'Good. Well, if the day is as fine as you say, Elendil, we should be out enjoying it. And we should be seen from the walls of the Dark Tower, so he knows we are still here. Let us ride to the road.'
The two kings called for their housecarls and standard bearers, and soon were riding down the slope to the road below. Men and Elves in full armor were pacing slowly back and forth as they had every day for years. The perimeter of the siege had been established long ago by the catapults of the Barad-dur, for it lay at the bottom of a barren slope strewn with the massive blocks of stone hurled from the walls.
They spoke briefly with the Elvish captain of this section of the perimeter, then turned south and rode slowly along the long line of grim-faced warriors: Elves and Men and here and there a few dwarves. The eyes of all were cold and weary, for they had lived with the threat of imminent death for many years. A siege is a terrible thing to endure on either side of the walls, for the tension and fear of battle are prolonged not for hours, but for years. It is one thing to ride into a battle knowing you may be killed before the day is out, quite another to face it day after day. It is the fear and uncertainty of war, the privations and discomfort of a military campaign, but with no glory, no homecoming, and no end in sight. It was difficult for everyone, but especially the Men. Many of the younger Men had spent a large portion of their lives here on this bleak plain, far from their wives and sweethearts and families. They felt their lives passing them by, their youth wasted in this idle watching and waiting for the Gate of Adamant to open. They stared at those immense doors day after day, hoping to see them creak open, and also dreading it.
The leaders of the host had always to contend with both the boredom and the frustrated eagerness to fight and have done with the waiting. There was much grumbling and complaining and all were thoroughly sick of the plains of Gorgoroth and the sight of the Dark Tower. But they all knew that there could be no going home until the issue was decided. At great cost had they driven Sauron into his fortress; they must not let him escape now.
Elendil and Gil-galad rode along the perimeter, offering occasional words of encouragement as they passed each group of warriors. They topped a low rise and looked out over a wide plain dotted with row after row of brightly colored tents, though now much stained and grimed by the volcanic ash like black flour that constantly sifted down from the clouds. Well-beaten paths ran among the rows of tents, and many figures, horses, and wagons moved about its dusty streets. Here was the main body of the Host of the Alliance, scores of thousands of warriors of every race, from nearly every land of the West.
Through the midst of the huge camp ran a broad and well-paved road with a low wall on either side to hold back the drifting ash that threatened to bury it. The Road of Sauron ran straight and level, slicing through hills of slag and broken rock and leaping over black chasms on massive arches of stone. It disappeared in the vapors and smokes of Orodruin, away to the west. As it drew near the bridge to the Barad-dur, the Road passed between two rows of huge carven images of misshapen and bestial forms, though whether they represented actual creatures of Sauron's devise or were only figments of some mad nightmare, none could guess. The camp lay close to these beasts but not among them, for all sensed something unnatural and evil about them. Indeed, many of those closest to camp had been smashed or the faces chiseled away, for few could bear those stone eyes upon them for long.
Where the Road entered the Field of the Beasts, four stout barricades of heavy timbers and broken stones had been constructed across it and stretched far away to either side. Thousands of the strongest warriors were stationed at these barricades. Some stood or walked on the fortifications themselves, others marched in the lanes between. Everywhere spear points and lances gleamed red in the murky morning light, as if already running with blood. Ever they looked beyond the barricades, to the Iron Bridge and the towering Gate of Adamant. If Sauron did come forth, this is the way he would come, and these warriors would be the first to take the brunt of his attack.
The Tower itself stood silent. No guards paced the battlements, no archers could be seen at the occasional high windows. During an assault on the Tower, missles of all sorts would descend from those heights, but seldom would any enemy be seen. Between attacks, the Tower seemed as lifeless as a tombstone. None of them knew what forces Sauron had at his command, nor where they obtained their food and supplies. If they were suffering under the siege, there was no sign of it. As for Sauron himself, he had not been seen by Elf nor Man since the night he had slipped away from Celebrimbor's workshops in Eregion that is no more.
The kings' company rode to a large tent near the outermost barricade. Esquires took their horses and the lords went in to break their fast. It was the beginning of another day, just like hundreds before — nothing to do but wait and watch.
The morning dragged on, the heat if not the light increasing steadily. The company in the mess tent speculated on the doings of their colleagues in the west. Were Isildur and the Elf-Lords victorious and even now riding hard toward them; or would the next riders to appear be black, bearing the Three triumphantly to their master? Hopeful guesses and terrifying possibilities were bandied back and forth, to no resolution. Tiring of the talk, Elendil went out and called again for his horse. He rode along the barricade, speaking with many of the commanders, Men he had known and fought beside for many years. Some indeed had sailed from Numenor with him in the terrible storm that destroyed their island home.
Then he turned south again and continued along the perimeter. He was fearful that if Sauron did come out he would see the strong force at the barricades and veer aside, probing for a weak spot along the perimeter. It was his job to see that there were none. All along the line Men and Elves called to him or waved or saluted if too far away to speak to him. His appearance always seemed to buoy them and give them strength and hope. He wondered at the source of the strength, for they seemed to draw more from him than he could possibly offer them, more even than he felt himself. But their eager loyal faces cheered him as he rode past, and his spirit too was lifted.
He rode but a few miles and could see ahead the jagged spur of the Ered Lithui where it tumbled into the chasm that surrounded the Barad-dur, marking the end of the Allies' perimeter. Bitter experience had taught that the Mountains of Ash were unscalable by any means, even by the light-footed Elves. Elendil rode to the very edge of the abyss and peered down into blackness, for no bottom had ever been seen in that huge pit. He talked briefly with the captain of the southernmost company, telling him to be ready to move his men north if Sauron attacked the center of the line. He said farewell, then turned back toward the Road.
As his horse was picking his way down a steep slope of cinders, the ground shuddered violently beneath his feet and he went down on his knees with a cry of pain. Elendil leaped free and rolled down the slope. He was not injured, but before he could rise the air was rent by a deafening thunder of sound, striking him flat with its violence. All around men clapped their hands to their ears, striving in vain to keep out the blast. The ground heaved again. The plain buckled, and several crags toppled and slid with a roar into the abyss, some taking men with them. Steam and flames belched forth from a thousand cracks, scalding warriors and horses alike and setting whole sections of the camp aflame. Horses screamed in madness and broke free to run wildly through the crowded camps, adding to the confusion. To the west the entire sky turned to roiling black smoke laced with blood red flames, and a hail of fiery ash and glowing cinders rained down on the stunned host. Everywhere was tumult and destruction.
Elendil struggled shakily to his feet and gazed about him. All men turned to the west to watch in awe as Orodruin writhed and changed before their eyes. Lava gushed from a dozen vents at once. Elendil looked on the torment of the mountain and saw the mouth of the Sammath Naur, the great cave where Sauron had forged the One. It was glowing now with white heat, and he knew he was seeing the naked Flame of Udun, created on the First Day by Melkor the Morgoth, source of all evil. What could he — what could anyone do against forces like this?
But even as he thought this and his heart shrank within him, there came a new sound — a shrieking and braying of many trumpets together, rising above even the groaning of the tortured earth. Now there was no time for fear; no time for doubt. Sauron was coming forth.
He found his horse standing shivering a few yards away, eyes wide with fear. He stroked its head a moment to calm it, then leaped to the saddle and rode hard back toward the Road. He passed groups of warriors standing dazed and confused.
'To the barricades!' he shouted. 'He comes!' But his words were all but drowned out by fresh eruptions from the mountain. Fearing what he would find, he spurred his horse on to the top of the last ridge, beyond which lay the camp and the Road. Reaching the summit, he stopped in amazement.
The orderly camp he had ridden through only moments before was in shambles. Many of the tents were in
