attack him. But the Three together might have been enough at least to dispel his Shadow and allow us to see him more clearly. But with two only…' His voice trailed off.
'Would that we knew what their effect will be,' said Cirdan. 'It is thought that he has some mystic link with them, that they will draw Sauron to them. But it is also possible that their use could give him some power over us. But we just don't know.'
Gil-galad stood leaning on his spear, looking at Vilya in Elrond's hand. 'Long have I loved that bright shining thing,' he said, 'And yet for some reason I feel reluctant to don it now.' He stepped back as if with an effort.
'No, on reflection I believe I shall not bear Vilya into this conflict.'
They all looked at him in surprise. 'Is that wise, my king?' asked Elrond. 'I bore it through great peril so you would have it here at the final conflict. You are its rightful master, and on your hand its strength is greatest.'
Gil-galad patted the heavy ebony handle of his spear. 'Aeglos here has always served me well. I will fight with the weapon I know.'
'But it could at least help guard you, Sire,' pleaded Elrond, holding out the ring to him. 'My mind would be easier if I knew you had its strength with you.'
'Hear him, Sire,' said Gildor. 'Let the Ring provide what protection it can.'
The old Elf-king shook his head, his long grey hair swaying beneath his helm. 'No. Throughout this war Elendil and I have fought side by side on equal terms, sharing the labors and dangers equally. But the Three were wrought for Elvish hands and they would not serve a Man. Since Elendil has no Ring to protect him, I too shall face Sauron with only what courage I can summon. And Elendil and I have our enchanted weapons, in which I place my greatest faith.
'Elrond, you and Cirdan do not have such weapons, but he will have his Narya. It is for you I fear, my old friend. Keep Vilya for me a little longer. Perhaps it will spare your life this day. For myself, I will trust to Aeglos here. It has never failed me yet.'
'But Sire,' protested Elrond. 'Vilya is yours. If it may indeed spare its bearer's life, I would have it on your hand, not mine.'
'Yes,' agreed Cirdan. 'Will you not reconsider, my King? You will need all the strength and courage you can muster to fight Sauron. Why will you not take Vilya?'
'Strength and courage I will indeed need,' Gil-galad replied. 'But Vilya does not provide either. Any of us Elves can wear it to help dispel the Shadow. But wearing it also reveals its bearer more clearly to Sauron. Perhaps if I face Sauron without it, he will find me more difficult to fight.'
'But Sire,' said Elrond. 'Surely it…' But Gil-galad was already turning away, his eyes searching the battlefield.
'No, I will face him with Aeglos alone,' he called over his shoulder. 'Wear Narya yourself, Shipmaster, and let Elrond wear Vilya. Elendil and Isildur and I will do the fighting, if it is possible against this Shadow. You must use your Rings' strength against it. Gildor, I put you in charge of the Elvish forces.'
'As you, Elendur,' said Elendil, 'shall command the armies of Men. Your father and I have duties that lie elsewhere. We have some debts to repay to Sauron.'
'But before we can fight him,' said Gil-galad, 'we must find him. We must find the source of the Shadow.'
He caught a riderless horse and swung onto its back. 'Come,' he called to the others. 'This way. Do you feel it? He is this way.'
He veered off to the right, toward the lava flow that blocked the northern end of the valley. The others lords followed, slanting up across the slope. Looking beyond Gil-galad, Isildur saw the advancing wave of Gondorrim troops falter. Horses screamed and reared, riders toppling from their backs. He realized he was having trouble seeing the men clearly, though whether it was due to the growing panic in his chest or to some disturbance in the air, he could not be sure. But the smoke and murk definitely seemed thicker in that direction.
His horse faltered, shied, and stopped, trembling. He urged it forward, but it was no use. Fleetfoot had a great heart and had never shirked a battle, but he could not abide the Shadow. Not far ahead, Gil-galad was also having trouble with his new mount. He threw his leg over and dropped to the ground, still carrying his Aeglos. 'Leave your horses,' he shouted, his voice strangely distant. 'They feel the Shadow too. We must go on foot.'
They dismounted and started up after Gil-galad. It felt as if they were walking through a pool of hot tar. It was all they could do to push their feet forward. And always there was that growing terror clutching at their hearts, the sense that this whole struggle was useless, that they could not hope to win. Still they could see Gil- galad above them, stumbling upward among the loose rocks.
Gil-galad climbed out of the valley and stood swaying, looking around him. Elendil struggled up beside him. Then they turned to the right and began walking unsteadily upwards, towards the Mountain. The others followed, forcing themselves forward as if against a wind.
When he reached the top of the ridge, Isildur paused to catch his breath. He was gasping for air. His chest felt tight, constricted, as if there were no air to breathe. And always there was that growing terror that threatened to turn into panic and send him screaming back down into the valley. Glancing back, he saw the battle continuing in the valley below. To his right, Elrond and Cirdan were starting up the long steep slope of cinders that formed the side of Orodruin. Their faces were drawn and white with the effort. Beyond them, the figures of Elendil and Gil- galad could be seen struggling upward, already partially obscured by drifting clouds of smoke. Gathering his strength and his courage, Isildur started after them.
How long they climbed like that, none of them could guess. The cinders slid away beneath their feet, raising choking clouds of ash and dust that swirled away in a growing wind — a hot wind that swept down the slope into their faces. It became harder to breath or even see the way ahead. Every step was an effort of will, a denial of the despair that filled their hearts. What could they possibly hope to accomplish if they did catch Sauron? How did they dare to challenge him? Did they not know he was immortal — a Maia, created by The One Himself when the world was new? What could mere foolish Children do against such as he?
Isildur at one point sank beneath the weight, falling to his knees in the cinders. His shoulders shook in a great sob. He could not take another step. It was madness to go on. Why didn't the others see it, too? The thought of the others made him look up. Elrond and Cirdan plodded heavily on. Then they disappeared, hidden in the thickening fumes that drifted and swirled about the Mountain's flanks. He was alone.
'Father!' he called. 'Wait for me.' But his voice seemed weak and frail, swept away by the wind. No answer came, and he struggled to his feet and went on. The sounds of the battle far below faded away. The swirling smoke obscured both the plain below and the summit above. All he could see was the grey slope of the volcano, broken here and there by piles of slag and streams of steaming lava. The air was like fire in his lungs. His lips were parched and his eyes burned from the fumes and heat. And above everything else was the unending sense of despair, of impending doom. He trudged upward, his mind blank, his eyes watching his feet sinking into the cinders and ash, sometimes nearly to his knees.
Then he stumbled onto a stony uneven road cut into the slope. He stopped and looked around. The road climbed up from the left and disappeared around the shoulder of the Mountain to his right. Preferring anything to this endless trudging up the cinder slope, he turned right and plodded off up the road, still climbing steeply.
He rounded the shoulder and climbed a short steep slope and there before him was a level platform of rough lava blocks. He stopped and looked up in surprise. The road disappeared into an arched tunnel that plunged straight in toward the heart of the Mountain. The tunnel's mouth pulsed with a lurid red glare, sending long black shadows back from four silhouetted figures. Gil-galad and Elendil stood there at the mouth of the tunnel, watched by Elrond and Cirdan a few yards further back. The black gloom they had been following was emanating from that red hole. Isildur came up behind Elrond.
'What is it?' he gasped, his voice barely a croak. 'Where is Sauron?'
'It is the mouth of the Sammath Naur, and we believe he is within.'
The Mountain shuddered beneath them and they staggered to keep their feet. The red glare brightened with a blast of hot air, and a tongue of flame flicked briefly from the top of the tunnel mouth.
'Are they… are they going in?'
'I do not know,' answered Elrond, never taking his eyes from the Kings. 'For myself, I do not think I could. Surely nothing could survive in that heat.'
But just then something moved in the glare beyond. The flames swirled and roared, and then parted to reveal a dark figure, black against the pulsing red glow. Isildur started back in terror, throwing his sword up before
