The
Balrog reached the bridge.
Gandalf stood in the middle of the span, leaning on the staff in his left hand, but in his other hand
Glamdring gleamed, cold and white. His enemy halted again, facing him, and the
shadow about
it reached out like two vast wings.
It raised the whip, and the thongs whined and cracked. Fire came from
its nostrils. But Gandalf stood firm.
`You cannot pass,' he said. The
orcs stood still, and a dead silence fell. `I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the
flame of Anor. You cannot pass. The dark fire will not avail
you,
flame of Udûn. Go back to the Shadow! You cannot pass.'
The
Balrog made no answer. The fire in
it seemed to die, but the
darkness grew.
It stepped forward slowly on to the bridge, and suddenly
it drew itself up to a great height, and
its wings were spread from wall to wall; but still Gandalf could be seen, glimmering in the gloom; he seemed small, and altogether alone: gray and bent, like a wizened tree before the onset of a storm
