Book 3: Where It Ends [Legolas]

Chapter 11

It was so cold one could see their breath in front of them. They walked with quiet footsteps to creep through the fog that covered them from the waist down. All of their weapons were drawn. Holding them at the ready for any attack that may appear from the shadows. There were cracks in the ceiling and along the high walls that offered them some light, tinting green by the time it reached them far below. The Ranger found an abandoned torch hanging on the wall covered in cobwebs as he pulled it free to light it and help guide their way. Legolas studied the wisps of the mist that seemed to be reaching up from below.

"What is it?" Gimli whispered. "What do you see?"

"I see shapes of men," the Elf answered. "And of horses."

"Where?" he asked.

Whirling around, the Dwarf tried to see what he saw without success.

"Pale banners like shreds of cloud. Spears rise, like winter-thickets through a shroud of mist."

Linnéa didn't like the sound of that, watching as his brows narrowed.

"The Dead are following," he relayed. "They have been summoned."

"The Dead? Summoned?" Gimli questioned. The alarm in his voice made it raise an octave before trying to play it off, "I knew that. Very good. Very good."

However, the warrior paused during his monologue, realizing he fell behind. Gimli rushed to catch up, shouting, "Milady! Legolas!"

"Do not linger, Gimli," the princess stated once he appeared at her side.

"I do not plan on it."

The mist grew thicker, unable to see the floor or their feet. The ground became uneven, making it difficult to step and try not to trip over loose pieces. Linnéa felt the tendrils of the mist curl around her elbows and reach for the shoulders. But their grip passed right through her body as her eyes scanned the walls around them carefully. They should be worried about an attack from below where they were blind. However, all needed to leave it to chance that nothing bad would happen.

Meanwhile, Gimli had his hands full being more eye level with the mist. A clawed hand reached for the Dwarf out of the corner of his eye. Blowing on the wisps to shoo it away, the ghostly limb slightly altered, but merely continued its path. This caused the warrior to blow harder until it finally disappeared. However, the dead were persistent. Another reached around from the other side. Repeating his action with vigor, the Dwarf used his ax and hands this time to break it all up.

Suddenly, crack-ing sounds came from below their feet. The company paused and shared a look between each other in wonder as to what caused it. Finally, Aragorn chanced a glance down realizing the mist parted a bit to give him a slight view of what they were walking on.

"Do not look down," he whispered between clenched teeth.

Gimli shifted his weight to hear another crunch under them.

"I already have a good idea what this might be..." Linnéa muttered out.

The Dwarf couldn't help himself. He slowly peeked down to find that the bones of the dead littered the once rocky surface beneath the thick fog. There was no way to avoid them as he attempted to take small, slow steps. But the noise was unavoidable. He rushed past the others.

"This is almost as bad as Moira..." Linnéa muttered. Shaking an arm the movement caused a ghostly arm to fall away.

"We're getting closer," Legolas said.