Aglahad and the Dead City (In Tharbad: Volume Three)

20

The air in the Gate Hall was cool and damp. We lit our torches and spread out from the Doors. My memory of the place was not strong but the wide horseshoe-shaped landing that surrounded a long stair had been twisted to one side. The massive brazen portcullis had been buckled like a bundled fishing net and lay across fallen rock and dust. Recently, the Gate Hall had been a wolf's den: there were animal bones strewn across the top corner of the floor.

"It reminds me of Thorin's Halls," Lofar murmured.

"Apart from the wolf dung, I hope," Aglahad said.

"The way the stair goes down into the mountain."

We sat Lóni down on a large flat block of stone to the right of the doors. Lofar put his waterskin by his side while we rationed out the last of the cold cat meat.

"Don't go wandering off anywhere," he said with a grim smile.

Lóni grimaced as he made himself comfortable. "I'll be sitting right here, awaiting the return of your ugly mug."

The twins hugged each other noisily and slapped each other's shoulders. Lofar topped his brother's pipe-weed up from his own pouch and I gave him the phial of naegloth. He insisted on returning my staff, saying that I would need it more than he.

We clambered over rocks and broken masonry to the top of the stair and looked down into the darkness. We decided to take a route to the right, where there was less of a fall if any of us lost our footing. Over the long years, the wind and rain had kept the floor near the door free of dust but now we stepped onto a thick, slippery carpet that billowed up around our feet.

Further down, part of the ceiling had collapsed and the fallen masonry was piled against the steps and the lower wall. I looked back up the stair; apart from a pale light from the unseen doors, all else was black. We used the rubble to steady our progress where we could and soon a grey triangle appeared out of the darkness before us.

"An archway," Aglahad said and scampered eagerly down the last flight of steps.

"Aglahad, wait," I called out and hurried after him.

He cried out as the stairs gave way to emptiness; I pulled at the collar of his cloak before he toppled into the abyss. His torch slipped from his hand and tumbled into the darkness. Its light was soon lost. The stairs and wall to our right had collapsed and cool air from far below made the remaining torch flames dance. I wrapped my arm under his and pulled him away from the edge of the broken masonry.

The boy was clearly shaken. "Thank you, Siri."

"Are you there?" It was Lóni's thin voice, echoing down the stair. "Are you alive?"

Lofar turned and cupped his hands around his mouth. "All is well!"

Finduilas climbed up the slope of one of the steps to find a way forward. Lofar made a fuss of the boy then patted his shoulder.

"Your first lesson, laddie. Remember the old Dwarf saying: Look with your feet."

We followed Finduilas around the gaping hole in the stairway and met her at a cracked landing before the archway.

"This was once square," I said. It seemed to have been twisted to the right, crushed into the rock beneath.

"It is a marvel that any of this is still intact," Finduilas muttered.

Lofar put it simply and proudly: "Dwarven engineering."

We helped each other over the debris and through the archway then down onto what we were all surprised to find was a level floor. More steps, broad and shallow led down a dozen feet or so to a wide concourse that ran along the foot of the stair. It was guarded by a low wall, similar in design to the one along the upland parts of the Dwarf Road.