[piosenniel]

The images that Orëmir threw hastily at his brother wove together in Endamir’s mind at last into some recognizable clues. He saw where his brother had first been with Lindir and followed the pastiche of events finally to the grassy embankment which overlooked the sea. Orëmir’s thoughts had grown more frantic as Endamir knelt down on the greensward and fumbled with his hand in the tangle of vines which he had seen in previous picture from his brother.

The rope . . . yes there it was . . . He pulled firmly on it and heard the scraping thumps of the large wooden bucket as it made its way to the top where he knelt. From the grass beside him he picked up the heavy iron headed battle axe he’d plucked from one of the piles in a section of the armory he’d passed by. It was rusted along the edges of the blade, but still, he thought, would prove enough of a sharp wedge to help splinter the door he’d seen his brother pushing against.

As cautious as one can be in a bucket ratcheting down the side of a steep cliff, Endamir lowered himself as quickly as he dared. The little lip of rocky shelf he landed on was a welcome sight.

Axe in hand he made his way cautiously into the cavern, working slowly toward where his brother’s thoughts were the strongest. He could feel the dry bones crunch beneath his boots as he walked. ‘What place is this?’ he muttered to himself, the fusty odor of bone dust mixed with the scent of what unfortunate little animals or birds had wandered in and died in the darkness.

Orëmir was clammy and barely coherent when his brother drew near him. He was crumpled down, a shoulder against the door. And through the narrow crack that Orëmir had managed to open into the room beyond, Endamir could hear the sounds of some sort of battle.

He grabbed his brother beneath the armpits and dragged him to one side. On the other side of the door, he knew that Lindir was fighting for his life, and if he did not win, Orëmir’s life would also be forfeit.

Endamir hefted his axe and swung savagely at the oak planked door. His stance was wide and solid, and he put all the muscle he could behind his swings. The door began to crack and splinter. And with a few more blows, he had knocked away a large section of the stubborn portal. With one of his blows, unbeknownst to him, a large piece of oak plank had gone careening into the room beyond, striking hard against the Orc who held the sword on Lindir.

All that Endamir knew was that the hole was now almost large enough to reach in and drag out Lindir’s body. And he hoped with all his might that the man’s spirit would follow along with it. He thrust in the head of the axe and caught the outer edge against the door wood from the inside, He heaved mightily on the axe pole pulling out a very large section of the door. He thrust the ax to one side, his goal accomplished and reached in blindly until his hand caught against the cloth of Lindir’s tunic.

He dragged the man through the opening with one hand and in a few steps backwards, he came to where his brother lay. Grabbling him up by the collar with the other hand, Endamir pulled them both over the bumpy floor of the grotto toward the ledge where the bucket waited.

In their wake, came a low rumbling and bumping . . . the sound of bones and skulls tumbling over one another as the large pile in the grotto sought release. They trickled out in a noisy little wave toward the stone ledge. And by the time the three Elves had hunkered in for safety at the corner of the ledge, the skeletal tide had flattened down to just a few bony remains, the most forward of which slipped and slid over the rocky edge. Among them was the bony hand still gripping the sword that had threatened both the life of Lindir and that of Orëmir. It splashed, unheard, into the clamorous waters below.

It was of no concern to Endamir, his only thoughts now were getting his brother and Lindir back up the cliff to safety . . .