Chapter 13

So great was the Hall of Críonnach that merely walking its perimeter took them upwards of half an hour. When they arrived again at the wide passage by which they had entered they could come to no consensus on the exact number of exits they had passed, for their interest in keeping an accurate count began to wane somewhat after the first twenty or so.
      They again found much detritus strewn across the floor, especially bones. They were more surprised, however, when they started to come across the bodies of recently slain Troells, most of them obviously burned to death. Raavan explained that these beasts had their own tribal contests which often led to bloodshed, and like as not they had been killed by other Troells or perhaps by Goblyns trying to beat them into submission for their own agonistic purposes. It was a riddle that their quest left no time to ponder any further, and so on they went.
      As before they favoured the western passages, and as luck would have it the first one they tried led round a corner and up a steep flight of steps. It was no longer clear to them that they necessarily should be seeking the higher levels in prosecuting their search, for their sense was that the citadel was at roughly the height of the third or fourth level and they now were on the third. But Burak estimated that the citadel lay still a considerable distance to the south and west of where they now were and as this stairway angled almost perfectly toward the south-west they decided to follow it.
      Halfway up the stairs they found some rough going, for portions of the stairway were severely crumbled and at one point a large crevasse opened on either side to swallow up three steps. Though the distance would not have been a great one to leap on level ground they found it somewhat awkward to make the jump upward and they feared that upon landing on the upper step they might lose their balance and fall backward into the pit. Yet, they took their time and all the company made it across quite safely.
      Soon after topping the stairs they encountered another large crevasse, this one slashing diagonally across the hallway and leaving a gap of no less than five feet in its narrowest place. They found a crudely constructed wooden span propped up against one wall, but as the span was old and the wood obviously beginning to rot they decided not to trust it and instead undertook to leap the gaping chasm. This they did with only minor mishaps: both Burak and Fifin found the distance just barely too great and needed help upon reaching the far side to avoid slipping into the abyss.
      Now the passage continued toward the south and they followed it till they encountered a rather large pile of rubble from a cave-in. As the collapse did not appear to have been recent and as there was an adequate crawl-space over the rubble they decided to continue. Another pile of rock was encountered further down the hallway, but again they were able to proceed without undue difficulty.
      The passage then continued on for a very long way, heading straight toward the south and having no side branches, though there was a locked iron door on the right side which probably had not been opened for many hundreds or perhaps even thousands of years. Soon after this the passage opened into a room.
      The chamber they now entered was very strangely shaped, with zigzagging walls that stepped progressively outward for a total distance of perhaps ten or twelve yards before zigzagging their way back together at the far end. When they had entered the chamber and had had a look about they saw that the ceiling was arched in a block-like fashion, the large stone squares arrayed round the edges of the ceiling hanging lower than those further in toward the middle. They also saw that a passage led from the room in each of the four cardinal directions.
      What was most remarkable about this room, however, was the large tripartite arch standing before them. It was made of a smooth black rock unlike any they had seen before. The arch itself was elegantly curved, its three legs equally spaced round a circle carved into the stone floor, their girth decreasing smoothly from base to tip where they seamlessly joined. Within the circle on the floor were set very ancient runes.
      ‘Know you anything of this, Burak?’ asked Alatar, gazing down at the ancient writing.
      ‘This is Duruk’s arch,’ replied Burak, ‘and the inscription must therefore be the Riddle of Druindor.’
      ‘Can you read it?’ asked Talen.
      The Dwarf replied, ‘It is written in the old tongue, Drimordis. It reads:
       
      thaistin ra ibanodune
      egadrherelal gindoch
      hrenntan ain rumbirth
      llorus aiog ain
      iminuson meriaith
      u alerbyn hasth egari
      befanamorn mbeioros
      han athonf u rerort gwelf
      parhindenn ngolaestad elw
       
      ‘Roughly translated, it says that a dark god will fall from the sky and seek to destroy the Dwarven kingdoms, and the only way to defeat him will be to join him. That’s roughly it. The literal translation is much more obscure, and the loremasters have been arguing over it for millennia. That is why we call it a riddle: nobody has yet been able to figure out what it really refers to; whether it is something which has already happened or is yet to come. Some believe it is merely nonsense.’
      ‘And what of the stone used to manufacture this arch? Have you any knowledge of that?’ asked Alatar.
      ‘The stone is Black Phion, which is of unknown origin,’ answered Burak. ‘It cannot be found in the world today, not in Entira anyway, and there is no record of where Duruk obtained it. It has been suggested that he found it in the very deepest, darkest mines beneath Ilimath at the very root of Mount Ceredh. But that is doubtful, for none since Duruk’s time have found any trace of it. It is said to have magical properties, though it is not recorded exactly what those are.’
      All the party found these things of great interest, yet they were reminded once again by Raavan that they needed to move on.
      They tried the western doorway, but it dead-ended shortly in another iron door and though they tried to open it it would not budge. The eastern passage they did not try but took the southern passage instead. This extended some ways before making a gentle turn to the west. One hallway branched off toward the south and then some distance ahead another branched off toward the north. Twenty yards later they came to a long, low ceilinged room with curious grooves cut into the floor, the purpose of which could not be explained by the Dwarf. At the far end another passage led away toward the west, and this they followed.
      Turning round a corner to the north they encountered yet another ascending stairway. Upon reaching the higher level the passage continued a short distance toward the north and then opened into an enormous, domed hall made entirely of polished white marble. The eight passages leading into the hall were equally spaced around the perimeter and took the form of splendid arched doorways. In the centre of the room was a spiral staircase, also of white marble, twisting its way upward through the high, domed ceiling. Set round this central stairway in each of the cardinal directions were statues of Dwarven gods.
      ‘The Glammen Dome!’ said Burak excitedly. ‘We should have sought this place right from the start. If there was ever a hall to which the great kings would have wished to have a private entrance, this surely is it.’ With that he began to inspect every inch of the room, round the walls, near the statues, and by the stairs.
      The others watched him go eagerly about his business for a moment and then they resumed gazing in wonder at what was certainly the most beautiful structure they had seen in Ilimath: the Glammen Dome. They were pleasantly surprised to see that Ilimath was not all dark labyrinthine passages and nasty creatures jumping out from ambush. They had already seen that there was art, of sorts, and now they saw that there was beauty as well and that some at least of that beauty had survived the ravages of Mythron’s horde and all the other hideous, spiteful things which had slinked their way into that hole in the long intervening years.
      ‘Aha!’ said the Dwarf, pushing hard now on a section of wall which showed signs of giving way. ‘I have found it. I believe this is the way into the citadel.’
       
       
      Burak had definitely found a secret door, but getting it open was proving rather difficult even for the Dwarf. With much effort he had been able to open it wide enough for them to thrust a torch through the crack and have a peek into the hallway beyond, but after this he was able to gain only a wee bit more before concluding that no more could be done from the outside. He would need an assistant to help him from within.
      Only Fifin could fit through the crack, and only after shedding everything but his underclothes. This he did and then he slipped carefully through the narrow opening. Once on the other side he began to receive instructions from Burak. The Dwarf professed that there was some sort of catch that was causing the difficulty and which merely needed to be toggled. They were some time collaborating on this task, the Dwarf and the Elfling, and then finally the company heard a click followed by a solid thud, and then the door swung neatly open. Fifin emerged and at once donned his garments and the other items he had been compelled to shed in order to do his duty.
      Into the secret passage they filed. They saw upon following it round to the left that the modest hallway wrapped round the dome in counter-clockwise fashion till it reached the south-west sector of the circular hall. Then it thrust outward in a stairway that gently wound left and right while progressing always toward the south-west.
      Though the stairway was very long the steps were rather shallow, being also long and broad, and when finally they reached the end of the passage they guessed that they had descended no more than two levels. The passage terminated in what appeared to be a dead end, but Burak soon found the mechanism which would open this second hidden portal. Then the door swung open with little effort and they all passed through into the cavern that opened beyond.
      In the midst of that great cave there rose a magnificent stone tower, circular and tall, but like no tower any in the party other than Raavan had ever seen or imagined, for the structure was ornamented and fortified with many buttresses and arches, parapets and balustrades, windows and balconies and plinths and pillars. A variety of stone had been used in its construction, lending to it an extraordinary range in colour and texture. Highly symmetrical it was and yet very complex in its form and profile.
      Contrasting with this symmetry was the natural, unworked rock of the cavern walls that surrounded it. The citadel itself was built snug into a tight corner of the cavern and rose up into a narrow, chimney-like structure formed by the cave, so that the uppermost portions of the tower could not even be seen from where the company stood. It was a most unlikely place for a tower, some of its upper windows looking out on nought but stalactites and other crowded rock formations, yet it bore the mark of Dwarven workmanship at all points. If any of them could imagine being a Dwarven king they had no difficulty imagining this as their chosen palace.
      Across the way the party espied the massive pile of rubble which must have hid the doorway to the Stairs of Ukurond. From where they stood a rough path of unworked stepping stones led toward the citadel, and a similar path led from the citadel toward the mound of rubble. These appeared to be the only two ways into this place and so they were very grateful they had found the secret door, for the rubble barring the way to the Stairs was more than the party could have moved in a hundred years, by their reckoning.
      Down the stone path they trudged till they reached the front door of the citadel. The door was of a very strong but light metal and it opened with little effort, creaking as it did so. As they filed into the royal palace they wondered that the people who had built such an impressive kingdom within the very solidness of the mountain could have been defeated and driven in shame from their homeland to live for over a thousand years in exile. Yet here among them was one of those very exiles: a stout Dwarven warrior both brave and strong, and clearly with a yearning to know the ancestral homeland he had never before seen.
      And then they each began to sharpen their resolve, for they would not lose their own beloved homelands to the foul designs of the new enemy in Tath. They were reminded that they had come to complete a task, that there would be real consequences should they fail, and that they and their loved ones would feel those consequences most bitterly should they fail at this task. They were very close: they needed only to finish this errand and a great risk would be averted; then hope would not so easily be surrendered.
      Yet, none were so focused on the object of their quest as Raavan and he led them with little delay up the several spiral staircases to the very top of the tower. In a wide yet tapering room located in the very spire of the citadel they found Mythron’s ancient laboratory. Many hideous things they saw there, all the trappings of necromancy laid bare before their eyes, and the years had done little to diminish the vile repugnance of the place. A blackness hung about all, as if a shadow of the Deathlord’s black spirit still haunted this place though a millennium had passed since his departure.
      It was also very cold. It was plainly colder inside the mountain than out in the open summer air, but here there was a chill that froze the very spirit. A feeling arose in them that there were unseen forces at work in that place, deeper and darker than any that at least the meek among them had ever felt. Their own presence here was as the mere fingertips of fate moving pieces in a great game that had been progressing since time immemorial.
      It was the books which drew Raavan’s interest, and there were many of these, mostly piled high on tables and with ages of dust upon them. The wizard began to inspect them carefully, and when he was reluctantly offered assistance he summarily declined, bidding the company to instead take rest while he completed this most crucial part of their errand.
      It was a good opportunity to rest their legs and nibble on a bit of Melimbar. They were much relieved at having finally made their way into the elusive Citadel of Tuairísi, and as they ate they reflected on the trials they had faced during the long trek in this dark realm which had ultimately brought them to this place. Yet, as they watched Raavan quietly pore over ancient, dusty tomes they remembered that their task would not be truly complete till they had actually taken the codex into their custody. In the meantime the remaining slim but very real possibility that the codex might not actually lie within the citadel did grind somewhat on their nerves.
      Minutes went by, then an hour, and still the wizard had not found the onerous relic. Suspicion was turning into anxiety, and anxiety into melancholy, when finally the wizard jumped up from behind a towering stack of books and began to walk with desultory gait toward the now restless company. Finally he slammed the book closed with a loud smack! and exclaimed: ‘I’ve found it!’
       
       
      The tension had run very high, and so their relief was of course very great. Were it not for their bleak surroundings there atop the ancient citadel they would have danced for joy and held what meagre celebration they could manage under the circumstances. Instead they made do with smiles and warm embraces, and their moods were lifted considerably.
      Raavan took his Melimbar and then the whole company trotted back down the many stairs and out again through the front door of the citadel. Their joyful exuberance coming down from its modest peak, they once again resolved to keep a clear eye and a vigilant guard, for they had still to find their way safely out of the Dwarvendelf; with Troells on the loose, inept warriors though they were, carelessness would no more serve them now than it would before.
      They followed the stone path to the secret doorway in the rough cavern wall and began the long ascent up the many stairs to the Glammen Dome. In time they reached the dome and emerged from the secret passage to once again wonder at the beauty of this high place which they had discovered in the eternal darkness of Ilimath. Their sense of urgency somewhat blunted now by their acquisition of the all-important codex, they allowed themselves the pleasure of a brief perusal through the grand hall.
      Burak named for them the godly statues which graced the vicinity of the marble stairs: Etta to the north, Noeg to the south, Eiyr to the east, and Uuma to the west. Burak explained that these were the traditional attitudes of the upper gods, but that it was not always so, for when Noeg saw how the world was too large even for the gods to see all at once they strode to the extremes of the four cardinal directions and so divided up the task of watching over the world below.
      He described how Eiyr and Uuma had both coveted the sun, which Etta kept in the middle of the sky all the day long, and how Etta satisfied both their desires for it by allowing Eiyr to hold it at sunrise and Uuma at sunset. He declared that during the remainder of the day it must travel patiently from Eiyr to Uuma, east to west, and at night be returned to Etta’s pocket for safekeeping.
      Seeing that this left the night rather dark Noeg fashioned the moon and set it out to shine only during the night-time, and to travel also east to west for the satisfaction of Eiyr and Uuma. But Noeg had not put the same effort into the crafting of the moon as Etta had the sun, and so it shone less bright. Also, its nightly wandering soon became erratic so that not every night has a moon and when there is one it does not always shine in full.
      These bits of Dwarven lore and others Burak recounted as the company marveled at the wonder of the great Glammen Dome, for here surely was the pinnacle of Dwarven craftsmanship, preserved for millennia and unspoilt even by the filthy vermin which had inhabited the Kâlandelf for a thousand years and more.
      As the company stood close by the spiral staircase in the middle of the hall some among them could feel the faintest draft of fresh air wafting down from a high place and they wondered aloud whether there was an exit that way. Burak explained that these stairs were in fact reputed to climb very high up into the mountain and then to split into several passages which bore through to the very sides of the great mount. Here a spectacular view of the surrounding lands was to be had, though there was no way down from that high mountain place except by the same stairs. Though there was some interest in pursuing this legend they decided at Raavan’s insistence to forego this pleasure and continue on their way.
      Passing through the southern exit they left the Glammen Dome behind, but not without many a glance back, and not only by the Dwarf, though he was surely the most awed by it. Down the stairway they went, round the bend and back into the long hall with the strangely grooved floor.
      When they had entered the lower chamber Raavan halted abruptly, explaining then that he had seen someone or something flee into the shadows at the far end of the hall, though who or what it had been he could not say. They went on then with renewed vigilance, but they encountered nothing untoward: no menacing eyes staring out of the shadows, nor even the tail of a fleeing rat.
      Nevertheless, the need for continued alertness was not lost on them. Raavan decided to hand over to Fifin the great tome which he had been carrying, as the wizard now led the way and required a free hand to wield Noromendor should that become necessary. For his part Fifin felt honoured at being granted such responsibility, and as the most gentle soul among them he was quite content to leave any fighting to the others.
      In time they came again to Duruk’s Arch. Though they marveled again at this strange monument they did not lower their guard, and on they went with no more than a moment’s pause. North they continued past the iron door, across the great chasm and on down the stairs. Both gaping fissures were again crossed with care and there were no mishaps, though Fifin would not jump with the codex and he passed it to Raavan till he was safely across.
      Back to the immense Hall of Críonnach they had come. They recalled that their exit lay roughly near the centre of the southern wall, and so they continued toward the middle of the great chamber till they judged it was time for them to turn south. Just then they began to hear a most singular pattern of sounds, very much like the rattling of great numbers of bones. They heard this directly ahead and also to their left. As they paused for a moment to consider what this strange sound may portend they began to hear it also behind them and to their right as well. Now they became most alarmed, for there was an ill-omened feeling in the dry air and whatever was the rattling that they heard it now ringed them completely.
      Blades were raised and arrows drawn hard against taut bowstrings in nervous anticipation. Instinctively they formed into a tight circle facing outward into the blackness. It was not long before the threat (for threat it was) made itself known to them.
      At first they saw only vague movements barely discernible at the very limits of the torchlight, but then out of the inky darkness came to them a truly fell sight. The scores of old bones which had been strewn helter-skelter about the vast hall were now risen up into complete manlike figures: grisly skeletons with twisted limbs and darkly cavernous eye sockets staring, a multitude of frightful figures all ambling clumsily toward the party, closing steadily upon them.
      They all bore weapons of some sort: some proper blades though variously broken and rusty; others with makeshift cudgels which were themselves merely bones held menacingly in skeletal hands. Yet little doubt had the companions that this unnatural contingent of cadaverous aggressors would be a perilous one to face, if only because of its size.
      ‘Undead!’ said Raavan. ‘Stow your arrows, my friends. Only blades will do against such foe as these.’ Of course, the Elflings immediately realised that arrows would indeed be of little use against such a foe, for no soft flesh had these monsters into which they could sink their pointed shafts. Replacing their bows the Elflings drew their Dwarven blades and held them at the ready. Fifin had already placed the codex on the floor in the midst of the circle, for he could not juggle both a weapon and the weighty tome together and every member of the party would be needed to fend off the superior force.
      Battle soon was enjoined, and it raged hotly about them for more than a few minutes. All the combatants hacked and hewed, chopped and slashed, yet the resuscitated corpses came on. Bony limbs were cleaved away with little or no effect, for the skeletal remains fought on heedlessly for as long as a weapon still could be raised against their mortal opponents.
      The contest continued. They were beset upon all sides. When at length a way was opened in the ranks of the aggressors the party make quick their escape, Fifin frantically scooping up the codex from the floor and all of them fleeing south in search of their exit from the Hall of Críonnach. They were thankful when they saw that the foe were too ungainly on their bony feet to mount an effective chase.
      Into the night of Ilimath they sped, for the moment too hurried to carefully observe their bearings. When they reached the southern wall there was no passageway in view, so they followed along toward the west, thinking that they had progressed too far in the opposite direction. But when they came to their exit it was not as wide as some had remembered it, and now they were unsure whether this was the correct way.
      No sound of pursuit did they hear, for they had left the enemy some ways behind. Yet, they were loathe to search for a more familiar looking passage, lest their undead assailants come upon them before they had made good their escape. Thus, into this passage they went, speedily but with all due caution, for they did not forget that there were other nasty things living in that black place.
      No side corridors branched off of this passage and it came to their minds that if this way led to a dead end they could be caught with a still sizeable mob behind them.
      Soon they came to a very large, oval-shaped chamber with a long pool stretching down its length. When they had gone halfway they stopped to catch their breath and take stock of their injuries. Only minor cuts and bruises had been sustained, even by the Elflings, thanks largely to their armour, though also in no small measure to their recently developed skills as swordsmen.
      When it was seen that none were grievously wounded, a moment more was spared for rest and then they left the oval chamber through an exit which they found at its southern end. This passage turned toward the south-east, branched several times, and then terminated at another passage stretching from north-east to south-west. This they recognised as the hallway in which they had encountered the Troells shortly before reaching the Hall of Críonnach. Southwest they went and soon they were descending the stairs back down to the second level.
      Though it had been only a matter of several hours since they had passed that way before, much had happened since and they had to think carefully about the way. They went slowly, coming in time to the large, unnamed hall near the rubble-block stairway. South they went, down the sloping, curving passageway that took them in time back to the statue of Narquestor. Here they again took a break and had a much-needed meal of water and Melimbar. Their weapons were kept handy while they ate, and they spoke in hushed tones.
      ‘Raavan,’ said a haggard-looking Burak, ‘I beg you: tell me what manner of devilry can bring scattered bones back to life that way.’
      The wizard replied, ‘The animation of skeletons is a relatively easy task for any accomplished sorcerer. Unfortunately, they are more easily raised than put down.’
      The dwarf shook his head. ‘It is a most unnatural thing. I hope never to witness it again.’
      ‘But Raavan,’ said Talen, ‘does this not mean then that there is a sorcerer about the place?’
      ‘It does, I am afraid,’ replied the wizard.
      ‘Perhaps it is that spy from Aberlaven,’ suggested Dannadar. ‘You said he might follow us here. Do you think he may be trying to relieve us of the codex?’
      ‘Perhaps,’ Raavan replied. ‘That is a fear which has been growing in the back of my mind for some days now. But the conjurers I had in mind when I spoke of such are all very limited in their abilities. At least, they were so when last I encountered any of them.’
      ‘But I thought you said that raising the dead was an easy task for a sorcerer,’ said Dannadar.
      Raavan replied, ‘I said that animating skeletons was easy, not raising the dead . There is a big difference. And it is only easy for those having a certain requisite level of proficiency in the black arts. In any event, I am afraid that leaving this place may be rather more difficult than we had anticipated. We must be very wary from now on.’
      ‘Indeed,’ agreed Falco, ‘for there is certainly no shortage of old bones in this place.’
      They rested a bit longer and then revived themselves for the continuation of their exodus from Ilimath. On they went toward the east, taking the southern branch at the four-way and then angling up to the north-east once again. Soon they came again to the great Hall of Aitheangar. Still the columns glowed phosphorescently with their fiery traces, red and green, but the wonder of the company was tempered by their vigilance. Past the first row of columns they went in near silence, a faint breeze now touching their faces, and then they heard it again: the knocking of bones, the chattering of teeth, and the cracking of knuckles.
      ‘I hear them again,’ said Fifin with alarm.
      ‘Yes, I know,’ replied Raavan with obvious vexation.
      ‘Raavan, can you not counter this threat with some magic of your own?’ asked Burak.
      The wizard replied, ‘I can, if it comes to that, but as I said, it takes much more effort to dispel this sort of devilry than to generate it. Right now our best bet is to try to win through to the far side.’
      ‘Then let us move as quickly and quietly as ever we can, and perhaps we can avoid engaging them,’ said Alatar. With that he led them cautiously forward, weaving craftily among the great pillars and listening all the while for the sounds of the foe. The latter caused them to double back several times and before long they found themselves unintentionally wandering farther and farther to the north.
      Eventually they saw that engagement was unavoidable, for their torchlight announced their presence quite clearly. The first encounter was with a small group of the grim miscreants. Four skeletons were expertly hacked into bony fragments by Haranwë, Noromendor, and Burak’s axe, Tuin. Another group of three, then another of two, and then one of four tested their defences and found them to be more than adequate.
      When they found that they had reached the north-east corner of the great hall they turned south, but assailants on their right were joined in short order by several just ahead and before these could be dispatched their numbers began to swell so that all the party were again engaged. Once more Fifin had to drop the weighty tome that he bore and make good use of his Dwarven blade.
      This time the sleepless corpses fought very effectively, due largely to their numbers, and the party were pushed back to the north. With the eastern wall on their immediate left they knew the danger of falling back too far, for the north-east corner lay not very far behind. Yet, they were beaten back with such intensity that it became impossible for them to avoid being cornered and soon they were hemmed in on all sides by solid rock and flailing bones.
      The company fought on with great fury, but their endurance could not last forever. The nicks and bruises were becoming more common and yet on came the ghoulish foe. Finally, Raavan let down his sword and stepped behind Alatar, his staff held firm in his left hand and his head bowed in concentration. Then crack! a bright flash of light tore through the ranks of the grim assailants and a great swath of charred bones was opened through the remaining cohort. Into this gap the company rushed, Fifin struggling to keep up with the massive book tucked under his left arm.
      Soon the company was surrounded once again, and once more Raavan called upon his considerable powers of wizardry to conjure up a searing burst in the midst of the mindless attackers. Again the company gained ground and again they found themselves beset by yet more of the hideous foe. Once more Raavan did his magic, and once more with deadly effect. Yet this time the flash left a lingering afterglow on all the combatants which gave them for just a moment a clear view of nearly the full width of the great hall: the columns, the tiers, and the passageway which they desperately needed to gain. As Talen gazed thither he saw a robed figure flee into the passage, stopping long enough to cast a wrathful glare in the direction of the company.
      This final blast was just what was needed, for all that remained now between the company and their exit were just a few odd skeletons and these were mowed down by Alatar and Burak with a fury terrible to behold. Soon they all had reached the exit and eastward into it they fled.
       
       
      Stairs went by in a blind rush. Soon they found themselves again on the ground level of Ilimath. Now westward they flew down the long, branching passageway which it seemed they had not seen in many days. When they stopped to catch their breath no sound of pursuit did they hear, though they rushed on soon nonetheless, for their path would now be easy to guess for any who did choose to pursue them.
      They walked at a rapid pace, all of them still soaked through with sweat and their limbs sore with the effort of wielding heavy steel. Yet they knew they were now within a reasonable distance of the front gate and it was the thought of reaching that gate and passing out again into the open air that occupied their minds.
      When they came again to the sloping southern passage they turned and fairly rolled down it. Minutes went by but they felt like seconds and their feet no longer registered the weariness of each additional step, for they were finally on their way home, even if it was still a very long way.
      In time the passage ended and they turned west toward the banquet hall, then south, and then after a time east. When they came to the corner that turned south toward the Throne Room they stopped again to rest, for they had made enough turns and had gone far enough that they judged their pursuers had little chance of catching up with them. They sat in the corner and partook of some much-needed water.
      Straight down this hallway and then a few paces to the east and they would be again in the hall which they knew as the marketplace. Once there, nothing could stop them from reaching the front gate. They could almost feel the warmth of the sunlight on their faces, though none of them could yet reckon whether it was day or night or even how many suns had passed overhead since they had ventured into the dark. But they were almost assured of a safe escape from Ilimath and that made them feel good.
      ‘I thought those skeletons were going to be the end of us,’ said Dannadar, who was quite bruised and had a few minor scratches on his face. He had fought well, but they were outmatched by the pure numbers of the foe.
      ‘Yes,’ said Raavan, ‘that was close back there. But at least I can now put a name to our spy, for I have seen him and what is more, he is aware that I have seen him. Let him fear my wrath! For, he surely knows that when he and I meet again at close quarters it will be the end of him.’
      ‘Who is it?’ asked several voices at once.
      ‘His name is Nostaite,’ the wizard replied, ‘a petty conjurer, or at least he has always been so. He does seem to have increased his skill somewhat since last we crossed paths.’
      ‘I thought you said the skeleton trick wasn’t very hard,’ said Dannadar.
      ‘It’s not difficult for a learned wizard or a great necromancer,’ said Raavan, ‘of which Nostaite is neither. I am sure this effort has taxed his strength as much as it has taxed mine.’ The wizard indeed looked very tired and they supposed that the magical blasts which he caused to tear through the enemy had required considerable effort on his part.
      ‘Well, what shall we do about him?’ asked Dannadar.
      ‘I do not think we have much to fear from Nostaite,’ said Raavan. ‘He felt the aura of my power back there in the great hall, and I his. He is no match for me and he is wise enough at least to know that. He will keep his distance now, and there is little he can do to thwart us. The codex is safe with us and our mission will soon be accomplished.’
      So reassuring were Raavan’s words and so tired all their weary limbs that it was no great feat for several of them to drop off into restful slumber. Before long they all were sleeping, some more soundly and others less so, yet none of those who surfaced occasionally into dim wakefulness had the strength of will to rouse the others and suggest the setting of a watch.
      They woke several hours later, quite suddenly in fact, and though they rather suspected there had been some audible disturbance which had simultaneously roused them, none could definitively say what it had been.
      With their weapons still in hand they took up their packs and made off toward the south. Yet, when they had gone halfway down that hallway they suddenly heard a distant howling: most loathsome it was, and dreadful. Though it was heard from the direction in which they were travelling, it sounded distant still. Five minutes more and they finally passed the Throne Room on the left. But then a dark foreboding came over them: of what, they did not know; yet dire and desperate it was.
      Reaching the southern end of that hallway they turned briefly toward the east and then turning south they entered the marketplace. Though they now were tantalizingly close to the front gate the ominous foreboding became only stronger. Now they hesitated, wanting inwardly to run to the gate and pass through into the open space beyond, yet their legs became shaky and they gripped their weapons very tightly indeed. Talen had a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach, and judging by their faces he guessed most of the others did too.
      When they had crossed over the catwalks and reached the far side they walked slowly to the doorway and then halted. Across the cluttered room were the twin iron doors of the front gate. Yet, none were able to look that way, for at either end of this wide chamber were broad stairs marching slowly down into the earth, and up the eastern stair they knew something terrible was approaching. A red glow it cast on the walls, and its gruesome hiss bespoke of hot breath over unnaturally many pointed teeth.
      Now the hulking body of the beast hove into view as it pulled itself up onto the top step. It was by far the most hideous thing which any of them (except perhaps Raavan) had ever seen. The fiend had glowing yellow eyes set beneath pointed horns that thrust out to the sides like immense brow ridges. A small black nose was underlined by a leering mouth with impossibly many teeth, these being uniformly long and pointy and glistening with spittle. When the beast saw the company it abruptly stopped, then glared at them with evil pleasure. Its mouth opened wider into a hideous smile banded by thin strands of saliva. The rest of the monster was black, and though it was difficult in the darkness to discern the individual limbs supporting its body it appeared to have several pairs of arms and legs and large, bulky shoulders.
      If any among them had considered dashing across the narrow space to the front gate they lost all heart to do so when the beast lunged forward into the long chamber and started to amble menacingly toward them with its slowly rocking gait. So afraid were they all that they each one fled back the way they had come, for the moment oblivious even to each other and certainly taking no notice of the robed figure which hid in the shadows.
      Back they ran across the catwalks and only upon reaching the far side did any dare look back. What they saw then would haunt their dreams for the rest of their mortal lives, for upon the eastern span lay Fifin sprawled out on all fours, now raising himself from his fall and fumbling to retrieve the codex which lay just balanced on the edge of the catwalk.
      The watching comrades gasped in horror as the beast ambled onto the span, his gaze set firmly upon the tiny figure toward which he inexorably prowled. They saw Alatar race forward to defend the helpless Elfling, who now was frozen in the grips of fear.
      The man and the monster reached the Elfling at the same instant, and then Haranwë was brought down upon the beast with a stroke more forceful and daring than any the man had executed in his life. This same sword had long ago slain the mighty Dragon Ferelvalima, but this beast was a fiend beyond the harm of any mortal weapon, for it was spawned in the very fires of Helh, and it feared no man. Thus the legend of Haranwë ended, for it fully shattered upon touching the hellish fiend, and the very force of the shock threw the man back several yards. When Alatar regained his feet he saw that the Elfling was already dead, devoured by the awful monster as the codex went tumbling over the edge of the catwalk to land with a thud on the floor of the open chamber below.
      The company would have stood there frozen stiff by the sickening horror of it but for the voice of the wizard shouting at them in desperation: ‘None can defy the Ghatâl! It is an opponent beyond our abilities! We can do nothing but flee!’