Chapter Thirty

The Dimrill Gate

   Gurim cursed viciously. He had not ceased cursing since the stones had barred the path back to the hall and kitchen. The Orcs and Dunlendings had taken the much longer way through the vastness of the mine, and every now and again, they had lost some of their minions to the unpredictable deep. Stairs had been broken away due to decay, and behind every corner, cracks in the stone had appeared making it clear they needed to move on. The group had almost faltered; they were neither courageous nor devoted to their leaders. Gurim had hurried the goblins and the few Uruks among them with threats, and they had doubled their efforts to reach the hall again when the first drums had been heard by those in the vanguard. At that moment, Hrunas had joined the cursing. They had pushed forward their minions relentlessly.

   Gurim still thought about Grima's words – apart from the unmistakable threats – and cursed himself for having been so negligent. They could have caught that creature within a day if they had taken the time and effort to do so. And they would have caught the young Man too, if he had ordered all pathways to be flooded with Orcs so that no one would have been able to escape. But he had not thought of the Men's slyness. And he had not – another curse followed – thought that the Dwarves would still dare to oppose them even though they had lost four of their companions. He had made mistakes, and now, as he plodded through the tunnels and bruised his hands and knees, he realised that he must either capture the Men and the beast or he would lose everything.

-o-o-o-o-

   The affray was hard and still continued. Lini and Dini swung their axes with long-practised skill, hacking and slashing at the Orcs assailing them. Daevan punched an Uruk straight in his face, but the creature only snarled at him. Wide-eyed the young man realised that Uruk-hai did not feel pain. In a fluent motion, he brought up his sword, but was parried by a scimitar. The Uruk bent forward and bared his teeth for a victorious roar. Daevan smelt the stench of him. Abruptly he retreated. The enemy, taken unawares, stumbled forward. Daevan buried the turned blade deep in its belly, then pulled it free again, ready to take out another foe. There were plenty of scimitars just waiting to be countered.

   Beside him, Strider fought. His long years of experience served him well; he evaded the blows and pushed the Orcs back. He was slow on his feet, but his arm was still strong and fast. The enemies were not skilled enough to even scratch him. But his ability to evade was limited. One tall minion approached him from behind, and it was Dini's vigour that saved Thorongil's life. The Dwarf slashed his axe into the creature's back, thus adding him to those dead on the ground.

   Strider was left breathless. But the danger was not yet over, and when the guards from the gate side started firing their shafts – disregarding the probability that they would hit their fellows – it was up to the wanderer to limp to a safe place to release his arrows. The Dwarves and Daevan fought the Orcs hurrying to aid their fellows, and their fight was long and strenuous. Behind them in the tunnel the drums drew closer, and the Bridge of Khazad-dûm still lay ahead of them.

-o-o-o-o-

   Gurim had stopped cursing. He had no breath left. The tidings of the Dwarves and Men fleeing the mine had finally reached him, and the drums were deafening. Now they had a goal! Gurim shouted over the clamour that he would grant those catching the fugitives men flesh, and all who heard him clattered their teeth in anticipation. Gurim and Hrunas were overtaken. Hrunas cursed once more, knowing that the group would now try to kill the Men and Dwarves instead of just hindering their escape. But there was no stopping the horde now.

   They ran.

-o-o-o-o-

   Strider's arrow whistled through the air, and another Orc fell dead into the abyss. But there were still far more than he could fight. Beyond the bridge there were protruding stones to conceal the enemy from him, and behind them another stairway led to the first hall. They were issuing a mocking challenge, and dully their voices rang through the lofty hall.

   He loosed his last arrow, watched the Orc go down on his knees, then left his hideout. A hail of arrows greeted him as he limped back to where the company was fighting, yet the enemy had less skill and were too rash. Two more Orcs were hit by their own minions and fell. An Uruk set his yellow eyes on Strider, roaring a challenge, and within seconds, the wanderer was entangled in a fight. He thrust himself forward, thus gaining some range to swing the crude blade against the neck of the creature. But his strike was intercepted, and he was thrown back. The dark-skinned enemy was about him with two steps, deeming the Man beaten. He swung his scimitar to cleave the Man's head, but Strider was faster. He dodged the deadly blow and brought up his blade to cut through the Uruk's throat. Blood gushed from the wound as the Uruk-hai went down. Strider turned, aiding Lini and shielding Furin, who was hampered by Gollum on the lower part of his back. One more goblin fell dead to the hit of his minion's arrow.

   “Now! Run for the bridge!” Strider cried when the rest of the horde fled the fierce assault of the company.

   They hurried down the last stairs toward the narrow bridge. Daevan braced himself against the dizziness assailing his stout heart. He would not falter now, yet a glance into the unknown deep caused him to slacken his speed.

   “Go on!” Strider urged behind him. “Run and do not look down!”

   Daevan inhaled one last time. He ran as fast as he could, but the Dwarves with their short legs were in front of him. And there were the Orcs' shrill cries resounding through the heights. Arrows came whirling from their left. Daevan realised the Orcs were yelling at their fellows, who had hidden themselves until now. One arrow struck Darin's helmet, but rebounded. Another stuck into Furin's mail coat, but the Dwarf did not even notice. He hurried on as fast as he could. Dini made his way behind him, never taking his eyes off the small bridge without any kerb or rail. It had been long weeks ago that he had entered the ancient halls of his forebears, and now – humiliating as it was – he had to flee them.

   The cries of the enemies grew louder. Most of them had spent their arrows yet still those hated Men and Dwarves were moving! On crooked legs, they scurried like spiders in a web down from the ledge to greet the fugitives with their scimitars.

   Strider forced himself forward. He knew his left leg would be pure agony once he reached the other side, but until then he ground his teeth and limped across the abyss with all the speed he could muster. In front of him, Daevan hurried, but then a black-feathered shaft slid from his breast plate into his left arm. Daevan cried with pain and slowed down, barely keeping his balance on the slender bridge. He did not halt, but pressed his right arm to the wound. Warm blood oozed between his fingers. For a moment he felt as if he were losing his footing; he was afraid he would fall.

   “Move on, Daevan, just move on!” Strider urged behind him. “It's not far now! Just go!”

   Daevan heeded the older man's words. He ground his teeth, fighting the dizziness, and keeping his feet on the stones. His vision blurred, but still he walked. He could not run anymore, but still he did not stumble. More arrows whistled past him. He thought how odd it would be to have survived within the mine and be killed on the last bridge. Behind him Strider still talked to him, disregarding the enemy's threats and howls. And Daevan knew there were more ugly creatures to follow.

-o-o-o-o-

   Gurim caught up with the first Uruks waiting at the branching tunnels.

   “What tidings of the Men?” he shouted at him and would have wanted to shake and hit the creature. He was angry enough to beat anyone. But such a tall creature would fight back, and Gurim restrained himself.

   “They are fleeing to the bridge,” the Uruk said in his deep growling voice. “Two patrols saw them.”

   “Did they capture them?”

   “They tried.” The Uruk bared his teeth and his voice was full of scorn. “But those lazy maggots were weak. They were beaten.”

   Gurim cursed, Hrunas shook his head, and the lot hurried on. They were only a quarter mile away from the second hall.

-o-o-o-o-

   Daevan's left arm was numb. The Orc-shaft stuck out, and he broke the end away. He reached the other side of the bridge. Three Orcs rushed him; they had lain hidden behind the stones, and were eager to avenge their comrades. Daevan drew his sword and fought back the first, but the second lashed its scimitar against him, hitting the breastplate. Though the scimitar failed to wound him, Daevan was driven back by the impact. From behind Strider appeared, his blade raised high enough to cut through the Orc's shoulder. The goblin jerked back in anguish. A second strike sent him to the ground. Daevan could not deflect the next Orc blade; it hit his thigh, sliced through cloth and skin, and he grimaced with pain. Weakened he retreated from the Orc. The creature came after him, praising victory in his foul tongue, and the moment he launched forward his blade, Daevan stepped aside and kicked the Orc into the abyss. It went down shrieking. Other cries answered in anger. Boots shuffled over the ground yonder the plateau they were fighting.

   “We have to leave!” Daevan shouted over the mayhem. “There are more coming this way!” He felt blood trickle down his leg, but he barely looked at it; there was no time to treat the wound anyway.

   The Dwarves stood their ground. Their stout legs spread apart their axes worked in never tiring hands. Yet the enemy was gathering its forces.

   “We must move on!” Strider stabbed his blade into an Orc's throat, freed the weapon and helped Furin against a taller Uruk-hai, who fought on even though his thighs were bleeding badly from the first hit, and he was on his knees.

   The same instant an Orc rammed Daevan against the wall. The young man cried out and dropped his sword. All air was pressed out of his lungs. The Orc, already bereft of his weapon, stooped to grab Ranaél. Daevan reached for the Hammer of Aulé. He pulled it out half-way when Darin jumped in between, driving his axe deep into the goblin's back. The creature died without a cry, and Darin glared at Daevan.

   “You must not use it!” he shouted.

   Daevan caught his breath and gladly took his sword the Dwarf handed him.

   “Thank you, Darin!”

   “Aye.” The Dwarf turned away, facing yet another of the enemy's minions.

-o-o-o-o-

   Above the drum-beats Gurim heard the clamour of the fight yonder the bridge. He glanced at Hrunas. His fellow had bared his teeth, and his face was grim and determined; he was in the same hunting mood, but worried nevertheless. They would gain nothing if the enemies were killed on their very doorstep.

   “Get me those Men!” Gurim shouted toward those running in front of him. “But don't kill them! Or I'll have your heads too!” He searched for Brúnak, but could not see the Orc-chieftain. He doubted that the group would restrain themselves when their prey was close.

   The hall was right in front of them. Seventy pairs of heavy boots hurried toward the Bridge of Khazad-dûm.

-o-o-o-o-

   Lini threw the Orc against the stairs. Its helmet was cloven, and the beast was beaten like many of its fellows. The Dwarf was sweating and exhausted and his armour was cut at the right shoulder, but still he felt strong and full of life. He turned around to see the company following him. Quickly he took a torch from a holder. Furin came up to him, Darin followed, and though he was old, he seemed inspired by the prospect of getting the Hammer of Aulé finally home. Dini wiped his brow. He was bleeding from a wound right beneath the helmet's rim, but assured his fellows it was a mere scratch. Daevan and Strider were last to reach them. Lini eyed them closely. The young man's face had blanched and he was not sure if the encounter with the enemy, or the wounds had caused his pallor. Strider limped badly now, his face reflecting his agony, but still he nodded toward the Dwarves to go on.

   “Hurry!” he cried, and they all doubled their efforts to climb the stairs ahead of them.

   It was a quarter of a mile to the first hall, but to Daevan it seemed by far longer. He kept the pace, he put one foot before the other, and he heeded Lini's words as the ever vigilant Dwarf warned the company of the presence of two more Orcs, who had lagged behind their patrol. They did not withstand the Dwarves for long and lost their lives on the blades of Dini and Lini. But the fight slowed down their escape. Daevan gazed back over his shoulder. He could see dancing torchlight; he could hear drum-beats and cries, and above all there was the commanding voice of a Dunlending. He swallowed hard. It might be true that most Orcs shunned the daylight, but the Dunlendings would not. Yet he was too weary to think further than taking the next step.

   Strider concentrated on the simple task of keeping his battered body in motion. He did not heed the noise behind them or the threat of more enemies to battle at the gate. His will kept him upright, and he prayed that they all would reach the Dimrill Stair without the horde getting too close. Yet, the shuffling of feet grew louder as they passed the first hall. Echoes of voices rang through the richly decorated passage. Commands were shouted, and the dull drum-beats resounded again, adding to the sound of heavy boots hurrying forward. Strider could only follow Lini and the torch, oblivious to anything else. He knew their escape would cost him dearly.

-o-o-o-o-

   On crooked legs the Orcs ran across the bridge. They were so eager to get to their prey that the faster ones tried to push and shove their fellows out of the way. Some fell, some returned the pushes, and more lost their footing and plunged shrieking into the abyss. The first ones setting foot on the bridge had been shot at, and Gurim had taken up his cursing again. Maddened with bloodlust, the Orcs holding the passage had shot at everyone getting closer, and now Gurim understood why so many of their race lay felled by black-feathered arrows. His curses grew in volume. The fugitives had had an easy escape!

   With Hrunas behind him and assured they would reach the other side without arrows struck through their necks they hurried along. Hrunas did not like the chasm; it was ominous to him, and whenever the ground shook – the reason he did not know – he hoped he would not be standing on that small pathway. But the ground was silent as were the many minions, who had tried to keep the Men and the Dwarves from fleeing. Hrunas did not cast a glance at the dead – he did not wish to know how many of those fellows had fallen on the blades of just a few Men and Dwarves – but ran on behind the Orcs already prowling toward the first hall. He even shouted at them to yield and wait. He hoped that reminder would not come too late.

-o-o-o-o-

   The Dwarves almost cheered as they crossed the first hall and descried the stairs ahead. Now it was for the run, and the company gathered all strength they had left to reach the gate. Daevan dared to glance over his shoulder. The Orcs were approaching fast now! They had spotted their enemies and hunger as well as the lust for the kill drove them madly on. Daevan felt as if he were walking through a thick fen; he could not cover much ground, and with every heartbeat blood dripped from his wounds. Yet, the urge to go on numbed the pain. Strider at his side kept himself upright, but his haggard face was contorted in a grimace of anguish. He had cast away the useless bow and only kept the shards of his sword and the scimitar. Still the journey had to be over sooner than later, or the brave warrior would break down. Daevan remained at his side, offering help, but Strider only shook his head. He would not give up now.

   Darin watched Daevan's back and the Hammer of Aulé. He sent words to his maker asking that he would let them all escape alive and that this young man would remain long enough on his feet to save the hammer they had come for. Darin knew they had not been the first company to enter Moria in an attempt to bring out the heirloom, but they were – another prayer escaped his lips without words – the first one to fulfil the Dwarves' expectations. He could even imagine the words of praise and joy upon entering their last stronghold, and Darin would do everything necessary to make this dream come true.

   The gate was close. However, it was barred by two stout Orcs, who had heard their comrades fight and die. They held their scimitars across their chest and set their hideous faces in a hideous glare. Lini swung his great axe without ever losing speed and hewed the first Orc's legs above the knees. The creature stumbled in utter surprise and went down. Dini faced the second Orc, but was cast aside. He thudded on the ground and shook his head with a grunt. It was up to Darin to outrun Daevan and thrust himself with all of his considerable weight into the belly of the beast. The impact threw the monster backwards against the wall, and Strider was there to end its life with a single strike.

   Darin breathed through deeply, but the hunt was not over. The pursuers reached the hall and crossed it in a desperate hurry. The two Dunlendings had overtaken their minions and shouted at them to restrain themselves.

   “It's now, my friends!” Darin shouted and slipped first through the gate.

-o-o-o-o-