Disclaimer: See Prologue.

Chapter 3: Too Late

Gripping his sword with both hands, the corsair directed a mighty blow at Aragorn. The latter managed to raise his shield in time, and the heavy blade descended on it with crushing power. Sparks and pieces of wood flew when the shield shattered as if it was had been made of glass. Aragorn was thrown out of balance and fell on his back, feeling searing pain in his left forearm.

Seeing Aragorn fall, Qushar let out a yell of triumph and raised his sword to deliver a killing blow. But Aragorn was not as stunned as the corsair thought. He rolled out of the way, and the enemy's weapon struck the cobblestones mere inches from his head. Ignoring the pain on his arm, Aragorn then rose to his feet in a rapid motion. He wheeled to face the corsair, swinging his sword in a deadly arc. It struck Qushar's armoured side with a loud crash.

The corsair's hauberk was well made, however, and the blow only managed to sever some of the metal scales and barely penetrate the leather beneath. Still, it was enough to make Qushar reel from pain. Aragorn struck again furiously, this time at the corsair's head. The enemy ducked just in time, however, and the blade only brushed against the dragon figurine before glancing away harmlessly.

Having failed to end the duel fast, Aragorn took a step back to get a better avenue of attack. This gave him an opportunity to glance at his arm, which was still throbbing with pain. To his relief he saw that while a few rings of the mail sleeve had been broken, there was no blood. There was no time to assess any other injuries, however. The corsair rushed again at Aragorn.

This time the Umbarian captain attempted a swift stab at Aragorn's chest, using the advantage of his greater reach. Aragorn was not one to be surprised, and quickly leaped aside when he saw the move. Continuing the motion, he stepped inside the corsair's guard. Aiming for the damaged part of the opponent's armour, he delivered a stab of his own.

The sharp blade hit the unprotected spot squarely, sinking deep into the flesh. Twisting the weapon in the wound, Aragorn stepped back to wait for Qushar to fall. But the corsair was tough; remaining on his feet, he merely groaned from pain and tore himself away from the sword. Aragorn had apparently punctured one of his lungs, since red foam rose on his lips with every breath he took. Still, he had enough strength in him to raise his weapon for a counter-attack.

In his fury, though, the corsair neglected his guard. Even as the great sword rose, Aragorn struck at Qushar's exposed left armpit. The tip of the sword slid from between the bronze scales from beneath, severing them and penetrating deep into the corsair's body. Putting all his strength behind it, Aragorn pushed his sword until it was through all the way the corsair's shoulder.

Crying out in anguish, Qushar dropped his weapon and fell backwards. He toppled onto the street with a loud crash, blood gushing forth from cut arteries. He twitched feebly twice, and lied still. Stooping, Aragorn saw that he was dead. After a fleeting moment of thought, Aragorn cut the chinstrap of the dead man's helm. Raising the helm high in his hand, he stood up and yelled over the noise of the battle:

"Southrons, your captain has fallen! Throw down your weapons!"

This did not have quite the effect Aragorn had been hoping for; instead of giving up, the remaining enemies dashed towards the harbour after barely a moment of hesitation. Their attempt to fight their way through to safety nearly succeeded, since their first desperate assault threw the Gondorians back until it seemed like their thin line would break.

Still, the men held their ground for the first crucial moments. This gave Aragorn and his men time to recover from the surprise.

"At them!" Aragorn shouted. "Spare all who surrender!"

Throwing the helm down from his hands, he leaped in the middle of the fray followed by the soldiers.

The fight was soon over, with all the enemies lying on the ground dead or dying. Not one of them had surrendered, despite their hopeless situation. Aragorn did not rest on his laurels, though. As soon as he saw his men had won, he dealt orders:

"Troop three, run two street corners to the south and turn onto Tailor's Street! Attack the enemy from rear. Do not allow them to retreat to their boats, whatever the cost. The rest will follow me!"

Winding a loud call from his horn, he then ran towards the nearest lane leading east. In a minute he was already at the Tailor's Street, where a grim sight met his eyes. His men were still fighting the corsairs, but were reduced to merely defending themselves. The street was wider than the Inn Lane, so the enemies could use their superior numbers more freely. Besides, the group that had come down the street was stronger than the one Aragorn had just defeated, having maybe fifty men still alive. It was obvious that Aragorn had come at the latest possible moment, since even as he looked on, the corsairs raised a triumphant cry and attacked the tired Gondorians opposing them.

Whirling his sword above his head, Aragorn shouted:

"Gondor! To victory!"

He charged against the corsairs' flank with the men following him formed in a narrow column. They cleaved their way through the throng in front of them until the mass of enemies was cut in two. Seeing their commander, the Gondorians raised a cheerful shout "Thorongil! Thorongil to victory!" and assaulted the corsairs with all the remainder of their strength. Meanwhile, shouts and the clash of weapons coming from the southern end of the street told that the enemies' way to their ships had been cut.

The corsairs were thrown in disarray for a moment, and in the confusion many of them were cut down. Still, as the minutes wore on they started to fight more orderly. Even though they were now isolated in two separate bodies, they still outnumbered Aragorn's company that had already sustained losses.

The combat went on for quite a while without either side gaining a definite advantage. Without a shield now, it was harder for Aragorn both defend himself and deliver blows. Also, he could see that his men were on the verge of exhaustion. The tenacity of the enemy was wearing them down. But there was not yet a sign of captain Baraon. Aragorn already seriously considered opening a way for the corsairs to escape. The objective of the action had already been fulfilled – the town's inhabitants were safe and the corsairs had not managed to plunder much or inflict any serious damage. However cowardly letting them go would seem, continuing the battle could be just waste of men.

Aragorn was still undecided, when he heard the noise of rapidly marching men from the direction of the town square. Hope flared in his mind. He struck down the opponent he was facing and leaped on a flight of stairs, peering over the heads of the combatants. His hope was not in vain; soldiers wearing the black and silvery colours of Gondor were already turning the corner in a wide wedge formation. The torches they were carrying lit the street, and Aragorn could see that the foremost man was broad-shouldered, sturdy man with a greying beard. On his side strode a soldier wearing a bearskin on his shoulders and over his helm, and carrying a flag.

"Captain!" Aragorn cried, saluting the bearded man with his sword. "Men, captain has come to our aid! Make way, make way!"

The tired men quickly stepped aside on side lanes, letting the column of the new arrivals through. The new-comers raised a deafening shout and charged at the corsairs like an avalanche of hard steel. Their advance was irresistible, and the first ranks of the enemy were decimated or thrown aside in a few short moments. Seeing how that the tide had turned, a few corsairs even threw away their weapons, begging for mercy. Before others could follow their example, however, some Umbarian officers stepped forth. A few scimitar slashes from behind and the surrendering men fell down, dead.

This brought the rest in line again. Still, the corsairs were weary by now also, and were no match for Baraon's fresher men. Aided by Aragorn's company, the captain made short work of the enemies. Most fought to death again. Aragorn, who had not battled the corsairs before, was appalled by the tenacity the Umbarians showed. They had not the furious abandon of Orcs, but they seemed to possess the same degree of hatred and fear towards the Free Peoples. Also, it was obvious they had received strict orders not to surrender; in the last stage of the battle a few of their wounded even killed themselves rather than do that. The result was a fearful carnage. Of the sixty corsairs who had originally belonged to that group, only five survived and even they only with severe wounds that rendered them unconscious or immobilized.

The battle was finally over, and in the silence that followed Aragorn heard his ears ringing. He took a few deep breaths, straightened his back and strode towards the captain who was preparing to give directions to his sergeants.

"Lieutenant Thorongil reports, sir!" he said when he reached Baraon. "What are your orders?"

"I will march towards the manufactories shortly with this company," was the reply. "Do you know how many corsairs are there?"

"About eighty, captain. I have ordered sergeant Authon to defend the block with lieutenant Faelthîr's company."

"And I ordered the second company to go there," Baraon mused. "With any luck we can get the raiders in a similar trap as here."

"I will order my company into a formation and follow your company shortly, sir," Aragorn said. Baraon looked at him, shaking his head.

"No, I need you and your men here. Secure the harbour and kill or catch any corsairs that may flee that way."

Aragorn wanted to protest, but bit his words back. His worry for Rosmir had returned, and he wanted to accompany the captain to see if the craftsman was safe. But his self-discipline and common sense prevented him from arguing. His presence would not change anything, not now that so much time had elapsed. He would know soon enough. Therefore, he clicked his heels together and struck his breast with his mailed fist as a formal salute.

"As you order, sir. By your leave I shall gather my men and go right away."

"Do that, lieutenant."

Aragorn turned away to give the appropriate orders.

It took longer to reach the harbour than he would have liked. The men were so exhausted that any attempt at more than a steady walking pace was futile. Still, Aragorn hurried them on as well as he could. Orders were orders, and the last thing Aragorn wanted was to be untrustworthy.

When they were at last nearing the goal, Aragorn suddenly raised his head to listen. Over the sound of the marching boots he could hear some other noise. A very bad feeling came over him. Looking at his men over his shoulder, he shouted:

"Run!"

He instantly took to his heels, setting the example and the men hobbled tiredly behind him. A few street corners later they finally reached the gateway leading to the harbour. Far in advance of his men, Aragorn reached the wharves in a few bounds. The sight that spread before him there, confirmed his fears. Four of the corsairs' boats were just leaving the docks, carrying around forty men in them. In one of the boats Aragorn's sharp eyes could see six men who were not armoured, but were sitting with bowed heads. One of them raised his hands a little in an awkward fashion.

"His hands are bound, so those men must be prisoners," Aragorn thought. Cold sweat suddenly glistened on his forehead. "Oh, no! Rosmir and his journeymen!"

By now Aragorn's company had caught up with him, and he turned to face them. Rapid orders poured from his lips:

"Man the nearest boats! The corsairs have taken prisoners, and we must pursue them!"

The corsairs had sunk the yawls that were in the harbour, but their own boats were still tied to the wharves. In a minute Aragorn's men had taken possession of two of the biggest ones, and started to row. Aragorn's feverish energy was contagious, and they put the last bit of their strength in the arms working the oars.

The corsairs had some lead, but the efforts of the Gondorians lessened it bit by bit. Standing in the bow of the foremost boat, Aragorn was delighted to see that he might catch the corsairs before they would reach their ship that was anchored a few hundred yards away. Shouting encouragements to his men, he peered towards the enemy boats to discern the best way to attack them. He decided to try to cut across their course, thus separating them from the ship.

Giving orders to that effect to the man at the helm, Aragorn resumed looking at the fleeing enemies. Their boats came nearer and nearer, until Aragorn's tiny fleet was rowing parallel to them with only a few dozens of yards separating the opponents. Now he could see the captives' faces clearer, especially as the six men were all eagerly staring at the pursuing ships. In the moonlight Rosmir's face could be clearly identified.

"A little more, boys, and we get them!" Aragorn shouted, now a bit cheered. The corsair ship was now only a hundred and fifty yards away, but the Gondorians were winning the race.

His good mood evaporated shortly. A loud twang accompanied by a clap rang through the air. It was like a giant crossbow had been shot. Aragorn watched in surprise as something flew towards his boat from the direction of the ship, faster than an arrow. In a fleeting glimpse Aragorn realized that the missile looked like a giant quarrel. The projectile hit the water half a dozen yards away from the boat, sending water flying to all directions.

"A ballista," Aragorn murmured, wiping salty foam from his brow.

He faced now an awful choice – to let the corsairs escape with the captives, or to risk an almost certain death of all his men. The choice would have been hard even if the captives were unknown to him, but now it was almost agonizing. Rosmir suffering the cruelties of enslavement, Tuiwiel broken with sorrow, the couple's two boys without a father... It was a horrible thought. Yet, the thirty odd men that followed Aragorn had families also, and they were needed in Gondor's defence. And now that the corsairs had the means to send those men to the bottom of the sea with two well-aimed shots, Aragorn did not know if he could take the responsibility of continuing the chase.

Aragorn's internal struggle lasted only for a few seconds, intense as it was. Making his decision, he turned towards the helmsman.

"Turn around! Quickly, before they can reload!"

The man obeyed, and the boat turned towards the harbour in a tight arc, closely followed by the other. Aragorn cast a last look at the captives, whose features he could still faintly see. Their faces exhibited a mixture of dismay and bitter disappointment. Aragorn looked straight at Rosmir and shook his head mournfully. He could not know if his friend had recognized his face under his helm, but in any case Rosmir replied by bowing his head in a gesture of grief.

Sighing heavily, Aragorn turned away and gazed grimly towards the harbour. On the wharves burned a multitude of torches, evidently carried by Gondorian soldiers. Aragorn realized that Baraon must have defeated the rest of the corsairs. The battle was won. Nonetheless, Aragorn felt anything but triumphant. He took his heavy helm off and rested his weary head on his hands.