Chapter 373: Back from the Outer Darkness.
Roar!
A thunderous bellow shook the heavens. The dark clouds over the Vale of Anduin were burned clean through, and sunlight poured down, falling upon the great dragon's fire-red scales and lending it a strange, almost sacred splendour.
"What is that?"
At the sight of a fire dragon in the sky, many who had never been to Roadside Keep fell into panic.
A Nazgûl's greatest threat lay in the fear it brought. Once that fear failed, it could never stand against a vast army for long.
But a dragon was different. Such a creature needed no other terror. Its own strength alone was enough to bring a kingdom to ruin.
The news of Lord Levi's disappearance had already spread, and many soldiers across the Free Cities were burning with anger. That fury smothered much of the Nazgûl's dread, robbing the Ringwraiths of much of their edge.
Just as the battlefield was turning, just as it seemed the great cleansing counterattack was within reach, a dragon arrived. Not merely a dragon, but the strongest kind, a fire-breather.
It caught everyone off guard.
On the other side, the Orcs were just as confused. Seeing a fire dragon join the fray, they could not tell which side it belonged to.
Only the three Nazgûl leading the host truly panicked.
A Dwarf swung his crossbow towards the dragon, trying to attack, but a seasoned defender beside him seized his arm.
"I have heard of it. That steady, mighty dragon is the guardian of Roadside Keep. His name is Beherdan."
"He is an ally."
As if to prove the words, Beherdan blasted flame into the sky at the three Nazgûl. In a single breath, two Ringwraiths dropped out of the air and turned to ash.
The third Nazgûl barely escaped the fire by diving lower, but it was already too late.
With the Nazgûl gone, the flames swept down from the sky to the ground, pouring over the Orcs and their beasts beyond the walls.
It was devastation. Utterly unstoppable.
After driving back the Orcs who had come surging from the south, from Dol Guldur and out of Moria, Beherdan's eyes shifted north.
There, several wingless fell-drakes, frightened out of the Northern Waste by someone's presence, had joined the Orc assault by instinctive malice. They had caused enormous trouble for the defenders and had nearly broken in.
From the walls, massive armour-piercing ballista bolts fired again and again. They could wound the creatures, but not kill them. The drakes were too cunning, always shielding their vital points.
To deal with those ground-drakes, three legion champions had even been redeployed, ready to leap down at the most dangerous moment and wrestle the monsters in close combat.
But now they would not be needed.
Something else could deal with them.
Beherdan dove.
A long, unbroken stream of flame poured from his jaws, and the wingless drakes screamed and rolled, scrambling away in frantic retreat.
Their scales were just as hard, and their bodies not much smaller. If it came to grappling on the ground, numbers would have decided it.
But one side could fly.
And one side could breathe fire hot enough to melt metal.
That was not a small advantage. That was a difference in kind.
The moment Beherdan entered the battlefield, the ending had already been written.
They could not escape.
At the same time, the defenders surged forward and began their great counterattack, striking the disordered Orc host head-on.
The battle was decided.
A fourth Nazgûl, newly arrived from Dol Guldur, took one look, abandoned the remnants left behind, and withdrew. It meant to carry the news back to its companions, those pressing the assault on the North and South Vales.
By ill fortune, it passed over a forest thick with yellow leaves, and something within seemed to call to it.
It did not even have time to descend.
An arrow took it first.
Then, as if the trees themselves had turned into thieves, a three-man ambush burst out and smashed it to pieces, mount and armour alike.
Disgraceful.
A craven trick.
That was the only word the Ringwraith could find as its form slipped away into darkness.
Of the three attackers, the Dwarf carried the heaviest weapon, yet somehow did the least damage.
The worst pain came from the two Men.
One wielded the King's sword, a blade that naturally restrained evil things.
The other used a strange iron sword. That was the strike that hurt most of all.
To run into those three truly was wretched luck.
The Nazgûl said nothing, only returned in silence to Mordor to await a new suit of special armour, so it could bind itself to it and rise again.
Meanwhile.
A mighty horn-call sounded from the forest, and the defenders of the North Vale answered it.
The Lord of the Eagles bore Gandalf to the Golden Wood, where Lady Galadriel received him. There she gave him a new staff, white as snow.
Gandalf took it and swung it twice. For some reason, it felt like it was not sharp enough.
Still, as a staff for casting, it was far better than the old one, and it would do.
At worst, it could be Enchanted later.
If Levi was back, that is.
Gandalf frowned, momentarily unsure.
Then he had no time left to think.
In the Golden Wood, he saw someone.
Saruman.
"He has been unconscious for many days," Galadriel explained. "He was already like this when we rescued him."
"First, the Nazgûl tormented him until he was weakened to the brink. Then the Enemy found the chance to draw him into the Shadow and twist him as it pleased. His condition is grievous."
"And he has broken a taboo. He has lost the right to lead as the White."
"For this reason…"
As she spoke, Galadriel handed Gandalf a white robe.
Gandalf accepted it solemnly.
"I know my new charge."
He put on the robe, stepped before Saruman's dust-caked form, and raised his staff high. Light fell down from the heights above.
Saruman writhed in pain, his expression twisted in torment.
At last, under the force of that fierce radiance, he tore free of the Shadow and opened his eyes.
"Gandalf, you…"
Saruman, drenched in sweat, stared at his old friend in shock.
He knew it.
His mission had failed.
He was unwilling. He was furious.
Yet he could only accept it.
For it was the will of the One.
"One has not returned," Galadriel said, looking to Gandalf. "What of him?"
Gandalf only frowned.
"It is complicated. Even now I cannot be certain, and there are things… difficult to believe."
"Not only for me. You would never guess it either. But if he does not speak of it himself, it is not for me to speculate."
"Still, he likely will…"
Speaking in riddles that left even Elves baffled, Gandalf suddenly turned his head and looked to the north-west, towards somewhere beyond the Misty Mountains.
"Oh. He is back."
…
Roadside Keep.
That day, the people lifted their heads and stared up at the heights above.
A gentle light appeared over Roadside Keep, curling around the Beacon's shining column and drifting down, down, until it touched a bed within the fortress.
Achievement unlocked: Back from the Outer Darkness.
Levi opened his eyes.