We all leapt back on Radagast's chariot, retreating from the gate as gallons of scalding liquid rained down from above.

Aragorn extended a hand to me. "Hand me those golden arrowheads. I have an idea."

I gave him one, and he fitted shafts with them, firing a shot at the man with the boiling oil. The arrow struck true, and not only that, pierced the man's armor.

He toppled over backwards, leaving the oil to spill aimlessly upon the drawbridge.

Radagast pointed to the parapets, muttering like an ermine. I nodded in response.

Moments later, a company of archers appeared atop the wall, drawing back their bowstrings. We were already gone.

Minas Tirith is built along the side of a mountain, a facet we fully intended to exploit in order to avoid attack.

Although we faced a vast castle and surrounding citadel, extending several miles across, our chariot with its surprisingly strong woodland creatures at the fore soon brought us away from the sights of bowmen.

The sled continued further along, passing behind the mountain.

Radagast asked if we had an idea about what to do next, or if we had no need of his services. I directed this inquiry to the king.

Aragorn pointed to the mountain face. "We must find the thieves entrance, the hidden gateway that connects cavern to the inner citadel."

I frowned at the immense mounds of granite, the near insurmountable rugged shelves and boulders. "Have you any thoughts on where to commence this endeavor?"

Aragorn shook his head. "None."

We climbed the boulders, ascending and descending over the hills and ridges with such frequency that I began to wonder if I had become a mountain goat. Well, I reflected, an old mountain goat.

My smelly, mumbling companion proved to be surprisingly spry for his age, keeping pace with the ranger at a faster pace than I could manage. Of course, I hadn't been trying very hard. I didn't see the point.

When all hope had been lost, and even the young Hobbit began to tire, Striderd pause before a patch of dirt, drawing a diagram with one of his arrows. "How foolish of me, to not know the lay of one's own castle!"

He sketched out the citadel, tracing the edges, the structures, the passages and tunnels, pointed to a square at the rear wall. "I believe this to be the site of a disused cistern. I do not doubt an occasional smuggler has made use of it, despite the royal orders to block the passage. The passage of the right sort of coin could unblock any barrier. The only question is whether the passage that connects to it can be found directly from where the cistern is located, or if its exit lay in a winding cavern coming out elsewhere. I suppose we'll find out soon enough."

I groaned as I followed him over another ridge.

Weary of this game, I seated myself on a boulder and let the others do all the walking. Despite all my adventures in which I patiently endured mile upon mile of brisk marching, I don't pursue the activity for mere enjoyment. Not at my age.

After passing some time idly studying the mountain's rocky features from this vantage point, my keep powers of perception detected an unusual looking fissure adjacent to a large boulder. Upon a whim, I clambered up the grade to peer at it more closely, and stumbled upon an opening in the wall. I called the others over.

At first, the small cavern appeared to be a dead end, but it seemed oddly dry and tidy for something seldom touched by man. Still, I could find no point of entry. The passage appeared to come to an abrupt stop before a rock wall.

I sat upon a rock, frowning at the wall and its suspiciously smooth edges. Experimental pushes and tugs accomplished nothing, despite appearances. An enigma.

Radagast made us a torch, illuminating our ingress.

Nob, who had been wandering around outside in search of clues, returned to the cave bearing a dusty glass jar. "Look, Gandalf! Moonshine!"

I examined the container carefully. Whatever the container held, it appeared to be fresh, and only partially consumed. The amber color indicated that some sort of ale, not moonshine as he supposed. "Was this outside the cave?"

"Yes sir."

I set it down, knitting my brows in thought.

Aragorn knelt on the floor across from me. "Queer place, isn't it?" He stroked his beard, peering at the walls and floor.

He cleared a small mound of dust from the flat granite, uncovering something long and rope-like. "A most peculiar cord!"

When he lifted it to show me, the rock wall slowly turned sideways with an unpleasant grinding sound.

Aragorn grinned. "The devious scoundrels! I shall patronize their illegal establishments and buy considerable quantities of whatever it is they sell!"

Nob sampled the contents of his jar, immediately breaking into a coughing fit. "I would strongly reconsider, your highness! Tis most foul!"

The Orc snatched the jar out of his hands, sniffed it, then declared, "Tis urine."

Aragorn chuckled. "Rather an impulsive sort, isn't he?"

"And lacking a sense of smell," Skalg said.

I suppressed a laugh. "I think his nostrils are still full of myrrh."

Skalg snorted. "As is his head, it seems!"

On the other side of the wall, the cave continued, but since the smugglers apparently did not expect sheriffs or guards to pass through this way, they'd covered the walls with barrels and discarded glass jars.

A few torches hung on crude sconces, but it seemed a long time had passed since the last smuggler had set foot in the place, perhaps days. We used Radagast's torch to relight a few, cautiously making our way into the interior.

Music sounded up ahead, but I couldn't make out the words. Something about "Jaded ewes", I believe. The singer seemed very earnest about it.

The path forked, one end dropping into a deep chasm.

We turned the other way, and found ourselves staring down a long narrow tunnel choked with rows of massive slimy eggs, like the ones aboard the metal ship, some sealed and unopened, others apparently hatched.

The eggs exuded a foul smelling fog, which hung about the ground, obscuring our visibility of anything beneath, the stale air reeking of decay, urine, and something chemical. It seemed none had disturbed its stillness until our arrival. None save that elusive musician, whom we could now hear with greater clarity.

The voice and manner of style had altered significantly, but I could not imagine more than a handful of musicians being present in this cramped chamber with such a pathetically small or nonexistent audience.

Unless, of course, they sang to the eggs. What mad cult or religious order would occupy themselves with that sort of abandonment of reason?

"New paper taxes appear by the shore," they sang, if I recall the words correctly. "Waiting to take you away. Step in the cab with your head in the clouds and you're gone..." Apparently something to do with the magic of riding a horse drawn carriage. It made not one ounce of sense, but I found it captivating, to say the least.

"Losing in the skies with diamonds..."

The professionalism of their musical stylings...it betrayed a great wealth, and study. The amplification...unnaturally clear at such a great distance. The things one misses whilst being a hermit.

"Do you know anything of these minstrels?" I whispered to Aragorn.

"I can't confess that I do. Marvelous, though, is it not?"

"They say sirens dwell in the depths," Nob said. "And they lure the weak minded into their lair with beautiful song. If you believe in that sort of thing."

"I've never heard of a male siren before."

"Perhaps they can change their voices."

"Perhaps."

"Dare we get closer to these minstrels?" Aragorn asked. "And see whether or not it is a siren?"

Nob shook his head. "Tis exactly what curiosity a siren would use to entrap you, your highness."

"Tsk, tsk, Hobbit. An enlightened fellow such as yourself falling for such superstitions!"

"You may laugh, but there is a kernel of truth to every superstition."

"I suppose you may be correct in that."

The minstrel changed his voice again.

"In the middle of the earth, in the land of the Shire,

There's a brave little Hobbit whom we all admire.

With his long wooden pipe, fuzzy wooly toes,

Lives in a Hobbit hole and everybody knows him,

Bilbo, Bilbo Baggins,

Only three feet tall...

Bilbo, Bilbo Baggins,

Greatest little Hobbit of them all..."

I rubbed my face with annoyance. "That braggart Hobbit and his self aggrandizing tales. He's corrupted even the bards with his nonsense!"

Nob snapped his fingers. "Tis kind of catchy."

Aragorn drew his sword. "Enough of this standing around. I must see my wife. If I must needs slay this bard siren to get to her, I will."

I pointed to the rows of eggs. "I fear that is the least of our worries."

"I did not ascend to the throne by being timid." He marched around a pair of ruptured eggs.

Chaos ensued.

The moment his boots passed the intact eggs, the fleshy tip of the green abomination burst open, a salmon colored spider beast launching itself in the air, vile pink legs reaching for Aragorn's face like gnarled witch fingers.

When he raised his sword to impale it, a dozen more eggs burst open, all seeking the flesh of the victim.

"I require assistance!"