"I like it not," said Ohtar. "Remember the warning of the Elves."
"You were always over-eager to protect me, Ohtar. But look around. This is a wide and empty land. We have seen so sign of any other travellers for weeks. We are far from the mountains where the orcs are said to be hiding. And besides, no ragged band of renegade orcs would dare attack us. They are cowardly things, never eager for a fair fight and we have many doughty knights among us. We are as safe as houses. We must learn anew the pleasure of sleeping through a night. Let us all get a good night's rest and be ready to ride many miles on the morrow."
It was late in the evening before they rolled into their blankets to sleep. Ohtar was still uneasy and lay awake for a long time, arms folded behind his head, looking up at the stars burning down from the black sky. It seemed strange and unnatural to be lying there on the open ground, knowing there were no sentries pacing the perimeter of the camp. But no doubt Isildur was right. The war was over. It had been going on for so long that he could hardly remember what peace had been like. But now he was reminded of times years ago, when he and Isildur had hunted together in the hills of the Emyn Arnen and had slept out beneath the stars with never a thought of danger. Ohtar snorted wryly. He was just an old soldier, set in his ways. He needed to learn to relax again. He turned on his side, pulled his musty old blanket up around his throat, and went to sleep.
He woke with a pounding heart and his eyes snapped open. It was very dark. The waning crescent moon was a thin arc in the west, just about to set behind the jagged peaks of the Misty Mountains. The camp was silent, save for the faint crackle of the dying embers of the fire. He was trembling, but not from the cold. Something, some unnamed sense, had awakened him as swiftly and completely as if a pail of cold water had been thrown over him. It was his soldier's instinct, learned by evil experience. But what had caused it? Silently he sat up and looked around.
The camp was so dark he could make out nothing at all. The thick woods to the west blocked what little moonlight remained and all was in deep shadow. Then, just at the limit of hearing, he heard a shuffling sound in the grass not far away. Every nerve tingling with a sense of danger, he softly threw off his blankets and reached for his sword lying beside him. Still unwilling to sound an alarm and wake the camp without reason, he paused a moment more. He was peering toward the only light, the dim glow of a smoldering log in the fire, when it blinked. Something had passed in front of it; something silent, something crouched and bent. His nerves, drawn taut as a bowstring, jerked him to his feet.
"To arms!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs. "To arms! They are among us!" Instantly there was a roar of noise. Men's confused shouts, the hoarse croaking cries of orcs, the sickening crunch and clang of metal striking bone.
Not knowing what else to do, Ohtar ran toward the fire. He ran headlong into someone with a jarring impact and they both went down with loud grunts of surprise. He struggled to his feet as quickly as he could, and could just make out the dim shape of an orc rolling over and rising, an axe in its hands. It looked up at him, its eyes yellow in the feeble glare of the fire. Ohtar brought his sword around in a two-handed sweep with all his strength behind it. He felt it connect solidly. The orc shrieked and something flew off to the side and landed with a heavy thud. Ohtar turned and ran to the fire. He kicked the glowing log hard and it rolled over in a towering fountain of sparks and burst into flame. Instantly the camp was lit with a lurid flickering glare.
Orcs were everywhere, threescore at least, with more running in from the darkness. Most of the men were still on the ground, blinking in confusion. Many of them woke to find two or three orcs standing over them. Many another never woke at all, for the orcs for several minutes before the alarm had been moving silently through the camp, piercing each blanket roll with their long sharp knives. Now the orcs were rushing through the camp, swinging their jagged swords wildly about them.
Ohtar saw a nearby orc bend over a man lying on the ground and raise its sword to strike. With an oath, he hurled himself forward and brought his sword down on the orc's shoulder with such force that the sword cut nearly to the breastbone. The orc fell across his intended victim. Ohtar rolled the body off and a man struggled to his feet covered in the orc's black blood. He snatched up the orc's sword and together they drove against three orcs attacking one of the few knights on his feet fighting. It was Thalion, one of Isildur's housecarls. In a moment they had slain two and Thalion drove his sword through the third. Then an orc plunged toward Ohtar with his pike held out before him. Ohtar turned to meet him, but the orc tripped over a body on the ground and went down. Ohtar pinned him there with a thrust between the shoulder blades. He heard a scream just behind him and wheeled around to see the man he had just saved go down before a large orc with a double-headed axe. Ohtar and Thalion leaped forward and after a fierce struggle killed the orc. Glancing around the camp, they could see only two other men on their feet, hemmed in by many enemies. As he watched, they both went down almost at the same instant.
"Isildur," shouted Ohtar at the top of his lungs. "Sire!"
"Here!" came an answering shout from the other side of the fire. Ohtar shouted to Thalion, who was so covered in blood that he could barely recognize him. "To the king! The king!" Together they leaped through the fire and landed beside Isildur, Aratan, and two other men. They had their backs to the fire, facing half a dozen orcs who stood hesitating before the bright blades. The orcs backed off further when the other two men burst out of the flames. Ohtar glanced at the king. Thick blood pulsed slowly from a wound on his shoulder and he held the arm tight against his body. His face was pale and shining in the light.
"Sire," said Ohtar, "You're hurt."
"It will not matter if we cannot fight our way clear," said Isildur through clenched teeth. "Have you seen Ciryon and Elendur?"
"No. I believe no more of our people are alive on the other side of the camp," said Ohtar.
"And very few on this," said the man beside him. "Only the fire deters them, I think."
"The fire will be our doom," said Isildur. "Our only hope is to get out into the dark and try to escape."
"We can't hope to outrun orcs in the dark, Sire," gasped one of the men, slashing at an orc that was waving a trident toward his face. "They can run for hours, and they can track us by smell."
"Yes, Linfalas, but they are rarely swimmers. They like not the water. If we can get to the river, we have a chance at least."
"They can just wade the Greenwood," said Aratan, glancing back over the fire at a group of orcs gathering on that side.
"Then it must be the Anduin."
"That would be a long dangerous swim," said Ohtar. "And you are wounded."
"Does anyone else have another plan?"
No one spoke. The orcs started edging closer, getting ready to rush them.
"Ohtar, take my pack, I can't carry it with this arm. It's right here at my feet. Keep it with you at all costs. Put it on so you can swim." He thrust forward with his sword and the orcs fell back a few paces, snarling. "Now everyone pick up a brand out of the fire. When I give the word, scream like a madman, shove the brands in their faces, and run to the right. The Anduin should be no more than three hundred yards away. The bank is steep and the water deep. I suggest just running right into it. Then swim as fast as you can. They'll be shooting at us, no doubt. You'll probably have to drop your swords. If we become separated, we'll meet on the east bank. "
He paused, then added in a low voice to Ohtar alone, "You may not see me, but I'll be with you. Do not wait to look for me. Do you understand?"
Ohtar nodded grimly. He knew Isildur meant to put on the Ring, and he approved if it would increase his chances. "Aye, I understand," he said, stooping and picking up Isildur's pack. It was heavy, and something within it shifted and gave a muffled clank. Then, one by one while the others guarded them, each man turned and picked a stout burning brand out of the fire. They held them before them and waved them at the nearest orcs. The orcs fell back, snarling and holding their hands up against the light and heat.