Lyrd of the Ryngs - Return of Good Architecture

[Grey_Wolf]

"You won't go again, you say? Curse you, Snaga, you little maggot! If you think I'm so damaged that it's safe to flout me, you're mistaken Come here, and I'll squeeze your eyes out, like I did to Radbug just now. And when some new lads come, I'll deal with you: I'll send you to Shelob."

"They won't come, not before you're dead anyway," answered Snaga surlily. "I've told you twice that Gorbag's swine got to the gate first, and none of ours got out. Lagduf and Muzgash ran through, but they were shot. I saw it from a window, I tell you. And they were the last."

"Then you must go. I must stay here anyway. But I'm hurt. The Black Pits take that filthy rebel Gorbag!" Shagrat's voice trailed off into a string of foul names and curses. "I gave him better than I got, but he knifed me, the dung, before I throttled him. You must go, or I'll eat you. News must get through to Lugbúrz, or we'll both be for the Black Pits. Yes, you too. You won't escape by skulking here."

"I'm not going down those stairs again," growled Snaga, "be you captain or no. Nar! Keep your hands off your gun, or I'll bulletriddle you. You won't be a captain long when They hear about all these goings-on. I've fought for the Tower against those stinking Morgul-rats, but a nice mess you two precious captains have made of things, fighting over the swag."

[Grey_Wolf]

"That's enough from you," snarled Shagrat. "I had my orders. It was Gorbag started it, trying to pinch that pretty shirt."
"Well, you put his back up, being so high and mighty. And he had more sense than you anyway. He told you more than once that the most dangerous of these spies was still loose, and you wouldn't listen. And you won't listen now. Gorbag was right, I tell you. There's a great fighter about, one of those bloody-handed Elves, or one of the filthy tarks.*1 He's coming here, I tell you. You heard the bell. He's got past the Watchers, and that's tark's work. He's on the stairs. And until he's off them, I'm not going down. Not if you were a Nazgûl, I wouldn't."
"So that's it, is it?" yelled Shagrat. "You'll do this, and you'll not do that? And when he does come, you'll bolt and leave me? No, you won't! I'll put red maggot-holes in your belly first."

[Grey_Wolf]

Out of the door a small ORCer came running, and behind him came Shagrat, a large orc with long arms that, as he ran crouching, reached to the ground.

But one arm hung limp and seemed to be bleeding; the other hugged a large black bundle.

In the red glare Sam, cowering behind the stair-door, caught a glimpse of his evil face as it passed.

It was scored by near hits from rifleshots and smeared with blood. Slaver dripped from its protruding fangs; the mouth snarled like an animal.

[Grey_Wolf]

As far as Sam could see, Shagrat hunted Snaga round the roof, until ducking and eluding him the smaller orc with a yelp darted back into the turret and disappeared. Then Shagrat halted. Out of the eastward door Sam could see him now by the parapet, panting, his left claw clenching and unclenching feebly. He put the bundle on the floor and with his right claw drew out a long red knife and spat on it. Going to the parapet he leaned over, looking down into the outer court far below. Twice he shouted but no answer came.

Suddenly, as Shagrat was stooped over the wall, his back to the roof-top, Sam to his amazement saw that one of the sprawling bodies was moving. It was crawling. It put out a claw and clutched the bundle. It staggered up. In its other hand it held an empty assault rifle. But at that very moment a hiss escaped its teeth, a gasp of pain or hate.
"Got you, Gorbag!" he cried. "Not quite dead, eh? Well, I'll finish my job now." He drove his combat knife into to the throat of the dying ORCer.

[Grey_Wolf]

Not quite done yet he sprang on to the fallen body, and stamped and trampled it in his fury, stooping now and again to stab and slash it with his knife. Satisfied at last, he threw back his head and let out a horrible gurgling yell of triumph. Then he licked his knife, and put it between his teeth, and catching up the bundle he came loping towards the near door of the stairs.

Sam had no time to think. He might have slipped out of the other door, but hardly without being seen; and he could not have played hide-and-seek with this hideous orc for long. He did what was probably the best thing he could have done. He sprang out to meet Shagrat with a shout. He was no longer holding the Package, but it was there, a hidden power, a cowing menace to the slaves of Mordor; and in his hand was Sting the soldering iron, and its light smote the eyes of the orc like the glitter of cruel stars in the terrible elf-countries, the dream of which was a cold fear to all his kind. And Shagrat could not both fight and keep hold of his treasure. He stopped, growling, baring his fangs. Then once more, orc-fashion, he leapt aside, and as Sam sprang at him, using the heavy bundle as both shield and weapon, he thrust it hard into his enemy's face. Sam staggered, and before he could recover, Shagrat darted past and down the stairs.

Sam ran after him, cursing, but he did not go far. Soon the thought of Frodo returned to him, and he remembered that the other orc had gone back into the turret. Here was another dreadful choice, and he had no time to ponder it. If Shagrat got away, he would soon get help and come back. But if Sam pursued him, the other orc might do some horrible deed up there. And anyway Sam might miss Shagrat or be killed by him. He turned quickly and ran back up the stairs. "Wrong again, I expect," he sighed. "But it's my job to go right up to the top first, whatever happens afterwards."

[Grey_Wolf]

Away below Shagrat went leaping down the stairs and out over the court and through the gate, bearing his precious burden. If Sam could have seen him and known the grief that his escape would bring, he might have quailed. But now his mind was set on the last stage of his search. He came cautiously to the turret-door and stepped inside. It opened into darkness. But soon his staring eyes were aware of a dim light at his right hand. It came from an opening that led to another stairway, dark and narrow: it appeared to go winding up the turret along the inside of its round outer wall. A lamp was flickering somewhere up above.

Softly Sam began to climb. He came to the flickering lamp, fixed above a door on his left that faced a window-slit looking out westward: one of the red eyes that he and Frodo had seen from down below by the tunnel's mouth. Quickly Sam passed the door and hurried on to the second storey, dreading at any moment to he attacked and to feel throttling fingers seize his throat from behind. He came next to a window looking east and another lamp above the door to a passage through the middle of the turret. The door was open, the passage dark save for the glimmer of the lamp and the red glare from outside filtering through the window-slit. But here the stair stopped and climbed no further. Sam crept into the passage. On either side there was a low door; both were closed and locked. There was no sound at all.
"A dead end," muttered Sam; "and after all my climb! This can't be the top of the tower. But what can I do now?"

[Grey_Wolf]

He ran back to the lower storey and tried the door. It would not move. He ran up again, and sweat began to trickle down his face. He felt that even minutes were precious, but one by one they escaped; and he could do nothing. He cared no longer for Shagrat or Snaga or any other orc that was ever spawned. He longed only for his master, for one sight of his face or one touch of his hand.

At last, weary and feeling finally defeated, he sat on a step below the level of the passage-floor and bowed his head into his hands. It was quiet, horribly quiet. The lamp, that was already went out; and he felt the darkness cover him like a tide. And then softly, to his own surprise, there at the vain end of his long journey and his grief, moved by what thought in his heart he could not tell, Sam began to sing.

His voice sounded thin and quavering in the cold dark tower: the voice of a forlorn and weary hobbit that no listening orc could possibly mistake for the clear song of an Elven-lord. He murmured old childish tunes out of the Shire, and snatches of Mr. Bilbo's rhymes that came into his mind like fleeting glimpses of the country of his home. And then suddenly new strength rose in him, and his voice rang out, while words of his own came unbidden to fit the simple tune.

[Grey_Wolf]

In western lands beneath the Sun
the flowers may rise in Spring,
the trees may bud, the waters run,
the merry finches sing.
Or there maybe "tis cloudless night
and swaying beeches bear
the Elven-stars as jewels white
amid their branching hair.

Though here at journey's end I lie
in darkness buried deep,
beyond all towers strong and high,
beyond all mountains steep,
above all shadows rides the Sun
and Stars for ever dwell:
I will not say the Day is done,
nor bid the Stars farewell.

"Beyond all towers strong and high," he began again, and then he stopped short. He thought that he had heard a faint voice answering him. But now he could hear nothing. Yes, he could hear something, but not a voice. Footsteps were approaching. Now a door was being opened quietly in the passage above; the hinges creaked. Sam crouched down listening. The door closed with a dull thud; and then a snarling orc-voice rang out.
"Ho la! You up there, you dunghill rat! Stop your squeaking, or I'll come and deal with you. D'you hear?"

There was no answer.

[Grey_Wolf]

The ancient hinges creaked again and Sam, taking a peek from where he stood, saw a doorway open and the light fromt the age old tube lights shine through the gap.

The dim shape of an orc appeared and seemed to be carrying a metal ladder in which the tubelight light reflected.

Suddenly the answer dawned on Sam: the topmost chamber was reached by a trap-door in the roof of the passage. Snaga thrust the ladder upwards, steadied it, and then clambered out of sight.

Sam heard a bolt drawn back. Then he heard the hideous voice speaking again.
"You lie quiet, or you'll pay for it! You've not got long to live in peace, I guess; but if you don't want the fun to begin right now, keep your trap shut, see? There's a reminder for you!" There was a sound like the crack of a whip.

At that rage blazed in Sam's heart to a sudden fury. He sprang up, ran, and went up the ladder like a cat. His head came out in the middle of the floor of a large round chamber. A red lamp hung from its roof; the westward window-slit was high and dark. Something was lying on the floor by the wall under the window, but over it a black orc-shape was straddled. It raised a whip a second time, but the blow never fell.

[Grey_Wolf]

With a cry Sam leapt across the floor, Sting in hand.

The orc wheeled round, but before it could make a move Sam slashed its whip-hand from its arm.

Howling with pain and fear but desperate the orc charged head-down at him. Sam's next blow went wide, and thrown off his balance he fell backwards, clutching at the orc as it stumbled over him.

Before he could scramble up he heard a cry and a thud. The orc in its wild haste had tripped on the ladder-head and fallen through the open trap-door. Sam gave no more thought to it. He ran to the figure huddled on the floor.

It was Frodo.

[Grey_Wolf]

He was naked, lying as if in a swoon on a heap of filthy rags: his arm was flung up, shielding his head, and across his side there ran an ugly whip-weal.
"Frodo! Mr. Frodo, my dear!" cried Sam, tears almost blinding him. "It's Sam, I've come!" He half lifted his master and hugged him to his breast. Frodo opened his eyes.
"Am I still dreaming?" he muttered. "But the other dreams were horrible."
"You're not dreaming at all, Master," said Sam. "It's real. It's me. I've come."
"I can hardly believe it," said Frodo, clutching him. "There was an orc with a whip, and then it turns into Sam! Then I wasn't dreaming after all when I heard that singing down below, and I tried to answer? Was it you?"
"It was indeed, Mr. Frodo. I'd given up hope, almost. I couldn't find you.

"Well, you have now, Sam, dear Sam." said Frodo, and he lay back in Sam's gentle arms, closing his eyes, like a child at rest when night-fears are driven away by some loved voice or hand.

Sam felt that he could sit like that in endless happiness; but it was not allowed. It was not enough for him to find his master, he had still to try and save him. He kissed Frodo's forehead. "Come! Wake up Mr. Frodo!" he said, trying to sound as cheerful as he had when he drew back the curtains at Bag End on a summer's morning.

Frodo sighed and sat up. "Where are we? How did I get here?" he asked.

"There's no time for tales till we get somewhere else, Mr. Frodo," said Sam. "But you're in the top of that TCC you and me saw from away down by the tunnel before the orcs got you. How long ago that was I don't know. More than a day, I guess."

[Grey_Wolf]

In the small chamber there actually was a wardrobe in which Sam found black tracksuits and sneakers.

He also found a bathtub which was in working order and filled with luxurious warmwater into which Frodo emersed himself.

After a while he felt almost human again and got dressed in one of the black tracksuits and and pair of sneakers. Sam dressed himself in the other get-up.

"Well, Sam, they took everything. So soon he will steamroll across the West." said Frodo depressed.

[Rían]

"They've taken everything, Sam," said Frodo. "Everything I had. Do you understand? Everything! But at least I have this sharp-looking track-suit now!" Frodo brightened up as he admired his Hobbit-ish physique. Black always suited him, and it was really quite a snazzy tracksuit. And the sneakers - he had seen a pair like them back at the Hobbiton Sportsmart ... hmm, was there some terrible connection between Mordor and Hobbiton ...

He cowered on the floor again with bowed head, as his own words brought home to him the fullness of the disaster, and despair overwhelmed him. If there were already packages going between Mordor and Hobbiton, then why in the world was he sent on this stupid quest, when he could have just mailed the package at the local post office? "Deliver to Mount Doom, Mordor - C.O.D." (he had always been careful about money, and if he could stick Mordor with the delivery costs, then score one for him!) But it was too late now, and the package was gone.

"The quest has failed Sam. Even if we get out of here, we can't escape. Only Elves can escape. Away, away out of Middle-earth, far away over the Sea. If even that is wide enough to keep the Shadow out." Frodo wondered if there was delivery service between Hobbiton and the undying lands of the Elves. Maybe he could pack himself in a large and comfy box ...

"No, not everything, Mr. Frodo. And it hasn't failed, not yet. I took it, Mr. Frodo, begging your pardon. And I've kept it safe. It's under my tracksuit now, and a terrible burden it is, too." Sam fumbled for the Package. "But I suppose you must take it back." Now it had come to it, Sam felt reluctant to give up the Package and burden his master with it again.

[Grey_Wolf]

"You've got it?" gasped Frodo. "You've got it here? Sam, you're a marvel!" Then quickly and strangely his tone changed. "Give it to me!" he cried, standing up, holding out a trembling hand. "Give it me at once! You can't have it!"

"OK, ok, Mr Frodo! Take it easy, will ye! No need to become all riled up about it." He withdrew the Package from his inside his shirt."Here it is! But, mind you, we are in Mordor now and the carrying of it will be very dangerous. When we come out you'll see the Mountain and all. And it'll be hard work so I could share it with you."

"No, no, give it to me, you thief!" Frodo screamed. staring at Sam with eyes wide with fear and enmity. He snatched the Package from Sam's outstretched hand.

There was a short period of misty sight and strange visions, then he got back on track and relaxed and felt anguished at shouting at his longtime friend and camarado.

[Grey_Wolf]

"O Sam!" cried Frodo. "What have I said? What have I done? Forgive me! After all you have done. It is the horrible power of the Package. I wish it had never, never, been found. But don't mind me, Sam. I must carry the burden to the end. It can't be altered. You can't come between me and this doom."

"That's all right, Mr. Frodo," said Sam, rubbing his sleeve across his eyes. "I understand. But I can still help, can't I?
Now that you been cleaned and gotten some clothes on we had better get out of here. But we can probably find some ORCer cloaks to cover up the tracksuits."

Sam unclasped his grey windcheater and cast it about Frodo's shoulders. Then unslinging his pack he laid it on the floor. He drew Sting from its sheath. Hardly a flicker was to be seen upon its blade.

"I was forgetting this, Mr. Frodo," he said. "No, they didn't get everything! You lent me Sting, if you remember, and the Lady's halogene lamp. I've got them both still. But lend them to me a little longer, Mr. Frodo. I must go and see what I can find. You stay here. Walk about a bit and ease your legs. I shan't be long. I shan't have to go far."

"Take care, Sam!" said Frodo. "And be quick! There may be orcs still alive, lurking in wait."

"I've got to chance it," said Sam. He stepped to the trap-door and slipped down the aluminum-ladder. In a minute his head reappeared. He threw a Bowie knife on the floor.
"There's something that might be useful," he said. "He's dead: the one that whipped you. Broke his neck, it seems, in his hurry. Now you draw up the ladder, if you can, Mr. Frodo; and don't you let it down till you hear me call the password. Elbereth I'll call. What the Elves say. No orc would say that."

[Grey_Wolf]

Frodo sat for a while and shivered, dreadful fears chasing one another through his mind. Then he got up, drew the grey windcheater about him, and to keep his mind occupied, began to walk to and fro, prying and peering into every corner of his prison.

It was not very long, though fear made it seem an hour at least, before he heard Sam's voice calling softly from below: Elbereth, Elbereth. Frodo let down the light aluminum-ladder. Up came Sam, handing Frodo two filthy ORCer cloacs, bulletproof wests and two pairs of very wornout jeans for them to wear over their tracksuits which wasn't too well insulated along with a couple of helmets.

On the helmets were painted a red eye under which was a number, 338.

"The Morgul-stuff, Gorbag's gear, was a better fit and better made," said Sam."but it wouldn't do, I guess, to go carrying his tokens into Mordor, not after this business here. Well, there you are, Mr. Frodo. A perfect little orc."

They got dressed in the Mordorese garb the better to blend in with the other ORCers.

"There!" he said. "Now we match, near enough. And now we must be off!"
"I can't go all the way at a run, Sam," said Frodo with a wry smile. "I hope you've made inquiries about inns along the road? Or have you forgotten about food and drink?"

[Grey_Wolf]

"The ORCers slashed my waterbottle and stole Faramir's food. So we hardly got nothing." he continued."But they didnt like the elvish bread." He looked thru the pack that still lay in a corner of the chamber. The Lembas was all in crumbles.

"Well, there's no more to be said," said Sam. "We've got enough to start on. But the water's going to be a bad business. But come Mr. Frodo! Off we go, or a whole lake of it won't do us any good!"

"Not till you've had a mouthful, Sam," said Frodo. "I won't budge. Here, take this elven-cake, and drink that last drop in your bottle! The whole thing is quite hopeless, so it's no good worrying about tomorrow. It probably won't come."

At last they started. Down the ladder they climbed, and then Sam took it and laid it in the passage beside the huddled body of the fallen orc. The stair was dark, but on the roof-top the glare of the Mountain could still be seen, though it was dying down now to a sullen red. They picked up two shields to complete their disguise and then went on.

[Grey_Wolf]

Down the great stairway they descended. The spire chamber where they had met up almost seemed homely in comparison.

They were out in the open again now, and terror ran along the walls. All might be dead in the Condominum Tower Complex of Cirith Ungol, but it was steeped in fear and evil still.

At length they came to the door upon the lower court, and they halted.

Even from where they stood they felt the malice of the Watchers beating on them, black silent shapes on either side of the gate through which the glare of Mordor dimly showed. As they threaded their way among the hideous bodies of the ores each step became more difficult.

Before they even reached the archway they were brought to a stand, the forcefield felt stronger than ever and to move an inch further was a pain and weariness to will and limb.

[Grey_Wolf]

Frodo had no strength for such a battle. He sank to the ground. "I can't go on, Sam," he murmured. "I'm going to faint. I don't know what's come over me."

"I do, Mr. Frodo. Hold up now! It's the doorway. There's some devilry there. But I got through, and I'm going to get out. It can't be more dangerous than before. Now for it!"

Sam put forth the Elven Halogene Lamp again.

As if to do honour to his hardihood, and to grace with splendour his faithful brown hobbit-hand that had done such deeds, the lamp blazed forth suddenly, so that all the shadowy court and corridor to the Doorway was lit with a dazzling radiance like lightning.

"Gilthoniel, A Elbereth!' Sam cried. For, why he did not know, his thought sprang back suddenly to the Elves in the Shire, and the song that drove away the Black Rider in the trees.
"Aiya elenion ancalima!' cried Frodo once again behind him.

The forcefield snapped open and they ran like mad thru the suddenly easing atmosphere of the corridor.

Then the single NANG! could be heard from above and yet again the alarm went off from the hideous figures.

DWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEED! DWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEED! DWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEED! DWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEED!

And they was barely thru and out in the open when the corridor collapsed and the figures cracked in pieces.

Far up above in the darkness the alarm was answered. Out of the black sky there came dropping like a bolt a black harrier VTOL fighter dropping like a bolt, rending the clouds with a ghastly shriek.

[Grey_Wolf]

Book 6: Chapter 2: The Land of Shadow