Isildur Read online

  "Well, it gladdens my heart," said Ciryon, "for it means we are done with climbing these ridges for a time."

  "Aye. Beyond this Gladden the land is flat and easy. In another week we should be at the pass, and but a few days beyond that lies Imladris."

  "Yes, and mother and little Vali," said Aratan. "I am anxious to see them again. Wait till you see him, father."

  "I really feel that I am about to meet him for the first time." replied Isildur. "He was but an infant at his mother's breast when I left. Curse Sauron for taking from us all those years together. I will never know my fourth son's early years. I did not hear his first words, nor hold his hands when he essayed his first steps. I myself am only a name to him. And there is no way for me to get those years back. It will take some time, I know, but I intend to bridge across those years. I truly hope and believe that now our family will be able to live in peace and even happiness again. And I am most anxious to begin. Let us ride."

  They wound their way down the ridge. Near the bottom was a faint trail skirting the fens. They rode in single file, scanning the ground ahead, for here and there small green pools lay on either side of the path, marking treacherous bogs. In late afternoon they left the fens and saw the Greenwood River before them. Isildur led them to the left along its bank until they found a path leading steeply down the gravel bank. The river was wide but very shallow, and they could see the large smooth cobbles sparkling beneath the surface. They stopped to let their horses drink their fill and to refill their water bags, then splashed across the stream and up the far bank. As Isildur had predicted, the land here was flat and grassy, broken by occasional thickets of low shrubs. The grass was short, lush and green, a contrast to the dry lands they had been crossing. The narrow track they were following bore off to the east. As the sun sank behind the mountains behind them, they came to the banks of the Anduin, where the clear sparkling waters of Greenwood merged with the thick brown waters of the Great River. There between the two rivers was a fair green lawn of sweet grass, bordered on its northern and western edges by a thick forest.

  "These are the fields of Gladden," said Isildur. "Let us make camp here and tomorrow set out refreshed. We should be able to make good time in the land ahead."

  The men started unloading and setting up the tents. Ohtar and two others walked over to the edge of the forest to gather firewood. Ohtar was breaking up a long branch that had fallen onto the grass when one of his companions stepped out of the woods nearby.

  "Whew!" the man said. "You are wise to pick wood out here in the sun. There is an unhealthy chill in yonder wood." Soon, arms piled high, they returned to the camp and started building a fire. By the time the last light had faded from the sky the men were seated about the fire, eating a good hot meal and talking happily of home.

  "Well, I for one am ready for bed," said Elendur. "I hope I don't have first watch tonight."

  "Oh, perhaps for tonight we do not need to set a watch," said Isildur with a yawn.

  Aratan and Elendur exchanged looks of surprise. "Do you think it is safe, father?"

  "I believe so," said Isildur, already spreading out his blankets. "Peace is upon the land again. It is time we laid aside the ways of war."

  "I like it not," said Ohtar. "Remember the warning of the Elves."

  "You were always over-eager to protect me, Ohtar. But look around. This is a wide and empty land. We have seen so sign of any other travellers for weeks. We are far from the mountains where the orcs are said to be hiding. And besides, no ragged band of renegade orcs would dare attack us. They are cowardly things, never eager for a fair fight and we have many doughty knights among us. We are as safe as houses. We must learn anew the pleasure of sleeping through a night. Let us all get a good night's rest and be ready to ride many miles on the morrow."

  It was late in the evening before they rolled into their blankets to sleep. Ohtar was still uneasy and lay awake for a long time, arms folded behind his head, looking up at the stars burning down from the black sky. It seemed strange and unnatural to be lying there on the open ground, knowing there were no sentries pacing the perimeter of the camp. But no doubt Isildur was right. The war was over. It had been going on for so long that he could hardly remember what peace had been like. But now he was reminded of times years ago, when he and Isildur had hunted together in the hills of the Emyn Arnen and had slept out beneath the stars with never a thought of danger. Ohtar snorted wryly. He was just an old soldier, set in his ways. He needed to learn to relax again. He turned on his side, pulled his musty old blanket up around his throat, and went to sleep.

  * * *

  He woke with a pounding heart and his eyes snapped open. It was very dark. The waning crescent moon was a thin arc in the west, just about to set behind the jagged peaks of the Misty Mountains. The camp was silent, save for the faint crackle of the dying embers of the fire. He was trembling, but not from the cold. Something, some unnamed sense, had awakened him as swiftly and completely as if a pail of cold water had been thrown over him. It was his soldier's instinct, learned by evil experience. But what had caused it? Silently he sat up and looked around.

  The camp was so dark he could make out nothing at all. The thick woods to the west blocked what little moonlight remained and all was in deep shadow. Then, just at the limit of hearing, he heard a shuffling sound in the grass not far away. Every nerve tingling with a sense of danger, he softly threw off his blankets and reached for his sword lying beside him. Still unwilling to sound an alarm and wake the camp without reason, he paused a moment more. He was peering toward the only light, the dim glow of a smoldering log in the fire, when it blinked. Something had passed in front of it; something silent, something crouched and bent. His nerves, drawn taut as a bowstring, jerked him to his feet.

  "To arms!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs. "To arms! They are among us!" Instantly there was a roar of noise. Men's confused shouts, the hoarse croaking cries of orcs, the sickening crunch and clang of metal striking bone.

  Not knowing what else to do, Ohtar ran toward the fire. He ran headlong into someone with a jarring impact and they both went down with loud grunts of surprise. He struggled to his feet as quickly as he could, and could just make out the dim shape of an orc rolling over and rising, an axe in its hands. It looked up at him, its eyes yellow in the feeble glare of the fire. Ohtar brought his sword around in a two-handed sweep with all his strength behind it. He felt it connect solidly. The orc shrieked and something flew off to the side and landed with a heavy thud. Ohtar turned and ran to the fire. He kicked the glowing log hard and it rolled over in a towering fountain of sparks and burst into flame. Instantly the camp was lit with a lurid flickering glare.

  Orcs were everywhere, threescore at least, with more running in from the darkness. Most of the men were still on the ground, blinking in confusion. Many of them woke to find two or three orcs standing over them. Many another never woke at all, for the orcs for several minutes before the alarm had been moving silently through the camp, piercing each blanket roll with their long sharp knives. Now the orcs were rushing through the camp, swinging their jagged swords wildly about them.

  Ohtar saw a nearby orc bend over a man lying on the ground and raise its sword to strike. With an oath, he hurled himself forward and brought his sword down on the orc's shoulder with such force that the sword cut nearly to the breastbone. The orc fell across his intended victim. Ohtar rolled the body off and a man struggled to his feet covered in the orc's black blood. He snatched up the orc's sword and together they drove against three orcs attacking one of the few knights on his feet fighting. It was Thalion, one of Isildur's housecarls. In a moment they had slain two and Thalion drove his sword through the third. Then an orc plunged toward Ohtar with his pike held out before him. Ohtar turned to meet him, but the orc tripped over a body on the ground and went down. Ohtar pinned him there with a thrust between the shoulder blades. He heard a scream just behind him and wheeled around to see the man he had just saved go down before a l
arge orc with a double-headed axe. Ohtar and Thalion leaped forward and after a fierce struggle killed the orc. Glancing around the camp, they could see only two other men on their feet, hemmed in by many enemies. As he watched, they both went down almost at the same instant.

  "Isildur," shouted Ohtar at the top of his lungs. "Sire!"

  "Here!" came an answering shout from the other side of the fire. Ohtar shouted to Thalion, who was so covered in blood that he could barely recognize him. "To the king! The king!" Together they leaped through the fire and landed beside Isildur, Aratan, and two other men. They had their backs to the fire, facing half a dozen orcs who stood hesitating before the bright blades. The orcs backed off further when the other two men burst out of the flames. Ohtar glanced at the king. Thick blood pulsed slowly from a wound on his shoulder and he held the arm tight against his body. His face was pale and shining in the light.

  "Sire," said Ohtar, "You're hurt."

  "It will not matter if we cannot fight our way clear," said Isildur through clenched teeth. "Have you seen Ciryon and Elendur?"

  "No. I believe no more of our people are alive on the other side of the camp," said Ohtar.

  "And very few on this," said the man beside him. "Only the fire deters them, I think."

  "The fire will be our doom," said Isildur. "Our only hope is to get out into the dark and try to escape."

  "We can't hope to outrun orcs in the dark, Sire," gasped one of the men, slashing at an orc that was waving a trident toward his face. "They can run for hours, and they can track us by smell."

  "Yes, Linfalas, but they are rarely swimmers. They like not the water. If we can get to the river, we have a chance at least."

  "They can just wade the Greenwood," said Aratan, glancing back over the fire at a group of orcs gathering on that side.

  "Then it must be the Anduin."

  "That would be a long dangerous swim," said Ohtar. "And you are wounded."

  "Does anyone else have another plan?"

  No one spoke. The orcs started edging closer, getting ready to rush them.

  "Ohtar, take my pack, I can't carry it with this arm. It's right here at my feet. Keep it with you at all costs. Put it on so you can swim." He thrust forward with his sword and the orcs fell back a few paces, snarling. "Now everyone pick up a brand out of the fire. When I give the word, scream like a madman, shove the brands in their faces, and run to the right. The Anduin should be no more than three hundred yards away. The bank is steep and the water deep. I suggest just running right into it. Then swim as fast as you can. They'll be shooting at us, no doubt. You'll probably have to drop your swords. If we become separated, we'll meet on the east bank. "

  He paused, then added in a low voice to Ohtar alone, "You may not see me, but I'll be with you. Do not wait to look for me. Do you understand?"

  Ohtar nodded grimly. He knew Isildur meant to put on the Ring, and he approved if it would increase his chances. "Aye, I understand," he said, stooping and picking up Isildur's pack. It was heavy, and something within it shifted and gave a muffled clank. Then, one by one while the others guarded them, each man turned and picked a stout burning brand out of the fire. They held them before them and waved them at the nearest orcs. The orcs fell back, snarling and holding their hands up against the light and heat.

  "All ready?" asked Isildur.

  "Aye." "Ready." "Ready, Sire."

  "May the Valar protect you all." Isildur glanced quickly to Aratan on his right and Ohtar on his left. "Goodbye, my friends," he whispered. Then he turned to face the orcs edging warily forward again.

  "Now!" he shouted, and all six of them leaped forward, screaming, pushing the flaming brands in the orcs' faces, and slashing wildly with their swords. Three orcs went down before them, the rest fell back howling. The men turned right and raced off into the dark, leaping over packs and bodies scattered about the camp. Several bands of orcs looked up from plundering the dead and saw the men charging at them, still screaming and brandishing their torches. Some fell back, others moved to intercept them. Two that opposed them were quickly cut down. They met a knot of five or six orcs and there was a brief and bloody fight. Ohtar raised his sword to meet the stroke of their leader, a big orc whose scales glinted red in the firelight. Suddenly the orc screamed and its sword arm fell away and dropped to the ground. Pushing past, Ohtar ran on. Isildur was still beside him.

  They fought their way clear of the camp and to the edge of the circle of firelight. They threw the torches at their pursuers and ran out into the dark, the fire now far behind.

  "Aratan," gasped Thalion. "Your father is not with us! I did not see him go down!"

  "He did not go down," said Ohtar. "Run on. He will be with us at the far bank." Hoping with all his being that his words were true and that Isildur was still with them, he ran on. He could hear orcs shouting not far behind. They were being pursued.

  A hundred yards, two hundred. Surely they had run three hundred yards by now. Where was the River? If they had run the wrong way they were doomed. Another hundred yards, Isildur's pack slamming hard against his back. An arrow whistled past his ear and disappeared in the dark. More shouting behind them, and some now off to their left. There were more of them coming, trying to cut them off! Ohtar found one last bit of speed. Suddenly the man running in front of him grunted and went down, an arrow in his back. As he leaped over him, Ohtar realized with a shock that it was young Aratan. He faltered, torn between turning back and going on. He started to slow down, and then there was no ground beneath his feet. He just had time to take a gulp of air, then he struck cold water hard and went under. He dropped his sword, tightened the pack on his back, and started swimming hard underwater.

  When he came up he was fifty feet from the shore. Some way to his left someone else was swimming, thrashing feet kicking up a white spray. Looking back, he could see the bank high and dark, silhouetted against the dim glow from the fire. Nothing else could be seen. He turned and struck out for the far bank.

  The Anduin at this point was fully four hundred yards wide. Ohtar was not the strongest of swimmers, and encumbered as he was by the heavy pack he made slow going of it. He had lost track of the other swimmer, and he felt very frightened and alone out there in the midst of the great river carrying him away to the south. In the middle of the stream he came out into silvery light. Looking back, he saw the moon shining white from the tops of the mountains. Though it was slender, but four days from new, it seemed as bright as day after the deep darkness of the shore. He felt very exposed and helpless.

  Suddenly more orc shouting broke out behind him. He heard the twang of bowstrings, and two arrows ripped into the water nearby. Cursing and gasping for breath, he paddled even harder. Another arrow made a splash close in front of him. He took a deep breath and turned over, going down under the surface. He swam a few hard strokes, then had to come up. His head popped up and he floated, gasping. The shore behind was invisible, but the cries sounded dangerously close. No arrows landed nearby, however, and he struck out again, cursing the pack that kept slipping from his shoulders and entangling his arms.

  It seemed like hours before he could see the far shore rising ahead. Hopefully he was out of bowshot by now, but he couldn't be sure. He continued swimming, more and more slowly as his limbs grew exhausted. Finally his fingers touched mud. The bank loomed right above his head, but much too steep to climb. He let the current bump him along the shore. He tried to grab hold of the slippery clay bank and climb out, but failed once, twice. Finally he caught a root and pulled himself out of the water. Standing on the root he could just get his arms over the grassy bank above. He slung the pack up onto the grass, then pulled himself up and over. He lay gasping on the grass, too tired and dispirited to move.

  He lay for a few minutes, then heard something splashing in the water right below him. He had no weapon but the pack, so he crept forward, holding the pack by one strap, ready to swing it. A dark hand lunged over the lip, inches from his face. He gasped and swung the
pack, slamming it down on the creature's fingers.

  "Ow! Curse your eyes, stop that, you fool." He recognized Thalion. He tossed the pack behind him and caught the outstretched hands, dragging the limp figure up onto the bank.

  "Did the others make it?" gasped Thalion.

  "I don't know. Did you see anyone?"

  "There was someone off to my left and ahead of me. I know he made it to the River, for I saw the splash just before I hit the water. I don't think it was you, you were somewhere to my right."

  "Did you see the king?"

  "Nay. I did not see him after we threw the brands. I fear he may have fallen there."

  "And perhaps not," said Ohtar, knowing of the Ring's powers, which Thalion would not. "Come, let us search along the bank," said Ohtar, retrieving the pack.

  Struggling to their feet, they walked downstream. Suddenly a figure loomed before them and all three fell back. "Who is there?" demanded Ohtar.

  "It is I, Linfalas," came a voice. "Who is that?"

  "Ohtar and Thalion. Saw you the king?"

  "No. Not since the fire. He was not running with us. What of Lord Aratan?"

  "An arrow took him just before we reached the River," answered Ohtar. "I saw him fall."

  "Then it is just the three of us?" asked Linfalas. They looked at each other in silence.

  "Let us go back upstream," suggested Ohtar. "Perhaps the king reached the shore further up. He was ever a strong swimmer."

  "But his arm…," said Thalion, and stopped. They walked slowly back up the stream, their eyes scanning the bank and the water. Then they were abreast of the fire. On the far bank figures could be seen moving about, silhouetted against the fire. They stood staring in misery at the fire, thinking of all their friends that lay about it. All three were shivering with the cold and wet.

  Suddenly harsh shouting broke out on the far bank. They saw orcs gathering directly opposite where they stood. Many were fitting arrows to their bows.

  "What is it?" asked Thalion. "What do they see?"