"Smokes and reeks constantly obscure the plain, so that only the upper towers of the Barad-dûr can be seen standing above the murk. Poisonous fumes boil out of the abyss, but we know not whether from the design of the Enemy, or from some effect of Mount Orodruin, the fire mountain which stands but a few leagues away and is ever active. We can bring no siege engines to bear against the walls or gate. No catapult can overtop the walls, but Sauron assails us at will with arrows and darts, and burning missles. Many a brave Man or Elf has died in the siege. My own younger brother Anárion was slain last year by a great stone cast from the Tower. It is maddening. Seven years now have the combined armies of Gondor and of Lindon besieged it, but still Sauron mocks us from within."
"He must be mighty indeed," said Romach with wonder in his voice.
"He wields great powers," acknowledged Isildur, "But we are not without powers of our own. The Army of the Alliance is the most powerful force ever assembled since the Great Armament of Ar-Pharazôn. It is led by the greatest kings and heros of Elves and Men. And we have the famous weapons: Gil-galad's spear Aeglos the Snowpoint, that none may withstand; and Elendil's blade Narsil, MoonFire. Both these weapons were doomed at their making to be the Bane of Sauron. When we assailed Mordor, Sauron himself quaked in fear.
"Though the Black Gate of Mordor was guarded by Sauron's most trusted and loyal troops, the Morannon was thrown down and the defenders ran shrieking across the vale of Udûn. We took Udûn and swept over the Plains of Gorgoroth, and we have kept him bottled up within the Tower for seven years now. But Sauron is mighty and canny and learned in the ancient lore."
"He is said to be ages old," said Romach. "Perhaps he cannot be slain. How then can you hope to defeat him?"
Isildur's irritation flared suddenly into anger. "We hope because there is no alternative," he snapped. "I assure you, Romach, the Barad-dûr will yet fall. I have sworn it beside my brother's pyre. I will throw down the Black Tower and fling it stone by stone into the chasm. I have foretold its doom, and so it shall be."
Romach flinched back at the sudden glint of fire in Isildur's eye, the tightness of his voice. He was reminded that Isildur came long ago from fabled Númenor, where deeds of trained will and Elvish arts were practiced. Romach did not know what powers Isildur might wield, but he was rumored to be able to augur the future and to cast spells of power. He looked on Isildur in new wonder, and trembled. Never had he met a man more resolute, more determined to exact revenge.
And Isildur was but one of the lesser lords at the head of that army in Gorgoroth. The immortal Elves were led by Gil-galad, King of Lindon, the greatest living warrior of any race. With him were many noble Elf-lords, veterans of the wars against Sauron's former master Morgoth the Enemy, thousands of years ago. The men of Gondor and Arnor were commanded by Isildur's father Elendil, high king of the Dúnedain, founder of the Realms in Exile.
"I am sure you are right, Isildur," he said placatingly. "The Tower must fall. And as you say, Sauron is trapped within. What can he hope to accomplish?"
"Do not think he is helpless in his captivity. He has powerful allies yet. His minions continue his depredations throughout the land. Orcs infest the Misty Mountains, wild Easterlings fall on our outposts in Harondor and the Nindalf, Corsairs raid the coasts. Even here in Lamedon, far from the Mountains of Shadow, brigands roam and plunder. These are not independent incidents — they are the plan and the will of Sauron."
Romach gave a thin smile. "You ascribe all the misfortunes of the world to him, Sire. Is it not more likely that these other peoples are merely opportunists? People on the outside of power, uneasily watching the rising might of Gondor, now seeing their chance when she is weakened, distracted by Sauron?"
Isildur shook his head quickly. "Most of our neighbors view us as protectors and friends. Throughout the Dark Years each petty kingdom was at constant war with its neighbors, instigated by Sauron himself. We Dúnedain have brought peace and understanding throughout the many lands of the Uialedain. We have not come to conquer you nor to take your land. We come as friends, with skills and assistance to offer you. Their lords are happy to have us here. Lords like yourself, Romach, who have long seen the wisdom of joining us for the mutual good of our peoples. You know Gondor is not a threat to you. Your people have long been our allies."
"Aye," agreed Romach carefully. "We have ever been on friendly terms with the kings of Gondor."
Soon a stocky man came in wearing Isildur's livery. Romach recognized him as the herald who had announced the king.
"Ah, there you are," called Isildur. "Lord Romach, this is Ohtar, my esquire and friend. What news from the camp, Ohtar? How are the men?"
"Weary and dusty, Sire, and glad of a stop. The people of Lefnui are finding it hard to maintain the pace."
"I am sorry for that, but it cannot be helped."
"Ethir Lefnui?" exclaimed Romach with a start. "The men of Ethir Lefnui are among you?" Isildur gave him a sharp look.
"That surprises you?"
Romach fought to contain his surprise. "No, it…, well, yes. I have never known Ethir Lefnui to send her men to fight in another land's cause."
"It is their cause as well. They bear the same hatred for the enemy as I, and for the same cause: he has destroyed our homes. Ethir Lefnui is no more."
"Be it not so! How did this happen?"
"Aye, not these ten days past, lord," said Ohtar. "We were bound there from Anglond, and in the Nanbrethil Valley, between the mountains and the Green Hills, we came upon a ragged party of thirty men and women, the sole survivors of Ethir Lefnui. It was the Corsairs. The cursed Black Númenóreans, servants of Sauron."
Romach nodded absently, seemingly lost in thought. "We have heard they were abroad again, though we fear them little. Our mountain valleys are far from the sea."
"Perhaps not far enough," said Isildur. "They have assailed the strong-walled city of Anglond, and it is well up the river Anga. They nearly took it, too. Their black ships could sail far up the Morthond, and it is not impossible that you could see not friends but Corsairs coming up the west road one day soon."
Romach smiled. "We are strong and well prepared. In truth we do not fear an attack from the seamen of Umbar. Still, we stand ever ready."
"It would seem so. You marshalled your forces quickly."
"Yes, we use horns to call the men of the other valleys. They are trained to come at the first alarm."
"Mighty must those horns be," said Ohtar, "if they can be heard to the next valley. The ramparts of the Ered Nimrais are high indeed."
Romach nodded. "We use the horns of the wild kine of Araw. They are as long as a man and give a sound when well winded that will carry for many miles."
Ohtar turned to Isildur. "Such a horn would be of great use in a battle, Sire," he said.
"Indeed it would," agreed Isildur. "Oft it is that the men cannot hear their orders in the tumult of battle. Armies have been lost because of it."
"If you wish, Sire," said Romach, "I can have a horn brought for you. A gift from the Eredrim."
"That would please us indeed, Romach. We thank you. But we are here to ask you for a far greater gift."
"Indeed?" said Romach, his smile fading. But he was clearly not surprised.