Hurled through the storm like driftwood, Sylas's stomach lurched. He clenched his jaw, fighting back the bile rising in his throat.
"Róstámo!" he shouted into the roaring gale. "There must be sothing you can do!"
The Blue Wizard cradled his half-conscious companion Morinehtar against the buffeting winds. Though his lips did not move, his voice rang clearly inside Sylas's mind: "Protect Morinehtar. Release outside the barrier. I will break the storm."
Sylas's eyes widened. "Are you certain? The wind will tear you apart!"
But Róstámo's answer carried no hesitation.
Trusting him, Sylas willed open the shield. In an instant, the Blue Wizard was snatched by the storm like a leaf, flung and spun in the whirling dark. Sylas's heart clenched at the sight.
Then a chant rose above the howl of the tornado, soft but steady, ancient words rolling like thunder. A sudden blaze of light erupted from the eye of the storm.
With a sound like mountains breaking, a shockwave burst outward. The tornado shuddered, split in two, and collapsed. A vast vacuum yawned in its place.
At its center, Róstámo floated, staff in hand. His blue robe was shredded to ribbons, his body streaked with cuts, but his eyes burned with defiance.
The storm gave way, and he plumted. Sylas dove, dragging Morinehtar with him, and flung open the shield. He caught Róstámo within its protective do and slowed their descent with a charm, lowering them gently to the shattered ground.
But there was no ti to breathe. Shadows surged.
Saruman advanced, his staff gleaming with malice, while the three Ringwraiths closed in, their morgul blades whispering death. His voice rolled like poisoned honey, heavy with compulsion:
"Give up, Sylas. You are trapped, a beast in a cage, clawing at bars you cannot break…"
The words pressed against Sylas's mind, but they shattered on the walls of his Occluncy. His fortress of thought held firm. He even raised the Horn of Victory and blew a note so pure it split the enchantnt. Saruman's spell recoiled, and the White Wizard's expression soured.
Then Róstámo stepped forward, staff alight. "Your quarrel is with , Curunír!"
In Sylas's mind, his companion's voice urged, urgent as a tolling bell: "Take Morinehtar and go. He will not survive here. I will hold them back."
Sylas's throat tightened. "And what of you?"
"We cannot linger. Darkness stirs, the longer we remain, the fewer chances to escape. He is coming!" Róstámo's gaze turned north, towards Mordor, where even the air trembled. Fear and dread shadowed his features. "Go now! Take Morinehtar, and when the ti is right, find aid to free ." Googlᴇ search noveⅼfire
A thunder of hooves shook the earth. Norlimar, the great white ox, charged through the battlefield, scattering Orcs and Haradrim like reeds. Róstámo lifted Morinehtar onto its back.
"Sylas, do not look back!" he cried, and with a surge of power he flung himself at Saruman and the Ringwraiths. Blue fire leapt from his staff, striking like a storm, as he stood alone to buy them ti.
Sylas's chest ached, torn between loyalty and reason, but he grasped the reins of the ox and urged Morinehtar onward.
Behind them, Saruman's laughter rolled. "So that is your play, Róstámo? To sacrifice yourself? Fool. None of you will leave alive!"
The White Wizard unleashed his fury, bearing down on the Blue Wizard with crushing might. The three Ringwraiths, their forms streaming shadow, surged past him, blades raised, straight for Sylas and Morinehtar.
Sylas did not allow himself a mont's carelessness. He drew the Phial of Eärendil, the little light that glowed like a captured star, summoned its power into his palm, and let it blaze. The holy radiance poured out like dawn breaking, and the three Ringwraiths staggered back, blinded and restrained by the sacred light. For creatures shaped by darkness, even a brief taste of starlight was terrible to bear.
Seizing the mont, Sylas took Morinehtar and fled. Saruman, furious at the escape, surged to intercept them, but Róstámo threw himself in the White Wizard's path and held the line with everything he had. For a ti the air trembled with explosive magic; Minas Harad shuddered and cracked as spell after spell t spell. Haradrim and Orcs scattered, scrambling away from the collapsing battlents.
Then, as if soone had cut the world's breath, the shouts and screams fell eerily silent. The wind died. Night closed in like ink. A cold, crushing pressure settled on everyone's chests, as though a great stone had been placed upon the world. Thousand-voiced whispers slithered into ears, hissing promises of despair, a thousand slimy worms of seduction trying to burrow into minds and eat them from the inside.
Morinehtar lay on the ox's back, pale and trembling. "He… he has co," he croaked, voice raw with terror.
The duel between Róstámo and Saruman froze. Saruman's face split with triumph and frustration, delighted that reinforcents had co, yet annoyed they had not arrived sooner.
Róstámo's expression was only dread and stern sorrow; he pushed himself to move toward Sylas and Morinehtar, straining to stand with them against the approaching shadow.
Darkness tore open in the sky: a vertical rift like a great slit-eye, its rim writhing with living shadow. From it a shape spilled, a faceless, humanoid silhouette of absolute blackness that swallowed light and hope. Two tiny points of crimson, like old, coals, blinked within the void where a face might be.
The three Ringwraiths dropped to their knees before that shape. Even Saruman bowed, though his bow was cramped with resentnt. One na left Róstámo's lips like a broken thing: "Sauron."
Sylas felt the air tighten. This was no far-off, symbolic Eye; the figure before them was Sauron made manifest, his true presence, drawn into the world. The voice that poured into their ears was silk and poison: seductive, corrosive, promising power in exchange for surrender.
"White Wizard Saruman, Blue Wizards Morinehtar and Róstámo, and the Black Wizard Sylas," the voice murmured, every syllable a hundred whispers. "What a gathering of old acquaintances. Morinehtar, Róstámo, how tirelessly you have troubled in the East. For a thousand years you have stirred rebellion and loosened my grasp."
Sauron's red lights scanned them, appraising. "Yet I admire you for your cunning. Submit to , and I will spare your work; I will make you kings of the East. Join , and together we will remold the world."
His words wove through their minds like wet fingers seeking a gap in the door. Sorcery of persuasion, subtle and patient, hunted for any weakness.
Róstámo t that voice with steel in his heart. He braced the wards of his mind and answered, voice hard as granite: "You will not bend us, Sauron, servant of Morgoth. You are a shadow that pretends to be a god; you will fail."
"Is that so?" Sauron's voice rolled like thunder softened into mockery, smooth and amused. "But your companion… does not seem so steadfast."
Róstámo stiffened. A chill gripped him as he spun toward Morinehtar.
The Blue Wizard lay slumped on the ox's back, his face twisted by tornt. At one mont his gaze was clear, the next clouded with frenzy, as though two wills battled within him. His lips trembled, muttering half-ford words.
"No…" Róstámo rushed forward, clutching his friend by the shoulders. "Morinehtar, hold fast! Do not yield, resist him!"
Morinehtar's eyes flickered with desperate light, but his body shook with the strain. His spirit, battered by torture and exhaustion, could not withstand the corrosive tide of Sauron's will. The shadow was seeping into him, corroding him inch by inch.
With a voice ragged and broken, he cried, "Róstámo… kill ! Kill before I fall! Don't let be his pawn!"
The plea pierced Róstámo like a blade. His hands trembled; never could he raise his staff against his dearest friend. Yet he knew the danger. If Morinehtar yielded, another Blue Wizard would be twisted into a weapon of the Enemy.
"No! I will not let you fall!" Róstámo shouted, pouring the last reserves of his strength into his friend's mind. His spirit flared like a shield of blue light, a wall of sheer willpower pressed against the crushing tide of Sauron's corruption.
Morinehtar sagged against him, still trembling, but the advance of the darkness slowed.
Sauron, towering in shadow, made no move to interrupt. If anything, he seed almost entertained, the faint curve of amusent twisting through his voice.
"Yes… good. Empty yourself to protect him. Drain away your spirit, your fire, your strength. The weaker you grow, the sooner you will both be mine."
The malice in his words was a blade wrapped in honey. Róstámo gritted his teeth, feeling his soul burn as he fought to shield Morinehtar.
With the Blue Wizards consud by their own desperate struggle, Sauron's gaze drifted elsewhere. His eyes of crimson fla turned toward Sylas.
"You," he said, the word stretching out like a sentence passed. "An intruder outside the weave of fate. Again and again you upset my design. And yet you remain an enigma. Let see what secrets you truly possess."
Reviews
All reviews (0)