Chapter Six

Manwë held up his arms and called for silence. Next to him, Varda was glaring at Melkor with stars burning in her eyes, and Melkor was staring back at her with a look of equal contempt. The hate that existed between the two of them ran deeper than any knew.

"Melkor, what is the meaning of this?" Manwë demanded.

"The meaning of everything: purpose," Melkor sneered in reply. "Your purpose is to create, and mine is to destroy!"

With that, he raised his arm, and out of the darkness came a host of hideous creatures, wreathed in shadow and flame: Balrogs. The greatest of the creatures carried a whip of fire and took his place next to his master. In the south, more of them were rising out of the fire behind Curumë.

"Gothmog," Melkor said, nodding toward Manwë and Varda.

The Balrog raised his whip and cast it toward the king and queen of the Valar. Manwë used one arm to pull Varda close to him and shield her with his body, and with the other, seized the end of the whip. With a great cry, he pulled the whip free from the hands of its holder and cast it aside. Gothmog charged at them, but Varda held her hands aloft, and in each hand shone a star. The Balrog stopped, and a shrill howl pierced their ears as he shrank back into the darkness.

Melkor was not fazed by Gothmog's retreat. He had many more Balrogs at his command, and now Manwë and Varda were weakened. The attack was just beginning.

"Now, Sauron!" Melkor called.

"Forward!" Sauron shouted, and the Balrogs advanced, forming a circle around the Valar and Maiar.

"What are we to do?" came the voice of Vairë over the roar of the approaching Balrogs and the noise of the fire.

"We must put out the fire!" Manwë shouted. "Ulmo!"

"I cannot do this alone!" Ulmo said. It would take most of the water in the Great Lake surrounding the isle to quench the flames, and although it was easily within his power to summon every last drop, it could not be done in the amount of time they had.

"You will not be alone," a voice from behind told him. It was Sírënis. With her were the next most powerful of Ulmo's Maiar, Ossë and Uinen. Had the situation not been so grave, Ulmo would have smiled.

Aulë thought of a way in which he could help, too, and left the water-spirits to work their magic. He wove his way through the commotion until he reached Manwë, whose hands were black and smoldering from the evil fire of Gothmog's whip. "I have an idea," the Smith said.

"Yes?" Manwë said.

"I can raise the land and lift us out of their reach," said Aulë. "It will not stop them, but it will give us – and Ulmo – more time."

Manwë gave his approval with a nod. Taking a deep breath, Aulë raised his arms above his head. It would take all his power and concentration to do this. He could not be distracted.

I made the world, he told himself. It is just another creation of mine, and can be altered as easily as anything else. Make this island a mountain.

Below their feet, the ground began to rumble. Those on the sides of both good and evil were startled, and ceased their battle for a moment. Even Ulmo and his Maiar were distracted, but quickly realized what was happening and resumed their struggle with the lake.

Aulë clenched his teeth together, closed his eyes, and tried to concentrate harder. If only he had help, as Ulmo did! Where were his Maiar? Why had Curumë turned?

Melkor. Melkor had taken Curumë, the greatest of the order of the Maiar. They could not let that happen again. Melkor could not be allowed to win.

When he opened his eyes again, the dark forces were far below them.

Breathless and drained, Aulë collapsed to the ground. His efforts had bought them little time, a few minutes at most – the Balrogs were already taking to the skies – but it was a few minutes more than they had before.

Aulë felt a hand on his back, and then heard a voice. "You did it. Well done, friend."

Irmo. Aulë resisted the urge to lash out at his rival and thanked him instead.

Irmo extended his hand. Reluctantly, Aulë took it, and Irmo helped him to his feet. Aulë thanked him again without looking at him, brushed some dirt off his clothing, and then nearly walked into Yavanna. The two exchanged an awkward, painful glance, then looked away at the same time.

"We must drive away Melkor," Námo was saying to Manwë. "If he retreats, the others will follow."

Tulkas, who was standing next to them, was the next to speak. "Melkor is mine," the golden-haired Vala growled. He had driven away Melkor before, and not only had the evil spirit returned, he ruined Tulkas' wedding in the process. It was only understandable that he would seek vengeance.

With Oromë and two Maiar at his side, Alatar and Ramnë, Tulkas leapt down from the newly-created mountain. The four of them fought their way through a host of Balrogs, and Tulkas and Melkor began to do battle. Melkor, who had lost to Tulkas before and knew he would not win here and now, retreated just as Námo knew he would. But the fury of Tulkas was great, and he pursued Melkor, and would not be seen again until after the battle, when he would at last return to them in defeat.

"The Balrogs," said another Maia named Olórin. "Their master has fled, but the Balrogs have not retreated!"

"That is because another is commanding them in Melkor's absence," said Varda. "Look! It is Curumë!"

"We must rid ourselves of them!" declared Eönwë. "Come! Let us take up arms and drive these dark creatures away from our land!" His suggestion was met with widespread agreement.

"But what of Curumë?" asked. Ilmarë. "He must be stopped!"

"And I," Aulë interjected, "will be the one to stop him."

"You are weary from the raising of the land," Manwë said. "You must not go!"

"He is of my people," Aulë said. "It is my duty."

And before he could be stopped, he descended from the mountain and into the fire.

Sauron could not believe his eyes.

"Can it be?" the Maia formerly known as Curumë said with a chuckle. "Has my old master found the courage to confront me?"

He waved his hand, and a ring of fire appeared around them, preventing anyone else from interfering with their battle.

"This treachery will not go unpunished, Curumë," Aulë warned him. "There is no crime greater than betrayal."

In his hands, Sauron held a fearsome weapon: an iron rod with twin crescent blades, one on each end. He raised the weapon, spun it around once, then stopped and held it in attack position. "Then challenge me," he said, "if you dare."

Aulë was weary and had no weapons other than his hands. But he would not stand down. If this battle was to end in his death, then so be it.