J Tolkien: The Lord of the Rings 2 - The Two Towers

"How then do you read this riddle?" asked Gimli.

Aragorn did not answer at once, but went back to the camping-place and looked at the baggage. "Two packs are missing." he said, "and one is certainly Sam's: it was rather large and heavy. This then is the answer: Frodo has gone by boat, and his servant has gone with him. Frodo must have returned while we were all away. I met Sam going up the hill and told him to follow me; but plainly he did not do so. He guessed his master s mind and came back here before Frodo had gone. He did not find it easy to leave Sam behind!"

"But why should he leave us behind, and without a word?" said Gimli. "That was a strange deed!"

"And a brave deed," said Aragorn. "Sam was right, I think. Frodo did not wish to lead any friend to death with him in Mordor. But he knew that he must go himself. Something happened after he left us that overcame his fear and doubt."

"Maybe hunting Orcs came on him and he fled," said Legolas.

"He fled, certainly," said Aragorn,"but not, I think, from Orcs." What he thought was the cause of Frodo's sudden resolve and flight Aragorn did not say. The last words of Boromir he long kept secret.

"Well, so much at least is now clear," said Legolas: "Frodo is no longer on this side of the River: only he can have taken the boat. And Sam is with him; only he would have taken his pack."

"Our choice then," said Gimli,"is either to take the remaining boat and follow Frodo, or else to follow the Orcs on foot. There is little hope either way. We have already lost precious hours."

"Let me think!" said Aragorn. "And now may I make a right choice and change the evil fate of this unhappy day!" He stood silent for a moment. "I will follow the Orcs," he said at last. "I would have guided Frodo to Mordor and gone with him to the end; but if I seek him now in the wilderness, I must abandon the captives to torment and death. My heart speaks clearly at last: the fate of the Bearer is in my hands no longer. The Company has played its part. Yet we that remain cannot forsake our companions while we have strength left. Come! We will go now. Leave all that can be spared behind! We will press on by day and dark!"

They drew up the last boat and carried it to the trees. They laid beneath it such of their goods as they did not need and could not carry away. Then they left Parth Galen. The afternoon was fading as they came back to the glade where Boromir had fallen. There they picked up the trail of the Orcs. It needed little skill to find.

"No other folk make such a trampling," said Legolas. "It seems their delight to slash and beat down growing things that are not even in their way."

"But they go with a great speed for all that," said Aragorn,"and they do not tire. And later we may have to search for our path in hard bare lands."

"Well, after them!" said Gimli. "Dwarves too can go swiftly, and they do not tire sooner than Orcs. But it will be a long chase: they have a long start."

"Yes," said Aragorn, 'we shall all need the endurance of Dwarves. But come! With hope or without hope we will follow the trail of our enemies. And woe to them, if we prove the swifter! We will make such a chase as shall be accounted a marvel among the Three Kindreds : Elves. Dwarves, and Men. Forth the Three Hunters!"

Like a deer he sprang away. Through the trees he sped. On and on he led them, tireless and swift, now that his mind was at last made up. The woods about the lake they left behind. Long slopes they climbed, dark, hard-edged against the sky already red with sunset. Dusk came. They passed away, grey shadows in a stony land.

Dusk deepened. Mist lay behind them among the trees below, and brooded on the pale margins of the Anduin, but the sky was clear. Stars came out. The waxing moon was riding in the West, and the shadows of the rocks were black. They had come to the feet of stony hills, and their pace was slower, for the trail was no longer easy to follow. Here the highlands of the Emyn Muil ran from North to South in two long tumbled ridges. The western side of each ridge was steep and difficult, but the eastward slopes were gentler, furrowed with many gullies and narrow ravines. All night the three companions scrambled in this bony land, climbing to the crest of the first and tallest ridge, and down again into the darkness of a deep winding valley on the other side.

There in the still cool hour before dawn they rested for a brief space. The moon had long gone down before them, the stars glittered above them; the first light of day had not yet come over the dark hills behind. For the moment Aragorn was at a loss: the orc-trail had descended into the valley, but there it had vanished.

"Which way would they turn, do you think?" said Legolas. "Northward to take a straighter road to Isengard, or Fangorn, if that is their aim as you guess? Or southward to strike the Entwash?"

"They will not make for the river, whatever mark they aim at'' said Aragorn. "And unless there is much amiss in Rohan and the power of Saruman is greatly increased; they will take the shortest way that they can find over the fields of the Rohirrim. Let us search northwards!"

The dale ran like a stony trough between the ridged hills, and a trickling stream flowed among the boulders at the bottom. A cliff frowned upon their right; to their left rose grey slopes, dim and shadowy in the late night. They went on for a mile or more northwards. Aragorn was searching. bent towards the ground, among the folds and gullies leading up into the western ridge. Legolas was some way ahead. Suddenly the Elf gave a cry and the others came running towards him.

"We have already overtaken some of those that we are hunting," he said. "Look!" He pointed, and they saw that what they had at first taken to be boulders lying at the foot of the slope were huddled bodies. Five dead Orcs lay there. They had been hewn with many cruel strokes, and two had been beheaded. The ground was wet with their dark blood.

"Here is another riddle!" said Gimli. "But it needs the light of day and for that we cannot wait."

"Yet however you read it, it seems not unhopeful," said Legolas. "Enemies of the Orcs are likely to be our friends. Do any folk dwell in these hills?"

"No," said Aragorn. "The Rohirrim seldom come here, and it is far from Minas Tirith. It might be that some company of Men were hunting here for reasons that we do not know. Yet I think not."

"What do you think?" said Gimli.

"I think that the enemy brought his own enemy with him," answered Aragorn. "These are Northern Orcs from far away. Among the slain are none of the great Orcs with the strange badges. There was a quarrel, I guess: it is no uncommon thing with these foul folk. Maybe there was some dispute about the road."

"Or about the captives," said Gimli. "Let us hope that they, too, did not meet their end here."

Aragorn searched the ground in a wide circle, but no other traces of the fight could be found. They went on. Already the eastward sky was turning pale; the stars were fading, and a grey light was slowly growing. A little further north they came to a fold in which a tiny stream, falling and winding, had cut a stony path down into the valley. In it some bushes grew, and there were patches of grass upon its sides.

"At last!" said Aragorn. "Here are the tracks that we seek! Up this water-channel: this is the way that the Orcs went after their debate."

Swiftly now the pursuers turned and followed the new path. As if fresh from a night's rest they sprang from stone to stone. At last they reached the crest of the grey hill, and a sudden breeze blew in their hair and stirred their cloaks: the chill wind of dawn.

Turning back they saw across the River the far hills kindled. Day leaped into the sky. The red rim of the sun rose over the shoulders of the dark land. Before them in the West the world lay still, formless and grey; but even as they looked, the shadows of night melted, the colours of the waking earth returned: green flowed over the wide meads of Rohan; the white mists shimmered in the watervales; and far off to the left, thirty leagues or more, blue and purple stood the White Mountains, rising into peaks of jet, tipped with glimmering snows, flushed with the rose of morning.