At the head of the column, Elendil and Gil-galad chopped madly at the foes that attempted to strike at them or their mounts. They continued to drive forward so fast that each blow was against a new foe. Face after astonished face appeared before them, the horrible goblin features twisted in a grimace of terror, then they swept by or fell before their blades.
Looking up quickly, Elendil saw that they had forced their way through all but the last two ranks of orcs. On the rise above him he could see a solid phalanx of tall Men mounted on black horses watching his approach with what appeared to be calm interest. Then an axe glanced off his thigh armor and he brought Narsil viciously downward, hewing a fur-clad Man nearly in two. Beside him Gil-galad wielded his spear with a cold efficiency, rarely letting a foe close enough to even strike a blow. Elendil stole a glance over his shoulder and saw that the column was still together and still moving like a white snake through a field of black. He could see, though, that many of the horses were now riderless, though they still pushed forward in the eagerness of battle.
Slashing down at a pair of orcs that were thrusting at his horse's neck with their short knives, he spurred forward, riding down a knot of determined orcs. Then they were through. Before them was fifty yards of open ground, rising to the square of black-clad riders. The enemy knights had tightened up their formation, each rider stirrup-to-stirrup with his neighbor, all facing outwards, swords drawn and ready.
Gil-galad hacked his way free of the press and rode up beside Elendil. He too looked up. "These are neither orcs nor wild Men," he gasped.
"No," said Elendil. "They are Dúnedain. They must be knights of Umbar." He turned and looked back at the battle behind them. A few score of their knights were just fighting their way free, but most of the host was in a desperate battle, pressed from all sides. Many were now engaged in hand-to-hand combat with several determined foes on either side. Those that became separated from the main column were soon pulled from their horses and slain horribly. And yet the column could be seen to be visibly moving forward, still driving toward Sauron.
Then came a roar of many voices, and Elendil wheeled about to see the enemy riders spurring their mounts forward and lowering their lances. They pounded down the short slope toward the few allies free to engage them. "For Umbar!" they cried. "Remember Númenor!"
But Elendil's knights were not to be dismayed. "For Gondor!" they shouted. "Remember Númenor!" And so, with the same battle cry, the descendants of the Men of that long-lost island rode against each other, each blaming the others for its downfall.
Outnumbered, exhausted, in many cases wounded, and riding up a steep hill, the knights of Gondor met the knights of Umbar, and never has such a conflict of mounted Men been more bitterly fought, with many a cruel blow and valiant death on both sides. The advance of the Allies wavered, then stopped. The mad impetus of the wild charge was broken at last. Elendil's horse fell back a step, then another. Gil-galad's horse screamed and went down kicking. Gil-galad rolled free and was on his feet in seconds, but he was soon surrounded by three mounted Umbardrim.
Elendil rode back to help and slew one of the black knights with a sweep of Narsil. The other turned to engage him and they traded blow for blow. Gil-galad was in a fierce struggle with the third. The Corsair forced the Elf-lord back, but each mighty two-handed stroke of his sword was parried by Aeglos. One blow went wide and the force of it half-turned the knight. Before he could recover, Aeglos had pierced him through. His scream distracted Elendil's opponent, and in a second he lay stretched beside his companions.
The Kings looked around. The white-clad Gondorrim and the black-clad Umbardrim were engaged in deadly single combats all around them — hundreds of individual battles between grunting, swearing, men with none to intervene or even see the desperate blows. But too few had fought clear of the orcs and those who had were cruelly outnumbered. Most of the Elves and Men were still trying to force their way through the orcs and could not get free to help. Everywhere the allies were being pressed back down the hill. The orcs swarmed forward to surround them. The Kings plunged back into the fight, each attacking the nearest enemy knight. They had neither time or breath for words, but both knew that the bold charge had failed. Now there was nothing more to do but to continue fighting, battling on and on until fatigue slowed their arms and their opponents found their chance.
Then, from somewhere beyond the top of the hill came the sound of a horn: high and clear, cutting through all the roar of battle. A black knight with a mace raised to strike at Elendil paused instead and looked back at the sound. It was his last motion, for Narsil swept against his neck and he toppled headless from his horse. Then came a mighty roar from many throats, for over the summit of the hill appeared a solid mass of mounted figures, banners streaming and swords waving over their heads. They plunged down the slope without a pause: hundreds, then thousands of them.
Gil-galad, standing by Elendil's stirrup, cried out in dismay. "More of these Númenóreans! It is over!"
But Elendil could not speak for a moment. He watched a tall knight riding straight toward him, his sword whirling above his head. Behind him pounded another rider carrying a standard. And from the standard rippled the Crownéd Tree of Gondor.
"Yes, it is over, old friend," said Elendil. "For there rides my son Isildur."
Isildur crested the ridge and a smoke-shrouded valley opened before him. There below lay two vast armies locked in mortal combat. It was like no battle he had ever seen. There were no lines, no front, no flanks. The floor of the valley was filled with a seething mass of black figures, all seemingly pressing inwards upon their fellows. In their midst was a thin white line of mounted warriors, laying about them on either side. He could see small parts of the white column cut off from the rest and rapidly shrinking, like a white floor being flooded with black ink.
On the slope before them, another battle was raging between two groups of mounted knights, the white again badly outnumbered. In the midst of this wheeling mass of armored men rose a white banner bearing the Crownéd Tree.
"There, Sire," shouted Ohtar. "Your father is there, by the banner."
"I see him," called Isildur. "But he is very hard-pressed, and I do not see Gil-galad. I pray we are not too late! Ride, my brothers. Forget your weariness and ride like the wind. Ride to your king's standard!"
"Elendil!" went up the cry. "Gondor for Elendil!"
The Umbardrim heard that cry and knew themselves lost. They drew off and tried to form a defensive formation, but then the knights of Gondor were upon them. Coming down the steep slope, the force of their impact was like a wave crashing on a shore. In an instant the hillside was a mass of shouting, hacking men and wheeling horses. Isildur and his companions drove straight for the king, slaying any who stood between them.
For the first time Elendil had no foe before him. He paused to catch his breath and saw his son and grandson riding toward him. It came to him that never had they looked more kingly. Isildur reined in beside him and leaped from his horse. They clasped arms, their eyes revealing more than words could ever say.
Isildur bowed his head. "My father and my king," he said. "We are come at last. I pray we are not too late."
Too overcome at first for words, Elendil looked at Isildur's companions. There was his grandson Elendur, his smile beaming through a smoke-stained face. And there also were the Elves, Elrond Halfelven and Cirdan Shipwright, and his old friend and aide Gildor Inglorion. He was overwhelmed with emotion at seeing their faces again after so long.