The ceaselessly flowing Anduin River grew wider the closer it came to the boundless Belegaer.
By the time it reached the vicinity of Pelargir, it was more than three times as wide as it had been at Carl Rock.
A large, ramshackle camp stood on the banks of the Anduin River. Now and then, a few angry curses rang out from within, mingled with soft sobbing.
This was the Dol Amroth camp that the Half-orcs had taken by force. Alongside the Snaga garrison were human slaves they had abducted from the surrounding area, and it was from them that the curses and sobs arose.
The banner of Minas Morgul fluttered above the camp, a pitch-black flag bearing a moon twisted into a deathly, leering face.
Any Gondorian who understood its meaning would remember Remembrance of the former Minas Ithil even as terror gripped them.
Beneath the moonlight, two figures, one black and one white, were rapidly approaching the camp.
They were the desperately fleeing Witch-king of Angmar and Allen, who kept closing in behind him.
The Noldor Rune Sword in Allen's hand blazed with light. As his Elves Horse swiftly caught up, he slashed at the Witch-king of Angmar fleeing ahead.
Faced with a shining blade that made his very soul tremble, the Witch-king dared not meet it head-on. He hastily steered his mount to the right.
At the same time, he swung his left hand hard, sending his terrifying flail flying toward Allen.
Against the heavy, powerful blow, Allen thrust the Noldor Enchanted Shield strapped to his left arm sharply to the left.
Clang!
Amid a spray of sparks, the sweeping flail was knocked away by the silver-white shield on Allen's left arm.
The Noldor Enchanted Shield offered formidable protection, and Allen knew a few techniques for deflecting force