A Few Steps Left of Center - Chapter 6

Games and Song

Now there came a glimmer of a red light before them. The goblins began to sing, or croak, keeping time with the flap of their flat feet on the stone, and shaking their prisoners as well.

"Clap! Snap! the black crack!

Grip, grab! Pinch, nab!

And down, down to Goblin-town

You go, my lad!

Clash, crash! Crush, smash!

Hammer and tongs! Knocker and gongs!

Pound, pound, far underground!

Ho, ho! my lad!

Swish, smack! Whip crack!

Batter and beat! Yammer and bleat!

Work, work! Nor dare to shirk,

While Goblins quaff, and Goblins laugh,

Round and round far underground

Below, my lad!"

It sounded truly terrifying. The walls echoed to the clap, snap! and the crush, smash! and to the ugly laughter of their ho, ho! my lad! The general meaning of the song was only too plain; for now the goblins took out whips and whipped them with a swish, smack!, and set them running as fast as they could in front of them; and more than one of the dwarves were already yammering and bleating like anything, when they stumbled into a big cavern.

Dwarves are a proud, stubborn and brave people, but any would lose their nerve when chased down darkened hallways with the sting of whips across their backs. Many of the Dwarves in the company were fairly young as well, and inexperienced in the cruelty so casually and gleefully wielded by goblin-kind.

Only the eldest Dwarves managed to keep their composure, with Thorin running at the front of the company, his gaze set with a terrible fury for the cruelty brought against his kin. But even they faltered when the cavern opened fully to them and they at last could see the stronghold of their foul captors.

It was lit by a great red fire in the middle, and by torches along the walls, and it was full of goblins. They all laughed and stamped and clapped their hands, when the dwarves (with poor little Bilbo at the back and nearest to the whips) came running in, while the goblin-drivers whooped and cracked their whips behind. The ponies were already there huddled in a corner; and there were all the baggages and packages lying broken open, and being rummaged by goblins, and smelt by goblins, and fingered by goblins, and quarreled over by goblins.

Despite the chaos and fear near-overwhelming the poor Hobbit, Bilbo nonetheless felt a sharp pang of sadness when he looked upon the dreadful sight. He was afraid that would be the last they ever saw of those excellent little ponies, including a jolly sturdy little white fellow that Elrond had lent to Gandalf, since his horse was not suitable for the mountain-paths (only Michael still rode a horse and that was only possible because at times he carried his steed over perilous rocks and narrow paths on his back instead). For even Hobbits know that goblins eat horses and ponies and donkeys (and other much more dreadful things), and that they are always hungry.

But then Bilbo could think no more on the poor ponies as the goblins chained their hands behind their backs and linked them all together in a line and dragged them to the far end of the cavern with little Bilbo tugging at the end of the row.

There in the shadows on a large flat stone sat a tremendous goblin with a huge head, and armed goblins were standing round him carrying the axes and the bent swords that they use.

Now goblins are cruel, wicked, and bad-hearted. They make no beautiful things, but they make many clever ones. They can tunnel and mine as well as any but the most skilled dwarves, when they take the trouble, though they are usually untidy and dirty. Hammers, axes, swords, daggers, pickaxes, tongs, and also instruments of torture, they make very well, or get other people to make to their design, prisoners and slaves that have to work till they die for want of air and light.

It is not unlikely that they invented some of the machines that have since troubled the world, especially the ingenious devices for killing large numbers of people at once, for wheels and engines and explosions always delighted them, and also not working with their own hands more than they could help; but in those days and those wild parts they had not advanced (as it is called) so far.

They did not hate dwarves especially, no more than they hated everybody and everything, and particularly the orderly and prosperous; in some parts wicked dwarves had even made alliances with them. But they had a special grudge against Thorin's people, for they had warred greatly against goblin-kin for many generations, with fury in their hearts and wrath driving along their hammers and axes.

"Who are these miserable persons?" said the Great Goblin.

"Dwarves, and this!" said one of the drivers, pulling at Bilbo's chain so that he fell forward onto his knees.

"We found them sheltering in our Front Porch."

"What do you mean by it?" said the Great Goblin turning to Thorin, who was nearly shaking with brimming fury.

"Up to no good, I'll warrant! Spying on the private business of my people, I guess! Thieves, I shouldn't be surprised to learn! Murderers and friends of Elves, not unlikely! Come! What have you got to say?"

“There are now words I would banter with one as you, creature! I will give you naught but my name and be content with that: know that you speak to Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, heir to Durin the Deathless, Father of Fathers! Know that I am a Prince of Erebor!” Thorin spat at the Great Goblin.

Fiery words, spoken hastily and somewhat unwisely. For just as Dwarves are proud, so are the Goblins greedy; a dreadful combination indeed. Such greed now showed in the Great Goblin’s watery eyes as well and he licked his pocked lips with a terrible black tongue that left a slimy sheen upon his pale flesh.

“Oh, I know this indeed, Thorin Oakenshield, for I know much of your folk already. But now I would have the truth of what a Prince of Erebor seeks in my domain! The truth, oh Prince, or I will prepare something particularly uncomfortable for you!" the Great Goblin roared with a throaty chuckle.

Thorin opened his mouth to speak (or rather more likely, simply to insult) so it was level-headed Balin who quickly stepped aside his prince, face as friendly as he could force it to be when surrounded by the foul goblins and their leering gazes.

"We were on a journey to visit our relatives, our nephews and nieces, and first, second, and third cousins, and the other descendants of our grandfathers, who live on the East side of these truly hospitable mountains," said Balin, not quite knowing what to say all at once in a moment, when obviously the exact truth would not do at all.

"He is a liar, O truly tremendous one!" said one of the drivers. "Several of our people were struck by lightning in the cave, when we invited these creatures to come below; and they are as dead as stones. Also he has not explained this!"

He held out the sword which Thorin had worn, the sword which came from the Trolls' lair. The Great Goblin gave a truly awful howl of rage when he looked at it, and all his soldiers gnashed their teeth, clashed their shields, and stamped their flat feet.

It took no god-king’s impossible knowledge, of an Elf-lord great reading of runes for the goblins to recognize the beautiful blade; they knew the sword at once. It had killed hundreds of goblins in its time, when the fair elves of Gondolin hunted them in the hills or did battle before their walls. They had called it Orcrist, Goblin-cleaver, but the goblins called it simply Biter. They hated it and hated worse any that carried it.

"Murderers and elf-friends!" the Great Goblin shouted. "Slash them! Beat them! Bite them! Gnash them! Take them away to dark holes full of snakes, and never let them see the light again!"

He was in such a rage that he jumped off his seat and himself rushed at Thorin with his mouth open. He never reached Thorin however, who’s simmering rage had now boiled over into an inferno of its own, the proud prince seemingly ready to charge the running goblin himself as well.

Before such a clash could occur, something truly odd happened: a voice, growling and deep, wormed its way into the cavern, filling the entire space with its ominous melody, seemingly a mirror to the goblin’s own song that they had just jeered at the company.

All goblins stilled and began furtively looking around for the great voice which filled all their ears at once, though no point of origin was quickly found. The Great Goblin tried to instruct his soldiers, but his voice was drowned out by the singing now encompassing the entirety of the vast cavern by itself, droning and deep and shaking the very air itself.

“Rattle big black bones, in the danger zone
There's a rumblin' groan, down below
There's a big dark town, it's a place I've found
There's a world going on, underground!

They're alive, they're awake
While the rest of the world is asleep
Below the mine shaft roads it will all unfold
There's a world going on, underground!

All the roots hang down, swing from town to town
They are marching around down under your boots
All the trucks unload beyond the gopher holes
There's a world going on, underground!”

The last rumbling word slowly faded from the cavern with resounding echoes, leaving only an absolute stillness and complete silence in its wake. After a breath’s pause, it was Bilbo who broke it against his own wishes, his curiosity once again getting the better of him.

“What’s a truck?”

Almost as if his innocent words were a signal of sorts, a terrible tremor suddenly wracked the entire cavern with such might, all were thrown off their feet at once. Again and again, the walls, ceiling and floor heaved and buckled with a tremendous force, each heaving throw accompanied by the rolling of thunder as if Aulë himself was working with hammer and anvil right in their midst.

And then, the impossible managed to become possible and a sight not seen since the War of Wrath greeted company and goblin town alike, as the dark rock above them split in twain. From the terrible crack, sunlight lanced down amidst falling stone and boulder, blinding those goblins that were not immediately crushed by the tumbling debris. What at first was a jagged crack grew and splintered and widened until it was clear that the mountainside above them had been torn open completely.

Such was the chaos and power of this sudden upheaval, it sent the goblins in a panic. The yells and yammering, croaking, jibbering and jabbering; howls, growls and curses; shrieking and striking, that followed were beyond description. Several hundred wild cats and wolves being roasted slowly alive together would not have compared with it.

Panic had even gone into the Great Goblin, but in him it was accompanied by a seething madness as he lifted his head from where he had fallen to the floor, watery eyes landing on Thorin who was sprawled similarly across from him.

“What magics and trickery have you brought into my home, Dwarf-lord, Elf-friend, goblin-foe!? A curse! Rock and stone crumble away at your command, Dwarven magic no doubt!” the Great Goblin roared and accused, working himself back to his feet as spittle flew from his mouth.

“I’ll have your head for this!” he roared and made to descend upon the still disoriented Thorin.

Before he could reach the prince however, the Great Goblin was crushed where he stood as a large boulder slammed into him and buried him into the cracked flagstones of his ‘throne room’. Gore and gristle sprayed out from underneath the enormous stone, splattering outwards and causing the goblin soldiers to shriek and flee in fear.

The company stared at the boulder that had suddenly appeared before them, looking somewhat dumbfounded as they blinked in surprise, before they were drawn from their stupor by a boastful voice from above.

“Such a nice song reached mine ears in the midst of a game with my new friends here, I just had to come and gift one in return! In fact, there are yet still more gifts to grant to the people of goblin town!” the voice called out strongly, and all eyes, dwarf, goblin and Hobbit alike, looked up at where the ceiling of the cavern used to be.

Standing on its edge was a figure, Man-like if it weren’t for his pure-white skin and large stature and for the enormous boulder resting easily on one hand as if were a mere toy ball. Arrayed behind the Man and peering curiously into the now exposed cavern, stood a good dozen enormous figures, themselves as craggy-looking and as tall as the mountains surrounding them.

The company stood dumbfounded as around them goblins quivered and quailed in abject terror. Even from down below, the large, menacing grin on Hyperion’s face was clear to see to all, as were his intentions.

“My gift to you is an invitation! As I am to leave these parts soon, the teams of my friends here will be once more uneven! And so, you are hereby invited to join them in their merriment!”

Judging by the wailing and cries of the goblins, they had absolutely no wish to join in any sort of merriment involving giant stones and stone-giants. Judging by how Hyperion tossed the boulder in his hand up and down a few times, and how every giant behind him heaved up a rock of their own, the goblins didn’t have much of a choice.

“Enjoy!” Hyperion roared out, before he pulled back the stone in his hand and let it fly down below towards the rickety ramshackle buildings of goblin town.

It smashed through wood and hide and crushed any goblin in its path and with rumbling laughter like the rolling of thunder, the giants crowded around the opened top of the mountain and began hurling their own stones as well.

Amidst the great deluge of stone and debris, the company struggled to find its footing amidst the screaming, fleeing hordes of goblins and Bilbo briefly panicked at the thought they had incurred his friend’s wrath by abandoning him without a word and that they were now to be buried underneath rock and boulder and alongside goblinkind for their impoliteness.

That worry was taken away when suddenly from amidst the swirling dust surrounding them, a sword flashed in its own light.

"Follow me quick!" said a voice fierce and quiet; and before Bilbo understood what had happened he was trotting along again, as fast as he could trot, at the end of the line, down more dark passages with the yells of the goblin-hall growing fainter behind him.

The pale blue light of the sword led them on through the curving paths.

"Quicker, quicker!" said the voice. "The torches will soon be relit."

"Half a minute!" said Dori, who was at the back next to Bilbo, and a decent fellow.

He made the hobbit scramble on his shoulders as best he could with his tied hands, and then off they all went at a run, with a clink-clink of chains, and many a stumble, since they had no hands to steady themselves with. Not for a long while did they stop, and by that time they must have been right down in the very mountain's heart.

Then Gandalf lit up his wand. Of course it was Gandalf; but just then they were too busy to ask how he got there. With the light of his staff now giving greater illumination in the darkness, Gandalf took a stronger hold of Glamdring. The great blade flashed in the dark by itself. It burned with a rage that made it gleam if goblins were about; now it was bright as blue flame for delight in the death of the great lord of the cave. It made no trouble whatever of cutting through the goblin-chains and setting all the prisoners free as quickly as possible.

A great blade indeed, Glamdring was, though the goblins just called it Beater, and hated it worse than Biter if possible. Orcrist, too, had been saved; for Gandalf had brought it along as well, snatching it from one of the terrified guards. Gandalf thought of most things; and though he could not do everything, he could do a great deal for friends in a tight comer.

"Are we all here?" said he, handing his sword back to Thorin with a bow.

"Let me see: one-that's Thorin; two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven; where are Fili and Kili? Here they are, twelve, thirteen and here's Mr. Baggins: fourteen! Well, well! It might be worse, and then again it might be a good deal better. We cannot go back for the ponies and our packs, as Hyperion will be quite busy cleaning out goblin town for a while yet, and it’s probably best not to interrupt a god and his stone-giant friends in their little… game, though we can rely on him to bring our belongings along when we meet up again.”

“Could we not wait outside the cavern until his wrath has abated somewhat?” Thorin asked skeptically, finished with girding Orcrist to his belt once more and somewhat surprised to find how much his spirits were lifted by the return of the Elvish blade at his side.

The rest of the company muttered their agreement: Dwarves they may be and thus at home underground, but even they felt wary about the twisting paths of goblins and the deep darkness the foul creatures preferred, so gloomy even Dwarven eyes have trouble seeing their way.

Gandalf shook his head, but only in part to refute Thorin’s words. Following Bilbo’s shout, where he had smashed the crystal ball against the nearest goblin, the lightning within unleashed and shooting from creature to creature, he had immediately tried to seek out the aid of Hyperion.

To his surprise, the god-king had not seemed surprised at all, though at least he did promise to once again save the company, and their ponies and packs as well. But then Gandalf had been taken off guard when Hyperion fell silent, a deep contemplative look upon his face as he stared down at, and seemingly through, the mountainside, peering ever further down and down to something that only he could see.

His expression turned from contemplative to almost guilty and pained, before he slowly shook his head, glowing yellow-white eyes focusing on Gandalf with startling intensity.

“I will save them from the goblins, but I’m afraid I must ask you to bring them in peril once more as I do so. Take them from goblin town and further into and down the mountain.”

Gandalf had stilled at the strange request, an icy feeling of worry coiling in his gut. His thoughts returned to his earlier concern about what Hyperion understood under ‘undue’ harm.

“Why? What awaits us down there in that foul darkness?”

Hyperion had not answered at first, eyes returned to peer through the mountainside, tracking something within though Gandalf could only guess as to what he could possibly be viewing.

The answer came unbidden as Hyperion seemingly came to a decision, taking a deep, fortifying breath, releasing it slowly before he glanced at the concerned wizard at his side.

“Destiny. Destiny, my dear Olórin and the fate of all of Middle-Earth.”

The words rang through Gandalf’s mind as he thought on Thorin’s suggestion, feeling hardly comforted by Hyperion’s ominous words. Even though they could still hear the shaking and crashing of boulders from far behind them, Gandalf briefly but seriously entertained the idea of following the company’s will and turning back towards the ruins of goblin town.

But, in the end, he shook himself. Going against the direct orders of a god-king, no matter how mysterious said order was, was hardly a good idea and Gandalf had been a member of the Istari long enough to know not to meddle in matters of fate.

“No, Thorin, it will be where the goblins will have first fled to, and thus where the most dangers await us. Not to mention the enthusiasm of the stone-giants will likely see many of those passages collapse, mayhap right on top of us! Best we make our own way through these passages, as there will undoubtedly be a path that leads back to the outside world and thus away from the battlefield behind us.”

As if to give evidence to his words, a particularly large tremor shook the cramped hallway they stood in, dislodging dust from the ceiling and showering the company with dirt. They quickly agreed with Gandalf’s words, who tried to hide his own worry from them.

“Let us not meet the hordes of angry goblins at our backs needlessly! On we go!" the wizard called out and on they went.

Gandalf was quite right: they began to hear goblin noises and horrible cries far behind in the passages they had come through. That sent them on faster than ever, and as poor Bilbo could not possibly go half as fast (for dwarves can roll along at a tremendous pace when they have to) they took it in turn to carry him on their backs.

Still goblins go faster than dwarves, and these goblins knew the way better (they had made the paths themselves after all), and they were being spurned on by a mad cocktail of furious anger and overwhelming fear that gave flight to their hurried steps.

Do what they could, the dwarves heard how the cries and howls kept getting closer and closer. Soon they could hear even the flap of the goblin feet, many many feet which seemed only just round the last corner. The blink of red torches could be seen behind them in the tunnel they were following; and they were getting deadly tired.

"Why, O why did I ever leave my hobbit-hole!" said poor Mr. Baggins bumping up and down on Bombur's back.

"Why, O why did I ever bring a wretched little hobbit on a treasure hunt!" said poor Bombur, who was fat, and staggered along with the sweat dripping down his nose in his heat and terror.

At this point Gandalf fell behind, and Thorin with him. They turned a sharp corner.

"About turn!" he shouted. "Draw your sword, Thorin!"

The ring of Glamdring and Orcrist being drawn side by side again to do battle for the first time since their loss in the First Age echoed throughout the narrow passage, the burning glows of the masterfully wrought blades throwing a light on the rough-hewn walls of the cramped path.

There was nothing else to be done but to try and make a stand; and the goblins did not like it to say the least. They came scurrying round the corner in full cry, and found Goblin-cleaver and Foehammer shining cold and bright right in their astonished eyes. The ones in front dropped their torches and gave one yell before they were killed. The ones behind yelled still more, and leaped back knocking over those that were running after them.

"Biter and Beater!" they shrieked; and soon they were all in confusion, and most of them were hustling back the way they had come.

It was quite a long while before any of them dared to turn that comer, as the fear of Hyperion and his stone-giants with their ‘game’ warred with their burning hatred for Beater and Biter. But, while cowardly creatures indeed, goblins are also cruel and spiteful as well, and their hate for the glorious blades and their wielders eventually won out as they descended further along the passage.

By that time the dwarves had gone on again, a long, long, way on into the dark tunnels of the goblins' realm. When the goblins discovered that, they put out their torches and they slipped on soft shoes, and they chose out their very quickest runners with the sharpest ears and eyes. These ran forward, as swift as weasels in the dark, and with hardly any more noise than bats.

That is why neither Bilbo, nor the dwarves, nor even Gandalf heard them coming. Nor did they see them. But they were seen by the goblins that ran silently up behind, for Gandalf was letting his wand give out a faint light to help the dwarves as they went along.

Quite suddenly Dori, now at the back again carrying Bilbo, was grabbed from behind in the dark. He shouted and fell; and the hobbit rolled off his shoulders into the blackness, bumped his head on hard rock, and remembered nothing more.

//

Fun Fact: While Tolkien lived the majority of his life in England, he was actually born in South Africa.

AN: Bonus points if you recognize the song that Michael sings.