Chapter Thirty-one

Affray

   The sun was high, and its bright light blinded the members of the company as they, one by one, left the darkness of Moria behind. They squinted into the midday sun, not veiled by any cloud. The sky was high and blue, and a warm wind greeted them like a light touch of a caring hand. It was the most wonderful gift to reach the plateau while the daylight lasted.

   At last came Strider, grimacing still, but with a weary smile breaking through on his weather-beaten face. Behind him in the dimness shrill cries resounded, and the vengeful commands of the Dunlendings answered. Many pairs of boots shuffled across the floor, but then there was a sudden and ominous silence with only the commands of the leaders above it. They urged their minions to walk, but cursed when they denied obedience. Only a handful of the stoutest and hardiest shouted their cries of war.

   “We can not outrun them,” Strider said regretfully. His gaze was directed toward Mirrormere, and though he longed for the peaceful view across the still waters, he would not reach it. Not now. He turned to see two Uruk-hai emerge from the stone gate. They howled as the sunlight hit their eyes, but kept moving. Three more of the impressively tall creatures followed, readying their spears. They were strong and unharmed, and they knew of the reward the Dunlendings had promised. They would feast upon the flesh of Men tonight!

   Daevan felt weak. He panted badly and thought he could go on no further. He blinked, and still the Uruk-hai as well as the Dunlendings behind them seemed to blur before his eyes. He raised Ranaél. The sunlight was caught on the blade, and its reflection blinded the Uruk for a moment. Daevan rushed him. He wanted to end this fight. He wanted to beat the Uruk and all enemies approaching him to finally escape the threat of the mine. Daevan did not heed the warning shout from his left. Recklessly he launched his blade. It seemed to vibrate in his hands as he attacked the Uruk. The blade slipped from the scimitar, but bit deep into the beast's arm. Growling it retreated, irritated by the prowess of the assault. Daevan followed, swinging his sword from the left, bringing it down faster on the thick neck than the enemy could deflect it. Yellow eyes broke as the creature thudded to the ground.

   Wide-eyed Daevan turned. To his left Strider battled Hrunas. The Dunlending hacked his sword down on the wanderer. Strider jerked to his right, thus evading the deadly blow. But he fell on one knee, unable to keep his balance. Daevan saw Hrunas raise the blade high, determined to maim his opponent. Daevan launched Ranaél. At that moment he could have sworn the sword acted on his own, and he was only the arm holding it. The shining blade deflected Hrunas' scimitar in its downward movement. The Dunlending grunted as the impact caused the hilt to reverberate. Strider struck up his scimitar, thus embedding it deep into Hrunas’ belly. The Dunlending gasped, doubled over and fell on his knees.

   Daevan helped Strider stand. The wanderer had no breath left for words; he could only nod his gratitude, while the young man shielded him against yet another Uruk, who had dared to leave the darkness. Lini aided Daevan's defence when the young man was thrown back. He wielded his axe with long practice. The dark creature went down with a sliced up belly and was left dying on the grey rocks.

   Gurim had gone after Furin, thinking to gain two captives at once, but the Dwarf stood not alone. Lini and Dini roared their war-cries and quickly came to his aid. Immediately Gurim, faced with three of the kindred, retreated. But he did not stand long against the ferociously fighting free folk. Wherever he thought to hit and maim his opponents, the Dwarves were faster on their feet and relentlessly drove back their enemy. With many wounds Gurim finally collapsed and his blood trickled down the stones. His hand let go of the sword and he stared in utter dismay at the Uruk-hai beaten by Men and Dwarves, who should never have come this far. He knew he would die if no help came, and vaguely he remembered the sorcerer's minion. He remembered the pale face of the ugly Rohirrim; he remembered the threats. But he knew that Grima Wormtongue was a coward as well. Cursing silently that the weak servant of the sorcerer might get the fugitives and the treasures Gurim lost consciousness.

   Furin had a gash on his left arm, and the breastplate and mail shirt were almost cut through, but he was as light-hearted as a Dwarf could be upon a victory. He looked round with pride. His kin had fought bravely, and even the two Men had stood their ground.

   Strider panted and shut his eyes for a moment before he limped over to Gurim to take back what was his. The villain looked at him with hatred, but could not move anymore. It was a victory of its own to collect bow, quiver, sword and even the jewel from the cruel Dunlending. With grim contentment, the wanderer sheathed his sword and flung the bow over his shoulder.

   Yet, when he tried to stand a wave of dizziness almost swept him away, and he remained sitting on the ground to steady himself. He hung his head. He did not wish to get up again. For the time being they had won and no Orc would dare now – after listening to the deaths of their comrades – to leave the safety of the mine behind.

   “We should leave,” said Daevan beside him and held out a hand.

   “I cannot…”

   “You were not weak when you fought.” Daevan grabbed Strider's upper arm. “You must not be weak now.” Strider returned the grip, and Daevan helped him stand.

   He glanced at Ranaél.

   “That gift was well-chosen.”

   “Aye, but it was you who told me how to wield it.”

-o-o-o-o-

   The enemies lay scattered across the plateau. From inside the mine shrieks of fear and despair resounded; the Orcs did not dare venture out. Darin smiled grimly. He patted Furin's back and praised Lini's and Dini's vigilance and prowess. There had not been such a skirmish to win for many a year, and the old Dwarf was reminded of his days as a young fighter, who had always stood his ground against any foe. Those days were gone, but this day would be remembered and written down in the chronicles of the Dwarves.

   “And now, do you think we would have made it without them?” asked Lini with a sly grin, pointing with his chin toward the Men.

   Darin huffed, scratched his beard and remained silent. Yet his look out of shining grey eyes told Lini much.

-o-o-o-o-

   The Dwarves led the way to the Mirrormere. They walked slowly, frequently turning to make sure they were still alone, and to look after the two Men. Lini was worried. The moment the battle had been over Strider had had no strength left to walk on his own, and his young companion had urged him to stand up and move. Though wounded himself, he had almost carried Thorongil down the first steps. Lini had once more admired the young lad's stamina and thought that the Great Warrior had found himself a proper apprentice. Daevan still steadied Strider's stumbling walk as they carefully followed the path down.

   Darin had – gladly and with a bow of gratitude – taken back the Hammer of Aulé, and now carried it as proudly as his forebears. The sight of the hammer lightened the Dwarves' mood as much as the fact that they had left the plateau and adjoining stairs without pursuers.

   Furin even smiled, though he still carried the ever whining creature Gollum on his back. During the battle the beast had been still like death, but now, sensing that the danger was over, it squirmed like fish in a vortex. But the old Dwarf did not heed the movements. He walked straight down to where many a Dwarf had halted on their way to the Dwarrowdelf, and he longed to set eyes on the smooth surface of Kheled-zâram. He would even have walked faster, but he was content to reach the mere in the setting sun, where the golden rays were reflected brilliantly, and the peaks of the mountains, still white with snow, gleamed.

   There the Dwarves took off their helmets and bowed low. Each of them murmured his own silent prayer, and they had much to be grateful for. For a while they stood and stared at the surface, each of them seeing different things none of them talked about. Presently Darin turned. He raised his chin and approached the Men, who had sat down aside to rest.

   “In perilous times the Dwarves do not grant strangers their hand and trust. But you both – Thorongil the wanderer, and Daevan from the marshes - though you are Men, have earned our trust and help whenever you will call for it. This aid I vow to you.” He bowed low to both of them, and the Men returned the gesture.

   “We gladly accept your friendship, Darin son of Narin, for no folk should stay alone in these days of dangers, caused by an Enemy far greater than those we gave battle.”

   “Aye, I know that.” Darin weighed the hammer in his hands. “The free folks will fight long ere peace will come again.”

-o-o-o-o-