Isildur Page 34

  Ohtar joined them to report that the men were fed and ready.

  "Then let us ride," said Isildur, and they turned and joined the Elf-Lords. Cirdan and Elrond were already mounted. "To horse," cried Cirdan. "We have many leagues still before us. Tonight we shall sleep in the camp of Gil-galad and Elendil."

  They rode then, down from the heights of the Morgai ridge into a shallow ravine that gradually widened as they descended until it opened out onto the plain in a wide fan of broken rock. The road at last ceased its tiresome twisting and stretched away toward the east, turning only to avoid slag heaps and the steaming fumaroles.

  Once they spied of group of dark figures on the road ahead, but they fled from the road at sight of the host, leaving something dark lying in the road. When they reached the spot, they saw that it was the body of a great black stallion. It was gaunt and covered with streaks of foam.

  "A magnificent animal," said Elendur sadly. "From the looks of him, someone rode him to the death."

  "I know this horse," said Ohtar. "Remember, Sire? We last saw him at Erech."

  "Aye. You may be right, Ohtar. He is much like, and I never knew you to be wrong about a horse."

  "What a sad end for such a noble beast," said Elrond. "A curse on him who destroyed it."

  "Many curses has he already had," said Isildur, "for his master was Malithôr of Umbar, the Mouth of Sauron."

  "And no sign of him or the orcs we saw either," said Elendur, looking about at the trackless wastes all around them.

  "Gone down their rat holes," grumbled Ohtar.

  "But he was alone when he left Minas Ithil," said Elendur. "Has he gathered a body of orcs to him, do you think?"

  "No," said Isildur. "He is a proud Númenórean. He will not deign to associate with orcs. He is long gone by now."

  "But the orcs that fled at our approach?" asked Elrond.

  "I fear they admired Malithôr's horse only as dinner," said Isildur, pointing to a short crude knife dropped by the horse's head. "Let us ride on. Perhaps we can overtake him."

  The sun was climbing high when the road descended the last slopes and entered the blackened lava fields of Gorgoroth. The temperature rose to a suffocating heat. Ribbons of grey wind-blown dust writhed across the half-buried road, whipped here and there into twisting dust-devils that moved slowly across the landscape like ghosts. Foul-smelling fumes that burned the eyes erupted from cracks in the lava, and many riders tied cloths across their faces against the stench. They rode on in silence, each enduring the miseries alone, lost in his own thoughts. Gradually the Mountain crept nearer, looming ever higher before them.

  Then, just as the leaders topped a low rise and could see the whole Mountain rising before them, the plains groaned and heaved and the air shuddered with a mighty, deep-throated roar. The horses reared and screamed in their fright, and several fell. The ground shook so violently that many crags and slag heaps nearby crumbled and fell, and new fissures and cracks split the ground. Steam and smoke issued from every vent.

  When they had their mounts under control, they looked up at Orodruin and saw that it was in full eruption. The topmost crags burst asunder and fell tumbling and rolling down its steep sides. A great fountain of flame burst from its summit. The face of the Mountain was slashed and scored by searing rivers of thick clotted lava. Choking clouds of fiery ash boiled from a dozen new vents. The column halted in awe.

  Elrond looked to Gildor. "What means this, Lord? Think you it is but another eruption? Never have I seen one more violent."

  Gildor looked upon the Mountain's torment as yet another gout of flame shot up. "I know not, my friend, but I fear that Sauron is roused to anger. Mayhap he has learned somehow of the taking of Minas Ithil. Perhaps he even senses the approach of the Rings, so closely are they linked to his own."

  Isildur rose in his stirrups, peering into the roiling clouds of smoke wreathing the Mountain. "Orodruin and its fumes prevent any glimpse of the Barad-dûr beyond. Would we had some news of the Kings."

  Cirdan's face was grim and set. "My heart misgives me," he said. "I fear our plans have gone awry. Sauron may even now be coming out of his tower, and we have many leagues still to ride. We must make great haste."

  So the riders moved out again, at a trot. Hour after hour they rode across the steaming wastes. Ever the Mountain rumbled and belched forth streams of lava, but none toward the road. It seemed that the Mountain came no closer, but only grew taller and taller. Then at last they came to the lip of a broad and shallow valley and could see the road stretching out like a thin white line etched upon the blackened southern skirts of the Mountain.

  Cirdan peered under a shading hand. "Elrond, do you mark an odd dark cloud above the road in the distance, beyond the Mountain's shoulder?"

  "There is a blackness that seems almost solid, directly above the road."

  Isildur squinted into the distance, but his eyes were not equal to the Elves'. "Could it be the pall which hangs always above the Barad-dûr?" he asked.

  "It is very like," said Gildor. "But surely it is too near. The Tower is yet fifteen leagues beyond."

  "I like it not," said Cirdan uneasily. "It has an evil look. Methinks I would not willingly ride under it."

  "Is there no other way, father?" asked Elendur.

  "No. This is the only road, and we dare not leave it, for the land is a maze of pits and vents masked by drifting ash. But perhaps the cloud is but smoke from the eruption. It may dissipate as we approach. Let us ride on."

  "Hold!" said Elrond. "Look there!" They followed his pointing arm toward a line of smoking cinder cones off to their left.

  First Cirdan, then the others, noticed a tiny dark figure struggling slowly along the side of the easternmost of the small volcanic vents. Clouds of dust rose as the steep cinder slope slid away from its feet.

  "It is a Man, alone and on foot," said Elrond, squinting at the tiny black dot in the distance. "If it is our old friend Malithôr, he has chosen a difficult path," he added, watching the hurrying figure stumble and fall, then rise and struggle on.

  "He no doubt wished to avoid the road, and us," said Isildur. "He is most determined to reach Sauron before we do. But it is hopeless on foot. If he continues on that course we should catch him somewhere near the southern foot of the Mountain. He cannot hope to reach the Barad-dûr before we do."

  The column advanced down into the valley of black lava, blocking out the sight of the distant figure. Another hour passed, and still the Mountain quaked and still the ominous cloud hovered before them. All could see it now, and the men murmured uneasily, wondering what evil it might hold. They rode up across the southern skirts of the Mountain and several times had to pick their way across more recent lava flows that had buried the road. Then the road dropped away into a steep-sided ravine and they halted once more to pass around food and to water the horses.

  "Surely, my lords," said Cirdan. "Yonder cloud is moving. When first we spied it, it was clearly above the plains east of the Mountain. Now it is further south and nearly before us. It is as if it were moving along the road we are on, coming toward us."

  They watched a few moments, and soon there could be no doubt. The dark pall crept across the landscape like a living thing, following a weaving pattern that must mark the path of the road below.

  "This is the work of Sauron," said Cirdan darkly. "It may be some weapon or pestilence of his making."

  "Must we just sit here and wait for it to engulf us?" asked Elendur. "I believe I can smell it, or some change in the air — some reek of putrescence, of death." He shivered, even in the oppressive heat.

  "But surely," said Isildur, "it seems to have just now stopped. See, it hovers but a league or two away."

  "But hark ye," said Cirdan, bidding them to silence. Elrond sat unmoving a moment, then turned to Cirdan. "The sounds of battle: the clash of steel and the voices of many warriors."

  The men strained their ears, but could hear nothing but the wind. Isildur shook his head. "Your Elvi
sh ears are keen indeed. I hear nothing."

  "Nevertheless, a great battle rages beneath that cloud," said Cirdan.

  "Then it can only be the Kings!" said Elendur.

  "Aye," said Cirdan, "and Sauron. The final battle is upon us."

  "Men of Gondor and the Southlands!" shouted Isildur, rising in his stirrups and facing his men. "This is the final hour. The enemy is before us. Strike now, and strike well, or the West shall never strike again! The world rides on your shoulders. Forward now, for Gil-galad and Elendil!"

  The thousands of riders gave a hoarse and ragged cheer, uncovering their shields and drawing their weapons. Then the column moved forward, down the slope into the ravine, and into the shadow of that black cloud. Ohtar drew forth the great horn of the Eredrim and gave wind to it in mighty blast after blast. High and clear the horn rang. Then the Host of the West was swallowed by the Night of Sauron and the horn became muted and faint. Soon no living thing could be seen moving in all that tortured plain, and only the cloud of darkness remained.

  Chapter Twelve

  Orodruin

  Elendil drove his heels into his charger's sides, urging him on to greater speed. The great horse, already covered with sweat from the long gallop in the stifling heat, grunted but responded, stretching his stride and pulling away from the horses around him. Soon he was a dozen lengths in front of the pounding column of cavalry. No one spoke, their faces masked against the heat and dust, their reddened eyes intent on a column of dust and smoke always a few leagues ahead of them.

  The walls of the road crept monotonously by, and still they drew no nearer their foes. The heat, the dust, the lava walls blurring by on either hand, combined to give a nightmarish sense of futility, as if they were doomed to ride thus forever. The only indication of their speed was the fiery summit of Orodruin rising above the black pall. It grew steadily closer. Now and again it shuddered and belched forth new streams of lava and clouds of black flame-laced smoke. Near its summit shone a gleaming red light like a baleful eye watching them — the door to the Sammath Naur, the Chambers of Fire.

  Hours passed and they were forced to slow to a canter. The large heavy war horses were streaming with sweat, their great shining sides heaving as they gasped for air in the oppressive heat. Finally by unspoken consent they stopped and allowed the hostlers and grooms to catch up and water the horses from the leather sacks slung on their pack horses.

  Elendil sat on the wall, breathing heavily and drinking from a water gourd, as Gil-galad turned from some of his captains and came over to him.

  "We cannot keep up this pace much longer," said the Elf.

  "We must," gasped Elendil. "Sauron is no more than a league or two before us."

  "Aye. But his orcs are accustomed to this heat and short rations. And he has no compunctions about running them to death. If we exhaust our horses we can't hope to pursue him on foot."

  "I suppose not. But it galls me to know he is so near and to be unable to bring him to bay."

  "I know. But if we do catch him we must be ready to fight. Many of the people look ready to drop from their horses. This ride is destroying their fighting ability."

  Elendil looked at his men slumped in the meager shade of the wall. Their faces were ashen and drawn, grey even under the dust. They did not speak, and ate and drank only mechanically.

  "You are right. We must rest. But no more than an hour, or we may never catch him."

  And so they rested, eyes closed against the blaze of the sun. It was high now, burning down like a copper coin through the smoky yellow haze. It bathed the barren landscape in a glare and heat that left the rocks too hot to comfortably touch and took all relief even from the few shadows. The Elves stood sentry duty, standing tall and dark against the orange sky, wrapped in their long grey cloaks that somehow sheltered them from the heat.

  * * *

  Elendil had thought to only rest his eyes for a moment, but then he was being shaken awake by Gil-galad.

  "Elendil," said the Elf. "Elendil, rouse yourself."

  Elendil rose from the ground with a groan. "Oh, my friend," he sighed. "My Númenórean blood has given me long life, but it has not padded these old bones for sleeping upon stones. What is it? Is it time to ride again?"

  "I believe Sauron too has stopped. The black cloud reached the foot of Orodruin soon after we stopped, but it has not moved since. Come see for yourself."

  They climbed over the low wall of black lava rocks and walked to the top of a mound of cinders a few hundred yards north of the road. Three Elvish sentries stood there, looking out to the west and pointing.

  "There, Sire," said one. "You see? The cloud is over that low area just beyond the old lava flows at Orodruin's southern skirts. But it has not moved this last half hour."

  "What could it mean?" mused Elendil, staring out at the dark pall like a motionless column of smoke.

  "Perhaps even his horde needs rest," suggested Gil-galad.

  "Or perhaps he lies in wait to ambush us," murmured one of the other Elves.

  "He has no need to hide," said Elendil. "All he has to do is to wait for us to catch up."

  "Then perhaps he is ready to make his stand."

  "But then why lead us this chase halfway across Mordor first?"

  "He may feel stronger in the shadow of Orodruin," said Gil-galad. "It is said that the source of his power is within the Mountain."

  "If so, we have no choice but to fight him on the ground of his choosing. Rouse the army. Let us mount and ride at once."

  Soon they were under way again, the men still groggy from their short sleep, the horses disgruntled at starting again so soon in the heat of the day. Elendil and Gil-galad rode side by side at the head of the column, watching that ominous dark cloud growing nearer every minute.

  "It is an evil situation," said Elendil, keeping his voice low so the others wouldn't hear. "He is at the peak of his power, in his own territory, and he can arrange his troops as he pleases. He even chooses the time and place of the battle."

  "Aye," said Gil-galad, "while we shall arrive exhausted from a long siege and chase, and we do not even know where our friends might be at this moment."

  "Would they were with us now," said Elendil. "I would feel much easier if I had Isildur at my side."

  "And his ten thousand warriors," agreed Gil-galad. "But if we must face Sauron as we are, let us do all that we can. Sauron alone must be our object."

  "Aye, if he were slain the orcs alone would be no great danger. They can fight fiercely, but only with leadership. If their captains are slain, individually they are cowards."

  "Then let us not spread out into a long battle line," suggested Gil-galad. "You and I shall ride straight for Sauron with all our greatest knights. All the rest shall follow at our backs, perhaps no more than ten abreast. We will make no attempt to engage along the entire front. It will be one glorious charge. Are we agreed?"

  Elendil considered a moment. "If the charge is stopped, his orcs will be able to close in around us. We would have no defense on our flanks at all. We wouldn't have a chance."

  "Yes. It is win or lose, all or nothing. We shall gamble all on one thrust straight at him."

  "It is a desperate plan. There could be no retreat, no regrouping, no second attempt."

  "For myself," said Gil-galad, "I am sick of this miserable land and all that is in it. I have no desire for other battles, other days. I would meet Sauron face to face and give him a taste of Aeglos in the ribs," he said grimly, holding the great spear upright at his side. "If I die in the attempt, so be it. But we will have done our utmost. Let it be finished today."

  "Yes," said Elendil. "I too am ready for the war to be over today. I will ride beside you. And my Narsil too is thirsty for Sauron's blood."

  "Then let the orders be passed, for methinks he is only beyond that ridge."

  Isildur turned in his saddle and his voice boomed out over the pounding of hooves. "Form up in ten files, no more. When we see the enemy, keep together a
nd draw up tight behind us; let no one straggle or they will left behind. Engage only those immediately before you. Do not turn aside to pursue. Let every warrior ride straight for Sauron, no matter what may come between. And he whose hand brings him down shall live forever in song. His name shall be sung in the halls of kingdoms yet unborn. Ride now, and do not stop until Sauron is dead!"

  * * *

  The pall loomed right above them now, blocking the sun and throwing the land into shadow. Smoke drifted among the pinnacles of broken rock on either hand. They pounded up a last slope, topped a rise, and looked down into a wide flat valley. On the right was a jagged black wall of lava, the toe of a massive flow coming down from Orodruin, now filling the entire northern sky. And there before them lay all the armies of Mordor.

  They were spread along the floor of the valley, from the lava on the right until they disappeared in the murk to the south. Rank upon rank of armored orcs, their weapons bristling above and before them. Here and there among them were companies of Men: cruel Haradrim of the South and the savage Men of Rhûn and the Berserkers from the lands to the east.

  On the far side of the valley, perhaps three miles away, a group of a few hundred black figures were formed up in a dense square behind the last ranks. There, where the darkness was deepest, flew the banners of ebony with the crimson Lidless Eye. Even at that distance, the Men and Elves could feel the malice and the terror that was Sauron's Shadow.

  No orders were necessary. No maneuvering was required. Gil-galad and Elendil simply topped the rise and rode shoulder-to-shoulder, straight for that darkness. Behind them the long, long column continued to pour over the hill, riding at full speed. Deep-throated cries rang out, tearing the air: "Gondor! Gondor!" and "Elbereth. Elbereth for Lindon!"

  The orc officers apparently assumed the leaders would pause at the foot of the hill to disperse their troops along the front, for they did nothing but watch silently. Closer and closer came Elendil and Gil-galad, their armor gleaming in the sun, their banners rippling above them. Their chief knights spread out into a tight wedge behind them so the column assumed the form of a giant spear, the point driving straight toward the center of Sauron's army.