[Anguirel]

The music of battle roaring in his mind as it had not since the Dagorlad...the grim euphoria that propels the limbs and drives the heart, as Malris drew his sword, more than half his height in length, and slashed it through the four spirits who blocked his way, careless of its utility, aware that the enemy had no flesh to harm, but ready to resist anyway. Hopeless war was the way of the Noldor, Malris thought, as Cirlach gleamed in the dusk. His memory invoked Feanor, Fingolfin, Glorfindel, Gwindor...

The Tengwar and Certh runes on Cirlach burned with sudden colour; the Tengwar red, the Certh purest white. Malris knew the inscription well. "Curufin made this for a friend and father-vengeance." Such a message all that smith's blades had born. Some distrusted Curufin as emotionless, calculating. Malris knew love of his father had driven him faster than he could control himself.

The Orcish coavalta shuddered and howled, jerking back from the sword's radiance, and Malris, with Lomwe close behind him, hurled himself forward. The gate was but a step away...

***

"Dungheaps!" Ghashthurk hissed. "It cannot hurt you, for all its light. You can hurt him. Do not let him go."

Still the band of four, led by Kragscurk, the second largest fighter in the war party, faltered.

"The runes, Cap'n. Look at them. It's one of them Star-lord swords. Garn, and you expect us to run onto it?"

"Star-lord sword or not," growled Ghashthurk, "resist it, or I will close the Cairn against you, craven muck."

Kragscurk and the others glanced at each other, and then whisked back into the fighting with a searing howl of the air. Being banned from the Cairn and left to wander outside, a nobody lone weakling like Bazhrat...well, it didn't bear even considering.

***

"They aren't yielding any more ground," Lomwe cried, his own fine sword Coruthel flashing as it pierced ethereal form again, and again, and again.

"Aye," answered Malris. "The cause is, they've remembered they're dead."

The point of a battered, pale grey spear cut into his side, leaving scarcely a mark; but a flicker of irresolution, of concern-even fear? in his eyes, quickly repressed as he whirled Cirlach pointlessly again...he cursed as he saw that another two coavalta had surged behind them, cutting the pair of swordsmen off from the others; Tasa was left to face the unhinged looking lone Orc alone, one of the ghastly, barely-visible shapes was assailing each twin, while Lindir, furthest back, was surrounded by four, his face pallid and suffused with sweat...