Isildur

"Isildur! Greetings, my king. Good day to you, Ohtar."

"Good day, Ingold," answered Isildur. "You have a mighty friend there. Does he handle a sword as well as an anvil?"

"To tell the truth, Sire, he likes not the sword. He uses only a great spear with a wooden point."

"Wooden?" asked Ohtar. "Would not bronze or iron serve better?"

Ingold shrugged. "He says his people have always fought thus. His spear is an heirloom of an ancient past. It is hardened in the fire and is devilishly strong and sharp. And it serves him well enough. I once saw him thrust the spear completely through the body of a huge grey wolf and pin it to the ground. In fact, had he not done so, I would not be standing here today."

"Who is he? Do you know him?"

"Orth is his name, Sire, but I know not where he makes his home. He comes down into the Calembel market but once or twice a year and he speaks little. I don't think anyone knows him well. He seems perfectly content living in the high valleys alone with his goats. But if the alarm drums roll he is always there. Would I had a hundred like him."

Bidding them good day, Ingold picked up the bellows and followed the others down toward the wagon, where Orth was just putting down the anvil.

Isildur, Ohtar, and the other officers spent the day seeing to the preparations and helping the Pelargrim whenever they could. In the evening Isildur and Ohtar climbed a watchtower on the southern wall, built for its commanding view down the River. Bands of villagers in leathern jerkins and bright copper helmets hurried down the River Road toward the gate. The dust of their passage rose in the soft evening air and hung motionless above the roads. Far below where they stood, they could see Foradan's men at the bridge, tallying the men, horses, and supplies as they poured into the city. Everywhere in the city rose clouds of dust and the crying of men, women, and horses, the clang of the armorer's hammer and the thudding of the wheelwright's mallet.

At last as the sun began her long descent over the hills of Belfalas, the roads began to clear. The milling throngs broke up into more orderly arrays as each group began making its camp. Fires sprang up here and there as meals were started.

Ohtar looked back down the River, then stared hard. "A ship!"

Isildur peered through the fading evening light. A ship was approaching from the sea, its long sweeps rising and falling together like a water strider on a pond. "I see no swan's head," he remarked.

"No. Nor a white pennon such as Cirdan is said to fly. Still, they could bear news." They watched as the ship slowly approached the quays, already crowded with so many vessels they were moored three abreast. The ship docked, but no hurrying messengers appeared. Isildur and Ohtar descended and walked to the Blue Tower.

There in the Great Hall were gathered many of the chief elders and captains of Pelargir. Barathor sat in his high seat, talking with a stocky man with long grey hair, worn in a long braid down his back.

"Ah, Isildur," said Barathor as the king approached. "I was about to send for you. This is Luindor, my Captain of Ships." The man bowed to Isildur and gave him a level, unsmiling glance.

"I am but now arrived from the Ethir," he said. "I have been maintaining station within sight of the shore signal stations. My scout cutter was another ten leagues from shore, and they espied no Elven fleet." He stopped, leaving an accusatory tone hanging in the air.

"When was that?" asked Isildur, ignoring the man's glare.

"I left the Ethir at dawn yestermorn, as my lord Barathor commanded."

Ohtar broke the brief silence that followed. "Then Cirdan could have come to Anduin yesterday, or today. He could be in the River already."

Luindor snorted. "He could be, aye, but is he? We don't know that he is coming at all." He appealed to Barathor. "My lord, I don't like this drawing in of the fleet. The pickets are spread too thin. Meaning no disrespect to the king, but I think this policy is ill-considered."

Barathor's brows bristled. "Luindor, you go too far! No one questions your loyalty or your love for Pelargir. But Pelargir is a city of Gondor, and our allegiance to our king must ever be paramount."

Luindor glanced quickly at the king, now standing quietly listening, his face giving away nothing. Most men would have been daunted, but Luindor had been Pelargir's Captain of Ships for many years, and he bore the scars of many battles. He was determined to speak his mind.

"My lord," he began, "You can relieve me of command if you deem me disloyal, but I have something to say. I'm a seaman. My face has been turned to the sea all my life. Perhaps I may have paid too little attention to doings at the capital and in the east. Nevertheless, I well know the shadow that looms over us all. But my first responsibility is the safety of Pelargir, and I can no longer vouch for the fleet's ability to defend the city. Now that the fleet is being recalled, the outposts are left unmanned, whole provinces are undefended. Such a thing has never been allowed to happen in all the long years that Pelargir had been charged with the keeping of the Anduin. We should not be lying about here; we should be at sea."

Barathor stared, his face grave. It was clear he liked the situation no more than Luindor. When Isildur had first spoken of the Elves, Barathor had felt only pleased and relieved, a great fear lifted from him. But now, as the time for departure approached and still no news came of Cirdan, he was less sure of his decision.

"You will not be relieved of your duty, Luindor," said Isildur. "Fear not that I think you disloyal. It is your loyalty that makes you question my orders. And I like no more than you the withdrawing of our defenses. But the situation in Mordor is grave. The Lords of the Alliance have summoned all of us for the final stroke against Sauron. This is the best hope of protecting Pelargir and all of the West. If we succeed, the war will be over. If we fail and the West falls at last, then Pelargir will be swept away with the rest. You can not stand against The Enemy alone."

"Hmph," grunted Luindor, unconvinced. "Did the Lords tell you then to strip us bare? Did they order us to leave the Gate of the South standing open?"

"No," admitted Isildur. "The Lords expected me to have a great army at my back when I reached Pelargir, gathered from Calenardhon, and Anglond, and Anfalas, and the southern provinces. Pelargir was just to send the men it could spare from its own defense. And they did not know that the Corsairs were abroad. The Enemy has thwarted our plans at every step."

"Then perhaps the plans need to be changed. Can you not send to the Lords and seek new instructions?"

"There is no time now. The fate of Pelargir, indeed of all of Gondor, is but one piece of a great engine that has been set in motion. All will come together at the Council in Osgiliath, but six days hence. We must be there, and in sufficient force to be effective, or all hope of winning the war is lost."

"But, Sire…" began Luindor.

"Luindor," said Barathor, "we have long been friends and we are as one on matters that concern the safety of Pelargir. But I also know Isildur and his love of the city and its people. I know he would not ask this of us if there were any other way. If he says Cirdan is coming, then he will come. And if he says we must ride to Osgiliath, then we must ride."

"I do not doubt it, my lord, but yet I fear to leave our shores unguarded for even a moment."

"You speak for all of us, Captain," said Isildur. "But these are difficult times, and ours are hard choices. We cannot afford to do as our hearts list. I had dearly hoped to leave for Osgiliath today or tonight at the latest, but now we must delay another night. We must leave early tomorrow, whatever happens. Let us pray that Cirdan arrives tonight."

There was nothing more to be said, and all returned to their tasks. In the evening Isildur and Ohtar again climbed the tower and gazed out over the lamplit streets of the city. But their eyes looked beyond the roofs and chimneys of Pelargir, beyond the walls, to the broad Anduin, gleaming faintly in the dusk. In all that long reach of River, where yesterday all had been bustling activity, no craft now stirred. The greater part of the fleet and all of the merchant ships were tied up at the quays or moored nearby in the Sirith.