[piosenniel]

It was pitch black now along the perimeter road. All the candles had gone out, and only the wavering light from the fires still burning in the Locks tunnel reached feebly to the path. It was smoky as they passed the corridor leading to the Locks, and eerily quiet, with only the sound of their running steps to break the silence. Daisy stopped at the entrance and then sprinted into the smoke. Pio halted the others and ran after her, cursing the impulsiveness of her action. Curses turned to praise as Daisy ran back toward her holding two thick, flaming brands in her fists. Pio hurried her out and they stood coughing, eyes tearing on the road.

‘It was one of my jobs when I was here at first.’ She told the Elf. ‘I had to stack them in the corner of the alcove for the guards to use.’ She turned her head away and sniffled her runny nose; then turned, and held Pio’s gaze with her own. ‘Sometimes they used them for light, but mostly they just beat us with them.’ Pio reached out for the brands giving one each to Kali and to Gamba. She pulled Daisy tight against her, and whispered in her ear. ‘Never again, little one!’ She kissed the tangled curls on the top of her head, and urged her on.

Kali and Gamba ran before them, lighting the way. They passed the new mines entrance and the tunnel to the new tombs. What Hobbits, Elves or guards had been here were now long gone. They moved on unimpeded.

This small band of warriors was just rounding the perimeter road and turning in a westerly direction toward the guards' quarters when Mithadan called a halt. There was light up ahead, the red glow of the flames made the rock walls seem to weep blood. Shouts rang out and the screams of the dying. They left the brands burning where they had flung them down on the road bed, and moved forward slowly weapons drawn.

The clash and ring of steel against steel filled the area, punctuated by the song of the bowstrings as they snapped in the air sending their deadly missiles deep into the foe. Against the mass of guards, five Noldor held the main entryway – three with swords, two with axes, one to each side of the sword line. Of the eight bowmen, there were now six left. Their stock of arrows was running low, and two had put down their bows to draw their blades. They were weary, and sore, but still all fought on, preventing the Men access to the River.

Angara was there, and even the Wyrm was hard pressed by the number of her attackers. They came at her with long spears, and though she forced them back with her fiery breath, they had just closed in a ring about her. She could not defend against all. And when one craven Man came at her from behind, piercing her deeply on the leg, she screamed in rage and pain and swept the rear line from her with her tail.

The dragon’s scream and the sight of her beleaguered companion ripped through Bird and tore the human mask from her. Her dragon form came on her then and she came against the horde of attackers rending them with tooth and claw.

Mithadan joined the line of Elven swords, as did Daisy and Kali. They advanced upon the line of guards who now faced them. Their blades forced a deadly retreat, as they sought to pen them in a smaller area.

Knives slashing furiously, Gamba, Azraph, and Anee took up the grim business of finishing off those guards who had only fallen wounded or stunned. Phura and his companions had been engaged with this task already, and welcomed the added strength of their fellow Hobbits. The brothers had no time to say the things their hearts wished to say. They looked toward one another as those in combat do, and nodded briefly to each other. Words would come later, when the fighting was done.

Dragon-fire in hand, Pio had gone in search of those who had held back from this main fray. She torched both the barracks and the armory, ignoring the calls of those trapped inside, then ran quickly to the dark and seemingly empty headquarters. Gamba had joined her, and led her through the maze of offices and up the stairs. They saw no one, and as they retreated down the hall back toward the stairs she threw several dragon-fires into open doorways. Papers and wooden furniture caught fire quickly, and the Hobbit and Elf raced down the stairs to safety.

A single Man stood before the door, sword drawn, barring their escape. His uniform was ripped and stained with blood, his dark hair lank with the sweat of fear. His lips were drawn back in a wolfish grin, and from his eyes shown madness.

‘Tarcil!’ hissed Gamba, brandishing his knife.

The Captain lunged at the Hobbit, his blade slashing at him in a cutting arc. Gamba danced back and the blade missed him. Pio stepped in front of Tarcil, shielding the Hobbit. She blocked his wild blows easily, turning them aside with the flat of her blade. He was stronger and larger than she, and try as she might, she could not gain the advantage. She had drawn her long knife and grasped it tightly in her left hand, crossing it over her blade to block his blows. Her wounded left arm grew all the more weak and painful as she used it, and blood flowed out from beneath the vambrace.

Gamba came round the Elf to harry Tarcil with his knife. The Captain ignored him, though his feints often drew blood, intent only on killing the hated Elf. They fought on and she grew increasingly weary. No longer able to hold the long knife in her hand, it clattered to the floor.

Tarcil swung his blade in a flat sideways arc at her. Coming beneath her blade, the edge met her right side hard. The force of the impact knocked the breath from her, and she crumpled to the floor. Her sword fell from her grip. The captain lunged at her, intending to slit her throat. Gamba grabbed the Elf’s sword with both hands and drove it deep into the chest of the advancing Man, killing him.

Smoke and flames had made their way downstairs by now. Gamba pulled the Elf from the burning building and sat numbly on the ground, cradling her head in his lap. Behind them the fires raged on.

[ November 03, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]