[Anguirel]

The Smith's voice was warm, although a little weary now.

"That's right, drink up, drink up. Wine greatly refreshes body and spirit...though not spirit alone, to my sorrow...and you must all be very tired. You've found a save refuge now...though we will have to get to work soon, you know."

This remark would puzzle the listening Elves, save Endamir; what work was referred to? Was the Master Smith going to help them search for Malris and Tasa? Endamir would merely smile gratefully and pour himself a little more wine. But the Smith was at last getting to the point.

"So. From Maglor's song we can deduce that our mutual friend Malris found his wife...in spirit form, I presume, poor lady. Where, you will ask, did he go after that? Well, my braves, I have had a strange dream-for I dream still-and I deem that it came out of the West.

"In this dream, which fell upon me after Maglor's harp-chords had long died away, I saw an Elf-maid-so she seemed, and yet more, for there was great power about her. I now believe she was one of the haidmaidens of the Lords of the West.

"She told me that my lord Maedhros had never died. She asked me what token, what proof of his passing I had; and I could only tell of the Noldolante's strains telling of his downfall. She dismissed it, in her clear, beauteous voice, as the despair of his broken brother, Maglor, and no truth. For she bade me prepare for the coming of the Lord of Himring; told me of six pupils who were close at hand, and told me to join with them to craft a new suit of armour for the Lord..."

The Smith appeared by the entrance through which the Elves had entered the armoury, whether by design or by chance blocking any escape.

"There are only four of you, aye. But Malris was ever forthright and impetuous. I say he and the companion you speak of are already with my Lord! We must, must prepare for their coming! Fie, sloth! To work, to work!"

The wine in Endamir's veins would rise up in passion, as if urging him to his feet, to seize a hammer in his hands and obey the Smith's instructions...

***

A raft. It still seemed impossible. Once such a miracle had come about, whether by Uinen's doing, or Ulmo's, or by chance, Malris felt little surprise at the speed with which he was able to leap onto the dark, yet remarkably unrotted and sound wood, though Tasa, still sunken in her cruel swoon, was tucked under his right arm, though Cirlach was gripped in his left, though the dread Master-Thing of the lake still pursued him.

The raft gained, Malris laid Tasa down, none too gently, for the urgency of his plight could spare no such thoughts. A black ash pole was upon the raft; he seized it up, having sheathed Cirlach, and paddled with all the vitality he possessed. Now it was down to the trial of the body, not the mind or spirit; and in the body Malris knew his game. As he thrust the pole, spear-like, through the foetid water, he forgot almost everything, felt like an a mitious youth in Tirion, about to embark on an especially crucial foot-race...

But like the very image of despair and ignobility, guilt and reproach, the creature of the unending, befouling mass could not be shaken off. Like despair, it made its gains slowly; inch by inch, it sloughed itself forward, then faster, and the gap between the mindless, purposeless, savage Thing of nihilism, and the raft, that stubborn but brittle hope, grew narrow to the point where cold terror almost conquered the struggling ferryman...