nearly upon them now.
Cirdan tried his old trick, throwing down his helm and backing the sail. The bow veered to larboard and the flagship heeled steeply, dangerously close to capsizing. But the enemy captain was quick and swung his bow to point at their exposed side. They could hear the slavemaster's drum beating an ever-quickening rhythm and saw the warriors on her bridge clashing their swords on their shields and howling with the battle madness.
They braced themselves for the inevitable collision, but in that last moment came aid unlooked for in the shape of a hellish apparition. Between the two closing ships drifted a blazing tower of flame. For one instant they could see Hithimir at the helm of his ship in the midst of the flames. His clothes were scorched and blackened, his hair was smoking, but he seemed not to notice as his blistering hands strained at the steering sweep. Then came a deafening grinding crash and a long black ram burst out of the flames and stopped, quivering, a few feet from their side. Hithimir's blazing rigging toppled and fell with a roar over the black galleass, impaled on its own bane. Cirdan circled the burning ships, but from that inferno came none alive, neither Man nor Elf.
'Helm alee!' cried Cirdan. 'After them!' Amroth looked up from the burning ships and saw a black galley pulling away from the engagement, making for the eastern shore. It was just then passing close under their stern as they began their tack. Looking back, he saw a group of tall men in dark robes on her quarterdeck, not fifty yards from where he stood. Just forward of them, a group of seamen were clustered around some kind of engine he could not make out, but a column of smoke rose from it. They suddenly jumped clear, and with a loud explosion, a ball of flame arced straight toward Amroth.
He had only time to shout a warning and throw himself to one side. He heard a deep-throated roar and felt a blast of heat as the projectile sailed past his shoulder, then a crash behind him. Wheeling around, he saw that the ball had struck the quarterdeck rail, sending a wave of flame along the deck and down the side of the ship. Instantly a dozen Elves leaped forward, beating at the flames with their wet cloths. He heard a cry of triumph behind him and turned to see the Umbardrim officers jeering at them. One, taller than the rest, stepped to the rail and shook his fist at them. He had a long aquiline face and a great hooked nose. For an instant their eyes met, and Amroth was struck by the look of pure hatred in his gleaming eyes.
In spite of the flames licking around them, the Elves soon brought the ship around in pursuit of the fleeing galley. With the ship close-hauled, the wind fortunately carried the flames away from the sail and rigging. Soon a hose was brought into play and the pump manned, and the fire was extinguished. The galley was rowing into the eye of the southeast wind, so the Elves were forced to beat into it, losing ground to her at each tack. They were perhaps two hundred yards behind when she reached the shore opposite Pelargir and drove heedlessly straight into the strand at full speed. Her mast toppled forward, crashing down into the banks of rowers. All aboard were thrown from their feet, but the officers were soon up and running forward, clambering over the backs of those struggling to free themselves from the tangle of rigging that now covered the fore part of the ship.
Cirdan tacked once more, heading for the beach beside them. The boarders had already gathered on the forecastle, ready to leap ashore. Figures were now pouring out of the wrecked galley, jumping over the bows or clambering over the tangled mass of oars along the side. Most seemed to be in panic, trying to reach shore, but one group around the bow was still under command of the officers. A gangplank had been let down to the sand. Several figures jumped onto it to flee, but were shoved off by the officers. Then the Elves saw why. A great black horse, snorting and struggling in fear, was being led up from below. Somehow they managed to get that mighty stallion down the plank in the midst of much shouting and confusion. The swan ship's prow scraped onto the sand a hundred yards to the left of the galley.
With a cheer of 'Elbereth Gilthoniel,' the boarding party leaped down. Amroth followed, his bow and short sword at the ready. After over two weeks at sea, the land seemed to be still rocking under his feet. Fifty strong, they quickly formed up and began trotting toward the stranded galley.
The horse was ashore now, and the officers were clustered around it. Amroth saw one mount the horse, and recognized again that sinister face he had seen glaring at him. He cast a quick look in their direction, then spurred the horse viciously and it leaped forward, throwing up sprays of sand at each stride. He was making for an opening in the trees that stood behind the beach. The Elves veered to their left to cut him off. He never slackened his pace, but drove straight toward them. Several Elves drew arrows from their quivers and prepared to bring him down, but he burst straight into their right flank. The horse simply rode down two of their number and the Corsair slashed down with his sword, slaying another Elf reaching for the reins. A dozen arrows whistled around him, two rebounding from his mail, but then he was past. The horse plunged up the steep slope of loose sand, then they were gone amid the trees. They last saw him riding hard, not south to his allies in Harondor, but northeast, toward the mountains of Mordor. A ragged cheer arose as the Corsairs saw their chief escape. The Elves turned and advanced toward them and the battle was joined in an instant.
Many deeds of bravery were done in the next few minutes, and many a brave Man and Elf died there, their lifeblood seeping away into the sand. But in no more than ten minutes the fight was over. Many of the slaves had refused to fight and stood now in a terrified group at the water's edge. But the Corsairs fought bravely and well, asking and giving no quarter. At the end only two of the Corsair officers remained, standing back to back amid a circle of their slain comrades. They would not yield and glared at the ring of Elves around them, waiting for the end. But then an Elf grabbed up a piece of boarding net lying there and threw it over them so they were encumbered. Several Elves leaped forward and bore them down, disarming them and binding their hands. They raged and cursed at their captors, as if by sparing them they had been done a grievous insult.
Cirdan called to the frightened slaves, saying 'You are now free men. If you wish, we will take you to Pelargir. If you give your bond not to take up arms against us or Gondor, we shall see what can be done to return you to your homes.'
The poor bedraggled group gave a weak cheer, and all gave their bond. Gilrondil led them and the two prisoners back to the ship, and in a few moments more they had pushed off and were returning to the battle on the River.
But lo, every sail they saw was white. On every side burning ships and capsized hulls settled hissing into the befouled water, now choked with bodies, and a brown smoke masked the scene. The pungent reek of battle burned their nostrils. After the shouting and tumult of battle, the River was again quiet, save for the crackling of burning ships.
They stood silent at the rails, gazing sadly out over what had been but moments before two proud fleets. The Black Fleet of Umbar was no more, but of the forty sails that had sailed from Lindon, two and twenty would never again part the blue river Lhun, and many a fair Elf that should have lived yet long ages would never see Elvenhome.
At last Cirdan winded his horn and the remains of the White Fleet drew up behind him. Squaring their yards, they ran up the Sirith to the Havens of Pelargir.
A fierce battle was still raging between the city gate and the bridge ahead. Although their fleet was broken, the Men of Umbar were not yet defeated. Those who had been unable to reach their ships had made a determined stand. When the city's defenders had seen the fleets engage, they had sallied forth and fallen on their discomfited foes. The Men of Umbar, their means of escape destroyed and their ranks in great confusion and disorder, quickly found themselves on the defensive. Their slaves, ignored and leaderless, flung down their weapons and either fled the field or lay down in surrender. Their former masters had fallen back from the gate and regrouped, forming into tight-packed squares of archers with pikemen around the edges, forming a bristling wall. Now they were driving determinedly toward the bridge and the road to Lebennin. Even now they drew near the eastern towers of the bridge.
The Pelargrim defenders still held the bridge, but they seemed strangely few and greatly outnumbered. It was clear that they could hope only to hinder but not halt the retreat of the Umbardrim.
'Cirdan!' Amroth cried. 'Land me on the west bank with a stout band and I will hold the bridge!'
He turned in surprise. 'Are you not yet weary of battle, Sinda? Or is it perhaps that you long for the land under your feet?'
Amroth grinned and pointed to the swan's head above him. 'Your swan has served us well this day, Lord, but I will not miss her overmuch. I prefer more solid footing when I fight.'
'So be it then. Curulin! Starboard your helm! Put her on the strand there nigh to the west end of the bridge. Our Wood-Elf here would go ashore. And not too near the rocks there. Gilrondil, signal the fleet of our intentions. Let all those who would follow Amroth have their chance.'
The war-torn little fleet drove its stems into the sand. Amroth lifted the staff and banner from the taffrail
