They dismounted and started up after Gil-galad. It felt as if they were walking through a pool of hot tar. It was all they could do to push their feet forward. And always there was that growing terror clutching at their hearts, the sense that this whole struggle was useless, that they could not hope to win. Still they could see Gil-galad above them, stumbling upward among the loose rocks.
Gil-galad climbed out of the valley and stood swaying, looking around him. Elendil struggled up beside him. Then they turned to the right and began walking unsteadily upwards, towards the Mountain. The others followed, forcing themselves forward as if against a wind.
When he reached the top of the ridge, Isildur paused to catch his breath. He was gasping for air. His chest felt tight, constricted, as if there were no air to breathe. And always there was that growing terror that threatened to turn into panic and send him screaming back down into the valley. Glancing back, he saw the battle continuing in the valley below. To his right, Elrond and Cirdan were starting up the long steep slope of cinders that formed the side of Orodruin. Their faces were drawn and white with the effort. Beyond them, the figures of Elendil and Gil-galad could be seen struggling upward, already partially obscured by drifting clouds of smoke. Gathering his strength and his courage, Isildur started after them.
How long they climbed like that, none of them could guess. The cinders slid away beneath their feet, raising choking clouds of ash and dust that swirled away in a growing wind — a hot wind that swept down the slope into their faces. It became harder to breath or even see the way ahead. Every step was an effort of will, a denial of the despair that filled their hearts. What could they possibly hope to accomplish if they did catch Sauron? How did they dare to challenge him? Did they not know he was immortal — a Maia, created by The One Himself when the world was new? What could mere foolish Children do against such as he?
Isildur at one point sank beneath the weight, falling to his knees in the cinders. His shoulders shook in a great sob. He could not take another step. It was madness to go on. Why didn't the others see it, too? The thought of the others made him look up. Elrond and Cirdan plodded heavily on. Then they disappeared, hidden in the thickening fumes that drifted and swirled about the Mountain's flanks. He was alone.
"Father!" he called. "Wait for me." But his voice seemed weak and frail, swept away by the wind. No answer came, and he struggled to his feet and went on. The sounds of the battle far below faded away. The swirling smoke obscured both the plain below and the summit above. All he could see was the grey slope of the volcano, broken here and there by piles of slag and streams of steaming lava. The air was like fire in his lungs. His lips were parched and his eyes burned from the fumes and heat. And above everything else was the unending sense of despair, of impending doom. He trudged upward, his mind blank, his eyes watching his feet sinking into the cinders and ash, sometimes nearly to his knees.
Then he stumbled onto a stony uneven road cut into the slope. He stopped and looked around. The road climbed up from the left and disappeared around the shoulder of the Mountain to his right. Preferring anything to this endless trudging up the cinder slope, he turned right and plodded off up the road, still climbing steeply.
He rounded the shoulder and climbed a short steep slope and there before him was a level platform of rough lava blocks. He stopped and looked up in surprise. The road disappeared into an arched tunnel that plunged straight in toward the heart of the Mountain. The tunnel's mouth pulsed with a lurid red glare, sending long black shadows back from four silhouetted figures. Gil-galad and Elendil stood there at the mouth of the tunnel, watched by Elrond and Cirdan a few yards further back. The black gloom they had been following was emanating from that red hole. Isildur came up behind Elrond.
"What is it?" he gasped, his voice barely a croak. "Where is Sauron?"
"It is the mouth of the Sammath Naur, and we believe he is within."
The Mountain shuddered beneath them and they staggered to keep their feet. The red glare brightened with a blast of hot air, and a tongue of flame flicked briefly from the top of the tunnel mouth.
"Are they… are they going in?"
"I do not know," answered Elrond, never taking his eyes from the Kings. "For myself, I do not think I could. Surely nothing could survive in that heat."
But just then something moved in the glare beyond. The flames swirled and roared, and then parted to reveal a dark figure, black against the pulsing red glow. Isildur started back in terror, throwing his sword up before his face. A tall thin figure stepped out onto the rough pavement and they could see it clearly at last.
"Malithôr!" cried Isildur.
"We meet again, Isildur Elendilspawn," sneered the Black Númenórean. "As you see, all your plans have come to naught in the end."
"We have destroyed the fleet of Umbar, retaken Minas Ithil, and defeated the army of Mordor," said Isildur. "Is this what you call naught, Mouth of Sauron?"
The thin lips pressed even tighter. "Your petty victories are meaningless while Sauron rules the Flame. These crimes against His Lordship shall be punished many times over. Though you shall all die here, your people will soon find He is not a forgiving Master. Your insolent pride shall be cut from the flesh of your families and subjects until no trace of it remains. They will come to curse your names."
"You shall have to slay us first," growled Isildur.
Malithôr actually laughed. "You cannot still hope to prevail, you fools. Do you not see where you are? You are come to the Flame of Udûn. Here is the seat of His power. Here He is supreme. If you have come here to attack Sauron, you are even greater fools than I thought."
"Fools we may be," said Gil-galad, "but we are not fools enough to heed your words. Stand aside, traitor. Our quarrel is with your master, not with his slaves."
"I am no slave, you meddling Elf. I am Malithôr, of the house of Ar-Pharazôn the Golden. I am Sauron's spokesman when he deigns to treat with fools such as yourselves. I am his treasured colleague, and it was through my efforts that your every move was thwarted."
"Why does a Man of Númenor," asked Elendil, "stoop to aid a thing of evil like Sauron? And against your own people. We are cousins, after all."
Malithôr wheeled furiously on Elendil. "Because you and your family caused the eclipse of the glory that was Númenor, you arrogant traitor! You Elf-lovers were ever in league with the Valar who destroyed our homeland. And now you think to set yourselves up as overlords in Middle-earth. We shall drive you and your meddling Elvish friends back into the sea. Middle-earth has belonged to the Men of Umbar for these long ages, and when Sauron has destroyed you all, I shall be Emperor of Umbar and lord of all the lands you now think to rule."
"You blind fool!" cried Elendil. "It was your master with his treacherous lies who brought about the downfall of Númenor. He pretended to advise King Pharazôn, but in the end he destroyed him and his whole kingdom. The Valar destroyed our island of Elenna only because Pharazôn violated their Ban. Sauron knew what would happen. He well knew that Men could not become immortal merely by sailing to Valinor. He used Pharazôn's pride to destroy the kingdom that had humbled him. He betrayed the king, and he will betray you as well. You will never be an emperor, Mouth of Sauron — you will be his lackey!"
"Enough!" came a voice like thunder from deep within the tunnel. All fell back before it. Even Malithôr cowered before the hatred in that voice.
Then a second shape emerged from the glare, taller and broader and blacker. It stepped forward, but it was so wreathed in its own Shadow that they could not see it clearly. It seemed to be generally man-like in shape, but much larger, and it had great vast wings that loomed above it, so that it towered even taller. The head might have been that of a vulture, save that it was scaled like some hideous viper. The eyes glowed a baleful red from a flat reptilian face. It loomed over Gil-galad like a cobra over a mouse.