Chapter 26

Under Cover of Darkness

Thráin had tried to console himself by repeating that his homeland was not in any danger yet, because that was what the book told him. I could tell that he could not really believe it, but at the same time also saw the sense of it. Sauron was meant to unleash everything he had at the same time on the world at large, to strike swift and hard and so break all the resistance.

That was how it was supposed to go.

However, the danger was far greater than Thráin had thought or could even guess at. And it is in this that one can see just how big a tidal wave Kate Andrews had created, though I will readily admit that she created it without knowing it. Had Dáin been King under the Mountain, he would have weighed the words from Sauron's messenger. He would have played for time. In doing so he would annoy Sauron, but not call his wrath over himself and his people until Sauron was good and ready to. He would no more have betrayed Bilbo Baggins to the Enemy than Thoren would, but he would have been more cautious.

Thoren was not. The friendship with Bilbo was closer and so the messenger's words did not merely worry him. They angered him. This of course led to the outright defiance at the gates. I do not think anyone had defied Sauron quite in such a frank and public manner for an age. It must have enraged him. And even if it didn't, he could not be seen to let it slide. The natural answer in his eyes must have been to squash such resistance fast, lest others might get the same ideas. Some are now calling Sauron's decision to strike at the north prematurely foolish and irrational, but I would like to disagree. It was anything but foolish, and I don't think he felt he had a choice.

So war came to the Free Folk east of the Misty Mountains months before it was scheduled to happen and it hit harder than it would have had Dáin been King under the Mountain. Yet it would later become apparent that this too had consequences…

Jack

'We are gaining on them.' Elvaethor's report was short and to the point.

Jack did not need more. He scarcely waited until Elvaethor had mounted again before he spurred his own horse on. They had been on the trail of the Easterlings for some days now. They were gaining ground, but slowly; their foes moved fast. Even though the tracks told them that none were on horseback, they moved at speed. And this worried Jack, because to be able to move so swiftly, they must know what they were doing. This in turn meant that they were familiar with the area. They must have scouted this region and have scouted it well.

And we never knew, for all our patrols.

'We are not far from Erebor,' he observed, another thing that was cause for concern. These past few days their path had led them north and then west again. They were going around the Lonely Mountain, far around. Jack had started to suspect that the enemy's destination was Mount Gundabad, to meet up with the orcs that assembled there. That theory had been viable up until this morning, when their path had turned south.

Elvaethor shook his head. 'But the gate is well-guarded. And so is Dale. What purpose could so small a number have?'

'You would know more of warfare than I,' Jack pointed out. He was reasonably sure that Elvaethor was old enough to remember a sizeable chunk of the First Age, if not most of it. He most certainly had been around the last time the Free Peoples had made war on Sauron. Whatever tactics the Enemy employed, Elvaethor would have seen them before. 'And you have faced this foe before,' he added.

Elvaethor's face turned pensive. 'It brings me no joy to remember those days,' he said. 'For the war was long and many were lost.'

'But the war was won,' Jack argued. In the end only that mattered.

Elvaethor smiled ruefully. 'Was it?' he asked.

Jack supposed that maybe the elf was right. After all, if it had been a true victory, Sauron would not now be alive to trouble the world once more. But that Last Alliance had bought the world three millennia of time to recover, to regain strength and to face the threat head-on and end it.

Jack only wished it could be achieved through strength of arms.

He must have spoken of this desire out loud without noticing. It was either that or Elvaethor truly was a mind reader. 'Our swords may do much good here,' he said. 'We will delay the Enemy and draw his ire. That will make him blind to what takes place in secret. And he will not think to look for your brother and his companions.'

There was sense in those words. This course of action would place his home in danger, but that would have been the case either way. Thoren could not in good conscience have given a different answer to the messenger and thus he had sealed their fates, whatever those fates may be.

'Perhaps,' he allowed.

They rode on in silence for a while, making use of the light for as long as it lasted. The days were short still and so they had to make every hour count. The sun was near the horizon already and still there was no sight of their quarry.

'We will need to make camp soon,' Elvaethor said.

'The light will last a little longer,' Jack replied. To stop now might undo all the progress they had made this day. The Easterlings did not rest long and until they were caught up, Jack had every intention of doing likewise.

'Our horses need tending,' Elvaethor countered. 'We have pushed them hard. They do not have the endurance of your people, my friend.'

'Neither do I,' Jack reminded him, suddenly cross. His body was, as usual, quick to remind him that he only had a little of the endurance his people were known for. His mannish blood watered down the strength of the dwarves, making him stand out once more. If any of these mannish traits could have been used as advantages, he might not have minded so much, but men were in every way inferior to dwarves as far as Jack knew.

Had Flói been here, he would have diffused the sudden tension with a well-chosen remark, but his constant friend and companion had been absent these past few days. It was a necessary absence, but Jack felt it keenly. Elvaethor was many things, but attuned to Jack's moods he was not.

Even so, he made a brave effort. 'Yet you possess more strength than you know.'

Jack doubted it, but kept his silence. Elvaethor had made a good point about the horses and stopping was the best thing for them. He hated having to abandon the chase for some hours, but there was nothing else for it.

'How do they move so fast?' he wondered. Even with the benefit of knowing the terrain, there were limits to how much ground a man could cover in a day.

'The Enemy has many tricks up his sleeve, many of them magical in nature,' the elf replied. 'And one should not underestimate the hold he has over his servants.'

'Magic too?' Jack asked. He could scarcely imagine that anyone in possession of their wits should serve such a vile master voluntarily.

'That too.' Elvaethor nodded. 'And the lure of the darkness. Many are drawn to it. Some think it may bring them power, others dream of riches. Some folk are tricked. He was called the Deceiver, for that is what he is. And wiser folk than you and I have fallen for his promises, empty though they were.'

Jack couldn't see how anyone could believe a word that fell from Sauron's lips, either then or now.

'But his servants can be defeated and slain,' he observed. 'Even if he cannot.'

Elvaethor's green eyes usually twinkled and smiled. Now they were just very, very old and sad. 'Yes,' he spoke at last. 'Yes, they can.'

'You were there, weren't you? That last great battle?' A little voice told Jack that he was prying into affairs that were none of his business. He paid it no heed.

'The Battle of Dagorlad, as they called it afterwards,' Elvaethor said, which was as good as a confirmation. 'The forces of Mordor were defeated, though the war was not won, not for another seven long years.'

Let it not be said that Jack had not paid attention during his history lessons. 'The siege of Barad-dûr,' he nodded. He had always imagined that siege to be a rather dull sort of affair. What was one even supposed to do during seven years of camping on Sauron's very doorstep?

'The very one,' Elvaethor nodded. 'There were horrors beyond imagining in that land then, and I have little reason to believe it will be different now. Many of my kin were slain, either in battle before its gates, or during the long siege that followed it.'

That gave Jack pause for some time. He never spent much time thinking about Elvaethor's kin beyond a general acknowledgement that there must be some. After all, Elvaethor had a sister. It stood to reason that they had parents. Or at the very least, they'd had them at some point in the past. He liked to think that if they yet lived, they would have come up in conversation before.

Even Thoren, not the best with words on a good day, might have found some words of comfort. But Jack had not been blessed with that gift and so he only commented: 'That is the way of it in war.' He cursed his own ill-advised remark the moment it left his mouth, but he could not take it back.

And so conversation died. There was no fire as to not alert any Easterling or enemy ally who may be watching. As a result, their meal was cold and cheerless. The winter had tightened its grip on the land in the past few weeks and Jack felt the cold sink deep into his bones, yet another cruel reminder that he was not much like his siblings and his other kin, who were far less troubled by such matters.

Why out of all of them did I have to be made as so much less?

It was the thought he fell asleep to and woke up with. Elvaethor was already saddling the horses when he rose. Whether or not he had in fact gone to sleep was anyone's guess. He had still been awake when Jack closed his eyes.

They were back on the road in minutes, silence still reigning supreme. Jack had the unpleasant feeling that the blame for that could be laid at his door. He'd pried, had torn open old wounds and then had rubbed salt into them by speaking before he thought it through. He felt that perhaps an apology was in order, but if he brought it up now, Elvaethor would almost certainly wave it off and tell him that it was nothing.

They both knew that would not be true.

The sky was a stubborn dark grey, the kind that spoke of snowfall in the near future. Jack sincerely hoped it would not come for a while, for they would lose sight of the trail. And even Elvaethor with his sharp sight was unable to see through snow, even though he walked over it as though it was a solid path.

'Snow on the air,' he observed.

Elvaethor nodded. 'I fear so.'

Those were the first words he had spoken all day. Jack took that as a good sign. 'You spoke of a feeling, a sense of foreboding some days ago,' he recalled. 'Has it eased at all now that we are so near Erebor?' Logic dictated that it should. If every mile they moved away from the Mountain should worsen it, then every step they came closer should ease it.

His friend shook his head. 'No.' The word was spoken so softly that Jack almost missed it. 'It has grown worse, my friend.'

The Easterlings then. Even though he couldn't think of what they could possibly be up to, there was no question that they were up to some sort of mischief. But what?

Part of that question was about to answered; Elvaethor suddenly halted and dismounted.

'There was another group.' He was being uncharacteristically brusque, something he must have learned from his chosen people. He moved a little further away and crouched again. 'And another.' He looked around and seemed to be counting.

Jack was no great talent in this area, but even he could see that the frozen ground had been disturbed by a great many feet.

'Another six groups of similar numbers met the one we were tracking.' Elvaethor reached a conclusion much sooner than Jack could have.

The words froze what little warmth still remained in his body. It did not take a great genius to understand that there had to be a reason such stealth had been employed. Such a force did not have the capacity to breach the Mountain's defences, but still.

We are not seeing something. And I fear it's something we ought to have seen a long time ago. Are we so blind?

His frustration was building rapidly and he wanted to take it out on something, preferably something with an Easterling face. At least violence was simple. Nothing about the present situation was. Tracking down Cilmion had been easy in comparison. And even there Flói had done most of the work. At least in this he was like his father's people, small consolation though it was.

'How long ago?' he asked. It was the only sensible question to be asked, the only question Elvaethor could answer at the moment.

'Hours,' the elf replied. 'Two, three at most.'

Well, that was something. Even so, if we catch them up, what difference will the two of us make? But there was no real option. To abandon the chase would be wrong. And he would readily risk his life if it should aid his people, unlike them though he was.

It is my curse, he reflected. To be so unlike them and to yet long to belong to them. I must be a fool. But he did not know any other way to be and this was his place in the world.

Elvaethor got back on his horse and spurred it on. The look on his face was troubled and it was not a comforting thing to witness. He usually was in firm control of both himself and the situation in hand. That he wasn't so now unsettled Jack deeply.

'How many hours until we reach Erebor?' he asked.

The answer was immediate. 'No more than an hour.' He didn't say that the enemy would reach it sooner than they would. He didn't need to.

Jack urged his horse to go faster.

Cathy

'This is a good quality cloth, Mistress Cathy,' the market vendor told her, holding up the bolt of fabric for Cathy's inspection. 'You couldn't find better.'

She didn't doubt that. Cathy often frequented Fion's stall for her materials and had never left unsatisfied. And, true to expectations, he did not disappoint now. She would be able to make a very fine tunic for young Harry out of this.

'What do you think?' she asked her young charge. Duria had entrusted their cousin to Cathy for the day so that she may take him shopping. And, after the shopping was done, she could take his measurements and get started on actually making him some clothes that fit him. Harry had come here with only summer clothes, a few wearable gifts of the elves and Alfur's cloak. It wasn't going to do for winter and Cathy had been quick to volunteer her services.

Harry looked like he was out of his depth. 'I don't know,' he confessed.

Too late she realised that her own peers had not shown even the smallest spark of interest in such matters at that age either. The same was true for Dari and Nari. Their parents chose what they wore and that was the way of things.

Fion was not discouraged by this lack of interest. 'The colour would suit you, I think, young Master. And it's soft against the skin. Won't make you itch all over like the cloth the men of the Lake make. Go on, have a feel.' He held it out so that Harry could touch it.

The child hesitantly did. He even managed a smile when he realised the cloth was pleasant to the touch.

'We'll take this one,' Cathy decided. She was starting to see that Harry was far too shy to say it when he wanted something. He was raised with good manners, but according to Alfur, who had visited yesterday to Harry's great delight, he hadn't been so quiet on the road.

'Too much change for such a young lad in such a short time,' he'd told her. 'Small wonder he's a mite bit overwhelmed.'

So Cathy had decided to take it easy with Harry, to just be kind to him and give him time to get used to this new situation. Ideally he would have been able to stay with his companions from the road, but they were all trained warriors. In these times none could be spared for babysitting, though they had all looked in on him since they had returned. And Harry had come out of his shell every time.

'Good choice,' Fion agreed. 'Do you take it with you now or shall I deliver it later?'

She pondered that. 'Delivery, I think. We have some more purchases to make. Harry will need another pair of boots, because I think he's outgrowing the pair he has.' He hadn't told her, but she had seen him struggle when he put them on this morning. 'And we shall need a warm fabric I can use to fashion a cloak out of.' Harry still used Alfur's spare one, with the owner's blessing, but it was too big for him. If they were to look after him right, he should have things that fit him properly.

Fion's face lit up. 'I have just the thing you need. Wait one moment.' He disappeared underneath his stall. Cathy couldn't see under it herself, but she heard his muttering and the sound of boxes being rearranged and turned over in search of what he needed. She had known Fion for years and was therefore familiar with the process, but Harry clearly wasn't. And for one who was seeing this for the first time, it must be a little bit comical. Even so, she was surprised to hear a giggle. It was suppressed quickly, but the expression on the boy's face was one of genuine amusement.

Thank the Maker for that.

Fion resurfaced a moment later. 'There we go,' he announced. 'You'll never be cold again with this wrapped around you. And that's a guarantee.'

Cathy took his word for it. She told him they would take that too and reached into her purse for the money while Fion wrapped her purchases up. 'How much?' she asked.

Fion named his price. It was, as always, more than reasonable, good solid pay for good solid work. Men were forever complaining about how expensive the products of the dwarves were, but they always forgot to take into account that the things they made were of far superior quality and that the price reflected this. They made things to last.

'If I may be so bold to ask, who's the lad?' Fion inquired when Harry's attention wandered to the stall across the road that appeared to be selling sweets.

'A cousin of mine,' Cathy replied. 'My mother's kinfolk.' It was the easiest way to explain without going into detail. She wouldn't know how to begin explaining if she'd had to. 'His mother has been caught in the grey wizard's schemes and he hasn't got another soul in the world to care for him.'

That too was the truth. Harry had none besides Cathy and her siblings in this world, but he had family in that other one. He had mentioned an aunt and cousins and his grandparents. And Cathy found it hard to forget what she had learned about what her own mother's family had gone through when she had vanished into thin air. And now they are going through that over Harry and his mother.

'Sorry state of affairs,' Fion judged. Those were in fact exactly the words she was looking for. 'No good has ever come from getting involved with a wizard.'

Cathy grimaced, unable to deny the truth of those words, and yet also being keenly aware that they were not entirely right either. Without Gandalf's interference she would never have come into being. The world she knew would not be. Everything would be different, and not necessarily better; she had read her mother's book enough times to know this.

'Folk don't always get a say in the matter,' she pointed out instead.

'More's the pity,' Fion observed.

At least that she agreed with whole-heartedly.

They concluded their business and moved on, stopping off at the sweets stall before continuing with their actual business. Cathy strongly suspected that Harry was getting increasingly bored with the proceedings and if she were to maintain his interest, a small enticement was in order.

Of course she could almost hear Duria complain about spoiling his lunch, about being far too indulgent and really, was she going to spoil her own child in this manner once it was born as well? Cathy liked to think that there was rather a great difference between spoiling and giving something to a child who had lost so much in recent months. Nobody in their right mind would ever think Harry was a spoiled child. Not even Duria could possibly even entertain that notion.

And if she was honest, Cathy didn't have a strategy for how to raise her own child. Even though she was now showing, it felt like something that was still a very long way off, if it was ever going to happen in the first place. They were at war and she knew better than to think that Erebor would be safe. It was a safer place than Dale, easier to defend. But in these days nowhere was really safe. Sauron had seen to that.

And we are far safer than my brothers, she knew. When she had learned what Thráin was up to she had come close to tearing her hair out in frustration. Of course, the mission he undertook was a necessary one, but there were many who could have gone on such a journey. Why did it always have to be Thráin? Did he not understand that he was needed at home? He ought to be at Thoren's side, not a world away on a secret quest.

'Well, I think we have everything,' she said some hours later. She gracefully pretended not to hear Harry's sigh of relief. 'Let's head home.'

They left the market behind and with it the crowds. She had held Harry's hand firmly to stop him getting lost during their outing, but now she released him. There weren't as many people about here.

'What happened here?' Harry asked when they passed a bit of wall with holes in it.

'That would have been the dragon Smaug,' Cathy replied. There were still areas that needed renovating. She had seen one of those up close some months ago. By all accounts that was an experience she would prefer to forget.

It shouldn't surprise her that Harry already knew the tale. If Glóin hadn't told it on the road, he would have heard it from Duria's sons, whose preferred bedtime stories were full of dragons and adventures.

'He died long ago, didn't he?' Harry asked.

'Aye, very long ago, before I was born,' Cathy agreed. She hadn't seen a real one in all her days and would like to keep it like that. All she had to go on were her Uncle Ori's drawings. But those were just an images. She found it difficult to imagine the sheer size of him. 'But he did a lot of damage around these parts and we haven't gotten round to repairing all of it just yet.' They were getting awfully close in some places, but all of that would have to wait until after war's end.

If we are still there then.

'Tell you what, why don't you and I go to see where he had his lair,' she suggested, as much to entertain Harry as to distract herself from a line of thinking she did not want to pursue any further. And they were on an outing. It was practically mandatory that they did something that could be described as fun.

The boy's face lit up. 'Can we?'

Cathy nodded. 'We most certainly can. Come on, I know a few shortcuts that will get us there. Unless you are afraid of the dark?' she added as an afterthought.

Dwarves as a rule weren't bothered by it, but Harry was not a dwarf. It wasn't a difficult thing to remember, or it shouldn't be. But there was something about him that reminded her of her twin brother when he was young, both in looks and behaviour. It wasn't so clear when Harry was being so quiet and polite – Jack hadn't been polite one day in his life if he could help it, despite their parents' efforts – but when he had that little delighted smile on his face, the resemblance was uncanny. And for all Jack's moping that it was not so, he was very much a dwarf.

The child shook his head almost straight away, but Cathy suspected that it was partly because he did not want to lose face. But she was not going to call him out on that.

'Well, you'll need to hold my hand,' she said, omitting the fact that it would be to reassure him. 'I don't fancy losing you in the dark.' And there was that too. 'And I don't want to have to explain that to my sister.' That was a thing best avoided on good days. And Duria's temper had been somewhat on the short side this morning.

Harry didn't kick up a fuss about being too old to hold hands. She could almost certainly have expected such behaviour from her nephews, but Harry's manners were impeccable. Cathy got the impression that Beth Andrews was not unlike Duria. From what she had heard she thought the woman was strict, academically inclined and more comfortable around books than actual people. Yet Harry clearly thought the world of her, so she must at least be a little more affectionate than Cathy's own sister, who wouldn't know kindness even if it danced naked in front of her.

Cathy knew this part of the Mountain well. When she had been a child, she had liked to play pretend with Jack and Flói. They would imagine they were the brave heroes who had sneaked in through the side door to slay a dragon and for them nothing would do but the actual place where it had all happened. So one day Cathy had "borrowed" the key from her father's key ring – there had been some fuss over that when he had discovered he was suddenly short a key – and they had made their way to the door. They had opened it and gone outside. They had left the door ajar, though. It hadn't been Durin's Day and they knew full well that only on that day could the door be opened from outside. From there they had sneaked inside, through the dark corridor to the treasury, where they had promptly slain their dragon. The dragon in question had been the clerk on duty and he had not appreciated their little re-enactment, so the end of their quest had ended in being sent to the corner to think about what they'd done.

But those days were long behind her now. Maybe one day, if they all survived the coming days, her own child would do something similar with friends or cousins or perhaps even siblings. It was a pretty picture she painted. But whimsical and far-fetched, she reminded herself.

She walked quickly with Harry beside her. There were more main roads that would lead to the same destination, but they would be far more crowded and detours at that.

'Did the dragon come here too?' Harry asked.

'No,' Cathy said. 'No, he was far too big to fit in here. I don't think he could have squeezed even his head or his paw into this corridor, never mind his whole body.' That had been her mother's response when faced with the same question. And since she, unlike Cathy, had actually seen Smaug when he was alive, it was a good answer to give.

'Oh,' said Harry.

Cathy was fully prepared to tell more tales, second-hand accounts though they were, but something stopped her before she could begin. They were in the corridor leading up to the side door now. The treasury was still some way ahead and the door itself even further and all of it was cloaked in darkness.

But there were footsteps.

'Stop,' she whispered. 'Hush.'

Her nephews would have asked why, but not Harry. He just obeyed.

It was a good thing that he did, because now that the silence fell over them, the sound of footsteps was that much clearer to hear. Whoever the feet belonged to, they took great care to make as little sound as possible. Even so, it was very clear that there were a very great many of them.

And nobody should be here. Cathy could get into the treasury from this way because she had a key. And there were no doors leading anywhere other than outside that came out on this particular corridor. Nobody should have any reason to be here.

Something's wrong. She wasn't an elf that she had some sort of magical instinct that told her so, but she could feel it deep in her bones. Her mother had always called it instinct. It could be at that, but the name did not really matter now.

'Harry,' she whispered. 'Run back, fast as you can and get help. Tell them there are intruders come in through the side door.' If this turned out to be some of their own people on an exercise of some kind she would never ever hear the end of this, but she was rather safe than sorry. And she strongly suspected there wasn't much safety to be had in the near future either.

Harry nodded. There was only little light to see by, shining into the corridor from the hallway behind them, but there was enough to ascertain that his face was a little pale. Whether or not he fully understood the gravity of the situation remained to be seen, but he knew that something was amiss.

'Good,' she said, taking care to keep the tremor out of her voice. How can they be here? Isn't that door kept locked at all times? Maker help me, I am unarmed. 'Run. Don't stop for anything. Just run and fetch help. Go!'

Harry ran. At least he would not be in danger with her.

She mustered all her courage and took a deep breath. Then she raised her voice: 'Who goes there?'

Next time: there's trouble inside the Mountain and out of it.

There will be a slight delay for the next chapter. I'm moving next week, so I won't be updating either this or Duly Noted next Sunday. I'm trying to be back with a chapter of Duly Noted on the 11th and The Book the week after that, but it may be another week's delay, depending on how quickly I can get everything organised at my new place. I hope you'll understand.

Thank you very much for reading. Reviews would be very welcome.