jrt.fellowshipofring-第55节

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nce　that　far　cry　they　had　seen　and　heard　no　sign　that　the　enemy　had　marked　their　flight　or　followed　them。　They　dreaded　the　dark　hours；　and　kept　watch　in　pairs　by　night；　expecting　at　any　time　to　see　black　shapes　stalking　in　the　grey　night；　dimly　lit　by　the　cloud…veiled　moon；　but　they　saw　nothing；　and　heard　no　sound　but　the　sigh　of　withered　leaves　and　grass。　Not　once　did　they　feel　the　sense　of　present　evil　that　had　assailed　them　before　the　attack　in　the　dell。　It　seemed　too　much　to　hope　that　the　Riders　had　already　lost　their　trail　again。　Perhaps　they　were　waiting　to　make　some　ambush　in　a　narrow　place？
　　　At　the　end　of　the　fifth　day　the　ground　began　once　more　to　rise　slowly　out　of　the　wide　shallow　valley　into　which　they　had　descended。　Strider　now　turned　their　course　again　north…eastwards；　and　on　the　sixth　day　they　reached　the　top　of　a　long　slow…climbing　slope；　and　saw　far　ahead　a　huddle　of　wooded　hills。　Away　below　them　they　could　see　the　Road　sweeping　round　the　feet　of　the　hills；　and　to　their　right　a　grey　river　gleamed　pale　in　the　thin　sunshine。　In　the　distance　they　glimpsed　yet　another　river　in　a　stony　valley　half…veiled　in　mist。
　　　〃I　am　afraid　we　must　go　back　to　the　Road　here　for　a　while；'　said　Strider。　'We　have　now　e　to　the　River　Hoarwell；　that　the　Elves　call　Mitheithel。　It　flows　down　out　of　the　Ettenmoors；　the　troll…fells　north　of　Rivendell；　and　joins　the　Loudwater　away　in　the　South。　Some　call　it　the　Greyflood　after　that。　It　is　a　great　water　before　it　finds　the　Sea。　There　is　no　way　over　it　below　its　sources　in　the　Ettenmoors；　except　by　the　Last　Bridge　on　which　the　Road　crosses。'
　　　'What　is　that　other　river　we　can　see　far　away　there？'　asked　Merry。
　　　'That　is　Loudwater；　the　Bruinen　of　Rivendell；'　answered　Strider。　'The　Road　runs　along　the　edge　of　the　hills　for　many　miles　from　the　Bridge　to　the　Ford　of　Bruinen。　But　I　have　not　yet　thought　how　we　shall　cross　that　water。　One　river　at　a　time！　We　shall　be　fortunate　indeed　if　we　do　not　find　the　Last　Bridge　held　against　us。'
　　　Next　day；　early　in　the　morning；　they　came　down　again　to　the　borders　of　the　Road。　Sam　and　Strider　went　forward；　but　they　found　no　sign　of　any　travellers　or　riders。　Here　under　the　shadow　of　the　hills　there　had　been　some　rain。　Strider　judged　that　it　had　fallen　two　days　before；　and　had　washed　away　all　footprints。　No　horseman　had　passed　since　then；　as　far　as　he　could　see。
　　　They　hurried　along　with　all　the　speed　they　could　make；　and　after　a　mile　or　two　they　saw　the　Last　Bridge　ahead；　at　the　bottom　of　a　short　steep　slope。　They　dreaded　to　see　black　figures　waiting　there；　but　they　saw　none。　Strider　made　them　take　cover　in　a　thicket　at　the　side　of　the　Road；　while　he　went　forward　to　explore。
　　　Before　long　he　came　hurrying　back。　'I　can　see　no　sign　of　the　enemy；'　he　said；　'and　I　wonder　very　much　what　that　means。　But　I　have　found　something　very　strange。'
　　　He　held　out　his　hand；　and　showed　a　single　pale…green　jewel。　'I　found　it　in　the　mud　in　the　middle　of　the　Bridge；'　he　said。　'It　is　a　beryl；　an　elf…stone。　Whether　it　was　set　there；　or　let　fall　by　chance；　I　cannot　say；　but　it　brings　hope　to　me。　I　will　take　it　as　a　sign　that　we　may　pass　the　Bridge；　but　beyond　that　I　dare　not　keep　to　the　Road；　without　some　clearer　token。'
　　　At　once　they　went　on　again。　They　crossed　the　Bridge　in　safety；　hearing　no　sound　but　the　water　swirling　against　its　three　great　arches。　A　mile　further　on　they　came　to　a　narrow　ravine　that　led　away　northwards　through　the　steep　lands　on　the　left　of　the　Road。　Here　Strider　turned　aside；　and　soon　they　were　lost　in　a　sombre　country　of　dark　trees　winding　among　the　feet　of　sullen　hills。
　　　The　hobbits　were　glad　to　leave　the　cheerless　lands　and　the　perilous　Road　behind　them；　but　this　new　country　seemed　threatening　and　unfriendly。　As　they　went　forward　the　hills　about　them　steadily　rose。　Here　and　there　upon　heights　and　ridges　they　caught　glimpses　of　ancient　walls　of　stone；　and　the　ruins　of　towers：　they　had　an　ominous　look。　Frodo；　who　was　not　walking；　had　time　to　gaze　ahead　and　to　think。　He　recalled　Bilbo's　account　of　his　journey　and　the　threatening　towers　on　the　hills　north　of　the　Road；　in　the　country　near　the　Troll's　wood　where　his　first　serious　adventure　had　happened。　Frodo　guessed　that　they　were　now　in　the　same　region；　and　wondered　if　by　chance　they　would　pass　near　the　spot。
　　　'Who　lives　in　this　land？'　he　asked。　'And　who　built　these　towers？　Is　this　troll…country？'
　　　'No！'　said　Strider。　'Trolls　do　not　build。　No　one　lives　in　this　land。　Men　once　dwelt　here；　ages　ago；　but　none　remain　now。　They　became　an　evil　people；　as　legends　tell；　for　they　fell　under　the　shadow　of　Angmar。　But　all　were　destroyed　in　the　war　that　brought　the　North　Kingdom　to　its　end。　But　that　is　now　so　long　ago　that　the　hills　have　forgotten　them；　though　a　shadow　still　lies　on　the　land。'
　　　'Where　did　you　learn　such　tales；　if　all　the　land　is　empty　and　forgetful？'　asked　Peregrin。　'The　birds　and　beasts　do　not　tell　tales　of　that　son。'
　　　'The　heirs　of　Elendil　do　not　forget　all　things　past；'　said　Strider；　'and　many　more　things　than　I　can　tell　are　remembered　in　Rivendell。'　'Have　you　often　been　to　Rivendell？'　said　Frodo。　'I　have；'　said　Strider。　'I　dwelt　there　once；　and　still　I　return　when　I　may。
　　　There　my　heart　is；　but　it　is　not　my　fate　to　sit　in　peace；　even　in　the　fair　house　of　Elrond。'
　　　The　hills　now　began　to　shut　them　in。　The　Road　behind　held　on　its　way　to　the　River　Bruinen；　but　both　were　now　hidden　from　view。　The　travellers　came　into　a　long　valley；　narrow；　deeply　cloven；　dark　and　silent。　Trees　with　old　and　twisted　roots　hung　over　cliffs；　and　piled　up　behind　into　mounting　slopes　of　pine…wood。
　　　The　hobbits　grew　very　weary。　They　advanced　slowly；　for　they　had　to　pick　their　way　through　a　pathless　country；　encumbered　by　fallen　trees　and　tumbled　rocks。　As　long　as　they　could　they　avoided　climbing　for　Frodo's　sake；　and　because　it　was　in　fact　difficult　to　find　any　way　up　out　of　the　narrow　dales。　They　had　been　two　days　in　this　country　when　the　weather　turned　wet。　The　wind　began　to　blow　steadily　out　of　the　West　and　pour　the　water　of　the　distant　seas　on　the　dark　heads　of　the　hills　in　fine　drenching　rain。　By　nightfall　they　were　all　soaked；　and　their　camp　was　cheerless；　for　they　could　not　get　any　fire　to　burn。　The　next　day　the　hills　rose　still　higher　and　steeper　before　them；　and　they　were　forced　to　turn　away　northwards　out　of　their　course。　Strider　seemed　to　be　getting　anxious：　they　were　nearly　ten　days　out　from　Weathertop；　and　their　stock　of　provisions　was　beginning　to　run　low。　It　went　on　raining。
　　　That　night　they　camped　on　a　stony　shelf　with　a　rock…wall　behind　them；　in　which　there　was　a　shallow　cave；　a　mere　scoop　in　the　cliff。　Frodo　was　restless。　The　cold　and　wet　had　made　his　wound　more　painful　than　ever；　and　the　ache　and　sense　of　deadly　chill　took　away　all　sleep。　He　lay　tossing　and　turning　and　listening　fearfully　to　the　stealthy　night…noises：　wind　in　chinks　of　rock；　water　dripping；　a　crack；　the　sudden　rattling　fall　of　a　loosened　stone。　He　felt　that　black　shapes　were　advancing　to　smother　him；　but　when　he　sat　up　he　saw　nothing　but　the　back　of　Strider　sitting　hunched　up；　smoking　his　pipe；　and　watching。　He　lay　down　again　and　passed　into　an　uneasy　dream；　in　which　he　walked　on　the　grass　in　his　garden　in　the　Shire；　but　it　seemed　faint　and　dim；　less　clear　than　the　tall　black　shadows　that　stood　looking　over　the　hedge。
　　　In　the　morning　he　woke　to　find　that　the　rain　had　stopped。　The　clouds　were　still　thick；　but　they　were　breaking；　and　pale　strips　of　blue　appeared　between　them。　The　wind　was　shifting　again。　They　did　not　start　early。　Immediately　after　their　cold　and　fortless　breakfast　Strider　went　off　alone；　telling　the　others　to　remain　under　the　shelter　of　the　cliff；　until　he　came　back。　He　was　going　to　climb　up；　if　he　could；　and　get　a　look　at　the　lie　of　the　land。
　　　When　he　returned　he　was　not　reassuring。　'We　have　e　too　far　to　the　north；'　he　said；　'and　we　must　find　some　way　to　turn　back　southwards　again。　If　we　keep　on　as　we　are　going　we　shall　get　up　into　the　Ettendales　far　north　of　Rivendell。　That　is　troll…country；　and　little　known　to　me。　We　could　perhaps　find　our　way　through　and　e　round　to　Rivendell　from　the　north；　but　it　would　take　too　long；　for　I　do　not　know　the　way；　and　our　food　would　not　last。　So　somehow　or　other　we　must　find　the　Ford　of　Bruinen。'
　　　The　rest　of　that　day　they　spent　scrambling　over　rocky　ground。　They　found　a　passage　between　two　hills　that　led　them　into　a　valley　running　south…east；　the　direction　that　they　wished　to　take；　but　towards　the　end　of　the　day　they　found　their　road　again　barred　by　a　ridge　of　high　land；　its　dark　edge　against　the　sky　was　broken　into　many　bare　points　like　teeth　of　a　blunted　saw。　They　had　a　choice　between　going　back　or　climbing　over　it。
　　　They　decided　to　attempt　the　climb；　but　it　proved　very　difficult。　Before　long　Frodo　was　obliged　to　dismount　and　struggle　along　on　foot。　Even　so　they　often　despaired　of　getting　their　pony　up；　or　indeed　of　finding　a　path　for　themselves；　burdened　as　they　were。　The　light　was　nearly　gone；　and　they　were　all　exhausted；　when　at　last　they　reached　the　top。　They　had　climbed　on　to　a　narrow　saddle　between　two　higher　points；　and　the　land　fell　steeply　away　again；　only　a　short　distance　ahead。　Frodo　threw　himself　down；　and　lay　on　the　ground　shivering。