Tom, Farrimer and Bilbo had lost track of time. From the regular (and plentiful) meals it felt as though it was at least four or five days. Whilst their gaolers had not been inattentive of their needs, they had made it very clear that leaving the room in which they had been incarcerated would be resisted. Something the Hobbits did not relish. The result was that they had fallen into a sullen reverie from which they were rudely shaken by the sounds of running hob-nailed boots and shouting from outside their cell.
Alarmed at the consternation being shown by their hosts, Tom called out. "'Ere what be goin' on them?"
He got no reply, but the dwarf that had guarded their cell had disappeared.
Uncertain as to the reason he ventured forth into the passageway, the other two following him. They had no idea of which way would be safest, there was noise coming at them from both directions and the passage was only dimly lit by the occasional torches, so they set off in the direction that they hoped would lead them back to the audience chamber. Farrimer helping himself to one of the burning torches to light their way as they went.
The passage came to a fork that none of them remembered. A short debate had them following the wider passage on the left. It sloped gently downwards through a gentle series of turns, finally depositing them into the audience cavern.
It looked more than ever like a widened cave than it had been before. Over sixty dwarves were milling around shouting at each other in obvious confusion. In the midst of the melee upon their dais stood Grydore, trying to make himself heard.
Unfortunate for the Hobbits was the fact that they were spotted before they could flee again. "Grab them!" Grydore bellowed, pointing in their direction.
It was more unfortunate still that the order was obeyed. They were set upon by eight dwarves before they could act and dragged before Grydore.
He gazed upon them critically before saying. "You will fit perfectly! Follow me!"
With little choice, they followed him through a maze of passages until they arrived upon a small opening. There Grydore measured them again.
"You can pass through that gap?" He demanded.
"Why?" Farrimer demanded forcefully.
"There are three dwarves trapped inside. One is Farin. I need you to take tools to help dig themselves out," Grydore explained impatiently, handing them tools and pushing them for the gap. "Nobody else can get through and we can't begin to dig until we've shored up. Now get on."
The gap turned into a tunnel more than thirty feet in length and the Hobbits were forced to crawl for much of it past cracks lined with jagged quartz. Grydore had been right about it being impossible for Dwarves to pass.
More surprising was that the tunnel at the end of the blockage was empty. So to was the next 80 yards of tunnel. The Hobbits, curious as to where the distressed and missing dwarves were, followed it.
They found them in a small cave off of the passage and rather more interested in another rock face than the fall that cut them off from the rest of the world.
The reason for their apparent interest was revealed as another small dark fissure in which a dwarf was stuck fast. Or so it looked to the three Hobbits as they darted forward to help.
"Get off. You little fools!" Borin emerged red in the face and kicking furiously at his three would be rescuers. "I was trying to get through!"
"But we were told you were trapped!" Bilco expostulated wildly, waving the short pick in his hand. "The roof's caved in!"
"Ah. Well that can't be helped," Farin admitted. "We'll have to do something about that later. This is more important. We think we've found it!"
"Found what?"
"The Mithril! It's behind this face and it's only a couple of strides thick!"
For the second time that day the Hobbits found themselves being measured up by calloused eye. "If you could get through and get some samples?" Farin suggested. "Then we can see about releasing you?"
They were given little opportunity of refusing as calloused hands pushed them forward.
"Just a few handfuls of ore is all we need," Farin assured them.
The walls of the small cave the Hobbits found themselves in, shone with a deep silver lustre. Reflecting the light of the feeble torch many fold, leaving stunted shadows with no physical shapes in the grey light.
It was, Tom found, unnerving in the extreme, seeing all the walls as smooth surfaces, but finding them deeply and roughly hewn. He took an experimental swing with his pick at the surface. The tool glanced off leaving no visible mark upon the surface. The task was going to be harder than anybody had hinted at.
"I think we will have to find something to work at?" Farrimer suggested examining the surface with him. "I think there is a crack here, lets see if we can get the lever in?"
Whilst Farrimer and Tom worked at the virgin wall, Bilbo explored their surrounds, hoping to find a loose rock to fulfil the requirements of the Dwarves outside. It was he therefore that fell over the casket.
It was small, barely the imprint of his foot in size and the same grey colour as the floors and walls. Carefully inset into the floor with only the top 4 inches showing, it had not moved when he had kicked it, but lifted easily when he had picked it up to investigate.
Although the top was deeply carved in runes, it was completely unadorned in decoration or device. The runes were not in a style he could recognise either, he guessed they were ancient Elvish or perhaps a Dwarf dialect. Peevishly he attempted to open it, before calling his friends. Neither of whom could make any more sense of the strange box, or able to make any better progress in opening it. In the end they dragged it back the way they had come for Farin to consider.
The small Dwarf company were, if anything, more surprised than the Hobbits at the appearance of the strange casket. Farin turning it over time and again to find any new clues as to its identity. The script on top meaning nothing to him. Finally he attacked the lid with an axe and lever.
The catches broke with an audible crack and the lid fell back, everybody craning forward to get a better view.
"But there is nowt in it!" Tom protested. "Just dust!" To prove his point he stirred his stubby finger in the fine grey ash and watched as it billowed in a thin cloud around it.
Farin was even less impressed. "Pah," he cursed, kicking it over and returning his attention again to the hobbits. "Just something that was left behind. Not even particularly good workmanship either. Probably why it was left. We'll make better! Now where are my samples?"
The Hobbits ignored him, watching, mesmerised by something behind him.
"If you haven't got them it may go bad," Farin threatened, annoyed at being ignored so. "Now take these tools."
"Still the Hobbits said nothing and it dawned upon Farin that there was something else happening behind him.
He turned slowly. The small pile of ash that had been inside the box was billowing up in a cloud of fog as if blown by a draft and leaning towards the nearest torch. Small flecks of light flickering inside. Farin felt a sudden chill thread of dread grip his spine.
The first whisps of fog caught the torch and it spluttered before dying away. As if it were a signal, panic exploded amongst those in the cave. The Hobbits dropped their tools and darted for the exit, not waiting to see what happened next. All sound died behind them as they dived into the narrow tunnel left by the rock fall.
"What is happening?" Grydore demanded, grabbing Bilbo and shaking him, as the three Hobbits appeared, red in the face and panting hard.
Bilbo pointed wildly back the way they had come and tried to speak. "Back there!" He gasped, shaking himself free and running blindly on up the tunnel.
For a moment Grydore considered sending dwarves to catch them. Whatever they had seen had terrified them and he wanted to know what. In the end he signalled at the company with him. "Start digging."
Twenty minutes later the first of the white vapour started to ooze from around rocks and through cracks. Its presence unnoticed by industrious Dwarves as they worked.
Then as Grydore watched, Farst, a stocky dwarf busy driving a wedge into a crack, started to change. His black boots blanching white, where they were touched by the thin mist laying around them. The blanching continued up his legs and his actions became slower, more mechanical, until like a wound down clock work toy he stopped in mid swing of his hammer.
The whole process took just a few minutes, but Grydore watched in fascination. The danger not burning itself into his mind until a second and third dwarf came to a standstill in a stoney stance. Then he screamed a warning and bolted up the tunnel, followed by as many as could. Six others were were less fortunate. Their legs and been claimed and all their struggling could achieve was to fall and watch in mute horror.
