We marched north by easy stages at first, following Green-elven paths through the foothills of the mountains. Two days after we left Maglor's lodge, we crossed the Thalos close to its headwaters, at a place where the young stream tumbled over scattered stones. Then we turned eastward, following the stream up into the mountains, making for a pass that Borgalad knew.

"This isn't the main pass," he told us, "not the one the Dwarves normally use, or the one your Mannish forefathers followed to come down into Beleriand. This one is higher, and more dangerous."

"Why take it, then?" asked Elrond.

"Because this one doesn't lead us under the shadow of Mount Dolmed, and right past the gates of Tumunzahar." Borgalad shrugged. "My own people don't quarrel with the Dwarves when we pass over the mountains, even through the old blood-feud applies to us as well. We step lightly, and they overlook our passage. The two of you, though! No way to conceal what you truly are, young princes. Better not to tempt fate."

So we climbed the high slopes, Borgalad in the lead, his companions Cedhron and Morlindír following behind. We crossed beautiful alpine meadows, which summer had filled with countless tiny flowers. We walked through pine forests, breathing the rich scent of the trees as we passed. We stopped to drink from icy-cold tarns, crystal-clear and reflecting the blue of the summer sky above. Our path meandered to and fro, sometimes doubling back upon itself for a while, but always rising higher and higher.

One night, we camped very high in the pass, well above the tree-line, where the air carried a hint of snow despite the season. We found a small, sheltered place in the lee of a great stone, made a fire, and talked about unimportant things until most of us fell asleep. Ten thousand stars wheeled overhead, and one could clearly see the endless gulfs between them, stretching out into the vast empty halls of Eä. I lay long awake by our small fire, listening to Morlindír's baritone voice as he sang a plainsong hymn to Elbereth.

Then, the next morning, we crested the pass and saw all Eriador spread out below us. First came the wooded eastern slopes of the mountains, then the silver ribbon of the Lhûn in the middle of its wide valley, then more hills and forests off into the distance, until all was lost in a golden haze. I saw flocks of birds, thick as stars in the great clouds of the Vardamallë, wheeling and flitting across the land.

"What beautiful country," Elrond remarked, standing beside me and looking out, just as enchanted as I by the vista. "I wonder what sort of people live there?"

"Elves and Men," I said, "much like Beleriand, I imagine. More thinly scattered, perhaps, than Beleriand was in the days of its glory. More wild woodlands, fewer tilled fields. No strong towers or busy towns, until you reach the Mountains of Mist and the Dwarf-city there."

"All of that," said Borgalad, stepping up beside us. "Not to mention Orcs, and Trolls, and roving packs of the Dark One's wolves, and who knows what other monsters beside. It's fine country, to be sure, but we will need to walk warily there."

All that day we spent moving down the far side of the pass. About mid-afternoon we sighted a suspiciously regular feature on the slopes below us and to our left. The Dwarf-road, where it came down out of the mountains and set out for the Dwarrowdelf. Borgalad clambered up onto a stone outcrop where he could look down on the road, his keen eyes searching for signs of traffic.

"Nothing there," he reported once he had rejoined us. "The road looks clear. I think it should be safe to take it down to the fords of Lhûn. That should save us some time."

Distances were deceiving, from those lofty vantage points. By evening we had not reached the road, and after descending from the high pass we could no longer see it in the distance. Borgalad thought it might be just a league or so ahead, but when Elrond and I were eager to press onward, he advised against it. Instead we camped in a pine-grove, roasting a few mountain-hares that Cedhron had shot for supper.

That was where, after all, the Dwarves found us.

We had plenty of warning, of course. Long before the Dwarves approached our camp, Morlindír suddenly stood, peering out into the night, and then faded into the shadows with Cedhron close behind. Borgalad bade us take up our weapons, but not to use them unless he gave us the word. Then he stood calmly by the fire, plainly visible to anyone all around, and waited.

Soon enough, even my brother and I could hear them coming. They made no attempt at stealth, simply marching up through the pine-woods, their feet rustling in the cast-off needles and branches of the trees. Then they were there, short burly shadows in the night, a dozen of them or more, fanning out to flank our camp on both sides. Soon, one of them stepped into the light.

At the time I was not sure what I expected a Dwarf to be like. Short, perhaps. Round and plain of face, with beady eyes and a great lump of a nose. Proud of his beard, which grew to a great length and probably had the remnants of several meals in it. Soft-looking and ridiculous, sporting a pot belly, short arms, and bandy little legs. Rather comic and stupid, speaking Sindarin or Taliska with an atrocious accent. I will admit that I had heard unflattering stories about them.

Certainly, this Dwarf was nothing like that. He was not so short after all, about two-thirds my own height, and there was nothing soft or slovenly about him. His body was a solid slab of muscle, not a hint of softness or fat anywhere, with powerful arms and big, strangler's hands. His fire-golden beard was cropped very short, and he gave us a shrewd glance from under the visor of his helm. Instead of an axe at his belt, he bore a sword slung over his shoulder, a very fine one from what I could see.

"Borgalad," he growled, his voice a gravely bass.

Our guide nodded politely. "Târik."

I saw Elrond frown, his lips moving as he repeated the strange name.

"Well, well, well," said the Dwarf slowly, pacing closer and giving my brother and me a sharp look. "I wondered why my good friend Borgalad might be coming over the mountains by the Little Pass, instead of by his usual route. I see you have guests with you!"

"These are Pengon and Magoldír," Borgalad agreed, "two young friends of my people. They have a wish to see the East-lands."

Târik snorted, a sound of magnificent contempt. "No, no, that won't do at all. If I let you run on a moment longer, you may start lying to me, and that would be a great shame. I can see they're an archer and a swordsman, but who are they really?"

Borgalad hesitated.

The Dwarf stalked closer, stepping up to me and peering into my face. "So, which one are you? Elrond, or Elros?"

I wavered for only an instant, and then something told me that any further dissembling would be disastrous. In a cold voice, I told him, "I am Elros, and this is my brother Elrond. If you have a mind to finally put an end to the house of Elu Thingol, whom your people murdered in his own hall, then now is the best chance you will ever get. Though I promise you will never get the chance to boast of it."

He glared at me. I glared back at him. Neither of us quite went for our blades.

Then the Dwarf threw back his head and laughed aloud. Try as I might, I could hear nothing in it but honest mirth. "Very good, young Elf-lord! When someone bites you, bite back, and harder!"

"How did you know?" Elrond asked.

"Credit us with a little intelligence, Master Elrond." Târik gestured to us both. "Neither of you have the look of one of Borgalad's people. More like princes of the Deep-elves from over the Sea, with that raven's-wing hair and those grey eyes. Then there's the fact that the two of you might as well be images in a mirror. Then there's the blade your brother wears, which no Dwarf of my house could ever mistake. No, we knew who you were the moment we got a good look at you."

"Yet you might have attacked us by stealth."

"Well. Stealth and ambush and treachery are more Elvish arts. Had we wished to attack you, it would have been more a matter of loud battle cries and overwhelming force. As you see, we do have you somewhat outnumbered."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Borgalad relax a little. Therefore, I did as well. "Then I repent of my fierce words a few moments ago. I don't usually make a practice of being rude to those I meet along the way."

The Dwarf chuckled. Turning back toward his companions, he made a hand signal that seemed to indicate a lack of danger. A few of the other Dwarves ventured into the outer circle of our firelight, hunkering down in watchful silence. Others returned to the shadows, possibly to guard against trouble from without.

When Cedhron and Morindír reappeared as well, I took that as a sign that there would be no trouble, and sat down on a nearby stone.

"No, Master Elros, don't repent of anything," said Târik, warming his hands at our fire. "This is a harsh world, and often the best way to avoid trouble is to be very obviously ready for it. Now, since I know your names, and you know mine, shall we move on to business?"

I couldn't help it. I smiled a little, liking this Dwarf. "By all means. I take it you are the captain of this company, out on patrol? What business might we have with one another?"

"As you say. We're out to watch over the Dwarven-lands, and to ensure no Orcs or worse things freely cross the mountains. My folk may have a quarrel or two with yours, and we may no longer go to open war against Morgoth, but neither are we his allies. As we've seen you aren't Orcs, you may pass on freely in the morning."

Elrond bowed his head courteously. "Thank you."

"Now, there is another matter. What brings the sons of Lord Eärendil over the mountains? Are you seeking to flee the war in the West?"

My smile evaporated, and I felt a rush of renewed ill-will. "Certainly not!"

"Our plan is to travel to Balar and take up arms, either late this year or in the next," said Elrond mildly. "First we wish to visit some of our folk who have settled in Eriador."

"That sounds like a fine plan," said Târik, grinning in his beard. "I shall come with you."

"What?" escaped from Elrond. Even Borgalad looked startled.

"You will not," I said, cold once more. "I am not one to practice blood-feud, Dwarf, or else I would start with the Elves among whom I have lived for most of my life. But I would not go on quest, or to war, with anyone I could not trust."

The Dwarf nodded soberly, all trace of mirth fled. "Nor should you. Will you hear me out?"

I made a quick gesture at him, no more than a flick of the wrist. Go on.

Târik spoke slowly, staring into the fire. "I had no part in what happened to King Greymantle, or to his kingdom. I was a lad of twenty-two, not even a prentice smith yet, when word came that our craftsmen in Menegroth had been slain, by order of the Elven-king."

"That was a lie!" I snapped.

He flared up as well. "Why? Because Dwarves said it?"

"No. Because of reason. Just how long had Thingol treated with your folk at that time? Almost three thousand years, by the Sun-reckoning! Your forefathers helped to build Menegroth, you were the ones who first armed Thingol's people against the Orcs, you often came to do skilled work for us. In all that time, did we ever so much as break the terms of a contract with you, even once? Did we not, instead, welcome you with hospitality and pay you well for all your work? Then this story claims that after all this time, Thingol suddenly went mad and ordered the death of every Dwarf he could reach, for no cause! It's utterly absurd."

He stared at me, and slowly the light of anger faded from his eyes. "You are right, Master Elros. It is absurd. It was absurd, all along. Which made no difference to the king, or to his chieftains, or to most of our people. All they could see was that they had been wronged. You know very well how any Dwarf responds to being wronged. So the host went forth."

"And never came home again," I said, not without a little satisfaction.

"It is so." Târik sighed and looked away from me once again. "I was too young to bear a man's burden in war. So were others. A few of our grown men stayed home, not trusting the tale that had come out of Doriath. When all was done, that is all that remained of Tumunzahar. The very young, the very old, a handful of cravens, and those few who were wise enough to tell their brothers no."

"I have not yet heard a reason for you to follow us on our journey."

"Perhaps not. Do you believe, at least, that I had no hand in slaying any of your mother's kin?"

I watched him for a long minute, then I nodded. "I suppose reason tells me that I must believe so. Not one of those Dwarves ever came back to their halls."

"That is true. Therefore, Nogrod today is a hollow shell. Perhaps one household in eight survives from before the war. Our forges are ashen-cold, our tools fall into rust, we have none of the trade that once made our city a place of light and wealth. Such things happen, when a people betray their friends and allies out of folly." Târik paused, running his fingertips through his short beard. "Lately, many of those who remain have begun to leave the city for good. Most have gone to Gabilgathol, to Belegost, to live with kinfolk there. Others have taken the long road to Khazad-dûm. A few have gone to ground elsewhere in the Blue Mountains, little bands of dour-handed reavers, taking what they can from anyone they meet. Soon Tumunzahar may stand entirely empty. Isn't that a fitting revenge for Thingol and his kingdom?"

I said nothing.

"Yet worse may be on its way, and now we come to the reason why I hope to travel with you for a time. Of late, those few of us who remain have felt a growing unease. The mountains, they begin to seem . . . unsteady beneath our feet. As if they can no longer be trusted to stand against the passing ages."

"I do not understand. How can that be?" asked Elrond. I frowned, disturbed at what Târik had said.

"We don't know, Master Elrond. We are not like you Elves, to put your trust in the Elder King, or the Star-kindler, or the Lord of Waters. We stand with Mahal the Maker, steadfast as the foundations of the Earth. Yet he no longer speaks to us, as he did to our Fathers in the dim time. If even the mountains that he made long ago are no longer sure, what hope do any of my people have?"

"Perhaps Mahal is angry with you, and that is what you sense in the stone."

"We thought of that, and so we went to speak to our brothers in Belegost. They can have no reason to fear Mahal's anger, being guiltless of any betrayal. Yet they sense it too. The fault is not in ourselves, but in the stone."

"It sounds more like Morgoth's work to me," I told him.

"It could very well be," Târik agreed. "Nothing is beyond the Un-maker. Some of my people, and some of our brothers in Gabilgathol, have agreed. We have spent long enough looking inward and nursing our hurts. It is time for we Dwarves to play our part once more. Therefore, I wish to come with you, young Elf-lords, to visit your people and perhaps beyond, even to the very war in the West. Others of my people may follow. If the time comes when we must flee from our homes, better if we know the lands about us, and have friends we can stand with against the true Enemy."

"Do your companions agree?" asked Elrond softly.

Târik snorted. "I am their captain. That is all that matters."

Another Dwarf spoke up, an older one bearing a great war-axe. His Sindarin was not so smooth as Târik's, with a heavy accent. "The captain is young, and he is not our king, but others listen when he speaks in council. We stand with him in this."

"Borgalad, what do you think?" I asked.

Our guide shrugged. "The choice is yours. For our part, my companions and I would be content to see Târik join our fellowship. We have known him for over twenty years, and never have we heard of him playing anyone false. He is a cunning and fierce warrior. Not to mention that some good might come of it, if we were to meet any others of his people on the road."

Finally, I looked to my brother. He nodded to me in silence.

"Very well, Târik." I grinned at the Dwarf. "If you think you can stomach traveling with a pack of stealthy, treacherous Elves, then you are welcome."