"All ready?" asked Isildur.
"Aye." "Ready." "Ready, Sire."
"May the Valar protect you all." Isildur glanced quickly to Aratan on his right and Ohtar on his left. "Goodbye, my friends," he whispered. Then he turned to face the orcs edging warily forward again.
"Now!" he shouted, and all six of them leaped forward, screaming, pushing the flaming brands in the orcs' faces, and slashing wildly with their swords. Three orcs went down before them, the rest fell back howling. The men turned right and raced off into the dark, leaping over packs and bodies scattered about the camp. Several bands of orcs looked up from plundering the dead and saw the men charging at them, still screaming and brandishing their torches. Some fell back, others moved to intercept them. Two that opposed them were quickly cut down. They met a knot of five or six orcs and there was a brief and bloody fight. Ohtar raised his sword to meet the stroke of their leader, a big orc whose scales glinted red in the firelight. Suddenly the orc screamed and its sword arm fell away and dropped to the ground. Pushing past, Ohtar ran on. Isildur was still beside him.
They fought their way clear of the camp and to the edge of the circle of firelight. They threw the torches at their pursuers and ran out into the dark, the fire now far behind.
"Aratan," gasped Thalion. "Your father is not with us! I did not see him go down!"
"He did not go down," said Ohtar. "Run on. He will be with us at the far bank." Hoping with all his being that his words were true and that Isildur was still with them, he ran on. He could hear orcs shouting not far behind. They were being pursued.
A hundred yards, two hundred. Surely they had run three hundred yards by now. Where was the River? If they had run the wrong way they were doomed. Another hundred yards, Isildur's pack slamming hard against his back. An arrow whistled past his ear and disappeared in the dark. More shouting behind them, and some now off to their left. There were more of them coming, trying to cut them off! Ohtar found one last bit of speed. Suddenly the man running in front of him grunted and went down, an arrow in his back. As he leaped over him, Ohtar realized with a shock that it was young Aratan. He faltered, torn between turning back and going on. He started to slow down, and then there was no ground beneath his feet. He just had time to take a gulp of air, then he struck cold water hard and went under. He dropped his sword, tightened the pack on his back, and started swimming hard underwater.
When he came up he was fifty feet from the shore. Some way to his left someone else was swimming, thrashing feet kicking up a white spray. Looking back, he could see the bank high and dark, silhouetted against the dim glow from the fire. Nothing else could be seen. He turned and struck out for the far bank.
The Anduin at this point was fully four hundred yards wide. Ohtar was not the strongest of swimmers, and encumbered as he was by the heavy pack he made slow going of it. He had lost track of the other swimmer, and he felt very frightened and alone out there in the midst of the great river carrying him away to the south. In the middle of the stream he came out into silvery light. Looking back, he saw the moon shining white from the tops of the mountains. Though it was slender, but four days from new, it seemed as bright as day after the deep darkness of the shore. He felt very exposed and helpless.
Suddenly more orc shouting broke out behind him. He heard the twang of bowstrings, and two arrows ripped into the water nearby. Cursing and gasping for breath, he paddled even harder. Another arrow made a splash close in front of him. He took a deep breath and turned over, going down under the surface. He swam a few hard strokes, then had to come up. His head popped up and he floated, gasping. The shore behind was invisible, but the cries sounded dangerously close. No arrows landed nearby, however, and he struck out again, cursing the pack that kept slipping from his shoulders and entangling his arms.
It seemed like hours before he could see the far shore rising ahead. Hopefully he was out of bowshot by now, but he couldn't be sure. He continued swimming, more and more slowly as his limbs grew exhausted. Finally his fingers touched mud. The bank loomed right above his head, but much too steep to climb. He let the current bump him along the shore. He tried to grab hold of the slippery clay bank and climb out, but failed once, twice. Finally he caught a root and pulled himself out of the water. Standing on the root he could just get his arms over the grassy bank above. He slung the pack up onto the grass, then pulled himself up and over. He lay gasping on the grass, too tired and dispirited to move.
He lay for a few minutes, then heard something splashing in the water right below him. He had no weapon but the pack, so he crept forward, holding the pack by one strap, ready to swing it. A dark hand lunged over the lip, inches from his face. He gasped and swung the pack, slamming it down on the creature's fingers.
"Ow! Curse your eyes, stop that, you fool." He recognized Thalion. He tossed the pack behind him and caught the outstretched hands, dragging the limp figure up onto the bank.
"Did the others make it?" gasped Thalion.
"I don't know. Did you see anyone?"
"There was someone off to my left and ahead of me. I know he made it to the River, for I saw the splash just before I hit the water. I don't think it was you, you were somewhere to my right."
"Did you see the king?"
"Nay. I did not see him after we threw the brands. I fear he may have fallen there."
"And perhaps not," said Ohtar, knowing of the Ring's powers, which Thalion would not. "Come, let us search along the bank," said Ohtar, retrieving the pack.
Struggling to their feet, they walked downstream. Suddenly a figure loomed before them and all three fell back. "Who is there?" demanded Ohtar.
"It is I, Linfalas," came a voice. "Who is that?"
"Ohtar and Thalion. Saw you the king?"
"No. Not since the fire. He was not running with us. What of Lord Aratan?"
"An arrow took him just before we reached the River," answered Ohtar. "I saw him fall."
"Then it is just the three of us?" asked Linfalas. They looked at each other in silence.
"Let us go back upstream," suggested Ohtar. "Perhaps the king reached the shore further up. He was ever a strong swimmer."
"But his arm…," said Thalion, and stopped. They walked slowly back up the stream, their eyes scanning the bank and the water. Then they were abreast of the fire. On the far bank figures could be seen moving about, silhouetted against the fire. They stood staring in misery at the fire, thinking of all their friends that lay about it. All three were shivering with the cold and wet.
Suddenly harsh shouting broke out on the far bank. They saw orcs gathering directly opposite where they stood. Many were fitting arrows to their bows.
"What is it?" asked Thalion. "What do they see?"
"There!" shouted Ohtar. "Do you see? At the edge of the moonlight. Something is splashing!"
"It is the king!" said Linfalas. "I see the circlet he wears on his brow. See how it catches the light?"
"He is well within their range!" groaned Ohtar. "Why is he visible? Sire! Sire! Over here! Put it on, Sire, put it on! They see you!"
"I lost it," came Isildur's voice from the water. "I slew many of them, then I followed you into the water. But then it just fell off. It was as if it suddenly grew larger and came off."
Arrows started whistling into the water around his head.