'My thanks and long life to you, good woman,' Isildur replied. 'It does please me indeed. The heralds of Calembel have done their work well, it would seem. My blessing and my thanks to the town of Ethring,' he called, and the people cheered and called out good wishes as they passed.
From Ethring the road turned south and climbed a steep ridge. It was the last rolling outlier of the mighty Ered Nimrais, now gleaming white in the north far behind them. Their peaks were lost in caps of grey cloud.
The army camped that night in the saddle between two rounded peaks. As they broke camp in the morning, the sun rose out of a haze in the east and cast long rays across the broad land of Lebennin at their feet. It was a land of undulating hills and green fields, with copses of oak and vanella. Streams meandered among cottonwoods as the land gradually flattened until, away to the south, they fell away to meet the distant gleam of the sea. Here and there thin columns of smoke rose vertically in the still air, marking isolated cottages hidden in the folds of the land. The road broadened as it descended from the hills, and the land became more settled. The men marched now between hedgerows. People rushed across the fields to stare and wave as they passed.
They pressed on and covered many leagues on the good road. At dusk they camped on a greensward by a homestead whose folk were most kind and helpful. When the men woke in the morning, crying gulls were circling above, heralding the sea at last. They hurried on, spirits rising as they saw on every hand the signs of many men preparing to join them. Just before evening, they came to Linhir near the mouth of the Gilrain.
It was a sizable town with no wall, but large earthworks had been thrown up around it. The triple ramparts were arranged in the shape of a star, so that a foe assaulting one part of the wall must expose his back to another. The mounds were not overly high, but very steep on the outer side, and their crests hid trenches for the defenders. Their inner sides were gently sloped so that if one rampart were taken its defenders could fall back to the next. Within the inmost rampart lay a wide moat with but a single bridge cunningly devised so it could be turned by a great windlass. These defenses had been thrown up but a few years before against the pirates who had started again to raid the coast.
The Gilrain at this point was wide and swift but not deep, easily crossed at many points near the town. But at the spring flood tides a sizable bore rushes up the river and well past the town to the confluence of the Serni, and woe then to any traveller caught in the fords.
On this day the people of Linhir were lining the ramparts to greet their king. The column clattered across the wooden bridge and entered the city, and women leaned from upper windows to throw garlands to the king. One caught on the wing of his helmet and he laughed and threw it back up at the giggling girl who had dropped it.
In the center of the town they came to a large open court, and there they were met by an old gray-bearded man in a long blue robe, wearing a massive silver medallion about his neck.
'Greetings, Isildur King!' he cried in a loud but quavering voice. 'I am Guthmar, Elder of Linhir and keeper of the Ethir Anduin. We have had already tidings out of Lamedon and we know your errand. Know you that for two days the men have been gathering for your muster. The people of Lebennin are with you, Sire, and all our resources are at your disposal. Welcome to Linhir.'
Isildur dismounted and clasped his hand. 'A fair speech and a fair city, Elder Guthmar. It is long indeed since last I visited Linhir and it is a joy to find it as fair, and as loyal, as I recalled it. May you and yours prosper forever.'
Guthmar bowed his head and led them into his hall, a long stone room with a high arched ceiling and columned galleries on either side. They looked about them with wonder, for the walls above the galleries were lined with immense tapestries. The hangings were wondrous to look upon, alive with gulls and rocky coastlines and the colors of sea and sky. All were beautiful, but Ohtar's eye was caught by the largest, which hung at the far end of the hall behind a great carved oak table set with many candles.
The huge tapestry was also blue and grey, but it was shot with many glistening gold threads too, and it showed a towering city on a rugged precipice high above an azure bay. Pines lined the cliffs and from the shapely towers pennants fluttered in a stiff sea breeze. Ohtar turned to Guthmar in amazement.
'What a magnificent scene! Can that be a mortal place, Elder, or is it some artist's dream of deathless Avallone?' Guthmar smiled and opened his mouth to reply, but to their surprise it was Isildur instead who answered.
'That place was all too mortal, Ohtar. It is Romenna, a great haven of Numenor that is no more. Mark you that shady strand there beneath the leaning trees? It is said that Elros Peredhil, founder of Numenor and of my line, first set foot on the island of Elenna at that place when the New Age was young.
'Ah, Romenna, fairest of the cities of Men, would I could walk your fair broad streets again. But now only the octopus treads those stones and schools of fish dart through the open windows of those towers. O city that gave me birth, would that I could return the gift and bring you again to life. But alas, even Osgiliath, that I tried to build in your image, is fair no more, but despoiled. But not for ever, I swear it.' His eyes roamed from detail to detail of the vast image, but they were filled with sadness.
Guthmar clapped for his servants. 'My lord, I am sorry, I did not think… I will have it covered.' But Isildur waved away the pages who were hurrying forward. 'No, Guthmar, it is not necessary. It brings me pain, it is true, but it is a sweet pang indeed to see Romenna again, as I thought I never should. But how comes it here?'
'The work was done long ago by Fornen, our city's greatest artisan. Linhir was founded by Numenorean mariners, as were Pelargir and Anglond, and even Umbar far to the south, though the last has fallen from her former glory. Though there are few here now with pure Dunadan blood, still we look with pride to our Numenorean heritage. Fornen lived in Romenna before he emigrated here. In his old age he created this tapestry, working solely from memory.'
'From memory?' exclaimed Isildur. 'I dwelt in that city for thirty years and I could not recall all those towers, yet I swear they were just as the artist depicted them. This image must be old indeed, for it shows only two quays in the harbor, yet a third was twice an hundred years old when I was a boy there. This tapestry of yours is priceless, Guthmar. Protect it well.'
'It is guarded both day and night, Sire, for it is our most prized heirloom. It is said that while it endures the kingdom will be safe.'
'Then may your guards never sleep, good Elder, for we have need of every help in these troubled times.'
Then they went to table and food was set before them. When they had supped, Guthmar asked after their journey. He was dismayed to learn of the Corsairs' attack upon Anglond, for Linhir lived always in fear of their raids, and Anglond was a far stronger city, though further from the protection of the fleet of Gondor at Pelargir.
'And so Anglond feared to send its men with you, my king?' he exclaimed. 'I can little blame them, for our watchmen, too, are always watching for the black sails at the horizon. Still, we will offer you what men we can spare. But tell me, Sire, did the men of Anfalas not rise to your banner?'
Isildur shook his head sadly. 'Alas, no. And that is the most dire news of all, Elder Guthmar. On the second day of Norui, we departed Anglond, bound south over the hills of the Pinnath Gelin. In the afternoon of the third day we reached the long deep-cleft valley of Nanbrethil, where the road crests the hills and begins to fall away to Anfalas. There we spied coming toward us a ragged band of people, men and women, young and old. They were afoot and plodded slowly, though they bore no baggage. Then one of the women raised her eyes, saw us, and gave a shriek of terror. The others saw us and scattered, the women clambering into the rocks on either side of the road, the men drawing their swords and forming a line across the road. There was grim determination in their eyes, but not a glimmer of hope. We moved forward cautiously, making no hostile sign. They stood their ground against our much greater numbers, their knuckles white on their sword hilts. We halted at a small distance. I raised my arm in greeting, but at the same moment one of the strangers cried out.
''The White Tree!' He turned to a large man beside him, clutching his shoulder and pointing. 'Look, Turgon! See you their banner? They bear the Tree of Gondor!'
'And I called out, 'You see before you both Gondor's Tree and her King, for I am Isildur Elendilson, and if you be friends of that land you have nothing to fear from us.'
'Then the men sheathed their swords and called their women forth. They seemed greatly relieved but I saw no smiles nor signs of gladness at our meeting. I spoke to the large man, who was wearing rich clothes, though much torn and stained. 'You are called Turgon?' I asked. 'Of what city are you?'
'He gave me a hard look. 'Of no city, my lord,' he answered grimly, and one of the women turned away with
