Chapter 347: The Contest
"Saruman!"
Gandalf's voice shook with anger and sternness.
"Has 'Saruman the Wise' truly not understood? These Orcs are not natural living things at all. They are twisted creatures."
"They have no souls. They are not Children of the One. Their very existence stands for evil. Even if they obey you now, it does not change what they are."
"Unless…"
"Unless?" Saruman echoed, mildly curious.
Gandalf narrowed his eyes.
"Unless you give yourself to evil."
"Evil, is it?" Saruman said with a snort of contempt.
"Of course, I know what they are. What of it? I am only using the enemy's own tools against him. As for the rest, you need only watch."
"When the Enemy is utterly destroyed, these 'weapons' I have made to fight him will no longer be needed. I will see them vanish with Sauron's ruin."
"No, Saruman. You still do not see. They are not 'weapons' in any simple sense. In the name of Ilúvatar, you are reaching into what is forbidden."
"How dare you speak in that name?" Saruman flared.
That name, the name of the Creator, carried the highest authority in the world. No one among the Free Peoples dared openly defy it.
Folk might swear by many powers.
Dwarves and Men called on great ancestors and legendary lords. Elves swore in the names of the Valar.
But the name of the One was not for any tongue to bandy.
Most matters in this world were not worthy of an oath in that name. Only in the rarest, highest councils would it be spoken at all.
For Gandalf to use it here was to deny Saruman utterly, to deny even his right place in the world.
How could Saruman not be angered?
"I am telling you this," Gandalf said. "Whatever your aim, whatever foe you mean to strike, what you are doing is already driving you towards the dark."
"The evil in Mordor has not lessened. Yet the evil in Isengard grows."
He shook his head and sighed.
Saruman, for his part, looked no less disappointed.
"Gandalf, I had thought your wisdom enough to understand me. It seems I overestimated you."
"Your rot and foolishness disappoint me," he said coldly.
"You are the one who disappoints me, Saruman," Gandalf replied. "All I see here is a wise man walking in a path contrary to his charge."
He stared at Saruman.
Saruman stared back.
Below the tower, amid the deafening shouts of Uruk-hai and men of Enedwaith, Gandalf drew a deep breath and turned, meaning to leave that clamorous place.
"And where are you going?" Saruman could not help calling after him.
"To lay bare what you have done, and let all judge it. Until then, you had best keep your hand from any further moves."
"That I cannot allow," Saruman said.
He lifted his black staff.
Clang.
Door after door slammed shut.
Gandalf's brows drew together. He turned back slowly.
"What are you doing, Saruman?"
"My friend, I cannot let you spoil my design," Saruman said.
He sat back in his chair.
"You will stay here and watch. Watch the Enemy's destruction. Then you will know who was right, and who is left behind."
Gandalf gave no answer.
Silence fell again.
They stood locked there, neither moving.
Until Saruman spoke the next words.
"Tell me, Gandalf. Where is the One Ring now? What have you done with it?"
He stroked the Ring of Fire on his own hand.
"As the 'many-coloured' among the Istari, I am sure I can bear all our order's duties, including casting Sauron down. For that, I need greater power. What I have now is not enough…"
"You have disappointed me, Saruman," Gandalf said.
The last illusion dropped.
He raised his staff and swung about. In the next instant, he was flung through the air and struck the door with a crash.
"Ha. I knew you would thrash about a little. It seems I must teach you a lesson before you can talk sense…"
"That is exactly what I was about to say," Gandalf muttered.
Boom.
Fire flared in mid-air as he kindled his own hope.
He stood against the rolling tide of dark power and terrible voice, raised his staff, and drove back Saruman's will.
"Do you think I am what I was?" he cried.
Saruman's face hardened. He poured on more strength.
The Ring of Fire on his hand blazed. A vast pressure swept out and snuffed Gandalf's flame.
"Urgh—"
Gandalf went down, rolling several times before smashing into the wall.
His staff clattered away. The pipe that hung from it split with a crack.
The sight made his heart ache.
"Stop wasting your strength. Cooperate," Saruman said.
He walked over with slow care, kicked Gandalf's staff out of reach, and glanced at the broken pipe.
"I will buy you a new one," he said.
"It has been with me for more than a few centuries…" Gandalf grumbled.
As Saruman drew near, he suddenly shot out a hand, grabbed the other wizard by the leg, and yanked.
Caught unawares, Saruman crashed to the floor, his head smacking the stone with a sharp sound.
In the same breath, Gandalf rolled, snatched up his staff, and levelled it at him.
Saruman scrambled up, snatching for his own staff.
"Base trickster!" he snarled.
"All's fair in battle," Gandalf answered.
Thud.
Their struggle flared anew. Red and white light flashed through Orthanc as the two old wizards fought in earnest.
Thud.
As they hurled their powers against each other, another gaze was drawn by the evil gathering there.
It was too well hidden for either to notice, even sharp-eyed Gandalf.
Clang.
"At last," Saruman said, head throbbing, one cheek swelling, as he looked down at Gandalf lying on the floor.
"It is my victory."
Gandalf lay with barely more than breath in him, far worse off than Saruman.
He did not answer.
He was too tired even to speak.
Let the world be damned, then.
He had done what he could.
Besides…
He stole a glance at Saruman's right hand.
There was no doubt that Ring had something to do with Levi.
"Up, Gandalf. I know you have more in you than this," Saruman said, gloating.
"Do you acknowledge my strength now?"
Gandalf dragged in a breath and lifted his head.
"You…"
Thud.
His heart lurched.
A chill shot through him. His eyes flew wide. He forgot his hurts and lurched to his feet.
Something was wrong.
Saruman felt it too. Both turned towards the window.
Hiss—
A shrill, piercing cry split the sky. Below, the men of Enedwaith and the Uruk-hai lifted their heads as one.
Nine black shapes wheeled overhead, Ringwraiths astride great winged beasts, circling the tower.