Isildur Page 13

  Four abreast, the knights of Pelargir poured forth from the gate, lances bristling to the sky, and the sound of their passing was as the breaking of the sea on the rock-bound coasts of Anfalas. Isildur spurred Fleetfoot and sped to the head of his column. Ohtar sounded the great horn of the Eredrim, and the men fell into line with the Pelargrim. Their forces merged into one army at last, Isildur and Barathor rode stirrup to stirrup into the north.

  * * *

  High in the Blue Tower, Duitirith and Luindor watched the great army wind slowly from view. Many hours passed before the last carts lumbered slowly into the clouds of dust and disappeared. At last the road stood empty.

  "They are gone," said Duitirith. "May good fortune go with them."

  "Aye," agreed Luindor. "And may it abide with us. We shall have need of it." They looked down into the city and saw the empty squares, the closed shops and markets. Here and there lone figures hurried along silent streets. Down at the quays, the ships rocked quietly in the current. The wide brown waters of Anduin, normally crowded with shipping, stood empty. They realized for the first time how many sounds normally rose from the city, and how quiet it now was. The accustomed voices and cries, the rumble of wheels, the beating of hooves — all was now silent. After the noise and bustle of the muster and departure, all seemed deathly still. They gazed silently for a few moments, then turned to their tasks.

  Some time later a long lean warship, bristling with lances, its bulwarks lined with the shields of a hundred warriors, put off from the quays and ran out of sight down the River. A few hours later, under a patched and stained mainsail and with smoke rising from three cooking fires, she returned and tacked up the Sirith to a different dock. She made a brave sight, but Luindor from the tower could see down into the ship and through her ruse. Most of the lances were lashed to the gunwales. The fires were not surrounded by crowds of warriors, but were tended by a handful of seamen and a score of old men in rusty armor dragged from the attic for the occasion. Luindor gnashed his teeth to see this pathetic crew on one of Pelargir's proudest ships of the line.

  "Will the Elves never come?" he grumbled, and so said the sentries pacing on the walls, and the people in their houses. But the day waned and the sun sank, and still no sail appeared on the River. Just before dark, Luindor's seamen joined the three Elves posted to guard Gildor's cog Varda, to make another short run down the River. They rounded the point and there before them stretched more miles of empty River. They tarried there as long as they dared, hoping each minute to spy a line of sails beating toward them in the dusk, but at the last they had to return.

  After full darkness had fallen, boys slipped out and lit the campfires, but to Duitirith watching from the Blue Tower, they seemed but a faint reflection of the blazes and noise that had existed there the night before.

  "If the orcs have any brains at all in those ugly heads, they will know we are shamming," he thought. "We can only hope it is more convincing at a distance." Late it was before he sought his bed, and later still ere he slept.

  * * *

  He was awakened by a hammering at his door. He sat up, confused. It was still dark.

  "Captain Duitirith, awake, awake!" cried his chamberlain. "The Elves are come at last!"

  Fully awake now, he leaped from his bed and began pulling on his clothes. "Are you certain, man?" he shouted through the door. "Make no mistake in this."

  "Aye, my lord. The sentries spied them rounding the point. They made them out clearly against the setting moon. Many ships are approaching."

  Duitirith flung the door open. "Come then," he called. "Rouse the heralds and messengers, rouse the cooks, light the fires. Food must be prepared at once. The Elves have come far indeed. They will be hungry. Chamberlain, where is Luindor? Has he been called? Wake my esquire. Bring me my armor. Send to the stables to ready my horse. We shall go to meet them at the quays."

  The palace was in an uproar, with people rushing here and there, some carrying guttering torches, others still dressing as they ran. Horses were already snorting and blowing in the courtyard below. The chandeliers in the Great Hall had been lowered to the floor and were being lit from candles. Duitirith reached the Great Hall just as his esquire struggled up with a small wooden cart bearing his armor and weapons.

  "Ah, Arador, there you are," he cried. "Gird me now in my finest, for the Elves are come. Bring too the banners of Gondor and Pelargir and the devices of my house. We must greet the Elves with all the honor due to them, though we be but few."

  Armed and ready at last, Duitirith and his housecarls rode out under the great portcullis and drove hard for the quays. Now for the first time they could see the approaching fleet. At the confluence of the Sirith and the Anduin, a long line of bobbing red lights marked the advance of many ships. They were close to the shore now, not far from the rows of empty warships at the quays. Luindor's seamen were shifting a ship to one side to make room for the first of the Elven ships. Other citizens of the city were pelting down the road to the River, shouting with joy. Luindor's men greeted them with happy shouts as they stood on the ends of the dock, ready to take the Elven lines. Duitirith and his men reached the bluffs above the shore and started their descent. The first ships approached the quays.

  But from the silently approaching ships came not mooring lines snaking out of the dark, but a hissing rain of arrows. Men screamed and toppled into the water, clutching at black-fletched shafts in their chests. Then came the rattle of catapults and flaming skins of oil arced through the night to burst with a roar among the watching crowds or across the moored ships. In an instant half a dozen ships were enveloped in flames.

  On the road above the harbor, Duitirith and his people stopped, frozen in horror. They stared unbelieving as the close-packed ships of Pelargir burst into flame and the ghastly scene was lit by a lurid glare. From below came hoarse cries and the screams of the wounded. On the docks, men clambered over the dead and dying, clawing desperately to escape the rain of death still pouring from the sky.

  The first ships reached the shore and great iron hooks whirled out of the night and bit into the soil of Pelargir. More catapults rattled and the sky was streaked with scores of lines of fire. With a sickening roar, more ships burst into flame. The ships were so closely moored that the flames leaped from deck to deck faster than a man could run. In less than a minute the whole once-proud fleet of Gondor was blazing. The sails and tarred cordage burned brightly, and by their light the invaders could be seen at last. Long and lean were their many-oared hulls and their sails were the color of night. Then a wail rose from every throat, for they knew their death was at hand.

  "The Corsairs!" they cried. "The Pirates of Umbar are come upon us! We are lost!" The people near the quays began to panic and dashed about in all directions, but suddenly a clear voice rang out from the bluffs above.

  "People of Pelargir!" cried Duitirith. "Back! Back to the city. We can no longer save the ships, but we have yet a strong wall. We shall make the Corsairs pay dearly for their treachery this night. Sound the horns! Call everyone back within the walls!"

  Then all who still could turned and fled in terror up the road they had descended in such joy but a moment before. Duitirith wheeled his horse and called to his esquire.

  "Arador! Stay a moment!"

  Arador reined in beside him and they sat side by side looking down on the ruin of the fleet. Already a dozen more black ships were drawn up on the strand and men were pouring out of them, overcoming the last feeble resistance of the Pelargrim defenders on the docks and shore. Some of the Corsairs had their yards tilted and were already hoisting out huge siege engines on wooden wheels. Out in the River, more ships jostled for room to land, eager for a share of the plunder.

  "This is no raiding party," said Duitirith, "but the full might of the fleet of Umbar. We cannot hope to stand against so many."

  "But the Elves," said Arador. "Where are the Elves?"

  "They must have met the Corsairs near the mouth of the River," replie
d Duitirith. "The Elven fleet must already be destroyed."

  "Then we are doomed."

  Duitirith clutched Arador's sleeve. "Ride, Arador!" he cried. "Ride thou like the wind and overtake if you can Lord Barathor. If he and Isildur can reach us in time there is yet a spark of hope. I only pray they have travelled slowly. Tell them we shall hold out here as long as we can. Ride now, Arador, and do not fail, for in truth the fate of Pelargir depends on you alone this night."

  Duitirith wheeled again and spurred his horse for the gate. Arador took one last look at the Corsairs now swarming up the hill, then dug in his spurs and plunged away for the River Road. The thunder of his hoofbeats was soon lost in the growing roar of the advancing hordes.

  Chapter Six

  The Gathering of the Armies

  On the 30th day of the month of Lothron in the one hundred twenty-first year of the reign of Isildur Elendilson, the King returned to Osgiliath after an absence of many years. Then the Steward Meneldil let the trumpets be sounded and the heralds cried, "Behold the coming of Isildur son of Elendil, Lord of Ithilien and King of Gondor." And the West Gate of the city was thrown open and the King entered in at the head of a long column of armed men. And their banners rippled in the sun, proclaiming the proud men of Calenardhon and Angrenost, and the tall warriors of the coasts of Anglond and Ringlond and Linhir, and the bold knights of Pelargir, mighty Gate of the South. They rode into the city and the people hailed them, for it had been long since such an army had been at Osgiliath. The people in the streets cheered as they caught sight of each new standard and knew that the stalwart warriors of that land had come to their aid.

  Yet many of the more knowledgeable noted that the companies were much smaller than could have been expected. And when the banner of Ethir Lefnui passed, with its black tower above blue waves, and they saw that it was at half staff and followed by only a score or so of grim-faced people, they fell silent. And when the end of the column appeared, the men on the walls said to one another, "Is this all the host? Where are the Eredrim? Where is Romach?" For the red and gold eagle of the Eredrim flew not among the banners.

  The legions turned aside then and began setting up camps on the wide green fields within the city walls along the west bank of the river, but the King and his captains continued to the Hall of the Dome of Stars. There men of the Guard ran out to take their horses' bridles and they dismounted and went up the broad stairs before the Hall. There Meneldil the king's nephew came out and knelt before him, holding out the white rod of his office.

  "My King," said he, "the Steward of Gondor begs leave to surrender his office." And he held out the Rod of the Steward. But the King took the Rod and returned it to him, saying, "You are yet Steward, Meneldil. Keep you the Rod and govern the city in my stead as you have done so ably these several years since your father Anárion and I rode forth. For I come not to abide here, but only to return again to war." Then the Steward rose and led the King and his people into the Hall.

  The Hall was long and lofty, with a high-arched ceiling supporting mighty columns of gold-veined marble. In the center of the Hall the ceiling rose into a vast round dome of deep blue stone. The dome was cunningly pierced in many places and the openings set with jewels, so that the sun shining through them caused them to sparkle like stars. And indeed the holes were arranged to match the sky as seen from the summit of Mount Meneltarma in long-lost Númenor. This was the Dome of Stars, renowned throughout all of Middle-earth.

  Beneath the Dome of Stars stood on a raised dais the two thrones of Gondor. That on the west, the seat of Anárion Lord of Anórien, was surmounted by a golden sun. But the high seat was draped in white cloth and the sun's face was shrouded. The eastern throne, topped by a silver crescent moon, was that of Isildur Lord of Ithilien. A tall young man in armor stood before it. He turned as Isildur entered.

  "Hello, father," he said, smiling.

  Isildur stared in wonder a moment. "Elendur!" he cried, rushing forward. He embraced his eldest son in joy, their armor clashing together.

  "But how come you here?" Isildur asked. "I thought you were with your grandfather in Gorgoroth."

  "He sent me hither that I might ride with you. I came with a small body of horse, through Cair Andros, but a week ago."

  "But that is wonderful. And what of your brothers? Have you had news of them? Are they coming to the council as well?"

  "No, they remain at their posts, but they are well."

  "But why did father send you here? Were you not needed at the head of the Ithilien lancers?"

  "I turned their command over to my lieutenant. To tell you the truth, father, I begged the High King to let me come to you."

  Isildur looked at his son. Though he still thought of him as a boy, he saw before him a strong confident man of thirty-eight, hardened by twelve years of war, eight of those in command of a thousand men. Elendur looked levelly back.

  "You want Minas Ithil back, don't you? You want to be there."

  "More than anything, father. I was only in my tweens when we were driven from our home, but I remember still the screams of the dying, the bodies in the streets as we fled for our lives. Always in my dreams I see the city again. I can't bear the thought of orcs defiling our home. I want to live there again, to help cleanse it of their stink, to make it fair once more. I want to show my brothers through its halls and courts. Ciryon was only four, he remembers only the terror of that night. And of course Valandil never even saw it. He's never been in his own homeland. And I think poor mother will never smile again unless she see her old home swept clean again."

  "Aye," said Isildur. "We are of one mind, my son. Now perhaps at last we shall have our chance."

  Isildur knelt briefly before his brother's shrouded seat, then mounted the Throne of the Moon and took his seat. Elendur stood beside him. Meneldil, as steward, sat in a plain stone seat at the foot of the dais.

  Isildur looked at the captains and leaders of Gondor gathered around them. They watched him expectantly, awaiting his orders.

  "Much evil has befallen our land," he began, "and many of our folk have fallen. But the war is not over. Many deeds are yet to be done and many more of our countrymen may fall before it is ended. And yet we may hope that the end is now nigh." He looked from one to another of the captains standing by, their faces grim and determined.

  "Aye, for good or ill, the end is nigh. Then shall old debts be repaid," he said, glancing at his fallen brother's throne. "The armies of the West are gathering now to Osgiliath. I have brought many allies, but more will arrive soon. Has aught been heard of the Galadrim?"

  "Aye, Sire," said Meneldil. "Our scouts report that they crossed the Mering Stream but yesternight. They should be here at any time."

  The King's face brightened. "Ah, good news at last. Some at least of our plans may go aright. Now if the others arrive soon we may begin the Council."

  "The others, Sire?" asked Meneldil. "Mean you the Eredrim? Will Romach be here soon?"

  Isildur's eyes flashed. "No!" he said harshly. "The Eredrim will never come to Osgiliath. They are no longer men of honor. I called them and they refused me to my face. They are accursed!"

  The men of Osgiliath blanched. "Oh, alas," cried Meneldil. "This is ill news indeed. We had great hopes that Romach would bring many thousands of his brave Eredrim to aid us in our need. I cannot believe that he would break the Oath of Karmach. Is he grown fey in his age?"

  "Nay, but he was swayed by a servant of Sauron that openly threatened the Eredrim. Romach had not the strength of will to stand firm. But you shall hear all that has passed when all the allies are gathered and we take counsel together. For now, see that all my people are fed and cared for. Some have marched hundreds of leagues and they are weary indeed. Lodge the lords and captains here in the Tower and spare not the board, for they are valiant men and they have come to fight at our side. As for myself, I would be left alone this night.

  * * *

  Dawn was near, but light had only begun to creep into
the sky above the Ephel Dúath when those watching from the walls heard the faint traces of distant singing from the darkness to the north. Deep and fair came the sound of many voices together. Ever and anon one clear voice rose alone, piercing the night like the first bird song of a new day. Men strained their eyes, peering north into the dark. Then there was a glimmer far away, though whether it was starlight on the road or some other radiance none could say. The music and the light slowly drew nearer, and then the faint clink and jingle of harness and arms could be heard. The road itself seemed to glow, though no lanterns could be seen. The strange light approached the gate. Then abruptly the song ceased and all was silent. At the same moment the sun climbed above the Ephel Dúath and lo, there before the gates stood a great host of Elves.

  Tall and fair they were, with long dark hair streaming, though here and there golden hair flowed from beneath a helm, proclaiming the noble and ancient line of Finrod. They wore long cloaks of grey or pale green, though armor showed beneath. In their hands were sharp lances with points like golden leaves, and they carried long slender bows slung at their backs. They were led by three tall riders of royal bearing.

  On a great black charger rode Celeborn, Lord of Lothlórien. His hood was thrown back and a golden crown shown on his head. Beside him on a white palfrey sat the Lady Galadriel, Queen of the Galadrim and the fairest of women. She wore a long green riding cloak that trailed nearly to the ground, and her golden hair was bound in a riband of verdant green. With them rode Elrond Peredhil, loremaster and standard bearer, wearing the white and gold livery of his master, Gil-galad, King of Lindon.