"The Corsairs!" they cried. "The Pirates of Umbar are come upon us! We are lost!" The people near the quays began to panic and dashed about in all directions, but suddenly a clear voice rang out from the bluffs above.
"People of Pelargir!" cried Duitirith. "Back! Back to the city. We can no longer save the ships, but we have yet a strong wall. We shall make the Corsairs pay dearly for their treachery this night. Sound the horns! Call everyone back within the walls!"
Then all who still could turned and fled in terror up the road they had descended in such joy but a moment before. Duitirith wheeled his horse and called to his esquire.
"Arador! Stay a moment!"
Arador reined in beside him and they sat side by side looking down on the ruin of the fleet. Already a dozen more black ships were drawn up on the strand and men were pouring out of them, overcoming the last feeble resistance of the Pelargrim defenders on the docks and shore. Some of the Corsairs had their yards tilted and were already hoisting out huge siege engines on wooden wheels. Out in the River, more ships jostled for room to land, eager for a share of the plunder.
"This is no raiding party," said Duitirith, "but the full might of the fleet of Umbar. We cannot hope to stand against so many."
"But the Elves," said Arador. "Where are the Elves?"
"They must have met the Corsairs near the mouth of the River," replied Duitirith. "The Elven fleet must already be destroyed."
"Then we are doomed."
Duitirith clutched Arador's sleeve. "Ride, Arador!" he cried. "Ride thou like the wind and overtake if you can Lord Barathor. If he and Isildur can reach us in time there is yet a spark of hope. I only pray they have travelled slowly. Tell them we shall hold out here as long as we can. Ride now, Arador, and do not fail, for in truth the fate of Pelargir depends on you alone this night."
Duitirith wheeled again and spurred his horse for the gate. Arador took one last look at the Corsairs now swarming up the hill, then dug in his spurs and plunged away for the River Road. The thunder of his hoofbeats was soon lost in the growing roar of the advancing hordes.
Chapter Six
The Gathering of the Armies
On the 30th day of the month of Lothron in the one hundred twenty-first year of the reign of Isildur Elendilson, the King returned to Osgiliath after an absence of many years. Then the Steward Meneldil let the trumpets be sounded and the heralds cried, "Behold the coming of Isildur son of Elendil, Lord of Ithilien and King of Gondor." And the West Gate of the city was thrown open and the King entered in at the head of a long column of armed men. And their banners rippled in the sun, proclaiming the proud men of Calenardhon and Angrenost, and the tall warriors of the coasts of Anglond and Ringlond and Linhir, and the bold knights of Pelargir, mighty Gate of the South. They rode into the city and the people hailed them, for it had been long since such an army had been at Osgiliath. The people in the streets cheered as they caught sight of each new standard and knew that the stalwart warriors of that land had come to their aid.
Yet many of the more knowledgeable noted that the companies were much smaller than could have been expected. And when the banner of Ethir Lefnui passed, with its black tower above blue waves, and they saw that it was at half staff and followed by only a score or so of grim-faced people, they fell silent. And when the end of the column appeared, the men on the walls said to one another, "Is this all the host? Where are the Eredrim? Where is Romach?" For the red and gold eagle of the Eredrim flew not among the banners.
The legions turned aside then and began setting up camps on the wide green fields within the city walls along the west bank of the river, but the King and his captains continued to the Hall of the Dome of Stars. There men of the Guard ran out to take their horses' bridles and they dismounted and went up the broad stairs before the Hall. There Meneldil the king's nephew came out and knelt before him, holding out the white rod of his office.
"My King," said he, "the Steward of Gondor begs leave to surrender his office." And he held out the Rod of the Steward. But the King took the Rod and returned it to him, saying, "You are yet Steward, Meneldil. Keep you the Rod and govern the city in my stead as you have done so ably these several years since your father Anárion and I rode forth. For I come not to abide here, but only to return again to war." Then the Steward rose and led the King and his people into the Hall.
The Hall was long and lofty, with a high-arched ceiling supporting mighty columns of gold-veined marble. In the center of the Hall the ceiling rose into a vast round dome of deep blue stone. The dome was cunningly pierced in many places and the openings set with jewels, so that the sun shining through them caused them to sparkle like stars. And indeed the holes were arranged to match the sky as seen from the summit of Mount Meneltarma in long-lost Númenor. This was the Dome of Stars, renowned throughout all of Middle-earth.
Beneath the Dome of Stars stood on a raised dais the two thrones of Gondor. That on the west, the seat of Anárion Lord of Anórien, was surmounted by a golden sun. But the high seat was draped in white cloth and the sun's face was shrouded. The eastern throne, topped by a silver crescent moon, was that of Isildur Lord of Ithilien. A tall young man in armor stood before it. He turned as Isildur entered.
"Hello, father," he said, smiling.
Isildur stared in wonder a moment. "Elendur!" he cried, rushing forward. He embraced his eldest son in joy, their armor clashing together.
"But how come you here?" Isildur asked. "I thought you were with your grandfather in Gorgoroth."
"He sent me hither that I might ride with you. I came with a small body of horse, through Cair Andros, but a week ago."
"But that is wonderful. And what of your brothers? Have you had news of them? Are they coming to the council as well?"
"No, they remain at their posts, but they are well."
"But why did father send you here? Were you not needed at the head of the Ithilien lancers?"
"I turned their command over to my lieutenant. To tell you the truth, father, I begged the High King to let me come to you."
Isildur looked at his son. Though he still thought of him as a boy, he saw before him a strong confident man of thirty-eight, hardened by twelve years of war, eight of those in command of a thousand men. Elendur looked levelly back.
"You want Minas Ithil back, don't you? You want to be there."
"More than anything, father. I was only in my tweens when we were driven from our home, but I remember still the screams of the dying, the bodies in the streets as we fled for our lives. Always in my dreams I see the city again. I can't bear the thought of orcs defiling our home. I want to live there again, to help cleanse it of their stink, to make it fair once more. I want to show my brothers through its halls and courts. Ciryon was only four, he remembers only the terror of that night. And of course Valandil never even saw it. He's never been in his own homeland. And I think poor mother will never smile again unless she see her old home swept clean again."
"Aye," said Isildur. "We are of one mind, my son. Now perhaps at last we shall have our chance."
Isildur knelt briefly before his brother's shrouded seat, then mounted the Throne of the Moon and took his seat. Elendur stood beside him. Meneldil, as steward, sat in a plain stone seat at the foot of the dais.