Isildur Page 7

  "Aye," Isildur said at last, "remember you, Ohtar old friend, how we would stand of a summer's eve on the parapet of the Moon Tower and gaze out to the west? The sun would finally hide her blushing face behind blue Mindolluin and cast the city into shadow, though the peaks above us glowed red still, as though lit by a fire within."

  Ohtar nodded, smiling. "Then would the lights be kindled one by one in the cottages of the Ithil Vale far below, until the night mists rose from the stream to blur the lights, turning them into glowing haloes in the twilight. And the cattle would come lowing and clanking to their fold, led by barefoot girls with wildflowers twined in their hair. Often as not, one would tarry overlong and return after the gates were shut and we could hear the door warden laughing and bargaining for a kiss to let her in."

  The king laughed softly. "And then one of my boys would come out to call us to our meat — the proud and strutting Elendur, or the musician Aratan, lute in hand. Sometimes all would come together, even little Ciryon in his mother's…" He stopped then and the soft light went from his eyes. Ohtar turned his face then and attended to his footing. No more was said between them, but before them both hovered the figure of Isildur's dark and beautiful queen Vorondomë who would never again stand with them on the walls of Minas Ithil. After being driven in terror from her home by the hideous orcs, she had sworn never to return to her defiled home. With their young son Valandil, she waited for Isildur now in Imladris, the hidden refuge of the Elves in the north. Of all of Sauron's crimes which Isildur had sworn to avenge, not least was this: his beloved Vorondomë a sad, frightened, and broken creature, who once had been so fair, so proud.

  At long last the frowning cliffs fell back and there before them lay the highland meadows of Lamedon, crossed here and there by icy snow-fed freshets tumbling through the long grass to join the chill river Kiril, far below to their right. Beyond, two great peaks reared their purple heads in the east, forming another arm of the Ered Nimrais, like to the one they had just passed through. The valley was hemmed by steep mountains on three sides, but to the south it fell away to lush green fields washed with the gold and blue of wildflowers. The company's hearts were lifted by the sight and they pressed forward, knowing the road would be easier now.

  They camped that night in the heather of Lamedon and in the morning began the long descent. All that day they marched and on the second day they came nigh to the Kiril, chuckling and tumbling in its rocky bed. They began seeing tended fields and an occasional cottage huddled under a stand of trees in a protected dale. The road then bore off to the east and descended steeply to the ancient Ford of Calembel. On the far side, the citadel of Calembel perched on a hill overlooking the fords. It was only a small town, but strongly fortified, with walls of grey stone ringing a cluster of roofs tiled with blue-grey slate. From the highest turret fluttered a green banner crossed with a silver stream. Armed men stood motionless on the walls and watched as the column splashed into the river. Before the van reached the far shore, however, a deep drum sounded from the battlements and a man called down to them.

  "Hold there! I am charged with the guarding of this ford, and it is decreed that no armed host shall cross this river without the permission of the king. Who are you and what is your purpose in this land?"

  Ohtar stepped forward to unfurl the standard and herald the king, but Isildur bade him hold. Instead, Isildur rose in his stirrups and called up to the walls.

  "Can you not count spears, guardian? I have a score of men to each of yours. I could seize this pretty little town of yours and level it before dark. Think again, I beg you. Will you not let us pass?"

  The guardian swept out his sword and held it aloft, shining in the sun.

  "You may indeed take Calembel this day, Outlander. But you must needs slay every man of this garrison first, and you would not have so many bright spears to count when you rode on. If you seek death, stranger, step from the river and your wish shall be granted."

  "You speak boldly, guardian. Who is this distant king you would serve so valiantly?"

  "We are liege men of Isildur, King of Gondor, and you would do well to speak no ill of him."

  Then did Isildur throw back his head and his great laugh rang out.

  "I will indeed speak no ill of your king, faithful guardian. Be you at your ease, for in sooth I am Isildur Elendilson, and these are the men of Gondor you would die to protect." Then at his sign Ohtar and the standard bearers stood forth and broke the banners of the hosts, and foremost among them, snapping in the wind, the White Tree of Gondor, surmounted by the Silver Crown and stars of the house of Elros.

  When the men on the walls saw this they gave a shout of joy and fell on their knees. The guardian, recovering from his surprise, turned and shouted to those within the walls.

  "It is Isildur himself! The king is come to Calembel! Throw open the gates! Strike ye the drum!" Then the drum rolled again in the tower and the hills resounded. A great shout rent the air and they turned in surprise and lo, the ridge behind them was lined with mounted and armed men. They shook their lances and hailed their king. Isildur laughed again.

  "So, Ohtar, it would seem our guardian is not only valiant but also canny in the ways of war. You see he did not let us see all of his forces until he knew our purpose. We have a valuable ally here." Then he turned and rode toward the city, the water spraying up like diamonds about Fleetfoot's prancing hooves. The guardian, breathless from his hurried dash from the parapet, met them at the gates and fell to his knees before the king, presenting his sword.

  "Hail, Isildur King," he said. "I am Ingold, master of Calembel and your humble servant. I do beseech your pardon at my uncivil greeting, my liege, but these are troubled times and we knew you not."

  Isildur dismounted and bade him rise, saying, "You were not meant to know me, good master Ingold, until I was sure of your allegiance. These are indeed unquiet times, and old fealties may no longer be honored. In truth, you could not have given me a greeting more welcome to my ears."

  "The men of Calembel are your faithful servants, my liege, and so it has been since you first brought peace to this land in the time of my father's father's father. You need fear no enemy while you abide in the land of Lamedon."

  Isildur clasped his arms. "'Tis good to be again amongst friends, Ingold. May you and your people prosper." Ingold bowed and ushered them into his humble court where red wine and meat and good goat cheese was set before them. As they supped, Ingold asked of their errand.

  "What brings you to our poor corner of the kingdom, Sire? And whence came you, if you will forgive my curiosity? It is rare indeed that any traveller comes to us from the north, still less when the king himself appears with an army at his back. And I see standards and faces from many lands among your folk. You say they are the men of Gondor, but not all are from Ithilien or Anórien, I would wager."

  "You would win the wager. They are men of many lands, but all sworn to the defense of the realm. From Erech we come now, though our journey began many months ago and far away in the east, yea, even from the black plains of Mordor itself." As he spoke the fell name, the hall fell silent and the people glanced uneasily at each other.

  "The Dark Tower is encircled and constantly besieged. But think not that its master is at bay. He has vast forces still at his command, and powers yet untested. Even now he weaves his dark webs about us. My own city, Minas Ithil, is still despoiled by orcs and ruled by wights yet more fearsome — hideous undead things that were once great kings of men. No land is safe while the Enemy yet rules. All our efforts are bent on breaking his power.

  "We have fought to a stalemate in Mordor, but we have so far been unable to break the Barad-dûr. Now a new stroke is planned. But much help is needed. Thus far the people of the western provinces have been spared the horrors of the war. But now I am come to seek your help. We have great need of every man who can and will fight. I ask you now, Ingold, before your men and your chief citizens: will the men of Lamedon march with me to lift this shadow
of evil from our land and the world?"

  When the king had spoken, the hall grew still and it was as if a chill vapor out of the east had filled the chamber. Ingold drew his cloak about his shoulders and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

  "Please do not misunderstand my hesitation, Sire," he said finally. "It is not that we shrink from a fight, or from helping our friends. But we heard years ago that the Alliance had broken the Morannon and encircled the Dark Tower. We rejoiced at your triumphs and looked daily for messengers flying up from the lowlands with the news of your final victory. But that is more than six years ago now. If the mighty armies of the Elves and the Dúnedain are unable to force him out, what can this small army hope to accomplish? In truth, Sire, is victory still possible against so mighty a foe?"

  Isildur studied Ingold closely. Ohtar again saw that dark glint of suspicion in Isildur's eyes. He leaned forward. "He is strong beyond your dreams," he said. "He is neither Man nor Elf. If truth, we do not even know if it is possible for him to be slain. But we too have our powers. The mighty magic and ancient strength of the Elves is at our side. Gil-galad of the Elves bears his mighty spear Aeglos, Snowpoint the Bright, forged in Gondolin an age ago, doomed by great spells to be Sauron's Bane. And beside Gil-galad stands my father Elendil the Tall, High King of the Realms in Exile and he wields Narsil Flameheart, the blade that none may withstand. They lead the warriors of Gondor and Arnor and the Elves of Lindon, and our friends of many other lands beside. If there be any in Middle-earth in these later days who might best the Dark Lord, these be they.

  "And yet the balance is close. It is our hope that a cunning stroke, unlooked for, might yet carry the day. To this end the Kings have sent me throughout the provinces to seek out brave men wherever they can be found who will aid us in this our hour of greatest need."

  Ingold stroked his beard thoughtfully. "You say you have come from Erech in the land of Romach. They are a strong and bold people, yet I do not see the banner of the Eredrim in your host. Did you not meet with Romach?"

  The king's eyes searched those of Ingold intently. He did not like this hesitation. Perhaps the men of Calembel too would prove unwilling. He spoke sternly. "The Eredrim swore allegiance to me a century ago when first I came to this land. Now when I call them to fulfill their oath, they refuse. They have become willing tools of the Enemy. I have laid a doom upon them, and they are lost both to us and to hope. I urge you to have no further dealings with them. But enough of the faithless Eredrim. Now what of the men of Lamedon? Are you allies of Elendil or of Sauron?"

  Ingold met the king's gaze levelly. Then he suddenly rose to his feet and swept out his sword with a ringing clang. Ohtar started and his hand dropped beneath the table to his hilt, but the king made no move. Then Ingold turned the sword in his hand and offered the hilt to Isildur.

  "Isildur King," he cried in a loud voice, "we are your subjects and your friends! The men of Lamedon shall ride with you wheresoever you lead, yea, even unto death!" At this the men of Lamedon rose as one and raised their swords. "For Isildur!" they cried, "For Isildur and Gondor."

  Then Isildur rose too and smiled at them. "You are brave men and loyal friends. Glad will I be to have you at my side." He raised his cup in salute to the soldiers. "But I pray that I lead you not to death, but to victory. But for now, it will be neither. We are bound now only to Linhir and thence to Pelargir. My folk must ride as soon as they are fed and rested. Ingold, I would have you muster as many men as you can spare and join us in Linhir three days hence. But I pray you, leave a capable garrison at Tarlang's Neck, for Romach is no longer to be trusted. I doubt that he will attack, but this Lamedon of yours is a fair land and I would not have it fall into evil hands."

  "Nor I, Sire," answered Ingold. "It shall be done as you command. Messengers shall be dispatched to every corner of Lamedon this very hour. And the ancient watchtowers above the Neck shall be manned again, as has not been since the dark days ere you Dúnedain brought peace to the southern shores. But the time is short and we are not a numerous people. I fear we cannot raise more than a few hundreds."

  "I have seen this day an example of the valor of your people. If all are as these in Calembel, your hundreds shall be worth thousands of the enemy. To Linhir, then, and may success crown our alliance." Isildur turned to depart, but Ingold spoke again.

  "A moment more, Sire, if you please. If haste is required, perhaps I can be of some further help. Your army is afoot and travels but slowly. The men of Ringlo away in the south are our brothers. In the great green valley of the Gilrain too live many stout folk who bear no love for Sauron's orcs. It would take you days to travel to all the settlements. Let me send riders to Ethring and to the hill men who live nigh to the sources of the Ringlo. We can ask them to join us in Linhir."

  The king clapped his hand on Ingold's shoulder. "I see you have more than your courage and strong right arm to offer us. Let it be done as you suggest. We shall wait in Linhir for two days to gather our new forces. My thanks to you, Ingold of Calembel. Now, Ohtar, let us ride."

  * * *

  Within the hour the army was assembled without the walls. As they set out, horsemen thundered from the gate and galloped past the column and down the long hill toward Ethring. Others wheeled as they left the gates and spurred their mounts up the steep slopes to the north and east. The great drum of Calembel boomed and rolled in the hollows of the hills, and from the high meadows came back, shrill and faint, the horns of shepherds and cotsmen. As they topped a rise, Isildur turned in his saddle and looked back at the great tilted green bowl of Lamedon with little Calembel nestled at its lip.

  "A pleasant place, is it not, Ohtar?" he said as they rode on. "Oftimes I think I might have been a happier man had I been born a goatherd in such a place as this. Then would many-towered Osgiliath be but a fair name in travellers' tales, and the Enemy but a shadow with which to frighten unruly children. I would tend my goats and raise my family in peace, and let the world and its cares pass by unmarked on the road below. It would not be a bad life."

  "But Sire," objected Ohtar. "If you were not a king then you would not have your faithful squire at your side. Would you have me go back to scratching at the unforgiving rocks of the Emyn Arnen for a living?"

  Isildur gave his great laugh. "No, no, that would never do. I fear we must all fulfill whatever is our doom."

  At that moment they spied a very large man hurrying down a precipitous path to the road before them. He wore the hides of a herdsman and his matted beard and bristling brows jutted from beneath a close-fitting goatskin cap pulled down over his ears. In one calloused hand he bore a massive spear, its wooden point blackened by fire. He scrambled down the bank in a slither of rock and stood blocking the road. A fierce and determined barbarian he looked, with his bare legs spread wide beneath his tunic of stained skins. As the van of the column approached he called out in a booming voice.

  "Stand! The drums of war call in Calembel and I answer to find armed strangers in the land. Tell me quickly: are you friends or foes of Lamedon?"

  Isildur raised his hand, halting the column. The men stared at the man in some astonishment, but the king answered him civilly enough. "We are friends of this land and its people. We have just come from an interview with your Master Ingold," he said.

  The giant stood unmoving in the road and his gaze took in the king from helm to hoof. At last he grunted. "Aye," he said. "I believe you. You may pass." He stood aside.

  "We thank you, yeoman, for your trust," said the king, spurring Fleetfoot forward. The line marched forward again. "And the drums call the men of Lamedon to war against the powers of the east. We go now to fight the Enemy."

  The herdsman looked up the road toward Calembel. "I will go then," he said. "They may need my help." He strode off up the road with never a glance at the long column of armed men marching past.

  Isildur turned to Ohtar and answered his grin with his own. "Stalwart men, these herdsmen of Lamedon. I wonder what he would have done if I ha
d said we were foes. Did you see the size of him? He is nearly a giant."

  "Have I not told you, Sire, never to underestimate us hill folk?"

  "Aye, have you not, endlessly," he sighed.

  The road slanted down across the wide shoulder of the mountains. Now and again it dipped into a dell where a rocky stream tumbled noisily beneath pine and aspen. At one especially deep chasm the road leaped across on a high stone bridge of many arches. On the parapet crouched misshapen stone figures covered in orange and green lichen, rounded by ages of weather. They were stubby fat seated figures with crossed legs and hands. They seemed human and yet undefinably alien, and they were ancient. They were hewn by a folk who had disappeared so long ago that they were forgotten even to legend, save as a single word: Púkel. They were gone without a trace, save for a handful of huge bridges, causeways, and viaducts scattered about in the higher, more remote valleys. And all were sound yet, most in daily use. What was their world like, that they should expend such energies building excellent roads in an age when all other ways in Middle-earth were but animal trails. But the Púkel-men had disappeared before ever the fathers of the Edain had come to the shores of Middle-earth. What manner of folk they were, whence they had come and whither gone, none could guess. Perhaps even the silent stones had forgotten.

  * * *

  On the second day from Calembel they descended with many turnings into the valley of the Ringlo. On the banks of that river they came to Ethring, a small settlement consisting of only a few rough dwellings clustered at the fords. As they entered the town, a small crowd gathered and cheered their progress. Noticing that most were women and children, Isildur stopped and beckoned an old farmwife holding a child by the hand.

  They both came shyly forward to stand beside the huge black charger, clearly in awe of the stern dark man towering above them. The toddler stared up wide-eyed. But the king smiled kindly down.

  "Good people, be not afraid of us. We will neither harm you nor rob you."