"We found the king under this tent," said one of the Elves, looking up from his work. "He moved not at first and we feared for him. But he roused at last. It is more than can be said for many here."
"But there was no real battle," continued Gil-galad. "Only that strange blast, then they were past and away. Where has he gone? Did you see?"
"I know not, Sire," replied Elendil. "I have seen only our own people, and many of them are dead or mad. Of Sauron and his creatures there is no sign. They can only have gone west."
"Aye. And he can be bent on only one errand. He seeks the Three."
"Curse him!" cried Elendil. "He rides against Isildur and the others, and we were charged to contain him here. They will be crushed between Sauron and his Úlairi. Oh, alas, alas. We have failed."
Then one of the Elves came up to Gil-galad and handed him the long spear Aeglos. "This at least is unbroken, Sire," he said. Gil-galad took the spear and stood leaning upon it, gazing about at the ruin as far as he could see. But then he seemed to draw strength from the familiar feel of the great spear. He drew himself upright.
"Aye," he said. "My Aeglos is yet whole, and still capable of piercing Sauron's body. It is still capable of fighting." He touched the sword at Elendil's side. "And so is Narsil, and so indeed are we, my friend."
"Aye," said some of those standing nearby, slowly regaining their wits and their courage after the numbing blast. "Many have died, but most yet live. Away from the road, our host is untouched."
"But stay," said an Elf, holding one shattered arm against his side, "how can we hope to prevail against such a foe? Now we have seen his hideous might, would it not be vain and foolish to attempt to assail him again?"
Then Elendil cried out in a loud voice. "We must! While yet we have life and strength to fight, we must! For Sauron is once more loose upon the world. He flies west to Minas Ithil, where our colleagues strive against his minions, unaware of the doom approaching from the plains. They were the bait in this trap, and Sauron has taken it. Our task was to destroy him as he came forth. In that we have failed, and now he races to swallow the lure. If we falter now, our friends will be destroyed and Sauron will rule the world. We must ride, ride like the wind!"
"Yes!" shouted some. "That's right! He's right!" said others. "To the west!"
The kings called messengers to them and sent them riding along the perimeter. There was no longer any point in maintaining the siege. Every warrior capable of riding was to join them at the Road.
In less than an hour the riders were assembling. Over a thousand had died or were still missing, and nearly as many were to remain to care for the wounded and bury the dead. But all others, still over eighty thousand strong, were ready. The columns of horsemen dwindled into the distance on either hand.
Gil-galad signalled for quiet, then rose in his stirrups. "You have seen the strength of the enemy," he roared. "But all his will now is bent on reaching Minas Ithil, and the rear of his host may be unprotected. At the least they shall not surprise us again. Most of his host is on foot. If we ride hard, we should overtake them near Orodruin.
"All these years we have waited for Sauron to come out so we can fight him in the open, without the chasm and walls of Barad-dûr to protect him. At last we have that chance. The waiting is at an end. Now we have only one task. We must pursue Sauron and catch him and bring him to bay. Then everything depends on one final battle. Ride with me now down Sauron's Road, and know that death lies at the end of it, either ours, or Sauron's!"
"To death!" shouted thousands of voices. "Ride to death!" Then the kings wheeled their horses and plunged down the road, followed by their surviving knights and housecarls. Slowly at first, then with ever increasing speed, the Army of the Alliance swept out onto the road and followed their lords.
Those remaining in the ruined camp watched company after company thunder away to the west, banners flying bravely through the smoke and dust. For an hour and more they flowed by, until at last the final company of Men from the upper vales of Anduin pounded into the cloud of dust and were lost to sight.
"To death!" came the last cries, already muffled by the distance. Then there was only the sound of the wind. For the first time in many years, the plain of Gorgoroth was silent.
Chapter Eleven
The Ride to Doom
Throughout Minas Ithil, the roar of battle gradually subsided. Here and there knots of combat continued to rage furiously: small bands of orcs fighting desperately against now overwhelming odds but with no thought of surrender. From far beyond the plaza came the sounds of clashing arms and the shouts and cries of combat. The allies were pressing their foes back street by street and resistance was rapidly fading.
Looking out over the vast plaza from the steps of the Citadel, Isildur could see groups of his men leaning on their swords, resting from the fight, looking about for any further enemies. Leeches and litter-bearers were already moving about the square, tending to the wounded. The quartermasters' wagons had rolled in through the gate and men were gathering around them eagerly for food. Clearly the city was theirs.
But when Isildur turned and looked up at the walls of the Citadel above him, his heart sank. The towering walls stood silent, surrounded only by the dead. Bodies sprawled grotesquely upon the broad stairs, their blood running down the elegant white marble he had imported at such great cost from the Ered Nimrais. And everywhere he looked in the beautiful city he had designed and built, he was sickened by the filth, the stench, the ruined mansions and monuments. The statues of his ancestors that lined the porticoes of the buildings around the square had all been defiled: some toppled from their perches to lie broken on the pavement below, others with heads and limbs broken off, others splashed with paint or worse, in malicious mockery of his heritage. Looking up above the gate of the Citadel, he saw the statue of Elros, the founder of Númenor and his line. The face had been chiselled off and a grinning orc face rudely painted in its place. Isildur's face burned with shame as he thought of all that noble Elros Halfelven had borne and done, the immortality that he had voluntarily given up for Men. What would the hero say if he could see his image so desecrated? Isildur gave a guilty jump when he suddenly heard the voice of Elros's own brother quiet in his ear.
"It is but an image, my friend; a thing of stone," said Elrond. Isildur looked and saw with him also Cirdan and Galadriel. Their faces all were drawn and tired, as if from a great effort, long sustained. Celeborn came to join them, his long silver hair flecked with blood. He looked anxiously at his wife.
"I am glad to see you all again on this side," said Isildur.
"It is good to be back in the world of light and warmth," said Galadriel, and Isildur thought that never before had her many years shown so clearly on her face. "But it is an evil chance that the Úlairi reached the Citadel. It may prove difficult to drive them from this fortress."
"Difficult indeed," replied Isildur, "for it is very stoutly built. This is the only gate, and the portcullis is forged of the best iron. Beyond is a low vaulted tunnel with a massive oaken gate at the far end. In the ceiling are narrow slits through which arrows and hot oil or tar can be cast down upon those within."
Cirdan shook his head grimly. "You gave great thought to your defenses, Isildur. Did you also think to build a secret entrance?"
"Nay. I did not think I would be attacking it myself one day."
"You are a cunning architect, Isildur," said Celeborn, "though I am coming to regret it. I wish you had erred somewhere."