Chapter 83
To Greater Heights
The war in the north was about to begin again just as we in Rohan had been given a little breather. The same was true in Gondor, though they were more familiar with the certain absence of activity on the Enemy front. Unlike much of the world they knew its meaning. They had learned through bitter experience.
They could tell anyone who cared to listen – and prior to that year nobody much cared at all – that a period of relative quiet had always been followed by the harshest attacks possible. It had always ended in bloodshed, loss of life and loss of territory. The dark clouds over Mordor left little doubt in their minds that something evil was afoot. The garrison in Osgiliath looked to their defences.
Well, when I say that the regiment was in Osgiliath, I mean of course the western part of the city. The other part, east of the river had already been lost the previous summer. As I understand it all of Ithilien was very much disputed territory. Sauron had more or less officially conquered it – he certainly used it as though he had every right to do so – and no people lived there now. But groups of Gondorian soldiers and rangers still roamed there, troubling the Enemy and his allies as much as they possibly could. Faramir was at the head of just such a group.
But before I look in more depth at the situation in Ithilien, the situation in the North is well worth a mention as well. The armies of the Alliance of the Free Folk had ridden out, which left only a small force to hold the Mountain itself. This might seem foolish until you realise that when the dwarves shut the gates, there is no other way in and sure, you'll need a few guards to report what the enemy is doing, but only a dragon could even break down those gates and the last one had died almost eighty years previously.
That left Erebor itself mostly empty except for the women, children, injured and the guards I just mentioned. That however did not mean that tensions weren't high, because they were very high indeed. Most of the people of Esgaroth concurred that the greater threat needed to be addressed before anything else, which was why their troops had gone with Thoren. Those who stayed behind had no greater danger to address, so they instead fostered their resentment.
It is true that they had not been treated gently. Thoren could not afford it. As an outsider I can see both points and I see where each side comes from. Both, I think, were justified in the way they thought and acted. But it had left one hell of a mess and it was Cathy's burden to clear it up…
Cathy
The throne was hard on her backside.
This is ridiculous.
She could see the glances of the people assembled here and on some faces it was quite plain to see that they shared this opinion. But Thoren had insisted and it was altogether easier to let him have his way, because he simply refused to leave until she promised him she would do as he asked.
So here she was.
The throne was very uncomfortable. No wonder Thoren always rushed through the official business like there was an army of orcs at his heels. Cathy intended to very much follow that good example and get out of here as soon as she was able.
'Bring in the prisoner,' she called to the guards at the door. The acoustics were marvellous in this place; her voice carried far and wide.
The great doors opened and two guards escorted the man into the room. He looked horrible. Cathy knew he had been treated with dignity and decency. No dwarf would stoop so low as to mistreat one who could not answer for the insult with violence. He had not perhaps been treated with kindness and understanding. No dwarf would after what this man had done.
Having said that, he looked terrible. His clothes were stained and his hair a wild tangle of brown strands. But his eyes drew the attention. Haunted they were. The dark circles underneath betrayed that he had slept very little, if at all, over the course of these past few days. His guards steered him, because it appeared as though he was only vaguely aware of where he was and where he was going.
With something of a shock she realised she did not even know his name.
'Speak your name, if you would,' she requested. 'I have not yet have the pleasure of hearing it.'
He blinked and looked at her. 'My lady?'
She repeated the question.
'Farulf, my lady.' The expression on his face was best described as bewildered.
'You will kneel before the Lady Cathy of Durin's House,' Alfur told him. He stood at the foot of the steps that led up to the throne. He knew his King's orders and liked them no more than Cathy herself did.
Farulf did as he was told and knelt before her.
Thoren had a trick for this. 'Count to five for those you like, ten for foreign diplomats and folk you don't like and thirty for those you really want to make uncomfortable,' he had advised her prior to his departure. Seeing as how this had always worked well for him, Cathy followed this sound advice to the letter; she counted to thirty. Slowly.
The hall was deathly quiet.
He was beginning to squirm at ten already and by the time she hit thirty he was positively writhing in agony.
'Rise.'
He did, wringing his hands all the while. His expression was beyond anxious now that he had finally re-joined reality and realised what the likely end of this interview looked like. She wouldn't have minded such an end, but Thoren had forbidden it.
'My lady, I…'
'You will not speak unless spoken to.' Her voice was like a whip.
Farulf looked at his feet.
Cathy let him wait for a few moments longer before she herself spoke again. 'Some days ago you attempted to murder my brother Jack in retaliation for the lawful arrest of your brother, who has since confessed to his treason and has been subsequently convicted along with seventeen others. They were sentenced and cast out this very morning.'
Feredir had informed her that he had seen to it that Farulf had not been given any information regarding the current situation, so all of what she said was news to him.
He blinked some more and then swallowed. 'Alfred. He is…'
'A traitor, yes.'
She watched that sink in. A dozen emotions flashed across his face: shame, defeat, grief, despair. There were others, but they passed too quickly to identify them all. She could not even begin to guess at what was going through his head. She wondered if he felt any remorse at all for the harm he had inflicted. She hadn't seen any yet.
'My brother yet lives,' she told him. And he had recovered enough to at least complain about being cooped up in bed, but his pleas for release had so far fallen on deaf ears. 'That is in your favour.'
That he didn't buckle under the weight of his relief was something of a miracle. He swayed on his feet and he gasped, but he remained standing. 'I did not kill him?'
'You speak when spoken to,' Alfur reminded him brusquely.
'You did not,' Cathy said simultaneously. 'Do you regret the attempt?'
She needed to know that. She would have to set him free either way, but she needed to know his intentions and even then she could not be sure she could believe his words. This man had wormed his way into Thoren's study – curse her brother's carelessness in foregoing posting guards outside the bloody door – and had come close enough to attack. He must be an actor of some skill.
His face at least reflected some shame, perhaps even remorse. 'I do, my lady. I acted out of grief.'
'Grief?' she asked. 'Your brother had at the time only been arrested. He was not dead. He is not dead even now.'
Hope flickered in his eyes. 'He is not?'
'We dwarves have no need for executions,' Cathy informed him. She did not like that look at all. 'He was instead cast out with nothing but the clothes he stood up in and a chain around his wrist proclaiming his crime. He has been denounced by the dwarves, the elves and the men. He and his fellow traitors are forbidden to seek any solace or shelter with us ever again. They are to fend for themselves so long as they live, however long that may be.' He must know that it could not be for very long indeed.
True to expectations, he looked horrified.
An idea occurred to her then. It did not in fact fly in the face of Thoren's orders, not the letter of them anyway. If he were to hear of it she had no doubt that he would tell her in no uncertain terms that she had defied the spirit of them instead. He would be right.
But she needed to know and his answer would tell her, or so she hoped. 'They are forbidden from seeking our mercy, for we have none to offer them. Treason is one crime that we cannot forgive. There are not many such crimes and the one you committed is not among them. You only attempted murder, Master Farulf. Had you succeeded in your endeavour, we would have a different conversation now.'
Let him be aware of his good fortune indeed. He did not look it; the distress was written all over his face.
'The choice for what happens now rests with you,' Cathy continued. 'Ordinarily there is a price to pay for attempted murder, but in light of the circumstances that drove you to commit such a heinous act, my brother the King is prepared to be merciful. It was high emotion that blinded you to reason, he believes.' She let a silence fall to make it abundantly clear that she did not share this particular belief. 'Therefore he is prepared to have you released back into the care of your kin as a sign of good faith.'
It was a good move, she had to admit, even though it did not satisfy her appetite for justice. She could not in good conscience call it vengeance. It was nothing of the kind. A crime needed a punishment. In essence this course of action meant that he very much got away with what he had done. It did not sit well with her or, as she surmised, with a great number of their own people.
'But I hear that you are fond of your brother, still, even after everything he has done.' Everything hinged on that and at this point Cathy was not sure if she wanted Farulf to take her offer or reject it. 'So I would offer you a second choice. You are free to walk out of the gates of Erebor today, but if you do, the same conditions apply to you as the ones who were convicted: you would be cast out into the world, closed off from any kindness. Others are forbidden from giving you food, drink, shelter, even so much as a friendly greeting when they pass you in the streets. You would need to love your brother a great deal to choose this way. You ought to think about this carefully. You may choose either way, but once chosen, you may not renege on that decision.'
Let him choose the latter. It would save them all so much worrying about another traitor. Thoren might be right in thinking that Farulf had acted out of grief and brotherly love. Cathy herself did not truly doubt that. But he had almost killed for that already and for a lesser offence. What more could he be capable now that his brother had been convicted of treason and would almost certainly be dead within a few days?
'You would have my answer now, my lady?' he asked, studying her face.
'Before we leave this hall, yes,' Cathy replied. 'I am prepared to let you delay your decision to the close of business. It should take some hours. And I would want you to think carefully about your answer and remind you that should you elect the first option that any further crimes on your part will not be dealt with so leniently.' She gave him a hard stare to convince him that she was not fooling around and that, if it were up to her, she would expel him here and now.
She didn't like that he wanted to think about it. It smelled of duplicity, that he was not committed either way. And how could anyone place their faith in someone who had to think about with whom he placed his loyalties in this war?
'I should like to use that opportunity, my lady,' he said.
It was not a popular thing to say. Many in the room grumbled about it and rightly so. Cathy reckoned that she had been given all the answer that she could possibly want. The men of Dale did not like it any more than the dwarves and the men of Esgaroth had the good sense to start looking very worried indeed. They knew that their position was still only precarious at best and should this fool make the wrong decision, all of them would surely suffer for it.
We should have sent him on his way with the others, Cathy thought. I could have found another way to make it up to his people. Nobody would have blamed us for casting him out. If it weren't for Thoren and Tauriel, he would have killed Jack.
She wondered if her twin knew about this scheme of Thoren's and if so, what he thought about it. He was the injured party after all.
'Very well,' she said. 'Alfur, kindly escort him to the small council chambers and lock him in there so that he may ponder his options in peace. Place a guard on the door. So long as he has not made a decision, he is not free.'
Alfur inclined his head. 'As you wish, my lady.' He was not usually this deferential, but she did not usually sit on the throne either.
She sat up straighter and prepared for a long day. 'I will hear petitions now. If any have something to bring before the throne of Erebor, come forward and speak.'
This she had done before and she had been good at it. This was just sorting out people's petty problems, finding solutions for puzzles they could not solve on their own. Cathy excelled at it and she knew it.
An old woman from Esgaroth came before her to ask about extra rations to give her malnourished grandson. She had brought the boy to court to show Cathy that she did not lie about this. When Cathy asked how it was possible that the boy was so malnourished in the first place – everyone was fed well, if not quite as much as they'd like – the woman at first refused to speak. She bowed her head in shame.
Another boy, perhaps twelve years old, stepped in and explained that a group of thugs, nearly grown boys and girls and young men and women, had taken to terrorising the weaker among them to take their rations for themselves and that with the way things had been lately, nobody had dared to either confront them – for fear of being accused of being a traitor themselves – or report them to the dwarves. He looked terrified to even speak, but his voice never wavered.
This was another thing that had come from the recent tensions. The bile rose in her throat at the wrongness of it all. This was a purely mannish practice, this preying on the weak who could not defend themselves. They had no reservations about turning on their own to come out better themselves. It was horrible. And apparently these gangs had run rampant for a couple of weeks now.
That ended here and now. 'Do you have names?' she asked the boy.
'Yes, my lady,' he replied. 'A few, but…' He glanced behind him uncertainly. It was plain enough to see that he was terrified out of his wits.
'I will have these people apprehended,' Cathy promised him. 'Give me the names so that I can help.'
As it happened, there was no need. All the folk of Esgaroth who remained had crammed themselves into the throne room, but now that the tide had turned against them, they attempted to leave. The guards on the door were kind enough to stop them and to redirect them to the place before the throne. A group of about thirty strong was assembled before her when they had all been rounded up.
These were the mean ones, the ones who thrived on double-dealing and backstabbing, who had survived by making sure they were the meanest of them all. They were of a different calibre than Ingor's group, who had mostly surrounded himself with folk who were relatively well-off. These people had never been well off, but instead of punching up, they had targeted those weaker than themselves. They were nasty, without conscience and it showed.
How she wished she could turn them all out on their ear.
It was at times like these that she knew in her heart that no matter how much she differed from her own people, she could never be fully mannish either. She fell somewhere in between, but always more on the dwarvish side than the mannish. Indeed, that was only to be expected. Her mother might have been a woman of men, but her heart had been that of a dwarf. Why should mine be any different?
'Do you deny the charges brought against you?' she asked.
One of the young women spat at the ground in defiance. 'You don't feed us enough.' It was more than just an admission. She took a certain pride in what she had done.
'I take no more than you receive,' Cathy pointed out. 'Have you forgotten there is a war on?'
'If you don't give us what we need, we'll take it,' the woman replied. She spat on the ground again. 'And you have no one but yourself to blame for that.'
Cathy ignored that. 'You will all receive half-rations for a fortnight,' she ruled. 'The food that remains then will be given to your victims to strengthen them. Furthermore I want you isolated from your own people, confined to accommodations in the northern quarters, where you will be kept under guard until I am convinced that you have changed your ways or until the war has ended, whichever happy event comes first.' That ought to do it.
To her relief this verdict was well-received by the people of Esgaroth themselves; the collective sigh of relief nearly blew her over. It was less well-received by the ones she had sentenced, but she could not stand the sight of their kind anyway, so that was no great loss. Let them moan and complain. The longer they did, the longer she could keep them under lock and key and that was all for the best.
It went on most of the morning. None of the disputes she was called upon to settle were very serious. Many could have been solved among the people themselves, but she suspected that they were glad to see some order restored and availed themselves of the opportunity to reassure themselves.
Who was she to say them nay? Truth be told, she needed this as much as they did, even if only to distract herself from thinking about Halin so much.
But eventually the line dwindled and petered out. The time had come to hear Farulf's decision. The tension had drained from the room bit by bit over the course of the morning, but it returned in full force now. Cathy liked to think that she had regained a little of the trust she had lost before, but the faces that looked back at her now from the Esgaroth corner of the room were predominately worried again.
And at this stage of the game, she did not rightly know which answer she should hope for. I should never have given him his choice. I should have done what Thoren told me to and get it over with. But instead she'd thought she was being clever. Maker, save me from myself.
Alfur led Farulf back before the throne. The man's demeanour had somewhat changed from the last time she had seen him. If anything, he had grown more deferential since three hours ago. Cathy did not know whether to take this at face value or to question it. The man was a mystery.
But this was of her own making and she had better see it through. 'Have you come to a decision?' she asked when he was once more before her.
'I have, my lady.'
'I should like to hear it then.'
He knelt before her. 'I should like to take your most generous offer, my lady,' he said. The words sounded sincere enough. She was less sure about the sentiment behind them. 'Your forgiveness is most kind. My brother…' Here he stumbled, but he picked himself up and carried on: 'My brother is a traitor, my lady. I love him dearly, but I cannot condone his actions. My affection for him blinded me for a time. You have my sincerest apologies.'
She had asked him to choose and he had. Now she had to accept that, no matter how little she liked it. 'Then rise again as a free man, Farulf,' she spoke. 'Your misstep is forgotten.'
Though not by Jack and certainly not by Cathy either.
Here we go, Thoren. Let's see how this little scheme of yours plays out.
Thráin
It was some hours past noon when Faramir's scouts returned. Meanwhile the Fellowship and Faramir's company had been on the move since dawn. They had spent an uneasy night in the ruins. Thráin had slept for some hours, but not very many of them. Knowing he had been betrayed made him increasingly ill at ease.
Even so, nothing happened. The night was quiet.
The day so far had not been any different. They walked through forests and fields all morning without seeing a sign of any life. What they did find was evidence of previous occupants. Empty villages were scattered all over the land. Many of them had at least a palisade as protection. Some were veritable fortresses. All of them were going to waste, rotting and falling apart where they stood.
Faramir had sent out scouts ahead of them and they returned while they broke their march to eat around midday. Legolas heard them before they arrived, but only because his senses were so much stronger. None of the others had any inkling that they approached at all; they moved very quietly indeed.
They wasted no time. 'The Haradrim army is close by,' they reported without preamble. 'We cut down three of their scouts and caught a glimpse of their main army.'
This was it, then.
'Aravir, Eradan, stay here with the halflings,' Faramir commanded. These two men at least knew of the Ring and Faramir trusted them with his life, so Thráin did too. And Sam, who had the Ring now, could ably defend himself, as could Frodo. 'Everyone else, come with me.' He turned to Thráin. 'If you are still willing, my friend?'
'No need to ask.' It was his solemn duty to fight the Enemy's agents wherever he found them. They could not go to Osgiliath either way before their work here was done, so Thráin intended to do the work and do it well. Legolas and Gimli were more or less of the same mind. Gimli especially had been wishing for a decent excuse to embed his axe into something deserving of that honour. Men treacherous enough to side with Sauron more than qualified.
They left the two men and the two hobbits behind near a little brook and marched on themselves, splitting up as they went. The woods themselves were quiet, but in the distance he heard rumbling. The scouts were right; this army was close and they had come too close to them before they knew of it. Thráin found that worrisome, as he found so many things these days.
He felt the army before he saw it. He felt dull thuds in the ground. If he looked closely, he saw branches being stirred on the trees and pebbles bounce across the ground. These were not men, not only men at any rate.
'They fight with Mûmakil,' Faramir explained. 'They are large beasts with thick hides. Arrows pierce them but do not seem to wound them. Do not waste your arrows on them, Master Legolas. Only a shot to the eye or directly below the head can kill them and such a shot is one in a thousand.'
'I shall be the one, then,' Legolas said.
Faramir ignored that excess of self-confidence and turned to the resident dwarves instead. 'Beware the tusks. They are long and sharp and the Haradrim like to wrap spikes around them so they will do even more damage. And on their backs they carry soldiers, with spears and arrows both.'
Thráin nodded.
There was no more time for preparation. The forest suddenly ceased and they stood at the edge of the forest and a vast plain spread out before them. Thráin could not see very much of the plain at this moment; the Haradrim army covered it with little space to spare.
Not too much, he thought. 'Only around two thousand men and three Mûmakil.' He had expected more, but these troops probably travelled in segments. It made for easier movement and foraging, but it also rendered them more vulnerable to attacks. These men however did not move as though they were afraid of attack; they behaved as though they owned the land.
Well, there were sixty men here who would prove to them the error of their ways.
Faramir whistled and suddenly the air was full of arrows. The disciplined lines of the men dissolved into panicked ant hills, but the Mûmakil, though hit, carried on as normal. The riders on their backs – cleverly concealed in some sort of hut-like structure that had been secured to the beast like a saddle to a horse – shot back, but they could not see their targets, hidden among the trees.
The confusion was unlikely to last for very long. These were professional troops, battle-hardened, or so Faramir had informed him. Soon enough they'd try to fight back and they would quickly discover that their opponents were few in number.
We can harry them, delay them, but not defeat them, Thráin knew. He did not like the sound of that. Faramir did what little he could, but he might have had more success with some thousand more men at his back. It was a shame he had no way to even the odds a little.
He had barely finished the thought when he realised that this was not entirely the case. It was a dangerous and mad scheme, which was why the Haradrim of course would never even suspect anything like it.
'Gimli,' he began before common sense could reassert itself, 'I am of a mind to snatch myself one of these Mûmakil, to even the odds in our favour.'
Gimli nodded in agreement. 'Aye, so would I, but how is it to be done?' Wordy though he may be, he also knew that a battle was not the time to be overly verbose.
Faramir and Legolas responded differently to his notion. The former looked at him in somewhat unflattering disbelief while the latter forewent that entirely in favour of giving Thráin a piece of his mind: 'Have you taken leave of your senses?'
'Not to my knowledge.' It was only considered insanity until someone had successfully done it once. Thráin intended to be the first, though even he admitted it was folly of the highest order to attempt it alone. But he was not on his own here. 'There is a high ridge over there and from what I can see the beasts must walk close to it for fear of taking off their riders in the trees. We could leap onto the backs quite easily from there and see where that may lead us.'
If anything, this only strengthened Legolas's assumption about his state of mind.
'Come on now. We do not have time to lose.'
They could stand here and argue about the merits and risks of this plan until sunset, but by then this force would have moved beyond their reach. Thráin was loath to leave such an opportunity. So he set off and decided to leave the choice to come with him to them. Gimli would almost certainly follow. He was relatively sure about Faramir too. Legolas was the one he could not figure out.
He made it to the ridge ahead of the others and only then looked back. All three of them had come.
'You are quick on your feet,' Faramir observed. 'Somehow I had thought dwarves would be slower.'
Thráin grinned at him. 'So do many, to their ruin.'
'What is your plan?' Legolas demanded. 'If you have one.' The tone indicated that he believed no such plan existed.
He would be right, more or less. Thráin did not have the details worked out yet, but that was not necessarily a hindrance. He often functioned better if he had room to improvise when a situation asked for it. This was one such situation.
'I go first,' he said. This was his idea; so the lion's share of the risk should therefore also be his. 'I will do my utmost to take out the one who holds the reins and take his place. I shall rely on you to make sure that I am not attacked from behind.'
Legolas did not like it, but there was no more time for idle chatter. The first Mûmak would be passing under the ridge in some moments and he intended to be on it. If the others had followed him this far, they would follow him now too.
He took a few steps back and then took the jump at a run. As it was, he did not have very far to fall. He landed on the top of the hut, a roof made of cloth. It made suspicious noises when his weight landed on it, but it held.
Just not for much longer.
Gimli jumped on behind him. Their combined weight was too much to take for the cloth, so they both fell through it and right in the middle of about a dozen Haradrim. There had been thirteen, but Gimli flattened one on impact and that one did not get back up.
It was a small consolation only, because the others were very much put out by the fact that they had effectively been invaded. But they had not anticipated their arrival. Gimli and Thráin had come prepared. Gimli uttered a battle cry that could very likely be heard in Mordor itself and threw himself into the fray. Thráin was not far behind.
In this fight he had the advantage. The men had to take care not to wound one another in this limited space. Thráin only had his own kinsman to consider. So he fought, disembowelled one and lopped off the sword arm of the man standing next to him. He saw the fear in their eyes and the hatred too now that they had mostly recovered from the surprise.
Legolas appeared out of nowhere at his left shoulder. 'Do not linger here,' he urged. 'Do what you said you would.'
Knowing that Legolas was more than capable of taking over, he utilised the first opening he could find and launched himself out of the overcrowded hut onto the back of the Mûmak proper. It was an altogether bigger fall than the one that had seen him onto the roof of the hut itself. The whole contraption swayed with the fighting inside. It was a ridiculously precarious construction. These men had been fools to climb into it.
A dwarf would have done this better. Not that Thráin was about to give them any pointers on how to achieve such a thing.
The one who held the reins had his own special sort of seat, held in place by a leather belt that went all around the creature's neck. And it was on this seat that Thráin had set his sights. The man in it had seen him, but he had nowhere to go. He was safe enough from threats from the ground from where he was seated, but up here, he was defenceless. Thráin reckoned that he did not even have any weapons at his disposal.
'Give up your seat and you may keep your life!' he shouted over the din of battle.
The man said something back in a tongue Thráin did not speak. From the tone he would say that it was not his spoken consent to that plan.
Duty done, he went on the attack. It was laughably easy to dislodge him from his seat; it was a hard position to defend, especially when the Mûmak was still moving. He had no stable ground and nowhere to run. Thráin was also much stronger than the man could ever hope to be. One well-aimed shove when his balance was already compromised was enough to make him plummet to the faraway ground, where he presumably died.
This task complete, he took the man's place in the saddle and took the reins. He reckoned that it was more or less the same thing as riding a horse, so it should not be too difficult.
It was nothing like riding a horse.
The movements of the beast were all different. The whole saddle was so oddly placed that every step almost jolted him out of it again. He had to work hard to find his balance and maintain it and only then could he try to figure out what in Durin's name he was going to do with the reins.
This was surprisingly not difficult. Unlike the actual riding part, the steering was very much like a horse. He pulled the left rein, the beast turned left. He tugged the right rein and it went right instead.
'The Haradrim are dealt with,' Legolas reported, materialising at Thráin's back. 'Can you steer this beast?'
Thráin found this one of the most useless queries that had been directed at him in recent days. 'I shall endeavour to find out,' he said with no small measure of sarcasm. 'Hold on tight. I should mislike you meeting a similar fate as the one whose place I took.' With that, he turned back to the task in hand.
The battle – if that was what it could be called – had not evolved much whilst his attention was elsewhere. The whole attack could not have taken much more than a few minutes and the Mûmak had not made much haste. It lumbered along slowly but steadily.
It was also going in the wrong direction. He tugged on the right rein to turn it around. It was no good to acquire one of these beasts only to have no use of it. The Mûmak turned, but it was in no hurry and Thráin had no idea how to make it speed up.
Nevertheless, he went for the tried and tested way first; he kicked his heels into the nearest bit of leathery skin that he could find. He did not fully expect that to work. These skins were thick and if arrows did not bother these beasts, Thráin's feet were not going to make much impact.
'It is not working,' Legolas observed. 'What will you do now?'
He turned around. 'Why don't you think of something, Master Elf?' he snapped. 'It seems to me that I am doing most of the thinking here of late.'
Legolas did not answer in words. Instead he took one of his daggers and stuck it with force into the skin just behind the neck. The beast evidently did not like it, even though there was very little blood from the wound. It made a jump that very nearly dislodged him and made even Legolas grasp for something to hold onto.
It set off at a gallop. Thráin longed to say something to Legolas about his methods, but he was too preoccupied making sure they didn't run into a tree. Mûmakil excelled at running into things, but Thráin wanted it to run into certain things, preferably not trees and his own allies.
From within the hut he could hear Faramir and Gimli exclaim their surprise and shock, but so far it didn't seem as though either of them had fallen out, which was altogether a good thing, because Thráin had no idea how to stop this beast. He had only a vague notion of how to achieve this, which began and ended with running into one of the other Mûmakil at speed.
Best not to mention that to the elf just yet.
But for now he was content to let the Mûmak run rampant across the field, trampling Haradrim as it went. All it required on his part was a little steering. So he sent it back and forth. The enormous paws did a lot of his work and the tusks did the rest. He reckoned that Faramir had signalled to his people at some point or that they had seen what was happening, because not one of them shot at them.
'Are you well, Master Elf?' he asked without taking his eyes off what happened before him.
'Quite well.' The clipped words spelled displeasure for all with ears to hear it. That was not quite justified; Legolas had been the one to make this beast speed up.
'That is good to hear.' He kept his own response calm and neutral in turn.
'Thráin, one of the Mûmakil attempts escape!' Faramir warned him from the hut. 'To your left!'
Thráin looked in the direction indicated and saw that his friend was right. One of the Mûmakil had bolted when Thráin first sent his mount bolting across the field and had run into the woods, which had dislodged the hut on its back and made the Mûmak itself stumbling over the trees until it fell. Now it didn't seem to be able to get back up again.
The second Mûmak on the other hand had either wiser riders or better handlers than the other one and they made for the north end of the field in an attempt to get as far away as possible from this mayhem as quickly as they were able. They used his focus on the west part of the field to get out.
'Hold on!' he warned the others.
He made the beast turn sharp right and to the north. The other Mûmak was running at speed, but it had nowhere near the rapidity as the one Thráin rode. Then again, it was not bolting and probably mad with panic. Whatever Legolas had done had made it go completely wild. Running it into the only other beast might even be the only way to make it stop before it ran itself to death.
Shouts of alarm emerged from within the hut; they had been seen. Arrows emerged too.
'Legolas!' Thráin called out.
'I have seen them,' the elf said. 'Have no fear.'
Thráin had none, not now. Had he stopped to think about it, he might have spent some time contemplating the possible consequences of his actions. He didn't, because he did not have the time for it.
Legolas was, as it happened, perfectly capable of shooting arrows from the back of a moving Mûmak. The Haradrim screamed, some in pain, others in panic. The distance between the two beasts closed fast. The one Thráin rode did not have any sense of self-preservation; it showed no sign of running in any other direction than straight ahead.
The impact threw him out of the saddle and over the neck of the other beast. He grasped for anything to hold onto, but he found nothing. His fingers slipped, and his feet couldn't find anything to support him.
Then he fell.
Do not try this at home.
Next week: Beth receives a gift.
Thank you so much for reading. I'd love to hear what you think, so reviews would be most welcome! Until next week!
