The valley was deep in lush spring grass, high enough that Fleetfoot waded through it up to his belly. The valley narrowed and grew steeper as the high and rocky walls closed in on either hand. He came upon a beaten path beside the stream and followed it into a jumble of huge boulders that had fallen from the heights above. The stream tumbled among the boulders in dozens of small cascades. The valley narrowed until it was only a slit in the mountain, so close the rock on the left hand nearly brushed his knees, while the trail became but a narrow ledge above the rivulet. The walls soared away out of sight, so high that stars gleamed in a black sky, though it was not yet noon. Fleetfoot's hooves rang on the stony path, sending echoes clattering into the heights.
He rounded a sharp turn and the walls fell back, leaving an open space almost like a huge well. In the far wall was a broad stone arch leading into darkness. A black horse was hobbled beside the tunnel's mouth. Isildur dismounted and approached. He could feel the cold damp air wafting from the opening, like the breath of something ancient that brooded under the mountains. Here was the entrance to the vast Caverns of Erech.
As he looked into the darkness, something moved within. His hand dropped to the hilt of his sword. A harsh laugh came from the blackness before him. And then the long hawk-like face of Malithor appeared, a beam of light cutting across it, leaving only the eyes in shadow.
'You will not need your sword, Isildur,' he smiled. 'This land is yet neutral, and we are both emissaries here.'
'The Eredrim will not remain neutral for long, Malithor. This day will Romach give his decision. Then you may take word back to your lord that the Eredrim shall always remain faithful to Gondor.'
'Do you really think that Romach is bold enough to defy Umbar? He and those other old fools wouldn't dare. Did you see him sweat when I reminded him of Lefnui? He is a fool.'
'Is your contempt only for him, or for all the Eredrim?'
'It encompasses all the tribes of the Uialedain. Come, Isildur. You're one of us. You know what they're like. They're born to serve us Dunedain. They've proven time and again that they're incapable of ruling themselves. Why do you bother trying to forge alliances with them? They don't need allies, they need a strong hand to rule them.'
'Such as your emperor's, I suppose?'
'Why not? He at least has already proven himself capable of ruling them, which your father has not.'
'We do not seek to rule them. We want them as friends, not subjects.'
'Friends? Why would you wish to have such rabble as friends? They are a lesser race, Isildur, you cannot deny it. They know nothing of Numenor, its great history, its heroes, its beauties. Through the long rise of our civilization and its recent downfall, they have remained here tending their herds and living in their log houses. They are barbarians. They don't even speak our noble language, but only babble in their rude tongues. They live but a handful of years and die like dogs.'
'No, like us, they die as Men and leave their widows grieving. Though our lines were sundered long ago before the world was changed, still they are our brothers. Malithor, listen to me. You are a learned man. Herumor deems that he is acting for the greater glory of Umbar, but he is but Sauron's creature. Sauron sends forth his long arm and the Umbardrim sail to war. Do you not see the evil that Sauron represents?'
'I see only that he is the more powerful.' Malithor studied Isildur a moment, considering. 'I will tell you this in confidence, Isildur, speaking as one Dunadan to another. I have lived in Middle-earth a long time, far longer than you, and I have seen kings come and go. Sauron cannot be defeated by Gondor or Umbar or the Elves, or by any alliance save that of the Valar themselves, and that will not happen again. He is mighty beyond our comprehension, and he is determined to rule all of Middle-earth. Nothing can stop him. I intend to survive this war, and that means standing with Sauron, whatever the Emperor desires.'
'I thought you were His Imperial Majesty's man.'
Malithor looked at Isildur with a wry smile. He lowered his voice even further. 'No. You were quite right. Long have I served in the court of Umbar and the Emperor considers me his most loyal and trusted advisor, but as you guessed, I am in fact Sauron's agent. I manipulate the Emperor to keep the policies of Umbar to Sauron's liking, though Herumor thinks he is acting only for his own ends. Yesterday in your anger you called me the Mouth of Sauron. You meant it as an insult, but I acknowledge the compliment with gratitude.' He drew himself up and his eyes flashed with pride. 'I do give Sauron's will a voice. I am proud that the Master trusts me to speak for him to Herumor, and through Herumor to these Uialedain savages. Sauron and I work together well. We understand each other.'
'Sauron knows me as well,' replied Isildur. 'Often did I speak against him in the palace at Armenelos when he whispered his treacheries into the ear of King Ar-Pharazon.'
'Aye, he remembers you as well, Isildur. He has spoken of you many times. He seems to bear a particular enmity towards you. Something I did not fully grasp, about a tree, I believe?'
Isildur gave a mirthless laugh. 'Yes. Once long ago in Numenor, he had at last convinced Ar-Pharazon to burn Nimloth, the White Tree that grew in his court. He had no reason to do it, save spite and his hatred of all things Elvish, for it had been given to all Numenoreans by the Elves. I would not see it destroyed, and so alone and in stealth I entered into the palace in disguise and I took from the tree one fruit. I was discovered and attacked. Though I was grievously wounded, yet did I win back to Andunie with the fruit and its seed.'
'All that for a mere fruit tree? Why?'
'Nimloth was more than a tree. It was a token of the undying friendship of the Eldar and also a reminder of the Valar, for it was a scion of Celeborn, and that of Galathilion, and that of Telperion, Mother of Trees.'
'You do indeed revere the old ways, Isildur, foolish and vain though they may be. A bold but senseless adventure. But in spite of your disguise Sauron learned that you were the thief?'
'Yes. He burned Nimloth, but he never learned where the seed was hidden. Years later I planted it before my hall in Minas Ithil and it grew tall and fair, even as Nimloth had.'
'It was in Minas Ithil?' asked Malithor. 'Then Sauron…'
'Yes. Now Sauron has burned that tree too, curse him. But tell your friend this when next you meet: know that the tree bore many fruits and the seed of each was kept. Many were planted in secret places, others were sent away to safe and distant lands. He can never destroy the White Tree, just as he cannot sunder the friendship between Elves and Men.'
'The Master,' said Malithor, 'holds another opinion. Whether or not the Elves remain allies of Men is unimportant. The Elves and all their powers and works are passing from the world. Their interest in events this side of the Sea is fading. They are leaving, sailing forever from our shores. Soon they will all be gone, and you will stand at last helpless and alone before the Master. These nuts you have squirreled away will not help you then, Isildur. All shall fall on their faces before him. All save those of us who stand beside him.'
'The Elves will never desert us,' said Isildur. 'They will leave Middle-earth one day, it is true, but that day is not yet come. They returned hither from far Elvenhome to defeat the evil of Morgoth, and while Sauron yet rules their task is not completed. The Army of the Alliance will camp next the Barad-dur until he comes out, and then they will destroy him.'
'Destroy Sauron?' laughed Malithor. 'There is no power on Earth that can harm him while he wields the One Ring. You may throw yourselves against his walls until he tires of your noise. He is but biding his time. Soon he will ride forth and wrest all the lands of the west from you. Then his enemies will be thrown down and his friends raised up.' He drew himself up with a malicious smile. 'Perhaps then I shall be Lord of Ithilien, or even King of Gondor.'
'You may be the Mouth of Sauron, Malithor, but you do not know his mind. You are more likely to become a slave than a king. There were once many high and noble kings of men who thought to be Sauron's lieutenants. Many were learned mages and wielded great powers of their own. No doubt they thought to be kings as you do. And Sauron honored them with gifts of the Great Rings of Power, and now they are now naught but shades of men, ghosts that must do his bidding like puppets dancing on his strings.'
Malithor's dark face paled. 'You should not mock the Nazgul, for they are fell and dangerous. A fear goes before them, and none may stand against them.'
'Yet stand against them I shall,' replied Isildur. 'And I shall prevail, for they occupy my fair Minas Ithil. You can advise Romach to break his oath and kneel to Sauron, but I am not so easily swayed or corrupted.' Suddenly he threw back his cloak and swept his sword out and held it up ringing before him.
'I make an oath to you, Malithor: I shall scour Sauron's scum from Minas Ithil and all of my land, and if it is within my power I shall slay Sauron and cut the One Ring from his hand myself. Then all of Sauron's works and
