Chapter Twenty-six

Men and Dwarves – Part One –

   Out of the corner of his eye Strider saw a shadow approach him. The far rumbling meant nothing to him, and the fading shrieks of his foes did not even reach him. His reeling consciousness only registered an enemy getting close and borne out of instinct rather than of will, he turned his head. When he saw a tall Orc crouch beside him he tried to draw up his legs to kick him.

   “No! I will not hurt you!” the goblin said in clear Westron and took off the helmet. Strider gaped at the dirty face with the strands of flaxen hair surrounding juvenile features. He could not believe his eyes, and his voice was rasping.

   “Daevan…? How can that be?”

   Daevan's heart rejoiced seeing his companion still alive though barely. He grimaced and shook his head.

   “Of all the questions this is the last I anticipated,” Daevan said and took out a small knife and a hook that he used for fishing. He was nervous about his task and what little time he had. Yet he was determined also. “Have you forgotten what you did? You pushed me out of harm's way. Well, kind of. Some of those beasts were still alive, but not for long. I took their coats then. It was the easiest way to stay out of sight, so to say.”

   “But why did you come here? The Orcs will…”

   “You mean, I should have left you to whatever torment and run away like a frightened child? Are you out of your senses, Strider?” Daevan ground his teeth and continued quieter, “Nay, I prefer to be praised as the one standing beside you than running away when help was needed. More than those Dwarves, anyway.”

   “The guard…”

   “He was quite dead when I left him.” The fisherman inserted the tip of the short blade and the hook into the lock of the collar and probed for the mechanism.

   “Dead? But how…?”

   Daevan lifted his brows. Obviously Strider was out of his wits, so he only nodded. The collar was old and rusty, yet it fitted tightly. The wanderer coughed, and his friend hurried to unlock the device when suddenly Strider cried:

   “Watch out! Behind you!”

   Daevan proved the worth of Strider's lessons: he dropped the knife and hook, swivelled around on his heels, drew his sword, and brought it up in time to thwart the axe aimed to cleave his head. The Dwarf behind the long shaft grunted a curse, yet swung again.

   “Wait! No!” Daevan shouted, jumping to his feet. “I'm no Orc!”

   But his words were lost. The stout Dwarf brought down the axe a second time with grim determination. Daevan evaded to his right, drawing his opponent away from Strider. The axe clanked on the ground, loud enough to shake the walls.

   “Listen, Dwarf, I'm not your enemy! Look at me!”

   The Dwarf stepped back as fast as he had attacked. He cocked his head in stunned disbelief and from under bushy brows and a thick helmet eyed the Man in front of him.

   “You look like Orc.”

   “But I am none! I used it as a disguise!”

   “So you are not here to kill that Man?”

   “No, I'm not!” Daevan slowly lowered his sword. “I am his friend. I'm here to save him.”

   Still on the verge of distrust the Dwarf took down his axe.

   “I came to free Thorongil. I came to cut that chain with my axe!”

   “Aye. Then we are here on the same purpose.” Daevan sheathed the blade gladly and knelt again beside Strider to finish his work. “We need to get away from here at once,” he said quietly. “And without that Dwarf hacking anything.” He fumbled with the padlock, and the crude device did not withstand his skill for long. It could have been opened by hardly more than spitting, but without the use of hands it had been an effective measure to keep the prisoner from getting up. The collar fell from Strider's neck . The wanderer suppressed a coughing fit. Far-off shouts were to be heard. Daevan put on the Orc helm again as if armouring for battle. “There is no time for more. Get up.” He helped him stand on shaky legs. Leaning heavily on the young man, on the verge of breaking down, Strider grimaced.

   “I cannot…”

   “I know you cannot walk.” Daevan breathed through deeply before he shouldered the man and mumbled, “I knew you'd be a burden.” He turned to the grudgingly waiting Dwarf, who seemed about to leave the kitchen, no matter whether the two Men followed him. Daevan held him back. “If you know a hideout, Dwarf, then hurry and lead us there!”

   The little figure straightened and said haughtily:

   “My name is Lini, son of Lomin.”

   Daevan sweat. There was no time for this idle talk! He already felt his knees give way under the weight of the almost unconscious man.

   “Even if you were King under this Mountain,” he huffed, “you are still a Dwarf! So don't start a discussion and move your Dwarf like frame to the next safe spot in this stinking hole!”

   “A stinking hole? It's a mine. And it was a mighty town once!”

   “I don't give anything on the pride of your town in the time of your ancestors. We need a place where he can recover. You hear me, Dwarf? A safe haven.”

   “We never give away our secrets to strangers, Man!”

   Daevan lost his temper, and though his voice was still low, it sounded heavy with restraint anger.

   “Then what had you planned after hewing the chain? Leave him like that? Or leant him your axe for self-defence?”

   “My only concern is you, Man.” Lini stood on his two stout legs, his axe firmly in both hands. He blocked the way effectively. “I trust no one I haven't known for a long time.”

   “This is…”

   “Mellon,” Strider whispered between shallow breaths, and though Daevan did not understand, the Dwarf hesitantly nodded.

   “Aye, if he says so, I will lead you.” He turned on his heals and marched out of the kitchen.

   Daevan followed swift, shifting the weight on his shoulders to bear it better, and while he hastened after the quickly moving Dwarf – ‘How can someone on legs so short be so fast?’ – he quietly asked:

   “What did you say to him?”

   He got no reply. Strider moaned, then slackened, and Daevan knew he had finally fallen unconscious. Cursing without words – he had no breath left for that – he squinted to see any path in the everlasting darkness of the cavern. Without the Dwarf, who was waiting at every corner, he would have lost the safe way in minutes, but the stout figure always seemed to know the right way, never hesitated or went wrong. Nevertheless Daevan would have given much – even call this hole a mine – if the way had been any shorter. He could hear the Orcs' shrill cries reverberating through the lofty halls. Drum-beats followed. It froze his blood. Now the hunt would start anew, and he was already weary!

   Lini waited impatiently.

   “Come, come quick!” he ordered the Man. The rest of the sentence and complaint was lost among the wild cries of the goblins pouring from a cleft. But they were on the other side of an abyss no bridge crossed. Lini hurried on when the short arrows hit the stones ahead and behind of them. Daevan trudged on as fast as he could. Sweat poured from his forehead into his eyes. Since he had no hand free to wipe his brows, he squinted and almost lost his footing when the path grew narrower. He dodged against the rough wall to his right and almost hit Strider's head against the stone.

   “Sorry,” he mumbled, but realised the man was still a dead weight oblivious to his surroundings. Daevan thought that it might be better for him. Even in the dim light of the kitchen the wounds inflicted on his face, legs, and chest had looked hideous. He shuddered at the image that he could have ended up the same way if it had not been for the warrior's decision to push him out of harm's way. Daevan had to admit that he had never thought of facing such danger. The greatest threat to his village had been the attack of the Orc horde, and that had been fended off with Strider's help. Never before had he seen such a large amount of enemies recklessly hunting him for the single purpose of killing.

   “Here, this way!” Lini urged, and the fisherman woke from his reverie. “Don't dawdle!”

   “Dawdle!” Daevan breathed. “You are…” He let his voice trail off. Two Orcs on crooked legs with crooked scimitars, which looked like they had been forged out of fragments, had just turned around the corner in front of them. Daevan halted, panting, not knowing what to do. With his companion on his shoulders he could not defend himself! He lacked the time to lay him down. The Dwarf, ten feet in front of him, did not even slacken his speed. Roaring he swung his long axe, cut the first Orc's legs above the knees and – without losing the momentum – turned the blade to hit the second adversary into the side. The Orcs shrieked in agony and fell to the left and right. Blood dripped from the axe as the Dwarf pivoted.

   “Hurry! There are more coming this way! We have to reach the upper level!” He moved on even faster, and Daevan forced his shaking legs to climb many more steps. He moaned loudly when they reached the second corner to their right, where a flight of stairs seemed to lead to the mountain top. “Come on!” Lini urged. “It's not that far now!”

   Daevan braced himself, forcing his mind on the task ahead and chasing all bad thoughts aside about losing his footing on the small and cracked steps. He panted heavily, and the weight on his shoulders seemed double as much, but he managed to climb the steep stairs one third of the way. There Lini had halted and tapped on the stone to his left. It was a rhythm he repeated twice, and then – though there had been only rough walls before – a large stone rolled aside. Daevan would have whistled if he had had the breath for it. He hurried after the Dwarf, and quickly but without a sound the door closed behind them.

   Inside, the other three Dwarves already waited, and there was hissing and cursing at Lini that he had brought a stranger with him. They held torches almost into Daevan's face, and the Dwarves looked grimmer than the Orcs they had met. Daevan evaded them, and put down his friend carefully on his right side. He almost sank down beside him. All muscles felt tense and quivered, and he hated the thought that the ordeal was not yet over. He felt wretched and had no words to give.

   Behind Daevan Lini was pressed to explain his decision.

   “He is a friend. Thorongil said so. And we should believe him.”

   “But you gave away a secret chamber,” Darin accused him.

   “I had to. There will be others if this proves no longer safe.”

   “Careless you are!”

   “I did what I had to do.” And in a lower voice he added, “I could not have brought him here myself. And we still need him, don't we?”

   Dini stepped in, an eye on the two Men beside where they had stowed their belongings. The younger Man hung his head wearily; the other was unconscious.

   “Two is even better. And Thorongil after all helped our escape last time.”

   Darin shook his head and huffed:

   “Should have brought the healthy one only. Thorongil does not look as if he'd walk out of here!”

   “We are bound by a vow to him,” Furin cut in, ablaze with anger. “He did his deed, and Lini did what was right.”

   That was grudgingly accepted.

   Daevan did not heed their ongoing conversation. He understood no Dwarvish, and he admitted he had no interest in learning it at the moment. In the torch-lit darkness, he sat beside Strider and caught his breath as he took off the helmet and put it aside. He was worn out and longed for nothing more than water to drink and a dry and safe place to sleep.

   Suddenly the conversation behind him stopped. Daevan turned and found all eyes resting on him in a manner he did not like. The Dwarves looked like a bunch of rogues, who were estimating how easily they could betray him. Daevan wrinkled his nose and wearily wiped his sweaty brow.

   “You have some water here?” he asked quietly. “My skins are empty.”

   “Aye,” Lini complied and handed him a water-skin. Daevan drank and found himself still in the centre of the free folk's interest. “I already introduced myself,” Lini said. “And these are Dini, Furin and Darin.”

   “At your service,” the Dwarves said with a curt bow since they were still mistrustful of the Man.

   Daevan gathered his wits and remembered the words Strider had taught him.

   “At your service and that of your family,” he said politely, realising how much the tension loosened in the cavern. “I am Daevan from the marshes.”

   Lini almost beamed as he looked at his companions, conveying he knew all the time that Man would be a proper ally. Then he turned back to the still kneeling Daevan.

   “You were quite brave today for a Man.”

   “You are quite a fighter too,” Daevan replied with a courteous bow toward the Dwarf. “But we should look at what we have. Strider is free, but he's badly hurt. Have you got…”

   “Strider?” Darin echoed. “That's not Strider. He called himself Thorongil!”

   “It's the same man!” Daevan immediately replied to soothe the upcoming distrust. “I just call him that because he has such long legs.” He pursed his lips, afraid they would not buy his blunt lie, but since the Dwarves had trusted this man to be Thorongil, they nodded finally, and Daevan let go of his breath. He drank another swig of water. “Have you got some cloth we could use? And more water? He has some herbs in his pack.”

   “In his pack? But that will be lost!”

   “No, it is not.” Daevan felt a new wave of dizziness hit him. He closed the water-skin and turned to the man lying on the stony ground. He had not moved. From his face blood had dripped on the light grey stone. “I took it.”

   “You're a thief then!” Lini laughed.

   “Even though you're no Hobbit!” Dini added and laughed even more.

   “Hush, you fools!” Darin said. “They'll catch us because of your merriment!”

   Lini and Dini still chuckled, but Daevan could not even smile. He was content to have come this far and still be alive and on his feet. Strider had not had that much luck. When he stirred and slowly opened his eyes, Daevan stooped to him.

   “You are quite lucky I did not follow your orders,” he said quietly with a smirk.

   “I know I am. Thank you, Daevan.” He looked around without moving his aching body too much. “Where are we? Looks like a chamber.”

   “It's one of their very secret places, closed by a very secret door,” Daevan explained, his eyebrows raised. “The other Dwarves almost burnt me with their torches when I entered.” He exhaled. “For the moment we are safe, but you look like you received a harsh beating.“

   Strider flinched when he tried to move his arms.

   “Release me, Daevan. Hurry.”

   “There had not been time yet,” Daevan said regretfully and held the water-skin to the other man's lips. Strider drank and, after putting away the water-skin, the fisherman pulled the little hook and knife used to skin fish out of his pocket again.

   “I will take care of those chains!” Lini behind them announced. “I can do that much better than you with that tiny spit of horn!” Lini gave Daevan some dark brown cloth he had carried in his pack and nodded approval. “Just move him so I can see what I hit, and I will split this iron in no time!”

   “They are much too narrow for such a strike! Let me do it!” Daevan stated shocked, and let go of the cloth to show the hook and knife to the Dwarf in front of him. “I already opened the collar, remember?”

   Lini replied with a haughty stance:

   “I can splinter one ring of that chain in the middle!” And with a growl he added, “Unless he moves.”

   Daevan swallowed. His mind spun thinking of a polite way to talk the Dwarf out of such foolish action.

   “I will do this my way, Master Dwarf. You might be a master of splintering stones, but I won't let you hack his hands into pieces.”

   “Do not insult me!”

   “Please, Master Lini, he meant no offence,” Strider uttered quietly, and Daevan looked at him astonished. The Dwarf still stood with his jaw set. “I asked him to open the shackles, and it would be rude to decide differently now.”

   Lini gave up his posture, growling through his thick beard some Dwarvish words about pride and gratitude before he joined his fellows.

   Daevan turned to Strider and whispered:

   “You asked me. Aye, I hope I won't disappoint you.” Daevan fumbled with the small hook on one side and the tip of the knife on the other side of the lock to open the handcuffs. “I only tried that once, but I think it is way that…” The cuff opened with a soft click. “…leads to success.” Daevan showed the still angry Dwarf the open shackle and concentrated on the second while the wanderer fought to stay conscious. After it was done Strider pulled his hands up front slowly, biting his lips against the anguish seizing him. Daevan gasped. “By all that is holy, these wounds look quite awful.”

   “I have had worse,” Strider replied hoarsely, “but that is not my main concern.” With Daevan's help he sat up and stretched out his left leg. The trousers were torn in the middle, and blood had darkened the cloth. He ripped apart the rest of it, pressing his lips tight to remain silent. The flesh around the kneecap was swollen and had darkened to a crimson purple.

   “I see why you are concerned,” Daevan muttered quietly, appalled at the sight of the wound and realising that this was only one of many. “What do you need?”

   Strider smiled at him with a faint and painful longing in his gaze.

   “My pouches would help now, but…” His pack landed on the ground beside him. “I say you are blessed,” the wanderer whispered in stunned disbelief. “How did you get a hold of it?”

   Daevan clicked his tongue.

   “Anything else, Strider, Ranger from the North? Thorongil, in service for both Rohan and Gondor? Are there other names I should know of, now that I carried not only your pack but you too?”

   Strider shook his head, puzzled by what Daevan had accomplished.

   “How is that possible? I know those Dunlendings took it and cast it away.”

   “It did not fall deep. Now the Dwarves say I am a thief, someone like a Hobbit.” He shrugged. “Maybe that's true though I don't know of any Hobbit, whatever they might be. I rather consider myself a locksmith.” He knelt at the man's feet to try his new talent on the foot chains. It took him longer for the locks were old and rusty. While he worked he thought that the enemies had not planned to release their captive once he had given them the treasure. He shuddered suddenly. The cruelty of the Orcs and their leaders exceeded all he had come to know. The stories Doran had told him when he had been a boy had caused him to shiver, but no longer when he had been grown up. Thinking about those battles now made him understand more thoroughly what his grand-father had experienced in the long years of war.

   Daevan forced the iron bands open when the lock had given in, and Strider thanked him for his efforts.

   “Did you find my sword too?” he then asked, and Daevan almost flinched at the urgency in the wanderer's eyes.

   “The broken one. Aye, I did. It is here with mine. The other one was taken, I suppose.”

   Strider exhaled, relieved at the tidings.

   “I do not think you realise what that means to me.” He stretched out a hand to touch Daevan's forearm, and his grey eyes were set solemnly on the young man. “You will be told of in stories and songs, my friend. You are the one saving the heirloom of Thorongil.”

   “Aye.” Daevan lowered his gaze, uncertain how to react to Strider's praise. “But I almost stumbled over it.”

   Strider wanted to laugh, but it hurt too much, so he shook his head.

   “For how long have we been here?” the older man then asked leaning back. Daevan grimaced at the wanderer's haggard face. The wounds looked worse when the torchlight fell on them, and he knew without having the knowledge of a healer that Strider would not walk out of this cave in a few hours. He already looked as if he could no longer hold his eyes open.

   “Just a short while. They say it's a safe place, but I am not so sure.”

   “I see.” Strider searched his pack and found what he needed. “Have we more water?”

   Daevan rose to bring back a water-skin from the Dwarves. He looked at his companion, content with his abilities, as he handed him a small bowl to mix the crumbled leaves with the water.

   “What will you do?”

   “Make a poultice.” He turned to Lini, who stood aside watching the Men. “Can we stay here for a while?”

   “The place is safe,” the Dwarf replied in his haughty stance, glaring at Daevan. “But though we stored some water it will not last for weeks. We barred one way, but that will only delay the hordes for two days.”

   “I see.” Strider used a piece of cloth to encumber the wet herbs and wound the makeshift bandage around his knee. “How long will it last what we have?”

   “You don’t listen, Thorongil! In two days no place on this side of the cavern will be safe! We must go now to where our treasure is hidden as fast as possible!”

   “I did not forget my vow,” Strider replied, leaning back to rest, grinding his teeth for a moment before he could speak again. “And I will stay true to it. But can you keep yours?”

   Dini and Darin growled in their tongue.

   “Of course we can! You should trust us by now, Thorongil!”

   The wanderer flinched and refrained from another attempt to move his injured leg. Daevan bent forward and said for only Strider to hear:

   “I followed you this far, but if you decide now to go out and help them find their treasure I'll knock you out myself.” He stood firm to the wanderer's unspoken astonishment. “Let me go instead of you.”

   For a moment Strider held Daevan's determined stare, then gave a short nod, and while the young man retreated he faced the Dwarves again.

   “You tell me there is still a way to get to your treasure, but that leaves it open if Gollum can be caught. He might have found a way to escape by now. Days have passed since we met.”

   “Nay.” Dini grumbled and went on, “He’d need to know how to find the wells and preserve the water. If he lacks this, he will not get out.”

   “What do you mean?” Daevan cut in, “That there’s only one well in all of these tunnels?”

   “I did not say that, Man!”

   “Daevan.”

   “I said you need to find them! Many a way leads to secret pools and fountains, but only the Dwarves know of them. All those intruders in these halls will suffer the lack of water.”

   “Well, even I found that spring.”

   “Stubborn Man! This was the main well to provide water for the kitchens! But the way to either gate is long. No creature will make it without water.” And still grumbling he added, “Why do you think the goblins mass in this area? Because they could not find any other water source!”

   To that Daevan could say no more. Lini, who had silently watched Strider fall asleep, turned to his companions, and they talked rapidly in Dwarvish. Daevan lowered Strider’s upper body to the ground, and provided his pack as a pillow. He felt weary enough to sink down beside him, but he did not trust the Dwarves. He had a bad feeling that they might abandon Strider and him the moment he was not looking. He was not distrustful by nature, but the stance and haughtiness of the free folk had roused his suspicions.