Isildur

Luindor stammered, taken aback by the question. 'Why… I serve the Lord of Pelargir, of course,' he said firmly.

Isildur turned then upon Barathor. 'And you, Lord Barathor? Whom do you serve?'

Barathor at once fell to his knee. 'You, my king. Ever has Pelargir been loyal to the King of Gondor. I shall do now as both my king and my heart command. I shall be stayed no more by gainsayers. Today we ride to Osgiliath!'

Isildur clapped his arm on Barathor's shoulder. 'Well said, old friend. I knew you would not fail me at the last. Now, let us ride!'

Barathor sprang to his feet and began barking out orders to his messengers. Isildur sent Ohtar to the camp to pass the order to strike the tents. The court burst into activity as men hurried in every direction. Barathor turned then to his captains.

'You must not let any watching enemy realize just how short of men you are. Duitirith, you must try to maintain the usual number of guards upon the walls. They are the most conspicuous and any change in their number is sure to be noticed. Use every available man, and if you must, dress women or old men in armor and have them pace the walls. See that there are always figures moving about on the battlements. Have them carry torches at night. Give the impression of a well-fortified and prepared defense. After dark, have people go out and light campfires outside the walls. A score of boys should be able to keep a hundred fires burning all night, and it will look as if a thousand men are still camped before the walls.

'And Luindor, gather the remaining seamen together and take at least one ship out as often as possible. Sail a few leagues down the River, then hoist a sail of a different color and return. The enemy may think it is two ships. They must not realize the River is unguarded. Have people moving about on the ships at the quays, anywhere they can be seen from the far shore. Do what you can. The ruse should not have to work more than a day or two at the most. Before the orcs realize we're gone, the Elves will be here. Go now, and instruct your men.' They bowed and left, just as Barathor's esquires arrived with his panoply and arms.

Soon all was ready. The tents were all struck and stowed on the wains and the army was formed up on the River Road along the east bank of the Sirith, hidden from any unfriendly eyes by the bluffs on the west bank of Anduin. Isildur rode with Ohtar and Gildor to meet Barathor at the city gates. They waited there a few moments in silence. Then came a thunder of hooves from the shadow of the gate and Barathor rode forth at the head of a long column of the knights of Pelargir. He sat a huge black war horse and both he and his mount gleamed in black armor chased in gold. From his helm streamed a long plume and beside him flew his banner, both the hue of the famed Blue Tower of Pelargir.

Four abreast, the knights of Pelargir poured forth from the gate, lances bristling to the sky, and the sound of their passing was as the breaking of the sea on the rock-bound coasts of Anfalas. Isildur spurred Fleetfoot and sped to the head of his column. Ohtar sounded the great horn of the Eredrim, and the men fell into line with the Pelargrim. Their forces merged into one army at last, Isildur and Barathor rode stirrup to stirrup into the north.

* * *

High in the Blue Tower, Duitirith and Luindor watched the great army wind slowly from view. Many hours passed before the last carts lumbered slowly into the clouds of dust and disappeared. At last the road stood empty.

'They are gone,' said Duitirith. 'May good fortune go with them.'

'Aye,' agreed Luindor. 'And may it abide with us. We shall have need of it.' They looked down into the city and saw the empty squares, the closed shops and markets. Here and there lone figures hurried along silent streets. Down at the quays, the ships rocked quietly in the current. The wide brown waters of Anduin, normally crowded with shipping, stood empty. They realized for the first time how many sounds normally rose from the city, and how quiet it now was. The accustomed voices and cries, the rumble of wheels, the beating of hooves — all was now silent. After the noise and bustle of the muster and departure, all seemed deathly still. They gazed silently for a few moments, then turned to their tasks.

Some time later a long lean warship, bristling with lances, its bulwarks lined with the shields of a hundred warriors, put off from the quays and ran out of sight down the River. A few hours later, under a patched and stained mainsail and with smoke rising from three cooking fires, she returned and tacked up the Sirith to a different dock. She made a brave sight, but Luindor from the tower could see down into the ship and through her ruse. Most of the lances were lashed to the gunwales. The fires were not surrounded by crowds of warriors, but were tended by a handful of seamen and a score of old men in rusty armor dragged from the attic for the occasion. Luindor gnashed his teeth to see this pathetic crew on one of Pelargir's proudest ships of the line.

'Will the Elves never come?' he grumbled, and so said the sentries pacing on the walls, and the people in their houses. But the day waned and the sun sank, and still no sail appeared on the River. Just before dark, Luindor's seamen joined the three Elves posted to guard Gildor's cog Varda, to make another short run down the River. They rounded the point and there before them stretched more miles of empty River. They tarried there as long as they dared, hoping each minute to spy a line of sails beating toward them in the dusk, but at the last they had to return.

After full darkness had fallen, boys slipped out and lit the campfires, but to Duitirith watching from the Blue Tower, they seemed but a faint reflection of the blazes and noise that had existed there the night before.

'If the orcs have any brains at all in those ugly heads, they will know we are shamming,' he thought. 'We can only hope it is more convincing at a distance.' Late it was before he sought his bed, and later still ere he slept.

* * *

He was awakened by a hammering at his door. He sat up, confused. It was still dark.

'Captain Duitirith, awake, awake!' cried his chamberlain. 'The Elves are come at last!'

Fully awake now, he leaped from his bed and began pulling on his clothes. 'Are you certain, man?' he shouted through the door. 'Make no mistake in this.'

'Aye, my lord. The sentries spied them rounding the point. They made them out clearly against the setting moon. Many ships are approaching.'

Duitirith flung the door open. 'Come then,' he called. 'Rouse the heralds and messengers, rouse the cooks, light the fires. Food must be prepared at once. The Elves have come far indeed. They will be hungry. Chamberlain, where is Luindor? Has he been called? Wake my esquire. Bring me my armor. Send to the stables to ready my horse. We shall go to meet them at the quays.'

The palace was in an uproar, with people rushing here and there, some carrying guttering torches, others still dressing as they ran. Horses were already snorting and blowing in the courtyard below. The chandeliers in the Great Hall had been lowered to the floor and were being lit from candles. Duitirith reached the Great Hall just as his esquire struggled up with a small wooden cart bearing his armor and weapons.

'Ah, Arador, there you are,' he cried. 'Gird me now in my finest, for the Elves are come. Bring too the banners of Gondor and Pelargir and the devices of my house. We must greet the Elves with all the honor due to them, though we be but few.'

Armed and ready at last, Duitirith and his housecarls rode out under the great portcullis and drove hard for the quays. Now for the first time they could see the approaching fleet. At the confluence of the Sirith and the Anduin, a long line of bobbing red lights marked the advance of many ships. They were close to the shore now, not far from the rows of empty warships at the quays. Luindor's seamen were shifting a ship to one side to make room for the first of the Elven ships. Other citizens of the city were pelting down the road to the River, shouting with joy. Luindor's men greeted them with happy shouts as they stood on the ends of the dock, ready to take the Elven lines. Duitirith and his men reached the bluffs above the shore and started their descent. The first ships approached the quays.

But from the silently approaching ships came not mooring lines snaking out of the dark, but a hissing rain of arrows. Men screamed and toppled into the water, clutching at black-fletched shafts in their chests. Then came the rattle of catapults and flaming skins of oil arced through the night to burst with a roar among the watching crowds or across the moored ships. In an instant half a dozen ships were enveloped in flames.

On the road above the harbor, Duitirith and his people stopped, frozen in horror. They stared unbelieving as the close-packed ships of Pelargir burst into flame and the ghastly scene was lit by a lurid glare. From below came hoarse cries and the screams of the wounded. On the docks, men clambered over the dead and dying, clawing