Isildur Read online

  Isildur seethed with rage, and only with difficulty did he contain his voice. He wheeled upon Romach, cowering back at the wrath of the two mighty Dúnedain.

  "And what of you, Romach? You have heard the threats of the Mouth of Sauron. You are sworn allies of Gondor. You owe these Umbardrim nothing save the toe of your boot. Remember the Oath of Karmach."

  "Remember also Ethir Lefnui," whispered Malithôr.

  "Yes, remember the people of Lefnui," said Isildur. "They were your neighbors and trading partners, their race akin to yours. If they died as a lesson to you, let that lesson be that you cannot trust the Corsairs of Umbar. Send these pirates packing and join us against our foes."

  They both stared expectantly at Romach. Romach looked uneasily between their faces.

  "It is a matter for the Elders to decide, my lords." he said. "I cannot speak for the Eredrim."

  "The time to decide is now, Romach," said Malithôr.

  "All the Elders will be here tonight, or in the morning at the latest. Tomorrow we will hold council together."

  "Let us hope they remember their friends of old," said Malithôr.

  "Let us hope they remember their oath," growled Isildur, and he turned and stalked from the hall. The crowd of men near the door parted to let him pass, for none could withstand his glare.

  * * *

  Back in the camp, Isildur fumed up and down before his tent. None came near him, save Ohtar sitting on some packs nearby. Ohtar remained silent until he judged that Isildur's rage had cooled sufficiently to speak. "Do you think he will keep their oath?" he asked.

  Isildur clenched his fists. "He had better! I can not abide oathbreakers! Has the spirit of their race sunk so low that they will break their troth? Is honor and fealty as nothing to them?" He stalked away, spun on his heel, stalked back, while Ohtar watched in sympathy and also some foreboding.

  Ohtar well knew the depth of the sense of honor and virtue in Isildur. It was a large part of the reason he loved him, and it was the source of Ohtar's own unswerving loyalty to Isildur as his king and his friend. But he also knew that intensity of feeling created a blind spot in the king. It was inconceivable to Isildur why a man would break his bond. Isildur's confidence, his bone-felt certainty of what is right in every situation made him truly incapable of understanding the motives of lesser men.

  Ohtar, however, was not a Dúnadan. He was but thirty, born long after fair Númenor sank beneath the waves. He had been a hunter in the forests of the Emyn Arnen, the hill country in southern Ithilien. He knew and understood the mixed feelings of many of the Uialedain lords to the Dúnedain kings. Many of them had been powerful local warlords when Isildur and Anárion's ships were driven upon this coast near their old trading station of Pelargir.

  The Uialedain at first fled at their approach. The newcomers were numerous and well-armed, and looked like the feared Corsairs that the coastal dwellers knew all too well. But these new Dúnedain proved to be peaceable and generous, offering their help freely. Their healers cured the sick, their kings wielded powers that seemed as magic. None of the small states and tribes in the region dared stand against them. They were given land along the Great River and they built their cities of stone. Intervening in local conflicts and rivalries, they soon brought peace to a region that had never known it. The common people loved and feared them, but some of the lords yet longed for the days when people trembled at their names. And many liked it less when their children began to speak in the tongue of Gondor and there was estrangement between the generations.

  Ohtar always felt it his part to speak for the Uialedain. He thought of himself not as an advocate, but as a translator.

  "The Uialedain lords," he said when he felt the time was ripe, "have learned by hard lessons that loyalties may change. They lack your long sight, Sire. Romach is frightened. Perhaps he values his honor less than his skin."

  "You think him merely craven? I fear he may be falling under the shadow of Sauron."

  "It is possible," Ohtar shrugged. "But if you will pardon me, Sire, it seems to me that he is between a hammer and an anvil. Herumor openly threatens him and holds up the rape of Lefnui as a dreadful example."

  Isildur growled. "A fair city destroyed, hundreds of innocents slain; all for no more than a demonstration that they are capable of it. Would that I faced that arrogant 'ambassador' in battle. I'd separate that grinning head from his body. Sauron would have to speak through another mouth."

  "Still," said Ohtar, "if Romach rode with us, Erech could face a like attack. He would have to leave a strong force behind."

  "We do not ask him to leave Erech undefended. But the Eredrim are numerous. He could yet muster a considerable army and fulfill the oath."

  "Perhaps he only speaks the truth. Perhaps he truly cannot make the decision alone."

  "I do not believe that, do you?"

  "No. I deem that if he wished he could speak for the Eredrim without contradiction. But he thinks either decision is dangerous and he doesn't want to be the one to cast the die. I think he was stalling for time because he knew Malithôr was coming and he wanted to know the views of Umbar."

  "Yes. Though I think he would have much preferred to not have us both here at the same time." Isildur laughed suddenly, his great booming laugh.

  "Hah! Did you mark Romach when I was contending with Malithôr?"

  "Aye. His head was going back and forth like a shuttle," laughed Ohtar. "His mouth dropped open when you called Malithôr a pirate."

  "The Mouth of Sauron bandied words with me, but they are no better than pirates. It matters little to a galley slave that he is serving a life sentence for being too poor to pay tribute. Would his bondage be more onerous if he had been captured by a pirate rather than a king's ship? He still loses both his ship and his freedom.

  "And what of the dozens of small seaports and fishing villages along the coasts? Are they avoiding the duty fees of Umbar, too? The Corsairs make no apology for their plundering and murdering."

  "Aye," Ohtar agreed. "They would say it is just part of protecting their trade."

  "The blackguards. If only we could win this war with Sauron, defeat him once and for all, then would I humble these Corsairs. Before the war Anárion and I had many debates about how best to deal with them. He ever counseled that we should build more ships and strengthen the fleet, then confront the Corsairs openly wherever we found them. But I was the elder, and had seen too much of battles at sea, of burning ships and good men borne down by their armour to graves in the deeps. I advised defense and patience. We strengthened our coastal cities. We set up strong places on the headlands and at the mouths of Anduin, with unsleeping watches to sound the alarm should the black sails be sighted.

  "It worked, too. The Corsairs dared not attack Gondor or her allies, though they continued their depredations to the south. Then came the war, and the greater part of Gondor's strength was drawn away to fight Sauron. We thought the war would be won in a few months, but it has dragged on now for twelve years. The strong places were left undermanned, our ships without crews. The Corsairs were free to roam at will. They nibbled away at the edges at first, raiding fishing villages in the remote regions of Minhiriath, then small seaports on the Gwathlo. Two years ago they raided nearly to Tharbad, where the road to Arnor crosses the Gwathlo. Now even strong cities like Anglond are besieged. Anárion was right. We should have driven them from the seas when we could.

  "I tell you, Ohtar, this stalemate in Gorgoroth is like to drive me mad with frustration. We can't get into the Tower or draw Sauron out, and yet we dare not leave or turn our attention to other pressing matters, such as retaking Minas Ithil and cleansing Ithilien, and driving these accursed Corsairs from our coasts. We have so much to do, and yet we sit here and wait while merchants like Romach weigh their loyalties like cheeses in the market."

  A man hurried up to Isildur. "My king. Riders approach from the east."

  "What now?" grumbled Isildur. "Do the Easterlings seek to treat with the Ered
rim too?" But they walked toward Romach's hall. Many of the Eredrim were hurrying there as well.

  A score of horsemen approached: young Eredrim warriors fully armed and four old grey-bearded men. They dismounted, and Romach emerged from his hall to greet them. As they spoke, Isildur noticed Malithôr watching from the door of the hall. Isildur strode forward quickly.

  Romach was already talking with the Elders in a low voice when Isildur approached. He looked up sharply.

  "Ah, there you are, Sire. Revered Elders, I have the honor to present Isildur Elendilson, King of Gondor. Sire, the Elders of the Eredrim."

  As Isildur was introduced to each in turn and was struggling to memorize their names, Ohtar studied the old men. He noticed each glancing uneasily to where Malithôr stood watching from the shadows. It appeared that the ambassador was already known to the Elders.

  "Now," said Isildur. "The Elders are present. Perhaps now we can take counsel together and come to a resolution."

  "Oh, no, Sire," stammered one of the Elders. "We are not all here yet, Urmach of Kiril Vale has not arrived, nor Fornen from the high valleys of Fornoch in the west. We could not proceed without them."

  "Could we expect them soon?" asked Isildur, irritation evident in his voice. "Time is precious."

  "Urmach should be here before dark. It is possible that Fornen could arrive tonight as well."

  "But more likely tomorrow,"said another.

  "Let me know when they arrive," growled Isildur, and returned to his tent. Ohtar saw the nervous looks exchanged among the Eredrim. It was all too clear that Isildur's patience was wearing thin. Ohtar remained long enough to see the Elders join Romach and Malithôr in the hall, then he returned to camp.

  Isildur was still in a foul mood, and Ohtar made no attempt to break his silence. When night fell with no sign of the two remaining Elders, they said little, but sat long before the fire. At last, when the moon, now waning gibbous, peeped over the eastern cliffs, turning the valley to ebony and argent, they went to their beds.

  That night Ohtar could hear Isildur rolling about in his bed, and knew the king was sleepless, thinking no doubt of all that depended on this fateful mission. Ohtar too was awake long, watching the moon as she crept slowly across the sky, her face demurely half-covered in her lacy veil.

  Chapter Three

  At the Erech Stone

  Isildur was up at first light. A light frost had fallen, and mists hung above the Morthond stream. Isildur paced the camp silently, wrapped in his long black cloak. He startled more than one of the sentries and the sleepy cooks starting their fires when his tall dark figure appeared out of the mists, pacing slowly and acknowledging them not.

  After the men had broken their fast, the mists wafted away on the morning breeze and the day came bright and clear. Isildur called his captains together.

  "Have your companies prepare to march tomorrow," he said. "The remaining Elders of the Eredrim should arrive this morning, and then we can take counsel together. I hope to see the muster well under way by the end of the day."

  The hours dragged by and still no riders appeared. Isildur, too anxious to wait quietly, called for his horse Fleetfoot. Leaving orders that he be summoned if the Elders appeared, he rode alone up to the head of the valley to see the Caverns of Erech.

  The valley was deep in lush spring grass, high enough that Fleetfoot waded through it up to his belly. The valley narrowed and grew steeper as the high and rocky walls closed in on either hand. He came upon a beaten path beside the stream and followed it into a jumble of huge boulders that had fallen from the heights above. The stream tumbled among the boulders in dozens of small cascades. The valley narrowed until it was only a slit in the mountain, so close the rock on the left hand nearly brushed his knees, while the trail became but a narrow ledge above the rivulet. The walls soared away out of sight, so high that stars gleamed in a black sky, though it was not yet noon. Fleetfoot's hooves rang on the stony path, sending echoes clattering into the heights.

  He rounded a sharp turn and the walls fell back, leaving an open space almost like a huge well. In the far wall was a broad stone arch leading into darkness. A black horse was hobbled beside the tunnel's mouth. Isildur dismounted and approached. He could feel the cold damp air wafting from the opening, like the breath of something ancient that brooded under the mountains. Here was the entrance to the vast Caverns of Erech.

  As he looked into the darkness, something moved within. His hand dropped to the hilt of his sword. A harsh laugh came from the blackness before him. And then the long hawk-like face of Malithôr appeared, a beam of light cutting across it, leaving only the eyes in shadow.

  "You will not need your sword, Isildur," he smiled. "This land is yet neutral, and we are both emissaries here."

  "The Eredrim will not remain neutral for long, Malithôr. This day will Romach give his decision. Then you may take word back to your lord that the Eredrim shall always remain faithful to Gondor."

  "Do you really think that Romach is bold enough to defy Umbar? He and those other old fools wouldn't dare. Did you see him sweat when I reminded him of Lefnui? He is a fool."

  "Is your contempt only for him, or for all the Eredrim?"

  "It encompasses all the tribes of the Uialedain. Come, Isildur. You're one of us. You know what they're like. They're born to serve us Dúnedain. They've proven time and again that they're incapable of ruling themselves. Why do you bother trying to forge alliances with them? They don't need allies, they need a strong hand to rule them."

  "Such as your emperor's, I suppose?"

  "Why not? He at least has already proven himself capable of ruling them, which your father has not."

  "We do not seek to rule them. We want them as friends, not subjects."

  "Friends? Why would you wish to have such rabble as friends? They are a lesser race, Isildur, you cannot deny it. They know nothing of Númenor, its great history, its heroes, its beauties. Through the long rise of our civilization and its recent downfall, they have remained here tending their herds and living in their log houses. They are barbarians. They don't even speak our noble language, but only babble in their rude tongues. They live but a handful of years and die like dogs."

  "No, like us, they die as Men and leave their widows grieving. Though our lines were sundered long ago before the world was changed, still they are our brothers. Malithôr, listen to me. You are a learned man. Herumor deems that he is acting for the greater glory of Umbar, but he is but Sauron's creature. Sauron sends forth his long arm and the Umbardrim sail to war. Do you not see the evil that Sauron represents?"

  "I see only that he is the more powerful." Malithôr studied Isildur a moment, considering. "I will tell you this in confidence, Isildur, speaking as one Dúnadan to another. I have lived in Middle-earth a long time, far longer than you, and I have seen kings come and go. Sauron cannot be defeated by Gondor or Umbar or the Elves, or by any alliance save that of the Valar themselves, and that will not happen again. He is mighty beyond our comprehension, and he is determined to rule all of Middle-earth. Nothing can stop him. I intend to survive this war, and that means standing with Sauron, whatever the Emperor desires."

  "I thought you were His Imperial Majesty's man."

  Malithôr looked at Isildur with a wry smile. He lowered his voice even further. "No. You were quite right. Long have I served in the court of Umbar and the Emperor considers me his most loyal and trusted advisor, but as you guessed, I am in fact Sauron's agent. I manipulate the Emperor to keep the policies of Umbar to Sauron's liking, though Herumor thinks he is acting only for his own ends. Yesterday in your anger you called me the Mouth of Sauron. You meant it as an insult, but I acknowledge the compliment with gratitude." He drew himself up and his eyes flashed with pride. "I do give Sauron's will a voice. I am proud that the Master trusts me to speak for him to Herumor, and through Herumor to these Uialedain savages. Sauron and I work together well. We understand each other."

  "Sauron knows me as well," replied Isildur.
"Often did I speak against him in the palace at Armenelos when he whispered his treacheries into the ear of King Ar-Pharazôn."

  "Aye, he remembers you as well, Isildur. He has spoken of you many times. He seems to bear a particular enmity towards you. Something I did not fully grasp, about a tree, I believe?"

  Isildur gave a mirthless laugh. "Yes. Once long ago in Númenor, he had at last convinced Ar-Pharazôn to burn Nimloth, the White Tree that grew in his court. He had no reason to do it, save spite and his hatred of all things Elvish, for it had been given to all Númenóreans by the Elves. I would not see it destroyed, and so alone and in stealth I entered into the palace in disguise and I took from the tree one fruit. I was discovered and attacked. Though I was grievously wounded, yet did I win back to Andúnië with the fruit and its seed."

  "All that for a mere fruit tree? Why?"

  "Nimloth was more than a tree. It was a token of the undying friendship of the Eldar and also a reminder of the Valar, for it was a scion of Celeborn, and that of Galathilion, and that of Telperion, Mother of Trees."

  "You do indeed revere the old ways, Isildur, foolish and vain though they may be. A bold but senseless adventure. But in spite of your disguise Sauron learned that you were the thief?"

  "Yes. He burned Nimloth, but he never learned where the seed was hidden. Years later I planted it before my hall in Minas Ithil and it grew tall and fair, even as Nimloth had."

  "It was in Minas Ithil?" asked Malithôr. "Then Sauron…"

  "Yes. Now Sauron has burned that tree too, curse him. But tell your friend this when next you meet: know that the tree bore many fruits and the seed of each was kept. Many were planted in secret places, others were sent away to safe and distant lands. He can never destroy the White Tree, just as he cannot sunder the friendship between Elves and Men."