Just after dawn of the third day upon the open wold they came into sight of the trees bordering the wide Argon. Here in this place a morning fog reached out from the placid waters and onto the open moor, and the Elves were content to stay on the high ground above the layers of mist, pacing alongside it instead. But as the sun rose into the sky and the fog slowly burned away, down the slopes the riders angled, eager to see the mighty flow. Finally the tendrils of mist withdrew down among the trees, and of a sudden seemed to vanish entirely as the clear morning sun glared brightly into their refuge. And now the glint of the river sparkled in the light of day, the broad waters flowing gently toward the far-off sea.
Along this course rode the Elven band of seven, heading ever southerly, making their way toward distant Olorin Isle, where they planned on crossing the mighty Argon by way of the ferry there. The isle itself sat in the river some thirty leagues hence, near the point where Darda Erynian on the east of the river ended and Darda Galion on the west began. And given their pace and the terrain between, it would take them some three or four days to traverse the ninety-one miles.
All during the morning trek the land gently rose, until the band rode along a portage-way atop steep eastern bluffs well above the level of the river. Down at the base of the palisades the water itself swept downstream at an ever increasing pace, for as the land had risen the watercourse had narrowed and the riverbed had gradually angled down. The ravine below was known as the Race, the current swift and strong. Here northbound river travelers must abandon the water and portage overland along the eastside way, but pilots of southbound traffic-if they are skillful enough and if they dare-need only stay in the rushing center of the river and away from the jagged rocks.
As the midday sun reached toward the zenith, the Elven band came to where the high-walled canyon pinched inward to form a long, tight gorge, and from the depths of the cleft roared the thunder of water as the constricted Argon hurled through the narrowest part of an already narrow channel. Here was the deadliest stretch of the perilous strait, for here it was that the water plunged apace between the close-set ramparts, cresting and rolling and breaking over hidden barriers, smashing around massive rocks to leap and fall crashing back only to drive into the next great stone and the next and next, and the least mistake in the hurtling current could cause a pilot to lose boat and cargo to the rocks and water, as well as lose life and limb.
Above the reach of this thundering hazard rode the seven, while down in the roaring gorge the waters impo-tently raged. They came to the narrowest pinch atop the walls of the gorge, the western rampart but a stone's throw away, and here, of a sudden, the constriction came to an end as the cliffs to either side began to diminish in height and to recede from one another, and the water below slid down a long ramp into a deep trough and shortly thereafter the river widened.
Onward rode the Elven band, down the sloping land, and soon the thunder in the Race behind became a rumble and then a distant grumble… and when they set camp that night not even a whispering echo remained.
All the next day they rode on the wold alongside the wooded river vale, now angling a bit easterly as the south-bearing river swung over that way. Once again they made camp as twilight drew upon the land.
It was near mid of day the day after when they sighted the northern end of Olorin Isle, where they could see smoke rising from the dwellings of the Rivermen. Down from the wold rode the Elves and through a narrow marge of woods bordering the Argon to come to the river itself, and following an overgrown trail, a quarter mile downstream they reached the ferry dock. From the pier a well-beaten path bore southward alongside the stream. They all dismounted and stretched their legs and then Vanidar haled on the pull-rope to ring the summoning bell.
After a while they could see the ferry, with four men rowing, leave the island pier; a mule stood in their midst. As they crossed the quarter-mile stretch, the river current carried the float southerly; it would land downstream below the Elves at the dock.
"Should we ride down to meet it?" asked Melor.
Silverleaf shook his head and pointed at the path along the bank. "The mule will haul it here, else on the journey back we could miss the island altogether."
Arin raised an eyebrow. "Why should we go to the isle? It's the far side we would reach and not some point midriver."
Rissa laughed aloud, for she had been this way before, and Vanidar said, "Ah, 'tis the scheming of the Rivermen which makes it so: one ferry to carry us to the isle for a fee; another ferry to take us on to the far shore… for a second fee, of course." Now Vanidar joined Rissa in her laughter.
"Huah! Waterway robbery," declared Ruar, yet he was smiling as he said so.
Melor growled, "Outrageous," but Perin and Biren looked at one another and shrugged.
Some time later, harnessed to the ferry, the mule came plodding along the pathway, one man leading the animal while the three other men fended with poles to keep the float from grounding against the shore.
"Y'could help we'ns row," said the Riverman, spitting into the Argon, then jerking his stubble-clad chin toward spare oars as he and his comrades rowed.
"Oh no, my good man," responded Ruar. "For the exorbitant fee paid ye we shall ride in luxury."
"Wi' this load we c'd miss th' isle alt'gether, y'know," replied the Riverman. "Go over Bellon hisself 'n' inter th' Cauldron herself."
"Oh, please do," said Ruar gaily, for he knew full well that mighty Bellon Falls was a full hundred miles downstream, where the Argon plunged over the rim of the Great Escarpment to plummet a thousand feet to the thundering churn below. "I have always wanted to swim in the roar of the Cauldron at the foot of He Who Shouts."
The Riverman growled but said no more and hauled mightily on the oar, for he knew that if they did indeed miss the island they would collect no double fee.
The barge landed on the long shores of Olorin Isle some three miles downstream, where the Elves offloaded and mounted up and rode along the tow path toward the northern point of the isle where the second ferry was docked.
As they cantered along the shoreline, they saw boats put out from the island shore and row into the stream, where the boatmen began fetching up flotsam bobbing in the river.
Vanidar slowed his steed to a walk and stood in his stirrups and shaded his eyes. The others slowed also. "Umh," grunted Silverleaf. "Looks as if a vessel has come to disaster upstream."
"The Race?" asked Arin.
"Most likely," he answered, then sighed. "This is another way the Rivermen make their living: from the misfortune of others." He spurred into a canter again, the rest following his lead.
Shortly they reached the north end of the island and rode in among the sparse dwellings, ramshackle cabins for the most part, though here and there stood an adequate cottage. No adults were about, yet a few small children- dirty and ill-clothed-stood on the docks and gazed out at the boatmen snagging the floating wares. The children turned and watched as the Elves rode past, and then resumed their river vigil once the strangers had gone on.
When the band reached the west ferry and dismounted, only a mule was there to greet them.
"Where is the crew?" asked Melor, looking about but seeing no one.
Arin gestured at the river. "Salvaging wreckage, I would imagine." She looked at Vanidar, who nodded in confirmation.
"Then we wait?" asked Perin.
"That or steal the ferry," answered Biren.
It was nearly twilight when the Rivermen returned from their "gleaning o' th' waters," as they called it. A ferry crew was assembled for the trip across, and full night had fallen by the time they reached the opposite shore.
As the Elven band led their horses from the grounded barge, a voice rang out from the darkness: "Rest!"