Of Dragons, Dwobbits and Dwarves

Chapter Twenty-Four

The orcs were heading toward the door.

Bilba calculated in her head as she backed away, keeping low and behind the pillar. She could hear their feet getting closer, the jingle of treasure tumbling as they carelessly knocked over stacks of coins and gems.

There wasn't enough time.

There wasn't enough time to warn Fili, Kili and Vili, for them to get up and arm themselves before the orcs were in the corridor.

Not enough time...unless...

Damn.

The idea sparked as she passed one of the large doors to the Treasury. The idea, and the possible consequences.

She weighed them in an instant, her mind clicking easily into the mode it had been in for years inside the Arena, where the luxury of time wasn't available and the difference between life and death often teetered on an edge thinner than the blade of a knife.

The consequences were acceptable.

Bilba stood up.

The doors to the Treasury were made of massive blocks of marble, carved and inlaid with gold and gems. They must have weighed an incredible amount but were balanced so beautifully that she barely touched one and it instantly started to move.

From inside the Treasury she heard a roar of anger and then rapid movement, feet running toward her.

The first half of the door slammed into its frame and she moved to the other side, forcing herself to move carefully and deliberately. She was shaking and her mind was screaming at her to move faster but she ignored it. Panic led to mistakes and she couldn't afford a mistake.

A familiar, hated voice roared out a slur.

Azog had seen her.

Without lifting her head, Bilba gave an obscene gesture with one hand and then slammed the second door shut. She drew her sword, sparing an instant of regret as she slid the blade through the handles on the door.

She really liked that sword.

Bodies slammed into the door and it moved out an inch, catching on the blade which snapped against the handles, holding the doors closed.

Bilba ran. She hit the doors leading to the lower levels, shoving them open and sprinting through.

Her father was no fool. He personally slept on the royal level and had guards stationed in shifts on the Treasury doors and doors leading to the level itself.

In addition to that, and the guards at the doors on every level, he'd also sprinkled people in rooms throughout each floor. People he trusted, warriors to the last, and a large number of them members of Vanguard. All whose jobs, when they weren't active on Vanguard, were to be a secondary line of defense for the royal family, ready at a moment's notice.

Meaning that, like her, they slept in their armor with their weapons by their side.

She burst into the nearest room and skidded to a stop just inside, her eyes adjusting to the flickering firelight.

In a chair before the fire, Hram was already awake and rising from his chair, one hand grabbing his sword where it had been resting against the mantle.

"What is it?"

Bilba's hands flew, giving him the short form in gestures as fast as possible. Hram wasn't a rider but he had grown up a miner and knew Iglishmek. The few times she'd interacted with him she'd used it and he'd always responded easily in kind.