Day XXX: The Spire of Durin
‘So the Axe is for real?’ asked Hroskold, amazed.
‘As real as I’m sitting here!’
‘It’s all written down, as plain as can be.’
Said the Gaffer, to the dwarf’s cheers.
So, fired up again with the thought of the Axe,
The lads and I planned our attack.
I’d scout up ahead; the lads, they would follow
We’d be sure to bring the Axe back!
Our plan was quite simple: to skirt the Orc camp
And quietly kill all their scouts
Then get ourselves ready, one side of the camp.
And attack, with drum beats and shouts.
This way the orcs would think we were many,
Although, in fact, we were few.
They would run no doubt, afraid of defeat,
Yes, that is what we would do!
With the Orc camp secure we would search unimpeded
For the Axe, at the base of the stone.
Any orcs that came back, we would shoot down with arrows;
For the dwarf-lasses’ death they’d atone.
So all the plans made, I went off to get changed
Into the armour I’d bought.
When I came back I imagined they’d laugh,
But they were more kind than I’d thought
‘You’d pass drill inspection!’ I was told with a grin
And the Gaffer, he cheered and agreed.
The armour fit well though it pinched here and there
And I had to walk bandy-kneed!
Still, it was leather, well worn and quite supple
When I moved, there was barely a sound.
I was pleased about that; I could creep about quietly
And keep out of sight, near the ground.
So all of us ready we mounted the ridge
And I led the way, for the Shire!
I would point out the scouts one by one as they walked up
And, once in range, we would fire.
In all, eight fell to the company’s crossbows
So now we were set to attack:
We crept up to the camp, as quiet as dormice
And arranged ourselves all round the back.
Then I gave the signal, and fired off a rocket.
And the others all shouted and screamed.
We were standing so close, the orcs ran in panic,
Our plan had succeeded, it seemed.
‘To the Spire!’ cried the Gaffer and we split up in two
With half of us guarding the camp.
We overturned barrels to build our defences
While the others moved off, down the ramp.
Soon there were sounds of earth being shovelled
As the dwarves searched the spire for the Axe;
While the rest of us dug in and scanned the far hilltop
Ready for counter-attacks.
We didn’t wait long, for a line of fierce orcs
Came scrambling down the hillside
So we let fly our our arrows and cut them in half
‘Keep firing!’ Hroskold cried.
We quickly reloaded and steadied our weapons
As another wave swept down the hill.
We finished ‘em quick and loaded again.
Then carried on firing until
The orcs fell back with mutters and cursing
And I ran to the Gaffer’s side.
‘We can hold them for now, but more are arriving.’
‘We’ll need to act quickly,’ I cried.
‘Aye Ponso,’ said Kandral, ‘all right lads, keep digging!’
‘The Axe has got to be found!’
And the dwarves swung their picks in the soil by the spire
And dug away the hard ground.
Then Kandral, he tripped and fell on his face
By his foot was a half-buried chest!
‘It’s here!’ he cried, ‘quick lads! I can see.’
‘On the lid is the Longbeards’ crest.’
They dug in a frenzy, to unearth the trunk
And lifted it out of the ground.
Then Kandral offered the key to the lock,
Convinced that at last we had found
The Axe of Durin, the end of our quest
And we all gathered round him real quick;
As he twisted the key not once, twice but thrice
Till the lock opened up with a click.
And there in the chest lay an axe, it is true;
But was it the Axe that we sought?
The miles we had travelled to get to this spot;
The goblins and orcs we had fought.
He lifted the Axe and it shone in the sun
And the dwarves all knelt in awe.
The Kandral looked down at the coffer again
‘Look brothers: there’s something more!’
From out of the chest he lifted a parchment
Ragged and yellowed and old.
He held up the paper and read it out loud
And sorry the tale that it told:
‘We found this Axe in the Seventeenth Hall’
‘The orcs were coming so near,’
‘And we brought it out that it may be safe,’
‘By the shores of Lake Mirrormere.’
The text bore the names of Balin and Ori
Two dwarves of highest renown.
And I remembered the tomb by the Twenty-first Hall,
Surrounded by dwarrow, struck down
By assailants unknown, but doubtless the Orcs
And now we could add Ori’s name.
All had perished, it seems, in the caverns of Moria
The fate of each dwarrrow, the same.
Our moment of grief was broke by the shouts
Of Orcs swarming over the rise.
Too many to fight, so we ran from the shore
Pursued by the orcs’ enraged cries.
We didn’t stop running till we go to the camp
And there we sought Midarin’s tent.
He was awake, though drowsy with pain.
‘Is it true to the Orc -camp you went?’
‘That was folly my brothers, for did I not say’
‘That the quest was merely a ruse?’
‘Hush now,’ said Kandral, ‘I have something to show you.’
Glad to be bringing good news.
‘Another scroll it was that we found,’
‘That pointed our way to the cache.’
‘And there ‘neath the Spire, just as we had thought.’
‘We found, in a chest, this fine Axe!’
So the quest was all done: we had found Durin’s Axe
And now it was time to come home.
The dwarves had resolved to visit King Dain
Though Midarin was not fit to roam.
So we both took a ride on a dwarf caravan
That was taking the long way back West
And I’d plenty of time to write down this poem
The tale of the Mithril Axe quest!
