the burning spear protruding from his chest. He clutched at it, but the fire swirled up his arms and enveloped him. He stood there a moment more, a terrible shrieking, writhing figure of flame. Then he collapsed forward across Gil-galad's body. A long rending howl rose above the roaring flames, and for an instant something could be seen moving, rising with the oily black smoke. It drifted away and dissipated in the breeze, and the unearthly shriek faded slowly into a gurgling moan, then silence.
Isildur woke lying on his back, staring up at a sky streaked with smoke. He became aware of a crackling sound nearby. He rolled over with a groan and discovered that he was badly bruised and his face had been burned. He struggled unsteadily to his feet and looked around. A few yards away lay Elrond and Cirdan, both motionless, their eyes wide and staring. His heart sank at the sight. Two noble Elf-Lords, slain at one stroke. Then he turned and saw something burning fiercely near the mouth of the tunnel. He stumbled to it and saw to his horror that it was a body, perhaps two. Then he saw a blackened head wreathed in flames, and it bore the crown of Lindon.
'Gil-galad too? And Sauron escaped.' Then he looked around wildly. 'Father? Father?!' There was nothing else to see on the stone platform. Then he remembered that last glimpse of his father darting forward with Narsil before him. Fearfully, Isildur went to the mouth of the tunnel and, shading his hand against the glare, peered within. A figure lay sprawled in the tunnel. It was his father.
He stumbled in and fell to his knees beside the broken body. 'Dead! They are all dead! Oh, this the end of all our hopes! Oh, my father, I would have died for you. I should have died for you.' And he put his head down on his father's chest and wept, great racking sobs that shook his body.
When at last the sobs stopped, he sat back on his heels and looked at his father's body. He saw Narsil broken beneath him and he pulled the broken shards free. He looked at the beautiful blade, still as sharp as a razor. For a wild moment he considered throwing himself on the blade and ending his pain. But then he knew that he had to find Sauron. It was up to him now. He was alone, and he had no ring and no enchanted weapon.
He pushed himself to his feet. Still carrying the broken sword, he stumbled from the Sammath Naur. Gil- galad's body was still burning, but the flames had gone down enough for him to see that it was indeed two bodies entangled. But who could it be? The others were all dead. Was it Malithor? He bent and looked more closely. And then he saw a blackened hand protruding stiffly from the fire, closed like a talon. And on one smoldering finger was a golden Ring, bright and unsullied by the flame.
He stared for a long moment before it made sense. This was the One Ring. Then the second corpse was that of Sauron. But even now his Shadow was unbroken.
Dumbly, still hardly comprehending, he was suddenly filled with a rage. He raised the broken blade of Narsil high above his head and slashed down, severing the finger. The Ring dropped to the ground with a musical clink. Immediately the thing that had been Sauron crumbled into dust, and the terrible fear and despair that was his Shadow fell away and was gone. The Mountain gave a convulsive tremor and a bright gout of flame gushed from the Sammath Naur. Freed of the Shadow at last, Isildur straightened up.
'Now Sauron is no more!' he hissed, kicking disdainfully at the heap of grey dust, already being scattered by the wind. Then he saw the Ring lying there on the stone. Suddenly it seemed to him the most beautiful and desirable object he had ever seen.
'This I will have,' he said, 'as weregild for my father's death, and my brother's! Was it not I that dealt the Enemy his death-blow?' But even as he bent to pick it up, a voice rang out behind him.
'Touch it not!'
He whirled around, and there was Cirdan standing before him. Just beyond, Elrond was struggling to his feet. Their faces were blackened, their hair and clothing singed, but they were alive.
'My Lords! I had thought you dead.'
'Not dead, as you see,' said Cirdan with an effort, 'but held in thrall by the power of the One. When you cut the Ring from his hand, its power was broken and we were released.'
'The others were not so fortunate. Gil-galad and my father are dead.'
'We know,' said Elrond. 'We saw it all, but could do nothing to help. Sauron was too sure of himself. He thought Gil-galad was bound by Vilya and he bent close to gloat. Though Gil-galad was mortally wounded, still he struck upward with Aeglos and slew him, as was foretold so long ago. But Sauron fell across him and they were both consumed. I think the king died in the same stroke that slew Sauron. But even then I was still held bound by the One. I could do nothing but watch.'
'I thought you and Elrond were dead,' said Cirdan. 'I was afraid that we would die up here, lying helpless as the Mountain destroys itself. Before you roused, I saw Malithor creep out of the tunnel, take one horrified look at his master, and slink off as fast as he could go. I was most happy to see you stir.' He stepped on Sauron's severed finger and ground it into black ash. 'So passes Sauron the Enemy. May his like never be seen in this world again.'
But Isildur could feel no joy with his father's body lying broken and lifeless before him. 'And so pass the greatest heroes of our age, both Elf and Man,' he said.
'Aye,' said Cirdan, 'and so too passes the One Ring, that should never have been made.'
Isildur knelt there looking down at the shining thing in the dust, and again there came that strong urge to possess it. 'No,' he said at last. 'Sauron was the source of the evil, not his Ring. It is still a Great Ring of Power, and the mightiest of them all. The Three survive and will continue to do good works. I will take this unto myself. With it I shall cleanse Minas Ithil and Osgiliath, too. I shall purge the evil from all of Ithilien.'
'That would be a grave error, Isildur,' said Cirdan firmly. 'The One was made by Sauron and he imbued it with all his black arts. Whatever you wrought with it would be tainted and stained with his evil. It was forged here in the Sammath Naur. Let us cast it back into the Flame from whence it came.' But Isildur's desire suddenly crystallized into resolve in his heart.
'No!' he said. 'It is mine. It has cost me my home and my brother, and now my father. I claim it as his weregild, and as recompense for all the losses suffered by Gondor and its people.'
'Isildur, pray think again,' urged Elrond. 'This was the focus of all of his evil. Let us destroy it now, while the flames are near at hand. Give it up. It can never be used for good, only for destruction.'
'Then I will use it to destroy the Barad-dur and all the works of Sauron. That alone would be a noble deed. It is mine, I tell you. It is precious to me!' And he snatched up the Ring.
Instantly he screamed and let it fall again. 'Aieee! It is hot!' He clutched his wrist and looked at his hand in agony. The Ring had seared into his flesh, burning a bright red circle deep into his palm.
'It glows still with the heat of Sauron's body,' said Cirdan. 'Let it be destroyed, Isildur. It is not for mortal Men.'
Isildur looked up sharply. 'No more is it for Elves, Shipwright. You would not seek to take it from me?'
'I have no desire for it myself, save to see it destroyed.'
'But you shall not take it from me,' growled Isildur, his eyes wild. His hand strayed to the hilt of his sword.
'If you mean take it by force, no, of course not,' said Cirdan soothingly, looking at him curiously.
'We do not wish it for ourselves, old friend,' added Elrond. 'But I agree with Cirdan. It is too dangerous for anyone.'
'Well, it is not too dangerous for me. I will keep it and it shall become an heirloom of my house, like the seedling of the White Tree, and like these, the shards of my father's sword.'
'Let us not argue amongst ourselves here at the end, my friend,' said Cirdan. 'Take it if you will. But I counsel you to wield it rarely, if at all, and let it never fall into lesser hands.'
Isildur drew his dirk from his belt and used it to gingerly lift the glowing Ring. He stood admiring it, turning it this way and that. 'It is beautiful, is it not?' he asked. 'In spite of its maker, I mean. Look, there is some inscription running around inside it.'
They peered closely, but none of them could read the letters of flowing fire. Isildur slashed a piece of leather from his harness and wrapped the Ring in that, then put the bundle against his breast.
'Come, let us go down,' he said. 'We will return later and bear their bodies down in glory.'
Together the three companions turned and trudged back down the mountain.
