Chapter 16 Flight into Danger


Despite her bravado, Othmiel was hurting and her normal sprightly pace was much slowed, even with the attentive support from Malindron. He, himself was in little better condition, despite the Dwarf ministrations, there was little that could be done to prevent his wound opening again.

Worse it became evident that the Wargs were now roaming the main passages of the mine at will. With only six Dwarves left from the fourteen that had totalled the both original parties and all of those sporting injuries, minor or greater, Grydore was less than inclined to challenge them where they met. Instead he was forced to lead the party through smaller often neglected tunnels, forcing all to crawl over fallen rocks and down passages where even Hobbits needed to duck their heads, reducing their pace further. All the time they sensed the downwards progress.

Perhaps hours turned into days as they followed the ageing but firey Dwarf. The final straw came as they passed into a tunnel so small that all parties were forced to hands and knees to pass. After perhaps 5 yards it opened again into a small cave. Here Grydore grudgingly called a halt to rest and tend what wounds they could.

"Do you know where we are?" Farrimer voiced a thought that was in all minds. "All those turns have got us lost."

"We are not lost," Grydore assured him wistfully. "I remember this cave. This is Working level 8," he waved expansively at the walls rich in purple clay. "It was a gem working between shafts 5 and 7. Rich in Emerald and Ruby. It was worked out, but we used to pull perhaps four stone of gems a week from this little working and not small ones either, big ones the size of my fist!" He clenched his gnarled fist and showed it to them to demonstrate, before shaking his head, as if to clear it of those thoughts of happier times. "We have been forced too low in the mine. We are six levels below the main entrance. There is no way from here to gain either that, or the old upper door." He pointed towards the caves other entrance before continuing again with the bad news. "Yonder passage will lead us to the workings where Valtar was found. It seems as if we will be with you after all when you face it, My Lady Elf!" He finished in resignation. "But for a little while we should be safe until the lady Othmiel has recovered."

Othmiel rose to her feet despite her brothers protests and faced Grydore. "You need not come," she declared levelly. "You have brought us to the door of our bane. Only Elven magics will stop it and those you have declared do not work. Perhaps you and your people can make your escape whilst we are distracting Valtar?"

Grydore bristled at the accusation. "Dwarves are many things, but we are not cowards," he snapped. "Nor does it seem likely two elves will keep Valtar busy enough for us to escape. We are here, we cannot escape and we will not die hiding!"

He turned sharply on his heel, calling the remains of his small band together and headed for the entrance he had pointed to earlier. They were followed by Malindron and Othmiel and finally by the Hobbit's, wondering at what effect the hostility between the Elves and Dwarves would have in the imminent battle.


Tom shivered, the tunnels of the Dwarf mine had always been cool, but the one they were in now was positively cold. A thin layer of condensation had formed on the walls, then frozen, leaving tiny stalactites of ice where it had begun to drip from the small imperfections of the Dwarf workings. He barely recognised it as the tunnel that he and his comrades had passed down a few days ago and had to take Grydore's assurance that it was so.

Othmiel on the other hand needed no such assurance. She resolutely drew a thin knife from her belt, turned and set off down the tunnel, Malindron beside her, his hunting knife bared and ready. Samwise also in close and resolute attendance.

The Dwarves followed, as did the three remaining Hobbits, hurrying in dread fascination for what was to transpire.

They rounded a corner and into a deep chill, that had little to do with physical temperature, it settled in hearts, Hobbit, Dwarf and Elf alike. It gripped with icy-fingers that crushed, bringing the desire to run a way. That simple impulse also denied them, as muscles refused to move, voluntarily or not, bringing them to a halt in terrified indecision.

From deep inside his pocket, Samwise once again felt the warming sensation of the Elven phial. Not as cruel as the first time it had flared, in the direct presence of Valtar. Slowly he struggled to bring hand in pocket and grasped the object, savouring the comfort brought, letting it chase away the fearful dread.

The sudden commencement of rhythmic clashing, swords on shields, brought the phial out of his pocket with a jerk, bathing his friends in bright white light that blinded them and rendering the torch they had carried pointless. The light was short lived, a savage blow dashed the phial from his hand. The phial, no longer in contact with its owner faded, but in the short duration he saw the reason.

In the few moments of paralysis they had been surrounded by Warg.

The brief light had brought all some comfort, enough for Grydore to scream, "The enemy is among us! To arms!" and throw an axe at his closest foe. His axe clattering uselessly against a shield as the dark and coldness descended upon them, drawing on its paralysing effects again.

"The phial!" Sam heard Malindron call as if through a pillow. "We need the phial!"

He ducked clumsily as he sensed another crushing blow coming his way and stumbled to his hands and knees.

"Get the phial!" Malindron was still calling through the fog of his mind, or perhaps it was Othmiel, he could not decide, his mind was becoming blank. He crawled forward in the direction he thought the phial had gone.

Somebody stumbled over him, sending him sprawling and he found himself in a plethora of legs, all kicking and tripping over him, until a strong hand gripped the back of his jacket and pulled him away.

"Get the Phial!" There was no mistaking Othmiel's voice this time, it screamed in his ear.

She dropped him to counter a blow sent towards her.

Desperately Sam crawled forward again. This time Othmiel beside him, her small blade occasionally flickering in the dark. His hand closed around a thin object and for a moment he felt it warm in his hand, then it was kicked from his grasp as Othmiel was struck a blow that sent her falling over him.

With a despairing lunge, that summoned the last of his strength before paralysis took over, he dived after itl. This time he caught it up securely in his hand and lifting it as high as he could from his prone position, he let it flare.

The sudden bright light fell foul upon the Wargs, bringing strength once again to their enemies, few as they were. In a desperate attempt to shut off the light a Warg towered over the prostrate Hobbit, his axe raised high to split the phial and owner clean in two, Sam closed his eye's in resignation.