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 had 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."
Her wrinkled face broke into a smile.
"Oh, I know that, Sire. A rider from Calembel dashed through yesterday, and now all the menfolk are riding about the hills, spreading the alarm. He said you were coming, and I wanted the boy to see you." She bent down to the boy now examining the mailed foot in a jeweled stirrup just above his head.
"Uri, this is a real king." The boy looked up and for the first time met the eyes of the knight on the horse.
"My name is Isildur," said the king. The boy only stared, and the woman laughed.
"Welcome to Ethring, my lord," she said. "Tomorrow midday should see two hundred ready to ride to Linhir, if you please, sir."
"My thanks and long life to you, good woman," Isildur replied. "It does please me indeed. The heralds of Calembel have done their work well, it would seem. My blessing and my thanks to the town of Ethring," he called, and the people cheered and called out good wishes as they passed.
From Ethring the road turned south and climbed a steep ridge. It was the last rolling outlier of the mighty Ered Nimrais, now gleaming white in the north far behind them. Their peaks were lost in caps of grey cloud.
The army camped that night in the saddle between two rounded peaks. As they broke camp in the morning, the sun rose out of a haze in the east and cast long rays across the broad land of Lebennin at their feet. It was a land of undulating hills and green fields, with copses of oak and vanella. Streams meandered among cottonwoods as the land gradually flattened until, away to the south, they fell away to meet the distant gleam of the sea. Here and there thin columns of smoke rose vertically in the still air, marking isolated cottages hidden in the folds of the land. The road broadened as it descended from the hills, and the land became more settled. The men marched now between hedgerows. People rushed across the fields to stare and wave as they passed.
They pressed on and covered many leagues on the good road. At dusk they camped on a greensward by a homestead whose folk were most kind and helpful. When the men woke in the morning, crying gulls were circling above, heralding the sea at last. They hurried on, spirits rising as they saw on every hand the signs of many men preparing to join them. Just before evening, they came to Linhir near the mouth of the Gilrain.
It was a sizable town with no wall, but large earthworks had been thrown up around it. The triple ramparts were arranged in the shape of a star, so that a foe assaulting one part of the wall must expose his back to another. The mounds were not overly high, but very steep on the outer side, and their crests hid trenches for the defenders. Their inner sides were gently sloped so that if one rampart were taken its defenders could fall back to the next. Within the inmost rampart lay a wide moat with but a single bridge cunningly devised so it could be turned by a great windlass. These defenses had been thrown up but a few years before against the pirates who had started again to raid the coast.
The Gilrain at this point was wide and swift but not deep, easily crossed at many points near the town. But at the spring flood tides a sizable bore rushes up the river and well past the town to the confluence of the Serni, and woe then to any traveller caught in the fords.
On this day the people of Linhir were lining the ramparts to greet their king. The column clattered across the wooden bridge and entered the city, and women leaned from upper windows to throw garlands to the king. One caught on the wing of his helmet and he laughed and threw it back up at the giggling girl who had dropped it.
In the center of the town they came to a large open court, and there they were met by an old gray-bearded man in a long blue robe, wearing a massive silver medallion about his neck.
"Greetings, Isildur King!" he cried in a loud but quavering voice. "I am Guthmar, Elder of Linhir and keeper of the Ethir Anduin. We have had already tidings out of Lamedon and we know your errand. Know you that for two days the men have been gathering for your muster. The people of Lebennin are with you, Sire, and all our resources are at your disposal. Welcome to Linhir."
Isildur dismounted and clasped his hand. "A fair speech and a fair city, Elder Guthmar. It is long indeed since last I visited Linhir and it is a joy to find it as fair, and as loyal, as I recalled it. May you and yours prosper forever."
Guthmar bowed his head and led them into his hall, a long stone room with a high arched ceiling and columned galleries on either side. They looked about them with wonder, for the walls above the galleries were lined with immense tapestries. The hangings were wondrous to look upon, alive with gulls and rocky coastlines and the colors of sea and sky. All were beautiful, but Ohtar's eye was caught by the largest, which hung at the far end of the hall behind a great carved oak table set with many candles.
The huge tapestry was also blue and grey, but it was shot with many glistening gold threads too, and it showed a towering city on a rugged precipice high above an azure bay. Pines lined the cliffs and from the shapely towers pennants fluttered in a stiff sea breeze. Ohtar turned to Guthmar in amazement.