"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 Eredrim 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.