The Worlds of Christopher Walker

“I CAN’T FEEL my foot!” Aragunk cried out. “It’s gone numb in this cold!”

Icy wind lashed the three companions as they picked their way down the side of the sea-fortress. Even with the sure-footed Lumpolas in the lead, the going was slow and treacherous. Many were the heart-stopping moments when a foot slipped or a hand lost its grip. Admittedly, most of the slipping and faltering belonged to Aragunk, being the largest and least graceful of them.

“You already have your toes on the ledge, Gunk,” Lumpolas called out from an outcropping where he and Beonna waited for him. “Just slide over.”

“Easy for you to say!” Aragunk had got himself stuck over a sheer drop to the dark sea below. One boot stretched across a four-foot gap while the other clung to a foothold no wider than his big toe. “Everyone knows elves descended from spiders!”

“Just shift your weight to your left foot!” said Beonna, trying not to let slip her frustration. Even with her broken wrist, she was still much quicker than Aragunk. If they were going to have any chance at stopping Lord Angor, they needed to hurry.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” said Lumpolas, “just slide to the left and we’ll grab you!”

Aragunk swallowed hard at the sight of the black water thrashing far beneath him. “I don’t think I can. Go on without me. I’ll figure it out and catch up with you.”

“Stop that nonsense, Aragunk,” Beonna said. “We will not leave you stuck on the side of this bloody fortress. We need you!”

Lumpolas tapped Beonna’s shoulder and gave her a wink. “No, Bee, he’s right. We should leave him here. After all, how much help would a coward like him be if he’s too scared to climb down a little wall like this?” Aragunk’s back stiffened and he spun a glare on him.

Beonna gave Lumpolas a little nod. “When you put it that way, the last thing you need when you’re trying to save the world is a big coward. I guess we’ll just have to do this ourselves. Well, so long, Gunk,” she said with a wave.

“You’re right,” Lumpolas said and started off with her. “We’ve got more important things to do than babysit an overgrown baby chicken.”

Aragunk quivered over the drop. “What did you call me, you stuffed goose of an elf?” Then, hounded by pure rage, he flung himself across the gap to the outcropping and collapsed in front of them.

“There,” said Beonna, patting him on his heaving back, “that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Aragunk nodded to her. “Thanks, I needed that.”

Lumpolas dropped to a crouch. “Steady, something’s happening!” Below them, at the waterline, a longboat came sliding out of the belly of the fortress. “Look there,” he said, “it’s Angor himself! And he still has the Silmaril in his hand!” The dark sorcerer stood statue-like in the longboat’s prow, his burning left hand raised high in defiance of his agony. His other hand planted the bewitched pike Daggoth Dûl on the deck. Behind him, soldiers rowed across the inky waters to the shore of craggy Agoth Arn.

“Oh, what I wouldn’t give for a stout long-bow right now,” said Aragunk, clenching his fists.

Lumpolas chuckled mirthlessly. “And who would shoot it? You’re half-blind and Bee has a broken bow-arm.”

“A catapult then, and a big granite boulder to sink that boat and every one of them with it!”

Beonna flexed the fingers of her broken wrist. “If I had a bow and a clean shot, I could stand the pain for long enough to shoot him, I’m sure.”

“Don’t be silly, Bee. Now you’re starting to sound like Gunk.”

“Nothing wrong with that, if you ask me,” he answered.

“I wasn’t asking you,” said Lumpolas. “My brother Legolas tried to teach me to shoot once. But I would daydream about roasting and seasoning the poor pheasant instead of shooting it before it got away.”

“Well, we’re not going to daydream Angor to the bottom of the sea, are we?” Beonna said, waving their words away. “We have to figure out how to get over to the shore.”

“Right,” said Aragunk. “And then what?”

Beonna paused and shrugged. “Then we find a way to stop him. Keep your sword ready, Aragunk. We might need you to chop his hand off after all.”

He grinned at her. “I never doubted it for a minute.” Beonna and Lumpolas smirked at each other—they could almost hear the heroic songs streaming out of his ears.

More longboats began skidding back and forth from the fortress to the island, shuttling boatloads of soldiers to the shore. “They’re emptying the fortress,” said Aragunk. “The island will crawl with Dagors soon.”

Lumpolas gulped at the thought of the confrontation awaiting them. “Oh, I wish Gandalf and the captain were still with us.”

Beonna put a hand on his shoulder. “We all wish that, Lump. But it’s up to us now. That’s what they would want us to do.” She gave his shoulder a squeeze and stood. “Let’s keep climbing down and get aboard one of those longboats.” They resumed their descent with dread filling the air between them. But none gave voice to their dwindling hopes as they plied their slow way down.

At length, they crouched together atop the arched sea-gate where the longboats entered and exited. Aragunk and Beonna held Lumpolas’s legs while he leaned over the edge to peek into the dock. “Platoons of soldiers are muddling around, waiting their turns to get on a boat. We’ll have to get in there and try to mix in.” His friends pulled him back up. “There’s a little ledge on the other side of this arch. We can climb down without being seen if we time it right with the incoming boats. You’ll probably have to do your little party-trick again, Bee. I can take you over in my rucksack.” Beonna nodded, and they crept over the top of the arch and down the other side.

They waited for an incoming boat to row past, and then Lumpolas hurried down to the ledge. When he was certain no one could see, he gave his friends the all clear. “What happened to Beonna?” he asked, his head whipping around. “Did she fall?” But a little squeak came from down by Lumpolas’s boots. Beonna, in little mouse form, stood on his toe and waved a paw before climbing up his leg and up to his shoulder.

“Rats!” said Aragunk. “I thought we’d get to see her change that time.”

A little peeping laugh chirped from the mouse and she ran down Lumpolas’s arm into the open mouth of the elf’s bag. “Never dreamed I’d willingly let a mouse into my stores.”

Aragunk and Lumpolas crouched against the wall as an outgoing boat full of Dagor soldiers rowed past. Then, at a nod from Aragunk, they slipped into the dock together.

Groups of soldiers stood milling about, waiting their turn to go ashore. Lumpolas and Aragunk made their way to the landing with their helmets pulled low over their eyes. They drew close, but not too close, to a group of weary soldiers standing near the back of the hold.

“Hey, what do you lot suppose is going to happen when the Dark Lord comes back?” one of them asked his companions.

“What do you mean ‘what’s going to happen’?” asked a taller soldier. “It’ll be a new age. The world will fall before us and take its proper place beneath our boots.”

“No, I mean, what’ll happen to us? Do you think the Dark One will reward us right away, or after he conquers his enemies?”

“More like we’ll go on being nothing but grunts in his army. Nothing will change for us at all!” another one said.

The tall one shook his head at them. “Why wouldn’t he reward us? We kept the dark fires alight through the ages. We kept the prophecy alive and defended the Iron Altar. He is cruel, but fair. Our labors will not be forgotten.”

“A true believer, eh?”

“Aren’t you?” the taller soldier asked, his hand slipping to the hilt of his broadsword. “Don’t want to lose your reward at the moment of triumph, do you?”

“Just asking your honest opinion, that’s all. I’m still not sure what to expect from the Rites of Raggorn.”

“You’ll see what the Dark One has in store, along with the rest of us. Just make sure you don’t end up on the left hand of his wrath!” Then he turned on Aragunk, who was trying hard to mind his own business with Lumpolas. “And what do you think, corporal?”

“Huh? What do you want?” asked Aragunk.

“I want your opinion, maggot!”

“About what?”

“About our lord’s triumphant return!”

Aragunk shrugged. “What of it? He returns and we do what he commands. What more is there to know than that?”

“There, see?” the tall soldier said, turning back to his platoon. “That’s our lot: to obey the Dark One, not to worry about our rewards. You think Lord Angor is worrying about his reward? His bloody hand’s on fire, for doom’s sake!”

“Oy, you lot!” shouted the dockmaster to their group as a longboat returned. “Get in and grab an oar, double-quick!” Lumpolas and Aragunk shuffled aboard with the rest. Three men could sit side by side on a bench and Lumpolas found himself mashed between Aragunk and another sweaty, heavy-breathing soldier. Aragunk took an oar and rowed as the gruff-voiced commander called out, “Pull… Pull… Pull!” The boat left the dock and flowed over the black waters. Lumpolas shrank as small as he could, staring at the bottom, holding the sack with Beonna in it between his knees. They wound between the jutting rocks until they ground to a halt on the gravelly shore of Agoth Arn.

“Up! Out!” ordered the boat’s commander. “Move!” Aragunk and Lumpolas disembarked with the others and followed them up a gravel path leading through a cleft in the dark rock face. They stayed at the rear of the marching soldiers, trying to draw as little attention to themselves as possible. 

Aragunk leaned close to Lumpolas. “I thought I would kiss the ground when I got back on dry land, but I’d rather kiss a pig’s filthy foot than this cursed island!” 

“Well, we’re here. Now what do we do?” Lumpolas asked under his breath.

Aragunk gave him a shrug. “Follow this lot, get close to Angor, and kill him.”

Lumpolas replied with a little whimper. “You really are insane, aren’t you?”

Crunch crunch crunch. The soldier’s boots climbed the long, gravel path beyond the cleft. They spoke seldom now, as if afraid of the very rocks listening in. Halfway up the cliff face, a flash of lightning ripped through the dark clouds and a raw, steady rain began to fall. “Lovely,” grumbled Lumpolas, “just lovely.” He snuck the top of his sack open. “We’re on the island now, Bee. It’s very cold, ugly, and nasty here. You’re not missing a thing.” The tiniest of squeaks answered him, and he closed the sack again. Aragunk gave him a wink and a nod as they went on.

Up and up they climbed, with the rain soaking into them. Lumpolas could only think of how much he wished he were back home in Mirkwood. Back in his own warm kitchen with the cheerful fires. Chopping, seasoning, and roasting succulent meats and plump vegetables from his father’s plentiful stores. He closed his eyes and could almost smell his private herb rack and hear the merry bubblings of savory soups in their copper cauldrons. But a bitter wet wind whipped across the back of his neck, plucking him from his revery. He fought the urge to cry. Next to him, Aragunk marched with grim determination carved on his face. Lumpolas sighed and tried his best to screw up his courage and keep going for his friend’s sake.

They climbed higher and higher up the face of the jagged ridge through the clammy rain-slicked rocks until they finally arrived at a wide crack. The troop passed through to a rocky plateau atop the island. Everywhere they looked thronged with soldiers marching across the desolate plain towards a vast lowering keep carved out of solid rock. Towering spires and fortified turrets crowned the black keep, which squatted like a big black beetle atop the rugged island. Lumpolas and Aragunk glanced at each other with icy rain dripping from their helmets. This, they knew, was where they would either save the world or die trying.

A heavy horn-blast sounded from deep within the stronghold that made the ground under their boots quake. “Hurry there, you dogs!” a powerful voice ripped from a high turret above them. “The Rites of Raggorn begin! Our Dark Lord returns! The ancient prophecy is fulfilled! Melkor the Mighty draws near!” The massed troops surged forwards through a gate big enough to swallow an entire legion in one gulp. Lumpolas slipped his sack open to hazard another whispered message to Beonna. “We’re entering a great, nasty castle now! We haven’t seen Angor yet. I’ll keep you posted. And stay out of my cheese!”

They passed through an immense passage that emptied into a vast bowl-shaped inner courtyard standing open to the leaden skies. The courtyard’s rock walls swept upwards around them into a surrounding wall. The rim of the wide bowl stood punctuated by high turrets that loomed over the courtyard like tall black teeth poised to devour everyone within. Archers patrolled the overlooking wall and soldiers guarded every stairway up. It was all Lumpolas could do to stay close to Aragunk, with a multitude of rough and tumble fighters jostling them for the best spots to view the Rites.

Aragunk leaned over to him. “That’s where we need to get to.” He nodded towards a raised platform at the center of the courtyard where a massive altar wrought of forged black iron loomed. “That’s where Angor’s going to be. Stay tight, and when I give the signal, make a loud distraction. That’ll be my chance to get close enough to destroy him.” Lumpolas shot a glance of pure, unbelieving terror at his friend. He didn’t seriously think this plan had the slightest chance of succeeding, could he? Lumpolas pleaded with his eyes, begging his friend not to do this suicidal thing. But when Aragunk got that gleam in his gaze, there was no talking him out of anything, no matter how foolish it might be. “Let’s go.” Aragunk clapped his friend on the shoulder and pushed his way into the dense crowd. Lumpolas had no choice but to follow him.

Boom… Boom… Boom! A heavy drum began beating from somewhere behind the Iron Altar. A hush fell over the murmuring horde of gathered Dagorim. Step by step, they nudged their way through the packed-in soldiers, closer and closer to the altar.

Boom… Boom… Boom! The drums pounded relentlessly, rattling Lumpolas’s ribs with every beat. They sounded like a funeral march to him as he followed his friend to their doom.

A wave of excitement rippled through the horde as Lord Angor ascended from behind the altar. The bright glow of the flaming Silmaril filled the courtyard. The dark sorcerer appeared like a conquering hero above them, full of power and triumph. A chorus of deep horn-blasts greeted him and the drums continued to thunder. A cheer went up as he strode the wide platform, displaying the captured jewel in his raised fist to the awed legions of soldiers.

Boom… Boom… Boom! “Look to the skies!” Fingers pointed upwards. High overhead, the black clouds above the island had gathered themselves, darkening and swirling together in anticipation of the return of the Dark Lord Morgoth. The drumming came to an abrupt stop. Silence fell, disturbed only by the slapping of the cold rain on the stone pavement of the keep. Anticipation drew thick as wet wool around the assembled Dagorim. Lumpolas wanted to turn and run out of the courtyard, to get as far away from this place and this island as his elven legs could carry him. But Aragunk kept pushing forwards, grim and determined with his hand at his sword, pressing towards the altar… towards Angor.

“Legions of the faithful!” Lord Angor’s voice boomed through the wide courtyard like thunder on a mountainside. “Today, in your seeing, in your hearing, the fulfillment of the prophecy given long ages ago draws near. You faithful, who guarded this hope handed down in the shadows, whispered from mouth to ear over the thousands of years since the treachery of the Valar drove our master through the cursed Door of Everlasting Night, you, my brothers, are the fortunate few in this fallen world to witness the return of the Mighty One of many names!” A great shattering roar exploded from the ranks that buckled Lumpolas’s knees.

“Our moment has come!” Angor continued. “The long ages are fulfilled! Let there be no doubt among you: this broken world is about to change, to become, for all time, what it was always meant to be—a place of order! Our order!”

“Our order!” the multitude cried out in response.

“A world where the weak will give way to the strong!” said Angor. “A world where strength is master over all! Our strength!”

“Our strength!” The army returned it back to him.

“The corruption of weak-willed men, the vain elves, and the stunted dwarves ends now! These cowardly notions they peddle—compassion, charity, and love,” he bellowed. “These are the refuge of weakness!” An assenting shout broke out. “The harbor of empty hope!” Another roar of approval. “A false haven for the fearful and the meek! Our master has decreed that the strong must rule! We are the strong!”

“We are the strong!” shouted the massed Dagor soldiers in reply.

“We are the strong!” Angor repeated again and again. And each time, his army answered with a thunderous roar.

Lumpolas tried to shut their evil chant out of his mind as they drew near to the platform. But the press of frenzied Dagor soldiers choked the way to the black altar. Aragunk tried forcing his way between two massive guards, each a head taller than himself.

“Watch yourself, little corporal!” said one amidst the deafening cheers.

“Yeah, view’s just as good back there!” The other guard spat in Aragunk’s face and shoved him back into the crowd with a howl. “We are the strong!” 

“Not to worry, kind sirs!” chirped Lumpolas, holding Aragunk back before his friend lost his temper and did something really rash. “We can find another way around.”

They tried passing through elsewhere, but each time met with similar results. Aragunk turned to Lumpolas in frustration. “I can’t get any closer! Think of something, Lump, before he calls Morgoth back!” They both lifted their eyes to the swirling sky. The spinning clouds grew darker and more ominous now, and the rain-soaked air even colder. 

Lumpolas lowered his gaze to the high wall rimming the courtyard and studied the archers marching back and forth on the walkway between the tall turrets. He pulled on Aragunk’s sleeve. “Up there, do you see? If we can get one of their bows, we could take a shot at Angor. Even you could hit him from up there.”

Aragunk grumbled at this new plan, but he could see no way of getting close enough to attack Angor with his sword. He nodded and grudgingly followed his friend back out of the crowd. Lumpolas sighed in relief as they moved away from the altar and the certain death that had awaited them there.

The going was much easier this way, and soon they arrived at a set of spiral stairs leading up to the walkway. But the arched doorway stood guarded by a tall, massive soldier whose neck bulged as thick as one of Aragunk’s thighs. Lumpolas pulled Aragunk away before he could attack the guard and get them both killed.

“I can take him, Lump. I know I can!”

“I haven’t the slightest doubt of that, my friend. But it would cause too much of a ruckus, and these others would have us strung up over the wall of the keep before we could blink! Now, we have to be smart and try to trick him into letting us pass.” Aragunk gave a grudging nod. Lumpolas opened his bag and whispered to Beonna, who stood perched on an apple with her long tail whipping back and forth. “Bee, we need your help!” He let her climb into his hand and drew her out. “We want to go up those stairs to shoot Angor from that walkway up there. But we have to get past that great ugly lump of a guard in the way. Do you think you can draw him off?”

Beonna squeaked once, leapt down Lumpolas’s leg, and skittered across to the stairway. She slipped between the guard’s boots and disappeared up the stairs behind him. Lumpolas and Aragunk shuffled nervously, waiting for her sign as Angor’s shouts and the thunderous replies of the gathered Dagorim echoed through the courtyard. “Be ready, Gunk. We’ll follow him up when she distracts him and then we can take care of him without being seen. We’ll only get one chance.”

Aragunk’s hand gripped the hilt of his sword. “Don’t worry, my friend. I’ll be more than ready.” Lumpolas gulped and tried not to think about how they were going to subdue this enormous guard. And then he tried even harder not to think about how they were going to take down an archer and get his bow. And then how they were going to shoot Angor with it without getting killed themselves. And then Lumpolas had to use all his might not to think about what would happen after that. How they would get the Silmaril back and slip back to the dock with it. And then how would they escape the island and get back home? He gritted his teeth, shook his head and absolutely refused to think about that, thank you very much!

“Taking her sweet time, Bee is,” whispered Aragunk, snatching Lumpolas back from his worried thoughts. “What’s keeping her?” Lumpolas peered at the stairs behind the unmoving guard, but found no sign of her. Had something already gone wrong? His sharp eyes darted around the courtyard, then up to the walkway between the dripping turrets when he saw her. “Oh no,” he moaned.

“What?” Aragunk asked. “What do you see?”

“She’s up there, on the walkway.” He was careful not to point lest others spot her, too. Beonna—back in her human form now—was up there, creeping up behind a lone archer busy watching the unfolding ritual below. “She’s gone on without us, Gunk. She’s going to try to take Angor by herself!”

Aragunk smacked a fist into his palm. “That little rat! Never trust a rodent!”

“Bee, you brave, foolish girl,” said Lumpolas, “you’re going to get yourself killed!” He watched in terror as Beonna drew behind the unsuspecting archer. With one deft chop with the edge of her good hand against his temple, she dropped him in a slumping pile to the walkway. Lumpolas thanked the sacred stars above that the other archers were too enthralled by Lord Angor’s arrogant spectacle to take notice. Before they could decide what to do, Beonna had the archer’s bow aimed at one of the three Dagorim archers on the high walkway with her. Lumpolas could see the pain on her face as she struggled to hold the bow steady with her broken arm. Zip! The first archer fell unnoticed in all the shouting from below. “Good shot, Bee!” Lumpolas yipped. Zip! Zip! The other two fell, one after the other, before they realized anything was amiss. Lumpolas held his breath as she drew another arrow and took aim from above at the high-sorcerer of the Dagorim himself.

With a cry that soared above the courtyard, Beonna shouted from the rim, “For noble Beorn, my father!” The keep dropped into sudden silence as every eye leaped upwards in surprise. Beonna let fly the arrow. It flew swift and true and, with a wet thump, struck home in Angor’s neck just below the helmet. A deep groan from Lord Angor and the clattering of his jagged pike falling to the platform broke the stunned silence. He slumped to a knee, grasping the iron altar with one hand while the Silmaril blazed in the other. “For the Kingdom of Norngalad lost to the Evil One’s treachery! And for all of Middle-earth, I condemn you, Angor the foul, to your just death!”

Thunk! Thunk! Two more arrows from Beonna’s bow pierced his breastplate in quick succession. No one moved under the pelting rain as all eyes looked to him. Lumpolas and Aragunk held their breath with everyone else, waiting to see if Angor was truly dead. Not one among the throng uttered a sound. Lumpolas glanced up to Beonna and found both fear and triumph dancing on her face. She nocked yet another arrow and prepared to fire it.

But then, a low hacking laugh came scraping like a slow rockslide from the dais. Beonna hesitated as Angor pulled himself up by the horn of the altar. He lifted his steely eyes up to her with a grim smile growing on his lips. “The altar sacrifice has arrived at the opportune moment.” His voice was little more than a croak with the arrow still sticking out of his neck. Beonna gathered her faltering courage, took careful aim and let fly another. But this time, Angor swatted it away with the gauntlet of his right hand. “That’s it, girl! Prove to yourself that you cannot kill me! Exhaust the last shreds of your hope!” Beonna quickly aimed another arrow and fired it, then another, and another. But he batted each out of the air while his rising laughter rumbled through the courtyard. The gathered soldiers cheered louder and louder as each arrow clattered to the ground. Lumpolas couldn’t believe his eyes. Even Aragunk looked like his fear was getting the better of him.

When Beonna used up her last arrow in vain, she threw down the bow with tears quivering in her frightened eyes. She shook her head in disbelief and stepped back from the edge. By this time, soldiers streamed from both directions on the walkway, cutting off any hope of her escape. “Come down, young princess of the Northlands!” rasped Angor. “Come down! The altar of Melkor awaits you. Daggoth Dûl hungers for your lifeblood! Come and be the first to witness the doom of your fading world!” She struggled, but the Dagor soldiers overpowered her in seconds. They dragged her bound, kicking, and shrieking to the courtyard where Lord Angor awaited.

“What can we do?” Lumpolas asked through his tears, grasping Aragunk’s arm. “What can we do to stop this?” 

Aragunk answered by unsheathing his sword. “We can fight, my friend. We fight until the end!”

“Oh, I was afraid you were going to say that!” whimpered Lumpolas. Drawing his longest kitchen-knife, he steeled himself to follow his friend into hopeless battle.

Aragunk stepped towards the nearest Dagor soldier, raising his sword high to strike. But then, blaring over the din from away distant in the keep, a high horn-blast sounded. Every soldier in the courtyard stopped their cheering and gazed around in confusion. A brass bell started clanging from a turret above.

“To arms!” an acolyte thundered from the steps of the altar. “We are under attack! Defend the altar of Melkor from the infidels! To arms! To arms!” At once, the soldiers surged out of the courtyard. Aragunk grabbed his friend and pulled him up against the wall of the passageway while the soldiers streamed past. 

“What’s happening?” asked Lumpolas.

“I don’t know!” Aragunk noticed that the way up stood unguarded now. “Let’s find out!” Lumpolas followed him as he shoved through the streaming soldiers to the stairs. They climbed to the walkway and there, looking out over the battlements to the sea beyond, Lumpolas stopped and stared with his mouth hanging open in disbelief. “What is it, Lump? Tell me what you see!”

A huge smile sprang upon his friend’s face and he jabbed a finger down to the harbor. “It’s them, Gunk! It’s them!”

“Who? Who is it?”

There, storming into the bay at full sail, flew the unmistakable profile of a tall clipper ship. “The Freedom Hawk! It’s the Freedom Hawk, Gunk! They’re alive!” 

“What? That’s impossible!” Aragunk’s head reeled, not daring to hope it was true.

With his keen eyes, Lumpolas could see the crew gathered on the deck. They stood armed with swords ready for battle as the ship soared like a majestic bird of prey over the waters, bearing for the docks of Agoth Arn. He could even see Captain Yorlov in the bow, barking orders at the crew. “They’re alive, Gunk! There’s the captain! And Gandalf is with him too, shining like a star in the sky! They’re alive and they’re here with us! It’s not lost yet, Gunk! It’s not over yet at all!”

But his hopes turned to dismay when he saw Dagor soldiers rolling catapults and huge crossbows out onto the upper ramparts of the keep overlooking the bay. A storm of arrows already went raining down on the ship while the Dagors readied their larger war machines. Lumpolas watched with sinking heart as the crew of the Freedom Hawk crouched under shields beneath the falling arrows. The first of the catapults was made ready and—THWACK!—hurled its deadly payload.

“No!” cried Lumpolas as a massive chunk of gray stone launched through the air, flying toward the ship below. How tiny the Freedom Hawk looked from up here and how fragile, thought Lumpolas as the stone hurtled through the air. THOOM! Lumpolas and Aragunk cheered as the stone struck the water short of the ship’s prow. But they already had another catapult winched into readiness. THWACK! Another immense stone launched over the harbor. This one missed to the starboard side of the ship with a mighty splash.

Then, a giant crossbow fired a long steel bolt and its aim proved true, piercing the deck of the Freedom Hawk amidships, sending deck-planks splintering across the boat. No one, Lumpolas marked with a sigh of relief, was hurt in the destruction. But he could see that as the ship drew closer to the shore, the peril from a deadly bolt from above only grew stronger. “We have to stop those crossbows and catapults!” he said to Aragunk.

“Aye, but we have to save Beonna, too!” he said, pointing to the courtyard. Beonna, screaming and struggling, was being tied down to the altar. “You go do what you can to silence those Dagor batteries while I go save her, Lump!”

Lumpolas’s stomach filled with ice. “But you’ll be killed! And then she’ll be killed! And then I’ll be killed!”

“The whole crew of the Hawk will be killed if you don’t do something about those war-engines, Lump!”

“But… but… but…”

“Courage, my friend!” said Aragunk, patting the green pearl glowing at his neck. “Our lady will not abandon us in our hour of need!” He put a hand on Lumpolas’s shoulder. “You can do this, my oldest and best friend. We all need you to do this.” And after giving him a reassuring smile, Aragunk stalked away along the walkway.

“Wait, what am I supposed to do to stop them?” asked Lumpolas to Aragunk’s back.

“Use some of your elven magic to save the crew and then lead them up here!” he called back.

“Elven magic? I don’t have any elven magic. I’m just a cook!” Lumpolas gazed helplessly after his departing friend. He turned his eyes back to the Freedom Hawk just as another bolt pierced her sails. He put a hand to the glowing pearl and prayed. “O Queen of all our hopes, if you can hear me, we need your help now more than ever!” Lumpolas kissed the pearl and glanced up at the swirling dark clouds heralding Morgoth’s return. With a gulp, he tore off running towards the war-batteries as fast as his plump legs could carry him.

The menacing report of another catapult shot echoed through the keep as he sprinted. Lumpolas sprang up onto the battlements overlooking the bay. Sprinting atop, he watched this missile smash through the rigging of the defenseless ship, snapping the mizzen-mast back over the stern. Sail and rigging sagged aft into the sea, slowing the Freedom Hawk with its drag, making it easier now for the Dagor bombardiers to find the range for the final blow. “Faster, legs! Faster!”

At the end of the walkway, he sprang onto the slate roof of the keep and continued running with all his might. The tiles were slick from the rain, but his elf feet kept him from slipping off to the sea-battered rocks below. He came at last to a wide rampart where dozens of Dagor soldiers toiled below him. They were readying two catapults to fire, and this time, he knew, they would find their target. Lumpolas clutched his helmet in consternation. What could he do to stop them? He glanced at the Freedom Hawk limping towards the shore below—a sitting duck if he ever saw one. He had to do something! What he wouldn’t give for some genuine elvish magic right now.

“Hey!” he cried out to the soldiers from the roof, his heart racing like a stampede of horses. “Hey you, down there! Stop what you’re doing!” But the Dagorim ignored him in their fervor to destroy their enemy’s boat. He spied a loose slate tile by his foot. He yanked it up and flung it into the midst of the laboring soldiers. CLANG! The tile struck the side of a soldier’s helmet, sending him sprawling to the ground. To a man, they all stopped and shot outraged eyes up to the roof, where Lumpolas glared at them. “What’s your bleedin’ problem, you bloody ponce?” shouted their commanding officer.

“That’s what it takes to get your attention, you deaf, scurvy dogs!” Lumpolas barked in the most menacing voice he could muster. “I’ve got orders for you and they’re straight from Lord Angor himself!”

“What orders?” asked the commander, looking doubtful. “And be quick about it. We’ve got a ship to sink!”

“Don’t you talk to me that way, you rat-licking toad! Don’t you know who I am?”

The soldiers looked at each other in confusion, shaking their heads. “No, we ain’t the slightest idea who you are.”

Lumpolas puffed his chest out as far as it would go and raised his fists over his helmet. “I’m Gripsy!” he thundered with all his strength. But the soldiers didn’t quite react with the fear he had hoped for. Some even started snickering. “Do you hear me? I’m Gripsy the murderous! No? How about Gripsy the menacing?”

“Never heard of you!” answered the commander with a snort. “Now begone with you or we’ll launch you next, Gripsy! You can menace and murder them all the way down there!” And he ordered his laughing men back to work.

“Wait!” shrieked Lumpolas, desperate now. “Lord Angor orders you to stop and let them come ashore!” But the Dagor soldiers were having none of it and continued loading the fatal payloads into the catapult buckets while Lumpolas shrieked in vain at them. 

Lumpolas moaned, beside himself with desperation now. What could he do? They would not listen to him, and he had no way of fighting them all. He ran to the edge of the high roof and gazed down at the Freedom Hawk. With his sharp eyes, he could see the crew crouching in the prow, praying for their chance to get ashore and fight. Cookie and Culum stood right behind the captain and Gandalf. He could even see young Millen up in the crow’s nest yelling something to Captain Yorlov.

“Get clear! Ready to fire!” The battery commander and soldiers cleared out of the way to fire the catapults. 

Lumpolas screamed at them to stop. But the commander ignored him and raised his fist to give the order. Overcome with horror, Lumpolas looked back down at the ship to say goodbye. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I couldn’t stop them, my friends!”

Then, just before the commander dropped his fist, a gleaming harpoon shot from the waves behind the Freedom Hawk. It raced through the air, soaring toward the Dagor ramparts. As it flew, Gandalf raised his staff high and shouted something Lumpolas couldn’t make out. The harpoon burst into flames just before it struck and, in an instant, one catapult exploded in a bright ball of fire. Screaming Dagor soldiers caught flame, and some ran in their agony over the high cliffside, onto the rocks and the waters below. As Lumpolas stared slack-jawed in surprise at the burning catapult, wondering at what he beheld, another bolt launched from the water and burst into flame at a command from the white wizard, destroying the second Dagor catapult in a roaring bloom of flame.

He tore his eyes away from the destruction and peered down to the bay, trying to understand what had happened. Then his heart leaped within him. The waters all around the ship came alive with armored figures breaking through the waves. “The Oarni! They’re here and they’re fighting alongside us!” Soldiers mounted on breaching whales emerged with their own siege-bows. These fired more harpoons at the cliffside batteries. Warriors sprang from the waters, hurling their spears and tridents at the bewildered Dagor soldiers waiting on the dock to board the Freedom Hawk. Lumpolas skipped for joy and capered about on the roof tiles. 

Under cover of the Oarni spears, the Freedom Hawk crashed into the dock at full sail. Captain Yorlov and Gandalf flew over the gunwale and charged the scattered Dagorim with the determined crew at their back. Oarni spearmen rose from the waves in untold numbers, flinging their weapons into the ranks of the Dagorim while the Freedom Hawk’s crew hacked their way up the steep gravel paths to the keep. All the while, whale-mounted crossbows continued their onslaught on the Dagor’s turrets and batteries above, sending foot-soldiers and archers scattering for their lives.

Amidst the Oarni sea-army, Lumpolas beheld Empress Una herself, resplendent in armor woven of thousands of little seashells. Her eyes flashed pale-green across the dark waters even from this distance. She commanded her army, guiding the slaughter of the Dagorim defenders from her enormous blue whale. “I knew you wouldn’t abandon us!” Lumpolas clutched the glowing pearl on its chain. “I knew it!”

In three deft leaps, he made it down to the rampart and ran past the burning wreckage of the Dagor war-engines and fallen soldiers to go meet Gandalf and the crew. Everywhere he passed, the sights and sounds of destruction among the Dagorim met him as he ran along the length of the ridge. Unexpected joy gave wings to his feet, and he almost ran straight into the backs of a brigade of Dagor soldiers making a stand at the cleft in the rocks leading to the shore. They resisted with all their dwindling strength as the Freedom Hawk’s crew advanced up the path. Oarni spears and harpoons rained down, piercing many Dagors or clattering on the barren rock. Lumpolas had to skid for cover behind a large stone lest he, too, be skewered like an autumn pheasant.

Back and back the Dagor soldiers retreated before the onslaught, falling five, ten at a time before the advancing crew. At last, their line broke and Captain Yorlov and his crew came pouring through the cleft. The Dagors scattered for their lives back towards the keep, and many of these fell under the Oarni’s rain of death.

Lumpolas leapt to the top of the stone in one happy bound and pulled off his helmet. “Hail, to the thrice-blessed crew of the Freedom Hawk! Hail! Allow me to be the first to welcome you to the thrice-cursed island of Agoth Arn!”

Cookie cried out, pointing with his cutlass. “Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle! The elf’s still alive after all!”

“Aye,” Yorlov said, “the empress told us they were, didn’t she?”

At once, Lumpolas sprang from the stone, and he and Cookie clasped arms and danced around in jubilation. Millen came bursting through and joined their dancing embrace. The rest of the bedraggled crew cheered, exhausted though they were from the fight up the long pathway.

“We thought you were dead!” cried Lumpolas in his joy. “We saw you all go down with the galley!”

“Aye, we all thought we were done for, too, Swampy!” said Cookie when they finally stopped their spinning. “But a swarm of these fish people came out of the deeps and plucked us up on the back of one of their big blue whales. Straightaways, they took us back to the Hawk, they did.”

“Aye,” Millen chimed in, “we got the ship back in shape as quick as we could and set sail for here!”

Lumpolas looked around, puzzled. “But where is Gandalf? I saw him with you on the ship.”

Culum jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “He’s right behind us, lighting up those Oarni harpoons as fast as they can fire them.”

Before he finished speaking, Gandalf burst through the cleft, and seeing Lumpolas, came running. “Lumpolas, quickly! Where are the others? Where are Beonna and Aragunk?”

The thrill of the unexpected victory flew away from Lumpolas’s heart, replaced by a sudden fear when he saw the urgency on the white wizard’s face. He pointed to the keep. “There, Master Gandalf. Aragunk went to rescue Beonna from Angor. That monster is going to sacrifice her on the Altar of Morgoth!”

Gandalf’s bushy eyebrows sprang high. “Oh, that young fool!” he groaned. “Quickly! Take us there, Lumpolas, as fast as your elven feet can fly!”

“Follow me!” Lumpolas turned and led them at a dead sprint to the wide gate of the keep. “Is there still time, Master Gandalf?” he asked as they hurtled over the rocky plain. “Is there still time to save them?” Gandalf glanced up at the lowering skies as they ran, and Lumpolas followed his gaze. The spinning clouds above the keep were much darker now, a yawning, pitch-black spiral opening like a vast hungry mouth over the island. And he could make out an even darker shape inside the twisting maw, like the horned head of some colossal being gazing down from a place far away from this world.

“We may not have time to save any of us!” Gandalf cried, and for the first time, Lumpolas heard genuine fear in the wizard’s voice. “Faster! The Door of Night is opening! Morgoth is nearly returned!”