Gold-sickness.

That's what they said behind his back. They thought that he couldn't hear them when they huddled together and whispered. But the cavernous halls of the mountain carried echoes, and carried them well. He had heard every little moan and prattle about how he had changed: how he was obsessed and addicted to gold. But that couldn't have been right. He felt the same as he always had. The only difference was his hunger to find that which he knew lay buried beneath their feet, somewhere. The Arkenstone couldn't elude him, not forever. He'd slit every wagging tongue around him to prove a point. There was no time for idle chatter. The search would continue until either they found it or died of starvation.

He stood behind the stone fortification that they had built many days ago, observing the land through a small gap in the rocks. In his hand, he held a ruby pendant strung along a thin gold chain. Slowly, he slid the minute links through his fingers. Back when they had reclaimed the mountain, the feel of gold against his skin brought a lightning sense of euphoria. But now he felt nothing. As his patience waned, so did the thrill of fondling his many riches. Only the Arkenstone in his hands could satisfy him now.

There was a silhouette crossing the barren land in the distance. He watched it approach with trepidation. The way that it moved was off, and the space around it wriggled like the heat from a boiling pot. He closed his eyes and breathed in deep, willing himself to maintain his grasp on his mind. Lately, he had been suffering from intense headaches and the mirages that they brought on. Balin had voiced his concerns: you have to eat something. There will be no use in finding the Arkenstone if you perish. It was true. Their rations had decreased drastically. Thorin couldn't remember the last time that he ate something, or even drank water. His body was beginning to fail him, but he had no time for remedying it.

Still, the figure drew closer. Whoever it was, they were tall - easily over seven feet. That ruled out the possibility of them being a Dwarve, and their stooped gait was not that of an Elf. One leg seemed to drag limp along the ground while the other shuffled forward, kicking up dust. There was a staff of sorts with a large, bulbous end that the figure stamped on the ground as they walked. But were they a mirage? Were they friend, or foe? It was hard to tell from the distance.

Thorin leaned forward until his forehead was pressed against the rocks above him. He couldn't deny - there was an air about the figure that intrigued him greatly. A low, woody whistle rode the wind along with a hollow clattering. He could see now that it was a woman in high leather boots that rose to her knees. The front of her shirt was covered in what he thought was sparse white armor that clattered as she moved. But, as she drew in closer, he realized that they were an array of sun-tarnished rib bones strung with anatomic correctness along her pale yellow shirt.

Finally, she reached the stone doorway. So tall was she that she had to stoop down with a pained grunt to meet his eye through the hole. Something dropped from the corner of her mouth and he realized that she had been blowing upon a bone-whittled whistle.

"Ehma talkin' to da King Under da Moun'n?" She asked in a voice much deeper than he had ever heard come from a woman. He stared at her, trying to figure out why he felt so unsettled by the sight of her face.

"You are," he finally said, graciously enough.

"Got some news dat mi' in'trest you."

"Do you now?"

Such a slow voice! Her vernacular was strange, and yet he was somehow able to understand it. The right corner of her lips remained stuck in place as she spoke, hence the dropping of certain syllables. He had seen such a thing before in Dale amongst the elderly and the sick. It was a paralysis of sorts that must have taken over the entire right side of her body. Her right arm hung limp beneath its sleeve as she rested her left fist against the doorway. The object that she had been holding was actually a large, ungainly hammer placed at the end of a long metal staff which now rested beside her.

"I'm listening," he said, careful to hide the fact that he was unnerved by the abnormality of her small, close-set eyes.

"Saw a pack o' Dwars lee da Moun'n yesterday mornin'," she said. "Brough' wit'ehm alotta bags, loo' like fill wi' gold."

"What?" Thorin exclaimed.

"Three of 'em. Two boys 'n a dar' lil girl."

Two boys and a dark little girl.

Thorin did a mental count of all the Dwarves that he had seen that morning and realized that Nadi, Fili, and Kili hadn't been amongst them. He roared and struck the stones with his fist. So Nadi had done it. She had convinced his dear, loyal nephews to run away with her. Thorin had no doubt in his heart that she was the one who had orchestrated the ordeal. He had had his suspicions about her for the longest, and yet the thought of her corrupting his nephews was a blow that he could have never suspected.

"That sniveling, conniving little fork-tongued temptress," he muttered to himself in Khuzdul. His assumptions about her methods of persuasion over his nephews were not wholly kind or pure.

"I know dehrs a story 'bou'dat," the strange woman muttered. "Dem dar' Dwars were curse'. Been burn' by da grea' Lord Mahal. Boun'ta sin evasince."

"Of course, she among us would be the one to lead them astray." Something occurred to him and he looked up at her suspiciously. "Who are you? How do you know the private tales of my people?"

"Imma wander-er," she said with some difficulty. She gave an uncomfortable moan - the only feminine sound to have come from her - as she adjusted her arm on the stone wall. "'n I lie chasin' lil mice."

"You seek out bounties," he said with an impressed tilt of his chin.

"Do you wanna back?"

It took Thorin a moment to realize that she had asked do you want her back? In reference to Nadi.He looked away from the wall and considered this. It was fine with him if Fili and Kili left. They would never dare to cross him by taking the stone away from the mountain. But Nadi could not be trusted. It was possible that she still had the stone and had decided to carry it away and, for whatever reason, she had convinced his nephews to join. This caused a hot sense of rage to well within him and he struck the stone again.

"Bring her to me," he said between clenched teeth.

The woman uncurled from her stooped position, gave a stretch, and then stooped back down again to look at him with her tiny eyes. "You wan' her body warm or cold?"

"Cold. What is your price?"

The woman tilted her chin at him. "Dat der, in ya hans."

He looked down and saw that she was referring to the pendant in his hands. It was an admittedly expensive item and he had no desire to part with it. But his desire to see Nadi dead and delivered to him in a bag was greater. He handed it through the hole. The woman wrapped her long fingers about it and immediately set the gold chain between her teeth. Both the top of and bottom rows of her teeth were spaced far apart and had been shaved to sharp points. She yanked her head back like a dog tearing at leathery flesh and the gold links snapped. Then, she dropped the broken chain upon the ground and pocketed the pendant. Thorin stared with open bewilderment. Both her age and race were impossible for him to tell.

"What's your name?" He asked.

A small bird flit down from above them and landed a few feet away from her boots. Without hesitation, the woman lifted her hammer with a grunt and smashed it against the poor creature, hard enough to split the stone beneath its broken body. Then, she held his eye as she licked the end of her bone whistle and simply said, "Khurza."

With that, she stuck the whistle back in her mouth, shouldered her hammer, and trudged away. Thorin watched her go as the eerie sound of the whistle floated back to him. Though he tried to convince himself that he deserved vengeance through the death of Nadi, he couldn't help but feel as if he had made a grave mistake. Though the bird that Khurza had attacked with her hammer was dead, its body still twitched and spasmed in its pool of bloody feathers.

If all went according to plan, then Nadi would soon meet the same fate.