The Sign of the Prancing Pony by Uvatha the Horseman

Nazgul on Hobbit Row

The alley tapered down to a narrow track that climbed the side of the hill through wild scrub-brush to the face of the granite cliff above them.

Khamul turned around. “Maybe we’ll have better luck on the next street over.”

“Not so fast.” Adunaphel held up the map. “This path is a shortcut to a lane full of houses.”

“Your path is a natural feature. I don’t think it goes anywhere.” But Adunaphel was already scrambling up. Khamul rolled his eyes and followed her.

It was a struggle to climb up the track, which was less of a path than a steep channel cut by rainwater around small boulders. In places, Khamul had to grip the trunk of a small bush to pull himself up. After a hundred paces, the trail leveled off and threaded between withy fences enclosing neat rows of cabbages.

They emerged at the end of a lane running along the cliff face. It stopped just before it met the Hedge. A row of round-windowed houses had been built along one side of the road, dug into the living rock itself. He’d never seen anything like it.

“Are you ready to knock on doors?” Adunaphel asked.

They approached the house closest to the trail head, the last on the row. It was unexpectedly small. The top of the round door came no higher than Khamul’s chest.

“Dwarves?” asked Adunaphel.

“I don’t think so. I didn’t see any Dwarves working in the blacksmith shop, so there probably aren’t any.”

“I don’t see anyone around at all. It’s the middle of the afternoon. I expect no one’s home.”

Khamul bent and knocked. There was no answer, but a curtain twitched and fell back.

“Or else they’re ignoring us,” said Adunaphel. “Let’s try the next house.”

An almost invisible footpath, a slight depression worn into the soil, ran from the end of the lane to the Hedge.

Khamul walked over to look.

Adunaphel was already moving down the lane. “Where are you going? The next house is this way.”

Khamul knelt in front of the Hedge. It was all thorns, the branches intertwined and tangled together. Against the granite, a a crawlway no more than knee-high ran through the base of the Hedge. A broken twig hung over it, the leaves not yet withered.

“There’s something here,” said Khamul.

Adunaphel came over to look. “I don’t see anything.”

“There’s a passage through the Hedge. And if I interpret the broken branches correctly, it’s been used in the last day or two. What do you suppose it’s for? People can go in and out the main gates whenever they want, at least during the day.”

Adunaphel threw up her hands. “That passageway was made by children. I doubt their parents even know of it. If they did, they would have blocked it up by now.”