At first, they proceeded with careful, yet purposeful steps, taking the only possible route. Rimbaud stooped slightly to avoid striking his head on the low ceiling of the tunnel. Estelyn concentrated on the direction, comparing the way they took with her memories of the passageway charts.
It was not long before Rimbaud’s left hand, which had been grazing the wall, stretched out into emptiness. He turned his head, his gaze a wordless query. Estelyn nodded and gestured toward the opening. They turned the corner, continuing on a way that was still rough and slippery, but level. Shortly afterwards, a draught of air from the right announced another passage. The ground here was smoother, an indication that they had reached the main way, Estelyn knew.
They moved more quickly now, so that Estelyn, surprised when Rimbaud suddenly stood still, collided with him. She gasped and steadied herself, whispering “What is it?” He raised the lantern so that she could see past his arm. A glint of light on the ground mirrored the flame of the lamp. Rimbaud bowed to pick up a piece of metal; it looked like the point of a knife, marked with scratches that could have been strange runes or marks of previous usage.
“This is not from a weapon of Gondor,” he spoke quietly. “Are we yet inside the boundaries of the White City?”
“Yes,” she answered with a troubled note in her voice. “We are near the outer wall, but still some distance from the entrance to the passages. Think you that a foe was here?”
He turned to let the light flicker onto the walls. An attentive eye could see that there were marks of a scuffle, though the moisture that trickled down to the ground had left little evidence of what had transpired.
“Whoever it was must have been chased away,” he concluded. Neither spoke the thought that was on both minds: If the foe had left alive, would he bring back more of his kind to wreak havoc in the city? Rimbaud laid the piece of metal in Estelyn’s hand; she carefully placed it in her pouch. They walked on as quickly as possible, all senses alert for further signs. Other passages opened up to the left and right; Estelyn counted silently and tugged at Rimbaud’s sleeve several times to indicate a change in direction.
Finally the path forked ahead of them. “Which way now?” he asked. The light shone into the right-hand passage, showing that the ground rose steeply.
“This is the way to the outer entrance,” she said. “If we seek to follow the foe to Mordor, we must take the way to the left. Yet I wish to look here first; it may be that a sign has been left. I will take the lantern and lead the way.”
They stopped and listened, but nothing could be heard save the eerie echoes of dripping water and whistling wind. Estelyn began the ascent, supporting herself with her free hand and struggling to find secure footholds as the stones rolled away under her sturdy boots. Rimbaud was thankful that his thick cloak saved him from feeling those that struck him. Despite the cold and the concern for their situation, he smiled wryly, wondering if his companion had chosen to lead at that moment for her own reasons.
Finally the ground levelled and they paused, panting from the strain. The darkness lightened almost imperceptibly as they hurried ahead, eager to see the light of day. Suddenly Estelyn stumbled, almost dropping the lantern as she struggled to regain her footing. Her hand touched a clammy mass that lay at her feet…
[ December 11, 2002: Message edited by: Estelyn Telcontar ]
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'Mercy!' cried Gandalf. 'If the giving of information is to be the cure of your inquisitiveness, I shall spend all the rest of my days in answering you. What more do you want to know?' 'The whole history of Middle-earth.. .'
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