It had been a disturbed rest for Tom and his friends. They had lost count of the number of times that a scraping of stone on rock had awakened them, yet for reasons unknown nothing had entered the room in which they and their small band of dwarf rescuers were hidden in.
The noises did stop eventually, but by that time nerves were too tightly strung to allow anybody to settle properly. It was therefore only a matter of time before thoughts and mutterings extended once again towards escape.
"We cannot remain here, Nain!" Kalath grumbled the loudest. "I would rather fight my way through the statues than wait for the white mist!"
"And those outside won't be able to find us. Even if they dared enter!"
"We fight our way out!"
The call for action from the Dwarves was unanimous.
The three Hobbits remained silent. Not relishing the prospect of fighting a path through, but fearing remaining hidden. Not that the Dwarves asked them, or invited them to join the escape attempt, resulting in the Hobbits having to hurry after the small war party.
The tunnels they progressed along appeared more empty than the day before, yet the feeling of being watched never left the party as they hurried forward. Not that the Dwarves were travelling with any form of stealth in mind. Torches in one hand and axes in the other, they tore down anonymous tunnels.
They were amidst the statues before they realised. Two statues fell when the leading dwarf ran into it in his surprise, before he could recover he received a hammer blow from a second that shattered the form he landed upon. An axe took Kalath in the chest, another sent Nain sprawling, A statue fell as a burly dwarf lashed out with his own. A third statue struck by a burning torch flared briefly in a sea of green flame, before tossing the torch bearer down the tunnel.
One by one the torches carried by the Dwarves were extinguished as their carriers dropped them in favour of trading a blow. Turning the scene into a riotous melee of dark shadows.
The three Hobbits, unable to identify friend from foe, backed away from the throng, until a burly white arm encircled Farrimer.
Tom and Bilbo span at Farrimer's strangled cry of alarm and without a moments thought charged into the moving statue, sending it toppling.
"Come on!!" Farrimer cried, springing up from the shattered remains. "Before any more turn up!"
Once again the Hobbits found themselves running for their lives, a pace they tried to increase as the sounds of pursuit reached their ears.
Diving into another small opening in their desperate attempt to lose their pursuers, all three were sent sprawling when they fell into a small knot of figures huddled near the centre of the tunnel.
"Stone Dwarves!" A startled cry of alarm rent the darkness around them. "They've found us!"
"They are Hobbits!" Only a cry from Nain who, in hot pursuit of the fleeing three, also panted into the tunnel, saved them from a certain death. Even so Bilbo received a glancing blow that gashed his skull and left him dazed on the ground.
There was several minutes of exhausted silence, before the voice of Samwise asked drily. "I thought I tol' you not to look for trouble? Still you seem to be alive an' I'm grateful for that."
Somewhere in the darkness around them a Dwarf found and lit a lantern. The dim light and its long shadows showed the group to be in a small cave. Apart from the small party of Hobbits, Dwarves and Elves it was empty. Few of its occupants without greater or lesser injuries.
It made a sorry sight to the three young Hobbits as they rubbed bruises and bandaged Farrimer's head. In the end it was Tom that asked the question that was upper most in their minds. "What be goin' on yer then?"
Samwise looked up from where he sat beside the two fallen Elves. "Seems the Dwarves awoke som'ing theElves buried here," he explained. "That's why these two are 'ere." He indicated his two patients. "The lady Othmiel can lay it to rest, an' Malindron is supposed to protect her."
"Sometimes Hobbit's, lay polite words aside for unfortunate truths," Malindron muttered quietly re-entering the world of the conscious. "My sister has dressed my wounds?"
"The Lady Othmiel lays by your side," observed pointed out. "Struck down by a statue. Three dwarves were slain protecting her."
Gingerly Malindron rose to kneel beside her. He sighed deeply. "We have failed and darkness is to shroud Middle Earth! Only Othmiel has the power to subdue Valtar."
"She is not dead, Elf," Grydore rejected, joining the conversation. As if to prove the point Othmiel did indeed moan in her dazed sleep.
"Nor are Elves the only ones that know how to dress and heal wounds," he added. "Dwarves know a thing or two about them too, she will recover soon. Now perhaps you can explain what we do now and exactly why we are fighting statues of ourselves?"
"You were told there were other dangers than Valtar's mist," Malindron pointed out, turning to face the Dwarf.
"But not us!" Grydore snapped.
"They aren't Dwarves anymore," Malindron protested earnestly, rising to his feet. "They are Wargs, creatures of Valtar. We did not know what their origins were, or expect so many to awaken so quickly. Much of our history regarding Valtar has faded. When Othmiel awakes, she must be brought to face Valtar."
"And what then, Elf?" Grydore demanded. His hand sought and griped the haft of his axe threateningly.
"She carries talismans that will contain him, until we can destroy him."
Malindron's voice was quiet, suggesting doubt, a point picked on immediately by the increasingly angry Dwarf. "You do not know how to use them, do you?"
Malindron coloured perceptibly to the accusation, proving its validity. "It is Elven Magic, it will work!" He protested.
For a moment it looked to Sam as if Grydore would strike out at Malindron. Malindron appeared to think much the same, his hand straying to the hunting knife at his belt.
"Be damned to your magic talismans, Elf!" Grydore snapped haughtily. Turning towards the remains of the Dwarves he called. "We are going to find a way out!"
He paused at the entrance to look over his shoulder. "You would be wise, Hobbits, to come with us and leave the fool Elves to do as they wish!"
For a moment the three younger Hobbits looked at each other for guidance, then far more firmly at Samwise. For a few moments he too wavered uncertainly, his chin deep on his chest in thought, then he straightened. "I don't reckons Hobbits are called on o'er much for their bravery," he said reflectively. "But Mr Gandalf. Mr Gandalf, he used to say, 'Hobbits are really amazing folk. They do nothing for scores of years, then when need be they knows what to fight for an' shame many larger folks!'. I reckons this is one of those times. We stay and do what be needed."
A brief smile was all Malindron managed in accepting the gesture, before the ominous sounds of screams and the clash of axes upon stone smote their ears.
"Appens, it be a good thought, Gaffer," Tom observed with a grimace. "I be thinking we still need to leave this place whilst we can."
Tom's words became prophetic as the Dwarves returned, Grydore in the lead, waving the shaft of his axe, the head broken. "There are too many Wargs to get past and they move faster than Orcs!" he shouted in fury. "We will have to out run them using the higher levels and work back. Is the Elf awake and able to run?"
"Othmiel is awake," Malindron agreed coldly. "I will help her, but we cannot travel fast!"
"Pick her up then," Grydore snapped the order. "The Hobbits will help, I cannot afford Dwarves, we will be too busy."
Othmiel was, as Malindron had stated, awake and had listened to much of the discussions as they wove around and over her. She resisted the attempts of Malindron and Samwise to lift her to her feet, rising on her own, struggling to mask the pain whilst fixing Grydore in her own disdainful glare. "I can still outpace a dwarf, injured as I am," she hissed in defiance. "And I will complete the task allotted to me, alone if need be!"
She sagged a little as the glares broke and leaned heavily upon Sam. "The aid of foolhardy and sturdy Hobbits will be needed and appreciated," she whispered with a sigh.
"They are coming!" A cry of warning from the entrance sped the proceedings in the cave up considerably. Malindron taking his sister firmly by the arm and half supporting her and half carrying her pushed her towards the entrance, the Hobbits close behind.
Before he left Grydore caught Samwise by the arm and whispered urgently. "We may be in need of your magic Master Hobbit. The phial you carry, it is safe? Perhaps you can use it against these Warg?"
Sam was nonplussed, he had forgotten the small Elven phial buried deep inside his pocket. Nor, when they had fallen into danger, had the object reminded him as it had when assailed by Valtar. It did not suggest itself as a reliable weapon. All the same he felt inside his jacket for the tube and pulled it out to check.
It sat innocently in his hand, reflecting a little of the light from their torches, refusing to like a weapon to strike terror into an enemy.
"Just make sure it sparks into life," Grydor hissed, ushering Sam forward.
