The order was passed back over and over until it faded into the dark. The rear of the army was still descending the many switchbacks and had only seen the action at the bridge from above. The Elves dismounted and walked over to the eastern parapet, talking together and pointing out over the red heart of Mordor. Isildur walked off by himself, watching the rest of the column spread out over the level area and thankfully dismount. Clearly the men were exhausted. They gulped water from their canteens and looked about for the wagons, but these had been left far behind in the rush over the pass. Ohtar hobbled their horses, then walked over to join Isildur.
"Don't be too anxious, Sire," he said. "Elendur will be here soon."
"He didn't need to try to take the tower; only divert them."
"You know how eager he is to rid Gondor of every last orc. But he is not foolish — he will not risk his men's lives needlessly."
"Aye, I know that, but even if he survives the fight up there, he will be spared only to face that which waits for us out there in Gorgoroth. There is no safety anywhere in these terrible days. If I valued his safety above all else I would have left him in Annúminas with his brother Aratan, or in Rivendell with his mother."
"Your sons are all serving their country and their king, Sire. Even Valandil serves by remaining to comfort his mother in Imladris."
"Aye. She was grieved enough when we left. She could not have borne having me and all her sons away at the war."
"You need not fear for any of them."
"Easy enough for you to say, Ohtar. You have no family."
"No woman would have me, you mean. But we have a loyal and capable host, Sire, and we ride now to join the mightiest army ever assembled in this age of the world. Even Sauron must quake at the thought of meeting us."
Isildur laughed and clapped Ohtar's shoulder. "Isn't that a thought, now? The mighty Sauron peering from his window in the Dark Tower and biting his nails."
Ohtar smiled in relief to see Isildur laugh again. "Perhaps these tremors we feel in the ground are not the volcano's rumblings at all, but only old Sauron's knees knocking together." Isildur laughed again.
"Ohtar, your nonsense makes me laugh even in this foul place. Thank you. Your loyalty and concern for me counters the gloomy spells and forebodings that hang over me."
At last the wagons arrived and food was hastily prepared and passed out. The men slumped against their packs or sprawled on the ground, taking advantage of the brief respite. Servants carried food to the leaders where they sat on the parapet gazing out into the ruddy glow to the east.
"This ridge is called the Morgai," said Isildur. "From here the road will be less steep."
"The Black Fence," said Elrond around a mouthful of waybread. "A fitting name. Look at that tortured land. You would think nothing could live in that waste, and yet somewhere out there are Gil-galad and Elendil and all the Army of the Alliance. They must be anxious indeed for news of us."
"Aye," said Isildur. "Their part has not been easy either. It is hard to sit and wait while your fate is decided by what others do elsewhere. For myself it is nearly unbearable to not be acting."
Elrond glanced at him. "I think of Elendil," he said. "It must be hard for a father to send a son into battle alone for the first time."
Isildur smiled. "Your subtlety is not lost on me, old friend. Ohtar too tried to reassure me. I am sure Elendur will be well."
After their meal, Isildur and Ohtar walked around the camp. Some were tending their horses or seeing to their gear, but most were deeply asleep, lulled by the constant slow tread of the sentries around the camp. An hour passed, another. Isildur tried to sleep but could not.
Then a clatter of hooves from the road above. Men leaped up, shaking the sleep from their heads and reaching for their weapons.
"Hold," called one of the sentries. "It's our lads."
Isildur hurried to the foot of the road and could dimly make out a line of horsemen descending the slope. Then he saw the rear of the line and realized the column was much shorter than that which had ridden into the tower. His eyes strained to see the figure at their head, but he could not be sure of him until they came around the last turn and rode slowly into the camp. It was indeed Elendur, but his head hung down and his white armor was splattered with blood, black in the dim light. Isildur's heart caught in his throat. He hurried to take the horse's bridle.
"Elendur! Are you wounded?"
Elendur's head snapped up. He looked about in confusion, then smiled down at Isildur.
"No, father. I believe I had fallen asleep. I was rather tired."
"But the blood…"
Elendur looked down at his gory raiment. "Not mine, but that of a number of orcs. The action was hand-to-hand."
"And how went the fight? Did you lose many men?"
"Over a score, I'm afraid, father. You should have seen them. They were so eager to fight that many rode alone into large companies of orcs. The orcs thought them mad. They thought we were some sort of demons, I do believe. They stood their ground, though, I'll say that for them."
"Orcs will fight fiercely if they are cornered. You know what they do to the poor devils they capture. I suppose they think the same thing would happen to them if they surrendered. So they usually fight to the last, asking no quarter."
"So they did," said Elendur. "I know you said to just hold them off until you had passed, but the fighting was fierce from the start. It would have been more dangerous to turn our backs and try to withdraw. So we fought on. The last of them we drove back up the tower, step by step, fighting fiercely all the way. It was terrible, bloody work on those stairs in the dark, everybody shouting and swearing and slipping and falling over one another. At the end only three of them reached the roof, and when we fought our way out the door they threw themselves from the parapet."
"Then the tower is ours?"
"Aye, Sire," said Elendur with a weary grin. "The banner of Gondor once more flies from the tower of Cirith Ungol."
"Well done! Well done indeed," beamed Isildur. "Rest now. We will not ride before dawn."
The raiding party slipped from their horses, took some quick bites, and rolled themselves in their blankets to grab a few hours sleep. Soon the whole camp was quiet again, save for snoring and the soft tread of the oft-relieved sentries.
The Elf-Lords sat apart from the rest and looked silently out over the vast plains of Gorgoroth. The violent eruptions had died down and the lowering clouds were but dimly seen in the dim orange glow from the gouts of lava still creeping down the mountain's slopes. Here and there steam and fumes drifted from cracks in the tortured earth. The Elves' eyes were turned upon that grim scene, but saw it not. They rested their minds in other realms — far worlds no mortal Man had ever seen. Of these the Firstborn do not speak even among themselves, save only, it is said, in old songs in the high Quenya tongue, which few even of the Elves of Middle-earth now remember.