[Osse]

The air was rushing out of Carthor's lungs like flour from a sieve. The searing pain in his flanks blinded him, his thoughts were clouded, as if some great shroud had been thrown over the life-lamp of his mind.

Carthor was being examined.

“Wha’da you lot fink he’s doin’ here? We aint seen none of is kind ere for ages.”

“Dunno.” Another troll answered the first. “Wonder if ders’ any more of dem…”

As if in reply to the second troll, Carthor’s captor tightened his vice-like grip around the Dunedain’s torso. The last of his breath dragged from his compressed lungs, Carthor swooned.

Soft chanting filled his mind. The soft, yet powerful feminine voice resounded in its polished halls and corridors…

Carthor’s head snapped up, suddenly lolling on his neck no longer. Though his torso was held in the mighty grasp of his detainer, Carthor still had use of his arms. Coming harshly to his senses, as if drenched in ice-water, Carthor reached down to his boot, and drawing his worn utility knife stabbed at the marble like flesh of his assailant.

The troll cried out, its booming voice whipping like threads at Carthor’s ears. Dropping the Dunedain onto the cold hard floor, the troll brought its mace-like hand up to its mouth and sucked away the trickle of dark, dark blood that was collecting like pooling rain water there. Carthor rolled as he hit the ground, the knife in his hand glinting in the darkness, in accord with the eyes of the one who held it.

Carthor was aware, in the dim light, of at least two others present in the corridor, from the sounds of their voices. Where Lissi and the others were, he didn’t’ know. He pushed them out of his mind and joined the tall shape of Erenor as she hacked at the trunk-like legs of her foes.