Isildur Page 31

  "To death!" shouted thousands of voices. "Ride to death!" Then the kings wheeled their horses and plunged down the road, followed by their surviving knights and housecarls. Slowly at first, then with ever increasing speed, the Army of the Alliance swept out onto the road and followed their lords.

  Those remaining in the ruined camp watched company after company thunder away to the west, banners flying bravely through the smoke and dust. For an hour and more they flowed by, until at last the final company of Men from the upper vales of Anduin pounded into the cloud of dust and were lost to sight.

  "To death!" came the last cries, already muffled by the distance. Then there was only the sound of the wind. For the first time in many years, the plain of Gorgoroth was silent.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Ride to Doom

  Throughout Minas Ithil, the roar of battle gradually subsided. Here and there knots of combat continued to rage furiously: small bands of orcs fighting desperately against now overwhelming odds but with no thought of surrender. From far beyond the plaza came the sounds of clashing arms and the shouts and cries of combat. The allies were pressing their foes back street by street and resistance was rapidly fading.

  Looking out over the vast plaza from the steps of the Citadel, Isildur could see groups of his men leaning on their swords, resting from the fight, looking about for any further enemies. Leeches and litter-bearers were already moving about the square, tending to the wounded. The quartermasters' wagons had rolled in through the gate and men were gathering around them eagerly for food. Clearly the city was theirs.

  But when Isildur turned and looked up at the walls of the Citadel above him, his heart sank. The towering walls stood silent, surrounded only by the dead. Bodies sprawled grotesquely upon the broad stairs, their blood running down the elegant white marble he had imported at such great cost from the Ered Nimrais. And everywhere he looked in the beautiful city he had designed and built, he was sickened by the filth, the stench, the ruined mansions and monuments. The statues of his ancestors that lined the porticoes of the buildings around the square had all been defiled: some toppled from their perches to lie broken on the pavement below, others with heads and limbs broken off, others splashed with paint or worse, in malicious mockery of his heritage. Looking up above the gate of the Citadel, he saw the statue of Elros, the founder of Númenor and his line. The face had been chiselled off and a grinning orc face rudely painted in its place. Isildur's face burned with shame as he thought of all that noble Elros Halfelven had borne and done, the immortality that he had voluntarily given up for Men. What would the hero say if he could see his image so desecrated? Isildur gave a guilty jump when he suddenly heard the voice of Elros's own brother quiet in his ear.

  "It is but an image, my friend; a thing of stone," said Elrond. Isildur looked and saw with him also Cirdan and Galadriel. Their faces all were drawn and tired, as if from a great effort, long sustained. Celeborn came to join them, his long silver hair flecked with blood. He looked anxiously at his wife.

  "I am glad to see you all again on this side," said Isildur.

  "It is good to be back in the world of light and warmth," said Galadriel, and Isildur thought that never before had her many years shown so clearly on her face. "But it is an evil chance that the Úlairi reached the Citadel. It may prove difficult to drive them from this fortress."

  "Difficult indeed," replied Isildur, "for it is very stoutly built. This is the only gate, and the portcullis is forged of the best iron. Beyond is a low vaulted tunnel with a massive oaken gate at the far end. In the ceiling are narrow slits through which arrows and hot oil or tar can be cast down upon those within."

  Cirdan shook his head grimly. "You gave great thought to your defenses, Isildur. Did you also think to build a secret entrance?"

  "Nay. I did not think I would be attacking it myself one day."

  "You are a cunning architect, Isildur," said Celeborn, "though I am coming to regret it. I wish you had erred somewhere."

  Isildur pounded his mailed fist on the wall. "I erred in my tactics today. We should have struck for the Citadel at once, not the Úlairi. With their retreat cut off, we could have pursued the Ringwraiths to their destruction, wheresoever they fled. "We might have sent a party through the side streets to attack the Citadel, but when the Fear came…" He drew his hand over his face, as if to wipe away the horror still before his eyes.

  "I know," said Elrond. "Their evil flowed from them as blood gushes from a wound. They are an affront to all that is good in the world. When I felt them coming toward us, I knew that I had to destroy them or die in the attempt."

  "I had the same feeling," said Cirdan. "They are unnatural abominations. They do not belong in this world, and it is stained and tainted while they walk in it. They are the antithesis to us Firstborn."

  "Do not fault yourself, Isildur," said Galadriel. "No one could have withstood their Shadow. Even the Three together were only just enough to drive them back."

  "But if…" began Isildur, but he was interrupted by the sound of shouting from the direction of the gate. Turning, he saw Elendur striding toward him, his face shining. The warriors in the plaza cheered him as they caught sight of him. He ascended the stairs and fell to his knee at Isildur's feet.

  "Welcome home, father," he said.

  Isildur drew him up and looked upon him, fatherly pride and gratitude struggling to express themselves, but in vain.

  "Elendur!" shouted many of the men nearby, and the cry was taken up across the entire plaza: "Elendur! Elendur and Isildur!"

  "Minas Ithil is ours once more," said Elendur. "Long have we waited for this victory!"

  Isildur shook his head. "It is less than half a victory as yet, my son, for the Úlairi still hold the Citadel."

  Elendur's face fell. "But we saw them falling back before you. We thought them defeated at last."

  "Alas, it was not to be." He gestured at the many bodies all around them. "As you see, many a brave warrior died in the attempt to stop them, but in vain. They are safe within."

  "Then they are our prisoners."

  "Perhaps. But it could take months to force them out. Our duty was to destroy them, to take away Sauron's most powerful allies. In this we have failed." And he hung his head in despair.

  "Perhaps all is not lost," said Galadriel. "Our task was to prevent the Ringwraiths from joining with Sauron. We have retaken the city, destroyed their legions, and driven them back to their last refuge. We know now that they cannot stand against the Three. We can keep them penned up here in the Citadel. They will give no aid to Sauron now."

  "Yes, but our work is not done. Now we are to cross the mountains and join forces with Gil-galad and Elendil in Gorgoroth. They will need us there when Sauron at last issues forth. We cannot leave the Ringwraiths unguarded at our backs. It is the situation in Mordor all over again: we cannot get in, the enemy will not come out, and we dare not leave or relax our guard. We are now trapped here as much as they."

  The Lords paused to watch in silence as a group of dusty, blood-stained knights bore past them the body of Barathor on his shield. Just behind, four more knights bore the small body of Barathor's herald, wrapped in the blood-stained banner. Of all the host there assembled, these two alone had actually landed blows on the Úlairi. All who saw this sad cortege hung their heads.

  "So passes Barathor, the Eagle of the Blue Tower," said Isildur. "May his strength and wisdom flow in the veins of the Pelargrim forever."

  "Aye," said Celeborn. "Many a brave Elf and Man died today, but there passes the bravest among them. We will want his courage and wisdom in the days to come, for I fear our cause nows goes ill."

  "It may be so," agreed Elrond sadly. "I fear Isildur is right. We dare not leave the Ringwraiths behind us, especially now we know more fully the power they wield. Even the bravest and most trusted guardians could not stand against their Shadow."

  Galadriel stood gazing thoughtfully at the bier of Barathor as it was born from the plaza. At
length she turned to her companions.

  "Ringbearers, think you that one Ring alone could stand against the Nine?"

  Elrond looked at her in surprise. "My lady," he said, "I know not how it was with you, but for my part I was drained and weakened by the conflict. Even now I am trembling and my limbs feel as water."

  Cirdan nodded. "Their power nearly overmatched us all. I doubt that two Rings would have been enough. For one Ringbearer to stand alone against all Nine — no, it is unthinkable."

  "But if the Three remain here," Galadriel persisted, "there is little hope for the war in Mordor. The Rings must go over the mountains to serve as the lure for Sauron's greed, and to help the Kings in the final conflict. I will remain here with Nenya and some of the Galadrim and attempt to keep the Ringwraiths within. The rest of you should proceed with the plan and ride to Gorgoroth."

  "My Lady, no," said Isildur and Elrond together, but Celeborn raised his hand to silence their protests.

  "Galadriel is correct," he said. "The risk is indeed great, but it must be borne. Any other path leads to stalemate, which will only mean defeat in the end."

  "But one Ring against all Nine?" protested Cirdan. "It is impossible."

  "Perhaps the Úlairi will bide their time," said Galadriel, "thinking all Three are still here. Perhaps I will not be tested. But whatever happens to me, it is clear that the other Rings and the host must hurry at once to Mordor."

  "You would remain here while we go on?" exclaimed Elrond. "But the Three are most powerful when they are wielded in concert. Isn't that why even Gil-galad's Vilya was brought here? The Three must remain together."

  "That was the plan, but that can no longer be," said Galadriel. "Our task was twofold: to prevent the Ringwraiths from joining with Sauron; and to aid the Kings in Gorgoroth. Since we have been unable to complete the first, we must divide our forces to accomplish both goals. Both forces have need of Rings, and therefore the Rings too must be divided. Sauron is the greater foe, so two Rings should go east. But the one that remains should be the strongest, for the other two can help each other. Vilya is supreme only if worn by its master, Gil-galad. Of the other two, Nenya is the stronger and I have been its mistress since it was given to me by Celebrimbor that dark day in Eregion. Therefore Nenya and I must remain here to guard this door, while the rest of you fly at once to Mordor."

  The lords looked on her in silence, but there was no more argument.

  "The Lady is right," said Celeborn. "We shall remain here."

  Galadriel put a white hand on his shoulder. "No, my husband. You must lead the Galadrim against their ancient enemy. I will remain with but a small company."

  "That I will not permit, my Lady," said Celeborn. "It is not just the Ringwraiths. The city is not yet secured and Ithilien is still crawling with enemies. You will need a strong force to protect you. And besides," he added with a warm smile. "Neither I nor the rest of our people would leave you alone at such a time, my beloved Altariel." Galadriel looked on him in silence, then bowed her head.

  "Let it be so then," she said. "The Galadrim will remain to guard Minas Ithil."

  Isildur looked on them sadly. "Sorely will we miss the strength and the courage of you and your fair people, my Lord and Lady. And thus again does Sauron thwart our plans and weaken us for the final conflict."

  "But now," said Cirdan, "if we are to be present for that conflict, we must ride with all speed. We must not delay another moment."

  "Yes, father," said Elendur. "We have done all we can accomplish here. Now my grandsire has urgent need of us."

  "It is so," said Isildur. He turned to Celeborn. "Lord, the infantry of Gondor will be here in but a few hours. They will secure the city and scour the countryside round about. Perhaps the Ringwraiths will not dare to attack against so many."

  Galadriel smiled grimly. "Be not fooled, Isildur. It is not the armed warriors that daunt the Black Ones, but the Rings. But your people will be welcome indeed. At least we will be safe from marauding orcs at our backs. As for the Galadrim, we shall watch at this door and await your victorious return. Then shall the Wraiths be banished forever from the circles of the world.

  "Now you must go. We know not how Sauron communicates with his Úlairi. Perhaps even now he knows the city is taken."

  "Father!" cried Elendur. "The Lady reminds me of something I saw from the gate tower when the army was pouring in through the gate. I marked it little at the time, but it may be of import."

  "What was it?"

  "A rider. A lone rider, riding hard up the road to the high pass. He must have gone out the eastern sally port before the Galadrim reached it."

  "An orc or a Man?"

  "A Man, certainly. Tall and thin, in black armor, with a long cape flying behind him like a wing."

  Isildur caught Ohtar's eye. Ohtar nodded.

  "Most likely our old friend Malithôr of Umbar," he said. "Would we had cut off his sneering head when we had the chance at Erech."

  "Is this the same Man we chased at Pelargir?" asked Cirdan.

  "Most likely," said Isildur. "He warned the Ring-wraiths of our coming, and now he rides to Mordor to warn his master."

  "He will have a rough welcome when he meets Gil-galad and Elendil," said Elendur with a grim smile.

  "But he may know secret ways into the Barad-dûr," said Celeborn. "And now he knows the Three are here. If he can get into the Tower, he will bear the tale to Sauron. If so, Sauron will not delay long before coming forth. You must make all possible haste."

  Isildur, Elendur, and Elrond departed to issue their orders, but Cirdan yet lingered. Leaning close to Galadriel, he spoke in a low voice so that he should not be overheard.

  "But do you truly think you can hold this door with Nenya alone?"

  She met his eyes. "I think we three Noldor all know it is most unlikely, noble shipmaster. If the Úlairi knew your Rings were leaving the city, they would be at our throats before you were out of sight. Our only hope is that they are unsure and hesitate until it is too late. If they do come forth, we shall delay them as long as possible. It is your task to deal with Sauron. With their master gone, their power will be broken. May Elbereth be with you. Namarië."

  "May she be with you as well. Namarië, Lady. I must ride."

  The plaza was again a bustle of activity, with companies forming up, men moving about, exchanging damaged gear with those who no longer needed theirs. Commands were shouted, horsemen moved through the press. Bands of fighters poured in from the side streets where they had been going from house to house, searching out the last orcs.

  The Lords rode to the head of the column. Isildur sent a messenger to carry news of the battle back to Osgiliath. With him went a courier of Pelargir, and a long black riband floated from his arm. Isildur and Elendur sat their mounts and watched him ride away.

  "A long road he faces, and a sad homecoming," said Elendur.

  "Aye," said Isildur. "I grieve for the Lady Heleth. She was so filled with fear for her husband."

  Elendur squinted up at the sun. "It is two hours past midday. It has been but eight hours since we rode from Osgiliath. It seems a long day already."

  Isildur nodded. "Many a warrior who rode into the dawn with us this morning shall never see another. And we do not even have time to mourn them. But if we are ever to have the victory in this war, I fear there will be more widows wailing in Gondor."

  "Will they wail for us, I wonder?" mused Elendur. "I fear not for myself, but it pains me to think of mother and my brothers."

  "If we fall," said Isildur, "I fear our mourners will not long survive us."

  Looking up to the walls, he saw the battlements lined with green-clad Elves. The Lord and Lady stood on the steps of the Citadel with the greater part of their knights, looking on solemnly. Isildur raised his sword to them, then turned and led his army through the gate. Ohtar rode before him with his banner, and his son Elendur was at his side. Just behind them rode Elrond and Cirdan and his Sea-Elves of Lindon. It was much like
the ride from Osgiliath that morning. The flags were as bright in the sun and the cheers as loud, but now the swords were notched and the lances stained. The column was also much shorter, missing the Galadrim and the many fallen or wounded. The horses as well as the riders were weary now, and the column slowed to a canter as soon as the last riders left the gate and the great doors swung closed behind them with a heavy thud.

  They turned east at once, the towering crags of the rocky Ephel Dúath looming above them. The road wound through grasslands dotted with occasional trees, the River Sirlos tumbling below in its rocky bed. Soon both the stream and the road crowded into a narrow defile. The road narrowed as it entered the twisting canyon, but it lay between low stone walls and the paving stones were smooth and well laid.

  Soon the way grew steeper. Sirlos became a series of frothing waterfalls, and the road had been hewn into the living rock of the canyon walls. Low steps appeared across the road more and more frequently, until in places they were actually riding up broad stairs, the horses' hooves clattering on the smooth stones. There was an oppressive, suffocating air to the place. The host labored upward in silence, with only the stream's thunder echoing in the hollow barren place.

  At one point they rounded a turn and saw the Sirlos, reduced to little more than a freshet, falling free for some two hundred feet. The road, now so narrow that the riders had to pass in single file, slashed back and forth across a nearly vertical rock wall beside the fall. The pavement became mossy and slippery. They dismounted and led their horses upward. In two places the path went behind the fall and the riders looked down toward the mouth of the canyon through a shimmering silver curtain of water.

  "This road must have been built by mountain goats," grumbled Elrond, leading his horse up an especially steep switchback. The rocks were green and mossy from the constant mist from the falls, and the horses were skittish and uneasy.