Chapter 77. The search continues 

~ S.R. 1419, 14 March, early evening ~

As my Sam and I descend along the path leading from the Cleft, now high above our heads, to the dark gateway that appears to be our destination, I prick my ears at the sounds of fighting, accompanied by various outcries, including bellows of rage and challenge and shrieks conveying fury and agony. I throw up my head when two shadowy figures dart out of the gateway ahead of us; but they do not come towards us, and furthermore, they stumble and fall to the ground. I watch them suspiciously, but they lie with the stillness of unconsciousness or death. At any rate, they appear to pose no threat to my hobbit, and so I turn the bulk of my attention back to my Sam, that I may follow his lead.

He is creeping onwards, hugging the wall to our near-side (the side of a pony or horse on which a rider mounts, that is). He mutters under his breath, so softly that if my nose were not at his shoulder, I would have difficulty hearing and understanding. 'I wonder how many of these-here orcs live within this blasted tower, and how many there are without... and what in the Shire – or out of it, rather – they're quarrelling about. For it sounds like quarrelling,' he stops muttering for a moment and looks up, whether to listen or to save his breath I am not sure, but suddenly the sound of steel clashing against steel rings through the air, soon followed by a terrible scream, and so he adds, 'or worse.'

We are nearing the end of the descent. It seems we will find out soon.

Only a step or two further along, where the path meets the outer courtyard, my Sam stops short, and only the fact that I was just now paying my closest attention to him keeps me from running into and perhaps over my hobbit. 'The mithril coat!' he gasps.

I have no idea what mithril might be, or what coat he might be talking about. It must be important somehow, for his next words, spoken in a whisper-shout, are, 'Come on, you miserable sluggard! Now for it!'

I do not think I am a sluggard, for I have remained but a step behind my hobbit to the best of my ability all the way down the sloping path from the Cleft, above and well behind us now. But there's no time to consider my shortcomings now. For my hobbit has drawn his sword, and he is running towards the open gate! 

Perhaps I am a sluggard, at least in this moment!

I gallop to catch him, but barely stop myself from trampling him underfoot when I reach him, for he has halted just short of the great arch overhead. As I plant my forefeet before me and plough to a stop, he thrusts himself forward again, only to jerk to a halt, staggering as if a blow from an unseen enemy has struck him from above.

Even as I wonder, he draws something out from under his cloak. What he holds in his hand is not dark and fearsome, as the Thing I remember him holding not all that long ago. That Thing, when pulled from under his shirt, plunged the world around us into mist and Shadow. Now, very Light shines within his grasp, driving the shadows away rather than drawing them in.

My hobbit stands a moment longer, then springs forward – and the Light is gone. Not quenched, I deem, but hidden once more. Perhaps that is a good thing, for a high, shrill cry echoes above, and a harsh bell clangs, an alarm of some sort, I've no doubt.

It seems my Sam is in full agreement, for he says aloud, 'That's done it! Now I’ve rung the front-door bell!' Incredibly, he raises his voice in challenge, shouting, 'Well, come on somebody! Tell Captain Shagrat that the great Elf-warrior has called, with his elf-sword too!'

I look around for the Wood Elf, but he is well hidden. To be truthful, I had no idea he was with us up to this point. While I have every confidence in my Sam, I am glad of the prospect of the Fair One's arrows bolstering our efforts.

...or perhaps he has gone before us? For many bodies litter the ground in this inner courtyard behind the gateway, and no one has raised his voice in answer to my hobbit's outcry. Not even the Fair One. He is well-hidden, indeed.

The stones are slippery with blood, and I pick my way carefully as I follow my Sam across the courtyard to a great door, half-open, at the foot of the Tower. My hobbit springs over the body of a large orc, and I do the same, stopping short when he pauses to consider the wide, torchlit corridor that yawns ahead of us.

At last, he tells me, 'It'll be near the back, I guess.' Though spoken in a low tone, the words echo in this place, and so my hobbit lowers his voice further, barely muttering the next words. 'The whole Tower climbs backwards-like. And anyway I'd better follow these lights.'

I nod to show my agreement.

We advance down the passageway, slowly at first, and yet slowing further as we go. I feel my ears pin themselves back as I sense my Sam's increasing fear, growing to terror. He walks ever more softly – as do I, to the best of my ability – and seems to wince at the sound of our echoing footsteps, soft as they may be.

We have almost reached a great arched door at the end of the passage, half-hidden in the darkness after leaving the last of the torches behind us, when a dreadful choking shriek cuts through the air. I half-rear, and my Sam stops short.

I drop to stand on all four feet, holding my head high and listening for all I am worth. For something or someone is approaching at top speed, from the sound of the pounding feet that echoes around us.

The darkness around us deepens, and I see my Sam has dragged the chain he is wearing out from under his shirt, and he is once again clasping that dreadful Thing to his breast!

But before I can whinny a protest or warning, an orc leaps out of a dark opening to our off-side and runs towards us. I rear up to meet the creature with flailing hoofs, and it stops short, seeming aghast.

I can hear its panting breaths as it crouches before us, and then it yelps, a loud and hideous sound that rings with as much terror as I have been feeling from my Sam, these past few moments, or more perhaps. For the creature jumps up again, whirls and flees back whence it came.

I must have misread my hobbit's mood, for he immediately gives chase, shouting, 'Yes! The Elf-warrior is loose!'

I might stop to look about, raise my nose to try and scent the Fair One nearby but for the fact that my hobbit is leaving me behind! As I plunge through the opening, his receding shouts of rage echo around me: 'I'm coming...! Just you show me the way up, or I'll skin you!’

But I find myself confronted with a stairway, and the stairs are high and steep and – even worse than the steep stairs where the Company left me behind – they are winding.

I try my best to follow, but my feet cannot find purchase; I slip and fall to my knees with bruising force, my muzzle striking the stones so sharply that the impact leaves my head ringing.

Bill! Bill! Someone is shouting nearby. Is another of my hobbits here, in this place? Why did I not see any of them before? The only thing I can be sure of is that hobbits are speaking, and not the Wood Elf or any of the others in our Company.

He's down again. Quick, run and fetch Underhill!

But—!

No time! There's no time! Tell him the pony's down!

Master Underhill? What would he be doing in this awful place? The last I saw of him was in the stables in Bree...

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Author's note:

Much of the descriptive phrasing that appears in this chapter, along with what Sam says, can be found in 'The Tower of Cirith Ungol' in The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien. All credit goes to the original author.

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