LOTR Fan Fiction: The Witch of Angmar - Part #20

The Witch of Angmar

Legacy of the Fellowship

Part Twenty

Secrets and Betrayal

R

ose turned to Azil, her heart still hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.

“What in the name of the Shire was that foul thing?”

“A wight,” the goblin replied grimly. “One of the undead that feeds on the living to stay alive.”

Rose shuddered at these words. A wight. She had heard that some inhabited the Barrow Downs, far to the south, but had never thought to encounter such a being here.

“What is a wight doing under Carn Dûm?”

Rose sagged against the wall and attempted to catch her breath. She had a painful stitch in her side. They had fled along a series of damp, dark tunnels, and up a spiral staircase that seemed to go on forever. However, it had been a long while before the enraged, pain-filled wails of the wight had faded.

“‘Tis a gate-keeper – from the time of the Witch-king himself, I’d guess,” Azil replied, his yellow gaze flicking around the shadowy landing, on which they rested. “Once, that creature would have been a man.”

Azil’s explanation chilled Rose. What a terrible existence, living in that gallery, year after year, century after century, scavenging on rodents – and waiting...

However, her attention could not remain on what they had just survived; instead, she had to focus on what lay ahead.

First though, she had someone to thank.

“You saved my life, again, Azil,” she smiled at the goblin. “How will I ever repay you?”

Azil shook his head, avoiding her gaze. “I don’t want repayment,” he replied. “Enough said, she-hobbit.”

“But you followed me – why?”

The goblin gave an impatient hiss, their gazes momentarily meeting. “I don’t know.”

Rose was flummoxed by his reticence. Yet, she could see that Azil had no desire to explain himself further so she let the matter drop.

“Whatever the reason, I thank you,” she said gently. “I will never forget this.”

“Come,” he replied, still avoiding her gaze. “We cannot linger here.”

The hobbit and goblin made their way up the last set of steps and emerged into a wide corridor. The fresh air, after many hours underground, made Rose inhale deeply. They were now inside Carn Dûm’s keep. A chill wind ruffled Rose’s hair and made her eyes water.

Rose’s gaze moved around the lofty corridor, taking in the piles of rubble and the sight of the washed-out sky through the arched windows. Judging by the light, it was late afternoon. She had spent most of the day wandering under Carn Dûm. They would have to be very careful now – this area of the fortress would be crawling with guards.

They needed to make their way to the Witch Tower – but which way was it?

“Azil,” Rose whispered. “Do you know which way to go?”

He nodded, his thin lips compressing. The goblin’s thin body was taut, his right hand sitting on the hilt of his iron sword. “Follow me.”

They turned right and made their way down a long, straight corridor.

The pair had only walked a short distance when the rough sounds of men, and the cackle and hiss of goblins, broke the silence. Rose and Azil halted.

Rose looked around frantically. It sounded as if the voices were coming from behind and in front of them.

Moments later, a company of goblins, their armour jangling noisily, rounded the corner ahead. The goblins skidded to a stop, their goat-like eyes fastening on the two figures standing before them. Panic flared, and Rose turned to flee in the direction they had come. However, she came face-to-face with a company of men wearing filthy boiled leather armour.

They were trapped.

Rose turned to Azil, her hand reaching for Sting’s hilt. This time, there would be no running away. This time, they would both need to fight.

However, Azil did not respond as she had expected. Rose had thought he too would draw his sword. Instead, as quick as a striking adder, he leapt towards her, pinioning her arms against her side.

“I have her!” he cried, his thin voice high with panic. “This is the she-hobbit our Lady seeks. Take us to Morwyn!”

Rose writhed in Azil’s grip, astonished by the sheer strength of such a slight creature.

“No!” she screamed.

She could not believe it. He had saved her life, and put his own at risk. Yet, he had done it to win her trust – it had all been a ruse. The goblin had not returned to help her out a sense of responsibility, or out of worry for her. He had seen a chance to win back his king’s favour, to return from exile.

Azil had betrayed her.

***

Peri and Salrean watched, neither daring to utter a word, as Morwyn – the Witch of Angmar – glided across the cavernous chamber to the stone plinth where the red book sat. Behind her, arms folded across his broad chest, stood Targkok, the Goblin King.

Peri had never seen a goblin so massive. He was easily twice the height and width of Azil, the only other goblin he had been able to study at close quarters. At first glance, Peri had thought that Targkok was overweight, but on closer inspection, he saw that the Goblin King was all muscle and brawn. He wore a sleeveless chain mail vest and iron bands decorated his huge, scarred arms. A heavy broadsword hung at his side.

Targkok had a heavy-featured, pugnacious face, and a collection of brass rings decorated his large, pointed ears. His bald head gleamed in the silvery light filtering in from the thin windows that ringed the chamber. Aware that he was being observed, Targkok’s gaze, narrow and calculating, met Peri’s.

The hobbit swallowed nervously and looked away.

“The Red Book,” Morwyn’s voice was once again, soft and beguiling. She had stopped before the plinth and was running her hands – beautiful hands with long tapering figures – over its worn leather cover. “Long have I coveted it.”

Morwyn opened the book; the creak of its spine and the rustling of its pages was the only sound in the deathly quiet.

“Ever since my servant brought the book to me, I have pored over its pages,” she continued, “I have read it all, suffered through the tale of these ridiculous hobbits and their adventures.”

Her mouth twisted as she uttered the last word, as if she had just tasted something vile. Listening to the witch, Peri felt a rush of anger at her derision. However, he wisely held his tongue.

Ignoring the other occupants of the chamber, Morwyn opened the book near the end, her gaze fastening upon a page.

“Often have I read this page,” she mused. “It tells of my brother’s death – at the hands of a woman and a hobbit nonetheless. What an irony.”

Her gaze swivelled then, to where Peri and Salrean stood, flanked by goblins. “He feared women, you know. That’s why he never married. Then, he took Sauron’s ring and became his creature, and his dislike for women turned to hatred.” Her gaze fastened upon Salrean then. The ranger stared back at Morwyn, her face like stone. The witch’s angular face split into a smile; an expression that chilled Peri to the core.

“He especially loathed strong women, which is why he rid himself of me,” Morwyn concluded, turning back to the book, her gaze resting once more on the page. “I should have been the one to end his miserable life.”

Silence followed her words. There was nothing for any of them, the Goblin King, included, to say. The Witch of Angmar reeked of bitterness and rage. One wrong word and she would turn that fury upon them.

“I digress,” Morwyn sighed, as if realising she had an audience. “What matters most, is that the Red Book is mine – and that I must know its secret.”

The witch glanced over her shoulder then, her gaze snaring Peri’s.

“Pericles Took,” she murmured his name as if they were old friends, although her eyes were like pieces of flint. “I have read this book again and again – but cannot find the secret I seek.”

She then flicked back to the start of the book. “Come here, Pericles,” she ordered.

When Peri did not move, the goblin flanking him shoved him between the shoulder blades. Stiffly, Peri walked forward and stopped at Morwyn’s shoulder.

“Find it for me,” she hissed, her hand fastening on his shoulder like a claw. “Look and tell me what you see.”

Her proximity caused Peri’s heart to race. She smelt dry and musty – with a faint trace of iron. Her nearness made his skin prickle with alarm, and her grip on his shoulder hurt. It took all his will not to shrink away.

“Find me this secret,” she demanded, her voice suddenly harsh. Her fingers bit cruelly into Peri’s flesh. “I must know it.”

The hobbit reached out and began to leaf through the pages. The tale of Bilbo’s journey through Mirkwood, to the Lonely Mountain, and the defeat of Smaug, greeted him. He continued to search the book, noting the change in handwriting as he began Frodo’s tale. When Peri reached the part where the Fellowship found themselves lost inside the Mines of Moria, he paused and dared look up into Morwyn’s face. Her expression was hard and hungry.

“Have you found it?”

Peri shook his head.  “There is no secret,” he told her, his voice trembling. “‘Tis an epic tale, nothing more.”

A terrible silence followed his words. Finally, Morwyn replied, her voice low and threatening. “You lie.”

“It appears you have wasted your time.” Salrean spoke for the first time since entering the chamber; her voice was sharp with victory. “How disappointing for you to discover you went to so much trouble, for nothing.”

Morwyn moved then.

She released Peri and swivelled towards Salrean – and before anyone in the chamber had time to inhale – the witch flung her outstretched hand at the ranger. A column of fire erupted from her finger-tips. It shot across the wide space and hit Salrean in the centre of the chest.

Salrean cried out, although the sound was cut off, as the column of fire lifted her into the air and flung her across the chamber. She hit the far wall before crumpling like a broken doll to the ground.

Peri stared at the ranger’s unmoving form, aghast. He moved towards her, but Morwyn’s hand shot out, her fingers grasping his shoulder and pulling him up short.

At that moment, the boom of a heavy fist knocking on the door to the chamber, interrupted them. Still gripping Peri’s shoulder, Morwyn swivelled towards the sound, her face twisted in rage.

“Who dares interrupt me?”

The door swung open and Peri turned cold when he saw who stood before them.

There in the doorway, her dirt-smudged face streaked with tears, stood Rose. Azil was at her side, but Peri saw immediately that the goblin was not captive, for he wielded an iron sword in one hand and gripped Rose’s arm with the other.

“Rose,” Peri whispered, torn between joy to see her alive, and despair that she too had been captured. His gaze then flicked to Azil.

“Traitor,” Peri hissed at him. The goblin looked away, avoiding his accusing glare.

“Azil,” Targkok spoke for the first time since the captives had been brought before them. His voice was deep and powerful. “So you dare show your face before me again.”

“Sire,” Azil’s voice was a plaintive whine. “I apologise for deserting you, but I brought you a prize – one that I hope will earn your forgiveness.”

The Goblin King’s gaze narrowed. “Spineless worm,” he growled. “Do you think I am so easily appeased?”

Targkok was about to say more but Morwyn interrupted him.

“Rose Fairbairn,” the witch’s gaze was riveted upon Rose’s face. “You will be of more use to me than this dolt.” With that, she shoved Peri away, back towards the goblin guards. She pushed him with such force that he stumbled and fell. Ignoring him, Morwyn beckoned to Rose.

Peri climbed to his feet, wincing at his skinned knees. He looked at Rose and saw that she looked on the verge of fainting. Her eyes were huge on her pale face; her body trembling.

“You know of the Red Book’s secret, don’t you?” the witch crooned, a cruel smile spreading across her face. “Your forebears were clever, weren’t they? They wove the secret into the words of this book, and passed the secret down the generations.”

Rose’s face twisted in confusion.

“What secret?” she stammered as behind her, the door to the chamber boomed shut. “It’s a story book, nothing more.”

Morwyn of Angmar shook her head, the smile still plastered to her face. However, Peri saw the look of vicious desperation in her eyes.

“There is a secret,” she told Rose, her voice harsh. All pretence at civility was now gone, “and you will reveal it to me.”

End of Part #20

Be back for Part #21 on 4 April!

LOTR Fan Fiction: The Witch of Angmar - Part #19

The Witch of Angmar

Legacy of the Fellowship

Part Nineteen

The Witch of Angmar

T

he gigantic shadow fell across Rose. She scuttled backwards, still grasping the torch, her gaze riveted upon the figure that had stepped out from behind one of the pillars.

Rose’s breath caught when the flickering torchlight illuminated the creature before her. Terror caused her to stumble and she nearly dropped her precious torch.

The thing before her was huge, even bent double as it was. Long, naked, sinewy limbs protruded from the tattered remains of a black cloak. The clothing was so decayed that it appeared like a ravaged pelt, fluttering in the breeze that now whistled through the gallery.

The face of a cadaver, a visage that had never been human, stared at her; a maw of predator’s teeth opened wide in greeting as the creature grinned. Deep-set topaz eyes bored into Rose, gleaming with a feral intelligence.

Hands – skeletal claws with unnaturally long fingers, tipped in meat-hook talons – reached towards its intended victim, grasping.

“Greetings,” the ghoul spoke in a deep, raspy voice. “Long have I waited for a visitor. Long have I feasted on rats and insects in this forgotten hall. Today, I will dine on juicy flesh. Come.”

The spidery fingers beckoned. “Come to me, sweet one. If you run, I will catch you.”

Rose continued to back away from the ghoul, trembling with terror. Not knowing what else to do, she raised Sting. The blade, wavering before her, now glowed bright, casting the gallery in an eerie light. The spectre’s yellow gaze seized upon the sword; its eyes narrowed slightly.

“What do we have here?” it mused, “An elf-blade.”

Rose could not bring herself to respond. Terror had crushed her throat in a vice. Why was Sting glowing so? Was the creature before her a goblin of some kind? However, she knew goblins to be afraid of elf-blades – whereas this creature merely studied it with interest.

“Curious,” it hissed. “A female halfling, alone in my hall with an elf-blade. Who are you girl. Tell me before I feast on your sweet flesh.”

Rose shook her head, gritting her teeth. “I will tell you nothing,” she ground out. “I have business elsewhere. Let me pass.”

The ghoul laughed at that; a wheezing rattle in its skeletal chest that made it sound as if it was drawing its last breath.

“You’re mine halfling – and if you will not tell me who you are, I will waste no more words on you.”

With that, the ghoul lunged.

Despite that it was bent over, giving it a decrepit and frail appearance, the creature moved with frightening speed.

Rose screamed and scrambled backwards. She attempted to turn and run, but tripped in panic and sprawled to the ground. The torch flew out of her grip and rolled across the flagstone floor. Rose rolled onto her back, bringing Sting up to defend herself. The ghoul loomed above her, those clawed hands reaching down – and Rose screamed again.

It would have had her – she was certain of it – if someone had not come to her rescue.

A figure, small and lithe, sprung from the shadows. A sword slashed at the ghoul’s grasping arms and Rose’s attacker reared back in shock. It did not realise that another had entered its domain.

Rose scrambled backwards along the damp stone, attempting to get to her feet as Azil the goblin went after her attacker once more. The creature staggered back, hissing in rage.

Rose had no time to register surprise at Azil’s presence here. He had not saved her; only bought them both time. The goblin brandished an iron sword, only slightly larger than Sting.

“Hurry!” Azil shouted.  “Get past it!”

Rose rolled to her feet and lunged for the torch that lay sputtering a few feet away. Then, she darted right, skirting the edge of the columns, in an attempt to do as Azil bid. A moment later, a small, sinewy form appeared at her shoulder. She caught a glimpse of the goblin’s yellow eyes, wide with fright, and knew they were far from safe.

A shriek suddenly echoed down the gallery, echoing off the ancient stone.

“You are both mine!”

“Run!” Azil hissed.

Once more, Rose obeyed without hesitation. Together, goblin and hobbit sprinted, shoulder-to-shoulder along the darkened gallery, in between the rows of towering columns. Behind them, a terrifying shadow rapidly closed the gap. It was as if they were pursued by a twister, a force of nature, rather than a living being. The breeze that had feathered against their skin earlier now turned into a roaring gale.

“There is no escape!” the ghoul keened. “I will have you!”

Yet hobbits and goblins are fleet creatures, both smaller and lighter than men. Rose and Azil ran as if Sauron himself pursued them. The columns flew by in a blur; and yet, the ghoul closed the gap. It ran in long, loping strides. Rose heard the rasp of its breath. Her pursuer was so close that she could feel it prickle the back of her neck.

Despair welled within her; they would never outrun it.

Up ahead, loomed a great stone archway. Azil and Rose were just a few paces from it, when Rose felt something grab hold of her cloak. The tearing sound of rending cloth followed before Rose was yanked backwards, off her feet. Rose let out a strangled cry and dropped the guttering torch.

The ghoul had grabbed hold of the hood of Rose’s cloak, and she hung from its claw as it swung her towards its gaping mouth.

“Let go of me!”

Rose gripped Sting’s hilt with both hands and lashed out at the sinewy arm above her head. The blade dug deep and the ghoul let out a terrible scream; a sound that nearly made Rose drop her weapon in fright. The creature did let go of her then, and Rose fell to the flagstones. Sting’s blade came free of the ghoul’s flesh with a strange sucking noise.

Eyes ablaze, the creature staggered back, clutching its arm.

“Elf-blade!” it wailed, “It burns!”

Not waiting for the ghoul to recover, Azil grabbed Rose under the armpits and hauled her to her feet. Without another word, the pair fled to the end of the gallery and disappeared through the archway.

***

The goblin guards came for them shortly after their daily meal of dry bread and gruel. Peri had been lying on his side, eyes closed, and his mind numb with despair, when the sound of heavy boots roused him.

He sat up and heard Salrean do the same, nearby.

Wordlessly, they sat and listened as the footsteps drew nearer. Then, a key grated in the lock and the heavy cell door swung inward. The low passageway outside was dimly lit by small clay cressets, yet both prisoners were unused to the light, after days of being locked up in the dark.

Peri turned his face away and covered his eyes with a hand.

“Time to meet the Lady of this fortress,” one of the goblin’s cackled, glee in its voice as it entered the cell and hauled Peri to his feet. “She is eager to make your acquaintance.”

Peri said nothing, allowing himself to be pulled upright. His limbs were stiff and sore and he stumbled when the guard dragged him out into the passage way. Moments later, another goblin ‘escorted’ Salrean out of the cell – shoving her so hard that she collided with the wall. Peri turned to his companion, his eyes watering as his vision adjusted.

Salrean’s face was gaunt, her eyes hollowed – yet in their depths Peri saw anger flicker. Even after days in that cell, they had not beaten her. Peri felt a surge of respect for the ranger; her strength awed him. The sight of her resolution gave him solace, and courage. Neither of them was beaten.

The goblins led them up through a network of narrow passages and twisting stairwells into the Keep of Carn Dûm. The further they climbed, the fresher the air became. Peri breathed deeply, relieved to be free of the damp foulness of the dungeons. He would rather die than return there.

Much of the Keep was in ruin. A cold wind breathed in through crumbling windows, revealing a dull sky outside. It felt as if winter had truly arrived here in the bleak north. The chill stung Peri’s face but he did not care; the fresh air and weak sunlight was a balm on his skin. They travelled through many lofty hallways, all of them deserted, stepping over fallen statues and navigating their way around piles of rubble from where some of the walls had caved in. Peri could see that, even at its height, Carn Dûm had never been a warm, welcoming place. The fortress was made out of a dark, pitted stone and Peri shivered at the atmosphere; the evil that had built Carn Dûm, stone by stone, and now resided here once more, was palpable.

The goblins prodded and poked them with hard fingers, urging their prisoners on whenever their pace slowed.

Peri knew exactly where they were taking them, and wagered that Salrean did as well.

The Witch Tower of Carn Dûm.

Eventually they reached a vast archway of dark stone with a wide circular stairwell beyond. Peri glanced at Salrean, and she stared back at him before giving a barely perceptible nod. Their audience with the Witch of Angmar was just moments away.

Peri climbed the stairwell, the muscles in his calves and thighs screaming after days of inactivity. On the way up, they passed tiny windows; little more than narrow slits that let in shafts of watery sunlight. Unlike the rest of the fortress, the Witch Tower appeared to be in a good state of repair. There were signs of fresh masonry and mortar. The mistress of Carn Dûm obviously did not wish to reside in a ruin.

They reached the top of the stairwell and crossed a landing to where two more goblins, dressed in iron and leather armour, stood before a heavy oak door. These guards bore long spears and wore helmets that obscured all but the lower half of their faces. Peri noted that these two were bigger than the goblins he had seen until now; more muscular with a greenish tinge to their skin. He wondered if these were orcs.

“We bring the prisoners,” one of the goblins accompanying Peri and Salrean hissed. “Let us pass.”

The orc guards stepped to one side, and pulled the great doors open.

Peri’s heart hammered violently when the goblin behind him shoved him forward. “In you go, halfling. Our Lady awaits!”

Peri and Salrean entered a wide chamber with a high, flat roof. The same long, thin windows ringed the space and a silvery light illuminated the interior. It was sparsely furnished, with a heavy tapestry shielding the back of the chamber from view.

On a stone plinth to the right of the door sat the Red Book. However, Peri’s gaze did not rest upon the object that had caused him and Rose to leave the Shire and embark upon this doomed quest. Instead, his attention wholly focused on the two individuals standing in the centre of the chamber.

A tall, dark-haired woman and a heavy-set goblin.

Morwyn of Angmar and Targkok, the Goblin King.

The Witch of Angmar was not what Peri had expected. He had thought to see an old hag, bent and aged. Yet, the woman before him was tall, statuesque and ageless in appearance.  She was dressed in black robes, made of satin and silk, her fingers sparkling with garnets. On her feet she wore jewelled slippers and about her neck a glittering obsidian necklace. She was not beautiful, for her features were too harsh, her bone-structure too angular and jutting. Yet, her hair was thick and shiny, falling in a straight, dark curtain about her shoulders, without a streak of white in it. On her head she wore a simple iron crown.

It was not the face of evil – yet Peri knew that wickedness did not always show itself at first glance. He gazed into the woman’s dark eyes, and felt his body go cold, as if he had stepped up to the neck in a frozen pond. She had a pitiless gaze and when she smiled at him, there was not a shred of warmth there.

“Pericles Took and Salrean of Farnost,” Morwyn had a soft voice that slid across the still chamber like a caress. “Welcome.”

End of Part #19

Be back for Part #20 on 21 March!

JOURNEY OF SHADOWS and THE WITCH OF ANGMAR are finalists in the Sir Julius Vogel Awards 2014!

Every year, the SFFANZ (Science Fiction and Fantasy Association of New Zealand) hosts the Sir Julius Vogel Awards for New Zealand authors of Science Fiction, Horror and Fantasy. 

This year, two of my works have reached the final ballot for the awards! :-)

Best novel: JOURNEY OF SHADOWS
Best fan writing: THE WITCH OF ANGMAR

   

Exciting times!

Find about the Sir Julius Awards - and take a look at this year's finalists.

I have created a special excerpt of JOURNEY OF SHADOWS - for both voters and readers. This sample is a bit longer longer than the preview you can read on Amazon.

Read the Prologue and Chapters 1-3 of JOURNEY OF SHADOWS.

Read all THE WITCH OF ANGMAR episodes published so far (in PDF format) on my website.

A huge thanks to all of you that sent in nominations for these works - fingers crossed for the judging in April!

LOTR Fan Fiction: The Witch of Angmar - Part #18

The Witch of Angmar

Legacy of the Fellowship

Part Eighteen

The Dungeons of Carn Dûm

I

t was dark and damp inside the cell. A deep chill – one that came from the absence of sunlight, year after year – permeated the stone. Peri sat, his knees pulled up against his chest, staring into the darkness. He was sitting on his folded cloak, in an effort to make himself more comfortable; yet the fetid, sunless cell was starting to erode his endurance. 

This was the end of their journey. After a terrifying trek north, whipped and menaced by Morwyn’s servants, the sight of Carn Dûm had made Peri’s step falter. Its dark towers loomed against a backdrop of barren mountainside and pale sky. He would have fallen if Salrean had not been there to grab hold of his arm and keep him moving. The hillmen had herded them in to the base of the fortress, but had not taken them before the Witch of Angmar as Salrean had predicted. Instead, they had dragged their prisoners deep underground, down endless moss-covered stone steps to this vile, airless dungeon.

Peri had lost track of time since their arrival at Carn Dûm. At least four meals had passed, although the time between them was long enough for hunger to twist their stomachs cruelly. The food the goblin guards brought was barely palatable: hard, coarse bread that stuck in their throats, and foul tasting gruel and water that tasted of iron and mould. Yet, Salrean and Peri were so hungry that they ate it without complaint.

Perhaps she will leave us here to rot, Peri thought; despair consuming him. I will never see daylight again.

“Peri,” Salrean’s voice intruded upon his dark thoughts. “You have not spoken in a while – are you well?”

“Not really,” Peri replied, closing his eyes and resting his forehead on his knees. “Much longer in this place and I will go mad.”

Peri heard a noise beside him as Salrean inched closer to him. A moment later, he felt her arm settle around his shoulders.

“I am sorry, Peri,” she said, her voice laced with sadness. “This is all my doing. I should never have agreed to my father’s plan.”

“‘Tis too late for regrets now,” Peri replied, leaning against her. The warmth and solace the simple contact brought made his eyes sting with tears. “We all knew the risks.”

Salrean squeezed her arm around him tighter in response. “I know,” her voice was barely above a whisper. “I just wish that I had not been so eager to please my father. Ethorn was right – he is unpleasable. It’s the Red Book my father wants, and he would go to any lengths to get it.”

“He would not send you into danger if he didn’t think there was hope,” Peri replied. “I agree that he is ruthless and ambitious – but you are still his daughter. If you do not return to Farnost, he will grieve.”

“Perhaps,” bitterness tinged Salrean’s voice. “Yet, these days in the darkness have made me realize things that I had not wished to see before. If we survive this, if we see daylight again, I will no longer do my father’s bidding without question. The days of acting as his puppet have ended.”

***

Rose heaved the iron lid open and peered down into the inky depths beyond. Suddenly, she did not wish to go a step further. She would have preferred to stay out here, in the open air.

Yet, Salrean and Peri were inside the Witch of Angmar’s lair – and remaining here would not help them.

Wishing she had a torch to light her way, her stomach knotted in dread, Rose sat down at the edge of the trap door and lowered herself gingerly down into the darkness. Her feet reached the rungs of an iron ladder and she gripped onto it as she climbed down under the earth.

The open trap door above cast a little light for the first few feet, before darkness swallowed her. Down she climbed, at least ten yards, before she stepped onto a cold stone floor. Glancing up, Rose took one last look at the pale window of light above and struggled to calm her fears.

She had never liked the darkness. If only Azil were here, she would not feel so alone – so frightened.

Steadying her breathing, Rose turned then and unsheathed Sting from its scabbard. The blade was dark, telling her that there were no goblins about. Yet, although this knowledge was welcome in one sense, she found herself wishing the blade glowed brightly. At least, she could have used Sting’s glow to find her way in the darkness.

Rose began to walk, waving Sting in front of her as she did so, in an effort to prevent herself from colliding with any objects.

After a few steps, the blade clanged dully against stone and, reaching out, Rose discovered a damp, stone wall. Keeping Sting held tightly in her right hand, she felt her way along the wall with her left. After a few more steps, the floor started to slope downwards.

Although the blackness was impenetrable, Rose realized that she was in a long stone tunnel that stretched down into the roots of the mountain under Carn Dûm. Glad of her silent Hobbit feet, which barely made a sound as she journeyed further away from the secret way in, she focused on keeping her breathing steady and letting her senses of hearing, touch and smell compensate for the fact that she was now travelling blind.

The further she journeyed, the steeper the corridor became. The dread which Rose had managed to control initially, surfaced once more. How much further would she have to travel down before she could claw her way back to the surface?

Eventually, however, the long corridor came to an end.

The wall that Rose had felt her way along, fell back and she stepped gingerly down onto a set of worn steps. Before her, for the first time since climbing down into the tunnel, there was a little light here – for she stood on the edge of a wide cavern and a subterranean lake. A weak shaft of light, full of drifting dust motes, pierced the darkness from high above. The light illuminated the cavern – revealing the conical stalactites that hung from the high roof, and the dark surface of the lake in its centre.

Blinking like a mole surfacing from its burrow, Rose gazed around the cavern. A narrow path led around the rim of the lake, and on the cavern walls she could see numerous tunnel entrances, like the one she had just emerged from. If she ever made it back here, after saving her friends, she would need to remember which tunnel led to the secret entrance. Rose paused for a moment, and dug into the small leather pack she carried on her back, pulling out a woollen scarf. Her mother had knitted it, three years earlier; it was one of Rose’s favourite items of clothing and she was loath to leave it behind. Yet, she had nothing else to use as a marker.

She knelt and wrapped the scarf around one of the many stones littering the floor of the cavern, before placing it to the left of the tunnel she had just exited.

I will make it back here, she told herself. We all will.

Rose descended the steps to the path ringing the lake.

She did not like the look of that lake – it was too dark and still – and she imagined all manner of foul creatures lurking beneath its black surface. As such, she was careful to make as little noise as possible as she skirted the water’s edge.

However, as disquieting as this cavern was, there was a greater issue that drew Rose’s attention – one that made her heart start to race and her mouth go dry with fear.

There were at least a dozen entrances along the cavern wall. Which one should she take?

There was no way to know. Each tunnel entrance looked identical – there were no markers or signs. Rose needed to get into the base of the fortress, from where she could make her way to the Witch’s Tower. Yet, these tunnels could lead anywhere.

She padded along the path, pausing at each entrance a moment before continuing. Reaching the far edge of the cavern, she then turned and retraced her steps.

She had no choice – she would just have to choose one of the tunnels and hope for the best.

You can always return here and take another path, she told herself, provided that the tunnel you choose does not lead to certain death.

Rose stopped at the third last tunnel from the far end of the cavern and took a deep breath.

She would take this one.

Glancing back at the subterranean lake that rippled slightly as a breeze from one of the tunnels caressed its surface, Rose squared her shoulders and climbed the steps to the tunnel.

Inside, she stepped into pitch black once more. She did not like the smothering darkness but this time managed to suppress her panic. As before, she made her way along the tunnel using her left hand as a guide along the wall, and waving Sting in the darkness with her right.

To her relief, the tunnel sloped upwards immediately. Finally, she was heading back towards the sunlight.

Rose climbed for a long while before the tunnel levelled out. When she reached its end, her legs were heavy with fatigue. She leant for a while against the chill wall, recovering from the climb, before taking a measured couple of sips from her rapidly emptying water bladder.

I should have refilled it in the lake, she thought – before realizing that it was probably a good thing she had not. Best not disturb whatever lives in that place.

Now that the tunnel had ended, Rose felt her way around the surrounding wall, realising that she was in a wider space. Her flagging spirits lifted when her fingers fastened around the handle of a wooden torch that hung from a wall bracket.

Grinning in the darkness, Rose removed the torch from the bracket and fumbled in her pockets for the flint that she always carried. She struck the flint against the wall and, eventually, managed to light the tallow torch. Tender flames flickered to life, suddenly illuminating her surroundings in a warm, golden glow.

Rose looked around her, and saw that she stood on the edge of a great stone gallery. A number of unlit torches hung from the walls, lining a long column of massive pillars that stretched ahead of her. She set off between the rows of pillars, grateful for the torch that now lit her way.

Rose had been walking for a short while, when Sting started to glow – it was very faint, but the eerie blue was unmistakable. The sight did not frighten Rose as much as in the past, for if Sting had awoken then perhaps this was the right tunnel after all. Yet, she still gripped her sword’s hilt tightly at the sight of it.

Rose slowed her step, her gaze darting around her.

She had only travelled a few yards further when a sound made her skid to a halt. A strange whispering echoed down the empty gallery, and moments later a chill breeze ruffled Rose’s hair.

What was that?

She was still standing there, trying to decide whether she should continue, when a huge shadow, at least twice the size of a man, detached itself from behind one of the pillars. The whispering echoed towards her once more and Rose felt her blood run cold.

Barandur had warned her that many dangers lurked in the tunnels under Carn Dûm. She had seen the haunted look in the seer’s eyes when he had spoken of it. She suddenly wished she had taken more notice. She wished they had questioned him about it.

Rose stepped hurriedly backwards, readying herself to turn and flee – her gaze riveted on the looming figure that stepped out into the torchlight.

End of Part #18

Be back for Part #19 on 7 March!

BOOK REVIEW: BLOOD SONG (Raven's Shadow Book #1) by Anthony Ryan

I really enjoyed Blood Song - it's one of the those classic epic fantasies that carries you away with it, making it hard to put down! 

The novel follows Vaelin Al Sorna from boyhood to manhood through a series of trials, intrigue and battles that makes the reader feel as if you're right there with him.

Blurb: 

We have fought battles that left more than a hundred corpses on the ground and not a word of it has ever been set down. The Order fights, but often it fights in shadow, without glory or reward. We have no banners. 

Vaelin Al Sorna's life changes forever the day his father abandons him at the gates of the Sixth Order, a secretive military arm of the Faith. Together with his fellow initiates, Vaelin undertakes a brutal training regime - where the price of failure is often death. Under the tutelage of the Order's masters, he learns how to forge a blade, survive the wilds and kill a man quickly and quietly. 

Now his new skills will be put to the test. War is coming. Vaelin is the Sixth Order's deadliest weapon and the Realm's only hope. He must draw upon the very essence of his strength and cunning if he is to survive the coming conflict. Yet as the world teeters on the edge of chaos, Vaelin will learn that the truth can cut deeper than any sword.

***

The characterisation is one of my favourite things in this book. In many ways, the storyline is nothing new: young boy joins warrior order, after being abandoned at the door by his father and grows up to be one of the most formidable warriors the world has ever known - yet it is Ryan's telling of the story, and the way he makes us care about the characters, which makes it entirely unique. 

In many novels where the main character must join an order or train to become a great warrior or wizard, I find myself wishing the writer would hurry it up - but not with Blood Song. Vaelin's time as an apprentice brother in the sixth order is beautifully told, without going into too much detail, and is what allows the reader to forge a bond with him; it sets the tone and pace for the rest of the book, as well as over-shadowing the whole story with a sense of foreboding. 

The tale of the Witch's Bastard, that appears half-way through the book, was also an interesting addition to the story, adding a 'fairy-tale' element to the novel - even if, once they read the fable, many readers will guess what's coming...

Ryan's writing is effortless and absorbing to read. I loved the way he brought the supporting cast of characters - especially the other brothers of the order and the female characters - to life. The king, who manipulates him into doing his bidding is chillingly manipulative without sliding into a 'arch-villain' stereotype, which would have been easy to do - and the princess is a fascinating character I'm sure we'll hear more from in the next books!

Blood Song is a gripping adventure that is sensitively written - a story about a warrior, a killer, who must come to terms with who he is, a man who must break free of his past and make decisions that will cost him greatly, in order forge a new life for himself.

Highly recommended for all those who love epic fantasy!

LOTR Fan Fiction: The Witch of Angmar - Part #17

The Witch of Angmar

Legacy of the Fellowship

Part Seventeen

The Way In

T

he goblin turned to Rose, watching her silently. Even after days in Azil’s company, she found his bulbous eyes with their topaz irises and pinprick pupils disconcerting. It was almost impossible to gauge his feelings, or even begin to guess at what he was thinking.

On the last stretch of their journey to Carn Dûm, Azil had grown quiet and introspective. Now, as the ancient, dark towers of the Witch-king of Angmar’s fortress rose against the eastern sky, the goblin looked as if he would prefer to be anywhere in Middle Earth than here.

The pair stood on the edge of a rocky gully, with the woods behind them. There was no one about; although Rose felt exposed out here and knew that they would have to move on soon.

Rose glanced down at her sword. Even now, she could see the bright blue glow of its blade, visible even through the leather scabbard that encased it. It had glowed ever since they had captured Azil. She had just begun to get used to the eerie blue light surrounding them at night.

“I have brought you to the fortress,” Azil said, his gaze flicking to where Carn Dûm’s dark shadow rose beyond Rose’s shoulder. “I will leave you now.”

“You kept your word,” Rose replied with a tremulous smile, “as you said you would. Thank you Azil.”

The goblin’s pale gaze flicked back to her. He nodded and started to back away from her, eager to return to the relative safety of the skeleton woods.

“Go now,” he hissed, “before one her servants spies you.”

Rose nodded, her mouth suddenly dry from terror at the prospect of what lay before her.

“Will you not come with me, Azil?”

The goblin froze, mid-shuffle.

“What? You promised me that this would be enough – why do you ask this now?”

“I did,” Rose replied evenly, trying not to let her fear show in her voice, “and I know I cannot demand more. Yet, if you would accompany me into Carn Dûm, and help me rescue my friends, we might stand a chance. As it is, I don’t know how I will manage it on my own.”

“She-hobbit,” Azil hissed, his wiry frame bristling from head to toe. “I did what you bid. I have brought you to Carn Dûm. That is all. Don’t ask anything else of me!”

“Please Azil,” Rose spread her hands and took a step towards him. “You know things have not worked out as we planned. Salrean and Peri should be here with us now. I was never supposed to venture into those tunnels alone. The seer, who told us about the secret entrance, also told me that the way in is dangerous. How will I ever make it through on my own?”

“That is not my concern,” Azil looked truly angry now. His thin face was twisted, his eyes narrowed into glittering slits. “What do I care if you and your friends perish here? You are all nothing to me.”

“But I thought we were friends?” Rose demanded, horrified.

“I don’t have friends,” Azil snarled. “Is this your idea of friendship she-hobbit? Dragging me into danger with you?”

Rose did not answer. The goblin had backed a few yards from her now. Another step or two further and he would be gone. She realised then that it was hopeless. No amount of pleading would make Azil change his mind.

Salrean and Peri were right – he is a selfish, cunning creature, incapable of truly caring for anyone else.

“Very well, Azil,” she said, forcing a smile, although dread was making her feel ill and cold inside. “I can only ask. I wish you good fortune for wherever your road leads. Goodbye.” 

Azil’s face twisted even further, and Rose thought for a moment that he would curse her. Then, he turned and melted into the shadows, without another word; leaving her alone.

Rose took a deep, shuddering breath and tore her gaze from the boughs where the goblin had disappeared. She was on her own now, she would not be able to look to Azil for assistance.

She turned her back to the woods and pulled up the cowl of her cloak before beginning to pick her way down the side of the gorge. Her feet slid on the loose shale and she had to grab on to tree roots to steady herself during the descent. All the while, her gaze flicked left and right, making sure she was still alone.

By the time Rose reached the bottom of the gorge, her heart was thundering so loudly she was surprised Morwyn herself, ensconced in the Witch Tower, could not hear it.

A chill mist curled around her ankles as she picked her way across the open ground towards where the first of the sharp rocks climbed the mountainside. She was half-way across, her gaze riveted upon her destination now, when she heard the thump of booted feet and the clang of shields and spears approaching from the east.

A patrol.

Rose gave up any pretence at stealth and bolted for the rocks. She flung herself behind the first one and flattened herself against the cold ground, just as the men rounded the corner and clattered towards her. There she lay, hardly daring to breathe, waiting until they passed by. She could hear the rough voices of men, accompanied by the hiss and cackle of goblins – and although she wanted to see how many of them there were, she did not risk a peek over the edge of her hiding place, in fear that a few of them had lingered behind the rest.

Only when the sound of thundering feet and clanking armour and weaponry faded into the distance, did Rose dare get to her feet and continue on her way. Her legs were shaking as she climbed the razor-sharp rocks, and she had to stop intermittently to regain control of her nerves.

You can’t go into Carn Dûm like this, she berated herself. Look at you – you’re so frightened you can hardly walk!

Up and up, she climbed, grateful for the tendrils of mist that crept up from the valley floor below, for at least the mist concealed her. Yet, as she climbed, her dread turned to worry. Barandur had spoken of a rock, hidden in the middle of the others, darker than all the rest.

They all looked the same to her.

The rocks were densely packed; some so close together that even Rose could not squeeze herself between them. She was often forced to make detours around some clusters, while trying to make sure she was still heading for the heart of the rocks, as the seer had instructed.

Rose searched all afternoon, but did not find the way into Carn Dûm.

Sweat trickled down her back, and her vision eventually speckled with exhaustion, but she doggedly continued her search. However, there was no rock darker than the others. They were all the same; sharp, grey rocks made of a pitted volcanic stone. As hard as she looked, Rose could not find one that stood out from the rest.

Eventually, the light began to fade. The mist thickened, obscuring Rose’s surroundings and making it impossible to continue her search.

Fighting tears, Rose collapsed in a narrow space between two rocks.

It was hopeless, she would never find the secret way in.

She lay on her side, eyes clenched shut, and attempted to stem the panic rising in her breast. Despite that she was sweating from exertion, the cold had deepened with the setting sun. It would be a chill night, and she would not be able to light a fire. It would be a long night out here in the shadow of that evil fortress.

Perhaps Barandur had lied. The fear that had been growing in her mind all afternoon, surfaced. Maybe Rendur had been right, after all. She had preferred Barandur to Salrean’s ruthless father, but that did not mean he had not fooled them all.

Rose sat up, leaning her back against the rock behind her and drawing her knees up against her chest. Just the thought that she might have spent the afternoon searching for a way in that did not exist, made her feel ill. If there was no secret entrance then they really were all doomed, for Rose could not venture any closer to Carn Dûm without risking capture.

The last rays of light disappeared from the world and an icy, still night settled over Angmar.

Huddled up in her cloak in an attempt to keep the chill at bay, Rose tried not to dwell on her predicament. She also tried not to give rein to her fears and worries.

There is no secret tunnel into Carn Dûm.

Salrean and Peri are dead.

I will never return home to the Shire.

With an effort, Rose pushed such bleak thoughts aside. Her fears would not help her now. Despite her misery, Rose felt her stomach grumble in protest. She had not eaten since that morning. All she had left in her pack was a small pouch of seeds, nuts and dried fruits. Once that ran out there was nothing else; as such, Rose took a measured handful and ate her light supper slowly, chewing each mouthful as if it were her last. Rose finished her meagre meal and took a measured gulp of water from her half-empty bladder. Azil had trapped a few rabbits on the journey here, ensuring that they had not gone hungry, but without his help she would surely starve if left to her own devices.

Curse that goblin. Tears stung Rose’s eyelids. Why did he bother saving my life before, if he was going to abandon me here?

She should never have expected loyalty from such a creature. The fault was her own. He could not be something he was not. It was a miracle that he had kept his word and led her to Carn Dûm. He had plainly been terrified of going anywhere near the fortress for fear of being recaptured and brought before his king.

Do not blame Azil for the mess you’re in, she told herself wearily. It was my decision to travel north with Salrean. I could have refused Rendur but I did not. Not all adventures are like those in the Red Book. Not all adventures have happy endings.

The night passed slowly, as only cold nights can. Rose did not sleep. She was afraid that if she did, the cold might claim her. The darkness and bone-numbing chill brought bleak thoughts and galloping fears – ones that were easy enough to dismiss in daylight; but in the darkness they loomed like wraiths.

Eventually, a grey dawn lightened the eastern sky.

Rose ate another handful of nuts and seeds before rising stiffly to her feet. A day of searching lay before her – she would not give up yet. If she walked away from here without knowing for certain that no secret way in existed, she would never be able to live with herself.

Peri’s in Carn Dûm, somewhere. She rubbed her stinging eyes and mentally prepared herself for the day ahead. I will not leave him there.

The dawn took its time to reach Rose’s hiding place, between the shadows of two huge boulders. She waited until there was enough light for her to see clearly; it was a hard enough search without squinting in the half-light.

As she waited, Rose continued to stretch her cramped limbs. She felt like a very old hobbit this morning – not like one in her tweens. The cold and damp had tightened her muscles and stiffened her joints. She stretched her back and leant her neck back in an effort to loosen her shoulder muscles, her gaze turning towards the sky as she did so.

Rose froze mid-stretch.

There, rising high above the surrounding rocks, its pointed tip thrusting into the lightening sky, was a rock – different to the others. It was almost black and made of a smooth, gleaming stone, unlike the others that were rough and pitted.

Despite her fatigue, Rose’s face broke into a grin.

There it was; the rock Barandur had spoken off. She had slept under its shadow all night without even realising.

It took her moments to skirt the edge of the boulder she had slept next to before reaching the base of the great, dark rock behind it. Moments later, she discovered the shallow cave at the rock’s base – and entering the cave she found an iron trap door.

She stood there for a moment, staring down at the trap door that was rusted with age and encrusted with mildew, and was suddenly overcome by warring hope and fear at what lay beyond it.

Yet, come what may, there lay the way in to Carn Dûm. She must take it.

End of Part #17

Be back for Part #18 on 21 February!