Chapter 16: Red, White, and Doomed
Yes, gentle readers, we're still around! Which, after this chapter, is more than can be said for a certain wizard...
The Lord of the Reports:
The Fellowship of the Tie
Book II, Chapter 16:
Red, White, and Doomed
The great rolling Doom, doom of the drums went on, but now it was joined by the hurrying sound of many feet.
"They are coming!" said Stepholas.
"We cannot get out," added Stevli.
"We're trapped!" cried Ed. "Just like the dwarves who lived here!"
"Ah," said Lewis, "but they didn't have me."
There was the echoing blast of a horn, and footsteps approaching outside. With a quick movement the wizard stepped before the narrow opening of the chamber and for an instant looked out. "Shit!" he shouted, springing back as arrows whistled down the corridor.
"Orcs. Lots of them," he reported. "Oh, and they've got a troll. A really fucking big one."
There was a ring and the clatter as the Fellowship drew their swords. Kilbornomir and Jonagorn flung themselves against the door, heaving it to and barricading it with broken axes; Stevli brandished his whole one, and Stepholas readied an arrow in his bow.
No sooner was this done than there was a blow on the outside of the door that made it quiver; then it was wedged partly open, the barricade warping under the strain. A huge arm, green and scaly, was thrust through. There was a dead silence outside.
"Columbidor sucks," intoned a gravelly voice.
With a roar, Kilbornomir leaped forward and brought his sword down on the arm with all his might; but the blade was glanced aside, and fell from his shaken hand.
"Don't encourage the troll!" cried Jonagorn; but it was too late: the door cracked and staggered back, and a flurry of arrows came whistling in, followed by orcs too numerous to count.
From that moment on all attention was on the foes. Stepholas shot two through the throat; Stevli hewed the legs from beneath one that leaped atop the tomb; the swords of Lewis and the men flashed, one by one striking home.
In the middle of the fray stood the troll, huge and unassailable, throwing barbs at each of the company in turn. "You're an even more pathetic fighter than your kin who lived here," it declared to Stevli, voice cutting sharply over the din.
Stevli gritted his teeth, but made no reply.
"But at least you're better than the elf. He looks bookish, if you know what I mean."
"Hey!" yelped Stepholas, turning his bow angrily on the beast. "Is that code for something?"
"Don't do it, Stepholas!" yelped Jonagorn, fending off an orc with eyes like blazing coals, a red tongue, and a wicked scimitar. "The best response to a troll is no response!"
"What would a Stranger know?" asked the troll. "They make a living wandering in the wilderness, cut off from civilization, ignoring the troubles of others. That's their life. They exist in a small little place where they count for nothing."
"Are you going to let him get away with that?" cried Stepholas.
"Why should I care what a troll says about me?" demanded Jonagorn, slaying the orc just in time for another to take its place.
The hobbits, meanwhile, bobbed and wove and thrust with their own small blades. Sam's sword was knocked from her hand; undaunted, she caught up the skillet and smote her foe across the kneecaps. No sooner had it toppled than Jason fell upon it, driving Snark into its neck. "For the Shire!" he cried.
"The Shire?" echoed the troll. "That worthless backwater will be destroyed soon enough, and nobody will notice the difference."
Jason felt a hot wrath blaze in his heart. With a shout he sprang forward, brandishing his little glowing sword.
With the speed of a striking snake the troll thrust with its spear. The blow caught Jason on the right side; he was hurled against the wall and pinned. Sam, with a cry, tried to bring her skillet down on the spear-shaft; but Lewis held her back.
Sure enough, the troll lost interest after a few moments when Jason neither responded nor moved, and the spear fell away.
When a dozen more orcs had fallen the rest fled shrieking. The conflict gone, the troll quickly grew bored and wandered after them.
Doom, doom went the drums in the deep.
"There are more on the way," shouted Lewis. "Get moving!"
Jonagorn picked up Jason where he lay by the wall and made for the stair, pushing Rob and Ed in front of him. The others followed; but Stevli in spite of the peril lingered by the tomb, head bowed, until Stepholas shouted at him to get moving.
"I'm okay," said Jason. "I can walk. Put me down!"
Jonagorn nearly dropped him. "I thought you were dead!"
"He's not?" exclaimed Stepholas. "How can he not be? That spear-thrust would have skewered a wild bear!"
"That hobbit just keeps pulling all sorts of tricks out of his ass, just like Mo used to," snapped Lewis, and Jason wondered if this, too, was code. "Be amazed later. Right now, shut up and run!"
They raced through an arch and emerged into another cavernous hall, loftier and far longer than the one in which they had slept, the roof supported by rows of pillars like mighty trees. The air had grown hot.
"Hey, I know where we are now!" exclaimed Stevli. "The Gates are dead ahead! Just through this hall and over a bridge and we'll be there! No problem!"
No sooner had he spoken than an army of orcs began to pour into the Hall, not only from the passage behind them but from innumerable doors on both sides, flowing between the pillars like water. The Company skidded to a halt, drawing their weapons and forming a protective circle around Jason, but it was clearly futile. They were surrounded by ranks of foes that stretched beyond the light of Lewis' staff into the impenetrable darkness.
"You just had to say it," muttered Stepholas.
The drumbeats resumed, doom, doom, now loud as thunder.
Then in the passage behind them appeared a red light like fire; and in that moment the orcs scattered, their ranks broken, fleeing in all directions until not a one could be seen.
"What did I tell you!" crowed Stevli. "No--"
He was cut off by a growl from the passage. Something was coming up behind them. What it was could not be seen: it was like a great shadow, flames wreathing about it but failing to reach the dark form in the middle, and all about it the smell of brimstone.
Stepholas gave a cry of dismay and fear. "A Falrog!" he wailed. "A Falrog is come!"
"This is a foe beyond any of you!" shouted Lewis. "To the bridge! Now!"
The dark figure streaming with fire raced towards them. Kilbornomir raised the Horn of Columbidor and blew. Loud the challenge rang, and for a moment the fiery shadow halted. Then the echoes died as suddenly as a flame blown out by a dark wind, and the enemy advanced again.
They flew down a flight of crumbling stairs with many gaps so wide that it proved necessary to toss the hobbits over them, and all but Lewis crossed the narrow bridge. Jonagorn and Kilbornomir held their ground, side by side, at the far end; the others halted just within the doorway at the hall's end.
The Falrog reached the bridge. The reek of fire and brimstone was overpowering. Lewis stood in the middle of the span, leaning on the staff in his left hand, sword gleaming in the other, cold and white.
"GODLESS SODOMITES," roared the Falrog.
"Hey!" exclaimed Kilbornomir. "We're not--!"
"Speak for yourself!" ordered Jonagorn.
"YOU, THE PAGANS, AND THE ABORTIONISTS, AND THE FEMINISTS, AND THE GAYS, AND THE STRANGERS WITH YOUR ALTERNATIVE LIFESTYLES, AND ALL THE PEPOLE TRYING TO SECULARIZE MIDDLE-AMERICA," continued the Falrog, "I POINT THE FINGER IN YOUR FACE AND SAY--"
"AND THEY START FUCKING EACH OTHER IN THE ASS!" shouted Lewis. "And another Middle-american family is destroyed! We've all heard this song-and-dance before. Do you have a point?"
The Falrog made no answer. The fire in it seemed to die, but the darkness grew. It stepped forward onto the bridge, and suddenly drew itself up to a great height; but still Lewis could be seen, glimmering in the gloom; he seemed small, and altogether alone.
"'Feminists'?" he repeated incredulously. "You really think it was feminists? That women, a number of years ago, decided to leave the kitchen, and enter the workplace, and demand equal wages, and now there's no stew in the oven and the spice rack is in disarray and that's why Middle-america is under attack? That's odd, because I thought it was because of people like Falrogs!"
From out of the shadow a red sword leaped flaming.
Lewis' blade glittered white in answer.
There was a ringing clash; the Falrog fell back. The wizard swayed on the bridge, stepped back a pace, then again stood still.
"Stop right fucking there," growled Lewis. "You're not getting past!"
With a bound the Falrog leaped full upon the bridge. Its whip whirled and hissed.
At that moment Lewis lifted his staff, and with an incoherent roar he smote the bridge before him. The staff broke asunder and fell from his hand. The bridge cracked. Right at the Falrog's feet it broke, and the stone upon which it stood crashed into the emptiness.
With a terrible cry the Falrog fell forward, plunging down; but even as it fell it swung its whip, and the thongs lashed and curled about the wizard's knees, dragging him to the brink.
"Get the fuck out, you ungrateful asshats!" he cried, and slid into the abyss.
As Jonagorn and Kilbornomir came flying back, the rest of the bridge cracked and fell. "Do what he said!" called Jonagorn to the rest of the Fellowship. "Follow me!"
They stumbled wildly down a wide echoing passage. Jason heard Sam at his side weeping, and then he found that he himself was weeping as he ran. Doom, doom, doom the drum-beats rolled behind, mournful now and slow.
But as they ran, the light grew before them; and then they swept out of the Great Gates, sprang down the huge and age-worn steps, and felt the wind on their faces.
They did not halt until the drum-beats faded.
The Lord of the Reports:
The Fellowship of the Tie
Book II, Chapter 16:
Red, White, and Doomed
The great rolling Doom, doom of the drums went on, but now it was joined by the hurrying sound of many feet.
"They are coming!" said Stepholas.
"We cannot get out," added Stevli.
"We're trapped!" cried Ed. "Just like the dwarves who lived here!"
"Ah," said Lewis, "but they didn't have me."
There was the echoing blast of a horn, and footsteps approaching outside. With a quick movement the wizard stepped before the narrow opening of the chamber and for an instant looked out. "Shit!" he shouted, springing back as arrows whistled down the corridor.
"Orcs. Lots of them," he reported. "Oh, and they've got a troll. A really fucking big one."
There was a ring and the clatter as the Fellowship drew their swords. Kilbornomir and Jonagorn flung themselves against the door, heaving it to and barricading it with broken axes; Stevli brandished his whole one, and Stepholas readied an arrow in his bow.
No sooner was this done than there was a blow on the outside of the door that made it quiver; then it was wedged partly open, the barricade warping under the strain. A huge arm, green and scaly, was thrust through. There was a dead silence outside.
"Columbidor sucks," intoned a gravelly voice.
With a roar, Kilbornomir leaped forward and brought his sword down on the arm with all his might; but the blade was glanced aside, and fell from his shaken hand.
"Don't encourage the troll!" cried Jonagorn; but it was too late: the door cracked and staggered back, and a flurry of arrows came whistling in, followed by orcs too numerous to count.
From that moment on all attention was on the foes. Stepholas shot two through the throat; Stevli hewed the legs from beneath one that leaped atop the tomb; the swords of Lewis and the men flashed, one by one striking home.
In the middle of the fray stood the troll, huge and unassailable, throwing barbs at each of the company in turn. "You're an even more pathetic fighter than your kin who lived here," it declared to Stevli, voice cutting sharply over the din.
Stevli gritted his teeth, but made no reply.
"But at least you're better than the elf. He looks bookish, if you know what I mean."
"Hey!" yelped Stepholas, turning his bow angrily on the beast. "Is that code for something?"
"Don't do it, Stepholas!" yelped Jonagorn, fending off an orc with eyes like blazing coals, a red tongue, and a wicked scimitar. "The best response to a troll is no response!"
"What would a Stranger know?" asked the troll. "They make a living wandering in the wilderness, cut off from civilization, ignoring the troubles of others. That's their life. They exist in a small little place where they count for nothing."
"Are you going to let him get away with that?" cried Stepholas.
"Why should I care what a troll says about me?" demanded Jonagorn, slaying the orc just in time for another to take its place.
The hobbits, meanwhile, bobbed and wove and thrust with their own small blades. Sam's sword was knocked from her hand; undaunted, she caught up the skillet and smote her foe across the kneecaps. No sooner had it toppled than Jason fell upon it, driving Snark into its neck. "For the Shire!" he cried.
"The Shire?" echoed the troll. "That worthless backwater will be destroyed soon enough, and nobody will notice the difference."
Jason felt a hot wrath blaze in his heart. With a shout he sprang forward, brandishing his little glowing sword.
With the speed of a striking snake the troll thrust with its spear. The blow caught Jason on the right side; he was hurled against the wall and pinned. Sam, with a cry, tried to bring her skillet down on the spear-shaft; but Lewis held her back.
Sure enough, the troll lost interest after a few moments when Jason neither responded nor moved, and the spear fell away.
When a dozen more orcs had fallen the rest fled shrieking. The conflict gone, the troll quickly grew bored and wandered after them.
Doom, doom went the drums in the deep.
"There are more on the way," shouted Lewis. "Get moving!"
Jonagorn picked up Jason where he lay by the wall and made for the stair, pushing Rob and Ed in front of him. The others followed; but Stevli in spite of the peril lingered by the tomb, head bowed, until Stepholas shouted at him to get moving.
"I'm okay," said Jason. "I can walk. Put me down!"
Jonagorn nearly dropped him. "I thought you were dead!"
"He's not?" exclaimed Stepholas. "How can he not be? That spear-thrust would have skewered a wild bear!"
"That hobbit just keeps pulling all sorts of tricks out of his ass, just like Mo used to," snapped Lewis, and Jason wondered if this, too, was code. "Be amazed later. Right now, shut up and run!"
They raced through an arch and emerged into another cavernous hall, loftier and far longer than the one in which they had slept, the roof supported by rows of pillars like mighty trees. The air had grown hot.
"Hey, I know where we are now!" exclaimed Stevli. "The Gates are dead ahead! Just through this hall and over a bridge and we'll be there! No problem!"
No sooner had he spoken than an army of orcs began to pour into the Hall, not only from the passage behind them but from innumerable doors on both sides, flowing between the pillars like water. The Company skidded to a halt, drawing their weapons and forming a protective circle around Jason, but it was clearly futile. They were surrounded by ranks of foes that stretched beyond the light of Lewis' staff into the impenetrable darkness.
"You just had to say it," muttered Stepholas.
The drumbeats resumed, doom, doom, now loud as thunder.
Then in the passage behind them appeared a red light like fire; and in that moment the orcs scattered, their ranks broken, fleeing in all directions until not a one could be seen.
"What did I tell you!" crowed Stevli. "No--"
He was cut off by a growl from the passage. Something was coming up behind them. What it was could not be seen: it was like a great shadow, flames wreathing about it but failing to reach the dark form in the middle, and all about it the smell of brimstone.
Stepholas gave a cry of dismay and fear. "A Falrog!" he wailed. "A Falrog is come!"
"This is a foe beyond any of you!" shouted Lewis. "To the bridge! Now!"
The dark figure streaming with fire raced towards them. Kilbornomir raised the Horn of Columbidor and blew. Loud the challenge rang, and for a moment the fiery shadow halted. Then the echoes died as suddenly as a flame blown out by a dark wind, and the enemy advanced again.
They flew down a flight of crumbling stairs with many gaps so wide that it proved necessary to toss the hobbits over them, and all but Lewis crossed the narrow bridge. Jonagorn and Kilbornomir held their ground, side by side, at the far end; the others halted just within the doorway at the hall's end.
The Falrog reached the bridge. The reek of fire and brimstone was overpowering. Lewis stood in the middle of the span, leaning on the staff in his left hand, sword gleaming in the other, cold and white.
"GODLESS SODOMITES," roared the Falrog.
"Hey!" exclaimed Kilbornomir. "We're not--!"
"Speak for yourself!" ordered Jonagorn.
"YOU, THE PAGANS, AND THE ABORTIONISTS, AND THE FEMINISTS, AND THE GAYS, AND THE STRANGERS WITH YOUR ALTERNATIVE LIFESTYLES, AND ALL THE PEPOLE TRYING TO SECULARIZE MIDDLE-AMERICA," continued the Falrog, "I POINT THE FINGER IN YOUR FACE AND SAY--"
"AND THEY START FUCKING EACH OTHER IN THE ASS!" shouted Lewis. "And another Middle-american family is destroyed! We've all heard this song-and-dance before. Do you have a point?"
The Falrog made no answer. The fire in it seemed to die, but the darkness grew. It stepped forward onto the bridge, and suddenly drew itself up to a great height; but still Lewis could be seen, glimmering in the gloom; he seemed small, and altogether alone.
"'Feminists'?" he repeated incredulously. "You really think it was feminists? That women, a number of years ago, decided to leave the kitchen, and enter the workplace, and demand equal wages, and now there's no stew in the oven and the spice rack is in disarray and that's why Middle-america is under attack? That's odd, because I thought it was because of people like Falrogs!"
From out of the shadow a red sword leaped flaming.
Lewis' blade glittered white in answer.
There was a ringing clash; the Falrog fell back. The wizard swayed on the bridge, stepped back a pace, then again stood still.
"Stop right fucking there," growled Lewis. "You're not getting past!"
With a bound the Falrog leaped full upon the bridge. Its whip whirled and hissed.
At that moment Lewis lifted his staff, and with an incoherent roar he smote the bridge before him. The staff broke asunder and fell from his hand. The bridge cracked. Right at the Falrog's feet it broke, and the stone upon which it stood crashed into the emptiness.
With a terrible cry the Falrog fell forward, plunging down; but even as it fell it swung its whip, and the thongs lashed and curled about the wizard's knees, dragging him to the brink.
"Get the fuck out, you ungrateful asshats!" he cried, and slid into the abyss.
As Jonagorn and Kilbornomir came flying back, the rest of the bridge cracked and fell. "Do what he said!" called Jonagorn to the rest of the Fellowship. "Follow me!"
They stumbled wildly down a wide echoing passage. Jason heard Sam at his side weeping, and then he found that he himself was weeping as he ran. Doom, doom, doom the drum-beats rolled behind, mournful now and slow.
But as they ran, the light grew before them; and then they swept out of the Great Gates, sprang down the huge and age-worn steps, and felt the wind on their faces.
They did not halt until the drum-beats faded.