Eighteen: Three Hearts Afire

The army of wraiths was finally in sight, and Talion heard Ratbag curse softly behind him, though everyone else remained silent. Hûra had only exaggerated a little when he said it was horizon to horizon; from the ground it probably looked that way. But from the top of the Moonshadow tower, he could clearly see the jagged edges of the scattered ranks, and how far back they went.

Ratbag was right to curse.

Heavy footsteps came up the stairs behind him, and Bruz stepped out onto the lookout platform that ringed the top of the tower, the hellhawk on his shoulder seeming like a tiny songbird compared to his bulk. "Message from Serka, Boss," he rasped, holding out the sliver of paper, "The Vanishin' Sons made it to Coldharbour in time, an' they're fortifyin' the city as best they can just in case. An' Mozû ain't far behind 'em, but it's slow goin'."

"Thank you, Bruz. That's something, at least." He took the message - the paper only looked like a sliver in the Olog's huge hands - and read it, but it said the same. A moment later it was balefire and ash on the wind. "What about Názkûga and Seregost?"

"Nothin' yet, but if I know him, he's so busy workin' that he forgot to send a hellhawk."

"Send another to make sure he got our message, please. And request an update from Cirith Ungol and the other fortresses along the Morgul Pass, including Minas Morgul. I'm hoping it won't be nearly so dire, but they need to be ready for a fighting retreat into Gondor, and to head south toward the Harad lands."

"Can do." The Olog thudded off.

Az-Harto hummed behind the Ringwraith, Ratbag perched on his shoulder. "He has recovered well from your shaming, and does not seem to resent you for it."

"I don't actually know if he can resent me. He does seem more himself and he's not screaming about the fortress in Nurn anymore, but I hesitate to call him 'recovered'."

"Take the little victories where you can, Gravewalker. Like this one."

The Olog pointed, and Talion followed his gaze.

A speck of red between the thickening clouds resolved into Fëanor flying almost dangerously high, though she was already beginning a slow, angled spiral that would bring her down over the plateau of Gorgoroth to the city at the edge of the mountains.

Ioreth was alone on her back - and yet not alone at all.

His dead heart seized in his chest.

The Betrayer! Isildur's Ring nearly purred, and his hands flew up to cover his ears as if it actually did something to muffle the sound, Years of loyal friendship and service you gave him, but still he abandoned you in the dark for another, one lesser than you, left you to die cold and alone, and still he failed! Here at last is your chance to repay him in blood and pain!

"Shut up, you damned stupid thing, shut up!" Talion snarled at it, clawed gauntlets digging into his skin, his whole body doubling over as it shrieked in his mind and he tried to escape.

"Talion."

He didn't even look at whatever Idril handed him, just recognized the athelas pill by the shape of it between his fingers and threw it back, swallowed without even a drop of water to smooth the way. Even though his body could process everything faster, it would still take time for the concentration to work, to muffle the voice of the Ring - time they didn't have. "Come on."

They all headed down the long spiral stair to the actual citadel itself, where orcs and Men and Elves and dwarves were all running around preparing the last of their defenses. Yet the crowds parted for Talion and his companions at once and passed around them as they all kept working.

All the local captains and warchiefs and leaders, regardless of race, were gathered in one of the meeting halls, together with the visitors from Gondor and every member of the Dark and Mystic Tribes who made it to the city before the gates closed. Talion went to the head of the gathering, all eyes on him, and said, "I will not lie to you. This situation is dire. Two years ago, Sauron sent a hundred and thirty thousand orcs up against the White City of Gondor. Today, four times that number - more than five hundred thousand - are making their way here.

"But. Most of them are wraiths, spirits of the dead, and we have magic that can hold them back, or even turn them on their fellows." He inclined his head to the Mystic Tribe, who grinned and returned the gesture. "In addition, the other Ringwraiths - the Hammer and the Staff - will not be able to join the battle because all of their power is bent to sustaining their army." He looked to the Dark Tribe. "If anyone can but get behind enemy lines and find them, wound them, break their focus, even for a moment, it might be enough to cut the size of their army down, turn the tide in our favor."

There were more grins, and many of them pulled out various blades to start sharpening.

"But even more than any of that… the New Ring's power is greater than all of the Nine combined - and it's almost here."

There were three attempted assassinations in the next hour alone, but not one of them got close enough to even nick his skin. But he refused the advice of his warchiefs and joined the Mystic Tribe on the walls, the voice of the Ring smothered once again, letting him work freely to throw massive spell weaves out and turn or disperse huge numbers of the spirits.

It felt good to fight again, to throw fistful after fistful of balefire into the enemy without having to be mindful of where it fell, to not have to worry about chasing his foe away from homes and livelihoods, to cut the strings holding spirits and replace them with his own - but with many of these, there was no need to actually bind them again. The spirits of the Men but especially the Numenoreans were most eager to strike back at the orc-wraiths and the Nazgûl controlling them.

And then Fëanor got close enough for him to touch her mind through their bond.

Ioreth frowned when Fëanor stopped descending, instead maintaining her current altitude but picking up speed to take them past Moonshadow and into the Maegond Spur of the Ephel Dúath. "Fëanor? What's going on? Talion's there, not in Núrn!"

Fëanor? Celebrimbor repeated incredulously, Her name is Fëanor?

The drake rumbled under them, and impossibly, the New Ring made the sound into something they could understand. Talion says to circle around through the foothills and come in from behind, to avoid arrows fired up from the ground.

She used different "words" than that - Talion was Wingless-Master-of-Land-Not-Bloodkin-But-Still-Of-The-Nest, foothills was hard-earth-rock-spikes-smaller-than-other-hard-earth-rock-spikes, arrows was flying-piercing-pain-from-afar, among others - but the New Ring translated it into something they could parse the meaning of.

Wise, Celebrimbor said, If we were shot out of the sky and couldn't reach him - or were wounded and died, the New Ring might fall into the hands of the enemy instead, which would spell our doom - and likely everyone else's as well.

They could see Talion on the outer wall with his people, throwing spell after explosive spell into the hordes of wraiths trying to kill them all, and with the New Ring, Ioreth could see the spun thread of all the magic on the battlefield, the warp and weft of all the spells. The Hammer and the Staff were like burlap or sackcloth, thick and coarse, inexpert and inefficient; they were expending far too much energy trying to do the same thing that Talion was. He was like the fine cloth known as silk that she had seen a few times in court, the thread of his spells soft as down and slender as a spider's web but as strong as the earth itself, no wasted power or movement.

As terrible and horrifying as his dark, Ring-granted powers were, Ioreth could not deny that he was a master of the art.

And then they were in the mountains, Fëanor already angling her wings and body to bring them around and resume their descent. In minutes, Moonshadow was in sight again, and the drake pulled her wings in and sent them into a steep dive, aiming for one of the open courtyards in the city. Ioreth swallowed back a delighted and terrified cry as the world fell out from under them, wind whipping past.

Celebrimbor's joy sang through her as well; he and Talion had only flown together the once, with Carnán against the Balrog Tar Goroth, lending the nature spirit the strength of the New Ring-

Speak of the Nazgûl. A stream of green mist and bright leaves whipped past them at an even greater speed, and took the shape of a smaller fire drake made from thick bark and supple vines. Carnán shrieked. The cold metal Ring returns, together with its Maker! The circle is unbroken! Bring light to their abyss, and banish them forever!

She swooped over the buildings and spat a gout of balefire as big as Fëanor into the midst of the specters. They shrieked and burned and vanished entirely, the threads binding them snapping under the sheer power of the nature spirit.

There was a sharp whistle from below, and Fëanor looked, then rumbled. Talion says for you to fly with Earth-Mother Carnán and give her the strength of your Cold-Metal-Fire-Within Ring of Power, and together we will seek the Hole-In-The-World Ringwraiths. His own Cold-Metal will cause black-rot-pain-inside for Earth-Mother.

"Fine with me!" Ioreth managed over the wind, "But how are we supposed to get over to her?!"

Allow me, Celebrimbor said, and when she yielded control, he unhooked their harness from Fëanor's, then lifted their hands - and called forth a ghostly silver-blue bow. Time seemed to slow around them as he aimed at the airborne nature spirit, gathering his power, and then they-

:moved:

-were on her back instead, vines already snaking around their legs to hold them fast, keep them from falling off with the sudden change. Then Celebrimbor planted their hands on her back and let the New Ring's raw power flow, the bark under them thickening, the green of leaves and vines intensifying, bright flowers and fruits bursting to life. Carnán shrieked, then dove again and breathed white fire on the wraiths as she passed.

Fëanor screamed in answer, and they looked to see that Talion was on her back once more, where he was supposed to be, shadows gathering close in the form of dark mist around them. The clouds overhead thickened and darkened, poison lightning already lancing through-

His touch against their minds was dark and twisted, his soul blackened by his Ring, but there was no evil in it. I see them. Come.

And then Fëanor dove, and Carnán followed, both of them spitting fire - purple-black and blue-white - into the army of wraiths.

Despite the confusing tangle of magic on the battlefield, Talion had found the other Ringwraiths, tracing the threads back to where they were spun, and his drake spat a purple-black fireball into their midst, Carnán's blue-white one right behind. The Hammer and the Staff both threw themselves out of the way, but they couldn't do much more if they wanted to hang onto their army.

But they didn't need to. The strings tugged, and hundreds of wraiths from the rear of the force turned back to strike.

Celebrimbor!

Talion, I'm sorry-

Later! The New Ring sustains their power; can you cut them off from it?!

Not without cutting you off as well, and that I will not do.

A fight, then. Carnán?

This fire cleanses, and none shall pass its wall.

Ioreth, get ready.

When the nature spirit swung low to breathe a stream of balefire over the specters, the living orcs fleeing from the flames, her vines released them, and Celebrimbor leaped from her back, hitting the ground and rolling once before regaining their feet. A cloud of black smoke hit the ground next to them and dispersed, revealing Talion with Urfael in hand, the sword already glowing green.

His burning eyes met theirs. I'll handle the Staff. Can you take the Hammer?

Ioreth?

Maybe not finish him, but we can definitely hold him off.

Good enough. Let's go.

He whipped past them as half-smoke, a vague outline of his form visible within, and brought Urfael down - and was blocked by the staff of the Staff.

But as much as they wanted to help him against the Staff, Ioreth and Celebrimbor had an opponent of their own, and they lunged out of the way just in time as the hammer came down. It hit the ground with the power of a mountain behind it and put a crater in the earth below.

Oh my…

Indeed. But Talion and I have faced him once before. He won't get any faster than that, but neither will he tire. As long as we keep our eyes on him, we'll be alright. Are you any good with weapons?

I can handle a sword without stabbing myself, and a bow with reasonable accuracy, but I'm no Elf.

Neither was Talion. We can make it work - just stick to the basics.

This time a blue-white sword appeared in her hand, longer than she was used to but of a similar weight. The Hammer hissed and leaped for them, and then there was no more time to think. They dodged together and brought their sword up, gouging open the Ringwraith's side - though only for a moment. Even as they whirled back to face the Hammer, it knitted shut before their eyes - and yet to their dual Seen and Unseen sight, he was subtly weaker where the blade had cut.

Beyond the Ringwraith, Ioreth and Celebrimbor saw that Carnán and Fëanor had expanded the wall to a ring of blue-and-purple flames that completely surrounded them, cutting Sauron's last servants off from their army, living and dead, and the fire itself was severing thread after thread that bound the specters.

Ioreth allowed herself a grin of triumph, and the Nazgûl saw and shrieked in wrath. But Celebrimbor warded off the effects of the Hammer's fearful cry, and they darted out of the way as he started swinging his hammer in wild arcs, focusing more on trying to put an end to them than skill or efficiency.

They dodged an especially out of control swing and laid open the Ringwraith's back with their blade, then kicked him towards the magical fire. The Hammer stumbled and fell, then recoiled from the flames. He severed all the remaining threads binding the spirits to better fight them, and spun back to his feet, swinging his hammer in a wide circle as he went. They ducked and stabbed him in the stomach with their sword, his spin splitting the gash wide and essentially gutting him. But that wound also healed in seconds, and Ioreth and Celebrimbor were forced to retreat when he slammed the hammer down again where they had been standing.

The wild swings continued, and despite Celebrimbor's aid Ioreth began to tire - but then the Ringwraith jerked and staggered forward a step, a glowing green sword piercing his chest from behind.

"Cut his Ring off!" Talion shouted, driving Urfael in harder, "Left hand - just cut it all off!"

For the briefest instant Celebrimbor was back atop Barad-dûr, Sauron at his feet with a dagger in hand, the edge slicing through Eltariel's fingers, and Ioreth shuddered at his remembered pain of the sudden sundering.

But that moment of hesitation was just that - a moment. They leaped forward and landed on the head of the hammer, their sword becoming a spear-point dagger. Their hand shot out and seized the Hammer's left wrist in an unbreakable grip, ripped it up off the handle of the weapon, and brought their blade down, severed fingers and Ring falling away.

The Hammer shrieked in pain - and then slowly dissolved into ash that blew away on the hot wind.