[Estelyn Telcontar]

It seemed to Mordaenárur that it had been only a very brief time since he had found a safe refuge deep under the fortress of Ham Steep. He had fled after his ignominious defeat in the Great Subway, nursing his wounds and his hatred against the foe that had toppled him there. When he discovered a long-abandoned wine-cellar in the depths of the caverns, complete with packaging materials that made a good sleeping place, he turned around several times to make himself comfortable and dropped off into a healing hibernation.

The Broom, bored in the dark (and just a little bit afraid, though he wouldn’t have admitted it), whistled a happy tune to the rhythm of the Balfrog’s snoring, then gave in to an uneasy rest with dreams in which he could no longer distinguish between waking and sleeping. It was he who first noticed that a noise louder than Mord’s snores became ever more audible. He tried to hum a lullaby, for he feared the consequences should the Balfrog awake an age or so earlier than necessary. His flammable temper could be disastrous for wooden objects!

To no avail – the pain of yet unhealed wounds added to the innate wrath of the creature, and with a roar of such dimensions that it sounded throughout the whole of the Glitzy Caverns, he awoke. Flames and smoke surrounded him, and the Entish Broom cowered in a corner behind a jutting of rock, trusting that it would protect him from the all-consuming burning.

So great was the Balfrog’s rage that he completely forgot his flying companion, much to the Broom’s relief, and stomped out of the cellar, his footsteps pounding and echoing with a might that chilled all hearts in the Dwarven entertainment retreat, though they knew not as yet what caused the clamour. His Entish companion followed at a safe distance, hoping to escape notice from both fiery friend and unknown foes.

Fortunately for the furnishings and decoration of the gambling complex, to say nothing of the customers and personnel, a turn of the hallway tunnel brought Mord to a backdoor opening. He emerged on the hillside overlooking the entrance and leading to Sethamir’s Livery Stables and Pawn Shop. Unfortunately for the valiant Co-Ed-Ship, the first glimpse he had was of their fleeing figures.

Due to their experience in Heroic Questing and the forewarning the Entish Pieces had given them, the companions were the only ones in the whole fortress who were not completely immobilized by sheer terror. Merisuwyniel, well-versed in ancient Elven wisdom, had recalled the lines of an old Lay and quickly taught the most important ones to the others.

You got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em,
Know when to walk away and know when to run. *

(Orogarn Two, in whose veins some Noodleorian blood yet flowed, must have known this Lay, but had conveniently – or inconveniently – forgotten it.)

“This is a foe beyond any of us,” she said, “it is definitely time to run. Let’s go!”

As they headed for the stables, Merisu whistled for Falafel, a long tremolo, low at first, then higher. And Falafel, being an intelligent steed, freed not only herself but also the other horses from their boxes. The lovelorn Grrruff, whom she had been comforting, dashed for the door with them. They raced toward the Fellow/Galship at full speed, turning toward the drawbridge to leave the Fortress when the flaming Creature burst into sight. Down the mountain it came, streaming with fire.

“Over the bridge!” the Elven maiden shouted to her companions. They ran, then turned to face the danger bravely, yet with little hope. Where was Chrysophylax when they needed him? The Dragon was the one who had saved them at their last encounter with the Balfrog.

It reached the bridge, opening its mouth to show its fiery, lashing tongue. Suddenly a voice spoke: “You cannot pass! This is a one-lane highway bridge! I am the Wielder of the Ticket of Moredough. Your speed will not avail you – you cannot pass!”

Astonished, the heads of the Itship turned toward the speaker. It was the Nazgrrl! She had spread her wings to their full width; they cast vast shadows behind her. The Balfrog stopped in his tracks.

Mordaenárur had never before seen such a creature. Instinctively, he knew her for a female, but unlike other females that he had approached in the past, she showed no fear of him. A feeling yet unknown encompassed him, and the flames withdrew from his surface to kindle a new fire in his heart. Unbidden, poetry began to form in his mind: Is this the face that launched a thousand ships? (He did not know it, but the answer to that question was surprisingly affirmative, though unlike the story of another female with a similar function, the ships that launched upon seeing the face of the Nazgrrl launched not for love… )

Puzzled by what was happening – or perhaps, what was not happening – the Hero-Ship stood still, looking from the Balfrog to the Nazgrrl and wondering what to expect next.


° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

*(Note: Merisu would have liked to sing them the whole song, but had little time due to the urgency of their situation. Here it is, for those scholars of Elven poetry who wish to know it in its entirety:

On a warm summer's evenin' on a quest bound for nowhere,
I met up with the Hero; we were both too tired to sleep.
So we took turns a starin' at the stars up in the darkness
'Til boredom overtook us, and he began to speak.

He said, "Elf, I've made an age out of readin' people's faces,
And knowin' what their fate was by the way they held their eyes.
So if you don't mind my sayin', I can see you're out of maces.
For a taste of your miruvor I'll give you some advice."

So I handed him my flask and he drank down my last swallow.
Then he bummed a lembas and asked me for a bite.
And the night got deathly quiet, and his face lost all expression.
Said, "If you're gonna play the game, Elf, ya gotta learn to play it right.

You got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em,
Know when to walk away and know when to run.
You never count your money when you're sittin' at the table.
There'll be time enough for countin' when the questin's done.

Now ev'ry Hero knows that the secret to survivin'
Is knowin' what to throw away and knowing what to keep.
'Cause ev'ry quest's a winner and ev'ry quest's a loser,
And the best that you can hope for is to die in your sleep."

So when he'd finished speakin', he turned to the horizon,
Brushed away the lembas crumbs and faded off to sleep.
And somewhere in the darkness the Hero found his treasure.
But in his final words I found advice that I could keep.

You got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em,
Know when to walk away and know when to run.
You never count your money when you're sittin' at the table.
There'll be time enough for countin' when the questin's done.)