The company approached the cave, though in the end Miquella decided not to go inside. The stench wafting out convinced him to remain outside, preferring instead to spend the time with his beloved spirit steed.
Gandalf didn't enter either. Not because he lacked interest, but because he had more pressing matters to attend to.
"Miquella…" he called, trying to catch the demigod's attention.
"Mm-hm…" Miquella replied without looking at him, busy feeding Torrent an apple from atop his back. The task was awkward, since he had to hang from one of the horse's horns to reach the fruit, but he managed it. And truthfully, once mounted, he had no intention whatsoever of climbing down.
"About those runes…" the wizard began, weighing his words. They weren't a weapon to be dismissed; on the contrary, they could be very useful in the right hands. What worried him was that such power, in the wrong hands, could become dangerous.
"Don't worry… Olórin," Miquella said with a neutral tone.
Gandalf's eyes widened at the sound of that name, startled and suddenly alert.
"Do not fear my actions. Not long ago, I had a meeting with an old acquaintance of yours and… let's just say we reached an understanding. I don't think you need to be concerned. I know well what should and shouldn't be done… or at least I try," Miquella added, glancing up only once to gauge the Maia's reaction.
"M… meeting?" Gandalf stammered, caught between surprise, suspicion, and confusion.
"Nothing that should concern you right now…" Miquella replied, just before they were interrupted.
"Gandalf!" Thorin called, emerging from the cave with two swords covered in cobwebs. "Do you recognize these blades? They don't look like the work of trolls."
Olórin felt it was a terrible moment to cut off the conversation. He wanted answers, but sensed that if his suspicions were right, this wasn't a matter to discuss in front of anyone, not even the dwarven prince. So he stayed silent and took the swords to examine them.
"These weapons were forged in Gondolin, by the High Elves of the First Age," he explained, recognizing the ancient runes etched into the metal.
Thorin frowned at that, studying the sword in his hand before looking at Miquella, considering an idea.
"Miquella… what do you think of this sword? Do you think I could trade it for one of those runes?" he asked in a bargaining tone. To him, an Elden rune was worth far more than any elven relic.
"Do you have a troll to use?" Miquella shot back. When the dwarf remained silent, he continued. "With the right resources, time, and energy, I could make a rune for all of you… but it's not something I can do right now. Don't be stubborn—use that sword. You never know when you'll need it."
At that moment, wolf howls rang out in the distance—coming, to everyone's unease, from the direction of the camp they had left behind.
The wizard, the Empyrean, and the dwarven prince weren't the only ones to hear it; soon others came running toward them.
"Damn it, our camps!" Gloin cried.
"Our ponies and supplies!" Ori added, pointing out the real problem.
"We have to go!" several dwarves shouted, raising their weapons.
"Stop!" Gandalf's voice rang with authority as he halted them with his staff. Then he fixed his gaze toward the direction of the howls. "There are… many," he added gravely, surprised by their sheer number. Just from the echo in the wind, he already counted hundreds of wolves; perhaps not all gathered, but still more than they could handle.
"And what do we do?" Balin asked, running a hand over his head. "All our provisions are there… and even without them, they'll catch us quickly if we go on foot."
"I'll go," said Miquella, adjusting himself on Torrent.
"I'll go with you, my lord," Leda stepped forward, sensing his master intended to go alone and determined to stop him. "Don't go alone…" he whispered, almost pleading.
"My things are in the cart and I don't intend to leave them. And don't worry… with Torrent, it will be as swift and smooth as the breeze itself. Stay here or start moving, I'll catch up. That's an order!" Miquella finished sharply, noticing Leda and others were about to protest.
Without giving them more time, he seized the reins and gave the signal. Torrent burst into a gallop… but, to everyone's astonishment, soon leapt high into the air, followed by another bound without even touching the ground. Only then did some notice the faint glow of Miquella's ring, channeling energy into the steed, who now glided through the skies with elegance, heading straight for the attacked camp. No one could look away, jaws agape at the sight.
"Can it fly?" Bilbo asked in disbelief.
"It can fly!?" several dwarves echoed in unison.
"Well… now I am a bit jealous," Dwalin muttered, eyes fixed on Torrent's airborne strides.
"Don't waste time," Gandalf urged. Though equally impressed, he was already used to the Eldens surprising him over and over again. "We must take advantage and move. Miquella may distract them; we need to advance."
The wizard took the lead and everyone began to move, calling for the rest. Even those who had just left the cave after making a "long-term deposit" of troll treasure were dragged along to join the march. Gandalf, with his long strides and knowledge of the road, set the pace.
Not long after they left the cave, a thunderous explosion shook the air. Instinctively, everyone turned toward where Miquella should be and saw fireballs rising into the sky before crashing back down, as though a volcano had suddenly awakened. The ground itself seemed to quake.
"My lord…" Leda murmured under his breath before resuming the march. Though he longed to run to him and make sure he was safe, he dared not disobey the order he had been given.
The other dwarves soon recovered as well, even those who couldn't help but recall the flames of the dragon that had destroyed their home decades ago. They pressed onward, at least until they saw Dane leap and execute a spinning kick in midair, knocking down the driver of a rabbit-drawn sled racing past them.
Hornsent and Ansbach reacted immediately, unsheathing their weapons and pressing them to the stranger's throat. Their blades would have already done their work were it not for three reasons: first, the individual looked to be an old man; second, he didn't appear to belong to the enemy's ranks; and third, he was pleading nonstop for mercy, babbling incoherently.
"Mercy… killers… fire…!" Radagast stammered, raising his hands in surrender.
"Radagast?!" Gandalf exclaimed, recognizing him. "Lower your weapons, he's a friend," he ordered the Eldens, who withdrew as he approached. "Radagast, what are you doing here?"
"Gandalf… oh, Gandalf…" the Brown Wizard sighed in relief, standing while casting a resentful and wary look toward the Eldens who had knocked him down. "I was looking for you. I came to warn you… terrible things are happening."
"I regret spoiling your heartfelt reunion, but orcs are still on our tail," Thorin cut in, glancing back at new howls—organized ones this time, not chaotic as after the explosion.
"Get up, Radagast. You'll tell us on the way," Gandalf said, helping his companion to his feet. "We're being pursued by orcs and wargs."
"That's what I came to talk about…" Radagast replied, straightening his fallen hat and picking up his staff. Then he whistled for his rabbits. "Something is happening with the orcs: they're gathering, and their stronghold is Dol Guldur."
"Dol Guldur…" Gandalf repeated, well aware of the evils that had ruled there and what might now be lurking in its shadows.
"Orcs, spiders, goblins… everything seems to be moving toward a dark purpose. Greenwood feels sick, poisoned. Something… something very frightening has arisen. Death looms from the south, and certain waters now carry… a red death that kills and corrupts everything it touches," he explained tensely, climbing into his sled which had just arrived. "I also found this in Dol Guldur…" he added, producing a blade wrapped in white cloth. When uncovered, it revealed a Morgul steel sword. "I fear… the Nine have already been summoned."
"Someone's coming!" Killian shouted from atop a rock.
Their rush to depart was interrupted. Everyone turned, tense, weapons at the ready, fearing the meddling of this wandering wizard had ruined their chances of escape.
But then, through the tension, they saw a lone figure approaching quickly.
"It's Miquella," Bilbo said with a smile, relieved to see he was unharmed… and that it wasn't a horde of orcs ready to flay them.
Torrent soon arrived at the center of the group, panting but showing no weakness, as though he could keep running much longer if asked. Miquella patted him; he too was out of breath and, if one looked closely, bore small cuts and scratches on his clothes and skin, though none serious.
"My lord!" Leda asked, alarmed and worried. "Are you all right?"
"There were…" Miquella broke off with a gasp, "…too many…" he finished, breathing heavily, as if the adrenaline was wearing off and exhaustion was catching up with him. "I had to use my big Glimstone rock," he said with a mix of regret and resignation at having lost his largest stone.
"Yes, we saw it. It was impressive," Gloin commented, still excited.
"But we're not out of danger yet," Miquella quickly added, trying to ignore his fatigue. "They weren't all together, so the explosion only cut down part of their forces. There are still many left. I tried to lose them, but soon they'll follow the trail with their wolves and find us… keep moving."
"We won't get far," Dwalin muttered, mentally calculating their odds of escape.
"Then we fight," Freya said, her thirst for battle not even quenched by the trolls.
"I can buy you time," Radagast offered from his sled. "I can distract them while you escape."
The Brown Wizard didn't hesitate. Yes, they had knocked him down and nearly decapitated him earlier, but at heart he was noble, and he would not let his companions suffer if he could prevent it. Besides, he still needed Gandalf's help with the plight of his beloved forest.
"I can help with that too," Miquella said, showing a pouch he had retrieved. Not the one containing little Ranni, but the other, full of Glimstone. "I have enough to whittle their numbers down bit by bit. Advance as far as you can; when fewer remain, we'll try to finish them off."
Radagast didn't respond immediately; he had frozen, staring more closely at Miquella. First, his eyes fell on the steed—which, as a lover of animals, piqued his curiosity—but then, when he looked at the demigod, he noticed the same thing Gandalf had before.
"Gandalf! Gandalf! He…" he exclaimed, tugging at the Grey Wizard's robe.
"Yes, Radagast, and it's more complicated than it looks… consider him a colleague," Gandalf replied, unsure how to summarize the story. There was no time, and any explanation would be too long. The misunderstanding was inevitable: Radagast assumed Miquella was another Maia come to Middle-earth to face the growing threat.
"Come on, old fool, there are orcs to confuse," Miquella said as he ordered his followers forward and spoke of their next destination: Rivendell.
Radagast cracked his reins, and the rabbits darted off in the opposite direction of the group. Very close behind followed Miquella on Torrent, channeling a Glimstone in his hand for the next spell.
The dwarves and the Elden pressed on without stopping, determined to reach their destination. Now all knew they were heading for Rivendell, and though it was not to the dwarves' liking, no one protested.
This was different from the movie Miquella had once seen before becoming who he was. The number of orcs was overwhelming, and the dwarves were no fools—not even Thorin, for all his rancor. Better to fall into the hands of a disagreeable ally than a merciless enemy. Perhaps, if it were only the dwarves, they might have preferred to die fighting rather than seek refuge with the elves. But the Elden were now part of the company, and their choices carried weight… much to the fortune of the Grey Wizard's plans.
And it was a great decision. At one point, the company could see with their own eyes what Miquella and Radagast were facing: a horde of orcs sweeping over the land like a black tide, perhaps a hundred mounted on wargs. Without the speed of Rhosgobel's rabbits and Torrent, what they were doing would have been impossible… but best of all, they were doing it exceptionally well.
Radagast turned out to be an excellent distraction: his rabbits darted with impossible agility, taking sharp turns that threw the wolves into disarray. In those moments, Miquella took the chance to unleash projectiles, firebursts, or bolts of energy, cutting down enemy ranks one by one. It was slow, dangerous work—their foes' arrows rained down without pause—but the plan was working.