The door to Rockbelly Pit opened silently, which was a mercy, but inside, it was almost pitch black. Only four crystal lights were visible - two by the door, and two more a little way inside, illuminating the base of a huge statue. He walked towards them, and gasped.
The cave was small in width, but so tall it must have extended to the top of the cliff. The roof was shrouded in darkness. The path spiralled up inside the walls, with windows providing views of the centre of the cavern, where, at the centre of a shallow pool, a huge statue of black stone glared down at Lathron. He shuddered as he came face to face with his old enemy. Skorgrím's statue was horribly lifelike, his axe hand raised ready to smite those below him, and his stare intense and penetrating. Lathron found it difficult to tear himself away, and when he did, he felt the Dour King's gaze on the back of his neck. This cave was unnerving, and the sooner he left the better.
He began casting around for the black stones and found them at the bottom of the pool. Hastily, he scooped seven up and dropped them into a pouch on his belt. They were perfectly smooth, and chill from the water. He turned to go, and froze.
The way to the door was blocked by a cloud of huge bats. Silently, their wings scythed the air, and silently, they chittered, sending sounds he could not hear beaming towards him. They knew where he was, and now, they began to fly closer. Their fangs were as long and thin as needles, their eyes beady black like the stones he had picked up.
He attacked, whirling his swords through the cloud, slicing a number out of the air, and sending the rest scattering. They regrouped further back, still between him and the door, and advanced again, this time in earnest. Their wing beats and chitters became audible and angry.
Lathron lunged again, but this time they were ready for him. They darted out of the path of his swords and dropped down onto his head and shoulders. Their claws snagged in his hair and clothes, their wings pressed over his mouth, nose and eyes. Teeth gnashed in his ears. Disoriented, he dropped his swords and stumbled about. His shoulder drove into the wall. He felt bones break, heard a crunch, a squeal. The weight on his shoulder lessened. He backed into the wall. More crunches. The bats on his back fell off. Angrily, he tore at his face, grabbed a furry body and flung it away. Suddenly he could see. His mouth was free, and he let out a roar that echoed around the cave. In an instant, the bats froze. Those on his body fell to the floor, and those in the air fluttered about randomly, shaking their heads blearily. Blood trickled from the ears of some. This must be why the cave was so quiet, Lathron realised. Any noise was magnified by the shape of the cavern, and the bats could not tolerate such loud noise. He hurried outside before the bats could regroup, and slammed the door behind him.
"What took you so long?" Gormr growled when he approached.
"Bats," Lathron replied. "You appear to have quite an infestation."
"Infestation?" snarled Gormr. "The creatures were beloved of our king. We honour him by allowing them to live there. I hope you did not harm any of them."
"Of course not." Lathron grimaced behind his scarf. He changed the subject quickly. "Here are the stones you requested."
"Ah, perfect," Gormr snatched the stones and inspected them closely. "These will do very nicely. You have come a small way in atoning for what your people have done." The crafty look came into his eyes again. "If you truly wish to atone for the sins of your people, and pay your respects to our king, you will come to the ceremony tonight. I can assure you it won't be one to miss. Now be off. I have much to prepare for."
Lathron turned his back and strode away angrily. At the archway, Tryggwi met him. "What did you find out?" he asked eagerly.
"That Gormr is hiding something. He is preparing for some sort of ritual tonight in Skorgrím's tomb. He says it's to honour their fallen king, but I say different. He was far too eager to keep me out of that tomb. Whatever is going on, we have to find out more by ourselves. Take me to Lord Dwalin. I wish to discuss this with him."
"Of course, follow me." Tryggwi trotted down the road towards the cluster of buildings. At the archway, a pair of Dourhands stood with pikes. They stood to block the entrance at their approach. "Halt! Who wishes to enter the town of Thorin's Gate? State your name and purpose."
Tryggwi bowed. "Tryggwi, son of Tryggolf at your service. I am here with Lord Dwalin's company, and am returning to them after talking with your steward."
"Very well, you may pass," the guard replied grudgingly. He turned to Lathron, suspicion in his eyes. "And what about you?"
"I am Lord Elladan, son of Lord Elrond of Rivendell. I wish to speak with Lord Dwalin also."
The Dwarf bowed deeply. "Of course my Lord," he oiled. "Go right through."
Once they were out of earshot, Tryggwi raised an eyebrow. "Lord Elladan, eh? If I'd known, I would not have been so rude earlier."
"I'm not," Lathron confided, "but putting in a few Lords here and there opens doors to all sorts of places."
"Ah." Tryggwi tapped his nose conspiratorially. "Then I shall continue to call you my Lord, my Lord. Just out of interest, what is your name?"
"Lathron," Lathron replied. I am a hunter from Lindon, and friend to Elladan and Elrohir, so my ruse was not entirely unfounded."
They now entered a large courtyard at the centre of town. To the south, the road led out of Thorin's Gate into the southern Vale, and to the north, the steps to the Hall rose. In the centre was a sorry sight. On a plinth, a huge green copper statue of Skorgrím rose, identical to the one in the shrine. At its feet lay the shattered remains of another statue of stone. A number of sorry looking Dwarves were huddled around it, being pointedly ignored by the Dourhands milling around the square. The other Longbeards looked sympathetic towards the group, but kept their distance, as if forbidden from contact.
"There lies our Lord Thorin," mourned Tryggwi, "dishonoured in his very town. We were shocked when we saw him. This, more than anything, tells us that evil is afoot. We have been barred from the Hall as well, so we camp here, around our Lord's statue." He strode over to his fellow Longbeards. "Hail brothers," he called.
The tallest of the Dwarves, with long black hair and beard but a bald, tattooed patch on top of his head, stepped up. "Hail brother Tryggwi," he smiled. "What news from Gormr?" He eyed Lathron in confusion but not distrust. "And who is this?"
Lathron came forward. "I am Lathron, a hunter, here with a party of elves led by the Lords Elladan and Elrohir. We came to investigate a strange premonition of Lord Elrond's, concerning Skorgrím. I talked to Gormr on behalf of Tryggwi here. Now that I am here, I can see that all is not well."
"Indeed it is not," growled Dwalin, "but your presence brings joy to my heart. Had I known we were not alone in our pursuit of answers, I might have felt safer pressing that odious Gormr Doursmith for them. Tell me, what does he say?"
"He is preparing for a ritual in Skorgrím's tomb, apparently to honour their fallen king, but he seems deliberately evasive. He sent me to collect black stones from Rockbelly Pit for use in the ritual, and there is an evil feeling within that place. I was attacked by huge bats. When I returned, Gormr seemed to threaten me, stating that I would have to attend the ritual to atone for the 'sins' of my people. There is more - I started by looking for Skorgrím's body in the Silver Deep mine. When I discovered it had been moved, I also discovered a trail of red flowers leading to the tomb. They are all around the entrance. Here." He handed the flower from the Silver Deep to Dwalin.
The Dwarf recoiled at the scent of the flower. "That is a foul stench," he choked. You are right, something evil is afoot here. That smell reminds me of something else - come with me." He stepped over to one of the other Longbeards. With a shock, Lathron realised that, except for Dwalin and Tryggwi, all of the Dwarves were sitting or lying on the ground, clearly very ill. Lathron knelt down. The Dwarf before him was unconscious. Others were awake, but coughing horribly. He felt the Dwarf's head - it was feverish and clammy. Then he caught the smell - the same rotten stink as the flower. He rolled back the Dwarf's sleeve and recoiled. His skin was blackened and rotten. Waves of heat and stench rolled off it, making Lathron's eyes water. Hastily he covered the arm again and turned to Dwalin. "What is causing this?" he asked.
"The Vale is sick," replied the old Dwarf. The Dourhands pollute it with smoke from their forges, and there is an evil chill in the air." He leaned closer, as if afraid the very air might hear him. "You have been in the Silver Deep. Did you see the cave claws?"
"I did," replied Lathron. "They're disgusting. Where do they come from?"
"The depths of the earth. They certainly weren't here in my day. On the day we left for Erebor with Thorin, I heard they had been sighted. That was the day the mine was abandoned when that accursed Cave Troll made all the tunnels unstable... and it was the day they found Skorgrím's body. And there's more - did you see the barghests on your way here?"
"I believe I did. What are they?"
"Men call them barrow-hounds. They only inhabit places of evil death. Have you been to the Barrow Downs?"
"Once, long ago. I have no desire to return."
"As it should be. The foul dogs are everywhere there. They feed on the bones of the fallen, among other things. It is said they are inhabited by fell spirits, as Wights are. That they should be here, in the lands of my forefathers, is grim indeed. As for the sickness, we drew our water from the river to the west. It is the only cause I can think of. It springs from the mountain, so should by rights be fresh and free of pollution, but in light of these troubled times, I am not so sure. Would you go for me to investigate the river for signs of the sickness? I must tend to the sick."
"Gladly." Lathron bowed to Dwalin. "Oh, by the way, while I am here, I would appreciate it if you would refer to me as Elladan. It makes things so much easier when talking to the Dourhands."
Dwalin chuckled. "But of course. Anything to get one up on those traitorous scum. Now, please, hurry. I need to find the source before I can find the cure."
Hey again all, it's a decade! I should party!
Many creepiness, much caves.
Lathrond Aleniel, Elf Hunter, Firefoot Server.
Disclaimer: almost all of the names of people, places and general things are owned by Tolkien Enterprises, New Line Cinema or Warner Brothers, and are fictitious, or if real are used fictitiously and solely for the purposes of entertainment within boring disclaimers. The others are owned by me. Any similarity to any real life person, alive or dead, is probably almost but not quite certain to be entirely uncoincidental.