Chapter 17: The Rescue of Telemire

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Without wasting time, e'Narmire shouted for the others to look for any sign of which direction the Death-shadow retreated. The ground where Telemire had been was covered in the Noldor's blood.  The Companions spread out to look for any trail that may have been left as his life force drained out of him. 

The trail was found to the north, as e'Narmire had feared.  The Death-shadow was retreating into the mountains.  More than likely, it had a lair in the caves and was expecting the Companions to follow.

"We go north," e'Narmire stated flatly.  "But be on your guard.  This demon is laying a trap for us."

The pace was furious.  The blood trail was sporadic and hard to follow, but it would soon be erased by the coming rain.  The pair of Sindar mariners sensed it would be a violent storm and moving in quickly, which only served to quicken the Companions to a grueling speed.

The Companions followed the scant blood trail ever north.  In the distance, two peaks rose above the surrounding area, as if beckoning to them, mocking them in their efforts.  Each of the Eldar sensed a foul presence in those peaks, and each knew that they were their destination.  Telemire was somewhere under those peaks.  As they climbed, the Companions could see Doriath to the south, and Himlad, the realm of Celegorm and Curufin, sons of Feanor, to the east.  To the north, across the Ered Gorgoroth, was the land of Dorthonion, ruled by the twin sons of Finarfin, Angrod and Aegnor.

The Death-shadow has chosen his territory well, thought e'Narmire.  Three Eldar kingdoms bordered his territory, with a fourth, Himring, claimed by Feanor's eldest son Maedhros, just across the Pass of Aglon.  From here, Shadow-bane said to himself, there is abundant prey.

The rain started.  Not a gentle, soft rain, but a hard, soaking rain that soon washed any sign of Telemire's journey away.  Despair began to come over the Companions as they realized that their pursuit was all in vain.  Telemire was lost. 

"We are here," said e'Narmire suddenly.  He was looking up the slope.  A few feet higher there was an entrance to a cave.  "He is inside." 

Knowing that a trap awaited them, but not having any choice but to go forward, the Companions made one last check of their weapons and gear, making sure swords and  daggers, arrows and axes were placed where they would be easily reached.  All took a deep breath and began climbing up the slope. 

As they neared the entrance, the rain began to sting their backs and hands as they climbed.  Once on the ledge outside the cave, e'Narmire drew his sword and kissed the shining white blade.  The enchantment on the blade would be detrimental to any secrecy, so the Vanyar sheathed the weapon, but kept it loose in the scabbard in the event he needed it.  Curucam began to have second thoughts about going into the mountain, but lightning striking a nearby dry branch gave him the courage that he needed.

It was dark inside, being lit up only by the flashes of lightning outside.  Just a few feet into the cave, the tunnel turned sharply to the left, leading into a roughly hewn corridor.  This corridor, dimly lit by a few dozen torches, stretched seventy or eighty feet down into the mountain.  Thirty feet into the corridor, there was another tunnel leading to the left.  The Companions moved cautiously forward.

Stopping at the intersection, they could see that the passage led to an open chamber.  "This way," said e'Narmire flatly, and none of the Companions questioned him.

"I smell orcs, and things fouler," warned Curucam.  "Beware your step.  Orcs are fond of traps."  His warning proved to be prophetic.

Inside the small chamber, Shaelina, who had volunteered to take the lead, stopped just as the Dwarf had spoken his warning.  At her feet, a rotted linen stretched across the floor.  Kneeling down to inspect it, she saw that it was covered in a thin layer of dirt.  Pulling back the corner, she peered into a deep pit lined with spears and other devices, undoubtedly poisoned with some vile concoction. 

"The Naugrim is wise, indeed," teased the minstrel with a wry smile.  "We must be wary of where we chose to step." 

Following the edge of the pit, the Companions found a way through the chamber, following the corridor as it continued on for another twenty feet before making a turn to the right and left again.  As they moved down the passage, they began to hear gnarling voices.  Drawing nearer, Taurensil, having taken the lead, recognized orc voices, mixed with the growling of angry beasts. 

Peering around the next turn, he could see into a large chamber.  In the center, large iron rings had been bolted into the bedrock.  Through these rings, chains rattled as they were quickly pulled through.  Around the outside of the chamber stood several orcs, each taunting the beasts bound by the chains.

"Warg-riders," he said as he came back into the corridor where his comrades waited.  "I say about a half-dozen each of orc and wolves.  We must find another way around."

Backtracking, the Companions made their way back to the first passage.  With no other alternative, they followed it deeper into the mountain.  As they came to the end of the passage, it opened up into a great hall.  Again, more pit traps were found all around the floor of the hall.  It was with great caution that the Companions were able to find a safe route through the hall.  Luckily, no one was aware of their presence, or else, they had something much fouler in mind.

Reaching the back of the hall, another passage continued on.  Thirty feet down the tunnel, it branched off to the right.  Ten feet further on, it turned left.  Moving up to the last turn, Curucam, ever watchful, discovered another of the enemy's devices.  Taurensil decided to check out the first passage. 

This was a short corridor that turned back to the left and continued on into another small chamber.  The ranger moved silently to the corner and peered in.  Only a single orc was inside.  Drawing his dagger, Taurensil crouched to attack.  When the foul creature turned its back, he lunged.  Grabbing the orc's head with his left hand, he violently jerked it back, exposing its neck.  At the same time, he brought is dagger across the orc's chest and plunged it deep into its neck, drawing back across its jugular.  The orc died silently.  So effective was Taurensil's attack, that it did not even utter a whimper as its black blood spilled out across the floor.

After dragging the body out from the middle of the room and cramming it in a dark, out-of-the-way corner, Taurensil noticed an exit along the back wall.  Looking around the room and recounting his route, he guessed that this passage circled back to where his fellows waited. 

Following it, he discovered that it opened into what appeared to be a barracks chamber.  Inside, two orcs were sitting at a large wooden table, arguing over the scraps of left over rancid meat.  Looking to his left, he could see Shaelina coming up and crouching in the shadows.  His friends had disarmed whatever device that had held them up and found that he had gotten ahead of them.

Shaelina had noticed the ranger.  He had looked at her, motioned toward the two arguing orcs and held up his dagger.  Shaelina immediately understood and drew her knife as well.  Taurensil held up three fingers and began to count down.  At "one", he sprang into action, Shaelina following his lead.

Shaelina saw the surprised look on the orc's face as he saw her coming.  Before it could react however, Taurensil rammed his blade into the base of the creature's skull.  Only a second behind Taurensil, she was about to drive her blade into the neck of the orc that had been facing the ranger.  So intent was her concentration, she did not see the spilled water bucket.  Before she could strike, she came crashing down to the ground.

Hearing an attack coming from behind, the orc quickly stood up, grabbing the table with both hands and flipping back on to the ranger.  He turned on Shaelina, bearing his fangs and intent on ripping her to shreds with razor-sharp claws.  Before he could fall upon the minstrel, Curucam charged, wildly throwing an axe to distract the orc.

Glancing off the orc's pauldrons, the axe skittered across the floor, stopping near Taurensil.  The ranger regained his feet just in time to see the orc dodge Curucam's frenzied charge, slashing its claws across the Dwarf across the face.  The orc, however, did not see e'Narmire coming on.

The Vanyar was not charging the orc, but running to cover a third entrance into the room.  As he passed by the orc, he shoved it hard toward Taurensil, knocking it off balance.  Taking advantage, the ranger grabbed the throwing axe, leapt over the upturned table, and buried the blade in the orc's head.

"Arm yourselves!" shouted e'Narmire.  "They are coming on fast!"  He was standing in the corridor, Shadow-cleaver glowing in his hand.  In such narrow confines, he held the advantage.  Only two orcs at a time could attack without risking the lives of their own kind.  Taurensil rushed in to fill the gap and relieved some of the pressure.

The slaughter was fast and furious and soon the floor was slick with black blood.  As it became increasingly difficult to keep their footing, Taurensil and e'Narmire pushed the horde back into another large hall.  There were only a handful left, and now that Curucam and Shaelina were now able to get into the fight, it became obvious they did not have long to live.  But, surprisingly, they did not back down.

From their left, Curucam shouted another warning.  There were a dozen or more charging hard from an adjoining passage to the left and behind where the Companions now stood.  Several others were rushing up behind the survivors of the first group.  Taurensil, seeing what was happening, knew that they would soon be caught between the two groups, and in the open hall, their numbers would soon become overwhelming.

"Press them! Press them!"  shouted e'Narmire.  His sword was pointing at the first group.  Taurensil saw the reason and understood.  This group was smaller in number and they were closer to a narrow passage.  If the Companions could fight through them, the orcs numerical advantage would be nullified once more.

As a single unit, the Companions through themselves into the attack, cutting their way through to the passage.  Running hard to stay ahead of the main body, they stopped only long enough to cut down the faster orcs that could manage to catch them.  But it wasn't long before the corridor made a sudden turn and continued on into another, smaller hall.  From the rear of their formation, Curucam shouted that many of the orcs were breaking off and falling back.  This could only mean that they were circling around to the hall.

More orcs began to come at them from the direction of the hall.  This running fight on two fronts was beginning to wear down the Companions.  Their blades were drenched in blood, making the hilts slick in their hands.  One miscalculation and they could be instantly disarmed.  The orcs stopped attacking.  They were massing for one last assault to finish off the intruders.

But that attack never came.  Instead, the orcs to the front began to withdraw back into the chamber, while the ones to the rear pressed forward, shields locked together.  Any attack to the rear would be futile against the shield wall, so the Companions moved warily toward the chamber, knowing something was in store.
As they entered the chamber, there were no orcs left.  At the opposite corner, two separate corridors led out of the room, one led straight ahead, the other to the left. 

Pointing to the first, e'Narmire spoke, "He's in there."  He paused.  "And he is not alone."

Moving toward that passage, the orcs behind followed, blocking any escape by that route.  As they passed by the second passage, Taurensil glanced over and saw that it led into another chamber.  He instantly recognized it as the lair where the wolves had been chained.  But the wolves were nowhere to be seen.

Shadow-bane continued to make his way toward the first passage, determined to find Telemire, but his suddenly halted, and began to back step.  In front of him, a distinct form began to emerge from the shadows, one that he had last seen in Valinor.  Ungoliant.

The giant spider hissed as it approached and e'Narmire saw that it was too small to be Ungoliant, but it was most definitely one of her children, and behind was the Death Shadow, Telemire unconscious in its claws.

"Coward," snarled e'Narmire.  "Face me yourself instead of commanding others to do your bidding.  Come, and let Shadow-cleaver taste your blood."

But Daengurtha was not going to play the Vanyar's game.  Instead, the spider suddenly charged, e'Narmire barely able to dive out of its way.  Regaining his feet, he was set upon by a trio of orcs and was forced to postpone his reckoning. 

The rest of the Companions were quickly engaged.  Thinking a tasty morsel lay in front of her, the spider singled out Curucam, almost taking him by surprise.  But the Naugrim put up a spirited fight, dodging the spider's attacks and countering with brutal, punishing attacks of his own.  But the weariness of constant battle soon caught up to him, and Curucam was not able to avoid becoming entangled in the spider's sticky web. 

Shaelina, seeing Curucam in desperate straits, rushed to his aid.  Seeing her coming, the spider viciously lashed out with one of its clawed legs.  Shaelina reeled in pain as she was smashed hard against the wall and slumped to the ground.

Satisfied that she had finally subdued her prey, the spider began to carry off Curucam, but was stopped rather suddenly.  Its last vision was that of e'Narmire's arrow piercing its eye to lodge itself in the brain.

After slaying the spider, e'Narmire decided it was time to settle his score with the Death Shadow.  Then, it dawned on him.  All was quiet.  The battle was over. 

Whatever fight that had been left in the orcs was suddenly drained.  Dozens of corpses lay about and their black blood soured the air.  Taurensil collapsed from exhaustion, sitting on the body of a decapitated orc and resting his head on the pommel of his sword.

Not seeing the Death Shadow, e'Narmire began to lose hope.  Then he spied Telemire lying near the entrance of the spider's lair.  He felt anxious as he rolled Telemire over, hoping that he was still alive.  But then anger swelled up in him. 

This was not Telemire, but another unfortunate soul wearing Telemire's armor.  Then e'Narmire remembered the wargs.  Telemire had been held here, but Daengurtha had spirited him away once the alarm had been sounded.  His heart sank as he realized that he had been so easily fooled.  This demon was like no other that he had faced during the Great Journey.  It was wily and cunning.  Shadow-bane swore to never underestimate this demon again.

But for now, he had more pressing matters.  Shaelina was injured, and Curucam was vehemently demanding that someone cut him out of his cocoon.  Daengurtha would have to wait.  Telemire would have to survive.