The Worlds of Christopher Walker

THE EYES OF ARAGUNK, warrior of Gondor, were the only things glinting brighter than Captain Yorlov’s cutlass in the cramped hold’s silvery light. Staring down the blade of his stout foe, Aragunk’s right arm tingled for a fight that he had been dreaming about for years. The maiden’s songs hymning his fighting prowess thrummed through his head. He gripped the hilt of his broadsword, preparing to unsheathe it. Now, at last, his quest had truly begun.

“Don’t do it, lad,” warned the short, powerfully built man facing him. His scarred face betrayed not the faintest trace of fear. “You’re caught. Don’t get yourself killed on top of it.”

Lumpolas let out a whimper. He knew the chances of Aragunk backing down were dismally small. Blades would soon flash around the tiny, crowded hold. He glanced about for cover, but it was already too late. For Lumpolas, time slowed down to a snail’s crawl as the inevitable unfolded: Aragunk drawing his sword out of his scabbard in one violent heave; the steel blade catching the light as he lifted it high, ready to crash down on their captor’s head; Aragunk’s mouth opening to unleash his well-rehearsed battle cry as he swung with all his might; his blade soaring down through the air of the hold like an eagle upon its prey.

For the briefest of seconds, Lumpolas stared in awe with elven sight at his friend. Here, truly, was Aragunk, heir of Númenor, brother of the king in all his glory! A warrior to be feared! 

But even as this spark of admiration kindled in Lumpolas’s heart, Aragunk’s foe stepped deftly aside, letting the great broadsword miss him entirely and chop into the deck instead. Then, he smacked the flat of his cutlass against the back of Aragunk’s hands, sending the broadsword clattering away to the corner. Aragunk stood disarmed and defeated, and it had all taken less than a single breath.

“Oww!” Aragunk howled, wringing his smarting hands while rage and pain contorted his face.

Captain Yorlov laughed. “Well, I warned you, didn’t I? You’re fortunate that I was minded to leave your hands where I found ‘em.”

“Villain!” Aragunk glared at him. “A lucky swing! You couldn’t do that to me again!”

“Well, you’ve lost the right to find that out, haven’t you? Now that we’ve concluded our pleasantries, shall we take a walk topside? The weather be lovely and the conversation will be stimulating I’m sure. You go first lass, then your elf-friend, and then you, boy, so I can keep you acquainted with the point of my steel. Go!”

Beonna and Lumpolas each read resignation in the face of the other. They marched out, down the hall, and up the stairs aloft. The bright mid-morning sun stung their eyes as they stepped out onto the deck. Everything reverberated with the heavy drumbeat of the galley’s row-master. “Aft!” Yorlov barked, the point of his cutlass poking Aragunk in the back.

“Watch it,” he said, “or I’ll snap that pirate sword over my knee!”

Yorlov chuckled in reply as they made their way up to the quarterdeck. They found Gandalf the White sitting on a bench, puffing at his long pipe. “I caught these thieves in the hold, like you said, Master Wizard, sniffing around your cargo. They said they’d like to come up and ask you a few questions, so I obliged them.”

“That was thoughtful of you, Captain. I hadn’t realized we had taken on passengers this voyage. And such esteemed passengers!” Gandalf’s eyes twinkled with merriment as he looked them over. “Captain Yorlov, may I introduce to you Aragunk, the brother of the king and his faithful friend Lumpolas, son of the house of Thranduil.” He regarded Beonna with a raised eyebrow. “But I fear I will need an introduction from this young lady, though the ice in her eyes suggests she hails from the far Northlands.”

“Beonna,” she answered glumly, “of the Northlands.”

Gandalf studied her with narrowed eyes for a long breath, waiting for her to say more. At last, he chuckled. “Very well, Beonna of the Northlands. May I introduce you and your friends to the captain of our voyage, the redoubtable Alain Yorlov. I am known as Gandalf in these parts.” He puffed his pipe and gave her a courteous nod.

Yorlov eyed them up and down. “They were right where you said they’d be, Master Gandalf, figuring out how to steal your cargo.”

“We’re no thieves!” said Aragunk. “And I’ll have you to a duel for accusing me of it, you—”

“Have a care, son of Gondor,” warned Gandalf. “As master of this vessel, Captain Yorlov alone has the authority to deal justice. You are in the wrong here: by stowing away, you have stolen passage from him. He would be well within his rights to throw you in irons and set your royal backs to rowing for a long, long time.”

“We’re not stowaways!” Aragunk said. “We’re… we were just… Well, you tell him, Lump! You’re better at explaining things.”

“We, well, we are on a quest,” Lumpolas began, “a quest that we hadn’t exactly been invited to, I admit. But it was more in fun than anything. We didn’t mean to steal or cause anyone any trouble.”

“I see,” said Gandalf with a wry smile. “And has it been so far?”

“Sir?”

“Fun. Has it been fun?”

“No! We got stuck in a barrel,” said Aragunk, “and this girl shot arrows at us. Then this villain threatened us at sword point. But he cheated and knocked my blade out of my hand before I had a fair chance to fight him!” Yorlov chuckled at that. “You dare laugh, knave,” said Aragunk, “at the king’s brother?”

“I laugh at a young fool who has far more heart than brains. But if you keep throwing around insults like May flowers, I’ll have you hauled under the keel to gentle you a bit, lad.” Lumpolas had to restrain Aragunk from leaping at Yorlov. But the captain didn’t look threatened at all by his friend.

Gandalf, who had been studying Beonna while Aragunk fumed, asked her, “And you, young lady, you have kept silent. What is your part in this quest? Are you, too, here for the fun of it?”

She gazed at him with narrowed eyes. “I will answer you, Master Gandalf, if you will answer me a question first: who is that youth we found sleeping in the hold?”

Gandalf yanked the pipe from his lips. “What did you say?” The wizard shot up and seized his staff. He swung it in a single, slow, wide arc over their heads, intoning, “Gal na nor, gal nor Aith!” An abrupt silence settled over them as the drumbeat of the row-master faded away along with the oars slapping against the river waves. It sounded as though they had been whisked to a quiet room in the center of a remote fortress. When Gandalf had finished, he gazed at Beonna with a renewed intensity. “Now that only our ears can hear it, tell me exactly what you have seen!” The sudden urgency in his voice and the amazement in his eyes filled them all with dread.

“We found an elven youth,” said Beonna, “lying on a carven table down in the hold. He appeared more asleep than dead, yet no breath stirred in him. His robes were ancient. On his brow burned a jewel, radiant with a light that the world has not seen in many ages. Or so I had been taught.”

“He allowed you to see himself?” Gandalf said, his voice hushed with amazement. “Truly, this is most unexpected!”

Yorlov’s head swam with confusion. “Master Gandalf, don’t believe these lies! No youth and no jewel lay in that hold. I’d swear it. Only these three and the table you brought aboard, but naught else, just as you commanded it.”

“No! You’re lying!” said Aragunk. “We all saw him. Lump read the runes, and he told us all about the light of Teplurion.”

Lumpolas rolled his eyes. “Telperion, Gunk, the name is Tel-peer-ee-on.”

Gandalf’s hand ran down his long beard. “I doubt very much that you could have read the Old Eldarin script on that table, young elf—only few of the wise could. And even fewer would be allowed to see him to whom that sacred table belongs. This is truly a wonder and portends many unforeseen things. But we do not have the liberty to discuss this here. My spell of concealment is strong, but greedy are the ears and keen that yearn to hear what your lips have spoken and to see what your eyes have seen. I was careless and slow to realize it, and it may already be too late.” Gandalf gathered the three young adventurers together like a brood hen under her wings. “You must not breathe a word of what you have seen when I am not present. Do you understand? Not a whisper! The deathless boy has favored you, but you stand now in great peril!”

“The deathless boy?” asked Beonna.

“Peril?” Lumpolas swallowed hard. “What kind of peril?”

“Perhaps the worst kind, but fear not, or at least try not to appear afraid. That he allowed the three of you to see him reveals your destinies are interlocked with his now. He would not have chosen you without good reason.”

Beonna and Aragunk both turned to Lumpolas. “Tell him, Lump.”

He swallowed hard. “Master Gandalf, there’s something else. A man came into the cargo hold while we hid. He conjured a ribbon of blue flame to talk to his evil master.”

Gandalf lifted a bushy eyebrow. “Oh? And what did the man say to this blue flame?”

Aragunk launched in. “They’re working for someone called the Dark One, Master Gandalf! The flame called him Toadskin and he—”

“Ratskin!” Lumpolas sighed.

“Stop interrupting me! Well, the other one—we don’t know his name—told Ratskin that if he wanted to stay alive, he had to kill—” 

But his words of warning never left his lips, because just then the galley lurched with a horrible creak as though it had slammed aground. Lumpolas, Aragunk, and Beonna toppled over the railing and came crashing down onto the main deck between the banks of bewildered rowmen. The air around them exploded with shouts and screams.

Lumpolas picked himself up off the deck first. “What happened?”

“Look there!” Beonna pointed to the bow where an orange tentacle, thick as a twisted tree trunk, had risen from the water and looped over the prow of the ship. It held the listing galley fast against the rowmen’s oars and the current of the mighty Anduin.

“What is it?” Aragunk asked over the curses and yells of the panicked crew.

“It’s bad! It’s very bad,” said Beonna, bouncing to her feet. Captain Yorlov leaped down the stairs to the main deck and sprinted to the bow with cutlass drawn. “Swords! Axes! Get that thing off of my boat!” He fell to on the tentacle, hacking and slashing at it with a fury that put courage into the crew.

“What do we do?” Lumpolas asked, hoping that they would suggest running the other way.

“We fight!” said Aragunk. He reached for his sword. “Orc spit!” He remembered he had lost it belowdecks in the room of the deathless boy. He drew his boot knife instead.

“Get below!” Gandalf’s voice boomed above them. “To the hold! You must stay with my cargo!”

“Master Gandalf, behind you!” Beonna screamed. Another glistening tentacle rose behind the wizard. Gandalf turned and raised his staff. A flash of white fire erupted, and the tentacle fell limp and slid off the ship. He turned back to them. “Get below!” Then, two much larger tentacles, as thick as a man is tall, emerged from the river on both sides of the ship and slapped down across the main deck, threatening to pull the whole craft underwater or to snap her in half.

Lumpolas made to obey Gandalf and get away from the main deck. But to his horror, both Aragunk and Beonna attacked the tentacle in front of them. Beonna fired arrows into the pulsing orange flesh while Aragunk stabbed his knife into it again and again with all his might. 

Gandalf shouted something else to him. Lumpolas turned just as a long, thin tentacle shot over the side of the quarterdeck and wrapped itself around the wizard’s torso. “No! Gandalf!” In a blink, the tentacle plucked Gandalf high into the air and plunged him underwater. He turned back to his friends. “It just took Gandalf!”

Timbers creaked and groaned as the tentacles squeezed the galley, trying to break her back. Yorlov came running with an axe in one hand and a sword in the other to help Beonna and Aragunk slash at the tentacles. Lumpolas swayed back and forth, torn between running below as Gandalf had commanded, and helping his friends, though he had no idea how he could.

 “Here, lad!” Yorlov tossed Aragunk his cutlass. “Get these off before it pulls us under!” He kept his axe in his brawny hands, hacking again and again into the slimy orange flesh writhing under his blows.

Lumpolas wished he had a sword to help, but he only had his cooking knives and his rucksack. Then an idea hit him. He tore open his bag of provisions and rooted through it for his spice jars.

Beonna glanced back at him and found him on his knees with food in both hands. “Lump, this is no time for eating! Come help us!” But instead of answering her, he brought out a small porcelain jar with a bright grin on his face. “What is that?”

Lumpolas unscrewed the lid. He sprinkled a pinch of bright red powder into a gaping wound on the massive tentacle where Aragunk’s cutlass had sliced open the orange flesh. “Snake-spice! One pinch of this would be enough to set the tongues of an entire company of soldiers blazing!” The whole tentacle quivered and twitched. It jerked in agony, throwing several crewmen overboard. Yet, despite its pain, it still refused to relinquish its grip on the hull.

Beonna jumped down to Lumpolas and produced a handful of arrows. “May I?”

“By all means!”

She pushed the arrow’s tips into the spice jar and proceeded to shoot them one by one, deep into the monster’s orange flesh. The trunk of the tentacle shuddered and writhed and shot high into the air, flailing in agony from the burning poison now deep within its orange bulk. “It’s working!” Lumpolas held out his jar. “Here, take more!”

But as she dipped another fistful of arrows, the boat heeled hard to port-side and came near to capsizing under the weight of the remaining tentacle. Men screamed as they hurtled over the side. Lumpolas and Beonna managed to grab the door frame leading down to the cabins. But Aragunk was not so lucky. He went sprawling overboard and into the strong current of the Anduin.

“Gunk!” shrieked Lumpolas. The whole boat groaned under the strain as it rolled onto its side. Rigging crashed by and oars and ropes tumbled into the river.

“Climb!” Beonna yelled to Lumpolas. “Stay above it! We can’t go under!”

Yorlov, who had single-handedly chopped halfway through the remaining tentacle, grabbed a rope dangling free from a spar and swung over their heads to the quarterdeck.

He shot a hand down to Beonna. “Take my hand, lass! We’ve got to get you two to the skiff!” With one effortless heave, he pulled her up and over the railing. Lumpolas followed as nimbly as only elven-kind can. Yorlov shuttled them aft where the skiff swung, banging against the shuddering ship. “I’ll hand you down and then you two get to shore!”

“No!” said Lumpolas. “We’ve got to save Aragunk. He can’t swim!”

“Well, you can’t save him from here, now can you?” Yorlov took hold of Beonna’s waist to heave her bodily into the skiff. But then the water all around them crackled to life. Lightning, white and hot, shot out of the water. A bright flash and a pop cracked the air. The boat righted itself with one violent lurch, sending them all sprawling against the gunwale. The river dropped into an eerie calm as the remains of the lifeless tentacle slid off the ship and disappeared back under the water.

Yorlov sprang to the gunwale. “What in Ulmo’s name was that?” Lumpolas and Beonna joined him and gazed down into the water. Smoke drifted from the surface of the river, sweet smelling and acrid, like raspberry jam boiling away in a kettle. As they struggled to understand what had happened, a voice called out from the bow, “Men overboard!”

Yorlov hurtled forward like an arrow shot, followed by Beonna and Lumpolas. They found a hand clinging to the gunwale, long and bony fingers clutching with all their might. There was Gandalf hanging by one hand, dripping wet. With his other hand, he hauled an unconscious Aragunk through the water by the collar of his tunic.

“A little help, if you please,” he said, with eyes twinkling. “The king’s brother is not a slight young man.”

Lumpolas whooped. “You’re alive!” Yorlov grabbed a length of rope lying on the deck, looped it around Gandalf, and made it fast to the prow. Together, they heaved them aboard. Gandalf sat up first and pointed urgently to Aragunk, who remained flat on his back.

Beonna set her head on Aragunk’s chest. “He’s not breathing!” 

“Out of the way, lass!” Yorlov took hold of Aragunk’s legs and pushed the young man’s knees against his chest. He pulled them back and, again, pressed them hard against Aragunk’s chest. Six, seven, eight times he heaved his legs back and forth until, at last, a stream of water spewed out of Aragunk’s mouth. He coughed and gagged and rolled on the deck.

“Gunk! I thought I’d lost you!” cried Lumpolas, slapping him on the back.

After a long moment of sputtering and hacking, he closed his right nostril and blew hard. A tiny minnow shot out of his nose and onto the deck. “Echh! I’ll never eat fish again!”

“What happened?” Beonna asked. “What happened to the creature?”

“It found, I’m afraid, that I was not to its taste after all,” said Gandalf, pulling himself to his feet by the rail. He held his palm out over the river, waiting for a few breaths, concentrating while they watched. Then, his staff came shooting out of the water like a spear to his hand. He gave it a good shake. He turned around to them, now completely dry again.

“What was that cursed thing?” Aragunk asked while Lumpolas helped him to his feet.

“I’ll tell ye what it was,” said Yorlov, “a creature of the deep that had no business being in a river. Not this far up anyhow.”

Gandalf nodded. “Curious, isn’t it? She made her way from the sea all the way up the Anduin and attacked the one boat that carried a priceless treasure.”

Beonna gazed at him. “You mean that thing knew what it was doing? How?”

“No, I don’t believe that creature capable of knowing anything about us or our cargo. Yet either someone called it to us, or something onboard attracted it. But it is clear that some power does not wish us to make it to Larrola or beyond.”

“That was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me!” said Lumpolas. “I used up half my snake-spice!”

“But it might have saved the ship!” Beonna said. “Another minute, and that thing would have crushed us like a piece of pottery.”

“You’re the one who shot the arrows,” he said, suddenly feeling bashful.

“Hey, what about me and Captain Yorlov?” asked Aragunk. “We almost hacked one of that thing’s arms right through. Three more swings and it would have come off!”

Beonna gave him a mocking smile. “Yes, until you decided to go swimming in the middle of the battle!” 

“That wasn’t my fault!” he snapped back. “That was just bad luck.”

“Either way,” said Lumpolas with a hand on his shoulder, “you owe Gandalf and the captain your life.”

“You’re right.” Aragunk gave a bow to Gandalf, who nodded in return. He turned and stuck out a hand to Yorlov. “Thanks.”

Yorlov grunted something under his breath and gave Aragunk’s hand a quick, firm shake. But after Aragunk let go, he kept his hand outstretched. “I’ll be takin’ my sword back from you, lad. If’n you’re done cuttin’ up seafood with it.” 

Aragunk glanced around the deck. “I must have dropped it in the river when I went overboard. Sorry.”

“Well then, you owe me a sword, don’t ye lad? That was a nice stout blade that you left belowdecks,” Yorlov added with a grin. “That’ll do nicely methinks.”

“My sword? But my brother gave that to me!”

Culum, the old deckhand, staggered up the gangway. “Sir! We’re taking on water! One of those blasted beast’s limbs cracked the planking on the mid-ship bilge, starboard side. I don’t think we can mend her with what we’ve got left below.”

“How many men did we lose?”

“Most of the row-dogs jumped ship. The crew stayed, but Timsen and Jimsen must be downriver somewheres by now. Horrible business. You were right about this trip being cursed, sir!”

“Aye. Get to the rudder, Culum, and put her nose to shore. We’ll have to run her aground.”

“Aye aye, sir.” Culum limped back aft to the quarterdeck. 

Yorlov turned back to them. “You’ll be wantin’ to gather your possessions. We’re going to have to abandon this bug-blasted rowboat.”

“After what we’ve been through, Captain,” said Gandalf, “the urgency of our haste to Larrolla must increase. We are being hunted.”

Yorlov rubbed his whiskers. “Aye, that reckons. But we’ve got no boat now but the skiff and I wouldn’t risk her out on the river if there’s more of those monsters about.”

“I’m afraid we have little choice, Captain. We have no horses and on foot we’re at least two day’s journey to your ship.”

Yorlov hated the idea of stomping over the dry land more than almost anything. On land, he was no better than a clumsy pack mule, but on the water, he always had a fighting chance. “Aye, the skiff it is. Meet me aft with your special cargo. We won’t need any provisions. We’ll either make it to the Freedom Hawk for supper or we’ll be eatin’ seaweed at the river bottom.”

Lumpolas’s stomach growled. “No provisions?”

“You three, come with me,” ordered Gandalf. “We have a mutual friend that wants our attention.” He didn’t wait for their assent but swept down to the door leading belowdecks. 

Beonna and Aragunk followed. But Lumpolas fell behind as he searched for his rucksack buried under a pile of broken timber and lost rigging. Snatching it up with delight, he weighed it in his hands, dismayed at how light it felt only hours into their quest. Beonna stuck her head out of the door. “Lump, come on!” 

“Coming!” He slung the sack over his shoulder and followed her belowdecks.

They found Gandalf in the hold with the table and the sleeping youth. They all fell silent, stunned that nothing, despite the battle above, had changed in the room. The young elf still lay there, an otherworldly calm all about him. His table stood unmoved, even though the entire ship had nearly capsized only moments ago. All of their faces must have worn the same look of surprise, for Gandalf explained: “You see now why I told you three to come down here with him, where it was safe. There are few that can change the world immediately around him without his consent. If the ship had sunk to the bottom of the river while you had been with him, you would hardly have noticed.”

They marveled again at the fair face and the light of the jewel on his forehead.

“Who is he, Gandalf?”

“Where did he come from?”

“How did he get that jewel?”

They all fired question after question at him until Gandalf put up his hand. “My young friends, if we were not in dread haste, I would tell you the whole sad tale of Inolduay the Pure, our young and ancient friend. But alas, that will have to wait for a more opportune moment.”

“How are we going to take him with us?” asked Lumpolas. “We can’t leave him here. And this table won’t fit on a little rowboat.”

“Fear nothing, my friends. Inolduay is well able to travel. Now, watch!”

The light from the jewel on Inolduay’s forehead swelled and grew brighter. Soon, the radiance grew and filled the room. But this was like no light that any of them had ever felt—for that was how it seemed to them, a light they could feel as much as see. It embraced them, and though it blazed and dazzled their sight, the light didn’t hurt them.

Beonna sighed. “It’s wonderful!” The light receded like tidewaters turning back, growing smaller and smaller.

Aragunk blinked. “He’s gone!” And indeed, the youth had disappeared and the table with him. Only they four remained in the empty storage hold.

“No, not gone,” said Gandalf. “Is he, young lady?” 

Lumpolas drew an astonished breath. Where the jewel had rested on the brow of the youth, it now shone in a beautiful locket of simple elven design hanging from a silver chain around Beonna’s neck.

Her fingers touched the locket at her breast with wonder. “He’s here?”

“He has chosen you, Beonna of the Northlands, to bear him forth—and his trust is not given lightly.” Gandalf’s hand stroked his beard as he regarded the girl anew. “Most interesting. You must endeavor to be worthy of it.” 

Beonna raised her eyes to the wizard. “I will try. With all my heart, I will try.” A little shudder shot through her. “I hope I will be. But I don’t understand what I’m being asked to do yet.”

Gandalf stepped close to her. “For now, you are asked to keep it safe from those who would possess it against his will.”

Lumpolas cleared his throat. “But you said that no one could change the world around him without his consent.”

“There are powers, son of Thranduil, ancient and dark, that are stronger even than him. The hallowed light Inolduay bears is a prize long pursued by them.”

Beonna shot a glance at Lumpolas and Aragunk before raising her gaze to the wizard. “Master Gandalf, we tried to tell you before, the man we overheard in the hold—Ratskin—had orders to kill you. He must be part of the crew!”

Aragunk nodded. “That’s right! And he must have been the one who called that slimy beast to attack us!”

Lumpolas stepped closer. “For once Aragunk has spoken rightly, Master Gandalf. That monster sought after you, grabbed you, and pulled you overboard. Ratskin must have been controlling it!”

Gandalf perched his hands on his staff. “Perhaps, or perhaps it was his master, the one that you said he spoke to in the flame. We will have to wait and watch carefully. There are very few who could call a beast of the deep to do his bidding. And Ratskin himself may not have survived the attack. We will talk more when the opportunity arises.” Silencing their questions with a wave of his hand, he reached to the locket at Beonna’s breast and snapped it closed, concealing the light within. “As for you, young lady, remember that you owe us a tale. May we find time soon to trade. Your story for Inolduay’s?” She nodded her agreement, and he nodded back with a warm smile. “Now come, you three. Time is short!” And with that, he guided Beonna out of the hold.

Lumpolas made to follow, but turned back to find Aragunk rummaging on the floor of the darkened room, searching for his lost sword. “Gunk, hurry, they’re waiting for us!”

“Don’t see why it picked her instead of me,” Aragunk grumbled, finding the weapon in the corner. “I’m the strongest, after all. I could protect that jewel better than anyone!”

“You’re the strongest smelling. I’ll give you that,” Lumpolas said as they left the hold. “Like a rotten river bottom or something that died down there.”

“Well, he didn’t pick you to carry the locket because he was probably afraid you’d eat it,” Aragunk fired back.

“Right, I’ll get you for that!” said Lumpolas, seizing Aragunk by the collar. Gandalf turned from the stair leading topside and shot them a fierce glance that silenced them both.

Soon, they all climbed into the skiff, along with Yorlov and the remainder of the galley’s crew, six men. The skiff shoved off from the wrecked galley with oars splashing, the captain aft at the rudder, Gandalf and the three young companions in the bow.

Aragunk, scrutinizing the crew with squinted eyes, leaned in close to Lumpolas and asked, “Lump, do you think one of these sailors is Catskin?”

Lumpolas sighed and shook his head. “I have no idea, but we should keep a careful watch on them. I don’t like the way any of them are looking at Beonna.”

For her part, Beonna held the locket in her hand but her eyes were far away. Gandalf crouched in the bow, watching the river like an eagle perched on a high cliff. From time to time he would mumble an incantation and hold his staff over the water, or he would dip it into the river, probing for danger. Lumpolas longed to ask Beonna about the locket, what wearing it felt like. Was she scared or not? She looked calm, with a tiny smile on her face, as if she held some happy secret in her heart.

“Keep to the right bank, Captain,” Gandalf said. “And look to the cliffs across the river. There are many hiding spots ripe for an ambush.”

“Ambush?” one sailor asked with a raspy, sea-formed voice. “Who’d be saying anything about an ambush? Thought our new king had driven all the evil out of the land!”

“There’s a thread of evil woven into the heart of every man,” Beonna said with a voice that, to Lumpolas’s ear, didn’t quite sound like her own. “No king can drive that away, not completely.”

Gandalf turned to her from the bow with his bushy eyebrows arched. “Quite,” he said before turning back to his vigil.

“I’d like to know who we’re afraid of, that’s all,” the sailor continued. “Why, if it’s orcs or what’s left of ‘em, or just brigands, that’d set my heart at ease—knowin’ what we’re up against, that’s all.”

“Enough talk from you, Garsk!” Yorlov barked from the rudder. “Mind your sweep and keep your eyes on those cliffs. That way you can tell us, and then we’ll all know what we’re up against!”

Not long after, Lumpolas’s stomach erupted in a loud roar that sounded like an angry bear, drawing the stares of everyone on the boat.

“By the sea-queen’s bottle nose, I thought another monster were attacking again!” said a sailor with a mouthful of silver teeth. “Trade me spots, Tinker. I don’t want to get eaten by this elf!”

Lumpolas’s face turned beet red with embarrassment as all the sailors laughed. “Sorry!” he said with a sheepish smile. “Must be lunchtime.” His stomach howled like a wolf, even louder this time. He hauled out his rucksack. After digging around, he brought out a large packet wrapped in delicate, pale blue cloth. An odor of indescribable savoriness filled the air as he unwrapped it. Every eye turned, and it wasn’t long until more than one stomach on the boat had joined in a growing chorus of curious growls.

“Luthien’s lovely locks, young lord elf! What do ye got there?” asked Garsk, whose eyes were popping out of his head with hunger.

Lumpolas smiled, soaking in the sudden change in the tone the sailors had towards him. He displayed a large slab of pastry bread. Its layers held impossibly thin-sliced meats, cheeses, and other savory spreads, built up into a crusty finger food that left every mouth on the boat watering in anticipation. “Oh, this?” he said, feigning surprise. “Just something I threw together before we left. I call it Belly Bread. It’s based on a recipe my grandmother brought from—”

“May I?” Garsk interrupted, hypnotized by the aroma and the sight of the elven delicacy. “May I have a wee bite of that?”

“Really? Oh, I don’t know if you’d like this—too rich for most human palates.” But no one listened to a word he said. “But if you insist,” said Lumpolas, who broke off a morsel and held it out to Garsk. The sailor snatched it up and stuffed it in his mouth. Pure joy exploded over his rough-hewn face and tears welled up in his dreamy eyes, as though the most beautiful music in the world had begun playing. Hands from all around shot out in hope of their own morsel of Lumpolas’s bread. Gandalf, though, didn’t leave his careful vigil in the bow. Soon the whole boat fell silent in a chewing transport of joy. Lumpolas laughed, enormously pleased with how everyone received his food.

“That is the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten!” said Beonna. Lumpolas blushed. He wrapped the bread back up, knowing that only one mouthful could fill a hungry stomach. Except for Aragunk: he needed two bites of Belly Bread because he always ate twice as much as everyone else. But one sailor, Tinker the sailmaker, remained un-tempted by the feast. He stared off to the side, unmoved by the sight and smell of the elven food.

“Would you like a taste?” Lumpolas asked him, holding out a morsel.

The small, wiry sailor squinted at it with undisguised disgust writ on his face. “Not hungry!”

Lumpolas’s mouth fell open. No one had ever before refused his food. “Are you sure? Here, keep it for later,” he said, holding it even closer to Tinker’s face.

“Get that rot away from me, elf! I said no, and I meant it!” Gandalf turned from his watch and marked the exchange closely. Lumpolas stared at Tinker in disbelief. He was about to try one more time when Gandalf put his hand on the elf’s shoulder and shook his head.

“I’ll take that!” Aragunk snatched it and popped the morsel in his mouth.

“Hey!” Lumpolas glared at him.

Gandalf snapped his gaze upstream. “Captain Yorlov.” 

Yorlov spun to see two black boats far behind them, less than a mile away. “Aye, I see ‘em. They might just be river traffic, but if they’re catchin’ up to us, they’re going faster than any merchant would.”

“Gentlemen, now that you’ve had your lunch, we would be grateful for yet more speed from your oars,” said Gandalf.

Beonna half-stood and gazed upstream. “Those are no merchant boats. They’re armed, filled with soldiers.”

Gandalf studied her. “Are your eyes that sharp?”

Lumpolas, still chewing, looked back with his elven sight. “She’s right!” he said. “They’re wearing dark helmets that obscure their faces.”

“It’s him,” said Beonna to herself low enough so that only Lumpolas could hear her. He marveled at the flashing anger writ in the set of her eyes. “Who?” he whispered back to her.

“Row, you dogs!” Yorlov barked before she could answer him. “We can still outrun ‘em if we stay in the main current.” He turned the rudder as the men pulled harder. The boat sped to the center of the wide river, seeking the fastest current.

Aragunk grinned like a little boy. “We’re going to fight them, Lump!” But Lumpolas gulped and prayed that his friend was as wrong as usual.

“They’re still gaining on us!” said Beonna. Her hand clasped around the locket as the boats surged closer.

“How?” asked Yorlov. “How many oars are they pulling?”

“None. I don’t see any oars at all,” she answered. “Nor any sails. But they’re still catching us!”

Gandalf’s face was grim. “They’re using an enchantment.” The wizard stood in the bow, facing aft with his arms outstretched. “Anan dor loch! Aloch mor glan dorn!” he intoned in a mighty voice. All at once, the river swelled beneath them. The boat rose and sped down the Anduin on a great wave. As the wind whipped faster against their faces, Aragunk gave a low moan and turned a pale shade of green. Lumpolas grabbed his shoulder to keep him from falling over into the bottom of the skiff. “Easy, Gunk.”

“What do your long-sighted eyes see, girl?” Yorlov asked over the noise of the rushing water. “Are we losing them?”

She rose again into a half-crouch. “No! I can still see them, but they’re not gaining on us. One of them is taking aim with a bow! Another is lighting his arrow with a torch!”

Yorlov cursed under his breath. “You tell me the instant that he shoots! You hear me, girl? The very instant!” She nodded and kept her sight trained on the boats. “There’s no chance he could shoot an arrow that far,” Yorlov said. “Not a chance!” Gandalf stood with arms outstretched, willing the wave to drive them on. 

“He’s shooting!” said Beonna. Yorlov jerked hard on the rudder, steering the boat port-wise to the eastern shore.

Lumpolas glanced over his shoulder as the flaming bolt whizzed into the river with a puff of steam. “He missed us!” he cheered. A second later, a thunderous boom erupted below them. A scream went up as the boat flipped into the air. Before he could think, Lumpolas found himself underwater, swimming for his life.