Chapter 365: Evil in the Deepest Depths, Malice at Its Uttermost
Light?
No.
Levi uncorked a bottle of night-vision potion and drank, then peered into the distance.
That was not light.
Creeeak… screech…
A thin, vicious grinding echoed through the dark, something sharp rasping against hard metal. When Levi narrowed his eyes, he saw a knot of great white spiders, their bodies crusted with hoarfrost, crouched around a heap of ragged black armour and gnawing at it.
The armour's cut was disturbingly familiar.
Ringwraiths?
Levi frowned.
Yes. It was the very style the Nazgûl wore. But there was plainly nothing within these torn shells. No lurking wraiths, no ghostly form. Only hollow husks.
So the Nazgûl had been here. But whatever dwelt in this deep place was not friendly. Even Ringwraiths were fair game.
Swish—
The white frost-spiders stiffened, as if they had felt something. With a clatter, they dropped the ruined armour and turned as one, all their multiple eyes fixing on Levi.
In those stares there was no pretence: pure malice, and a hunger that nothing could ever sate.
"Here. Try this instead," Levi said.
He drew the Dragonflame Steel greatsword.
It seemed their fangs were not so strong after all.
Moments later, under the sweeping blade, they were nothing but heaps of scorched meat.
"What in the world is this place?" Levi muttered.
Resting the greatsword on his shoulder, he went deeper.
After a while, something stirred in the dark again. A black shape lunged out at him, too fast to make out. He caught it on his sword, parried once, twice, and cut it down.
"Graaah!"
Its dying shriek was so sharp it set his teeth on edge.
But what was it?
Levi prodded at the corpse and felt only bafflement.
It had moved too quickly to see clearly, and now he could see nothing at all: the body was charred to a crisp.
No matter. He could look at what it had dropped.
Orcs, Wargs, Trolls: each one left behind bones suited to its kind. Spiders shed eyes and legs. One way or another, the remains always told you what you had fought.
[Elven Bone]
The name that appeared froze Levi where he stood. His scalp prickled.
He went utterly still.
"An Elf…?"
Roar!
That last piercing cry had drawn more things from the dark. A motley throng came surging: Orcs, Trolls, white-frost spiders twisted by the environment, and a few Wargs slipping through the shadows…
"Out of my way," Levi snarled.
His temper, already frayed, snapped. In a rarity for the past century, he actually swore.
The monsters paid for it.
What followed was not a battle so much as a one-sided beating. Slash by slash, blow by blow, he pounded them into the stone. He did not stop until the last creature in that stretch of tunnel lay dead.
Only then did he pause.
With a brutal slam, he pinned the last surviving, gibbering thing to the ground.
This one.
It was one of these that had dropped "Elven Bone".
"Let us have a look at what you really are," he said.
[Tormented Elf 30/30]
Levi fell silent.
He studied the wretch before him and felt only one thing radiating from it: a malice beyond words, an evil driven to the uttermost.
Yes. An Elf.
And plainly not the only one of its kind.
Some ancient evil clung to them like maggots to bone, refusing to let go, refusing to let them die or escape. It bound them here, in this lightless depth, to wander and suffer without end.
Under that twisted torment, their nails had grown long and filthy, their skin had turned grey and coarse, their bodies had bent and twisted, their hair had fallen out. Lost in an endless dark, they had become ugly, cringing from any hint of light, and slowly gone mad.
"Be at peace," Levi said.
Crash.
He drove the greatsword down, clean and hard, ending the Elf's agony in an instant.
That tormented soul slipped free at last, leaving its ruined body behind. It fled westward, back to the Holy Land beyond the circles of the world, to the Halls of Mandos where all the dead must pass, there to be healed.
Levi drew a long breath and forced himself steady.
Now he knew where he was.
[Faction unlocked: Utumno]
[Reputation: -∞]
Long ages ago, in the Years of the Trees before the First Age, Morgoth had snatched many Elves, the Firstborn of Ilúvatar, to mock and defile them. He had shut them up in his fortress and tormented them without ceasing.
At last the Valar rose in wrath. The War of the Powers shook the world. Morgoth was overthrown and taken captive, and Utumno was broken. Its halls collapsed, its hosts scattered. Yet in the gutted roots of the fortress, foul servants crawled into the dark and hid, nursing their hate and waiting for their master's return.
When the fortress fell, most of the captive Elves were freed.
Most of them.
The wise in Valinor had always held that those who were never found, who had no known fate, might yet be lurking in the countless caverns of Utumno, wandering with the monsters there.
But for many reasons, they had long been thought all but impossible to find.
"Come, then," Levi said softly. "All of you. I will set you free… and send you home."
He spoke under his breath, lifted the greatsword once more, and walked on into the dark. Wherever he passed, the tunnels fell silent and empty. Every monster was cut down. Every maddened Elf he found was set free.
He thought he understood now why he had been led here.
After a long, long time, a new sensation stirred: heat, and unrest.
Beyond a certain crumbling stair, all the ice had melted away, baring the black, age-worn paving beneath.
Thud.
As Levi stepped onto it, the ground began to tremble. He drew a deep breath, pulled out the shield he so rarely bothered to use, and raised it before him.
The feeling was all too familiar. It was here.
Boom!
The ground split; ancient stone burst apart and flew. With one thunderous impact his shield was smashed aside and Levi was hurled backwards, only just managing to wrench the Dragonflame Steel greatsword up in front of him to take the worst of the blow.
Wham.
Man and sword alike slammed into the wall.
Through the rolling dust he saw it at last: a vast, winged shape wreathed in flame, with a swarm of snarling forms crouched at its feet.
Levi bared his teeth in a grin.
"Come on!" he roared.
His battle-cry crashed through the deeps, echoing far out into the black.
…
"So we failed to find Levi; that we can chalk up as mischance. We made no headway in rescuing Saruman; that is understandable. But how in all the world did we manage to lose Glorfindel as well?"
In Rivendell, Gandalf was venting his frustration at the Great Eagle that had brought word.
The Eagle said nothing. It only smoothed its feathers, patient and imperturbable.
Telling it all this did no good. It only carried messages. This was not something it could help.
"Sigh…" Gandalf let out a long breath.
"We must give Elrond some credit, at least," he said more quietly.
By the Eagle's report, Elrond had promised that he would be back before the Fellowship set out, to oversee all that concerned them.
"The Woodland Realm will not stand idle," Legolas said.
He had been standing nearby when the news came and spoke up at once.
"My father will certainly send troops to help assail Dol Guldur."
"Yes, yes. I have no doubt Thranduil will stir," Gandalf said. "It is not that."
He hesitated, brow furrowing.
The stream of great and small troubles of late had left the old wizard thoroughly weary.
"If war sweeps that part of the world, will we be able to pass through it unscathed?" he murmured.
"Enough. Let us leave that aside," he said, shaking his head.
"It is almost time for us to depart, and still I did not think so many would be missing at such an hour."
"Nor I. There have been too many surprises," Legolas said, frowning slightly.
With a rush of air, the Eagle leapt skyward and was gone. Gandalf watched it go, lost in thought.
"I know how matters stand with Elrond," he said at last.
"He will be home in a few days. But Levi's whereabouts remain a mystery. Ordinarily, he would never be absent now; something truly urgent must be holding him."
"What could be so important?"
Neither Elf nor wizard had any answer.
To find out what was happening, scouts had left days earlier on the best horses, riding to every nearby holding to ask for news.
The answer had been the same everywhere: Levi was in none of them.
Then the Eagle had come, with word that he had gone to the Northern Waste to investigate something.
Since then, nothing.
Before he left, he had only given a few brief instructions: that all his realms were to aid the Fellowship as needed, and send help when called upon.
As for the rest, he had said nothing. Only that in an hour of need, those in charge were to act as they saw fit.
A few days later, Elrond returned, and Gandalf was able to breathe a little easier.
"Do not fret, Mithrandir," Elrond said.
"I owe my return to Lady Galadriel. In her name, Lothlórien will join the assault on Dol Guldur."
"And the Woodland Realm. Thranduil has pledged his aid as well."
"As for Glorfindel, I have left him there as reinforcement. Mordor's schemes will not succeed."
"So much the better," Gandalf said, nodding.
With that weight lifted, he truly did feel lighter.
"And because of all this, I can now be here to oversee the Fellowship," Elrond went on.
He dismounted and began to ask Gandalf about all that had passed in his absence.
The sword of the king had been reforged. Aragorn had given it a new name: Andúril, Flame of the West. At the same time, the Nine Walkers of the Fellowship were ready.
All was, for the moment, in order.
"Every soul in this world has its own work to do," Gandalf said at last.
"Nothing can be made perfect. All we can do is what lies within our power."
"Just so," Elrond agreed.
Their talk ended there, on that note.
So it was that, on a clear morning, the Fellowship of the Ring set out.
Elrond proclaimed, "The Ring-bearer's road to Mount Doom begins here. As for the rest of you, you are held by no vow. How far you go is for you alone to choose."
Oaths could bind people to a course. They could also sow the seed of great tragedies.
On that point, Elrond had bitter experience enough.
So he asked no one to swear. This journey would be taken on will alone.
"Farewell, then. May you remember your charge," he said.
"May the blessings of Elves, of Men, of Dwarves… and of all the Free Peoples of Middle-earth go with you."
The Fellowship set forth.
And ahead of them waited their trials.