Then raising his sword, Barathor called, "Ride, Men of Pelargir. Ride as you have never ridden before." His horse reared and gave a great cry like a call to war, then wheeled and plunged down the road to the south gate. His officers followed in a cloud of dust and a thunder of hooves.
Isildur stood and watched them go, then he and his party returned to the hall and ascended again the great tower. They stood looking out over the city. Isildur was deep in thought, his face as grave as it had ever been.
"My mind is much troubled," he said to no one in particular. "Did I well or ill this day? I stayed here, dooming Pelargir to fire and pillage, so that Osgiliath might be protected. But now Barathor takes the greater part of my forces. It may be that his force is now too weak to save Pelargir and mine too weak to protect Osgiliath. Should I have tried to stop him? Might it not have been better to remain united and pursue one course or the other with our full strength?"
"Nay," said Galadriel. "Fault not yourself in this. You could not in faith leave Osgiliath — you saw that well enough. And yet you could not stay Barathor. He would not have been swayed by any words of yours or ours, and you cannot bind an ally to you against his will. You have done well at least to preserve the alliance. Perhaps he will yet return in time."
Isildur glanced at the Lady sadly. "Your words reassure me, Lady, but still am I uneasy in my heart. He will return quickly only if Pelargir and all her people are utterly destroyed. Even then, he will be gone at least five days, too late to help us. And I fear greatly for Cirdan. In our concern for Pelargir we have given but little thought to why he should be delayed. If he was in the Bay of Belfalas when the Black Fleet arrived at Anduin, they could have had an evil time of it. The Elves of Lindon are mighty mariners, unequaled in seamanship, but they are unused to the ways of war at sea. And the Corsairs have been masters of that art for a thousand years. Their ships are driven by many slaves, and they carry catapults that throw skins of flaming oil.
"The White Fleet is strong, but if they met this mighty assault fleet in the open sea, especially if the wind were light or fickle, I fear greatly for the outcome. We know both fleets must have been in the bay at the same time, and but one has emerged. I like it not."
"I have had these same thoughts," said Celeborn, "and yet one more: if Cirdan has indeed fallen to the Corsairs, might not that which he bore be even now on its way to Sauron?"
"Aye," said Isildur, his face growing even darker. "If that were so, all our plans would be thwarted before they were begun. Already the tide seems to flow against us. We sought throughout the west for aid, but the Eredrim and the Dwarves refuse us and the men of Minhiriath and Anfalas cannot come, and now even the brave legions of Pelargir are denied us on the very eve of battle. If Cirdan too is lost, we lack even the strength to strike and can only helplessly await the end. Woe to us, and alas to all we love and seek to preserve!" And his grief was writ plain upon his face.
"And yet we must not despair," said Galadriel. "The Host of the Alliance is mighty yet and guards the enemy within his last refuge. The armies of Gondor and Lothlórien are strong and eager. We are alive, our powers are at the full. There is hope yet. While the sun yet shines, there is hope."
At that moment there came another blare of trumpets and shouting from the walls of the city. On the fields of the Westbank, the men of Pelargir were forming a long column. Barathor and his cavalry could be seen riding to its head. The great doors of the gate swung open, and Barathor led his army out of the city.
For an instant the sun gleamed on sprearpoint and helm and Barathor's banner rippled beneath the arch. Then a cloud passed over the sun and a breeze sprang up from the east. Barathor's esquire sounded his horn, but the call seemed already faint with distance. Then a sudden cold rain pelted down and the riders were lost to the sight of those watching from the tower. And Isildur gazed up at the lowering clouds and repeated Galadriel's last words.
"While the sun yet shines," he murmured.
Chapter Seven
The Coming of the White Fleet
"Lord Amroth, a light has been sighted ahead!"
Amroth looked up from the journal in which he had been writing. His esquire Iorlas was standing in the door of the cabin, his head bowed under the low deck beams.
"What sort of light?"
"I don't know. We can't see it from the deck yet. Better put on a wrap. The sun's not up yet and the air is cool and damp. It's still blowing hard."
Hastily wrapping a cloak around himself, Amroth followed Iorlas up the ladder to the deck. The wind was still fair and strong behind them. The stern rose to long rolling swells, sweeping up invisibly in the dark. As each sea passed under them, the ship teetered on the crest an instant, then rolled and slid away down its receding back. The newly repaired mainsail boomed and shuddered with the strain. Amroth stood and watched it a moment, but it seemed to be holding and drawing well. Looking about the deck, he saw that the storm damage was nearly all repaired now. Working without a stop for nearly three days, the skilled Sea-Elves had spliced and knotted and replaced the more serious damage wrought by the great storm. As Sindarin, or Wood-Elves, he and Iorlas were excused from such skilled work, even discouraged from helping. He had spent much of the last week in his cabin, keeping out of the way of the real mariners.
He sniffed the air and thought that there might be the faintest hint of land in it, but he well knew that his forest-dweller's nose was not as quick to catch the subtle changes as the mariners'. He made his way to the bows and found a group of Sea-Elves assembled there, peering ahead into the night and talking quietly. He heard Cirdan's deep voice among them.
Amroth peered ahead into the darkness but could see nothing except the creaming bow wave now and again thrown out wide on either side.
"What is it, Lord Cirdan?" he asked. Cirdan stood upon the rail, grasping the forestay, his body swaying easily with the pitching of the ship. He glanced down and looked away to the horizon again.
"'Tis a light, Amroth. The lookout at the masthead believes it to be a burning afar off, though I confess I as yet see nothing."
"There, my lord," cried one of the mariners, "just to larboard of our head." Amroth recognized the gravelly voice of Gilrondil the sailing master.
"I saw it that time!" said Cirdan. "It is like a spark, very low on the horizon and we see it only from the crests. There! And there again. What make you of it, Gilrondil?"
The sailing master studied the faint flicker for a few minutes. "No small light, I think, Lord, but a great flame far away. See how the sky above it seems to pulse with the flame?"
"Yes, I see that now. How distant would you reckon it?"
"It is most difficult to say, Lord. Not less than eight leagues, I would say." He shouted up to the lookout swaying high above at the masthead. "What can you make of it, Lindir?"
A voice called down out of the dark. "It is more than one now, master. There are two fires. No, three! Another to the right."
"Are they on land, think you?"
"I cannot be certain, but I would guess they are either on the sea or perhaps on a strand. They appear to be low. Another! Four, four fires burn on the sea."
"The glow is right ahead," said Cirdan. "We should be nigh to them before daylight."
They all stood watching those faint red sparks.
"It bodes ill, I fear," said Cirdan. "It may be the flames of war we see."
"Might they not be signals?" Amroth suggested. "Perhaps the people of Gondor have lit beacons on the shore to guide us."
"Once there was such a beacon on the North Cape of the Ethir Anduin," said Gilrondil, "but it has long been dark. In time of war such lights guide foes as well as friends. Nay, if fires burn at the Ethir it can only mean evil. We shall see what the dawn reveals."