The Hunting Trip
Chapter 45: The Final Truth

“It is witchery that rules this!” Gimli cried in anger as he struck the wall with his halberd staff. He spat out a Dwarvish curse, an insult so offensive it might have made the soldiers blush had they known what he had said. He was enraged, that was clear to see, but they had nothing to offer that might offset what was before him. Instead they stood around him, frightened and perplexed, looking for direction.

He had none to give.

There was nowhere to go. The door was sealed to them and they stood at the place where the threshold to the cave should have been, would have been, only it did not exist.

“NO!” he screamed with rage and once again he slammed the butt end of his weapon to the wall. Several of the soldiers followed suit showing equal frustration. The rock sounded solid and sure, and Gimli was amazed at the power of the spell. Kattica had warned that it would be difficult to breach the hold, but the Dwarf had not expected this! If this were an illusion, it was masterful and astoundingly convincing. Nothing stood before him but rock. Still he pummeled away, determined to find a weakness somewhere in the face of the witch’s trickery.

Frantic minutes were being wasted as they stood by. They were made helpless to enter and give aid and Gimli thought he could almost hear the screams from within permeate the stone wall. Whistles and signals from the Elves in the trees confirmed what he already knew. The way at the upper door was blocked just as this one was. This was not as they had planned. Somehow their ploy had gone horribly wrong.

He turned about, his face red and furious as he frantically searched the forest for an answer. He was ready to order a tree felled that they might forge a battering ram to break their way through when his eyes alit upon Arwen, emerging from the forest.

Shuddering back his frustration, he watched as she calmly took steps forward, daring only a short distance before she stopped. From there she beckoned him forth and with the strain of pushing back his fury, replacing it with guilt and regret, Gimli closed the distance between them. He was uncertain what he might say to her for he knew he was as frightened as she must have been, and if she was looking for assurances, he was not sure he had any to give.

As he approached, his eyes strayed to the dogs that circled her. The animals seemed agitated and fearful, tongues lolling while they panted heavily, wincing noises punctuating their demeanor. They paced about the Elven female, allowing the napes and crowns of their heads to be brushed by her fingers as they passed.

He turned his gaze up to her but she looked past him, far away, as if she were piercing the stone with her eyes. She then looked to the sky beginning to dot with stars and sighed a soft prayer he could not understand, so softly was it said in her lyrical voice. Turning her eyes back to Gimli, she gazed at him with an expression that showed her worry, but also revealed to him a depth of wisdom he could not even begin to contemplate. In a soft voice she said, “There is evil here, greater than any we might have suspected. I sense much magic occurring in those halls. A battle rages within, Gimli.”

Gimli dipped his eyes, his heart fluttering in silent terror. In his own heart he knew as much but he dared not show her how frightened he was by these words. It was agonizing to think that the lives of so many were at risk and that he was helpless to do anything for their cause. He uttered in reply, apologetic and desperate, “Forgive me, Lady. I would be there –“

“Fear not, Master Dwarf,” she interrupted. Her voice was calm and kind. “You will have your chance to fight this darkness. Even now, I sense the outcome being altered. We must wait. There is yet hope . . .” She surprised him again then by putting a hand to his shoulder. There was no reproach in her touch. She paused as she cocked her head, considering something only she seemed to know. She smiled at him then and said, “. . . For there is always my Estel.”

He gaped at her for a moment, uncertain what to think of this knowing premonition she showed, but then smiled as well, finding courage in her faith. But that would not get them in and Gimli desperately wanted just that. “Do you sense anything else that might help us?” he asked.

“Patience,” she whispered, looking past him again, frowning suddenly with a worried gaze.

“Patience has never been my strength,” he muttered in response, and then he looked back to where the soldiers stood. They seemed to be weak in their resolve as well, and many of them had broken off to hew a trunk of wood for the purposes he had earlier considered.

Had she something she might say to this she never completed the thought, for she gasped then. The dogs whimpered, the expression of their vocalization nearly the same as hers as their ears sagged in cowering fear. Even Gimli could feel a vague sense of something that tugged at his heart, and though he could not place it, he felt the order within the cave was somehow amiss. Arwen however had schooled her emotions, and she surpassed him in keeping a stoic facade as she watched the wall. Still, she had given the hint of her heart, and he knew whatever it was he felt, she realized it tenfold.

For her sake as well as his, he needed to change the subject. He looked again at the faces of the dogs. Their heads turned to gaze at Arwen, and he could see that they found comfort in her companionship. Innocently enough, he asked, “Should we enter, you are certain these dogs will be of aid?”

“When we enter,” she corrected, and her face seemed to soft with the words. He was even more gladdened to see the smile return to her face then. “And yes I am certain.”

Gimli shook his head, hesitant to believe this true. The largest of the animals looked at him with dark eyes and smacking jowls, and Gimli felt a wave of distrust. “They have served under her as their master for so long. How can you be certain they will obey you?” Gimli asked. Nervous trepidation marked his words, but he was not sure if it was for his worries over the dogs, or over their situation in general.

“They do not obey me,” she answered with a steadfast voice, eyes locked again on the wall.

“They appear as if they do,” Gimli observed.

“They allow me to guide them, but were it not for Legolas, perhaps they would not,” she responded then, glancing at him.

The words stung for the memory of his friend and the danger in which Legolas was held. He nodded at the cord tied about her wrist and she noticed his expression then, the full of her gaze upon him before she glanced down to where he looked. It seemed she understood the direction of his thoughts. The sunny blond hair gleamed golden in the fading light of the sunset.

“It is his. I am sure of it,” she said, touching the braided cord and studying it more carefully. “They recognize it as his as well. And because of it, of him, they are willing to trust me.”

“They will enter on your command then?” Gimli asked, pushing back his anguish and returning to the original question.

“They will enter when they sense they are needed. They feel what I do from within. I do not doubt they will know when they can serve the greatest good,” she said, patting the head of the nearest dog. Then, as if she could read the Dwarf’s fears and despair out of the line of his questioning, she quietly assured him, “We will enter, Gimli.”

He gazed at her, his heart aching again. His voice came out a choked sob as he said, “How do you know?”

“I know,” she answered in a sure voice, gazing at him with the all intensity of the stars in the sky. “I know that Aragorn would never be parted from me, even when we must be parted. They fight their way out. Now. Watch.”

And then she nodded, smiling greatly, and Gimli turned to look.

It was changing. The wall . . .! Like water rolling off a flat plain, the wall melted away. In its place, though still obscured by the clever camouflage of the landscape, was the threshold.

Gimli gasped, amazed by the dissolving obstruction, and further by Arwen’s ability to know it would come, but then he realized this was all part of that song the Elves professed to hear in all the living parts of the world. He turned back to thank her, but already she was drifting back, fading into the woods, camouflaging herself in the guise of nature much like the slippery vision of the wall had been to him and he felt a sort of sadness, seeing her depart like that, as if it were reminiscent of the departure of something else even greater.

But there was no more time to contemplate drifting feelings. He ran to the thick of the gathering soldiers, setting them in order and taking their lead. With a fierce warrior’s cry he exclaimed, “Baruk Khazâd!” and then they charged. With the men at his back, they forged into the depths of the darkest shadows, breaching the pitch hollow of the cliffside dwelling.

Faramir sluggishly rolled to his side, his fingers dipping into the cold of a shallow puddle as he turned. Slippery and cool, the water was blissful and invigorating, and to his befuddled mind it was a balm to revive him enough that he might recall his whereabouts. Vaguely the doom and danger of his situation were made prevalent to him by the whipping sound of the wind. And then he remembered. The Elven ropes. The splash of water. The sudden vision of Éowyn, helpless in the circle of people. There was also the feeling of being thrown by some witchery and nothing else after that. But that was enough to get his heart beating a troubled thrum and to feel the tremble of apprehension in his soul. He gathered his limbs to make motion and rolled to his knees, hurriedly working to pull his body up so that he might find his wife in what he now realized was a realm of hysterical madness.

He was rewarded with his worst fear. Éowyn was caught in the mire of this chaotic world, and Bregus loomed large over her. The state of dishevelment and the number of people still rising told him he had only been senseless for a few seconds. Still, enough had happened in those seconds to put him at a loss. Apparently, Bregus had regained her feet and had decided to act toward completion of her spell.

As he gained his footing, he saw his wife’s head yanked back as Bregus raised her knife over Éowyn’s head to strike. “Mine! Mine!’ the witch screamed. “Mine! They cannot claim this. You were given to me!”

Faramir looked at the sheen of the blade held in the old woman’s hand as it traced the air before Éowyn’s body. Like a dagger of fire it blazed. The witch’s eyes radiated wild energy to match it. “Mine,” the old woman repeated. Éowyn cringed, her frozen form locked in some heinous spell. But she was slowly gaining life as her bound hands rose up to fight the knife away. He roared his encouragement as he ran to her. He knew she did not have it within her to cower at the promise of death. Nor did Faramir have it in him to idly stand by and watch. He charged.

Yet it was anticipated. Bregus’ expression went wild as she saw him, and again a force he could not see grabbed him. But instead of hurtling him away, he was dragged forward and slammed to the floor before her.

It was a battering blow, sending his senses reeling, and lights danced in his eyes as he tried to come to something of awareness. The old woman was looming over him then, screaming in his ear in a hateful tongue, “ . . . The moon was obscured! You should not have magic! Kattica was to be mine! You knew this, Bäla! Betrayal! I will rally! I will win!” And then she dropped his head back to the sodden floor and as she stumbled away, her words changed to ones of a completely different language. He realized then she was speaking a spell, and he had but seconds to act.

Blessedly, Éowyn would not be dispatched without a fight and she again fought for her life. She attempted to roll away, not even wasting her energy to preface it with a charge. She kicked with all her might, but a monstrous power held her down and she was pinned next to Legolas’ lifeless body like a mouse caught in the clutches of a preying creature. Bregus dropped to her knees as the knife wavered above Éowyn’s body. The words were being chanted again.

“No!” Faramir screamed as he gained his feet once more.

Strange tongue. Strange words. And then the knife was plunging down to strike her.

Éowyn’s mouth opened in a silent scream, but the deadly instrument did not reach its target.

Faramir’s hands were about the old woman’s throat. He had managed the short distance and now he had the witch where he wanted her. He would strangle the life from her before he would allow this monstrous woman to do harm to his wife again. They rolled, and he wrapped his legs around her, his strength pushed to hold tight.

Éowyn rolled over to her knees and immediately tried to pull Legolas from this horror as Faramir attacked. Bregus’ weapon skittered away while Faramir’s was still available to him. With legs and arms pushing at him, teeth attempting to bite him, he pulled his knife steady. He pressed his body into hers, forcing her down. What he saw repulsed him. She carried the same expression now as she had when she had violated him. Lascivious was her longing look, and he could not stand the thought of it turned again on him or on Éowyn.

“Take me!” she rasped, and he could not stomach the implications of what she might mean. He felt fire burn in his soul for the hatred he felt for her. There was nothing worth redeeming in Bregus. Like a hurt that longed for healing, he would strike. It was not within him then to grant mercy. Still did she lust! Still did she want! It sickened him. He would end her hunger!

Yet a pummeling force sideswiped him and he was felled, knocked aside and away from the old woman. His weapon too flew away, and he cursed, scrambling to retrieve it, putting out blind fingers to find it. Strong hands pulled on him, grabbing him by the collar. And then he came face to face with his opponent.

Gordash!

“My rescuer!” Bregus joyously cried. “He has betrayed me, Gordash! Did you see? He betrays me, and now he tries to kill me!” Quickly gazing over his shoulder at Bregus, Faramir noted the queer gaze of madness that seemed even more prevalent in the old woman’s eyes now.

But the large man relinquished his hold and set Faramir to right. He then turned, bending at the waist, and grabbed Faramir’s knife from the shadowy ground.

“You must kill him!” Bregus commanded, nodding with assurance as she saw the knife. Faramir braced himself as he watched the large man’s movements, waiting for the slow turn and then the stabbing blow to come.

But Gordash only took a step away, bowing his head as he turned.

Faramir understood. He knew the make of Gordash’s heart. Though he would not bear to see his mother harmed, neither would the Romany allow Faramir harm.

Bregus shrieked running up to his side as he stepped away, “What are you doing? Kill him! Kill him!”

But Gordash only ignored her, taking steps to near his older brother and leaving her in his wake. He held the knife at his side and only now did Faramir notice the eldest of the brothers held captive on the other side of the waterfall. In a quick swipe of the blade, Gordash loosed the ties that bound Mattias’ hands.

Nodding his thanks to his brother, Mattias’ eyes turned away and swept across the room. There was something there the man saw, and rubbing wrists gone raw, he started to run to the other end of the cave.

However, among the Romany people another thought prevailed.

In the moments of Bregus’ resumption of power, the Romanies had gathered. And if he had not known it before, it was apparent then that Bregus used them as her weapon.

Mattias ran into the wall of them and hands grabbed at him and held him back. They pushed on him, expressionless faces staring with the cold of empty gazes. They were frightening to behold for the void in their eyes.

“He betrayed me! Do you not see?” the old woman screamed as if she had never stopped her protest to Gordash. However, now her eyes and her gestures were directed to Mattias. “Look at him and you will see it! He is dangerous! He must be killed!”

Gordash walked past the grappling hands and pressed forward to meet his mother. Looking down on her he growled his snarl. “Nay, Mother! There has been enough harm caused! This must now end!”

She seemed not to notice him though. Her eyes were wild and she strained to look past him. “You will not win this time, Bäla! You cannot reject me!” she called out to Mattias. “I killed you once! I will kill you again!” she screamed, and both hands were thrust out. Suddenly Mattias screamed, doubling over, as if he were being stabbed, though no blade touched him.

Gordash blinked in surprise, and then he was clutching her arm, attempting to draw her attention. “No, Mother! No more! This is Mattias you harm!”

“Nay! Nay! It is Bäla! He is a devil full of foolery! He disguises himself! He tries to fool me, but I see him now!” Her hand went out and suddenly Faramir, on the opposite side of the circle, was hurled into a world of pain as well, succumbing to a seizing agony. “See his trickery! He disguises himself as the other! What a fool I was to think we might have a new beginning together!”

Her mind touched Faramir, and he felt again the wretched tangling of her fingers in his hair, then sliding down his face, probing into his mind, just as she had done before. It was a sickening molestation of his mind and heart, and his stomach lurched while simultaneously he felt his body being pressed into something private and horrible.

“No, Mother! Stop! You must focus on the tribe!” Gordash was frantically crying. “No! Please!” And then there was a pause. Suddenly Gordash’s voice changed. Panic rang with the words. “The soldiers come, Mother! We need you to protect us!”

“Soldiers?” Bregus said. She dropped her hands and was immediately seized by a look of panic. At the same time, Faramir felt her grip on his soul loosened.

“Soldiers?” one of the Romany repeated in a dazed voice, and then it was echoed by another and then another.

Faramir realized it was a desperate attempt on the large man’s part to move her away from the torture she bestowed upon them and it appeared to work. Like a child distracted by a new whim, the hold on Faramir’s body was instantly gone. He fell to the ground as a lifeless heap, but relieved by the sweet joy of finding his mind and body his own again.

“Soldiers!” Bregus cried in a desperate voice, he eyes wide and frantic. “They would hurt me! No! No! They will not take me!” Her madness was clear then as she flailed her arms in the dimming light and deepening shadows. “It is Bäla’s fault! He told me they would not come! They shall not win! No! No!” Then wildly her eyes looked into the last of the fading sunlight cresting the edge of the window. “That is it! I will make the transformation and they shall not know me! Ha!” she laughed hysterically, and then her mood switched back to the earlier combination of rage and fear and resolve seemed to shift yet once more. “He shall not win! I gave him yet another chance to redeem himself to me, but he could not stay true!” She turned to the scene of the other battle in the room, and Faramir only then noticed the mêlée in which Aragorn was caught. She centered her attention upon Curtik. Faramir could not fathom why she did so, but surmised it was a part of her lunacy. All her hate was directed at the other man and her anger was darker than he had ever seen it then.

“YOU WILL DIE NOW, BÄLA!” she screamed and then she grabbed the knife away from Gordash.

A split second later the knife was flung, and Faramir watched the spiral course it took, arcing as it flew with precision to land in the shoulder of Curtik. The man arched his back as the knife landed, but he did not scream in pain. Wide eyed, Faramir watched as smoke curled up from where the blade struck, and instead of blood pooling up at the site of the incision, a black, charring scar spread out. The scent of seared flesh rent the air, and Faramir recoiled at the vision of the body burning around the wound site.

The Romany turned to face her, and Faramir could then see the horrible creature that stared back at the old woman. Reaching behind, the hideous man pulled the knife from his shoulder. And then with one languorous movement, he threw it at her.

“No!” Gordash screamed.

Black blood met the place of the wound as Bregus stumbled backwards, her mouth agape in dismay as she watched the blood flow from her chest.

Cries from more of the Romany echoed about them then, and Faramir noted for the first time that the people appeared free of her spell. The sudden sound of voices filled the room. The cacophony of teary cries and shrieks of fear seemed to punctuate the moment as all eyes turned to Bregus. And yet, as fatal as the blow delivered to her should have been, Bregus steadily stood, staring at the blossoming stain over her chest.

Then she raised her head and cried out, “I will have that for which I came! I will! I will!”

Beseeching voices from the people bellowed, “Bregus! What goes here?”

With panicked eyes, Bregus pulled the knife from her chest and held it protectively, as if she might strike one of the crying voices. She looked then at Legolas and Éowyn near the far wall, by the waterfall, and she paused. Knife poised, she raised the blade and started steps to close their distance.

Gordash ran forward though, confronting her with his near presence. “No more! No more!” he cried.

She rushed away, dodging, and then it appeared she turned on him as she then spoke, “You too would betray me, Gordash? No! I will not have it! I will not be kept from my goal!” She raised the knife and lunged at him to strike, but Gordash moved away before she could land the blow. She tripped, spinning in the motion, and then recuperating a tentative foothold, she continued in her backward stride. Only her feet did not come to stop. They slipped and slid on the watery surface of the rock floor until she came to the window ledge. She paused on fallen knees, teetering there on the shelf, as if trying to catch her balance.

The tribe’s voices continued their tearful pleas calling, “Soldiers! Bregus! You must help us!”

The old woman flinched at the cry as if it physically pained her. Screaming out, “No, come no closer! You will not touch me!” she made a stabbing gesture into the air, as if fighting off an assailant while balanced in a precarious pose. But her poise was lost. She flailed. Like a flightless bird she faltered. And then . . . with a look of wide-eyed astonishment, she fell, her hands clawing the air, helplessly reaching for nothing.

“Mother!” Gordash screamed as Bregus rocked away, and then she was gone, falling with the plummeting cascade of the waterfall and down to her destruction on the crushing rocks below.

****

The first thing that met Gimli as they entered the caves was the sound of screams. The alarming cry was exactly what he thought he might have found when he had impatiently battered the wall, but now that he was within, it did nothing to ease him or make him feel righteous in his assessment. The only thing it did was urge him on.

As they ran, his eyes adjusted quickly to the low light. Such was common to Dwarves. And because of this he saw where those behind him did not. It gave Gimli an advantage that others did not have.

The screams were growing louder as they came to the stairs for the turret ramp. However, the noise did not disguise the heavy thud of the soldiers’ boots or the clanking of their scabbards against the walls of the narrow hall. Quick of step, Gimli was several yards ahead of the soldiers when he realized he saw the fading motion of someone scampering into the rafters of the hall. It stunned him, and he nearly cried out, but then he realized the form was likely that of someone daring to escape the coming soldiers, and Gimli was not about to let escape happen. He was a seasoned warrior, and his heightened instincts and premonitions took over. A moment later he realized too that the one attempting an escape was not just a common fugitive, as Aragorn followed in pursuit. The Dwarf knew the king would not waste his time on a minor offender, and so he deemed the one being followed a worthy target. The Dwarf held out his arms as a noiseless signal to the soldiers, and thus he held the men back.

Silently, he gestured for two men to make the climb up the tower to see if the archers above had stopped any others from fleeing. He knew no others had come past them, and aside from the one hidden away at the ceiling line of the hallway, he had to assume that the rest of the tribe lay within the hold. Without a sound, he indicated that two more of the men should go back to the main door and hide in waiting there.

A minute later, the two scouts from above returned, whispering that all was clear in that way.

Nodding, Gimli whispered, “I will guard the door then,” and then he sent the remaining guardsmen forward to their king’s aid. The Dwarf then hung back, to hide in the shadows.

“My lord, your orders,” came the commander’s query as the soldiers raced forward to meet their king.

“We need all we can spare in the cave to control the crowd,” Aragorn ordered, then asked, “Have any crossed you in your entrance?”

“None, my liege.”

“There was not time enough for him to get past you,” Aragorn quietly muttered. His eyes searched the darkness then before he asked, “Where is Gimli?”

The soldier did not answer, but the Dwarf could see Aragorn dart his eyes back down the blackening hall and the king seemed to understand Gimli was present there as well. He smiled, detecting then the Dwarf’s hidden place. Gimli felt a strong bond of their teamwork as the king then said, “The entrances are guarded then? Focus on the inner halls. Faramir will need your help against the witch. All is panicked there but try to keep everyone within. I want this hall kept clear.” Gimli watched from the shadows as the captain called out his orders to the others and dashed away. It was just Aragorn left to the halls then. Aragorn and Gimli . . . and the other.

It seemed the king perceived the Romany man’s deception just as Gimli knew it to be. Aragorn had been there to hear Faramir tell how he had hidden the night before by crawling up to the ceiling. Watching the king, Gimli could see Aragorn’s eyes looking up, searching the shadows to find the Romany’s hiding place. Gimli’s eyes took the same path.

The stirring noise stilled somewhat as the soldiers did their work but the growing calm was pierced by a sinister voice. “Did you suspect me, Aragorn?” echoed the growing darkness.

The noise was misleading, and it seemed not to emanate from the place Gimli he had seen the man climb. Frustration rattled the Dwarf then as he tried to put a location to the speaker. “You should have, for I have been watching your shadows drawing nearer with each rise and fall of the moon and the sun. Such a disappointment it has been to me that you could not accomplish your little task of impregnating your wife. Had you done so, I might have taken you instead of finding reason to steal the body of your steward. And I worked so hard to align everything as it might have been.”

“Dead! Dead! What is to become of us!” screamed a voice from within.

The echoing laughter was directed at the misery. “Too bad Bregus executed her part so poorly. All she need have done was keep dear Faramir with us last night, and I would have taken his body instead of Curtik’s. And you would only have had to fight her now. Ah well. Not everything bodes as planned.”

“And what did you plan, Bäla?” Aragorn asked, his tongue doing little to hide the sound of his sneering disdain.

“Oh, I have had many possibilities, my king. Can you imagine how perfect it could have been? Had your wife been pregnant, that would have been the ideal for my goals, for I could have taken her heart and your child’s heart simultaneously in my spell, as well as having your body for mine. That having failed, I chose Faramir instead. The Lady Éowyn was a bonus, for she helped me many times in this venture to both distract Bregus and confuse her.” He mocked Bregus’ voice then. “‘Oh what shall I do, Bäla? Who should I choose?’ Eowyn was a nice addition to my plans. And what she did to your Elf. Brilliant! She was my fall back for the unborn heart, of course, but truthfully, without the Lady Arwen, Kattica has always been my intended donor for that needed implement in the spell. Young though she is, Kattica is a powerful shuv’ni. Some of her magic would have transferred with her baby, you see. Above all, I prefer power. I would have taken her.”

“What of Mattias? Did you ever intend to use him?” Aragorn asked, and Gimli sensed the question was posed to stall while Gimli continued to twist his head, looking up into the vague light and deep shadows of the roofline. The echoes of the cries in the next room did not make it easy to discern where the man was.

“He was the one I thought I might originally take,” the voice admitted. “Funny, is it not? There was a time when being the tribal elder was all I ever aspired to be. It was Bregus who had the ambitions. And now it is I who yearns for something greater than rule over these petty people. It was easy to pass on Mattias given my wife’s wavering stance. I sensed she might fail me if I forced her to take her favorite for my possession. It seemed a more willing victim was in order, and Curtik was entirely wanting in this.”

“I do not doubt you manipulated him as well,” Aragorn scoffed.

“Do we not all manipulate in some way, Elessar? Can you claim to be above it? Was it not you who manipulated your advisers to allow you this respite from your schedule? Was it not you who mourned your deprivations and need for freedom, maneuvering your friends into joining you on this little sojourn? You are not so far removed from me, dear king. You are just as gifted at forcing others into sacrifice as I.”

“You have no concept of what real sacrifice is,” Aragorn replied as his head turned about, still searching.

“Oh, but I do, Elessar, for I have seen them made all about me. Take your Elf for example. He is willing to sacrifice his heart to my cause. Of course it was easy once he showed me his greatest vulnerability. Sea-longing. All I need do was lay my hand upon him and his desire was enhanced. Magnified by his other feelings of subjugation. How I do love playing with the emotions of others. Elves seem especially ripe for that, do you not think? And already the urge was so strong in him. Such an easy way to take a victim: offer them that for which they already would long,” the dark witch said with ugly mirth in his voice.

Gimli’s nostrils flared and his heart raged at these words. He could only wonder then what this villain had done to his friend. But then his mind focused on a soft form in the shadows, and stepping quietly forward, his gaze hardened on that figure. It was Bäla. Gimli had found him.

“And Bregus thought she might have him by taunting him with his fears. How simplistic! Foolish woman,” the creature sneered. “But tell me, is it the same for all Elves, my king? Could your wife be procured through her deepest desires as well?”

“THERE!” Gimli pointed and cried, his voice cascading wildly within the tight room making it impossible to know who spoke. Aragorn had been watching Gimli’s gestures and he flung the knife at what was perceived their target. The subtle thudding sound of the weapon told Gimli it had met with flesh, and immediately a cry of pain followed as he saw Bäla fall from his suspended place. The man crumbled in a ball on the ground, and then uncurled slightly, as if rendered unconscious or dead by the strike.

Frozen for a moment by the sight of what should have been a killing blow, Aragorn stepped forward, though Gimli kept his place near the stairs. He nearly leapt off his feet when the witch suddenly rolled to his side and grabbed Aragorn’s leg and threw him to the ground. And then the monster straddled him.

“A whisper of a word, my king, and you will be dead!” the witch taunted. The king froze, stupefied by the horror of what Bäla proposed. Then the witch directed his eyes at the now exposed Dwarf. “No movement from you, Dwarf,” he warned and Gimli too went momentarily rigid in fear as he watched the witch.

Bäla then focused on the knife protruding from his belly. A stinking burn laced the area where it landed.

“At this rate, Elessar,” Bäla laughed, slowly withdrawing the knife from his gut, “my immortal body will be charred beyond recognition.”

The king’s eyes followed the witch.

“Perhaps immortality can wait,” Bäla chuckled, glancing toward the diminishing light shown in the exposed gaps of the roof above. “The moon will soon be out though. Perhaps I might follow through and take your body after all, Elessar. Of course, I will not be delivered the beautiful Elven queen to fulfill my desire for immortality, but making love to your wife while in your guise will be a handsome enough trade for giving up eternity.”

“Monster!” Aragorn managed to whisper in a guttural voice.

The witch seemed to enjoy this response, and he placed both hands on either side of Aragorn’s face, brushing the tendrils of dark hair aside and looking deeply into the king’s smoldering eyes. A feral smile took command of the witch’s face.

The sound of barking broke the looming threat and just then Gimli saw the three large wolfhounds bound down the hallway as the Dwarf darted into the stairwell to let them pass.

Wicked screams followed as fanged teeth tore into villainous flesh. The dogs leapt, throwing themselves one upon the other on the witch, hindering him with their snapping jaws. And with every bite the scalding sound of burns could be heard, small flames flaring from Bäla’s body at the puncture wounds.

Aragorn dodged the dogs as he rolled away putting them between himself and the witch, and Gimli could see him scrabbling to retrieve the knife while the dogs continued to pounce upon Bäla. Growls and snarls penetrated the hall with the unbridled fury of animals gone mad in bloodlust and Gimli thought perhaps justice was being meted.

But this was not the end. Gimli could sense it. Bäla was too smart to let man or beast defeat him, and just as he thought this, the dogs were flung away with something akin to superhuman strength. Seeing then that Aragorn barricaded himself with the dogs before him still, Gimli knew the king was yet safe. At the same time the Dwarf could hear the tramping sounds of the soldiers’ heavy boots approaching from the entrance, and he cried out to them, “No! Make ready the archers! He comes your way!” and he knew they had turned back. And then the Dwarf knew what he might do. The final piece was in place and all they need do now was flush the witch out.

“Now, Aragorn!” he rallied, and he hoped the king might understand the gesture of his directing hands.

He could not see what happened, but he heard. Gimli dashed up the stairs at the same moment that the witch bounded from his attack. And then Aragorn screamed, “For the love of my lady, I will kill you, Bäla!” and barks and snarls were again heard.

It was working then, Gimli knew! He heard Bäla tracing his steps in what the Dwarf felt was the final part in their teamwork ploy. Bäla was retreating with the threat and Gimli raced ahead, knowing he had to beat the witch to the top of the stairs so that he might position himself correctly. Calling out his signaling whistle to the Elves above, he charged ahead, bounding the steps with his red boot leading the way. He ran with halberd in hand.

And then he was out, the cool of the night air chilling his heated skin as he pivoted and resumed a fighting stance on the landing. The bright reds and pinks of the sky to the west were all that was left of the sun’s vivid light as the last remnant of it dipped below the horizon.

Only a matter of steps behind, Bäla followed. The dogs were at the witch’s heals, and Gimli wondered if the sorcerer knew he kept a path that the Dwarf had made. The witch raced forward to the upper entrance and traveled the steps, swiftly fleeing from the biting teeth and snarling growls of the dogs, as well as the knife wielding hunter on his tracks. Hastening to exit like a bird in flight, the witch fled. And as he did, one hand reached up to pull free the amulet that bounced against his chest, burning him as he ran.

Gimli prepared himself, crouching low as he attempted to obscure himself from the mad exit of the man. He could hear the man’s panting breaths and his hurried footfalls making the way up just ahead of the yelping of the dogs. And then he saw the figure come. Out of the shadows the witch emerged, head first, lit by the last of the fiery light as the menace of shadows hid the rest of his body.

And so it came. Like the demonstration given to Legolas in what seemed a lifetime ago, the fearsome halberd spun in an arc, whipping the air, and whirling. There was exception in this hunt however as Bäla was no small prey. He was a demon, a night creature, a perilous seeker whose wide eyes were a window to the depraved killer and manipulator that lived within the abode of mortal body. As charred fingers disentangled the cord that kept the stone about the witch’s throat, the blade made contact and the head of the Romany was sheared clean from his body.

Like a wave in motion, the man was propelled by his blind run. The legs of the headless body continued to move, as did the hand reaching the necklace continue to pull the cord away. The amulet was dropped from unfeeling fingers while the other hand spastically came out to lash. Unknowing of its actions, the decapitated figure ran straight at Gimli.

Gimli fell back to dodge the flailing figure, a hand shooting out to protect him. And then the thwapping sound of arrows made known their target. He watched as the bolts sent the body reeling off course and the knife fell. Unseeing, unknowing, the headless body dashed forward. To the edge of the cliff it came, and then it fell.

A ball of fire it was as it plummeted through the air and came to an end meeting the jagged teeth of the rocks at the waterfall’s base.

Of what was left, the head spun wildly, seemed locked in an expression of paralyzed fear. And then it too shot out flames of leaping fire as it rolled to the ledge. And then it too fell, joining its body as it dropped into the water below.

It was done. It was finally done.

Gimli paused, breathing panted breaths. He was shocked and unsure what to believe of all he had seen. His eyes roamed to the trees, seeking out the Elves who had aided him, but they were secreted well and Gimli could only nod his thanks at the dark trees hoping the gesture of gratitude might pass to those unseen within.

And then the Dwarf knew he was needed elsewhere. He rolled to his side so that he might rise, and there he saw it. The fallen amulet lay before him. Getting up to his knees to retrieve it, he reached out his hands and took the treasured stone. He had held it before, when Kattica had lost it in the camp. He remembered then admiring the fine craft of the carving, and as he looked on it again, he was awed by the glowing warmth of the gem. But now there was a detail of the necklace he had not noted in his earlier study. A larger bead held the stone to the knot work, and he saw the decoration within the carved, wooden bauble. He wondered that he had not noted it earlier, for it was made in the form of a buck, looming and majestic, regal and mature.

He looked up then, for something within prompted him to do so and he knew what he might then see. The grand creature stood before him there. It lived in the reality of the world.

He gaped as he looked upon the great stag. Its headdress was a coronet of mighty antlers, grand enough to rival the greatest jeweled crowns of mans’ make, and Gimli felt compelled to turn his eyes down in the presence of such majesty. But the eyes that gazed at him were familiar and warm, and the Dwarf perceived within them compassion and wisdom that went beyond what was known in this world. Like that of a kind-faced person, those brown eyes stared into him. The creature bowed its head to him, and then it turned, and Gimli was left to stare at the place where the animal had stood. And then he closed his fingers around the necklace. It had belonged to Kattica’s grandmother and he bowed his head in return to her.

Next chapter, coming soon: What Lies Beyond