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Old 09-09-2006, 07:44 PM   #170
Hilde Bracegirdle
Relic of Wandering Days
 
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Join Date: Dec 2002
Location: You'll See Perpetual Change.
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Hilde Bracegirdle has just left Hobbiton.
Carl

Carl became anxious as the shouts of men could be heard closer now, and still Kwell had not followed Azhar into the water, but hesitated watching her disappear gracefully under its surface, staring. The hobbit had to do something to move this boy on, but wasn’t sure just how to go about it. Kwell seemed beyond his ken, and all the ideas that sprang to the hobbit’s mind didn’t apply where there was no home, and probably no family to return to.

“Don’t give up, lad,” Carl finally said. “I know you want more in life than to be a slave, or you wouldn’t have troubled yourself to escape with the others. You’ve had the notion at least once to risk everything and see where it would take you. Do it again then, and if you find you don’t like our company, you can go off on your own after we’re out of this mess. But the truth is, I’d be much happier discussing this over a nice supper, than just now. What do you say?”

Kwell scarcely heard the hobbits voice. Inside his head, all he could hear was the slight sound Azhar had made as she slipped beneath the surface of the water. Nothing remarkable to anyone who had been around water at all in his life, but to Kwell, that deep breath she took, the slight gasp at the coldness of the water, struck him in a strange way. He would do the same thing – take that deep breath – but what if it were to be his last? What if he didn’t make it to the other side? One couldn’t breath beneath water, one couldn’t see beneath water. . .

Harsh voices overhead started Kwell out of his terror. He looked up sharply, first upward towards the grate then down at Carl. He wanted Kwell to go down. . .swim under rock. . .his mind froze again.

“What do you want with us?” Kwell asked.

“O glory!” Carl exclaimed, in a hoarse and impatient whisper, while looking nervously up at the grate, and the swarthy faces peering through it. “Nothing, or rather this something, I want you to follow Azhar through that hole as quick as you are able, before you are shipped back to Nurn while I end up in the bird cage of some Easterling prince!” This was in fact, precisely what the hobbit was imagining at the moment, as the sound of rattling keys was heard above them.

“But I can’t swim,” the boy said faintly.

“Neither can I!” Carl snapped, pushing Kwell toward the wall of the pit. The boy stumbled into the water. “Go! Hurry up! It’s your only chance of escape. Vrór and the girl will be waiting for you on the other side,” the hobbit added over his shoulder as he removed the spud bar from his belt. The grate swung open. “ Don’t worry, it’s not over your head on either side of the wall. Just hold your breath and push yourself along. But hurry!”

The hobbit held the spud bar ready in his hand, as a tan and well-muscled arm appeared overhead, hastily lowering a torch to light the interior of the pit. Carl ran forward immediately, and with a jump succeeded in dislodging the torch, knocking it sizzling into the water. There was an angry shout, as the arm withdrew and another torch was called for. But before Carl reached the water to escape, he heard a heavy thud, as one of the slavers dropped to the floor behind him, growling the most wicked threats.

The hobbit knew it would take a moment or two before the man’s eyes adjusted to the darkness. And without breathing he padded softly to the side of the stream, wadding in as quietly as he could. But as he crept toward the exit his foot struck a sharp stone, and in reflex he pulled it up, loosing his balance only to catch himself from falling by shooting an outstretched hand against the stonewall. Unfortunately, it was the same hand that still held the spud bar. And as the metallic clang rang loudly against the rock, Carl leapt wildly for the hole under the stream. The slaver was at his heels in no time, catching the bottom of the hobbit’s trousers along with a great hank of hair from his feet, before they had disappeared into the tunnel. Carl desperately searched around him for a good handhold, hoping to pull himself forward out of reach, but ended up locking his elbows at his side so that he could not be easily drawn out. Tears would have come to his eyes had he not been submerged, for it felt as though the tops of his feet would be torn off hair by hair as he tried to wriggle and kick himself free. But soon the slaver had moved his grip up to Carl’s ankles, and the hobbit knew his locked arms were no match for the full weight of this man pulling him back out of the tunnel, and so waiting for the next time the slaver renewed his hold, Carl twisted plunging the spud bar down as sharply as he could, and the hands were quick to release him.

Free at last and his lungs nearly bursting, the hobbit shot through the hole to the other side, gasping for air as he surfaced. Everything seemed black before his eyes as he panted, quite unable to speak. But within a few seconds he could see the torch and then the others safely on this side of the wall. Azhar and Kwell were walking toward the way out, while Vrór waited for him to recover. “The slavers,” Carl wheezed, leaning on the spud bar. “They found the hole. They’re too big...I think.”

“Let us hope so,” said Vrór, clapping the hobbit’s shoulder and quickly guiding him toward the others.

Last edited by Hilde Bracegirdle; 09-10-2006 at 06:56 AM.
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