Merry felt such a mixture of anxiety and rage, it was a wonder he didn't burst. First Bill had almost thrown Frodo—that was enough to put his heart in his throat right there. Then Bill had bolted in one direction, followed almost immediately by Strider scooping up Frodo and sprinting off in another. The only thing Merry could do was try to run fast enough to keep Strider in sight, whilst holding far enough back so that Pippin and Sam didn't become lost in the forest. He ground his teeth, frustrated at Strider's precipitance, and only too fearful of whatever horror might come upon them from behind. At any moment it could catch them up, and perhaps snatch Pippin away in its jaws. Despite this fear, Merry daren't hold back for him; he couldn't risk losing Strider and Frodo in the dense woods.

Fortunately, he managed to close most of the gap whilst Strider was looking over a crevice in the rocky face of the cliff. Chest heaving, Merry crawled out of a steep gully that the Man had leapt across. He extended his hand towards Pippin, who, although winded, was fairly easy to pull up the bank. Both of them were needed to bring up Sam, whose feet scrabbled futilely at the crumbly soil, sliding as much backward with every step as he climbed forward. At length Pippin threw himself flat and seized Sam by his sword belt, gaining enough leverage to haul the sturdy hobbit onto solid ground. By then Strider had taken off with Frodo again. Merry cursed under his breath. Ignoring the stitch in his side, he staggered into a run to follow.

Strider quickly gained ground, his longer legs leaping over half-sunken boulders that Merry was forced to go round. At least Strider wasn't running full out any longer, Merry noted with wry relief. He seemed to be studying the cliff wall, perhaps looking for a place to shelter. And he was harder to lose, out here in the open. The trees thinned as they approached the rock face, leaving a clear area perhaps twenty feet wide. Merry supposed there wasn't enough sun at the base of the cliff to support the roaring forest that loomed black and ominous on his right.

Gasping, Pippin snatched his arm. "Do you hear it?"

Merry cocked his head. Something far away was crashing its way through the woods. It occurred to Merry, now that he was alerted to it, that he could feel the vibration of its footfalls through the earth. Whatever was closing on them must be huge.

Sam, wheezing like a bellows, pointed downslope. "Look!"

Merry looked ahead in time to see a distance-reduced Strider stepping into a great steepled notch in the rock. The apex of the opening joined in a peak at least the Ranger's height again above his head. Such a large cave might be big enough to accommodate a troll—Merry had no doubt that that was the monster that pursued them. Yet they must find shelter. He tightened his fists. "Come on!"

Apparently there was some sort of drop before the cave opening. In the tricky light, Merry almost ran straight off it into empty air, before he realized that the land fell away. He stopped with a jolt that was rewarded by Sam crashing into his backside, almost sending the both of them toppling down the uncertain height.

Pippin, drawing to a halt on Merry's opposite side, squawked and snatched at his elbow. He pointed behind them, uphill. Merry looked.

Enormous. So huge it defied comprehension. Merry had thought that Strider was tall. The behemoth charging along the cliff face towards them was at least twice that height. It was like a two-legged hill—solid as a wall, shaking the ground like thunder, and exuding a stench of offal that heralded its approach on the wind.

Merry seized Pippin's wrist. "Down, get down!" He swung his smaller cousin over the brink, stooping to take full advantage of their extended arms, and let go. Pippin fell perhaps his own height, landing with a grunt—a small, hunched bundle in the gloom. So, that was the distance; twice a hobbit's height, or a little more. Sam seized Merry's arm, as if to do the same for him—when a horrid shriek of such rage and hate broke out behind them, they both nearly jumped out of their skins. The two hobbits exchanged a terrified glance—then leaped off the embankment together.

Merry landed awkwardly on a stone, bruising the arch of his foot. Automatically his hands reached out to check his would-be face plant into the turf—fortunately. Heaven knows what other stones might be lurking, unseen in the murk. Before he could get his bearings, someone was hauling him desperately to his feet. "Go, go, go!" Pippin's voice. Merry careened after him as Pippin yanked him across the turf towards the cliff's dark opening. Merry could hear Sam puffing at his heels, but apparently the former gardener was too winded to utter a sound.

Just as Pippin and Merry were about to scramble into the cave mouth, an enormous leather-clad limb sprouted from the pitch blackness inside, planting itself in their path. Pippin cried out and jumped back, tangling with Merry. Merry seized his young cousin about the shoulders to keep him from stumbling, automatically lurching away from the enormous being.

An oversized arm detached itself from the darkness. It gripped Pippin by the waistcoat. "Come inside, quickly!" Pippin was snatched off his feet, and vanished into the cave mouth.

Strider. Heart hammering, Merry hurried after the Man into the gloom. He could hardly make out the stone floor more than three steps inside. He wondered how Strider was able to see.

There was some scuffling in front of him, high above his head.

"Stay with Frodo," Strider commanded. "Guard him. I have taken his dagger, and he is unarmed."

"Yes, Strider," came Pippin's chastened, quaky voice.

With no vision to warn him, Merry was unprepared for the pair of large hands that suddenly gripped him by the arms. He yelped as he was hoisted into the air. An unseen rock shelf scraped his toes. Hastily, Merry tucked his feet close to his body. Grit-covered stone met his knees, and he was released onto a high shelf. A body radiated warmth beside him. Beyond it, raspy breath told him where Pippin had come to rest. The hobbit beside him must be Frodo.

Merry looked back towards the entrance. To his relief, he could see. The relative lightness of the night made the patch of ground before the cave entrance luridly visible. Under the arch of the opening, the black silhouette of a hobbit stooped, hand moving rapidly from the cave floor to a makeshift sack formed from his cloak. He appeared to be harvesting beets, plucking them up frantically, and dropping each of them into his cloak sack with a small, sharp tick.

The tall shape that was Strider closed in on the small one. Stooped over like that, even the sturdy Sam came only to the Man's knee. The long arms stretched out. "Hurry, Sam."

"Half a moment, Mr. Strider, sir!" Sam's voice squeaked, but in excitement, not terror. His hand scrabbled frantically over the cave floor.

"Now," said Strider, and lifted the hobbit straight up. Sam squawked as he was swung into the darkness. Merry sympathized with that helpless feeling. Fortunately, Merry could now see well enough to guide Sam towards a somewhat more cushioned landing on the rock shelf than his own. Sam tumbled forward as Strider released him. A pile of objects clattered from his cloak, scattering over the ledge. Merry automatically reached for one that rolled into his knee. A… rock?

Sam smothered a yelp. Frodo's voice was concerned. "Sam, are you hurt?"

"No." He plunked down on the stone ledge between Frodo and Merry, his shape barely discernable in the dark. "Just knelt on a stone."

Pippin's voice was hesitant. "You brought up… stones?"

"For throwin'," Sam panted, still vastly short of breath. "I didn't like the idea of that monster getting close enough as I'd have to use my dagger on him, not when I could keep a bit of distance between."

Stones! Merry berated himself for an ass. Why hadn't he thought of grabbing some rocks himself, whilst Pippin was lifted to safety?

The hiss of metal on scabbard drew Merry's attention downward. He could just make out the top of Strider's head, as he lingered near the rock shelf onto which he had deposited the hobbits. It was odd to be looking down at Strider, instead of upwards at his chin. Merry reckoned they must be seven feet off the ground. The rock shelf was about the same distance inside the mouth of the cave. Would it be deep enough to hold the monster off?

Merry wiped a sweaty palm against his breeches, and took a fresh grip on his sword. He could not forget the sheer size of the brute that had chased them along the front of the cliff face. Merry swallowed. No. The seven feet into the cave would not be nearly deep enough for protection, particularly if the creature managed to force his way in.

A roar came from close at hand, sending Merry's heart into his mouth. He shifted the sword to his left hand, and snatched up a stone in his right. He held it ready, arm cocked, and stared at the narrow opening.

A crash shook the stone beneath his knees. Outside, two enormous grey legs, like the pillars of trees, hit the ground below the Man-high drop. The creature now stood directly in front of the cave, some ten feet beyond its mouth. Merry hefted the stone, ready to let it fly.

The creature did not approach. Before it could recover from its fall, a dark shape burst from the cave mouth: Strider. A blade flickered in either hand: the one in his left, elegant, leaf-shaped, perfectly crafted to be a fighting tool of a Man, having been crafted by Men long ago. Frodo's blade, twin of the one that Merry clasped in his own slippery palm, as doubtless Sam and Pippin were now doing with theirs.

In the Man's other hand gleamed a blade so keen it seemed to emit a light of its own, though no moon had yet risen. Its too-short length made it seem stocky, awkward, its jagged edge like an open wound on the night air. The Blade that was Broken. Merry felt the wrongness of it, like a jarring in his blood. The edge glimmered like molten ice, arresting his vision and holding it. It should be whole. It should have the graceful length that suited its design and its purpose: to slay the enemies of those who would be free, and bring low the legions of darkness.

All this passed through Merry's mind in the fraction of an instant. The next moment, with a roar, Strider leaped forward to engage their foe.