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The company moved down a long and unbending passage at an awkward speed between the haste and urgency they felt for their leader, and the more cautious approach that prudence warranted. Some of them were sorely hurt, but they did not complain. Hænir paid no heed whatsoever to his wounds, nor did he care that this was likely to be his last battle. He had come on this quest with no other thought than to protect Bali and to thereby win the honour that had eluded him his whole life. If gaining that honour meant the loss of his life, then so be it.
Halfway along the passage they entered a large chamber that their meagre torch could only faintly illumine. Hænir moved to Dwalin’s side to take counsel, but was stopped by the sound of an arrow in flight. He pushed Dwalin to one side and fell upon him, so that the arrows passed over their heads to clatter harmlessly of the floors. Before any of the Dwarves could move, the Elf had notched and loosed an arrow that flew into the darkness. A strangled cry from the far end of the hall told them that it had found its mark. Before the echoes had died, Raendin had loosed another arrow and they heard the unmistakable sounds of a person’s death once more. There was a clatter and the sound of swiftly moving feet and then silence. The Dwarves all looked at the Elf with admiration, and Hænir said, “Now that was a fine piece of shooting.”
Raendin merely smiled and shrugged. “Come,” he said, “we must hurry.”
The party moved down the passage taken by their assailants, moving as quickly as they could now, for their hearts were full of wordless dread. They ran for what seemed a very long way, with their torch burning lower and lower until finally it went out plunging them into total darkness. No, not total darkness; Hænir peered ahead into the gloom and saw far ahead of them a faint twinkling light, pure and cold, as though a star had descended into the earth. “Look,” he hissed, “follow that light. My heart tells me that they have taken Bali there to do him some harm.” He ran then, not waiting for the others, but he was soon surrounded by the rush of heavy feet.
The light got stronger and stronger as they approached, and now they could hear the sound of a great crowd of people crying out in anger and hatred. The light was bright enough now that it flooded the passageway with radiance, and yet still their approach seemed unmarked for there as no attack or resistance. Finally, they burst into a huge chamber with rank upon rank of seats about them, filled with hundreds of the savages. In the middle of the room they saw their leader being subdued by a large crowd of Rhûnians who were seeking to bind his feet with rope. The crowds who stood about howling in their uncouth tongue, chanting for his blood.
A silence, deeper than death, fell upon the room at the entrance of the party. There was a stunned moment in which both groups looked at one another, realising that the moment had come, finally, for the extinction of the Dwarves. The Rhûnians began to smile, and those closest to the Dwarves moved forward, slowly drawing their blades and falling into their fighting positions. For the first time, Hænir’s eyes fell upon the source of the beautiful light, and it took his breath away. The orb was filled with light as though it were a goblet with shimmering water. In an instant he recognised it as the source of the markings that he had seen upon the Rhûnians, and he knew that he now beheld their most sacred object. There was barely enough time to think, and almost not enough to act, but Hænir managed to lunge at the orb and, before the savages could stop him, he lifted it off its pillar and held it above his head.
A strangled cry ran through the room and the Rhûnians froze. Every eye in the cavern was upon the globe. Hænir took a careful step back and lowered the orb to chest level. He quickly whispered to Dwalin. “Lad, I think I could use your help with this; just hold your axe above this trinket and make like you’re about ready to break it. Maybe that will convince them to give us back our leader!"
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