Chapter 12

T hey collapsed on the topmost step of the lengthy Stairs of Ukurond. No word was spoken by any, for it was all too plain what was their situation and none had yet the energy even to express despair. The packs were opened and out came the water-skins followed soon after by the Melimbar, for they were thirsty from their weary hike, and as it was now early afternoon it was well nigh time for a meal.
      Eventually some little strength returned, and by and by they commenced to debate their next course of action.
      ‘We must find another way,’ said Raavan.
      ‘But there may be no other way,’ countered Dannadar.
      ‘We must try anyway,’ replied the wizard. ‘We have no choice. And if no other way can be found then we will simply have to burrow through this heap of rock till we get through.’
      ‘Hold on there a minute!’ insisted Falco. ‘If all we’re trying to do is to keep Silgoth from getting the codex then we can quit right now, because even Silgoth’s servants can’t get at the original now—it’s behind a tonne of rock, and nobody is going to move that for a little book. It’s probably safer where it is than at Aberlaven anyway, especially now that we know there are spies hanging about the place.’
      ‘That’s all fine and well, Mr. Whiteleaf, but you’re forgetting that we don’t even know for sure where the codex is at the moment,’ countered Raavan. ‘It might not be in the citadel at all.’
      ‘Well, where could it be?’ asked Fifin.
      ‘I don’t know, but we must find that book!’ said the wizard. ‘And if we fail to find it, then our task will be far from over: if there is even a chance that Silgoth has acquired the codex then the Allies must be persuaded to mount an attack on Hélethrôn immediately.’
      ‘The Allies , as you call them, are not at the moment organised for any sort of concerted attack,’ said Burak. ‘Indeed, I would hesitate even to call them Allies.’
      ‘I am aware of that,’ replied Raavan, ‘but that does not lessen our dilemma. If the codex may have fallen into the hands of the enemy then that very piece of information must be carried out to all the kingdoms of Entira without delay. The free folk may be ill-prepared to engage the enemy now, but I assure you it would be better to risk all in an immediate assault than to delay. That would only give him the opportunity to complete Mythron’s research and unlock the power of the Thread.’
      ‘But that’s only if the codex cannot be found,’ said Alatar.
      ‘Yes,’ agreed Raavan, ‘and so for now we must try to find another way into the citadel. Burak, know you any other way into the royal palace other than via the Great Stairs?’
      ‘I do not,’ replied the Dwarf, ‘but it has long been the practise of Dwarven builders and architects to provide always two routes of escape from any important location.’
      ‘Then that suggests there is almost certainly another way into the citadel,’ said Raavan.
      ‘Not necessarily,’ countered Burak.
      ‘Why do you say that?’ asked Raavan.
      ‘I said there typically are at least two routes of escape ,’ said the Dwarf, ‘—I did not say there were always multiple ways to get into any given place. Kâlan builders have always been concerned about cave-ins, so they often provide means of escape in emergencies. These can take the form of narrow crawl-holes or lengthy chutes that allow one to slide down and drop into another chamber on a lower level. Just determining into which room such a chute may emerge, if one exists, would not help us to climb up through such a passage. Chutes are typically very steep, very narrow, and very smooth. The purpose is to allow escape while also discouraging unauthorised entry.’
      ‘And I don’t suppose we’re authorised,’ said Dannadar.
      ‘O, that is splendid,’ said Raavan, sitting again on the top step and placing his head firmly in his hands. He looked very distraught and the Elflings began to feel quite sorry for the old man. They were glad at least that they were not the cause of this distress, as had so often been the case in the past. And yet they could tell they were in a predicament, all of them, and none of them wished to abandon the old man while he still needed their help.
      ‘On the other hand, this was the Citadel ,’ continued Burak, ‘and the kings would likely have wanted several convenient ways to travel to the various districts of their kingdom from the palace. Climbing up and down two thousand steps every time they wanted to get somewhere probably didn’t appeal to them tremendously.’
      Raavan soon regained his composure and sat up. ‘Let us begin here at the stairs. There were many passageways branching off of the main tunnel. We will check them systematically—each and every one—till we find another way into the citadel or we find that there is no other way.’
      ‘And if we find no other way?’ asked Fifin.
      ‘Then we will widen our search to all the areas we passed before we came to the stairs,’ replied the wizard. ‘We will search until we have exhausted all possibilities.’
      ‘Or until you have thoroughly exhausted all of us!’ said Fifin.
      The wizard replied, ‘I hope not, Fifin, but if that is what it takes, then so be it.’
       
       
      They searched long and hard. They all had noticed the many side passages leading off from the main stairway during their ascent, but none had realised then just how many there really were. They followed them all, each and every one, just as Raavan had decreed. At first they thought they would go in three teams, since they had encountered no enemies as of yet, and that would allow them to cover three times the area in the same amount of time, but then Raavan decided that that was no good, because he considered that there might be a secret passage leading to the citadel, and with only one Dwarf in the company, any concealed door would likely escape detection by the other two teams, and this was unacceptable.
      So they all tramped up and down the stairs, countless numbers of stairs, and it took all the night, for Raavan wanted a painstakingly careful search. Though they had no precise way to measure time in that place they knew by the sleepiness that stole over them that it was very late in the night, perhaps even early the next morning, yet the search went on, for Raavan was concerned that should they interrupt their effort they might forget come morning which passages yet lay unexplored, and some ways might thereby be neglected.
      It was suggested by Burak that a systematic search of the branching structure should leave no possibility of unexplored ground, since they could always tell upon returning to a particular branching point which passages had already been explored, but then it was pointed out that the passages occasionally merged, necessitating some system of tracking their progress, and they were too tired and too hurried to devise a means of marking their path.
      Though they did not know it, morning was fast approaching when they marched down from the last stairway, defeated. The Elflings had stolen brief naps through the night as they waited at various junctions for the return of the search party, but they all were thoroughly exhausted and badly in need of rest. Talen and Fifin volunteered for first watch as the others threw themselves down on a spot cleared of bones at the base of the stairs, for they had taken the most naps and felt they could keep awake for the two hours of their watch.
      Torches were kept lit throughout the night and nothing warranting alarm occurred during any of the watches. Airi was away much of the time and his occasional arrivals and departures, silent as they were, were the only startling moments for any of the sentinels. No strange noises were heard and no creepy eyes were seen peering out at them from the darkness, though neither would have been unexpected. Indeed, it was the dead silence which troubled those who were able to stay awake long enough to listen to it, for they were sure there were things living in that place, even large things that went about on two legs, for they had seen the wide paths through the dust and the occasional footprint; but no other hint of any of these inhabitants did they see or hear, at least not during the ‘night.’
      Talen was one of the last to wake. The others were sitting about munching on Melimbar. When he joined them he was informed straight off that there was to be no tea, for they would not risk a fire and boiling water over a torch was found to be too awkward. The Elflings were not pleased.
      Raavan soon had them all up and slinging their packs, for they had all got a good six hours of sleep, not counting their watches, which they decided to keep in pairs while they were in the Dwarvenholt. The wizard was not ready to give up on finding an alternate route into the citadel and none wished to argue the point any longer. Not only did they know his determination, but they were all aware of the gravity of the situation and all knew that on matters such as these the Kastairi were the uncontested authorities.
      And so, away they marched down the long curving passageway with the great Stairs of Ukurond behind them, and if none of their company ever saw those great stairs again in this lifetime they would be none the sadder for it—the Dwarf included.
      Back through the banquet hall they strode, though the bats were none too happy to see them return, for their feathered friend gave the flying rodents another rousing stir and it was some time after the party had passed before any semblance of calm was able to return to the roost.
      East of the banquet hall they came again to the junction with the southward passage that led toward the Throne Room. Here they continued straight, for this would take them once again into areas unexplored, and this was their current objective. Raavan wished to find a stairway that would take them to the upper levels, for he guessed, and Burak concurred, that they would have a better chance of finding a route to the citadel that way, though of course none in the party were eager to climb up stairs again any time soon.
      Not far ahead a hallway branched off toward the north and they could see right away that it sloped gently upward. Up this rising gradient Raavan led them, and it was some time before they came again to another passageway. When they did so they found themselves at another T-junction and so they had to decide again which way to go.
      Some said left and some said right , because while the citadel was clearly located to the west their immediate goal was to find a stairway and that could conceivably be found in either direction. In the end they went west, for it was easier to argue for travelling in the general direction of the citadel rather than travelling so obviously away from it.
      They found that this passageway was fully as long as any they had yet seen in Ilimath, and it threw off side passages with greater fecundity than even the Great Stairs. They furthermore saw that the space which could be made accessible from such a prolific branching pattern of passageways and corridors was truly large indeed. This made the Elflings wonder whether the entire interior of the mountain had been moled and mined so, and scooped out, and if so then to where all the tonnes of rock had been removed and how many lives of Dwarves it had taken to remove it.
      Yet, none of these questions did they ask. Perhaps they would ask them later, but for now they were busy being vigilant, there being an uncommonly large number of side passages from which a Troell or a Goblyn might suddenly spring. Though not one of these foe had yet shown itself since the company had first ventured into this black pit a day and a half ago, none doubted that they would encounter at least a few of the creatures before the party was able to leave this dark place behind.
      They never did reach the end of that passage, for in time it degenerated into a literal mine, complete with rough-hewn walls and jagged ceiling. But no stairway had they yet seen. There must be any number of stairs in that place, according to their reckoning, but the trick was to find one without becoming hopelessly lost in the process, for they still needed to find their way out again, after all.
      So, back up the hallway they went passing innumerable corridors on either side. Though they began to wonder in time whether they would even recognise the passage that led back the way they had come, when they passed it again Raavan mentioned the fact and they took and rubbed an old torch on the floor to mark the way.
      How long they wandered down that endless hallway none of them knew, for so straight was the passage and so uniform the doorways that opened upon it that they felt they were not in fact progressing eastward in the slightest amount but were instead travelling through a repetition of the same stretch of hallway over and over again, as a horse treading in a mill.
      At length they did reach the eastern end however and they were much pleased to find that the nearly interminable hallway ended in a staircase spiraling upward. Up they went and when they came out again they were facing west. If any of them wondered whether they would emerge into another endless passageway they were delighted to see that it was not so. Within twenty yards they had come to the entrance of a hall both vast and awe inspiring, for here was a hall that was surely built for giants.
      No wall could they see other than that behind them; neither across the way nor on either side. Out of the darkness on their left strode a line of stout columns: polished stone pillars aswirl with glowing traces, red and green; off toward the right they continued their march till they again faded from sight. Whether these columns supported any ceiling at all or instead rose into the open night sky none could tell, for nothing could be seen of their dark upper reaches, except as the glowing phosphorescence dwindled imperceptibly into blackness.
      With mouths agape the company stumbled slowly forward, torches held aloft in vain attempt to discern the limits of this grand hall. Just to put a name to such a place would be a divine pleasure, and Burak accommodated them by uttering the words which had hung upon his lips for some moments before he found the wherewithal to utter them: The Hall of Aitheangar .
      Beyond the first row of columns the floor took a single step down and then presented another line of colossal pillars. Beyond these were another depression, another line of columns, and then a final dip, in which there rested a shallow pool. As the floor itself was of a polished black marble it would not have been difficult for any of them to have inadvertently stepped into the still pool but for Burak’s warning that such was forbidden and that they must watch their step to avoid fouling the holy waters.
      Talen gazed for a moment into the pool. Though at first he saw only blackness a faint twinkling began to appear, till he was certain that what he was seeing were the reflections of tiny stars shining faintly off in the distant sky. Yet, when he looked up he saw nothing and he knew instinctively that there was too much mountain overhead to admit the existence of any sort of window. Looking again into the pool he saw that the lights had disappeared, and he shook the image from his head as the company moved on.
      They wandered through the magnificent hall finding little more than dust-laden piles of bones and seemingly endless rows of pillars. At the western edge of the cavernous chamber they found a broad passageway. With some reluctance and in speechless state they left the majestic monument to Aitheangar behind.
      They followed the passage only a short distance before it split in twain, one branch curving sharply toward the north, the other curving south. As Burak judged that the citadel lay to their west and south they took the southern passage. They had gone only ten yards, however, when they encountered another corridor branching off toward the north-west. By quickly following this they confirmed that what they had come upon was actually a kind of four-way intersection with a diamond-shaped circuit in the middle.
      They decided to try the southern course, though they made a mental note to return and explore the western passage should the southern route prove fruitless. It was not long before the passage split once again, the left way arcing off toward the south-east and the right way turning south-west. They followed the south-western passage, and a very strange one it was, for soon it began to twist and turn, throwing off side passages in irregular fashion, though they did not at first explore any of these. In time this route came to a premature end, for the ceiling had collapsed into an impassable wall of rubble. Turning back they decided they ought to explore at least some of the many side corridors which they had passed since the last major split, even though these were narrower and seemed rather less promising.
      Many chambers did they encounter at the ends of those corridors and all manner of rubbish did they find in them. But no secret passages to royal palaces did they detect. They were starting to feel rather dejected about the whole business, for so far the mountain had brought forth the proverbial mouse, and indeed very little else.
      ‘All of Ilimath cannot be explored by such a small party—it is simply too vast an empire,’ said Burak. ‘We will be here for years.’
      ‘I am beginning to appreciate that,’ agreed Raavan. ‘There is much more to it than I had remembered, or perhaps ever realised.’
      ‘Has anyone any notion of what time it is?’ asked Fifin.
      ‘Yes,’ answered Dannadar, ‘it’s supper-time, according to the clock in my stomach.’
      ‘I agree,’ said Fifin, and the other Elflings chimed in their approval of that very popular declaration.
      ‘Very well,’ said Raavan, ‘let us return to the four-way and investigate the westward passage—perhaps we will find a comfortable place to have a rest and rethink our strategy.’ They were just then passing the south-east branch which they had encountered before, though none of them had the strength of will to suggest that it also deserved at least a cursory inspection. Once more they made a mental note that here was a course not yet explored, to which they would return when all other possibilities had been exhausted.
      Upon reaching the diamond-shaped interchange they took the northwestern passage, which merging with that from the north-east proceeded then due west. Forty yards more and the walls began abruptly to curve outward so that the hallway opened into an oval-shaped chamber, itself not altogether immense, but with a high, vaulted ceiling. Where the walls joined the floor there was no corner, for the entire room was of a single, smooth surface which merely wrapped around them in a manner suggesting walls and floor and ceiling without strictly defining their boundaries.
      In the middle of this room stood a Dwarf: a very wise-looking Dwarf, and old, but with strength still to wield a very large axe, upon which he leant sagaciously. Upon his head he wore a helm which rather appeared more like a crown, for it was adorned with glittering gems, though there also were places in which gems had once been set and were now absent. The Dwarf faced steadfastly toward the south, looking not in the company’s direction as they entered the room, for he was made of stone.
      ‘The Statue of Narquestor,’ announced Burak.
      ‘A Dwarven king?’ asked Talen.
      ‘One of the most celebrated of the early kings of Ilimath,’ answered Burak.
      ‘Then we shall break bread with him,’ said Dannadar throwing down his pack and seating himself rather unceremoniously before the venerated Dwarf king. ‘Pass around the Melimbar, Talen. And who will be so good as to build a fire? I am dying for a cup of tea.’
      ‘No fire,’ said Raavan. ‘No tea.’
      ‘Right—no fire,’ echoed Dannadar. ‘No fire, no tea, and no pity for poor Elflings who’ve been marched all over the Four Kingdoms by demanding old wizards.’
      ‘O, you’ve got my pity,’ replied Raavan. ‘You’ve got as much of that as you can stomach.’
      ‘I’d rather have another of the crusty Melimbar,’ replied Dannadar.
      ‘Suit yourself,’ said the wizard as he himself bit into one of the Dwarven cakes.
      ‘Burak,’ said Talen, ‘tell us of your king Narquestor. I am most intrigued by his appearance. Surely there must be a tale or three that could be related regarding him.’
      ‘I could relate several indeed,’ answered Burak, ‘for the name of Narquestor appears in many a Kâlan legend. It is a name well known to every Dwarf in Entira, though he lived more than four thousand years ago, for it was Narquestor who, during the Third Age, reunited the three tribes of the Kalär—the Aradrim, the Baradrim, and the Venda—to fight together in the Simorde War against the Black Necromancer.
      ‘There was much bickering among my people during that period, and unfortunately it led at times even to outright battle, and bloodshed. It was not a good time for folk to be divided, however. Perhaps that is why the necromancer was able to conquer so much of the free world before he was finally checked. It is said by the wise that our every weakness is as a strength to the wily enemy .’
      ‘And that is certainly true,’ interjected Raavan, ‘but Rúlatár was undoubtedly very powerful in his own right.’
      ‘I expect that was so,’ agreed the Dwarf. ‘In any event, Narquestor led the Kâlan hosts against the vile hordes of the enemy in the final battle of the war, and none that day slew so many as he, for no creature could withstand the mighty swing of his axe. It is said that as he clove his way into the ranks of the enemy he left behind a knee-deep trail of Goblyn heads stretching for the greater part of a mile. A train of catapults followed in his wake, using the Goblyn heads as missiles to fling back at the enemy.
      ‘It is also said that Narquestor was only half mortal, being the offspring of a Dwarven queen and a god, though which god it was none can agree. Some say it was Noeg come down to earth in the likeness of the old king, for he wished to renew his seed upon the earth with fresh vigour. Others say it was one of the lesser gods wishing to spite Noeg and Etta, who had banned the taking of mortal wives and who had also become for a time very much opposed to the practise of interfering in the affairs of mortals.
      ‘But the best-known tales of Narquestor are those that tell of his journeys during the Golden Era at the start of the Fourth Age. They tell how he travelled unto the very edge of the world and brought back a glowing tree which could grow even in the darkness of a cave and which produced fruit that would return youth to all who tasted it. Unfortunately the tree withered and died only a year later. Upon seeing this Narquestor straightway rode forth to find another, but he never returned.’
      ‘What happened to him?’ asked Fifin.
      ‘It is not known for certain,’ replied Burak. ‘But it is said that his younger brother, Aitheangar, rode forth with a grim band of Kâlan warriors to find his beloved brother and to avenge his death if he had met an untimely end. For over a year they travelled, seeking clues to the fate of his missing kin. Finally they discovered that Narquestor had been cursed by three witches in the land of Wandergavel near the edge of the world, and that the three witches had then fled to Amgamman upon his death. In this way they had hoped to be beyond the reach of his family’s wrath.
      ‘But Aitheangar rode fearlessly even unto Amgamman and he killed the witches and returned a triumphant avenger and king. He brought back with him a quantity of red gold infused with the blood of the evil hags. From this he forged a magical axe that was harder than steel. It is this same axe that he took forth years later into battle to defeat the Antlered King from the land of the Black Sun. Of course, that is another tale.’
      ‘And one that is going to have to wait for another time,’ said Raavan, ‘for we have had enough rest for now and need to continue our search if ever we wish to finish our quest.’
      ‘I don’t see why we can’t just accept that there’s no other way into this citadel and be done with it,’ said Dannadar. ‘Surely we must have searched nearly all of Ilimath by now.’
      ‘I am afraid you are wrong there,’ said Burak, ‘for I am certain we have seen only a small portion of all there is to see in this mighty Kâlandelf. We are now only on the second of at least five levels above ground, and it is said there are more levels below ground than above.’
      ‘Five!’ said Fifin. ‘We’ll never finish!’
      ‘Not at this rate, we won’t,’ said Raavan. Just then Airi, who was perched upon the edge of Narquestor’s stone shield, leant forward and began to cough with some effort. Soon he ejected a furry pellet from his wide-open beak, appearing somewhat relieved having done so. Several of the Elflings had seen hawks do this before and considered the event common enough, but Burak became much alarmed.
      ‘What!’ exclaimed the Dwarf. ‘It is a foul omen.’
      ‘He is merely discarding the bones and other indigestible remains from his latest meal,’ Raavan explained.
      ‘It is said that no good will come to those who witness the spitting of a bird,’ insisted the Dwarf.
      ‘Well, I have seen it many times and I am still alive to speak of it,’ Raavan assured him.
      ‘Yet, let us not speak of it further, for I fear still that it bodes ill for some or all of us,’ said the Dwarf, and so they did not speak of it any more.
      They collected their packs and filed out the smooth-walled exit to the west. The passage quickly narrowed and soon began to slope gently upward. Though they at first took heart at the modest rise in elevation Burak insisted that they were unlikely to reach the next level by such means. The storeys in a Kâlandelf were always very high in extent, explained the Dwarf, and the builders invariably used stairs as the means of moving between them. At least, that had been the old way.
      Perhaps fifty yards had they gone before they came to another T-junction. The hallway continued its smooth ascent round either corner, north and south, the two side branches turning back sharply toward the east. Once again it was judged that they likely were some ways north of the Great Stairs and presumably also of the citadel, and so they chose to follow the southern passage.
      The floor continued its gentle rise only just round the corner and then the passage levelled off. Thirty yards thence it began gently to angle south till they found that they were travelling entirely in a southward direction. Only because of Burak’s special abilities at orienting in subterranean environments did they know this. Of course, they all began to keenly appreciate the presence of their stout companion, for none of them wished to become hopelessly lost in the vast Dwarvenholt.
      The passage once again ended at a crossway, the side branches stretching away toward the east and west. Many doorways opened out of the south wall, but as the company strode westward along the passage they saw that many of those doorways opened onto chambers and corridors that had been filled with the rubble of a large cave-in, and so they were saved the trouble of having to search along those venues.
      They had travelled some ways along this passage when at last their torchlight betrayed them, for there was another creature there that was warned of their coming by its distant, dancing glow. The creature had lain in wait for them as slowly they approached, waiting and watching with great care so as not to give itself away. Meanwhile the creature silently debated with itself whether these were formidable opponents; whether they were perhaps too many to overcome; and most importantly, whether they might be good to eat.
      When the creature finally sprang full upon them from its makeshift ambush all of the company were taken at unawares, for as yet they had encountered no foe in this place. As a result their guard had been rendered increasingly lax through both weariness and the nearly complete lack up to this point of any manifest danger.
      The creature was small, only just a bit larger than an Elfling, and was quite detestable in appearance, with a vulgar sneer slashed glaringly across its grotesquely wrinkled face. Black and jagged teeth rudely protruded past thick, leathery lips and dark eyes shone with a milky glaze, bulging out prominently from either side of its narrow, misshapen face. The clothes it wore were of hardened leather, the odd iron ring or chain embedded and dangling here and there. Yet, most offending to their senses was the foul miasma which that being exuded, for it was a smell that bespoke of years spent sleeping among the dung and effluvia of unclean subterranean dwellings.
      With its rusty sword it aimed a quick chop at Raavan, who was able to deflect it with his staff just in the very nick of time. Alatar recovered from his surprise most quickly and with two swipes of his expertly guided sword, Haranwë, the beast was felled to lie profusely leaking its sickening ichor onto the floor.
      ‘Troell,’ said Raavan. ‘Came out of nowhere.’
      ‘And he’ll likewise be going nowhere,’ said Burak with an austere kick to the lifeless form.
       
       
      They recovered quickly from the ordeal of their first violent encounter within the black deeps. So quick had it been that it was over almost before all the party had realised what was upon them. Yet, the Elflings did not take the event lightly, for this was the first true monster they had ever encountered. Monster though it was, it also was the first time a ten-fingered creature that went about on two legs had been deliberately and mercilessly killed before their eyes. At the least they now knew what was a Troell, and though the danger of this sword-bearing creature was in no wise lost on them the mortal reality of this foe and the ineptitude it had exhibited even in the short course of its surprise attack gave them some heart. They nocked their arrows and tested their bowstrings, for they would be ready when again such a creature leapt out of a dark place to assail them with its cruel, rusty steel.
      They continued their westward journey rather more deliberately now, so that time went by more slowly, as did the distance trod beneath their feet. They found with no little anxiety and agitation that the passage opened upon many other tunnels and chambers, only some of which were blocked impassibly by rubble. Those which were not blocked branched prolifically out into a perplexing labyrinth of often crudely hewn alleys and byways, avenues and arteries, lanes and channels. Of course, the thought of a privileged passage to a royal citadel from such an obscure and lowly district seemed doubtful in the extreme to their minds, but as they could not rule out the possibility of a secret escape route installed in such quarters for the rare flight of an endangered king their search must invariably go on. Grumble though they did, onward they proceeded with one weary foot in front of the other, their weapons now ever at the ready should another miscreant spring suddenly forth from the myriad ways of these dark reaches.
      Eventually they stopped again for a meal of water and Melimbar, a diet which they were beginning to find wearying to the tongue. They rested for nearly half an hour, then took up their search once again; and on it went for two, three, and four hours more till they felt the need for sleep come stubbornly over them, and they could push it off no longer. They had begun to find the endless days of darkness distressing to their spirits—all except for the Dwarf, who found only the constant possibility of another ambush to be unnerving, and then only after long hours of painstaking exploration without adequate rest.
      They slept for eight hours, keeping watch again by twos. When they awoke they again feasted on the crusty Dwarven cakes. Once more there would be no tea and once again the Elflings would protest this state of affairs with undiminished discomfiture.
      At long last Raavan and Alatar reckoned that they had fully explored the multifarious jumble of passageways and corridors making up that quarter. They resolved then to return to the sloped passage west of the Statue of Narquestor and to begin searching for a way up to the third level. In time they reached the junction of the sloping eastward passages and they decided to now try the northern way.
      This passage curved first east and then gently toward the north till it opened into yet another hall, this one not as immense as that of King Aitheangar, but very large nonetheless. Burak could provide no name for this grand chamber, for it was too plain in appearance to provide him with any clues as to its identity. At some point in the past it appeared to have been used as a storage area, though when and by whom they could not say. As they walked its perimeter they came across many and sundry articles: buckets and urns both standing and overturned; grindstones and axles; pulleys and tackle; wooden and iron chests both open and closed, though all empty; rusty swords, spears, axes, and helmets; and many small items such as bits of clothing, rope, twine, chain, and the like.
      Four exits they found besides the one by which they had entered: one east, one west, and two north. The western way was their first choice and at first appeared to be the correct one, for they came in short order to a stairway spiraling upward. But after two turns round the spiral they again encountered a cave-in and were forced to turn back.
      The two northern exits opened onto long hallways, one leading north and the other quickly turning west and both throwing off countless side branches. For now they decided to explore each of the two main passages, first one and then the other. As they did so they peered down each side corridor for any sign of a stairway, yet none did they see. They were not able to search the entire length of either hallway, for both ended in a wall of rubble.
      Leaving the side passages for now they returned to the unnamed hall and followed the remaining passage toward the east. This soon ended at a north-south tunnel with again many side corridors. Yet, this time they were in luck, for as they reached the southern terminus of this passage and rounded the corner toward the east they saw before them a stairway climbing straight up to the next level, and the rubble that they encountered on their ascent was not near enough to turn them back.
      At the top of the stairs the hallway turned straight to the north-east. It was then that the second attack came, for once again their torchlight had given them away. Again Raavan and Alatar had been at the head of the company and this time neither were taken entirely by surprise. The three Troells which assaulted them were quickly dispatched by flashing blades: Haranwë in the hands of Alatar and Noromendor in the hands of Raavan who after the last encounter had fastened the torch atop his staff in order that he might wield the sword with his other hand.
      The enemy had been cut down with only modest effort and the danger to the company had clearly not been great. Yet, it came into their minds that the torchlight gave their enemies some advantage by announcing their presence with its glow. Of course, none of the party wished to go stumbling about in the dark, for only the Dwarf had eyesight which was somewhat adapted to the dark and it occurred to them that combating assailants in the blackness offered the additional danger of possibly mistaking one of their own party for the foe in the confusion of battle.
      Nevertheless, they decided to extinguish the torches for a time and to try slipping silently though the dark, for they had encountered first one Troell and now three and the possibility of encountering yet more of the creatures suggested that perhaps a policy of stealth was a wise one in these parts. Raavan assured them all that should any trouble arise he could light the torch on the end of his staff with nary a moment’s delay, and none doubted this, for he was after all a wizard.
      So they waited till their eyes had adjusted to the dark and then they continued on toward the north-east. Corridors opened first right, then left, then right again and continued in alternating fashion for some time. Yet on they went, and with the greatest care and stealthiness they could collectively manage. As they had long ago become bewildered by the sheer size and complexity of the Dwarvenholt they agreed that their best hope of finding their way into the citadel was by an exhaustive search of all the major arteries, leaving the perplexingly complex labyrinths of the more obscure byways for future consideration.
      It was not long before their stealth paid off. Burak now took the lead followed by Raavan and with Alatar taking up the rear. They had slinked painstakingly for a hundred yards and more, looking and listening with the greatest care for any sign of danger, and soon they had it. Several yards ahead they could dimly see that the passage turned sharply to the left and at that same instant they began to hear voices. Rude voices they were and as the company listened intently round the corner they began to discern individual words. As they further trained their ears to the sound they perceived that there were two voices speaking in alternation and in a language very foreign to most of them.
      ‘Desqua scole vad ter, pere lund forroubon dia vil ocand? Raner jars lar jold rey wic lageon?’
      ‘Des. Nus fick canotetchar witernash broffevicticker.’
      ‘Crit alk garic nus. Murst, neve feize cre ter scomulavensiefiler. Ect bus jars dercid deburethurver fieful? Nus forroubon?’
      ‘Alk notin goy der fic, der grid gon sashilic per lageon.’
      ‘Fus unid. Hor dol rang.’
      A quick peek around the corner and Burak was able to verify that they were Troells and that there were only two of them. This time the party made their own surprise attack and the foul creatures were cut down before they could even draw their own weapons. The melee was short and relatively noiseless and as soon as the comrades had wiped their blades they continued toward the north-west in the silence to which they were now becoming quite accustomed.
      The passage zigzagged this way and that, progressing ever northward. Now the passage straightened out toward the north and began gradually to widen. Soon it made another sharp turn toward the west and then resumed its northward course. When again the party began to hear voices ahead the hallway had widened to over twice its previous breadth and no corners could they see in the blackness ahead.
      They stopped while the speakers sounded to be still some ways ahead. Yet the voices carried clear in the darkness and it was supposed that there would be no concealing corner this time round which the company could launch an assault. They retreated some distance and spoke in the quietest whispers. It was agreed that one of the smaller members of the company (meaning an Elfling) must sneak ahead clinging close to the wall and keeping always to the deepest shadow to see whether these were again Troells and how many were their number.
      Dannadar volunteered, but the unspoken consensus was that the Elfling was a bit too reckless for such a task. Talen then volunteered and was selected, for his skill at moving without detection was remarkable even for an Elfling. He was very apprehensive, however, and great was his relief when Falco offered to follow ten paces behind with bow drawn at the ready. If any trouble should ensue before their return a call from either of the Elflings would bring the whole company rushing to their rescue with blades drawn and torch blazing.
      The pair started up the passageway going stealthily as ever they could. Talen went on all fours, his bow stuck into his quiver and his scabbarded short-sword in his left hand ready for the drawing by his right. Soon the voices sounded clear again and once more he could discern individual words:
      ‘Minege ter disjoil. Mit scat dul, mor abowl suciorb, nessad gre jol griorgurna!’
        ‘Nus mendeprant der trus. Ble niare desquel abomb. Mon vol corphrog endisk gar groy.’
      ‘Ter feathemper fus blove shatersecal sce dess. Dre gotentorriptil minpoll, gonslanass cuo abooke bus.’
      ‘Pit diande ron ludem ral seang rass. Dal crumblash inas dune.’
      Though he could not be sure, Talen thought he could pick out three distinct voices; two for sure. If his courage began to flag at the thought of moving in for a closer look it recovered when he thought of his companions; how they relied on him now just as he had relied on nearly all of them at various times during the past weeks.
      He crept slowly forward. First two figures came into view, then a third, and as he was making up his mind to begin making a slow retreat another shape intruded upon his awareness: another figure reclining against the wall with its legs stretched out before it. There was a movement there and another creature revealed itself behind the reclining one. Now he had to be sure these were all: just five, or were there more? Slowly he inched forward, no longer even daring to breathe, for the further he went the more Troells he saw, as Troells they now clearly were.
      Twelve was his final count, though he could not be certain there were no others beyond the limit of his vision, for he had already come closer to the three who were speaking than he reckoned was at all prudent. So he began to back up. He went very slowly at first, retreating as stealthily as he had advanced, but as his distance to the enemy grew so too did his willingness to risk moving a bit more hastily. His haste was what got him into trouble.
      You will recall that Falco had been following some distance behind his crawling companion, arrow nocked and bow drawn to the full. He had at first no definite target for his aim; just the darkness in the direction of the voices. But as the speakers came into view he stopped in his tracks and trained his aim fully upon these creatures, for whether or no there were others near at hand these were the most immediate danger to Talen should they somehow be alerted to his presence.
      The strain of their task on Talen was considerable and he found it nerve wracking in the extreme. This is why he quite forgot during his retreat that Falco stood some distance behind him, and why it did not occur to him that the superior marksman may have riveted his attention on the Troells slightly ahead and across the way from where he stood.
      Just as Talen was in the height of his eagerness to beat a hasty retreat he backed full into Falco, not knowing at first whom or what he had struck. But the sudden shock of it brought on him a severe panic and he spun about on his hands and knees. Jerking his short-sword from the scabbard he lost balance, rolling onto his side and slapping the drawn blade against the stone with a ching!
      For his part Falco was no less surprised by the unexpected collision, for he had lost track of Talen’s movements when he turned to train his aim on the Troells. The jolt of Talen’s sudden impact so flustered the taut archer that he released the tightly-pulled bowstring. But he had lost his aim and the arrow fell wide of its mark, skidding on the floor past the whole band of Troells who now had a loud clang and a projectile from which to extrapolate the location of their would-be assailants. Drawing their weapons they quickly fell upon the hapless Elflings.
      Fortunately the Troells also let up a loud whoop! as they charged toward the companions and this was enough to bring the rest of the company rushing to their aid. Raavan’s torch lit up with a bright flash as on they rushed to engage the enemy. Talen took a blow in the chest from one of the Troells as he parried a thrust from another, but the Dwarven armour that he wore saved him from injury, and he was only bruised by the force of it. Falco had reached instinctively for another arrow as soon as the second had been loosed and he used it to fell his first Troell. A third arrow was shot by him but bounced harmlessly off of a Troell’s shield and after that he was forced to throw down the bow and draw his short-sword, for the enemy were now at close range.
      There were enough foes this time that all the party were able to participate in the melee. The Elflings finally had a chance to put their brief training at sword play into practise. They found to their surprise that they were able to fare quite well against the Troells, for the latter proved to be no more skilled at warfare than they, though some of them were definitely a bit stronger. But the Elflings had the advantages of cunning and speed and one by one they slew their adversaries and took only minor scratches in return.
      The battle did not last long but the company took a rest afterward, for still it had been more than they were expecting and they felt a need to re-evaluate their strategy before proceeding any further. It seemed to some that their attempts at stealth were costing them too much time for the doubtful advantage it gave against their foes. As none of the party could argue forcefully enough against this position they decided to revert to using the torches for the time being.
      On they went travelling northward along the ever widening hallway with Raavan’s torch providing their light. Soon the walls and ceiling disappeared entirely and were replaced by the impenetrable darkness. They had emerged from Ilimath into an outdoor courtyard with a smooth, marble floor, and as they stared up into the night they saw stars gleaming down at them from on high.
      Yet, the air had not the freshness of the outdoors and no silhouettes of nearby mountain peaks stood starkly up in the night sky to mask the distant stars. In the torchlight they saw that the marble floor was very dusty and they soon came to the unavoidable conclusion that they had in fact passed into an unimaginably vast hall with gems set high up in the ceiling to glimmer down at them as would distant stars. In time they came to the western wall and then there could be no doubt that it was so: they were yet trapped within the blackness of Ilimath. Its vastness had now shown itself to be quite beyond all expectation, and it even strained their comprehension.
      ‘Was this made by Dwarves, or by gods?’ asked Falco breaking the silence.
      ‘One wonders,’ said Burak. ‘Yet, it must have been made by Dwarves, for this can only be the fabled Hall of Críonnach.’