The Thieves of Tharbad by AliceNWonder000137  

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Terror Among the Tomes Part 2

The battle for the arcane tomes ensues.  Silmarien meets her match in a magical duel.

The South Garden – 5:45 pm, Narwain 19th, 1410

The bloody fight in the White Room had cost the party dearly and they retreated even further into the library, back to the Blue Vault where they could form another line of defense. Two more ohtari rhyn fell and another two were wounded. This left only three combat ready. Another Cardolani foot soldier perished along with one of the knights of Tyrn-Gorthad. Falathar's squire was missing and presumed dead in the chaos of the retreat. Only the Royal Guardsmen had suffered no casualties for as fierce of a knight that Baranor was.

Near the large marble basin filled with water lay the wounded, tended by Kaile and Haedorial, who jumped in as a makeshift healer. The fountain and the smiling marble nymphs were a bizarre juxtaposition with the horror that surrounded them. The two injured ohtari rhyn, along with Thangar, and Annael's brother sat or lay on the ground with bandages. Thangar was grievously injured with a wicked gash on his forehead and left arm and two deep arrow wounds to his belly. Kaile tended to him gently, washing out the wounds with water and putting an herbal pack over the arrow wounds. She had managed to stop the bleeding, but felt he might still die. "I wish I had Firiel's skill," she commented quietly over the unconscious Thangar.

Baranor directed building another barricade on the two fallen mithril doors. "Stack everything you can! Be quick about it!" He looked at the ranger as he passed by. "You realize there is only one way in and one way out. This will be our last stand."

Amrith nodded solemnly as he laid more traps while Aerin placed runes at the entrance. When she was finished, she practically staggered back to the basin and sat, head in her hands, her face drawn. "I am exhausted. I have nothing left." Her magical skills had held off the attackers and allowed the party to escape, but now she was drained.

Baranor walked to sit next to her, seemingly in a daze.  His eyes just radiated fatigue.  "Rest now and recover your strength. We need you when the time comes." He held a sword made of a glassy blue Laen on his lap. His steel composite bow had trimmed the overwhelming advantage in numbers the enemy had held, but now he had only two gull-feathered arrows remaining. Mercatur quietly honed his axe, happy to be at war again. Valandil paced nervously, thinking of Firiel far away. He could only hope that they'd live out the night.

Amrith, his thick white garments covered in the dried blood of orcs, examined the left door. He marked a part of the door with charcoal, muttering to himself, "Trap. Don't step here." They were as ready as they ever were, even if this meant their end.

The Gallery of Mirrors – 6:00 pm

An orc writhed in pain on the ground, all of its limbs twisted unnaturally. Unperturbed by its screams, Ulduin stepped over it into the gallery. Every surface of the room was covered in mirrors, including the covers of the books. Ulduin revealed his fangs in an evil grin. This was the right room.

However, the mirrored surfaces of the books made identification of valuable texts difficult. Ulduin paced impatiently as orcs poured throughout the tomes, hardly understanding anything that they read. Occasionally, one would fall over screaming after having discovered a destructive rune in a book. This whole day had not gone as planned.  The human party was supposed to have set off the traps and this was supposed to be an easy victory.

An hour went by before Ulgarin arrived. Her veil was shredded, and she was covered in cuts and bruises. Furthermore, there was only one hireling with her. Ulduin furrowed his canine brow, concerned. "What happened? Where are the others?" he asked with a growl, his lips curled in his doglike snout.

"Isn't it obvious? We were attacked by an unknown force. The rest are dead," she replied with a sharp edge in her voice.

"That's great. This is not according to plan," retorted Ulduin sarcastically, gurgling through his fangs. He did not like her tone of voice, and his already short temper was rising.

"You think I don't know that?" shot Ulgarin, sneering.

Ulduin's taut muscles flexed, and his lip curled slightly, twitching. The orcs had learned to recognize this as a bad sign. Many of their brethren became dinner after such a cue. Ulgarin tightened the grip on her trident. The tension was unbearable.

Suddenly, Strulug interrupted, "I've found one of the Master Texts." The orcs breathed a sigh of relief. Strulug handed the mirror-bound book to Ulduin who opened the volume.

He grinned a toothy grin, his fangs bared. "Good work. This is the Sorcerer's volume. Load this and the others in our wagon."

Ulgarin hrmph'd and turned to go, shaking her head.

On the way out she enlisted a few of the remaining trolls. "Let's go. I'm going to round up those pesky adventurers."

The Blue Vault – 7:01 pm

Amrith had filled the entryway with traps. "No one is getting through that unscathed," he said with some pride. He had gathered up another ten arrows from the wounded. He counted them again. "There are no more.  This will have to do."

Back in the vault, Haedorial gasped at the beauty of the blue room. "I actually have time to admire this, dear Galadel," he told Nirnadel's lady. "I know you're worried, but we have Baranor and Amrith on our side. That has to account for something."

She nodded, brandishing her shortsword. "I'm ready to fight for my family's honor," she said with a waver in her voice.

He patted her on the shoulder. "We'll get through this. We'll get through this," he said with confidence, but his face did not match his words. He took a deep breath and put his hand over his stomach. "Oh, look, dear Galadel, at the ornaments and carvings that adorn the blue porphyry walls. This is Númenórean craftsmanship. This is our heritage as Dúnadain. Oh, we simply have to survive to tell this tale." He walked over to one of the small reading rooms that flanked the entryway. Thousands of tomes resided on blue bookshelves with a large number carelessly strewn about during the rapid evacuation of the library.

The bard picked one up that was bound in a jade cover. He opened it to reveal silver pages detailing the journeys of Tar-Telemmaitë to Middle-Earth. "Oh my, this is precious," he said, showing Galadel the Sindarin Cirth characters that looked like runes. "He was obsessed with mithril. Rumor has it that he has tons of it hidden away on the coast. Good Prince Braegil mounted an expedition for it before the war." He placed this book in his leather backpack and continued to search. Haedorial was soon seated, cross-legged, and surrounded by books. He seemed to have completely forgotten the desperate situation that he and his comrades now faced. The bard was deeply engrossed in a text written by Elendil himself regarding the downfall of Númenor and the founding of Arnor. "If only we had another day without all of the orcs."

Near the reflecting pool, Aerin slept soundly, while Kaile changed the bandages of the wounded. Several hours had passed without incident, but all knew that this was only the calm before the storm.

The Chamber of Mysteries – 11:30 pm

Ulduin handed a wood-bound text to Strulug. "Take this one to the wagon. We have most of the Master Texts. It is time for us to depart. This should satisfy the Lord of Angmar."

Strulug bowed to his fiendish master. "Of course, my lord. We shall make ready to leave."

Ulduin strode across the purple carpet toward a group of orcs. "Go find that elf wench and tell her it's time to go. I'm not waiting for her. If you can't find her, she can rot with the books." The orcs immediately scampered off for fear of angering their lord. Ulduin weighed the benefits of killing off the adventurers against any disadvantages. His troops could probably destroy the party, but his force would be so drastically weakened that even a small group could wipe him out on the return trip. Perhaps this was a time for discretion. He might be a savage dog, but he was no fool.

Another orc entered the room, sniveling, "Master, we have secured the books... We await your next orders, master..."

Ulduin nodded, "Very well. Assemble around the wagon and make ready to depart."

The orc drooled in excitement, "Yesss, master," he soothed and then departed. Ulduin smiled, thinking that he would meet the adventurers another day. They had fought bravely, and he found some admiration for them in spite of his losses. Well, the orcs were of little consequence to him. He could breed more in a few years and then there would be a reckoning.

Outside the Library – 5:45 am, Narwain 20th, 1410

In the darkness, a heavy wagon sat, surrounded by more than two dozen orcs and half a dozen trolls. Ulduin emerged from the library and looked around. "Trolls, take the harnesses of the wagon. Start pulling!" The four wooden wheels creaked in the snow as the trolls began dragging the book-laden wagon north, up the snow-covered street. Orcs warily eyed the deserted ruins for any sign of an attack, holding scimitars and bows at the ready. Ulduin strode in front of the procession, glancing about nervously. He still sensed danger in the area. He took a long sniff with his dog snout. There was man flesh about.

He glanced back, wondering if that stupid elf would be coming or not, but he saw nothing. So much the better. He would get full credit and the biggest share of the rewards from the Witch King. He would not be sad at all if she never returned and he could tell his lord and the Lord High Priest, the Angȗlion, anything he wished. Perhaps they would create a seat for him among the Mor-Sereg, Quenya for the Black Blood, the elite assassins of the Dark Lord. He had longed for such an honor, but Ulgarin stole that from him, despite her incompetence. The priests said that he was not proper material with his appearance. The honor always seemed to go to Black Númenóreans or elves like Camthalion and Ulgarin. He would have to change that and change that quickly. Unlike the elves or the Angȗlion, he was long lived, but not immortal. Still, he had risen quickly in the service of the Nazgȗl, Dwar of Waw, and he knew that he would only rise higher and more quickly.

He took a whip to one of the trolls. "Faster! We must reach the borders of Angmar quickly. A storm is coming!"

Outside the Library – 5:47 am

Covered in bushes up ahead and disguised by a minor illusion, Silmarien and the four knights observed the approach of the wagon. Silmarien narrowed her crystal blue eyes. "On my word you shoot the lead orcs. Understand?"

The second knight shook his head. "Look lady, I don't know who you are, but there are more than thirty of them. Even if we could take out four or five before they caught on, we'd still be killed."

Silmarien turned to him and smiled, her white teeth showing through ruby lips. "Don't worry, I have a plan."

The second soldier rolled his eyes, but the first nodded. "I'm with you. We must save those books." He drew his composite bow and pulled an arrow from his quiver.

The wagon was now creaking along the road less than fifty feet from Silmarien's position. The second soldier reluctantly knocked an arrow as did the rest. Silmarien brought out three white objects from her pouch: a cube; a pyramid; and a sphere.

Looking skyward, she whispered, "Praise Varda and bless Dirhavel." When the wagon passed within fifteen feet, she hurled the objects toward the trolls. This would be some small revenge for what the Lord of Angmar did to her home in Rhudaur.

The Blue Vault – 5:50 am

Baranor roused Aerin and the five other Royal Guards. He pointed down the hall into the darkness. "I have a feeling that they are weaker than we think if they haven't hit us by this time. The time for us to attack is now." The other Royal Guards nodded in agreement.

Aerin took a swig from her water skin. "I fell rested. Thank you. I was worn from the recent exertion of the battle, but I am well now." The remainer of the able-bodied warriors prepared for the fray. Straps were checked on armor and weapons were hastily sharpened.

Baranor looked at Amrith grimly. "Do or die," he said calmly as he drew his blue Laen sword and put his mithril helmet back on.

Kaile would remain behind with the wounded. She placed a small dagger nearby to use on her patients and herself should the attack fail. Despite the cold, perspiration covered her palms. She would need to be brave. She looked to the bard. "Haedorial, please stay. I need some support here. Please, tell me a story."

The bard sat and began to tell her of the glories of the lost Kingdom of Nargothrond. "It was ruled by the fairest of elven kings, the great Finrod Felagund. The caverns were massive beyond measure, wonders of elven craftsmanship. There is a rumor that the daughter of the Dark Lord Morgoth resided there and that she was actually a good person. I'm not sure if this is even true or not, being so long ago, but I've heard the tale from my friend Dagar.  It was fascinating, simply fascinating."

Baranor, holding his bow at the ready, motioned the group down the wide hall back toward the central dome with the pool. Mercatur and Ostomir took the point with Amrith and Baranor right behind them. Galadel came up with the rest of the soldiers and knights. Cautiously, Mercatur peered up a wide stairway into the darkness. Ostomir held a lantern to illuminate the way. Scratching and banging could be heard up the stairway and a faint light could be seen at the top.

Mercatur motioned Ostomir to cover the lantern, cutting off the light. Listening quietly, they could hear a deep, harsh voice speaking in a guttural language. Mercatur whispered back to the group, "Troll."

Amrith and Baranor nodded and passed the news back. Into the darkness, Mercatur crept up the stairway, feeling the stone stairs with his left hand. Ostomir followed slowly, looking far less confident than Mercatur. At the top of the stairwell, the mercenary saw a faint light coming from the Ice Chamber off to the right. He crawled up to the entryway of the chamber and peered in. Three large trolls searched through bookcases, seeming to have no idea what they were looking for, while one held open a door on the far wall.

Ostomir came up behind Mercatur. Amrith, Baranor, and Valandil fell in behind; each crouched and battle ready. The mercenary held up three fingers, indicating the number of trolls within. Everyone nodded their readiness.

With a shout, Mercatur burst into the dimly lit room and fired a crossbow bolt into the nearest troll. The bolt sunk into the troll's barrel chest, spraying black blood. Amrith and Baranor fired arrows as well and each shaft found a mark. Baranor's target fell backward, clutching at the black-feathered arrow in its eye. Ostomir slashed at Mercatur's troll, and his elegant sword clove the belly of the beast wide open, spilling entrails on the floor as the troll doubled over.

Trolls are nothing if not tough and resilient, and soon the surprise had worn off. One troll hurled a book, striking Amrith in the face. The ranger went to one knee and covered his bloody nose with a grunt. Pressing forward, Mercatur unleashed his deadly battle-axe and sliced the arm off of a hapless troll. Despite its wound, the troll brought down a large bookshelf on top of Mercatur. The crash of wood and stone-covered books was deafening. A great 'ugh' could be heard as the mercenary was covered in tomes. Ostomir was also hit by several stone-covered tomes, knocking him back. The one-armed troll covered its stump and fell back to the far door. Baranor put his last arrow into the troll's throat, ending its retreat. In a flurry, the last troll fled and slammed the door shut.

In the aftermath, Amrith nursed a broken nose and two black eyes. Otherwise, he was unharmed. Galadel grasped him by the nose and snapped it back in place. He grimaced but nodded his thanks.  “I learned a few things from your cousin,” she said with a hint of mirth.

Mercatur was pulled, cursing and hollering, from under the bookshelf. "Gaah, get these damn books off of me!" he bellowed. "Where's the damn troll?"

Two trolls lay slain. Baranor inspected the fallen beasts. "Good work. Let us head back upstairs. We will attack their base. The one that got away may warn the others, so be vigilant." Turning to Galadel, he asked, "Go get Kaile and help carry the wounded. We don't want them to get trapped here." She nodded and took some of the men back to the garden.

The assault team worked their way back to the staircase, one by one, where Mercatur led the way up. The others followed while Baranor and another royal guard kept watch for Galadel to return. On the ground floor of the library Mercatur took up a defensive position near the great front doors. The dim morning sun peered through the holes in the ceiling. A heavy overcast kept the ambient light to a minimum. Amrith surveyed the ground, finding footprints in the snow. "They left the library; perhaps a couple of hours ago. Some were carrying heavy loads," he informed Ostomir, who stood beside him.

Mercatur, overhearing Amrith, commented, "Let's go after those rats. They couldn't have gotten far carrying all of that."

Outside the Library – 5:54 am

The six trolls pulling the heavy wagon bellowed in surprise and pain as the white pyramid thrown by Silmarien burst into bolts of lightning. Electricity danced over their bodies, and they writhed in agony. Nearby, two orcs fell, pierced by arrows. Ulduin quickly scanned the frosty terrain and saw four armored bowmen reloading arrows. He prepared a spell. "Zgurjab!" he growled, and he began to glow a sickly green.

Two trolls had fallen to their knees and the others continued to hop around, batting their smoldering bodies. Another arrow struck an orc in the face, and it keeled over backward. At that moment, the white cube burst into a fine powdery mist. Immediately, the trolls began to gasp and cough. A fourth orc fell forward, grasping at an arrow in its throat.

Ulduin unleashed his power, and the green glow shot towards Silmarien. As the energy engulfed her, a force surrounding her absorbed it into nothingness and the green glow vanished with a puff of smoke. Ulduin grunted in frustration. Elsewhere, the orcs began to return fire; however, an arrow found a fifth beast, striking it in the belly. The wounded orc tumbled over, howling in pain.

Silmarien fought back. She held her palms together and shouted, "Naurluth!" and a small ball of fire shot from her hand at Ulduin. The sorcerer waved his hand, and the bolt sailed past him into the distance and vanished. A dozen orcs now advanced toward Silmarien and the four knights as Ulduin prepared another spell, placing his hands together in front of his chest. The four warriors fired another volley, but the orcs raised their shields and the arrows sunk into them harmlessly. The beasts, led by Strulug, charged. The muscled Uruk brandished his jagged edged scimitar, howling with delight. He had a thick chainmail hauberk and helmet with the face of grinning demon. But he failed to see the white sphere lying in the snow as he ran over it. The orcs behind him gasped in awe as the sphere grew into a massive polar bear.

As the orcs stood stunned for a moment, the huge white bear smashed one with a swipe of its giant paw, crushing its head like a melon. Immediately after, it leapt on another and sunk its razor-sharp teeth into the orc's neck, spraying black blood into the snow. Unfazed, Strulug and another orc pressed on to engage the four warriors. The ohtari rhyn had drawn their swords and shields and met the two orcs on the snow mound. They traded blows and the thump of sword on shield was deafening as the bear rampaged among the orcs, flinging one away with a sweep of its head.

Ulduin focused his energy again. "Shabȃt fulok!" he shouted, and a wave of force swept over Silmarien and this time she could not stop it. She grasped her chest gasped, her face twisting in pain.

Silmarien staggered back and raised her hand at Ulduin. "Gond Gwanor," she said in a wheezing voice and lightning erupted around the dog-faced beast and a great sizzling sound could be heard as he howled in pain like a cry of a wolf.

Silmarien fell to her hands and knees, wheezing and unable to catch her breath. Ulduin hopped about, batting at his smoking fur. His muscles twitched violently, and he fell over into the snow, unable to rise.

Meanwhile, the polar bear had swatted another orc, smashing its skull wide open with several other orcs gashed and crushed on the ground. The bear had taken a few minor wounds from the scimitars, but this only seemed to enrage it. The last seven orcs began to fall back before the fury of the furry beast. On the snow mound, Strulug was clearly the superior fighter. He had wounded two ohtari rhyn and was pressing the advantage. Backing down the mound, one of the knights slipped on a patch of ice and fell over face down. Covered by the other orc, Strulug slashed the warrior's neck, severing his head clean off, it skidding away on the ice.

The remaining warriors batted down the scimitar of the covering orc and smote it in the head. Its helmet burst open, and blood streamed down its face. As it toppled over, Strulug grappled with one of the knights. As they fell over, the Uruk ran his saw-toothed blade across the warrior's throat, spraying red blood into the white snow.

Staggering, Silmarien fell over on her back as she wiped her eyes. She saw the two ohtari rhyn die but was powerless to stop it. She could see the two remaining knights falling back before Strulug's onslaught. Her breath came in strained, desperate gulps of air and her ribs ached. Her face was now pale and her lips blue. Looking up, she saw delicate snowflakes falling on her face. She thought of Dirhavel, and she turned her head to look upon her killers. She would face them bravely. Her fading eyesight revealed a strange scene: a rampaging bear; a shower of arrows; and a man in a winged mithril helm swinging a glassy, blue sword.

Chapter End Notes

I try to stay with soft magic, but I needed a little oomph.

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