'Yes, and mother and little Vali,' said Aratan. 'I am anxious to see them again. Wait till you see him, father.'
'I really feel that I am about to meet him for the first time.' replied Isildur. 'He was but an infant at his mother's breast when I left. Curse Sauron for taking from us all those years together. I will never know my fourth son's early years. I did not hear his first words, nor hold his hands when he essayed his first steps. I myself am only a name to him. And there is no way for me to get those years back. It will take some time, I know, but I intend to bridge across those years. I truly hope and believe that now our family will be able to live in peace and even happiness again. And I am most anxious to begin. Let us ride.'
They wound their way down the ridge. Near the bottom was a faint trail skirting the fens. They rode in single file, scanning the ground ahead, for here and there small green pools lay on either side of the path, marking treacherous bogs. In late afternoon they left the fens and saw the Greenwood River before them. Isildur led them to the left along its bank until they found a path leading steeply down the gravel bank. The river was wide but very shallow, and they could see the large smooth cobbles sparkling beneath the surface. They stopped to let their horses drink their fill and to refill their water bags, then splashed across the stream and up the far bank. As Isildur had predicted, the land here was flat and grassy, broken by occasional thickets of low shrubs. The grass was short, lush and green, a contrast to the dry lands they had been crossing. The narrow track they were following bore off to the east. As the sun sank behind the mountains behind them, they came to the banks of the Anduin, where the clear sparkling waters of Greenwood merged with the thick brown waters of the Great River. There between the two rivers was a fair green lawn of sweet grass, bordered on its northern and western edges by a thick forest.
'These are the fields of Gladden,' said Isildur. 'Let us make camp here and tomorrow set out refreshed. We should be able to make good time in the land ahead.'
The men started unloading and setting up the tents. Ohtar and two others walked over to the edge of the forest to gather firewood. Ohtar was breaking up a long branch that had fallen onto the grass when one of his companions stepped out of the woods nearby.
'Whew!' the man said. 'You are wise to pick wood out here in the sun. There is an unhealthy chill in yonder wood.' Soon, arms piled high, they returned to the camp and started building a fire. By the time the last light had faded from the sky the men were seated about the fire, eating a good hot meal and talking happily of home.
'Well, I for one am ready for bed,' said Elendur. 'I hope I don't have first watch tonight.'
'Oh, perhaps for tonight we do not need to set a watch,' said Isildur with a yawn.
Aratan and Elendur exchanged looks of surprise. 'Do you think it is safe, father?'
'I believe so,' said Isildur, already spreading out his blankets. 'Peace is upon the land again. It is time we laid aside the ways of war.'
'I like it not,' said Ohtar. 'Remember the warning of the Elves.'
'You were always over-eager to protect me, Ohtar. But look around. This is a wide and empty land. We have seen so sign of any other travellers for weeks. We are far from the mountains where the orcs are said to be hiding. And besides, no ragged band of renegade orcs would dare attack us. They are cowardly things, never eager for a fair fight and we have many doughty knights among us. We are as safe as houses. We must learn anew the pleasure of sleeping through a night. Let us all get a good night's rest and be ready to ride many miles on the morrow.'
It was late in the evening before they rolled into their blankets to sleep. Ohtar was still uneasy and lay awake for a long time, arms folded behind his head, looking up at the stars burning down from the black sky. It seemed strange and unnatural to be lying there on the open ground, knowing there were no sentries pacing the perimeter of the camp. But no doubt Isildur was right. The war was over. It had been going on for so long that he could hardly remember what peace had been like. But now he was reminded of times years ago, when he and Isildur had hunted together in the hills of the Emyn Arnen and had slept out beneath the stars with never a thought of danger. Ohtar snorted wryly. He was just an old soldier, set in his ways. He needed to learn to relax again. He turned on his side, pulled his musty old blanket up around his throat, and went to sleep.
He woke with a pounding heart and his eyes snapped open. It was very dark. The waning crescent moon was a thin arc in the west, just about to set behind the jagged peaks of the Misty Mountains. The camp was silent, save for the faint crackle of the dying embers of the fire. He was trembling, but not from the cold. Something, some unnamed sense, had awakened him as swiftly and completely as if a pail of cold water had been thrown over him. It was his soldier's instinct, learned by evil experience. But what had caused it? Silently he sat up and looked around.
The camp was so dark he could make out nothing at all. The thick woods to the west blocked what little moonlight remained and all was in deep shadow. Then, just at the limit of hearing, he heard a shuffling sound in the grass not far away. Every nerve tingling with a sense of danger, he softly threw off his blankets and reached for his sword lying beside him. Still unwilling to sound an alarm and wake the camp without reason, he paused a moment more. He was peering toward the only light, the dim glow of a smoldering log in the fire, when it blinked. Something had passed in front of it; something silent, something crouched and bent. His nerves, drawn taut as a bowstring, jerked him to his feet.
'To arms!' he bellowed at the top of his lungs. 'To arms! They are among us!' Instantly there was a roar of noise. Men's confused shouts, the hoarse croaking cries of orcs, the sickening crunch and clang of metal striking bone.
Not knowing what else to do, Ohtar ran toward the fire. He ran headlong into someone with a jarring impact and they both went down with loud grunts of surprise. He struggled to his feet as quickly as he could, and could just make out the dim shape of an orc rolling over and rising, an axe in its hands. It looked up at him, its eyes yellow in the feeble glare of the fire. Ohtar brought his sword around in a two-handed sweep with all his strength behind it. He felt it connect solidly. The orc shrieked and something flew off to the side and landed with a heavy thud. Ohtar turned and ran to the fire. He kicked the glowing log hard and it rolled over in a towering fountain of sparks and burst into flame. Instantly the camp was lit with a lurid flickering glare.
Orcs were everywhere, threescore at least, with more running in from the darkness. Most of the men were still on the ground, blinking in confusion. Many of them woke to find two or three orcs standing over them. Many another never woke at all, for the orcs for several minutes before the alarm had been moving silently through the camp, piercing each blanket roll with their long sharp knives. Now the orcs were rushing through the camp, swinging their jagged swords wildly about them.
Ohtar saw a nearby orc bend over a man lying on the ground and raise its sword to strike. With an oath, he hurled himself forward and brought his sword down on the orc's shoulder with such force that the sword cut nearly to the breastbone. The orc fell across his intended victim. Ohtar rolled the body off and a man struggled to his feet covered in the orc's black blood. He snatched up the orc's sword and together they drove against three orcs attacking one of the few knights on his feet fighting. It was Thalion, one of Isildur's housecarls. In a moment they had slain two and Thalion drove his sword through the third. Then an orc plunged toward Ohtar with his pike held out before him. Ohtar turned to meet him, but the orc tripped over a body on the ground and went down. Ohtar pinned him there with a thrust between the shoulder blades. He heard a scream just behind him and wheeled around to see the man he had just saved go down before a large orc with a double-headed axe. Ohtar and Thalion leaped forward and after a fierce struggle killed the orc. Glancing around the camp, they could see only two other men on their feet, hemmed in by many enemies. As he watched, they both went down almost at the same instant.
'Isildur,' shouted Ohtar at the top of his lungs. 'Sire!'
'Here!' came an answering shout from the other side of the fire. Ohtar shouted to Thalion, who was so covered in blood that he could barely recognize him. 'To the king! The king!' Together they leaped through the fire and landed beside Isildur, Aratan, and two other men. They had their backs to the fire, facing half a dozen orcs who stood hesitating before the bright blades. The orcs backed off further when the other two men burst out of the flames. Ohtar glanced at the king. Thick blood pulsed slowly from a wound on his shoulder and he held the arm tight against his body. His face was pale and shining in the light.
'Sire,' said Ohtar, 'You're hurt.'
'It will not matter if we cannot fight our way clear,' said Isildur through clenched teeth. 'Have you seen Ciryon and Elendur?'
