"Now it's three against two."
"Three against two?"
A voice suddenly came from below.
"It's clearly three against three!"
Balin rushed forward.
Gandalf looked at him, somewhat surprised. "How..."
"Don't ask, Gandalf. I just came before I had time to get frightened."
"What do we do now? Which one should I fight?"
"Just stay close to me."
A piercing shriek tore through the sky above the land. The three Nazgûl moved at once: one lunged at Gandalf, while the other two charged straight for Halbarad.
Clearly, they too understood the principle of eliminating the weaker opponent first. As long as they slew the relatively less experienced Halbarad, they could then focus entirely on the troublesome wizard.
"Die!"
The terrifying figure came howling down. Halbarad barely had time to parry one Morgul-blade, while another Nazgûl, his gauntleted hand forming into a war-hammer, fixed his blood-red glowing eyes upon him, utterly emotionless, as if Halbarad were merely a piece of iron and he the smith about to strike.
But Halbarad was no anvil. If that blow landed, even healing potions wouldn't be able to save him.
In desperation, he drew a dagger, quickly shifted into a defensive stance, sidestepping to try to minimize the damage.
At the very least, he couldn't fall in one strike, as long as he survived the first blow, he still had a chance...
"Hyah!"
Clang!
A steel axe suddenly came crashing into view, striking the helmet of the hammer-wielding Nazgûl so hard it rang like a bell, staggering the wraith backward.
Balin rolled as he landed, clutching his chest and breathing heavily.
"I did it!"
He had leaped up and struck a Nazgûl on the head.
This was a feat no Dwarf had ever accomplished before.
The Nazgûl who had been struck gave a jerking twist of his neck. His hand instinctively reached behind him, but found nothing, so he switched sides and drew the Morgul-blade from his other flank.
Then he lunged at the much shorter assailant who had ambushed him.
On the other side...
Screech!
The Ranger's sword and Morgul-blade clashed so fiercely that sparks nearly flew. Halbarad put all his strength into deflecting the Nazgûl's strike, then raised his other hand and thrust fiercely at the wraith's helm!
The pitch-black helmet was hollow, empty as a void, yet the dagger struck something solid within. The sensation was indescribably strange, unlike anything that existed in the material world.
If there was a word for it, it was "forbidden."
"Ahhh!"
A shrill scream burst forth. The Nazgûl's form wavered, vanishing backward in a flash, retreating dozens of meters. Along the way, soldiers dove aside in panic to avoid being struck by its passage.
"Help me!"
Just as Halbarad managed to severely wound one Nazgûl, a cry for aid came from beside him.
Balin was bracing his battle-axe against a Morgul-blade, eyes wide as he looked around desperately.
The Nazgûl he had ambushed was now bearing down on him with terrible force.
"No one told me Nazgûl were this strong! He's nearly as mighty as the greatest Dwarf warriors, I've never fought anything like this!"
Balin had never faced a Nazgûl before. But then again, the Nazgûl didn't seem to have much experience fighting Dwarves either.
Against Rangers or Men, he could strike them down with overwhelming power, even dragging them out from nearly perfect concealment. But against a Dwarf, he had to reconsider his approach. And in the end, his conclusion was simply to crush him with brute strength.
Seeing the blade pressing down so hard on his axe that it was about to cut into his hands, Balin quickly glanced left and shouted to the soldiers nearby:
"You lads there! Don't just stand around, come help!"
A few soldiers were about to rush over, but the Nazgûl turned his head and glared at them, letting out a low growl. The sound froze them in place, robbing them of the strength to move. Their chests heaved, foreheads drenched in sweat, as though struck by sudden fever.
Balin turned to the other side, but before he could speak, the Nazgûl preemptively followed his gaze and unleashed another wave of terror in that direction.
Now no one could approach.
And so the scene repeated itself.
"Help me!" Balin shouted at the top of his lungs.
Boom!
A burst of white light erupted. A flaming longsword came slashing through, forcing the Nazgûl back.
It was none other than Glamdring.
A grey figure appeared before them, blocking the Nazgûl's path.
"Gandalf."
"Your courage is admirable. Stay close to me, don't wander far."
Even as he spoke, more soldiers, afflicted with the black breath from the Nazgûl's corrupting presence, were carried away from the walls. In an instant, nearly half of the defending force above the gate was gone.
Fortunately, once Gandalf charged forward and joined the other two, the three Nazgûl were suppressed again, pushed into disadvantage.
"We three make quite a formidable team, don't we?" Balin gripped his battle-axe tightly, eyes locked on the Nazgûl.
Silence hung beside him.
"Indeed. Keep thinking that way," Gandalf replied, never taking his gaze off their foes.
Clearly, unless they unleashed some greater power, the Nazgûl had no way of breaking through the three defenders for now.
The battle locked into a tense stalemate.
Until...
Boom!
A massive explosion came from below.
Crash!
The great gate shattered into splinters.
The monstrous trolls roared. Orcs burst into hideous laughter, cheering wildly. But after only a single moment of triumph, their faces froze in bewilderment.
Behind the ruined gate... there was another wall.
The orc commander leading the siege turned so red with rage his face contorted. Though, to be fair, it might have already been twisted to begin with.
"Curse them! They built a second wall!"
Then how had those defenders gotten inside in the first place!?
Even the Nazgûl were momentarily confounded by that wall, their assault faltering.
But the danger wasn't over. Though both the inner wall and outer defenses remained intact, massive siege ladders had already been constructed, and were now being pushed forward by war-trolls.
Bang!
Explosive arrows burst among them, slowing the trolls' advance, but doing little real harm.
Their hides were simply too thick, so tough that even an ordinary sword might notch itself striking them.
But of course, the blades in these soldiers' hands were far from ordinary.
The battle pressed on, attack and defense clashing in deadly earnest...
"Listen up!"
Just then, a loud shout drew everyone's attention.
Halbarad turned his head, calling out to the trainee Rangers who were struggling even to breathe under the crushing weight of fear:
"Show your worth, maybe your instructors will even give you extra marks for this!"
"What!?"
"Extra marks!?"
Whoosh.
Suddenly, the Nazgûl felt countless gazes fixed upon them.
One trainee Ranger, breathing heavily, loosed an arrow.
Crack!
The arrow was instantly cut in two, its splinters scattering aside.
But the Ranger grinned. He had shot at a Nazgûl. Though the attack did no damage, it made the Nazgûl sense something ominous.
At first, these soldiers had quailed at the mere sound of a Nazgûl's shriek, their eyes glazed, their minds frozen, unable even to think clearly.
But after witnessing the battle atop the wall, they seemed to be developing a resistance to the terror.
Perhaps they were still afraid, still afflicted by the black breath and dark sorcery, still falling ill, their arms too weak to draw their bows properly, their legs unsteady as they walked.
But now... they could at least lift their swords and face the enemy.
Weakened, yes, but no longer utterly powerless.