Amroth looked askance at the tall weapon Gilrondil held. "I am unused to your Noldorin bows, Master. I fear I would give too many shafts to the waves," he laughed. "This bow of mine will bring down a stag at nigh a furlong, and yet it is small and light and easily handled, for it was designed for hunting in the forests of Greenwood the Great. When drawn by a steady hand, it is more accurate than your longer bows, and handier in close combat."
Now it was Gilrondil's turn to look dubious. "A furlong? Very well, Lord. Perhaps you are right. But for myself I shall keep this old yew of mine. It has served me well for many yén."
They both strung their bows, fitted arrows, and drew several times. "What will the range be, think you?" Amroth asked. "I know not the ways of war between ships. When should I shoot?"
Gilrondil lowered his bow and his voice. "In truth, I know not. We have fought no pitched battles at sea since this New Age began. Many of us here were not yet born when last the Swanships of Mithlond fought an action. But distances can be deceiving at sea. When we rendezvous with another ship, I notice it often seems to take forever to approach within bowshot, then suddenly we are alongside. You can try a shot when you feel sure of hitting your mark. But I would think that except for a lucky shot or two, little damage could be done until the ships grapple one another. Then would the fighting be hand to hand and eye to eye and we will need our swords, not our bows.
"If the Corsairs have already landed, I would advise that we land at some small distance so that we might disembark, form up our companies, and fight a land engagement. I fear at sea the pirates would have the advantage of us, for they sail in long galleys with hundreds of slaves to draw the sweeps. They could easily outrun us, especially if the winds are light. Their ships are very long and narrow and I believe they would not maneuver easily, especially in narrow waters. If we can come upon then suddenly in some narrow strait, I believe we would be on nearly equal terms, for we could wheel and turn and attack their flanks. My greatest fear would be a calm, for then we would be at their mercy.
"They bear beneath their bows, below the waterline, long sharp rams which can tear the belly out a ship in seconds. Neither your bow nor mine would avail us then, Amroth. An Elf will not swim far in a suit of mail. So pray that the wind holds steady and fair."
The wind did hold, and they raced up the broad lower reaches of Anduin hour after hour. The Great River at this point was many miles from shore to shore, and but for the smooth water, they would have thought they were yet at sea. League after league rolled by under their keels as the day wore on, but never a sight did they have of another vessel.
Just before dark they approached the confluence of the River Poros, which joins Anduin from the southeast, bringing the waters of the dread Ephel Dúath across many leagues of hot and barren sands. The Anduin narrowed considerably just above the Poros. Cirdan had reasoned that the Pelargrim might have fallen back to these straits so the galleys would be more hindered. He had hoped to find a battle in progress here, or even better, the Corsair ships lying on the strand under the colors of Pelargir. But the rivers and beaches were silent and empty. The lookouts strained their eyes for any hint of a masthead away up the Poros, for fear of an ambush after they passed, but there was no craft of any kind, nor even wreckage. It was difficult to believe that this land was at war. They could only assume that the Corsairs had run unopposed toward Pelargir. But no one could explain why the Gate of the South should stand thus open.
They passed the Poros and the banks of Anduin closed around them. They were passing now through a flat land, the banks lined with willows and cottonwoods, broken here and there by a sunny beach. It was a lovely peaceful land, cool and inviting, but they noted only how slowly the banks crept by, an indication of the strong current against them. At last night fell and some hours later the first quarter moon sank into the River behind them. Much against his will, Cirdan was forced to reduce sail to navigate the many turns of the River in the dark.
The mariners had feared the sun would draw the wind after it, as their saying goes, but it held and even increased, so that they fairly flew up the River. Even with reduced sail, their progress seemed more swift at night, for they could hear the water rippling along the side and the creaming wake rolled out astern, and they could not see the shore creeping past so slowly. The yard was braced nearly square now as the River bore more to the north.
The fleet swept on through the night, parting the black water with a white rush of foam. The great lanterns in the prows had not been lit, so the other ships were mere curling white waves astern. The smaller ships were falling back in the formation, though Cirdan was careful not to let the larger corbitas outrun them and divide the fleet.
Amroth stood on the aftercastle, just behind the two helmsmen at their steering sweeps. Gilrondil stood on the gallery at the stern, beneath the long curving neck of the swan. He leaned long on the rail, silhouetted against the glowing wake. At long last he climbed the ladder to the aftercastle.
"We are making a goodly speed, Master," said Amroth.
"Aye," said he. "The log gives it as nearly eight knots, even under reduced sail, though the River must be taking back at least three of that. We should reach Pelargir before midday if we come not upon a battle before then."
"Is it not most strange that the Corsairs have seemingly met so little resistance?" asked Amroth. "The River is swept clean. We sail through the heart of one of the largest and most populous nations in Middle-earth, yet we might as well be at sea for all the signs of life we see. Where can the fleet of Pelargir be?"
"I cannot guess. By all accounts the River should be full of ships. Besides their main fleet, their patrols along the coasts, and the pickets always at the Ethir, there are many smaller craft that always patrol the River, protecting trade and preventing crossings by the orcs that now infest southern Ithilien. And there is always much commercial traffic on Anduin, for it is not only Gondor's South Gate, but also bears the cargos of Pelargir and Lebennin, and even some from your lands far to the north, portaged around the falls of Rauros. The River is never empty, so we are told.
"I like it not," he said. "The pirates could not have swept the River clear of all traffic so quickly. There is no sign of battle, no wreckage. It is as if the entire nation of Gondor has been swept away to the moon. No, there is much we do not know here, and that makes me most uneasy."
He lowered his voice so that the helmsmen should not overhear. "I have had another thought which sore troubles me, but I am loath to speak of it, for it involves a most evil chance."
"Speak, my friend," said Amroth. "I would know your fears, lest they prove true in the end."
"Very well then. What if the Corsairs have already taken Pelargir some time ago? If they rule in Pelargir and their fleet guards the River, that would explain the absence of shipping or people on the shores."
Amroth's heart chilled and he drew his cloak more closely about his shoulders. "Then we would be hurrying to our doom. But what of the fires yesternight, the wreckage we saw?"
"If the Corsairs held the city and the River, would they not station their own pickets at the Ethir? And if ships of Pelargir returned unknowing from some long voyage?"
"Ah," said Amroth, seeing again the blackened timbers in the pellucid water, "they would have been unprepared for an enemy lying in wait in the Ethir."
"Aye, and they would have lighted the night for us."
"But we saw no pickets, Corsair or otherwise."
"But we came there at dawn, looking into the rising sun. The light would have lit our sails long before we could see the Ethir clearly. And if a Corsair picket sighted an Elvish fleet approaching?"