the torch the symbols faded, and only the tool in its bareness remained.

   He took the torch in his left and the hammer in his right hand and vigilantly hurried back to the ledge.

   Two Orcs jumped from a protruding stone, startling Daevan. He stepped back immediately and evaded the slicing scimitar by the fraction of an inch. He threw the torch at his foes. The first one let it pass, sneering, attacking again. The light went dim. The same instant Daevan swung the hammer with both hands. He hit the Orc's wrist with the weapon. The beast howled in pain, driven back against his minion by the impact. The scimitar clanked on the ground. Once more the hammer came upon him, and its mighty force thrust the Orc against the wall, cracking his ribs. It lay motionless, his eyes broken. The second creature hissed a curse and stormed forward with its blade raised. The young man dodged the downward move and with a roar brought up the hammer once more to let it fall into the back of the creature. The backplate broke. The beast stumbled, lost its balance and fell over the cliff with a shrill cry. Its body slammed on the ground ten paces below. Daevan panted. His eyes were everywhere, expecting yet another assault. It did not come. The Orc guards had been alone. In his haste , he put down the hammer to collect bow and quiver from the dead Orc. He flung it across his shoulder, grabbed the hammer, and looked round one last time. He did not wait to see if there were more guards coming to search for the source of the cry. Lifting the torch he hurried along the ledge.

   Strong hands pulled him in at the next corner. Daevan gasped, but thrust forward the torch.

   “Wait! It is us!” Lini cried, letting go of him, and pushing away the fire from his beard. Daevan breathed in deeply, trying in vain to calm down. His heart beat so fast he felt as if it were outside his ribcage. A dead Orc lay beside them, and another dead body could be spotted three feet away. The Dwarves had not been idle! “That was marvellous! Unrivalled it its mastery!” Lini praised him, still fumbling to quench the smoke on his thick beard. His small weather-beaten face shone with bliss. “After such a long time! It still works!”

   “Give it to me!” Darin snatched the hammer out of Daevan's hand and ran his eyes over the headpiece. “How could you dare…”

   “Let us go!” Daevan urged breathlessly, ignoring the old Dwarf. He had the hand on the hilt of the scimitar. “There will be others coming!”

   “You notched the Hammer of Aulé!” Darin complained following them along the way. The hammer was heavy, and his speaking became strenuous. “You should not have…” But his words were lost, and Lini hushed him as they ran back the path they had come.

-o-o-o-o-

   “He wielded it with skill!” Lini praised much too loudly, and though Furin ordered him to be still, the younger Dwarf's delight could not be quenched. Dini was a welcomed listener. “Those goblins were smashed!”

   “He misused it!” Carefully Darin set down the valuable tool on a piece of cloth in a corner of the secret chamber. When he turned, his glare pierced Daevan. Furin eyed the hammer with loving care, content to have it back in possession. The silver ribbon shone in the fire light. It was even more beautiful than Daevan had thought in the first place. “It was not right! Not right!”

   “There was no time to draw his sword!” Lini rebuked for the forth or fifth time since they had reached their hideout. Darin grumbled ceaselessly, but the others refrained from heeding his complaints. They were content to see it again after they had thought it lost.

   Furin came over to Daevan, who had shed the helmet, quiver, and bow, and was about to settle down. The Dwarf bowed low.

   “We gratefully receive back the heirloom of Aulé, my young companion. You ventured far and gained much. So we hold the vow fulfilled.”

   “I did my deed, Master Dwarf, and we will see to yours.”

   “Aye. Rest. Then we march.” Furin turned, and Daevan faced the Great Warrior, unable to hide his grin.

   “You accomplished indeed much, Daevan,” said Strider quietly, but his glance rested on the tool the Dwarves regarded with awe. “The Hammer of Aulé. Who would have thought of that?”

   Daevan took a water-skin, wiped his sweat-covered brow, and leant back beside his companion. He rested his arms on his knees.

   “Well, one might say, they could put it to good use and forge a new sword out of a broken one.” Strider glared at him, and Daevan hastened to add, “As for a normal sword, I suppose, it would suffice.” He waited anxiously for a rebuke, but suddenly Strider laughed.

   “Indeed you ventured far to become so skilled with your tongue!”

-o-o-o-o-

   Once more the Dwarves shared food and water with their allies, content beyond words and eager to leave behind the mine. Daevan hardly listened to their conversation. Now that the strain was over he felt tiredness creep up upon him. His limbs were heavy, and only now he realised the deed he had done. Yet the worry about Strider kept him from lying down. The warrior was battered and bruised; he had not got up since he had been taken to the chamber, and he looked weak enough to stay for another day. When the Dwarves announced they were leaving for the well after a short rest, the young man was about to object. Strider put his hand on his arm, stopping him.

   “I can go on. We must hasten to capture Gollum and leave.”

   “But…”

   “The Orcs will find a way around the barricade,” Strider said. Daevan nodded, but still he was not convinced. “And the Dunlendings spoke of a sorcerer and his minion. They said he would return in three days. If that happens…”

   “Will he bring an army with him?” Daevan asked, suddenly wide awake. The tidings of yet another enemy to battle upset him.

   “He will come for us.” Strider looked up with pain-filled eyes. “They were ordered to find us all. If he finds me no longer a captive his followers will search Moria, even if it takes  him days.”

   Daevan frowned and tried to hide his fear behind a blank face.

   “But who is he?”

   “I cannot say. I only know that the Dunlendings feared him greatly.”

   “Is he a mighty sorcerer then?”

   “The one wizard I know of who roams southward at Isengard is mighty, aye, but I would not think of him allying himself with Orcs and Dunlendings.”

   “So there is another?” Daevan's head swam with the information. After walking trees and hordes of deadly Orcs the thought of a sorcerer to fear or to fight was unsettling him.

   “There might be. It does not matter now. We have no time to lose.” Strider looked up to him, trying in vain to convince his friend. “We must move.”

   “Aye.” There was a pause, and when Daevan spoke again his voice was pressed. “The way to the well is long and narrow. Let me go to hunt that beast, and I will return to…”

   “No,” Strider interrupted and his grey eyes were set with intensity as he looked at his friend. “There will be no time to come back. The Orcs might be delayed by the Dwarves' trick, but they will find a way around. The moment Gollum is caught we must head for the Dimrill Gate. We must get out or we will be stuck. I do not know the way to the western side of the mountains, but I know that there would be miles to cover before we see sunlight again.” Daevan shivered involuntarily. “There is only this one way. Do not worry about me.”

   Daevan lowered his gaze and said no more.