Sylas's eyes narrowed as he watched the slain goblins' corpses become vessels for the restless spirits.

He let out a cold snort. "You think you can hide inside bodies and escape me? Then let us see how long you last when you have no bodies left to steal."

With a flick of his wand, he summoned Protego Diabolica. Dark-blue flame coiled into serpents and lunged at the possessed goblins. Wherever the fire struck, the goblins shrieked and burned to ash in moments, leaving the spirits writhing, exposed.

Wraiths, after all, were little more than corrupted souls. Though Protego Diabolica could not destroy the spirit itself, its fury unraveled their dark bindings. The malevolent aura peeled away like smoke, leaving them weakened and shrieking in agony.

But even Protego Diabolica had its limits. It could not consume the earth or stone. And the spirits, bodiless, slipped like shadows into the ground, vanishing beneath the rock to evade the flames.

The goblins, however, had no such escape. Terrified, they scattered in every direction. The bolder fled into their tunnels, but the fire, like a living predator, slithered after them. Screaming filled the caverns as Protego Diabolica poured through, reducing even those hidden in the deepest dark to ash.

When the last goblin was consumed, Sylas did not douse the cursed flames. Instead, he directed them with will and wand, shaping them into a towering demon of fire. With whip in hand, the Protego Diabolica-monster lashed at a crumbling watchtower perched on the hill.

The lash cracked like thunder. Stone blackened and burst apart in clouds of dust.

"You think yourself hidden?" Sylas sneered. "Come out!"

He raised his wand again. "Confringo!"

The tower exploded in a roar, masonry flying in all directions.

From the ruin burst forth a massive wolf, its pelt shrouded in black mists. Its eyes burned with blood-red fire, and its breath steamed like poison. With impossible speed it bounded away, leaping from rock to rock, and in a heartbeat it had reached the edge of a deep pool.

Sylas stared. The beast was enormous, broad as a bull, its aura steeped in darkness. Drool dripped from its fangs, hissing like acid where it struck the stone.

"That's no mere warg," he muttered, tightening his grip on the sword.

Wargs were great wolves twisted by Orc-craft, cunning and strong, but still beasts. This creature was something far worse. His magical senses rang with alarm: this wolf was no animal, but a dark spirit clothed in fur and flesh.

Then, to Sylas's astonishment, the beast spoke.

"Black-robed wizard, Sylas. I know your name. I know your deeds. And I have no wish to make you my enemy."

Sylas's eyes hardened. "You know me?"

The wolf's lip curled, exposing long fangs. "Who does not? Master of dragons, slayer of Balrogs, bane of Orcs, your reputation reaches even into the shadows."

"Then tell me what you are. You are nothing like the wargs I've seen."

The wolf gave a sharp, disdainful bark. "Wargs? Pah! They are cattle, beasts for Orcs to ride. I am of nobler blood. I am Skul, last of the demon-wolves. My sires were the mighty Draugluin and the dread Carcharoth. Once, I served as a hound of Morgoth himself."

The name struck Sylas like a bell. He remembered the lore, written in fading ink within Elrond's library. Wolves of shadow and fire, bred by Morgoth in Angband, spirits bound into living flesh. Draugluin had been the first, and from him had sprung the line of wolves more terrible than any beast of Middle-earth.

The tales returned vividly to Sylas. He recalled Arwen herself retelling the story of her ancestress, the Elf-maid Lúthien, and her mortal beloved Beren.

Long ago, Beren sought a Silmaril from Morgoth's crown as Lúthien's bride-price. Captured, he was cast into Angband, guarded by Draugluin, lord of wolves. But Lúthien came in disguise, with Huan the Hound of Valinor at her side. Draugluin fell in that battle, slain by Huan.

Yet darker fate awaited them. At Angband's gates, they met Carcharoth, the Red Maw, more monstrous and terrible than his sire. Fed on Morgoth's malice.

Carcharoth himself had swallowed a Silmaril, but the holy light within burned him with unbearable torment. Driven mad, he rampaged across Beleriand until, at last, he was brought down by Beren, Lúthien, and Huan the Hound of Valinor. Yet in that final struggle, Huan was mortally wounded, fulfilling the prophecy that he would meet death only in battle against the mightiest of wolves.

Huan was no mere hound, but the gift of Oromë the Hunter, one of the Valar, and a beast of divine stature. He had even fought Sauron himself, when that dark lord took the form of a wolf, and forced him to flee. The fact that Carcharoth was able to slay Beren, then nearly overcame Huan before perishing, spoke to the monstrous power of the demon-wolves.

As the supposed descendant of Draugluin and Carcharoth, it was little wonder that the black wolf before Sylas was so arrogant.

And yet, Sylas knew the lore: the wargs that roamed Middle-earth were said to be the corrupted offspring of wolves mingled with the line of Morgoth's demon-hounds. They were kin of a sort. But this wolf spoke of them with contempt, as if they were vermin, and snarled with open disgust for the Orcs who rode them.

When Sylas did not immediately answer, the demon wolf lowered its head and growled in a voice like cracking stone.

"Wizard Sylas, our kind grows ever fewer. I have long withdrawn from the great wars. I keep to the North Downs, taking tribute from the lesser creatures here. What passed before was a misunderstanding. If you will treat with me, I will swear never to encroach upon your domain. More than that, I will serve as your ally.

My fangs will be yours, my pack at your call. Together, we could sweep aside the petty remnants of the Dúnedain and carve you a throne in the North. What say you, black-robed wizard? Shall I make you a king?"

Sylas tilted his head, feigning interest. His voice was edged with mockery.

"Oh, a wolf who claims to deal in crowns? You flatter yourself. Do you truly think you could win me a kingdom?"

Sensing his chance, the wolf pressed eagerly forward.

"Not I alone. Others of my kin yet lurk in shadow. We follow only the strong, and you, slayer of Balrogs, master of dragons, you are the strongest. With us at your side, you would command an army unmatched. Our hides turn aside Elven blades, our claws rend Dwarven mail, our fangs carry venom enough to kill Orcs by the score. And more, we can summon the dead to fight for us. With such power, all Eriador would bow before you!"

Sylas's eyes narrowed. "So…the wraiths that plagued Fornost are yours to command?"

The wolf threw back its head and howled. Immediately, the shadows stirred. From the ground and broken stones the spirits rose, circling their master, their hollow eyes burning with cold light.

"Behold," the demon wolf rumbled. "These are but a fraction. Join me, wizard, and together we could summon hosts beyond counting. Who then could stand against you?"

The wolf's voice dripped with temptation.

Sylas studied the wolf, then the wraiths, and at last let out a quiet laugh. He shook his head slowly.

"No."

The wolf blinked, startled. "What? Do you refuse me?"

Sylas's smile sharpened. "I don't believe a single word you've said. They say wolves are cunning, today I see why. Did you learn this silver tongue from your old master, Sauron? I've faced him before, and you reek of the same stench."

He raised his wand. "Avada Kedavra."

A flash of green light shot toward the wolf.

The beast leapt aside, narrowly evading the Killing Curse. But it had no time to recover. Sylas had already set the fire circling, and now the walls of flame surged inward, hemming the wolf in from every side.

From the start, Sylas had never intended to bargain. He had listened only long enough to tighten the trap. Now it was sprung.

The wolf snarled, eyes glinting with fear and fury. It darted like a shadow, trying to slip through the blazing walls, but the flames closed each gap before it.

Desperate, it halted, jaws gaping wide. With a terrible inhalation, the wolf began to draw in the wraiths themselves.

The spirits shrieked as they were pulled into its maw, one after another. As it devoured them, the black aura about its body swelled, thickening into a barrier of darkness. The fire lashed at it but was held at bay, the flames hissing against the shroud of shadow.

The wraiths gone, the wolf's strength surged to new heights. Its body blurred into a living shadow, and in a sudden burst of speed it burst free of the fire ring, streaking away.

...

Stones Plzz

Read chapters ahead @/Keepsmiling818