Chapter Twenty-nine

Gollum

   When Strider exhaled, Daevan called to mind the image of water sprayed on fire. It was clear to him that the man had left their hideout much too early. The young man supported him as best as he could. Nevertheless, Strider's face was covered with sweat by the time they reached their first resting place after plodding their way through the gorges and tunnels for a time uncounted. They had been lucky and only once met Orcs, and the Dwarves and Daevan had been quick with their blades. None had been left alive to report their whereabouts to the Orc-chieftain or the Dunlendings. Warily they had moved on, ever more vigilant and as silent as they could be.

   Wearily they sat down. Lini was detailed to watch while the others shared water and a frugal meal. Daevan unsheathed his sword to wipe clean the blade, and when it shone again in the dim light of the torch, he sighed.

   “I wish I knew about its ancestry,” he said quietly. “And now I think grand-father will never tell me.”

   Strider wiped his brow with his gloved hand. He was worn out, yet he tried to remain upright and ready to leave if the need occurred. No place could be considered safe now.

   “It was my captain's sword,” he said quietly. Daevan's head snapped around to face him. Strider evaded the young man's stare, grimacing. Evanar had been a trustworthy soldier, a man, who should have led the army instead of him. But he had been content as the first captain and riding with the host's vanguard. He had been strong and proud, yet without luck. Strider inhaled deeply. “When he was wounded at the Rammas and taken to the Houses of Healing at Minas Tirith, he knew he would not live to use his sword again. It was an heirloom of his family, but his son had fallen in battle.” He paused, and Daevan knew the memory still hurt. “But he wanted to give it to someone he had come to know and to trust. That man was your grand-father.”

   “Doran? But how? Why?”

   Strider was reluctant to reveal more, but Daevan looked at him pleadingly.

   “Doran had served the army of Minas Tirith for a long time, and the captain and he had known each other for years. You told me he even became a member of the Citadel Guard and that Ecthelion favoured him with his support. So it came to pass that Doran was sent to the captain to ask for his last wishes, and was given the sword to keep as an heirloom of his own family.”

   Speaking exhausted the wanderer, and he rested his head against the wall. Nevertheless, Daevan asked:

   “But… why did he never speak of it?”

   “I cannot tell you this, my friend, but I know that Doran was confident you would take it for a good purpose.”

   “So you knew of it all the time?” Daevan asked, unable to hide his disappointment about the late revelation.

   “I knew when you told me its name.” Strider fell silent, and the young man pondered why Doran had not given the valuable sword to his father. “It is a sad story. Maybe your grand-father did not wish to share the burden with you.”

   “He could have given it to my father.”

   Strider's eyes rested with frankness on the young man.

   “He could have. But he saved it for you. He knew why.”

-o-o-o-o-

   Daevan was as eager to leave the mine as were the Dwarves, and though Strider could not cope with their speed, they made good progress. The young man held the wanderer with one hand by his belt and with the other at the wrist drawn across his shoulder. Supported like this, Strider could save his strength. The small group ventured through the vast tunnels, halting repeatedly to listen into the darkness.

   Getting closer to the well Lini was sent first once more, and his reconnaissance took him a long time. His face was dirty and bathed in sweat when he returned with hasty steps.

   “It is there!” he said in a hushed whisper and with a gesture roused them to go on. “I saw it! We must hurry!”

   Lini led the way; Furin followed with the torch, Dini had his axe ready to defend them, while Darin trotted behind with the burden of the long-handled hammer. His breathing was laboured, but he kept his pace. Behind them came Daevan with Strider leaning on him.

   “It is not that far anymore,” Daevan said, as if to soothe the Ranger.

   “How do you know?” Strider lifted his head briefly, and his hair fell into his face. He was weary beyond reckoning, and his left leg burnt from within. The poultice had taken away some of the pain and the inflammation, but the wound had not yet mended.

   “The scratches at the branching,” Daevan said evenly. “I made them.” Strider turned his head to express his surprise with a look. “Well, somehow I had to find my way in this stinking hole.” Darin glared over his shoulder. “A mine,” the young man quickly corrected. “Once a mighty town.”

   “Aye,” Darin grumbled and fell silent again.

   Strider swallowed. Through the pain, he gave Daevan a thin smile.

   “Well, if that is not a happy twist of events.” His voice was but a breath, but the young companion had heard him and moved on with a grin on his lips.

-o-o-o-o-

   The hunched up figure of Gollum had clambered from a cleft toward the fountain where the dull flicker of a torch at the wall gave some light. Daevan would have known his frame and built amidst hundreds of Orcs, but there was none to disturb them. None to try to capture Gollum on his own, and that was why the sly beast had dared to get close to the well. His soft whining as he jumped onto the rim of the well was to be heard on the ledge above on the eastern side. The Dwarves nodded toward the wanderer, who had tried to crouch beside them, but had to stretch out his left leg with a hiss of suppressed pain.

   The area around the fountain lay quiet. Gollum let down the bucket on the rope, and the soft splash as it hit the surface was the only sound. Carefully he checked if they were still alone. Gollum was ready to jump and run back to that small cleft he had lain hidden if need occurred. He would not face those Orcs again! They had been cruel, ever poking his skin, ever mocking though he had given them something of utter importance! Gollum shook his meagre head. Some last remains of hair moved in silent addition to his thoughts of misery. It had been hard to escape, but his cunning had been his salvation! But the ways of Moria were vast. It had been tremendously difficult to remain alive with no hidden pool to serve as a perfect hideout. Longingly he thought of the Lonely Mountains and his precious. O, yes, his precious! Another whine escaped his thin lips. He shook his head once more. His longing for his precious could not be quenched. He would ever want it. Ever need it; ever wish to put it back on his hand where it belonged. It had been his birthday present, and that devilish Hobbit had stolen it from him. Stolen it! How could he have dared to be so bold! He remembered the riddles they had solved in the deep cavern of the mountain. That Hobbit had been good, even clever, but he had cheated on poor Gollum and thus betrayed him!

   Suddenly there was a faint sound. Gollum, about to pull up the bucket, halted and peered into the darkness with his lamp-like eyes. He waited. He waited long until he felt safe again.

   Daevan looked left and right. He distrusted the quietness and the ominous peace. The Orcs were about somewhere, and it would take them only minutes to gather their minions by beating the drums. He could almost feel the presence of other creatures, and Strider beside him seemed to be likewise uneasy. Daevan breathed deeply. He had to remain calm and circumspect. Now that they had come this far he wanted to bind that creature (which had caused all they trouble they were in, he thought resentfully) and get away as soon as possible.

   Gollum worked hard to pull up the bucket, oblivious to the pursuers waiting no more than twenty feet away. When he had made it, he sang softly to himself and gulped down the water. But he was attentive and halted between the swigs to look round. Only then, he stuck his head into the bucket again.

   “He'll run if we try getting closer,” Furin observed doubtfully.

   “If we could catch him from here…” Strider let his voice trail off, but Daevan carefully took off his pack.

   “I have a net with me,” he whispered proudly, and when he unfolded it, Strider praised him for his circumspection. Quickly Daevan collected four stones the size of a small hand and wound them into the corners of the net. The Dwarves turned toward him and eyed his doings with doubt. They had never seen such device before and did not know what should be done with it. “I'll throw it from here,” Daevan announced. “But we have to be quick with him.”

   “Aye, we can do that!” Darin announced grimly and swung the hammer across his shoulder once more, almost hitting Furin with it. “If he moves I'll beat him once and for all!”

   “I need him unharmed.”

   Darin glared at the wanderer, but complied.

   “We will get him anyway,” he stated when Daevan had the net ready. Darin nodded to the young man and stealthily moved into position. Furin, Dini, and Lini accompanied him.

   Gollum smacked his lips and took the bucket down beside the rim, now that he had emptied it to the half. He was content for now. Still there was hunger to quench, but he had had worse days. Worse months even. With a shudder, he remembered his long imprisonment in the Dark Tower. He shook his head as if to lose the memory. And then there had been that awfully tall Man trying to capture him while he was finally on the run! It had been a terrible incident, and he had not yet shaken the fear. And even in here, in the darkness, which should cover him and keep him safe, he had been bound and forced under another Man's will. But he was stronger! He was sly. He would survive.

   Daevan waited. He had not told Strider that he was only used to throwing a net for catching fish (where a miss did not matter), and now his mouth was dry as the stones he stood upon. He swung the net above his head, and when it gained speed, threw it into the dimness at the well. He could hardly follow his pitch, but the creature made an awful shriek. With grim content Daevan turned. Strider already stood. Down below the ledge the Dwarves ran across the flagstones. They were quiet, much quieter than Gollum, who fought the net, whining words in a high-pitched voice. He accused the Dwarves, he struggled viciously, and when he found no way out, his accusations grew louder and more impatient. One more cry followed, then the creature lay still.

   Strider forced himself down the ledge and across the rear part of the hall. He saw Gollum rolled up and tied up and unmoving. He looked at Darin accusingly.

   “You are fast with your club, are you not?”

   Darin bowed.

   “Aye, Thorongil, at your service. But you will see he is still alive.”

   An arrow hit the wall aside the well. Strider turned immediately, pulled Daevan with him, and they dodged for cover. Darin dragged the bound Gollum behind him as the Dwarves quickly scattered to find hiding-places in the shadows. Alarmed yet not fearful they gazed at the opposite ledge.

   “The bow!” Strider urged. Daevan delivered it and handed him two arrows. Another shaft came whirling through the hall, but hit the floor. Strider looked up, aimed, and shot. More arrows whistled by, and Strider used his cover to shoot back effectively. Then, all of a sudden, the sounds ceased, and only a few more black-tipped arrows were loosed against them. The Great Warrior sensed there were more Orcs lying in wait, but the company had no time to hunt them down. “We must leave!” Strider flung the bow across his shoulder and rose. He grimaced at the sudden pain assaulting him, but moved on. The Dwarves ran past them into the darkness. Furin had Gollum on his back like a sack of corn, and still he ran.

   Daevan offered his support, but Strider told him to move on.

   The run for the Dimrill Gate had begun.

-o-o-o-o-

   Dull the drums rang. Doom, doom! They were answered by others, even farther away. The voices of Orcs were to be heard, magnified by the walls on both sides, but as yet none of the creatures were close enough to assail them. The company could recover grimly contented that they had thrown back the attackers once more.

   Darin was sweating under the weight of the great hammer. He tried to carry it in front of him or across his shoulder, but every time he changed position, the tool seemed to become heavier, and though he was as stout and strong as a Dwarf could be, he panted loudly. More often than not, he hit the handle against the stones, causing a noise. Then Darin cursed under his breath. Furin eyed him angrily. Lini had the vanguard, Dini followed with his axe in his hands, while the rearguard consisted of Strider and Daevan. The moment Strider staggered, Daevan simply slipped his shoulder under his companion's arm and dragged him along. With the faint drums behind them and the threat of the guard along the bridge in front of them, there was no time to lose.

   Yet, their speed slackened at the weights and the exhaustion they faced. Lini glanced back over his shoulder and flinched. Darin stumbled more than he walked, and the hammer almost slipped from his sweaty fingers.

   “You'll delay us all!” Lini hissed when his companions got closer. “Give it to the tall man! He can carry it.”

   “But I won't!” Darin protested, holding the heirloom of the Dwarves close to his armour. He wheezed, but still eyed Daevan malevolently. “He might drop it! He might ruin it!”

   “But you'll lose it or get caught,” Lini rebuked. Briefly he looked at the stairs ahead of them. They had to reach the lower level and then, after yet another long way in the open, the Bridge of Khazad-dûm.

   Strider and Daevan had reached them, and out of breath the wanderer urged:

   “Let Daevan carry it, Master Dwarf. We all know of your strength and will, but we are in dire need to get out of the mine.” Still Darin hesitated, turning the handle in his two small hands. “We are allies, Darin, and neither Daevan nor I will try to take away what is rightfully yours.”

   Furin stood aside, eyeing the old leader, pressing him without words. He shifted the weight of Gollum on his back. A while ago the beast had regained consciousness, but due to his loud complaints that period had been short and had ended with yet another blow to the beast's head.

   “He is right,” he said at length. “Do part with it and let us go on.”

   “You have no influence in this!” Darin rebuked, but – with utmost reluctance – handed the Hammer of Aulé to Daevan. “Take it then, as it must be. But I warn you not to drop it. Not to use it. And not to fall over a cliff and get lost with it!”

   “I will see to save me too,” replied Daevan dryly and stowed away the hammer on his back, where it was held by his belt.

   Lini glanced back the way they had come.

   “On, my friends! On we must move!” He took the lead, and his fellows, and the two Men slogged on.

-o-o-o-o-

   They climbed down the stairs in single file and reached the next deep. Just before entering the hall on their way, Lini held the company back with his hand raised. Carefully he peeped around the corner, then snapped back his head.

   “Four goblins,” he reported quietly, “and I cannot say if there are more in the darkness. The hall is huge.”

   “Aye.” Strider took the scimitar Daevan had handed him. “Furin and Darin stay as rearguard, we go.”

   “I will not remain behind like an old pack of rags!” the old Dwarf complained.

   “Hush!” Furin said and turned to Strider. “Are you sure you can…?”

   “I might not look like it, but I can still fight.”

   “We stay,” Furin decided and shot Darin a warning glance. The old Dwarf snarled an unfriendly remark, but the others had already turned away.

   Warily the Dwarves and Men proceeded, and when they reached the corner once more, Lini cast a handful of pebbles to his left, thus alarming the Orcs nearby. There was a shuffle of boots, some questions into the dark, and then the sound of creaking leather as the creatures moved closer.

   Daevan held Ranaél in his right hand as he waited for the goblins to show themselves. The days in the mine had caused him to shed the nervous anticipation of fights; he was calm and expected the Orcs like an experienced warrior. Strider did not fail to notice the younger man's self-confidence, and he was proud.

   The Orcs appeared with only one torch to light the way. The moment they reached the corner the Dwarves attacked them ferociously with their axes, hewing at arms and legs and sending the creatures down howling with pain. The sound was hollow in the hall. Daevan parried the blow of yet another foe assailing him, and from the darkness two more came to aid their fallen minions. But they, too, did not withstand the fighters and lay in their blood only minutes later.

   Silence fell. Daevan and Strider quickly retreated from the torchlight. No more enemies poured from the hall, and no sound announced the arrival of an Orc horde yonder the ways branching from the main room. Only from far away drums resounded.

   “Hurry!” Lini called to his kin, and together they hastened through the hall in the first deep. “There is a chasm ahead!” he said by a while. Left and right no walls could be seen, and Daevan only guessed the greatness of the hall as they ran. “There is a way across on the right!” Lini steered the company that way and all followed him, guided only by the flicker of fire of the dying torch.

   They crossed the chasm and left the hall behind. Down another flight of stairs, they hurried, making as little sound as possible. Nevertheless the guards at the bridge had been alarmed days ago that neither beast nor Men were allowed to leave Moria that way. Therefore, the company crouched in a corner, weary and tired, yet knowing they would be caught between the hammer and the anvil if they did not make it over the bridge immediately.

   “Two on this side I could see,” Lini reported, who had sharp eyes for a Dwarf. “But on the other, close to the next flight of stairs to the first hall there are more.” He swallowed. “How shall we get rid of them?”

   “We have to rest first,” Daevan demanded and looked at Strider. His hair lay in wet strands across his brow, and he steadied himself against the wall behind him. “At least drink something,” he added and handed Strider a water-skin.

   “Aye.” Furin put down the net with Gollum.

   While they all drank the creature moved slightly, and his fierce and hate-filled eyes were set on Strider.

   “Release us, you filthy thief!” he demanded and fumbled again – and in vain – with the net holding him. “You must let us go! You hurt us!”

   Darin had his club ready, but Strider held him back.

   “You either go with me or you will be left behind for the Orcs. What say you?”

   Gollum winced and whined and clattered his few teeth. He writhed miserably in the tight net.

   “Release us! We can…”

   “You are a traitor!” Daevan interrupted, getting closer menacingly. “So you either keep your mouth shut, or I might use the hammer to end your complaints!” He reached for the Hammer – ignoring Darin's accusing “No!” – and made the beast falter.

   “No, no, no! Not hurt poor Gollum!”

   “Then you will shut up!” Daevan held the beast in his stare, but even though Gollum was afraid, the Dwarves took no risk and used a piece of cloth to gag the beast.

   Furin nodded, content with his decision.

   “We move on,” Lini said quietly. The company rose, yet halted when they heard steps and fragments of a conversation. There were more Orcs in front of them than they had anticipated.