Sword and Arrow

Chapter 18

The Fellowship swept out of the chamber, lead by Gandalf with his staff-light glowing bright and followed by Aragorn who was limping along with Boromir's help. Orcs pursued them. Suddenly, Gandalf stopped and turned around as if he was unsure of what to do. The cause: There were orcs in front of them, too.

Well, the more correct definition would be goblins, as they were much smaller than the common orc and also much greener in the skin. They swarmed down the huge pillars and across the floor, pressing the Fellowship together in a tight circle. Beruthiel's hands shook on her knives as she tried to appear threatening. These goblins... looked exactly like the ones that had killed her family. Almost exactly.

Then heads turned toward the end of the hall from which the Fellowship had first come. For it seemed that thunder had rumbled, and the same firey light that they had seen pulsed against the walls and pillars. The goblins quickly retreated into the directions from which they had come, quickly disappearing up pillars and down pits.

Gandalf turned wearily, staring at the red light. He closed his eyes. The page from the book in Orthanc flashed before his mind. A thick book with dusty pages and illustrations illuminated in gold leaf and silver paint, written in a dead language that none on Middle-earth but the Istari now spoke... The dwarves had delved too greedily and too deep... He knew what they awoke in the darkness of Khazad-dum... Shadow and flame! A shape made of fire and shadows still danced in front of his eyes...

The rumble came again. Its resemblance to thunder was striking to Beruthiel, but she knew that no matter how tumultuous a storm was raging outside, they would hear nothing of it.

"What is this new devilry?" Boromir whispered, his arm still around Aragorn's waist, his eyes not leaving the fire against the wall.

Gandalf opened his eyes, looking more tired than Beruthiel had thought it possible. "A demon of the ancient world," he whispered, tasting the words and spitting them out. Yes, a demon, he had encountered them before, many of them, many ages ago, when he was not Gandalf, when he was Gandalf but he was not Gandalf... "This foe is beyond any of you. Run!"

Beside Beruthiel, Legolas's eyes were wide and reflecting the firey light. He reminded her of a startled cat, with eyes wide, ears pointing straight up, fur on edge. She clutched his forearm. "What is it?" she asked. If even Legolas, who'd laughed in the face of that troll was scared...

"A Balrog," he said in a strangled voice. He had heard about these, yes, but only in the stories that mothers told their children. Stories of the heroics of Glorfindel and Ecthelion, and stories to make them go to sleep at night. Every little elfling, from the king's son to the beggar's son, had heard their mother say Go to sleep or the Balrog will come for you! "Beruthiel. Run. Run now."

Beruthiel turned tail and fled, Legolas following soon after another glance at the growling shadow. Aragorn and Boromir came behind them, herding the hobbits. Gandalf took them to a doorway that opened onto a flight of stairs. He pushed them through, panic written on every line and wrinkle of his face.

Boromir was the first to make it through, Legolas after him. The man stumbled to a stop as the stairs abruptly ended in an abyss. His torch spiraled down into the depths as he fell backward onto Legolas. Legolas pulled him to his feet and turned to Gandalf.

"Gandalf!" Aragorn shouted.

"Lead them on, Aragorn!" Gandalf replied, not even looking in his direction. "The bridge is near." And indeed it was, very close by on the other side of the yawning darkness that opened below them.

Aragorn moved to help Gandalf forward, but Gandalf roughly pushed him away. "Do as I say!" the wizard hissed. "Swords are of no use here!" Aragorn's face paled. What thing could be so terrible that it could not be killed with steel?