Chapter 91

A Race in the Dark

Battles and weddings do not seem like something that should exist at the same time and yet they sometimes do. The human mind rebels at the mere notion that two such things could take place at the same time in the same way that they seem to find bright and sunny days wholly inappropriate on funerals and pouring rain on Christmas Day.

Grief and joy are not nearly as far apart as people sometimes think. One can go from one to the other in ten seconds flat. It's all part of the human condition. And at the same time it is not, because the same is also true for elves and dwarves, most of whom would object quite vehemently at being labelled human.

And so it happened that I went from fretting over my son's fate to celebrating my wedding. So it was for Thoren, finding love in the aftermath of a terrible battle. One emotion does not necessarily cancel out another. It can all exist in one person at the same time.

And so it was possible that some distance away from that battlefield, a birthday party was in progress…

Cathy

Harry's smile could have lit up the entire throne room and then spill out into the neighbouring halls without diminishing in brightness. Aunt Thora had allowed him to dress in the clothes that Cathy had made for him and he was bouncing up and down on his chair in excitement. It was not often that Jack stumbled over a good idea, but this one was definitely one of his better notions of late.

'He told me that it was his birthday and I clean forgot,' Cathy confessed in undertones to her brother. 'Thank you for remembering.'

He shrugged. 'He had a piece of paper under his pillow, counting down the days. I could not forget it if I wished.' As ever he made it sound like it was nothing but his duty and as though he had done nothing to warrant any thanks at all. It was one of the many traits that he had inherited from their father. 'Besides, you're too busy ruling.'

She was at that. 'We ought to swap,' she said, meaning every word now, even though she knew she would take it all back after a good night's sleep. 'I'll accompany our young cousin and perhaps practise for when I have my own child. In exchange you are welcome to the petitioners in the throne room with my very best wishes.'

After the day she'd had she was very close to strangling each and every one of them with her bare hands. How could they not understand that there was no more food to go around? They were all on rations. Even this small celebration was decidedly lacking in refreshments, especially by her people's standards.

It did not appear to dampen Harry's spirits much, if it all. He hadn't stopped smiling for at least an hour. Most of his guests had brought presents, which he clearly had not expected because he thought having a party at all was what he got for his birthday this year. From his chattering she had learned that presents had been an essential part of any birthday and usually his whole family came round. This merry bunch may not include his cousin Thomas or his Aunt Mary – the names still tasted foreign on her lips – but the child was well pleased and that was what counted most.

'They are all yours,' Jack said. 'I was not born to rule.' It was perhaps the first time that he said so without bitterness. He did seem more at ease with himself and the world since he had been stabbed, something that Cathy could only marvel at. She certainly did not understand.

'Neither was I,' she said. 'But I have done quite well.'

'You have never been accused of any humility at least,' Jack remarked wryly. 'Any news of Farulf or that Easterling Duria dragged in?'

'Farulf's been busy keeping his head down,' she reported. 'He keeps to his own. He knows he's being watched.' That in itself should keep him from doing something rash. Then again, he had approached Jack and Harry yesterday and he had not been supposed to do that. 'Mubul is busy fishing, also under close supervision. Nuri is keeping an eye on him as we speak.'

Jack chuckled at that and well he might. Nuri did not speak much, but his silences and stares were far more unnerving than his words. Many a day had Jack and Flói been sent to assist him with any number of tasks in payment for some childish misdemeanour they had committed and they were without fail far more well-behaved for several days afterwards.

'Good,' he said.

Cathy nodded. 'Would have been better if Duria hadn't dragged him in here in the first place.' She privately resolved to keep a close eye on her sister from now on. It wasn't that she could not be trusted, but her decisions had not been altogether rational of late and it was better to err on the side of caution.

'Can you expel him now?' Jack asked.

'Not without good reason.' Would that she could.

Cathy had spoken no more about it with Duria and so far it seemed that Mubul abided by the terms he had been set. His skill was valuable enough, she had to admit that, and at least so long as he was outside of the Mountain with a suitable minder, there was little enough that he could do, so she contented herself with that.

The door opened and Alfur came in, carrying a large cake in his hands. 'Apologies, my lad, I'm a little late, but I come bearing gifts.' He held up the cake for inspection. 'Fresh from the oven!' he announced.

Harry's eyes widened even further. 'Wow!' he said, a word that was seemingly meant to indicate his absolute joy and astonishment in a single syllable.

It was something that had come over with him from England. Cathy had heard him utter many words and phrases these past weeks that did not belong in Erebor. Some of these she had last heard falling from her mother's lips. It was a firm reminder that no matter foreign and strange Harry was, they all carried some of that same otherness in their very veins.

'Where in the world did you obtain that?' Jack wondered.

'That's a secret,' Alfur said, winking. 'All you need to know is that this is a handsome gift for a brave lad on his seventh birthday.'

Rations were hard to come by and this looked like the kind of extravagance that they simply could not afford. She ought to ask where it came from, but she looked at the delight on Harry's face and decided against it. It had been hard enough on him of late. If anyone deserved to be spoiled for once, it was him. Not so long ago those eyes had looked far too old for the face in which they were set. Now they shone with excitement.

'Speaking of gifts, what did you get him?' Cathy wondered. Her own gift had been practical, a set of clothes that he rather needed fashioned out of soft and warm cloth by her own hands.

Jack looked a bit sheepish. 'A wooden sword for him to play with,' he answered, then quickly added: 'And for Durin's sake don't mention that to Duria.'

'Where is it now?'

'Under his bed.'

Well, since he had the good sense to hide it, it was unlikely that Duria would find it anyway. Still, Cathy was somewhat uneasy with Jack's idea of a gift. 'Is that wise?'

He knew what she meant. 'He likes it,' he pointed out. 'And he needs to learn.'

'He is young.'

'He was old enough to sound the alarm at the invasion,' Jack replied. He had that look in his eyes again, the one that said that, as usual, he gazed at the world and found it wanting in every aspect imaginable. 'He was old enough to be hurt by the war. Orcs do not distinguish the young from the old. I would sooner he knew what to do with a blade than have him defenceless when war finds him again.'

The retort that within the Mountain the war would never touch him died on her lips.

If she looked at this objectively, then it was a good idea. Harry needed to learn how to protect himself. If Jack had accurately interpreted Harry's response to the gift of a toy sword, he might actually want to learn at any rate. He had pushed his tunic off his shoulders to show Dari, Nari and Alfur his scar.

'It matches mine, in case you were wondering,' Jack said before the thought to ask could even enter her head. 'The lad seems to think this is "cool."'

'What do you think?'

'That kinship with the likes of this boy might not be so bad.'

Her head swivelled around so quickly that she almost made herself dizzy. All his adult life Jack had attempted to deny his mannish kin, yet now here he stood, proudly proclaiming those ties for all with ears to hear. Had she been blind and deaf when his development took place?

'Beg pardon?' She couldn't think of any other words to say, which was frankly embarrassing.

'You heard me well enough,' he grumbled.

She had. 'I never thought to hear you say it, is all.'

Jack didn't meet her eyes. 'Flói always claimed I did amad a disservice, resenting her and all her kin. Only now I know, he's right. There's good in men. There's much bad there also, we both know that, but Harry is a bright soul.'

'So was amad,' Cathy felt obliged to point out.

For once, he did not contradict her. 'So she was. And so is her kin.'

It was always a delicate balance with Jack. Cathy felt that he had made as much of a confession as he was likely to make and so she moved on. 'Harry's mother might not be so pleased with us if she were ever to learn how her son had fared in her absence.' Beth remained something of an unknown quantity, with Harry's stories and the woman's own research about Cathy's mother their only frame of reference. She seemed like a stern woman, yet with her heart in the right place. Cathy would not be at all surprised to learn that she shared many a quality with Duria, or rather Duria as she had been before this war.

But this was not the time for thoughts like this, so she allowed herself to be persuaded to enter into the spirit of things. The cake was tasty and the people cheerful. Harry was more so than others. He was well liked, this child, and all those who knew him liberally showered him in gifts. Most of the things he received were what he needed anyway: more garments, shoes, some toys. He had very little in this world. Even though his stay was temporary, it seemed prudent that he had a place here while it lasted.

It had perhaps been two hours when Thorli poked his head around the door. 'Cathy, could you come with me, please?'

The tone was carefully neutral, so she took care to sound the same when she made her apologies to Harry for disappearing during his party.

'Will you come back?' he asked hopefully.

'Can't say,' she replied. 'Someone needs to keep this Mountain running and it would appear that they cannot manage without my steady guidance for more than a few hours altogether. If I can, I will come back. But I can't promise that I'll be able.'

These days there was always something.

It was exhausting.

'What is it?' she asked. 'If there are more traitors…' She might as well pull out her own hair in frustration.

'No traitors that I know of,' Thorli was quick to reassure her.

None except the one I released on Thoren's orders. Then there was the other one, the Easterling who technically hadn't betrayed them, but whom she couldn't trust either. Cathy had always been the cunning one out of all her siblings, but she had always known that the rest of her people were steadfast and everything they said could be taken at face value. She could no longer fall back on that and suddenly Erebor itself felt as though founded on shifting sands rather than solid rock.

'That's something,' she muttered darkly under her breath, uncomfortably aware just how much she sounded like her twin in one of his dark moods.

'Lights have been seen on the horizon,' Thorli reported. 'We've taken one of the elves up on the battlements with us, so he could tell us what's happening.'

'Which one?'

'Fellow called Aerandir.'

The name was familiar, but she had seen so many elves lately that it took her a moment to place him. 'The wordy one.'

Thorli chuckled. 'Aye, him. He reckons our people are giving battle today.'

She had known that it could not be far off, but she had hoped for more time. Shouldn't Thráin be somewhere near that thrice-cursed mountain by now so that he could chuck the Ring in and end all of this? Every day would bring him closer and that in turn would end the war.

Hurry, brother. We are running out of time.

'I see.'

They made the rest of the walk in silence. She wouldn't know what to say at any rate. Chances were that her nerves only translated into nervous rambling, and that was not what her people needed in the one who led them. At least that would not have been a problem if Thoren had put Jack in charge. Say what you liked of her twin, but he had guided their people through the siege with quiet competence. He knew what to do when it came to battle.

Cathy did not.

Aerandir greeted her with a half-bow and a hand over his heart when she emerged onto the battlements. 'My lady. It gladdens my heart to see you once more.'

Would that she could say the same. 'My cousin tells me that you have news?' She wasted no words in courtesy.

Aerandir only blinked twice to convey his astonishment at this dwarvish rudeness. 'Yes, my lady.' He must have sensed that she was in no mood to play the questions and answers game with him today, for he immediately moved on to the part where explained what he had seen: 'Not long ago we saw lights flash in the sky.' He pointed in the direction which Thoren and the armies had taken. 'I am not well acquainted with the Lady Galadriel, but I am sure that it was her doing.'

And if Lady Galadriel was flashing lights and performing all sorts of highly visible magical acts, then it was almost sure that a battle was now ongoing. Cathy had been here before, watching the horizon from this very spot. Three days she had stood here, watching and waiting. Then she had only the clouds to go on. There was nothing she could see now. Whatever the elven lady had done, it appeared to have finished.

Because we won or because we lost?

There was no way to tell, not from here.

'Can you see anything else?' she asked of Aerandir.

He did not answer that immediately; he looked to the sky, first southeast, then south. His face could as well have been hewn from marble for all that it gave away. It was one of the single most vexing traits elves possessed; a body could never read their face to discern their thoughts and emotions. She forced herself to hold her tongue and not press him. After all, he was the one who was doing her a favour and so far she had not exactly exhausted herself thanking him for those services.

She waited for what felt like an age, but was likely closer to only a few minutes.

'The Enemy's clouds are on the southern horizon,' Aerandir announced without preamble.

She knew she would not return to the party.

Thráin

'All this swaying makes me feel as though I am on a boat in the middle of the sea,' Thráin declared. Most of his folk did not go to sea – they were far more at ease where there was steady ground beneath their feet – but Thráin was not much like his own people in many ways and his travels had taken him to the sea several times. He could not say that he particularly relished the experience, but it was a quick way to travel when the wind was on his side.

'You have been to sea then?' Legolas asked interestedly. The elf was behind him. In the dark and far above the ground his eyes were a dire necessity.

'Aye, though the last time was some years ago.' Thráin recalled now that in the book Legolas had eventually developed something of an obsession for the sea. He doubted that would now come to pass; the elf's road would lead him to many dangerous places, but never to the shores of the sea. 'And I found the sight of the ocean pretty enough, but travelling by ship is not something I would undertake again unless I had no other choice. Give me steady ground beneath my feet and I'll be content.'

Dwarves were not made to ride or sail. Their Maker had intended them to be grounded and on the ground was where they felt most at ease. Being lifted so far above it was a far cry from the quiet comfort of being surrounded by rock on all sides.

Having said that, riding a Mûmak was the quickest way to move from one place to another. The message Faramir had received made it plain that Sauron was launching his attack on Osgiliath the moment his troops could get there, so it was of paramount importance that they got there first. The best way to achieve this was to load everyone into the huts on the backs of the Mûmakil and move as quickly as they were able. Mûmakil, if left to their own devices, preferred to move at a pace that would be matched by a particularly lazy snail, but Hadnor had reluctantly taught him a command that would urge a Mûmak to move at more of a trot. And true enough, the pace was brisk, but the jolting and swaying had increased tenfold. Thráin had found himself forced to strap his legs to the saddle to prevent being ejected from said saddle and onto the ground.

He much preferred a four-legged mode of transport that moved a little closer to the ground. He spared a thought for his kinsman, who did not care so much for this movement either; last time he had laid eyes on him, his complexion was suspiciously tinged with green.

'Is our way still clear?' he asked the elf.

Legolas cast his gaze about. 'Yes,' he said. 'But I see movement to the south.'

He had seen that for most of the journey. The eyes of elves were so keen that they could see many things that others could not. This was not news to Thráin. It was the very reason why Legolas was up here with him.

'Coming closer?'

'Moving parallel,' Legolas replied. 'They too are headed where we are headed.'

It was not good news. 'Can we get there before they do?'

Legolas took his time in answering, which in itself was not terribly encouraging. 'If we can continue at this speed.'

Thráin had heard it tell that Mûmakil had great endurance and that they could keep going for days. So far that was true enough. They had been on the move since yesterday morning. They had stopped to sleep last night, but this past morning Legolas had first spied their foe and no more delays had been had since then. By now all were sick and tired of the continuous motion of the beasts they rode, but it was still better than being caught by the Enemy.

'Are the others still with us?'

Thráin rode Teddy at the head of the column. Faramir had taken charge of the Mûmak who had the dubious honour of being named after Thráin's uncle and two other rangers guided the beasts now known as Old Stomper – named by Sam for its most obvious talent – and Lucky Lady. Teddy was by far the biggest of these four and thus best suited to walk at the front.

Legolas looked. 'They are.'

Thráin looked south, but he saw nothing of what Legolas saw. The Enemy forces must be too far away. Only elf eyes could spy them. At least it meant that the foe could not see them either, which was all for the best.

'Any of their riders on wings with them?' he asked. Orcs he could fight and should it come to it, he gladly would. But that rider was made of a sorcery so foul that it could not be fought. He remembered the dread sinking into his very bones and imagined facing that. It could not possibly end well.

His newfound friend needed longer before he replied this time. He scoured the sky and Thráin left him to it. He knew the beasts could go faster than they currently did, though he was loath to try it; the jolting was bad enough as it was. If he gave the order now he might dislodge the elf.

'Three shapes fly with them,' Legolas reported. 'They play tricks on my eyes, but there are three.'

'At least?' Thráin suggested.

Legolas reluctantly agreed. 'I cannot tell if it is their foul sorcery or the Ring that hinders me,' he added.

'Does the Ring not enhance your senses?' It did for everyone so far, even if the way it was done was unnatural and unpleasant.

'Just so,' Legolas agreed. 'But I fear that it plays tricks on me in this. It wants to return to its Master. Why should it aid us in evading him?'

He made a fair point.

For a while nothing was heard or seen of the Enemy. Legolas guided him so that Thráin did not steer Teddy into a tree. If it should come to that, the tree was bound to come off worst in such an encounter – as demonstrated the previous day – but to the extreme discomfort of the riders in the hut at the top, so all things considered it was a thing best avoided.

An hour passed before Legolas spoke again. 'There is movement to the north.'

A chill started in Thráin's neck from where it travelled all the way down his spine until he was chilled to the bone. 'How close?'

The answer was not encouraging. 'Too close.'

The discomfort of the others was a burden he had to bear then. 'Signal that we are increasing speed.'

He set a good example by urging Teddy from a trot to the nearest thing a Mûmak could manage to a gallop. It was a good thing that he had ensured that he was securely strapped to the saddle, because it was not comfortable. But even he could see lights in the distance now and had Teddy's thundering across the landscape not drowned out all other sounds, he felt sure that he could have heard sounds on the wind as well.

Damn and blast, Beth might have said. It covered his own opinion of their current predicament quite well. How had they come so close without being noticed? They were much nearer than their shadows to the south. Not for the first time – nor the last time, he was sure – he cursed Sauron's foul magic to the farthest reaches of the void.

He did not need Legolas to tell him that the Enemy gained on them. The lights of their troops were much closer now than they had been. Even above the din of Teddy's progress he heard other sounds now.

'Any of their wraiths?' he asked.

He knew from the book that there were supposed to be nine of them. Three of those had gone north to make war on his homeland and three others now flew with the army south of them. Even a fool could easily calculate that this left three others to accompany the northern force. He could not see them with the naked eye, but if they were there Legolas could.

His answer was swift this time. 'None.'

'Are you sure?' It seemed unlike Sauron to hold any of them back.

This vexed him. 'I believe my eyes are better than yours, Master Dwarf,' he replied in the long-suffering put-upon tone all elves mastered before they even learned to walk. 'If you would see for yourself, you may take this cursed Ring and see if it offers any more clarity.'

He had not meant to start a fight, but he ought to have remembered that one who carried the Ring had a shorter temper while he carried it. Legolas bore it better than most of them did, but even he fell victim to its manipulations once in a while.

Thráin refused on principle to do anything that the Ring would wish him to do, so he acknowledged the new information with a simple 'very well.' Carrying on a conversation while on the back of a Mûmak that moved at speed was not an easy feat at any rate. He'd sooner keep his gaze fixed on what was ahead of them.

He did not know what the Enemy used to carry them over the land. Orcs could not run fast enough to keep up and the idea that any horse would willingly bear one of that foul race was laughable. But he recalled that Sauron had Easterlings and Haradrim in his service and that they could ride well enough. Most horses shied away from Mûmakil, true enough, but he would bet all the gold under the Mountain that the Haradrim at least knew how to kill the beasts they so often rode into battle.

But men were the least of their problems. A scream tore the air apart and this was one sound that Thráin knew and dreaded in equal measure. He had heard it only once before, but even if he lived to be a thousand years old, he knew he would always be able to remember it with perfect clarity.

Worse than the noise was the fear that followed in its wake. Thráin knew what to expect and he braced himself against it, for what little good that it did. It ripped his defences apart and left them in the dust. If he hadn't been strapped to the saddle, he might have jumped only because the ground was farther away from the source. It would do him little good, but the fear clouded his thoughts.

It did far worse to the Mûmak. It was not sentient and it did not understand what happened, but evidently it knew it had been reduced to prey instead of being the hunter, the most dreadful thing for miles around. It bolted. Presumably the effect was much the same on the other beasts; Thráin did not look back to check. But as far as he could tell it was still heading in the right direction.

He struggled against the tides of terror and won. It might have been different if the Nazgûl directed its full power against him alone, but that did not appear to be the case. 'Legolas, where are they?' he demanded. He was not blind in this darkness, but it took all his effort to steer Teddy – at this point slowing down was not an option, so he did not try – and taking his eyes off the road ahead was likely to prove disastrous.

No answer was given.

So he repeated his question.

Again his words were met only by silence.

Another screech made him want to run in fear for his life, but it was easier to withstand a second time. Men screamed in fright in the hut on Teddy's back. The Nazgûl was closer now than it had been that first time, though he still couldn't see it. That was why Legolas was here with him; so that he may tell the dwarf what it was that the dwarf could not see.

He had unexpectedly failed in the execution of that duty, so Thráin risked a glance behind him. What he saw was not what he had anticipated in the slightest.

During that first encounter Legolas had not been unaffected, but he had withstood the unnatural fear better than the rest of them and for this Thráin admired him. But the elf was not as strong now. He held on for dear life to the tack that kept the saddle in place, as he had done for most of the night, but the expression on his face was not one Thráin had witnessed before.

He struggled for a word to describe what he saw, but the closest he came was by comparing Legolas to Frodo as he had been when the Nazgûl first flew over them. His gaze was unfocussed. Drops of sweat – most unusual for an elf – formed on his forehead.

'Legolas!' he shouted.

That wretched thrice-cursed Ring! It was pure evil. Did it sense that its salvation was close? Over these past months Thráin had become ever more convinced that it was sentient and aware of its surroundings to a certain extent, though he was unsure just how far its extent was. But surely it understood something of what was going on, because it dangled on its chain around Legolas's neck for all to see. Thráin was not so bothered by the sight now – he had seen it too many times – but he reckoned that a Nazgûl could see it if it came close enough.

Durin's stinking… Argh, Mahal be bloody good!

There was nothing else for it. He did not want the Ring to fall into the wrong hands – meaning hands belonging to any other than a member of the Fellowship – and he did not particularly want Legolas to die either. The elf's grasp was slipping, more so because one of his hands was going for the Ring, as Frodo had done when the Nazgûl came calling.

'Shoot it!' he bellowed at his friends in the hut.

He had no bow and arrow at his disposal; they were strapped to Legolas's back. Even if he had them in his hands, he could not do much with them. He was never more than a middling archer on a good day and secured into place as he was, he would never be able to get an arrow in the right direction. Turning in the saddle was a trial, yet for Legolas's sake he had to try.

'Don't touch it!' he shouted at Legolas, who showed no sign of hearing him. 'Come on, elf, use those pointy ears and listen to me!'

Legolas was almost out of reach, but his eyes met Thráin's. 'There is no need to shout, my dwarvish friend,' he said with all his usual eloquence. His gaze, however, remained oddly unfocussed. 'I know what I must do.'

He let go.


Next time: Thráin's venturing into the realm of recklessness. Again. Is it even surprising at this stage?

Thank you so much for reading! Your feedback/reviews would be very welcome.