//------------------------------//
// Chapter eleven: the darkness spreads 
// Story: Animal Friends 
// by Elkia Deerling 
//------------------------------//

Silence reigned in Rhosgobel. Broken only by the collective breaths of Radagast and Fluttershy. Radagast thought; thought a long time. The burning tree, the eye, the spell going wrong; there was definitely something wrong in the Greenwood. Radagast buried his head in his hands, as he started retracing his steps in his mind. He had lost his notes in the fire, but Radagast could remember very clearly how he had made the spell. In his head, he started preparing and casting the spell again, muttering under his breath.

“No… it was right.”

He’d done everything right from start till finish. The circle, the elements, the words; it had all been correct. He himself had decided to break the spell, because of the eye. 

The eye.

He saw it again. That burning, glowing eye with its pitch-black slit pupil. Radagast felt its gaze upon him just by thinking about it. He squeezed his eyes shut, dispelling the image from his mind’s eye. 

But what could it have been? It must have been someone—or something—powerful enough to take possession of Radagast’s spell. Powerful enough to mingle with the flow of energy, resist the failsafe wards which had capsuled the spell like a protective cocoon, and manifest itself in form. 

And speak.

The eye had spoken just three words: ‘I see you.’ Radagast scratched his head as he tried to decipher this cryptic message, but he came up short. Never before had he heard a creature speak those words. He just couldn’t think about one, and his closest guess would be something savage and predatorily, like a bobcat. The slit-eye had looked like a bobcat’s. 

But Radagast knew that it wasn’t a bobcat. A magical bobcat? Ridiculous. Instead he focused on the magical aspect. Who or whatever had cast that eye-spell, it had certainly been someone skilled in the dark arts. There was no doubt about it—it had been black magic. Radagast thought about every dark wizard he could think of; every horror that had abused its magical power for its own gain or to bring malice upon others. He frowned as names and faces flashed by. Even though Radagast hadn’t much interfered with the outside world, and preferred it that way, he had certainly heard stories from other creatures about evil beings. Albatrosses traveled far and wide, and had told him of great deeds both good and evil. 

Suddenly, Radagast’s face wrinkled in worry,  as a fearfully remembered and dreadful name flared up in his mind like a sudden fire.

“Could it be…”

On the bed in the corner, Fluttershy stirred, and Radagast’s thought was dispelled. She mumbled something, but then continued treading the paths in her restless dreams.

Radagast stood up, and crouched down beside the bed to examine her once more. Fluttershy bore some bruises, and the tip of her tail was charred. Radagast stroked it gently, as he looked at the pegasus’s back. There were a couple of burn marks, but nothing too severe. Radagast had treated them with one of his many ointments, and they should decrease in redness in a matter of hours. 

“Fluttershy…” he whispered.

He had had to cancel the spell; the one spell which would have taken her back home—back to her friends. But now she was still here. Deep in his heart, Radagast felt the tiniest sparkle of joy that she was still with him, keeping him company. But that sparkle was capsuled by a thick layer of guilt and remorse. It had been his decision to cancel the spell, and in his mind he wondered whether it had been a good decision or not. 

“Yes,” he said; and then louder, “Yes.”

Black magic is dangerous, and Radagast couldn’t even begin to imagine what would have happened to the poor little pegasus had he done nothing. Perhaps she would have been teleported back to her own world before the eye could have done her any harm, but that was just guesswork. Fluttershy’s tail was already singed, and Radagast was sure the eye would have burned her to crisps if he hadn’t pulled her out of that field of darkness.

But still, it just might have been fast enough…

The doubt kept nibbling at his heart, as Radagast sat down and looked out the window, although he stared at nothing in particular. He forced his mind to think in solutions, rather than problems. The magical tree had burned down, and Radagast was sure that residual black magic would linger over that place for a long time still, buried between the layers of ash and scarred bark. With a little effort, Radagast was sure he would be able to piece the spell back together and try it again, but he doubted whether he would be able to find another place where the magic was as strong as the great tree. 

But then, his eyes flared up. The elves! Even though Radagast hadn’t seen an elf in a long time, he knew they still resided in the Greenwood. Surely the magical elven folk, led by their king, must know some way to help. He didn’t even need their resources or their soldiers; Radagast just needed another focal point for the magical energy, so he would have the biggest chance for success. 

Beneath his beard, Radagast smiled. “Yes, that seems like a wonderful plan.”

In his mind, Radagast was already preparing for the journey. He would have to go North, towards the Old Forest Road. That was one of the few roads which offered a safe passage through the Greenwood. It was lit by lanterns, well-maintained, and was as straight as a birch trunk. Radagast had never heard stories of folks going missing in the Greenwood, for the wise ones always kept to the road. And more importantly, the road was watched over by elves. He would only have to go to the road and get the attention of the elves. Perhaps I could blast a horn?

Radagast threw one more glance at the sleeping pegasus on his bed. First, Fluttershy has to wake up and rest, Radagast thought. She’s in no shape to travel now.

But Radagast was not going to sit idly by. He decided to do some meditation, as he hadn’t properly meditated in a while. A chance to reconnect himself with the magical energies of the Greenwood and feeling the mood of the forest always lifted his spirits. And in the back of his mind, Radagast figured he might just find out more about what had happened at the magical tree. Radagast sighed. Perhaps this meditation session will not be as revitalizing after all… 

As he walked outside, Radagast began gathering some stones and made himself a little stone circle. That way, the animals would know he would be in deep trance, and that they shouldn’t disturb him, lest the connection be broken. Radagast sat down with his legs folded, placed his staff on his lap, and concentrated. 

Immediately, he was gone. Radagast’s spirit wandered away from Rhosgobel, carried by the streams of magical energy, like a snapped branch would be carried by a river. He felt the connection and the harmony between the trees. Radagast breathed in deep, and let out a sigh of relief; at least everything close to his home was still good. 

But Radagast wasn’t looking for the harmony; he was looking for disruptions. He was looking for a hole in a bucket through which the magic would drain until there would be nothing left of the bucket but an empty shell. Radagast let his spirit wander. Not really in one particular direction, but roaming free like a wild horse on the plains. 

Then, he felt something. 

Something tugged at the wizard’s cloak, and he began veering off in the direction of the burned tree. He knew this would happen. Now he finally had the chance to investigate this mysterious event on a deeper level; a magical level. He moved in closer, sidling from tree to tree and tasting the magic flowing out of them. Suddenly, he began to feel something strange. While normally the magic in the Greenwood surrounded him on all sides and thrummed and pulsed like a giant heartbeat, Radagast felt a weakening in this pulse. It was as if the heart began to beat slower and slower; as if the forest was going to sleep. 

Or going to die.

For a moment, Radagast lost his focus, as fear interrupted his concentration. He had a hard time keeping his wits, as the weakening of the forest’s pulse became ever more noticeable. The magic in the air became thinner and thinner, until at last, it was as if there was nothing left. It felt as if a giant vacuum had opened in front of Radagast’s nose, sucking away the air and drawing him in. 

The wizard looked around, and noticed that he was now standing in a part of the forest which had been burned down. Blackened trees accompanied him on either side, and the ground was covered in ash, dead plants, and soot. Of course,  when a tree would die, it would lose its magical life-force, so the lack of magical connections in this burned-out place of the forest was natural. 

Except that it wasn’t.

Radagast crouched down, and laid his hand on the black earth. He felt and he felt, but under the ground there was nothing. All the magic was gone, and he was standing right in the vacuum. This isn’t right, Radagast thought. Normally, the soil would be rich with the promise of new life; new magical connections, as the ash would fertilize the earth in a natural way. From death, comes life. But now Radagast couldn’t feel anything. It felt as if all the magic was sucked out of the place, leaving a scar on the forest. Radagast shuddered. Somehow, he had the feeling that this part of the forest would be irreparable. 

He moved along, and as he did so, he felt less and less of the forest’s magical energy surround him. Suddenly, he arrived at the clearing. The feeling of the vacuum almost became too much, and Radagast had to struggle to keep control. 

Right before him, lying on the forest floor, was what remained of the magical tree. Its enormous trunk was blackened and scarred, and sharp splinters protruded from the bark. The giant had indeed fallen down, and had smashed its trunk to pieces under its own weight. The sight of it almost made Radagast cry. 

Here, the vacuum was absolute. The place was absolutely dead—all the magic was gone. No moss would sprout on the trunks; no mushrooms would settle in the dark, damp cracks; no birds would nest in he now low-hanging branches; no animal would make their burrow here. The very place felt murdered—murdered by an evil force. 

Radagast couldn’t stand it anymore, and turned his back to the fallen giant. He moved southwards again, ready to return to the conscious world and to his home. He would think more about this later; about the nature of the black magic which had caused this torture to the Greenwood—his home. As he entered the lively part of the forest again, he could feel the magical energy once more, but somehow, it felt more delicate than ever. 

But when he lingered between familiar trees and bushes, Radagast noticed something. 

The pull, there it was again. The vacuum of magic; the disturbance; the thinning of the web. But this time, it was coming from the other direction—from the South.

Reluctant but curious at the same time, for he knew what he would expect but at the same time he didn’t, Radagast headed South. All the while, he was thinking about this second disturbance. Had there been a forest fire somewhere else? A fire caused by the same unholy forces that had smitten the magical tree on that dreadful night? Or was it perhaps… the source.

With that thought, Radagast felt a wave of goosebumps upon his skin like a thousand tiny stick insects. With every minute, he felt the revulsion inside of him grow. He didn’t want to come closer, and yet he did. 

Radagast let the lack of magical energy guide him. Further South he went, in spirit form mere minutes  to go a dozen miles. Until at last, he found what he was looking for.

The trees parted, and in front of him loomed a massive stone structure, built on a rocky outcropping of an enormous hill; almost a mountain. A crumbled stone bridge led the way to an enormous castle—or what was left of it. Its walls were broken, its iron bent and shattered. Obviously, a terrible battle had taken place to take the stronghold or vanquish the evil until the last shadow. Even though the castle was entirely empty and decaying, no moss, heather, ivy, or other kinds of weed had claimed it as its own. The place was devoid of any life, and looked otherworldly as it stood there, right at the edge of the forest. 

“Dol Guldur.”

Radagast knew the name of the place, and some scraps of its history, although he had never before seen the castle in use. An ancient and forgotten stronghold, rotting away, dead on the edge of the living forest. A flock of crows flew up into the air, where they sang a sad song above the spires of Dol Guldur.

Radagast closed his eyes, but even without concentration he could feel the lack of magical energy pull him towards the bridge; towards the gates with their jagged iron spikes.

He stepped closer. Radagast knew the answer to his questions would be in Dol Guldur, hiding from the light of day, lurking in the shadows. He barely managed to control his heartbeat and his breathing. The castle looked as it was cloaked in dark fabrics of dread. With every step, Radagast’s anxiety grew. A few more steps, then he would know.

“I… SEE… YOU!”

A flaring pain like a million woodpeckers erupted in Radagast’s head. He let out a scream, but it became absorbed by the magical vacuum. Radagast’s knees buckled. He doubled over and reached for his scalp. In panic, he threw off his hat, but it didn’t help. Like a lava stream did the pain swirl around in his mind, as he lay there on the broken bridge, twitching and squirming in agony. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the evil continued to rake his brain with its white-hot claws. 

“I… SEE… YOU!”

With all the will in Middle-Earth, as if he were battling against a flowing river, Radagast summoned his strength and opened his eyes. He saw it. 

Hovering between two needle-tipped spires, the great eye hovered. Its slit pupil looked down on the wizard on the bridge, and an unholy light illuminated him. The light was neither hot nor cold, and it went straight through the wizard, reading his thoughts and his heart and his soul. Stop! Radagast thought. Stop! Stop! Stop!

He opened his eyes, and his spirit returned to his body, sitting still in the stone circle. 

Radagast blinked a few times; his eyes felt dry. The pain was gone, the agony was gone, but the memories remained. 

He had found the source of the evil; the stronghold of the eye. Never before had Radagast seen such evil in a single being, and just the thought of all its hatred scared him. 

But he knew what he had to do. He was the warden of the Greenwood, chosen by the Valar themselves to watch over the magic and life in Middle-Earth’s biggest and most ancient forest. No matter how terrible, he had to face this black wizard—this eye—and destroy it, even if it would cost him his life. 

Radagast stood up, wobbled, fell down, stood up again. He entered Rhosgobel, leaning on the doorknob. The bunnies and the birds scattered and made way for the wizard, feeling part of his worries, fears and sorrows although he didn’t speak. Radagast wanted to get some belongings, some elements or potions that might help him in this battle; he knew it would perhaps be the most difficult ordeal he had ever faced, but he had to do it. He had to face his destiny. He had to drive the eye away. 

But then he saw Fluttershy, still sleeping on the bed. Radagast stopped moving around and stood as still as a tree. But what about Fluttershy?

For a moment, he had forgotten about his other mission: getting Fluttershy back home. What if he would indeed die trying? Not only would Fluttershy never go home, but she would be found by the dark wizard for certain. It would find her, and destroy her.

No way in Middle Earth was he going to take the little pegasus with him towards Dol Guldur. Radagast had the feeling that the dark atmosphere alone could kill her. But Radagast was not going to wait for her to wake up either. The Enemy had seen his spirit presence, and perhaps he had even seen how Radagast’s spirit had returned to his body. If he had, it would only be a matter of time before Rhosgobel too would fall beneath the dead, magic-less shadow of the eye’s presence. No. Time was a pressing matter now. When he returned, he would continue helping Fluttershy, perhaps by seeking advice from the elves, but now he had to go, and leave her behind.

Leave her behind, but not leave her alone.

“Alexander! Birds! Rabbits! Friends!”

Radagast’s creatures came scuttling towards him; a few birds landed on the chairs and table, and the rabbits, hedgehogs, badgers, foxes, and any other animal who could hear his voice gathered by his feet. By the looks of Radagast’s earnest frown, they knew he was going to say something important.

“Listen, everyone,” Radagast said. “When Fluttershy wakes up, you have to tell her that I am gone for a time. I will be on a very important mission, one of which I might not return. Tell her to go North, guide her if you must—that would be wiser. Get her to the Old Forest Road and call for the elves. I am certain that they will look after her and help her, for they are good-natured.” 

Radagast paused and looked at the faces of his animals. All of them were dead-serious; the birds tilted their heads to listen and the bunnies’ ears were aimed at him. Radagast gave out a long sigh before he continued.

“And… And if I do not return after the third day, then flee. You will all have to flee from Rhosgobel, and tell the elves that a great evil has fallen on the Greenwood; an evil in the form of a terrible eye. Do you all understand what I am saying?”

Although the message was grim, the birds chirped in acknowledgement, and the other animals showed their comprehension in their ways.

“Good,” Radagast said. He started packing up his things again and collected them into a big leather satchel. Before he walked out the door, he threw one glance back at Fluttershy, lying peacefully asleep on his bed; his animals, some scattering around and others keeping watch near the little pegasus; his home; the cozy little cottage he might not see again were he to fail his dreadful task.

“Goodbye.”

His rabbits were already waiting at the sled, ready, but not eager, to carry their master towards danger. Radagast stepped on the wooden framework, grabbed hold of the handlebar, and yelled, “Go! Go!” He sighed, and then added, “Don’t you worry about me. Please.”

                                                                                              * *                                                                                        

Evening began to fall; a cloudy evening with the stars hiding behind the clouds, as if they were too scared to watch the outcome of Radagast’s ordeal. The moonlight shone in irregular shapes, draped by tattered clouds, over the trees of the Greenwood. 

Between the trees, Radagast rode his sled towards danger. He could feel the pull of the rabbits being irregular and hesitant, and he could well understand that. He had been traveling for an hour perhaps, and he was almost at Dol Guldur. 

“Not long now…”

The trees flashed by in front of his eyes as the sled skidded over the dead leaves. He started to climb a grassy hill, very gradually, and then dipped down into the forest once more. With the wind making his long grey beard flutter, Radagast took a moment to look around. He was utterly focused on the road ahead, even though he knew that his rabbits would march straight and agile on the right path. But now, he looked left and right. He wanted to look one more time at the Greenwood, his home, for it may just be the last time. 

The Greenwood; the land he vowed to protect, looked utterly terrible. 

Radagast knew that the trees would be bare as winter would soon be upon it, but in this part of the forest, there was almost nothing left of them. Scrawny and bare they stood, leaning over Radagast as if they were pleading for help. 

Radagast let out a gasp. He stuck out his hand and snatched a branch off one of the trees. Holding it close to his nose, he sniffed, and then he tasted the bark. 

“Oh my!”

The wizard jolted, and the twig flew out of his hand. It had tasted terrible. It had tasted of… nothing.

And then Radagast realized that he had once again entered a part of the forest where the shadow lay. It rested between the branches and the trunks, feeding off the magical energy. Radagast closed his eyes for a second, and opened his senses. Even though he was in his corporal form, the magical vacuum hit him in the face of his mind’s eye like the cold air of a blizzard. Almost he let go of the handlebar, but steadied himself just in time. 

Then he noticed another thing: the sounds—or rather, the lack of sounds. 

It dawned to him that he had seen no other animal on his way. No elks galloping around, no wolves on the hunt for prey, and no birds flying in the air. Not a single birdsong had reached Radagast’s ears, and the sound of their flapping wings was entirely missing. Indeed, this part of the forest felt devoid of life, looked devoid of life, was devoid of life.

Radagast shook his head, forcing his mind to calm down and to prepare for what was to come. Over another hill he went, and through yet another clearing where the grass was dead and smelled of rot. He made a small turn to avoid a skeletal bush of shrubs, the sled tilting dangerously far to the right. A branch whipped in his face, snapped, and fell down on the ground. A flock of crows took off, squawking towards the source of their interruption. Finally, some sign of life. 

But as his spirits lifted with the sound of at least one species of animals, it immediately sank to the bottom of the crevice which he came to face, for he had reached his destination: Dol Guldur.

There it stood, unmoved on the rocky hill. The moonlight illuminated the fortress in a gloomy light, and the tattered clouds looked as if they were a part of this macabre painting, showing itself before Radagast’s eyes.

The sled stopped. Radagast stepped off and turned towards his rabbits. 

“I think you should go now. This is no place for rabbits, nor is this a place for any kind of animal.”

Radagast unfastened the straps, bridles, and harnesses. As he did so, he patted each rabbit on the head or scratched it behind the ears, as a way of saying farewell. One more time did they gather and look at the wizard, but he had turned his back towards them, and they couldn’t see the tears in his eyes.

Radagast scrambled down the slope, and approached the crumbling stone bridge. Just as in his spirit journey, the bridge was desolate and lonely, covering a crevice with a depth unknown; Radagast didn’t really feel the urge to look down.

Things were strangely silent. Radagast didn’t like the silence. He still felt the vacuum of magic, but the aura of dread seemed to be nonexistent this time. As he reached the middle of the bridge, Radagast hesitated. At this spot the Enemy had found him and tortured him. 

“Death or life.”

Radagast did one more step.

Silence.

He gulped, expecting to see the burning eye between the spires, but there was nothing but silence and stone. Radagast dared to let out a small sigh, and continued.

He stepped underneath the portcullis, where the iron spikes greeted him like curved branches. Radagast shuffled forward, his ears primed for strange noises, his eyes flashing from side to side, searching for his enemy or danger. He observed every corner, every place the moonlight didn’t reach. 

The portcullis led the way to a vast open, stone space. It might have been the courtyard, or it might have been the main hall with its roof collapsed. Wide and circular it stood there, built of iron and stone. On the floor were ancient carvings, perhaps meant as decoration, along with a number of half-crumbled statues of kings and other nobles. Some had no heads; others had no arms, yet all they silently looked at the center of the courtyard, where Radagast now stood, squeezing his staff tightly in his hands. 

Now the wizard had a choice to make. In front of him, the floor continued for a few meters before it disappeared beneath a partly-collapsed roof, leading further into the stronghold. To his left began another hall; one that looked even vaster than the one in front of him. Radagast stood still.

He felt a cold breeze against his skin, coming from the hall in front of him, like the breath of a snake. The very air smelled of fear, and Radagast had trouble keeping his thoughts consistent. The draft felt unnatural, and slowly, involuntarily, he felt himself taking a step back.

And then another one.

And another one.

The sharp shadow cast by the portcullis enveloped him. Radagast would have wanted to turn back and run at the very touch of the atmosphere.

He cast one more glance at Dol Guldur—that glance saved his life.

Out of the corner of his eyes, something blinked. It wasn’t a star. Radagast thrust his staff up, catching the gleaming blade just before it touched his hat.

A scream, colder and sharper than the blade itself, cut through the air. Radagast felt the icy winds against his face and closed his eyes. But at the same time, he swung his staff to the side, knocking the hidden assassin to the ground. 

As soon as it touched the stone floor, the dark figure dissolved into the vile air.

Only after a second did Radagast dare to open his eyes. The attacker was gone. The blade was gone. Radagast felt his heart race. He tried to say something, but his voice stuttered too much. He tried again, looking at the moon in the sky, trying to touch on its energy, if only for a moment.

“By the light of life, I call for your aid, moonlight luminescent!”

Immediately, the crystal on the tip of Radagast’s staff erupted in a shiny halo, dozens of times brighter than the glow of the moon. It bathed the courtyard in a magical light, revealing what had been unseen at first.

Between the statues, at the rim of the stone circular space, were figures cloaked in black. They stood as still as the statues themselves, and their cloaks, ragged and stained, yet still as black as the deepest abyss, waved in the otherworldly breeze.

Radagast gasped in fear, but had trouble inhaling again. The cold air was almost impossible to breathe, as if it was made for these evil beings.

One of them wore a helmet made of cold silver, circling around its head like a spiked crown. No jewels adorned the thing, yet the figure made a regal appearance. It did one step closer, then it let out a terrible scream, even louder and more abhorrent than the first.

Radagast covered his ears, but it didn’t help. The scream pierced through his fingers, through his head, through his soul. It rattled his very bones, and he felt the magical energy seep out of him, absorbed in the vacuum that lay upon the place like a blanket of dusk. His light dimmed, and he fell to the ground, his staff rattling on the cold stones. Like a worm did Radagast crawl towards his magical staff. He knew it was the only weapon he had.Light has always startled the dark. 

The scream ended. Radagast grasped the wood of his staff, hauled himself up on his feet, and called, “Light of moon, silver and pure, lend me thy power to shun all evil.”

Once more the crystal threw its explosion of light all around, and it stayed like that as if a white fire burned inside the crystal.

The dark figures had surrounded him. They stood around Radagast in a circle, each clasping a cruel longsword in gnarled fingers. Radagast could see that each one of them wore a ring, their diamonds shining different colors through the shadows of the cloaks.

The light wavered as Radagast trembled. His mind was filled with a primeval instinct to live and fight, but through that cluster of thoughts, one clear one managed to break through. From the dusty corners of Radagast’s knowledge of lore and ancient tales, one realization shone through like a searchlight through mist.

“The Nine!”

The nine robed figured let out a collective hiss. Not as potent as the scream, but powerful enough to make Radagast feel as if he were thrown into an icy river.

The nine kings of men, foolish enough to accept the gifts that would be their doom: the promise of power, wrapped up in a simple magical ring. It was a gift given by Sauron, which turned out not to be a gift at all, but a loan. Power in return for their very souls. An eternal promise to do the Dark Lord’s bidding. Here they stood, the Nine, together with their king, in front of Radagast the Brown, warden of the Greenwood.

Radagast looked up into the eyes of their leader, which stood right in front of him, but found no eyes. There was only blackness underneath that silver-bound crown. 

The Witch-King raised his blade—the steel was rimmed with shadows—and brought it down upon the lonely figure of Radagast.

“No!”

Radagast bit through the cold and raised his staff.

With a scream, the Witch-King staggered back, as his steel touched the wood. The shadows surrounding the blade disappeared in the flash of energy that erupted from the crystal in the staff. The other wraiths did one step back, recoiling from the light.

This was his chance. When a pack of wolves is going to attack, one must attack first, and focus on the leader of the pack. Radagast sprang to his feet, and, with all the strength he could muster, charged towards the Witch-King, his staff raised high into the air.

But his strike stopped in mid-air, as a hand in steel mesh closed around the wood. The silver-crowned head looked up, from the staff to Radagast’s startled face.

“Fool.”

Radagast felt the stress through the wood, as the claw-like fingers tried to crush the stick to splinters. Radagast felt the Witch-King’s muscles quiver with the effort, fueled by some unholy strength.

But the staff didn’t break, and Radagast knew it wouldn’t.

Another shriek resounded, battering against Radagast’s skull, but still he didn’t let go. 

A grim smile curled the wizard’s lips underneath his beard. He was the one who held power over the staff. He was the bearer of the crystal, and he alone could prevent the staff from breaking. He looked down at the steel claw, whispering elvish words for another spell.

The blood-red diamond on the Witch-King’s ring glittered, and for a moment, Radagast became distracted by its glow. It looked like a small version of the great burning eye, burning with the same rage and evil power.

All the while, the other eight wraiths crept closer and closer, almost like wolves surrounding a deer, filled with the determination and with the realization that they would succeed in their hunt and tear their prey to pieces, but also careful for its sudden, unexpected kick.

Then, from underneath the crown came sounds. No screams or hisses, but words. Even though the language was foreign, Radagast could hear the evil in the words, the malice in the sentences, and the cruelty in the incantation. The red stone on the Witch-King’s finger began to leak small wisps of smoke. Darker than the night sky, they crept like parasites over the steel finger, until they touched down on the wood of Radagast’s staff, where they suddenly multiplied and scattered.

Radagast felt his arms going numb. He trembled, then he shook, then he quivered violently, the light shaking and stuttering in his hands. He saw the shadows creep over the wood, now big and fat like a pitch-black anaconda. The tendrils slithered over the wood until they reached the crystal. 

“No….”

Radagast let go of his staff; it clattered to the ground. His hands were stained and burned. The energy left him—the magic left him. The wraiths made a sound as if inhaling a deep breath before a sigh, and Radagast felt the magic flow away from him and towards the Nine in a breeze. He felt his knees give way, and he fell down to the ground. Exhaustion gripped his every muscle, squishing it to jelly. His head hung low, and Radagast barely had enough energy to open his eyes. 

But he refused to give up. He had to win, and if he couldn’t, he had to run. Radagast tapped into the magic, trying to rake enough energy together to lift his head. He was helped by the tip of the Witch-King’s blade.

“Your attempts are foolish, wizard.” 

The Witch-King’s voice was sharp as the talons of a falcon, yet cruel like a snake’s bite. It spoke of all the dark tasks, torture, and malice its bearer had committed for the Dark Lord, even though it bore only those words.

Over the path of rune-engraved steel, Radagast looked at his enemy. The tip of the sword kissed his throat like a thousand thorns. The Witch-King only needed to thrust, and it would be over.

One thrust.

Radagast’s last thoughts went to Fluttershy. The wizard himself had had a good life; a useful life. He had protected the forest well, and had upheld the balance as best as he could. He had helped so many wonderful animals and had made so many wonderful friends. But never had he felt so complete as in taking care of little Fluttershy. He felt his Adam’s apple press against the cruel tip as he said her name in a hoarse, exhausted whisper. 

“Fluttershy…”

Then, the steel of the sword forced Radagast’s head up. Up, up, up, until he could see the dark clouds and the extinguished moon. He saw the tips of the spires; watchtowers without eyes to watch. 

Suddenly, the stark black shapes of two of the watchtowers exploded in a fiery mist. Burning bricks showered down on the collapsed roof of the stronghold, smashing yet more holes in the crumbling structure. The sound of roaring flames whooshed over the courtyard, accompanied by the heat of an erupting volcano. Suddenly, all of the cruel coldness was gone, the Ringwraiths were gone, the Witch-King was gone. Only the eye remained.

“No…”

Hovering between the two spires was the eye. The eye of which Radagast now knew to whom it belonged.

“Sauron!”

The words evaporated as they left Radagast’s dry mouth. Despite the lack of energy, he couldn’t stop gazing into that single, dark pupil, which began changing form. It took on a more human shape; a figure with a crown of despair and a cloak of death. 

“I… SEE… YOU!”

Slowly, the pupil of the eye drifted closer, floating down as if it descended an unseen set of stairs. The heat was unbearable, and Radagast felt blisters on his hands and his arms.

Now the figure, made of swirling shadows and scraps of pure darkness, stood right before the wizard, like a master observing a slave. Radagast felt his thoughts being sucked out of his mind, replaced by an impossible sense of dread. 

“No… Please…”

Sauron drew back his arm. It tripled in size, and sprouted a claw made of living shadows. He stood like that before Radagast, as if he hesitated. 

Radagast could draw half a breath, before the claw struck.

Darkness. ;<�v[�t	2