Isildur Page 18

  The Elves had no time to attend to them. They left the crippled ship dead in the water and listing heavily, and jibed to return to the fray. There near them was Hithimir's great corbita. Her forecastle was aflame and her decks were littered with the dead. Though there were few left to sail her, she was coming about to return to the battle with Cirdan. Side by side they drove grimly down on the wheeling, circling ships.

  As they approached, a galleass moved out to meet them. Their fire raked her decks and took a terrible toll, but her men were staunch and quailed not, but stood and returned shaft for shaft. Then her catapult clattered and a huge ball of flame arced roaring toward Hithimir's ship. It burst full on the sail and burning oil drenched all the rigging and those on the deck below. Amroth could see Elves rolling on the deck and beating at their clothes, but soon the whole ship was aflame. Many leaped into the River but they could not aid them, for the galleass was nearly upon them now.

  Cirdan tried his old trick, throwing down his helm and backing the sail. The bow veered to larboard and the flagship heeled steeply, dangerously close to capsizing. But the enemy captain was quick and swung his bow to point at their exposed side. They could hear the slavemaster's drum beating an ever-quickening rhythm and saw the warriors on her bridge clashing their swords on their shields and howling with the battle madness.

  They braced themselves for the inevitable collision, but in that last moment came aid unlooked for in the shape of a hellish apparition. Between the two closing ships drifted a blazing tower of flame. For one instant they could see Hithimir at the helm of his ship in the midst of the flames. His clothes were scorched and blackened, his hair was smoking, but he seemed not to notice as his blistering hands strained at the steering sweep. Then came a deafening grinding crash and a long black ram burst out of the flames and stopped, quivering, a few feet from their side. Hithimir's blazing rigging toppled and fell with a roar over the black galleass, impaled on its own bane. Cirdan circled the burning ships, but from that inferno came none alive, neither Man nor Elf.

  "Helm alee!" cried Cirdan. "After them!" Amroth looked up from the burning ships and saw a black galley pulling away from the engagement, making for the eastern shore. It was just then passing close under their stern as they began their tack. Looking back, he saw a group of tall men in dark robes on her quarterdeck, not fifty yards from where he stood. Just forward of them, a group of seamen were clustered around some kind of engine he could not make out, but a column of smoke rose from it. They suddenly jumped clear, and with a loud explosion, a ball of flame arced straight toward Amroth.

  He had only time to shout a warning and throw himself to one side. He heard a deep-throated roar and felt a blast of heat as the projectile sailed past his shoulder, then a crash behind him. Wheeling around, he saw that the ball had struck the quarterdeck rail, sending a wave of flame along the deck and down the side of the ship. Instantly a dozen Elves leaped forward, beating at the flames with their wet cloths. He heard a cry of triumph behind him and turned to see the Umbardrim officers jeering at them. One, taller than the rest, stepped to the rail and shook his fist at them. He had a long aquiline face and a great hooked nose. For an instant their eyes met, and Amroth was struck by the look of pure hatred in his gleaming eyes.

  In spite of the flames licking around them, the Elves soon brought the ship around in pursuit of the fleeing galley. With the ship close-hauled, the wind fortunately carried the flames away from the sail and rigging. Soon a hose was brought into play and the pump manned, and the fire was extinguished. The galley was rowing into the eye of the southeast wind, so the Elves were forced to beat into it, losing ground to her at each tack. They were perhaps two hundred yards behind when she reached the shore opposite Pelargir and drove heedlessly straight into the strand at full speed. Her mast toppled forward, crashing down into the banks of rowers. All aboard were thrown from their feet, but the officers were soon up and running forward, clambering over the backs of those struggling to free themselves from the tangle of rigging that now covered the fore part of the ship.

  Cirdan tacked once more, heading for the beach beside them. The boarders had already gathered on the forecastle, ready to leap ashore. Figures were now pouring out of the wrecked galley, jumping over the bows or clambering over the tangled mass of oars along the side. Most seemed to be in panic, trying to reach shore, but one group around the bow was still under command of the officers. A gangplank had been let down to the sand. Several figures jumped onto it to flee, but were shoved off by the officers. Then the Elves saw why. A great black horse, snorting and struggling in fear, was being led up from below. Somehow they managed to get that mighty stallion down the plank in the midst of much shouting and confusion. The swan ship's prow scraped onto the sand a hundred yards to the left of the galley.

  With a cheer of "Elbereth Gilthoniel," the boarding party leaped down. Amroth followed, his bow and short sword at the ready. After over two weeks at sea, the land seemed to be still rocking under his feet. Fifty strong, they quickly formed up and began trotting toward the stranded galley.

  The horse was ashore now, and the officers were clustered around it. Amroth saw one mount the horse, and recognized again that sinister face he had seen glaring at him. He cast a quick look in their direction, then spurred the horse viciously and it leaped forward, throwing up sprays of sand at each stride. He was making for an opening in the trees that stood behind the beach. The Elves veered to their left to cut him off. He never slackened his pace, but drove straight toward them. Several Elves drew arrows from their quivers and prepared to bring him down, but he burst straight into their right flank. The horse simply rode down two of their number and the Corsair slashed down with his sword, slaying another Elf reaching for the reins. A dozen arrows whistled around him, two rebounding from his mail, but then he was past. The horse plunged up the steep slope of loose sand, then they were gone amid the trees. They last saw him riding hard, not south to his allies in Harondor, but northeast, toward the mountains of Mordor. A ragged cheer arose as the Corsairs saw their chief escape. The Elves turned and advanced toward them and the battle was joined in an instant.

  Many deeds of bravery were done in the next few minutes, and many a brave Man and Elf died there, their lifeblood seeping away into the sand. But in no more than ten minutes the fight was over. Many of the slaves had refused to fight and stood now in a terrified group at the water's edge. But the Corsairs fought bravely and well, asking and giving no quarter. At the end only two of the Corsair officers remained, standing back to back amid a circle of their slain comrades. They would not yield and glared at the ring of Elves around them, waiting for the end. But then an Elf grabbed up a piece of boarding net lying there and threw it over them so they were encumbered. Several Elves leaped forward and bore them down, disarming them and binding their hands. They raged and cursed at their captors, as if by sparing them they had been done a grievous insult.

  Cirdan called to the frightened slaves, saying "You are now free men. If you wish, we will take you to Pelargir. If you give your bond not to take up arms against us or Gondor, we shall see what can be done to return you to your homes."

  The poor bedraggled group gave a weak cheer, and all gave their bond. Gilrondil led them and the two prisoners back to the ship, and in a few moments more they had pushed off and were returning to the battle on the River.

  But lo, every sail they saw was white. On every side burning ships and capsized hulls settled hissing into the befouled water, now choked with bodies, and a brown smoke masked the scene. The pungent reek of battle burned their nostrils. After the shouting and tumult of battle, the River was again quiet, save for the crackling of burning ships.

  They stood silent at the rails, gazing sadly out over what had been but moments before two proud fleets. The Black Fleet of Umbar was no more, but of the forty sails that had sailed from Lindon, two and twenty would never again part the blue river Lhûn, and many a fair Elf that should have lived yet long ages would never see
Elvenhome.

  At last Cirdan winded his horn and the remains of the White Fleet drew up behind him. Squaring their yards, they ran up the Sirith to the Havens of Pelargir.

  A fierce battle was still raging between the city gate and the bridge ahead. Although their fleet was broken, the Men of Umbar were not yet defeated. Those who had been unable to reach their ships had made a determined stand. When the city's defenders had seen the fleets engage, they had sallied forth and fallen on their discomfited foes. The Men of Umbar, their means of escape destroyed and their ranks in great confusion and disorder, quickly found themselves on the defensive. Their slaves, ignored and leaderless, flung down their weapons and either fled the field or lay down in surrender. Their former masters had fallen back from the gate and regrouped, forming into tight-packed squares of archers with pikemen around the edges, forming a bristling wall. Now they were driving determinedly toward the bridge and the road to Lebennin. Even now they drew near the eastern towers of the bridge.

  The Pelargrim defenders still held the bridge, but they seemed strangely few and greatly outnumbered. It was clear that they could hope only to hinder but not halt the retreat of the Umbardrim.

  "Cirdan!" Amroth cried. "Land me on the west bank with a stout band and I will hold the bridge!"

  He turned in surprise. "Are you not yet weary of battle, Sinda? Or is it perhaps that you long for the land under your feet?"

  Amroth grinned and pointed to the swan's head above him. "Your swan has served us well this day, Lord, but I will not miss her overmuch. I prefer more solid footing when I fight."

  "So be it then. Curulin! Starboard your helm! Put her on the strand there nigh to the west end of the bridge. Our Wood-Elf here would go ashore. And not too near the rocks there. Gilrondil, signal the fleet of our intentions. Let all those who would follow Amroth have their chance."

  The war-torn little fleet drove its stems into the sand. Amroth lifted the staff and banner from the taffrail and leaped to the shore, followed by a score of archers. Then more and more mariners leaped down, until the ships stood nearly empty.

  At last even Cirdan jumped down beside Amroth. He gave a quick smile. "It would seem that I must follow if I am to continue to lead. Let us then fight together on land as we have at sea. And he took from him the flagstaff. "Onward now!" he cried. "For Elbereth! Elbereth and Gil-galad!"

  "Elbereth!" went up the cry from many throats, "Gil-galad our king!"

  From every ship Elves poured down until a large company of several hundred lined the narrow beach. They climbed the bank to the road, formed up again, and marched to the bridge. There stood two strong towers with a lofty arch thrown between them. But their parapets were empty. Many of the Elvish archers climbed the towers and took their positions in the embrasures and in the windows. Those with pikes or spears knelt across the road under the arch, forming a triple wall. The rest stood behind them with arrows already notched to their strings.

  A few minutes of waiting, then there came a triumphant shout and a body of armored men rushed over the crest of the arched bridge. Their panoply was black and crimson and their faces wild and fierce, streaked with sweat and smoke beneath their golden helms. One bore a staff with a standard of a sable ship on an red sea. The were looking over their shoulders as they ran, laughing and jeering at their pursuers. When they saw the Elves blocking the road they halted, cursing and looking from them to the men rapidly coming up behind them.

  Cirdan stood forth and called to them in a loud voice. "Men of Umbar!" he shouted. "Yield, for you are bested. Do not make widows of your wives!"

  But the one carrying the banner spat toward him and shouted, "The women of Umbar would rather be widows than the wives of cowards." Then he rushed forward with a hoarse bellow, followed by all his comrades. A hundred bowstrings sang as one, and not one of the Corsairs reached the lines unwounded. Their leader, pierced by many arrows, swung his standard like an axe, striking down several Elves, then he disappeared beneath a flurry of flashing swords. In a moment it was finished. Not one knight of Umbar remained alive.

  Then came another company of men racing onto the bridge, but these bore plumes and shields of blue. They halted when they saw the Elves standing over the dead Corsairs. Cirdan and Amroth advanced to meet them at the center of the span. Their standard bearer dipped his banner and their captain lifted off his helm and knelt to Cirdan. He was fair of skin and dark of hair, with a stern and proud countenance. He had some of Isildur's and Elendil's look to him, but to Amroth's Elvish eyes he looked more like to those other Númenóreans who lay about them.

  "Well come indeed, Firstborn," said the Man. "I am Duitirith, son of Barathor, the Lord of Pelargir. And I say unto you: Pelargir is yours, for you have purchased it this day with your immortal blood. Come into the city, and Pelargir will do what it can to welcome you with honor and gratitude."

  But Cirdan bade him rise, saying, "Nay, stand, Prince Duitirith, for today you have shown that you can stand against all odds. I am Cirdan, and we came not to accept your city but to aid you in your hour of need."

  "And verily," said Duitirith, rising, "that hour had for us come, Lord Cirdan, for we could not have stood an hour more. Come, all you brave Elves, and visit the city you have preserved. We shall feast in your honor."

  And he led the Men and Elves together back to the city. As they approached, they could see that the walls were blackened and streaked with smoke. The huge oaken gates were cracked and splintered, and the immense brazen battering ram lay flung down beside the road amid piles of the fallen.

  They reached the gates and stopped. A voice called down from the ramparts above.

  "You are come to Pelargir upon Anduin. State your name and your land and the name of the lord you serve."

  Cirdan stepped forward and called out, "I am called Cirdan Shipwright, Master of the Havens of Mithlond and Guardian of Lindon in lieu of my king, Ereinion the Gil-galad. These are my friends and allies, of many Elven lands."

  "You are then a friend of this city," replied the voice. "Enter in peace, Cirdan of Mithlond." The gates creaked slowly open with a great rasping squeal, for the hinges were sprung and the timbers splintered. They trooped into the city as the citizens of Pelargir cheered from the rooftops and balconies.

  Cirdan looked about in surprise as he walked slowly through the streets.

  "I see many women and children, Prince Duitirith, but few men. Where are the rest of your warriors?"

  "We had fewer than a thousand men in arms, all told, when the Corsairs fell upon us. I do not rightly know how many remain, my Lord."

  "How can this be?" said Cirdan. "Pelargir is a great city ringed with fertile fields and many villages."

  "Aye. Last week, my Lord, we had more than six thousand, but they have ridden with Barathor to Osgiliath to give aid to the king of Gondor."

  "The king? Isildur came here? When?"

  "He rode from Linhir and the lands to the west, but five days past. He bore evil tales and ill tidings and sought our help against Mordor. But my father was loath to yield so many fighting men when we lay under the peril of a Corsair raid. Then did Gildor of your people arrive, saying you were but a day behind, and Barathor departed with the army of Pelargir, leaving us to hold the city until you arrived."

  "We would have been here two days ago, but we were delayed by a fierce tempest that swept down on us from the east and carried us many leagues from shore. Have you suffered heavy losses by our delay?"

  "We needed every man upon the walls, and so dared not keep the fleet manned. We lost too many at the quays when they came on us in the night, but most of us reached the walls. We maintained some pickets at the Ethir, but they too must be destroyed."

  "Alas, it is so," said Cirdan. "We saw the fires from afar yestermorn, but could not come to their aid in time to save them. We saw no survivors."

  "The Corsairs do not leave survivors. It is as we feared. Many good men have died."

  "They died unbowed, Prince, for their ship's wra
ck bore still the colors of Pelargir. They died in a hopeless fight, but not in vain, for the very fires of their death called us in haste to your aid. Grieve not overmuch, Duitirith. Your city yet stands, your people are still free. My fleet shall remain here with you and my shipwrights and sailmakers are at your disposal. We shall guard the Ethir and the coasts until your fleet is ready once more. And with the Black Fleet destroyed, there should be little fear of attack. Long will it be ere Umbar again sails against Pelargir."

  "Aye, my lord, our hearts are indeed gladdened in the midst of our sorrow. Long have we lived in the shadow of fear. It is difficult to realize it is over at last. We shall feast this night, a night we thought never to see but a few hours ago."

  They reached a great hall surmounted by a towering blue spire and entered in. A man came to greet them, his head bandaged and his arm in a bloody sling.

  "Lord Cirdan," said the Prince, "this is Luindor, Captain of the Ships of Pelargir. He has done great deeds this day."

  Luindor bowed to Cirdan and was surprised when Cirdan bowed in return.

  "All the people of Pelargir have done much and borne much today," replied Cirdan.

  "Thank you, Lord," said Luindor. "From all the people of Pelargir, thank you. You have saved our city and our lives. I saw your engagement from the battlements near the gate, and I have never seen a naval maneuver carried out so handily."

  "We took them unawares and unprepared. If they had been fully manned and had time to prepare for us, the day could have had a very different outcome."