Chapter Thirty Four

The darkness was lit only by the pair of torches carried by the two goblins at the head of the group. The goblins ran, long arms nearly scraping the floor and backs bent, and so the dwarves ran too. With no choice in the matter, Bilbo stumbled along as best he could, one foot in front the other, caring only that he did not fall behind. He had learned very quickly that the slower he went, the more the goblins pinched and shoved him.

It may have been easier for those near the torches; Bilbo himself could not see the stony floor on which he was running. He tripped regularly, something that the goblins seemed not to do at all. Every now and then a passage, distinguishable only by the change it caused in the air currents around them, would open on one side or the other. Bilbo never even thought of escaping that way, and he would not have succeeded had he tried.

The goblins knew exactly where they were going, and followed the correct route, twisting and turning, sometimes uphill and sometimes down. Not one of the dwarves, mountain dwellers though they were, could have found his way back to the exit in the cave, and the hobbit had even less chance than they. Wandering alone in the dark with no food or water was not a prospect that pleased any of those who considered it; Bilbo himself considered nothing more than following the dirty back of the goblin in front of him.

How long they were forced to run can only be guessed. The goblins began to sing a rough, cruel song, and when Bilbo started to slow, the four behind him took out long-handled whips. Soon Ori, Oin and Dori were receiving the same treatment, but Bilbo thought of nothing other than the rough touch of the stony floor on the bare soles of his feet and the burning in his chest. Several times the lash of a whip caught him across the back, tearing his waistcoat and shirt, searing a line of pain across the skin below. He was ashamed later of how each stroke made him yelp like a child having their bottom smacked after stealing mushrooms, but almost anybody in Bilbo's place would have done the same.

A light appeared ahead, at first so faint that Bilbo wasn't sure if he was seeing the dull red glow or imagining it. Before much longer there could be no confusion; the light grew in size and intensity. Bilbo had no energy to spare for wondering what it meant, but as they drew closer, it seemed to flicker in the way that flames do against a dark background. The tunnel began to widen, and suddenly they were in an underground cavern. A great fire blazed from the centre of the cavern, and torches shone from the walls. Altogether the light was minimal, but it was enough to hurt Bilbo's eyes. This alone was enough to tell him that he had been underground for a long time; he tried to remember when he had last eaten a proper meal, but stopped thinking when it became clear that the idea would only make him feel worse than he already did.

The walls of the cavern were lined with yet more goblins, three and four deep in places. At the far end a brute almost twice the size of the rest sat half in shadow; after stopping to chain the prisoners together, Bilbo and his companions were forced to march towards the stone dais on which the Great Goblin was seated. As they drew closer, Bilbo saw that a sort of guard stood around the throne, this being composed of goblins wearing superior armour and carrying superior weapons to the others they had yet seen. The knives, swords, plate mail and helms gleamed red in the light of the flames.

Bilbo, chained at the end of the company behind Dori, Nori and Ori, was the last to stumble to a halt. They stood, Bilbo staring at the floor, waiting. Once or twice he glanced up, and for a moment something stirred in his chest as he saw Thorin standing tall (or as tall as a dwarf can stand, this being not much taller than a hobbit), his gaze locked eye to eye with that of the Great Goblin. For several long moments neither said a word, and it was not Thorin who first broke the deadlock.

"Who are these miserable persons?" The Great Goblin had a high-pitched voice that was not at all what Bilbo had expected. There was something cruel in it still, and it worried Bilbo more than he cared to admit.

"Dwarves, and this!" One of the goblins pulled on the chain in such a way that Bilbo stumbled forwards two steps then fell to his knees. He dared not look up, but it seemed that the Great Goblin was not interested in hobbits.

"What do you mean by it?" the massive figure asked, and it was to Thorin he directed the question. "Up to no good, I'll warrant! Spying on the private business of my people, I guess!"

At this point Bilbo lost track of the conversation. He didn't move, other than to turn his head slightly towards Thorin. Two thoughts dominated his mind, and these were in complete contrast with each other. Part of Bilbo wanted nothing more than to freeze, or better yet crawl away unnoticed, the rest of him was willing to move, to distract the goblins from Thorin, to take whatever the consequences were, if it allowed Thorin's escape.

Bilbo knew that, even was he brave enough to create some kind of diversion, it would be unsuccessful. Thorin could not fight as many goblins as there were in the cavern, and nor did he have a chance of slipping away unseen. The dwarf king's best hope now was his own tongue. Only Thorin could convince the goblins that no harm had been intended, and Bilbo could not help with this. The hobbit knelt, shaking with cold, fear and exhaustion, knowing that his life, and thirteen others, now rested on the King Under the Mountain.