Prologue

By the Fords of Angren, the mists of Dawn oft lie heavy and thick. Not until the Sun rises high in the East are they dispelled, and the contours of the land revealed; a narrow, grassy valley amid the Gap of Calenardhon, between the Misty Mountains of the North, and the White Mountains of the South.

Gandalf the Grey stood enshrouded by the chill mists, leaning heavily on his gnarled wooden staff as he rested at the western bank of the Fords. His bearded face was hidden by the rim of his peaked blue hat, and he stood so still looked more like a pillar of stone than a Man. He had lost his steed at Tharbad, many leagues to the north and west, and had been forced to walk the rest of the way on foot. Now he was many days late, and waited anxiously, wondering whether this long journey had been in vain. Perhaps the one whom he sought had long since departed?

Then, when nearly an hour had passed since dawn, and the mists were beginning to dissolve in the light of day, Gandalf saw him; a lone rider, bearing an ebon staff, garbed in robes of white, and mounted on a white steed. The steed hesitated for a moment, as its rider caught sight of Gandalf from afar. Then it cantered towards the bank of the Fords, halting but a few paces away from the Grey Wizard.

"Saruman the White," said Gandalf, bowing deeply. His voice was dry and husky, as if with thirst and exhaustion. "A thousand pardons for my tardiness. I…"

"You are two weeks late," replied Saruman, his deep voice echoing harshly amongst the nearby rocks of the Fords. "I was here at dawn on the first day of February, just as we had agreed. When I realized you had been delayed, I retired to the tower of Orthanc in the fortress of Angrenost, a guest of the Gondorian garrison there. Every day I have ridden to the Fords at dawn, awaiting your arrival. It is fortunate for you that you have at last seen fit to meet me here; had you not done so, I would have crossed the Fords and returned to Gondor this very morning."

"Well, better late than never," replied Gandalf defensively. "It wasn't intentional, I assure you. I departed from my chambers at Fornost in a timely manner. But my mare threw me and bolted while wading across the frigid waters of the Greyflood at Tharbad, and ever since, I have practically been running night and day to…"

"Enough," replied Saruman, with a wave of his long pale hand. Gandalf noted that he still had not bothered to dismount, and continued to stare down from on high. "Let us turn to business," continued the White Wizard. "You sent word through one of Radagast's messenger birds that you wished an audience with me at the Fords of Angren, a convenient meeting place between Fornost and Minas Anor. Your message stated that you had urgent need of my aid, but that you dared not reveal in writing the cause in which I am to aid you. I can guess at your purposes, naturally, but I should rather hear them from your own lips."

"The cause is that of Arnor, the ancient kingdom of Elendil the Tall and Isildur his eldest son," replied Gandalf somberly. "It is in grave peril."

"It has long been in grave peril," said Saruman. "Get to the point."

"The point," replied Gandalf rather testily, as if in impatience at having to belabour the obvious, "is that the end is near at hand for the North Kingdom. Century by century, the dominion of Isildur's heirs has been diminished, until Fornost and portions of the lands nearby in Arthedain and Cardolan are all that are left to him. Now the Witch King of Angmar prepares to strike at Fornost, and annihilate the last remnants of the Dunedain of Arnor, the northern sons of Numenor."

"Angmar has fought many wars with Arnor, or what is left of Arnor," replied Saruman. "Still the North Kingdom stands, as it has stood for more than two-thousand years."

"But not for much longer," insisted Gandalf. "Our spies report that a vast army has assembled at Carn Dum, the Witch King's fortress in his dreadful land of Angmar; thousands of wild Hill-men of Hithaeglir and Rhudaur, legions of Orcs and Goblins of the Grey and the Misty Mountains, great hill-Trolls from the Ettenmoors. Even a Cold Drake from the wastes of Forodwaith. All of them shall march on Fornost, the last bastion of Arnor, no sooner than the snows of winter have melted in the North. Already the time draws near."

"Then what do you expect of me?" asked Saruman with a shrug. "If the Dunedain of Fornost can no longer fight and win their own battles, they should turn to their kinsmen in the South Kingdom of Gondor for aid. Or perhaps even to the Elves, if those high and mighty ones will still deign to listen to the pleas of mortals as they did in the Elder Days."

"The Elves are firm allies of Arnor," replied Gandalf with a frown. "Both Lord Cirdan of Mithlond and Lord Elrond of Rivendell have pledged alliance with King Arvedui. But the Elves are too few in these latter days; between them they cannot muster more than two-thousand warriors. When added to the eight-thousand Men of Arnor at Fornost, that is a mere ten-thousand soldiers to fight against the armies of the Witch King, who are ten times as numerous."

"So I ask again, what of Gondor?" replied Saruman. "Surely they will aid their northern cousins, if Arnor's plight is as desperate as you say."

"King Arvedui has sent word to King Earnil II, requesting his aid" said Gandalf. "But Earnil has refused him. He claimed that Gondor has no soldiers to spare on behalf of the North Kingdom, for the South Kingdom is beset with its own troubles."

Gandalf sighed. "That might be true enough," he continued. "The South Kingdom has of course been troubled ever since the civil strife that plagued the realm several hundred years ago allowed the Black Numenoreans of Umbar to shake-off the yoke of Gondor once and for all. Now the Black Ships of the Corsairs of Umbar harass the coasts of Gondor, and their Haradrim allies have turned the lands south of the Poros into a deserted and debatable realm. Moreover, the Easterlings have begun to stir again. In its struggle with the barbarians, Gondor has retreated on all fronts. It has lost its grip on Dorwinion, it no longer controls the lands north of the Argonath..."

"I don't require a lesson on the history of Gondor!" exclaimed Saruman. "For the last time, what is the nature of the aid you expect me to provide?"

"My first request," replied Gandalf, "is that you use your influence with the Gondor-men to persuade them to send troops to aid their kin in the North. Even a few thousand Gondorians at Fornost would be better than none at all"

"It is not for me to tell King Earnil how to deploy his armies," replied Saruman. "Moreover, to do so would weaken Gondor at a time when it is beset by its own enemies, as you yourself just admitted."

"Perhaps," frowned Gandalf. "But if you cannot grant my first request, at least you can grant my second."

"Which is?"

"That you ride north with me," replied Gandalf, "to succor the Men of Arnor in their struggle against the Witch King. I dared not ask you but in person, for fear that the enemy might intercept the message. Now, we shall have the element of surprise – if you grant my request. Two Wizards are surely better than one; and without the aid of Gondor, the Men of Arnor are in desperate need of your help as well as mine."

Saruman was silent for some moments. Then a thin smile spread across his narrow, white-bearded face, and his dark eyes glinted with some hidden mirth. "I understand," he replied, his voice now rich and mellow. "Gandalf the Grey fears to face the dreaded Witch King of Angmar in a duel of wizardly powers. He hopes that the presence of the White Wizard, standing by his side, will tip the balance in his favour when the Witch King confronts him."

"That is not how I would put it," replied Gandalf with a frown. His blue eyes, bright and keen, peered sharply up at Saruman. "Rather I would say that White and Grey should stand together against Black – if indeed they are friends, willing to stand together at all."

"If I were not your friend, as you put it," replied Saruman, his smile looking more like a snarl, "I should not have ridden from the comfort of Minas Anor to these barren lands, or waited for fully two weeks after the date set for our meeting. But I shall tell you plainly that while I have long guessed at your purposes, you shall receive no aid from me, other than the benefit of my wisdom and my counsel. I shall not ride north with you."

"Indeed?" said Gandalf, his back stiffening as he stood to his full height. "And what business is so important that it distracts the White Wizard from aiding the Men of the West against the servants of the Enemy?"

"My business is my own," replied Saruman haughtily. "And it lies eastward, not northward. As soon as the spring has arrived, I shall set out once again for the lands east of Anduin, and it may be many years before I return. For it is the East, not the North, that is the realm of our true Enemy; Sauron the Abhorred. And in those eastern lands lie many secrets of his lore, yet waiting to be discovered and used against him."

"Yes, I know of your fondness for Ring-lore," replied Gandalf. "And it matters not to me what you study on your own time for use against the Enemy in the future. But Arnor is threatened in the here and now, by a foe hardly less potent than Sauron himself! It is folly to abandon the North Kingdom to dire peril, in pursuit of knowledge that is of no use to us at present."

"You speak as if you know nothing of Ring-lore," said Saruman. "Yet you know full well that the Rings of Power are at the heart of all of Sauron's schemes for dominion. There is no purpose more pressing and important than uncovering all there is to know of them. Thus the pursuit of Ring-lore is my own especial domain, my own province as head of our Order. It is not my place to ride into battle and face foes in a test of skill. I must preserve my energies for the far more dangerous struggle that lies ahead."

"You once faced foes in open combat, if memory serves me well," replied Gandalf wryly.

"But no longer," insisted Saruman, shaking his head.

"Perhaps that is why Gondor has fallen on hard times, when once it stood invincible," shot back Gandalf mischievously.

"I will not bandy words with the likes of you," replied the White Wizard. "You have asked for my aid, and I have told you my counsel is all I shall offer. My counsel is this; get you gone to Orthanc, beg or borrow a steed from the garrison of the Gondor-men in that place, and then ride hard for Fornost. The Men of Arnor will have need of you sooner rather than later, if the reports you have heard of the Witch King's armies prove true."

"So that's all you have to say for yourself?" snapped Gandalf, his eyebrows bristling as he abandoned any restraints on his fiery temper. "And what other platitudes have you to offer me, before your busy schedule requires you to be elsewhere?"

"Only this," replied Saruman with a grim smile. "You pretend that you are weak, and that you would prefer not to face the Witch King alone. But I deem you are stronger than you know – or, perhaps, stronger than you wish me to know. For beyond any doubt you have at your disposal the means to put paid to the Witch King of Angmar, should he dare show his face to you."

And with that cryptical remark, Saruman turned and spurred his horse toward the Fords, plunging into the foaming waters as he began his long ride eastward through Gondor to the distant lands beyond.

Gandalf stood still for some time, leaning on his staff as he stared grimly at the fast-shrinking form of Saruman. When at length the White Wizard had disappeared from view, Gandalf let out a long, heavy sigh, muttering darkly into the bushy depths of his beard. Then, as the last mists of morning departed, and the rising Sun revealed the snowy slopes of the Misty Mountains to the north, Gandalf began to trudge forward, making his way to the thin ebon spire on the horizon that marked the ancient tower of Orthanc.