Isildur

Duitirith strode across the hall with a young knight at his side. They bowed to Barathor and Isildur. 'You sent for me, father?'

'Yes. Have you turned the command of the bridge over to Foradan?'

Duitirith glanced at his companion's face. 'Yes, father, but he…'

'I would ride with you, lord,' said Foradan, stepping forward quickly. 'I would be with you when you ride to Osgiliath,' he said. 'I am a warrior.'

'Indeed you are,' said Barathor, laying a hand on his shoulder. 'But you should feel honored, not slighted, by your new assignment. It is true that I shall ride to Osgiliath. But while we face the enemy in the east, we must not fear an enemy from the west. Nor should the men be worrying about their families back in Pelargir. The guardianship of the bridge has been the duty of the greatest warriors of Pelargir since the city was founded. Your own father's father was its captain for over forty years. Would you leave it unguarded now, Foradan?'

The young knight bowed deeply. 'No enemy shall cross the bridge while I live, my lord,' he said. 'You can depend upon me.'

'We are all indeed depending on you, Foradan.' He turned to his son. 'We are depending on all of you who remain here. The safety of the city is in your hands. Have you chosen your men well?'

'I did as you suggested, father. I retained only the youngest men, but also one experienced hand from each company. They know their duties, my lord. But they are so few. We could not withstand a concerted attack.'

'Remember you will be behind the shield wall of the White Fleet. With the River secure and you in command here, Duitirith, I shall not worry overmuch.'

At that moment Barathor spied a wiry old man wearing the livery of a ship's captain just entering the hall and peering about at the hurrying crowds. Barathor called to him, his voice booming above the uproar. 'Caladil! You are come at last. Excuse me, Sire,' he said to Isildur. 'One of my commanders from the Tolfalas station.' He hurried across the room and began issuing orders to his captain.

Isildur turned to Ohtar. 'It would seem that Barathor has matters well in hand here. We are but in his way. Let us return to camp and see to our own. Barathor!' he shouted. The Lord of Pelargir looked up. Isildur signalled that they would be at their camp. Barathor waved and bowed, then resumed talking with Caladil. Isildur and Ohtar made their way through the crowds and returned to their camp, close under the western gate.

There they spied Ingold of Calembel standing before a blacksmith's tent. With him was the giant herdsman they had encountered on the road outside Calembel. The two were arguing with the smith, a brawny black- bearded fellow, who seemed to be trying to explain something to them, and not at all patiently.

'I've been shoeing horses and straightening spears half the night,' the smith was saying as Isildur and Ohtar approached. 'Then at first light some lads from Lebennin up and borrowed my cart and they haven't brought it back yet. Where it's got to now I can't say, and I don't have time to go traipsing all over the city to find it. For all I know they've made off with it and gone home. But I've got my forge and all my tools right here, and if you want your axle fixed you'll have to bring your wagon here.'

'I can't bring the accursed wagon here, man,' thundered Ingold in exasperation, pointing down the long slope to where a large wagon stood broken down by the bank of the Sirith. 'It takes a team of four to move it when it has all its wheels, which it doesn't because the blasted front axle's sheared in two. We'll have to move your forge down there.'

The smith stood chin to chin with Ingold. 'I've told you,' he bellowed. 'I've got no cart and no team. Just how do you suggest we get my forge and all my gear down there?' He gestured at the clutter of tools on the ground all around him.

Ingold looked around at the tools and the forge. 'Can we carry it ourselves, think you?' he asked, a little more quietly.

The smith threw up his hands. 'Oh, my mates and I can carry the tools all right, and I wager you and your men can carry the bellows, but what about this anvil? I can't mend your axle without an anvil, and it takes four strong men just to heave it up into my cart.'

They both stared glumly at the huge anvil resting in the shade of a ragged canopy. Then the giant herder spoke for the first time.

'That anvil there?' he asked quietly. Both men nodded without looking up. The goatherd went to the anvil and, crouching down, locked his huge arms around its base. With a great heave, he slowly raised himself, then turned and started off down the hill to the wagon, the immense anvil cradled in his arms like a baby. The entire group just stared after him in wonder. Then the smithy bent and started gathering his tools. He grunted.

'I pray I never have reason to quarrel with that one,' he muttered under his breath. He shouldered his tool box and staggered off after the goatherd. Then Ingold saw the king.

'Isildur! Greetings, my king. Good day to you, Ohtar.'

'Good day, Ingold,' answered Isildur. 'You have a mighty friend there. Does he handle a sword as well as an anvil?'

'To tell the truth, Sire, he likes not the sword. He uses only a great spear with a wooden point.'

'Wooden?' asked Ohtar. 'Would not bronze or iron serve better?'

Ingold shrugged. 'He says his people have always fought thus. His spear is an heirloom of an ancient past. It is hardened in the fire and is devilishly strong and sharp. And it serves him well enough. I once saw him thrust the spear completely through the body of a huge grey wolf and pin it to the ground. In fact, had he not done so, I would not be standing here today.'

'Who is he? Do you know him?'

'Orth is his name, Sire, but I know not where he makes his home. He comes down into the Calembel market but once or twice a year and he speaks little. I don't think anyone knows him well. He seems perfectly content living in the high valleys alone with his goats. But if the alarm drums roll he is always there. Would I had a hundred like him.'

Bidding them good day, Ingold picked up the bellows and followed the others down toward the wagon, where Orth was just putting down the anvil.

Isildur, Ohtar, and the other officers spent the day seeing to the preparations and helping the Pelargrim whenever they could. In the evening Isildur and Ohtar climbed a watchtower on the southern wall, built for its commanding view down the River. Bands of villagers in leathern jerkins and bright copper helmets hurried down the River Road toward the gate. The dust of their passage rose in the soft evening air and hung motionless above the roads. Far below where they stood, they could see Foradan's men at the bridge, tallying the men, horses, and supplies as they poured into the city. Everywhere in the city rose clouds of dust and the crying of men, women, and horses, the clang of the armorer's hammer and the thudding of the wheelwright's mallet.

At last as the sun began her long descent over the hills of Belfalas, the roads began to clear. The milling throngs broke up into more orderly arrays as each group began making its camp. Fires sprang up here and there as meals were started.

Ohtar looked back down the River, then stared hard. 'A ship!'

Isildur peered through the fading evening light. A ship was approaching from the sea, its long sweeps rising and falling together like a water strider on a pond. 'I see no swan's head,' he remarked.

'No. Nor a white pennon such as Cirdan is said to fly. Still, they could bear news.' They watched as the ship slowly approached the quays, already crowded with so many vessels they were moored three abreast. The ship docked, but no hurrying messengers appeared. Isildur and Ohtar descended and walked to the Blue Tower.

There in the Great Hall were gathered many of the chief elders and captains of Pelargir. Barathor sat in his high seat, talking with a stocky man with long grey hair, worn in a long braid down his back.

'Ah, Isildur,' said Barathor as the king approached. 'I was about to send for you. This is Luindor, my Captain of Ships.' The man bowed to Isildur and gave him a level, unsmiling glance.

'I am but now arrived from the Ethir,' he said. 'I have been maintaining station within sight of the shore signal stations. My scout cutter was another ten leagues from shore, and they espied no Elven fleet.' He stopped, leaving an accusatory tone hanging in the air.

'When was that?' asked Isildur, ignoring the man's glare.

'I left the Ethir at dawn yestermorn, as my lord Barathor commanded.'

Ohtar broke the brief silence that followed. 'Then Cirdan could have come to Anduin yesterday, or today. He could be in the River already.'

Luindor snorted. 'He could be, aye, but is he? We don't know that he is coming at all.' He appealed to