Recommended listening: Kabalevsky — Symphony No. 4

CHAPTER XXVI: THE NORTHWARD RETREAT

The company pressed on deep into the night. Aragorn asked of Deve all that she was willing to give, and though their breath came in snorts, the typically cantankerous kamels did not falter. They cycled between gaits – sometimes trotting, sometimes loping along the hard-packed earth of Harad Road – yet as the distance from Herumoros increased, so did their pace. The Southrons were sure to give chase, and a terrible distance still lay between the fugitives and their destination: Glâniant, the crossing of Harnen from Harad into South Gondor.

As a new sun rose and still there was no sign of pursuit, Aragorn slowed Deve to a walk, squinting against the shimmering sands. Signs of a moderately-sized town could just barely be made out a short distance ahead. Far in the rear, Éomer dismounted and ran up to stride beside Deve, leaving his own kamel at the end of the line.

'Should we not go around?' he asked. 'We are sure to be spotted. I can see villagers already about their day's work.'

'We haven't the time,' Aragorn replied. 'Let us take the swifter route through this settlement, and hope its residents know nothing of our circumstances.'

'And those cursed pigeons? What if the Ephor has sent one to these people, and they know of our coming, and ready even now for the attack?'

'When I travelled in the north of these lands, not a single man was learned of his letters, and our time in Herumoros has similarly demonstrated that none save the most eminent leaders could make use of such a system. No, a message has surely been sent – but I do not think it any nearer than Glâniant itself.'

'Let us hope your assessment is correct; elsewise we walk directly into the Ephor's waiting arms,' said Éomer before allowing the rear to catch up with him and remounting his kamel.

With heads bowed, the company neared the village. They pulled scarves about their faces – not to ward off the chill, as they had done at night, but to conceal their northern features from prying eyes. They wore still the raiment of their hosts, and so their appearance was not otherwise conspicuous – at least, not immediately. Were any Southron to look closer, however, he would see skin lighter than that of the Haradrim, an atypical discomfit with kamels, a notable lack of packs.

With bated breath, Aragorn and the others ventured along the settlement's main thoroughfare, where villagers milled about residences and market stalls clustered there. Several Haradrim glanced in the travellers' direction; each seemed to regard these newcomers with suspicion, though it could not be said whether this was truth or some mere trick of the mind. Aragorn caught the gaze of one butcher, whose eyes slid away – perhaps out of disinterest, perhaps out of a desire to mask his observations. How much would he tell those who came in pursuit?

Even after emerging on the far side of the village without incident, still the company's hearts were not eased. Once beyond sight, they took off again at the fastest speed they dared, slowing only when signs of another caravan appeared. But Harad Road was mercifully uncrowded – or perhaps concerningly so; yet the company was not in a position to be anything other than grateful for the small advantages afforded them. Heads down, they continued to race along the highway as the blazing sun arced overhead.

When dusk settled over the desert's vast expanse, Deve and the other kamels at last showed signs of wearying, and so the company dismounted and walked beside the creatures, allowing them to set their own pace. Éomer once again sought out Aragorn.

'You know these lands best of us all,' said he, voice low. 'How much further do you suppose the river lies?'

Aragorn scanned the rapidly darkening horizon. 'At least another day of easy riding,' he answered. 'Longer, at this pace – which is the one I fear we must take, for the kamels' sake.'

'I am troubled there is no sign of chase.'

'As am I.' The muscles in Aragorn's jaw grew strained. 'I fear it is because the Southrons believe – and perhaps not erroneously – there is no need; they know we must inevitably make for the Crossing. A formidable force is sure to greet us there.'

'Those pigeons—!' Éomer exclaimed. 'May they join Helm upon the plains of the Mark!'

'We might yet evade notice, even at Glâniant. Let us forge on through the night.'

'Very well,' said Éomer. 'But first, a moment's respite.'

A halt was called, and the company took shelter behind an ephedra shrub, though the road was empty as ever and darkness cloaked them well enough. They passed what little water they had between them, and allowed the kamels to feed upon grasses Maeron had pilfered from the last village so surreptitiously not even Aragorn had noticed. But while the northerners' bodies rested, their minds did not; for there was some unshakable feeling of suspense that ebbed and flowed between them, as though they waited for something but knew not what it was.

When full darkness had fallen and the company taken as long as it dared to recover, they remounted and flew once more along the Road. They did not travel as frantically as they had at first, but still their pace was not lax, and soon the gentle snorts of both beast and rider could be heard in the quiet night.

A gibbous moon rose to cast down its muted light upon them. Even the stoutest of the northerners found themselves struggling to stave off flickers of sleep that threatened to consume their minds as the hours past midnight fell wearily about their shoulders. Wakefulness and slumber blended into one, indistinguishable and equally disorienting.

Thus the fugitives' ears failed to perceive hoofbeats upon the Road, for they could not differentiate between reality and dream. But when the sound grew ever closer, it became impossible to dismiss, and the northerners were roused from their torpor, hearts racing. Aragorn strained his ears; it was a company of no less than half a dozen horses, all approaching from the north.

He and the others fled the Road, hoping to avoid observance, yet there was no cover in those barren lands, and the moonlight illuminated them clearly. Soon they were able to make out a solo rider hurtling along the highway, accompanied by a small herd of unmounted horses. Rider and horse alike made directly for the northerners' position.

Aragorn unsheathed his sword, allowing it to glitter as a warning in the faint, silver moonlight. Then a soft call came across the land, in the language of the Rohirrim: 'Hail Éomer, King of the Riddermark Realm, and Aragorn, High King of the Reunited Kingdom!'

Éomer darted forward. 'A Rider of the Mark!' he cried. 'Identify yourself!'

'It is I, Gamhelm, whom you left behind in defence of your forces!' The rider drew close enough then that the moonlight revealed a soldier clad in the livery of Rohan.

'What good fortune it is that sends you upon our very path at this hour!' exclaimed Éomer, dismounting at once, for he spied his loyal mount Firefoot amongst the restless horses.

'It is no good fortune that brings me, milord, I am sorry to say – no fortune, but an attack upon our ships,' said Gamhelm.

'An attack!' exclaimed Éomer. 'How did this come to be?'

'When you departed for Harad, we lingered for weeks in unsurety within the Bay of Umbar, for we had no news; the regular reports we received whilst you were in the Havens ceased entirely once you travelled east. Then, two dawns ago, we quite suddenly found ourselves under fire.'

'Two dawns ago?' mused Aragorn. Such timing meant the order to attack had surely been conveyed even before Undómírë had so much as spoken to Aragorn. Perhaps the Captain discerned her plans and had sought to mitigate the damage her warnings would have otherwise wrought upon his forces, or perhaps it was one more way in which the princess had attempted to contrive the situation to her own advantage.

'We made a hasty retreat, milords, and the Alcarindur scarcely escaped the Bay itself,' said Gamhelm. 'One by one, we rejoined our ships positioned along the coastline, but were still heavily outnumbered. Even so, we could not abandon our Kings to their fate! Making our stand at the mouth of Harnen, we sailed the Alcarindur as far east along that river as we dared before I alone disembarked, with the intention of making for Harad and discovering the whereabouts of our brethren trapped in the Sutherlands.'

'You bring horses,' stated Aragorn.

'Aye, milord. Several of my brethren entrusted their equine companions to me, for we knew not by which means you had ventured to Harad, or how you might make your getaway. Even now, I do not understand the strange creatures I see before me.'

'They are kamels,' said Éomer. 'Loyal beasts, and more fitting than horses when crossing the shifting sands of the desert. But it is vast stretches of Harad Road that lie now before us, not dunes; the Mearas will surely bear us more swiftly hence. Let us set our kamels free to return homeward, and take to these horses of the Mark.'

Maeron and the Gondorian guards tumbled from their kamels' backs to approach these new mounts with hands outstretched in offering. The Mearas' tails flicked, yet they were imperturbable as ever. When Aragorn approached the foremost horse and reached out to stroke its grey coat, however, he sensed a faint glimmer of recognition.

'Is this not Hasufel?' he asked.

'The very stallion, milord,' said Gamhelm.

Aragorn gave an unexpected smile. 'We are old friends, you and I,' he murmured – for it was Hasufel who had borne him from Fangorn to Edoras and Hornburg, then northward as far as the Hidlands and back. Aragorn's heart swelled at the reunion, and for the reminder of his days riding alongside Truva.

But as he climbed into the ornate Rohirric saddle, Deve refused to leave his side. She lingered even after the other Gondorians sent their kamels wandering off in the vague direction of Herumoros, swaying this way and that. A contemplative expression passed across Aragorn's face, which did not go unseen by his companions.

'She won't be able to keep pace with the Mearas, my friend,' said Éomer quietly. 'Not after the distance we've already come at the pace we took.'

'And we haven't any space on the Alcarindur, milord,' Gamhelm added.

Aragorn reached out with one hand to rub Deve's hump one final time. 'She belongs here, in the arid lands of Harad, as it is,' he agreed.

And so the company set out yet again, mounted now upon Mearas. They drove hard, pushing the horses to their fullest stride. For a time, Deve followed after, despite the northerners' discouragements. But as dawn stole across the peaks of Ered Enaid, she began to flag and fall behind, growing ever more distant. Aragorn clutched the reins tight upon hearing her unhappy braying, even after she disappeared from sight.

Eventually, even her crying faded away, and as the day wore on, the company encountered few other signs of life. They passed no other travellers upon the Road, and each Haradric settlement they came upon was abandoned – or perhaps evacuated, for they bore signs of recent occupation, despite the eerie silence that hung over empty livestock pens and still-warm common ovens.

It was not until noontide that Glâniant itself appeared, its low palisades sticking up in land rich off the waters of Harnen. The company pulled up and rested their mounts, observing the city from a great distance. Spiked wooden barricades littered the land – infrequent at first, then growing more numerous nearer the city. From its few towers fluttered sable pennants, bearing no mark or livery.

'They consider themselves neither Haradrim nor Gondorian,' said Aragorn.

'Such things matter little when the Ephor has sufficient riches to persuade them – and the strength to subject them, should they be unconvinced by coin,' said Éomer. 'Whatever his chosen method of motivation, they will see fit to stand against us.'

Even as he spoke, a horn sounded. The gates of the city burst open and a haze of dust rose up from the Road as nearly threescore riders – garbed in the black robes of the Haradrim army – bore down upon the northern company with all haste. They had been spied!

'Let us give them no such opportunity,' said Gamhelm. 'The Alcarindur is not far, moored just beyond the city's furthest watchtowers. We have yet easy hope of gaining it!'

'Let us speak not of hope, and instead think only of doing,' said Maeron.

With a determined nod, Gamhelm deviated from the Road and struck out in a northwesterly direction across the dry, cracked earth of scrubland. Even as the company turned, however, the Southron riders turned also and picked up their pace, giving chase.

'Ride, ride!' cried Aragorn. 'We cannot hope to make a stand against so many in such open territory! Ride!'

Once off Harad Road, the Mearas' hooves sunk into deeper sands – not quite so treacherous as the vast dunes of Laurinairë, yet still perilously slowing their progress. The Southrons, racing along a well-established riverbank towpath, encountered no such difficulty; they gained steadily upon the northerners.

As the company drew nearer the Harnen, however, sand transitioned into the parched, muddy flats of the floodplain, which provided their mounts' hooves far better purchase. Given free reign, Hasufel and the other Mearas began to fly across the expanse, and soon the glimmering waters of the river itself came into view. Gamhelm banked further westward, away from the city and downstream towards the Alcarindur. Hard upon their tail followed the Southron contingent; each frantic backwards glance revealed them to be ever closer, black robes whipping in the wind.

Then there! The Alcarindur's sails could be spied fluttering upon the Harnen currents. Éomer raised his horn to his lips and sounded it, alerting the sailors to their approach.

But the Southrons gained closer and closer. Even the stout-hearted Mearas faltered; such a pace had been especially punishing after more than two moons spent confined aboard the Alcarindur. Their breath came in short, wild snorts, and they stumbled upon ill-placed tussocks of halfah grass and dips in the uneven earth. Their riders shouted encouraging words to spur them on the last little distance, but what were words against searing exhaustion?

Aragorn drew his sword. The Alcarindur drew nearer; its lowered gangway became visible – from which the dozen remaining Mearas and their Riders emerged – and the horns blowing in response to Éomer's sounded in his ears. Yet the Southrons were already falling about the rearmost of the fugitives, were reaching out with ropes and scimitars and menacing hands.

In an instant, Éomer and Gamhelm were backwards in their saddles, facing the Southrons and releasing a first volley even as the other Eorlingas drew near enough to aid in the salvo. One adversary fell from his horse, three arrows protruding from his chest. Several others were struck also, but the remaining Haradrim were not so easily frightened; they pressed on, drawing their own bows against the fleeing company.

As arrows whistled past, a pair of Southrons drew even on Aragorn's right side. Before he could act, however, Hasufel stretched out his neck and bit down upon the nearest mount's withers, sending both horse and rider side-stepping into their companion. But the Southrons were swift to recover, and immediately circled back for a second attack. Having no spear, Aragorn thrust his sword at the first rider to approach, attempting to unseat him. This strike the warrior deflected easily with his shield, driving forward with his halberd just as his companion rode up on Aragorn's other side.

Thus locked in combat, the warring factions unwittingly came within range of the Alcarindur. Archers upon the ship's deck sent a hail of arrows streaming through the air, scattering the Southrons at once. They darted about, attempting to evade the second volley that followed right after, only to find themselves pursued by the approaching Eorlingas.

With a rough shout from one, the Southrons peeled away and beat a hasty retreat from the onslaught. Threescore against seven were happy odds; threescore against an entire ship were not.

Escorted by the King's Riders, Aragorn and the others clattered up the Alcarindur's gangway to rousing cheers from Gondorian and Rohirrim warrior alike. Captain Bardlorn pushed through the ranks even as the company fell from their saddles.

'My lord!' he cried. It appeared he might say more, but words ultimately failed the Captain in that moment; he threw his arms about Aragorn's neck and clung to the King. Aragorn patted him kindly on the back.

'I hope you did not fear for my sake; I am as well as ever,' said he. 'Yet come – let us see what we can make of this situation.'

Aragorn guided Bardlorn towards the ship's aft, soon followed by Éomer after he extricated himself from a similar position amongst the Riders. Even as they ducked into the navigation room, the gangway was pulled aboard and the Alcarindur cast off, flying swiftly down the Harnen beneath the oars of a full crew.

'We have heard from Gamhelm of the Corsairs' initial attack, and your retreat to the mouth of Harnen,' said Aragorn, drawing a map towards himself. 'But otherwise, his explanation was necessarily limited. What else must we know know?'

'Did he not tell you of the secondary fleet that emerged from this very river, to drive past our defences and sweep towards the Anduin?' asked Bardlorn.

'Helm protect us,' muttered Éomer. 'You mean to say there are more of them?'

'A great many more – nearly double what we witnessed in the Bay of Umbar. We had not the power to stop them, milord; our full might was occupied by the ships from the Havens, many of which joined this Harnen fleet in sailing northward.'

'How many of our ships currently defend the river mouth?' Aragorn asked.

'All of them – for even with the Southrons' numbers reduced, we could spare none without being overrun ourselves. A messenger was sent with all haste to Dol Amroth, in the hopes that the Swan Knights might yet head off the Southrons before they gain Lebennin, yet I fear they shall almost certainly be too late.'

'I share in those fears,' said Aragorn. 'Pelargir is weak; she will fall if she is beset upon without aid.'

'What if it is not Pelargir they aim for?' Éomer mused.

The three glanced frantically between each other, for while the thought had crossed each of their minds, it was a separate horror to hear it spoken aloud: in attempting to halt Umbar's assault at its source, they had left all of Gondor with no more than the most minimal defences.

'Lord Faramir remains in Ithilien,' said Bardlorn. 'I would trust him more than my own self to defend the north.'

'It shall be half retreat, half chase once we gain the Bay of Belfalas,' said Éomer. 'We must evade the ships of the Havens, yet overtake the Harnen fleet at all costs.'

'But we must be circumspect,' said Aragorn. 'Whether it is Pelargir or the harbour docks of Harlond – I dare not think what might become of us should the Southrons penetrate so deep as Osgiliath – we must make a stand where there are other defences. We cannot allow ourselves to be caught in open waters, nor become trapped in the long, open stretches of Anduin, where we would be utterly alone and unsupported.'

'Still, I cannot fathom how the Southrons came by so many vessels so hard upon the War's end,' said Éomer. 'Those moored within the Havens far outnumbered our most generous estimates, and still there were yet others sequestered in the north we knew naught of.'

'And it was no mere schooner or two,' said Bardlorn. 'A flotilla of more than a dozen ships it was – tremendous armoured dromunds, the likes of which I've never seen.'

'Therein lies the explanation for no chase being given after our flight from Herumoros, I imagine,' said Aragorn. 'I suspect not a single Haradrim or Corsair soldier remains behind – they all man the ships they feel assured will prevail over our forces, whether we lead them or no.'

'And perhaps they are right,' said Éomer. 'Yet I for one shall not bow so easily. Little do I know of the sea and its fickle tides, yet place before me an enemy and I shall strike him down! These false Southrons betrayed our goodwill and trust, and I will not see our lands once more endangered at their foul hand.'

Bardlorn's lips drew into a thin grimace. 'Never fear, my lord, you shall have your opportunity before the day's end,' said he. 'Perhaps sooner, if these headwinds abate.'

With little else to be said, the three reemerged onto the main deck. Palm trees and thornbushes flashed past as the Alcarindur made rapid progress along the Harnen's dusty banks, bringing them ever closer to the river's mouth. The sailors rowed in short but frequent bursts throughout the day, and were often joined by their leaders. When Aragorn did not have an oar in hand, he was constantly about the ship, confirming supplies and listening to the men's experiences during his absence.

Even as the skies darkened and dusk obscured the riverbanks, the Alcarindur lit no lanterns and continued stealthily upon its path, oars still churning the water currents. The night grew deeper and the headwinds stronger. The Harnen widened, and the men's hearts raced to know they were hard upon their destination. Anticipation rippled throughout the crew.

Then a clamour arose in the distance; chaos gradually became discernible in the moonlight. Just south of the river's mouth, which was only now visible, half a dozen Gondorian dromund ships were configured in a crescent formation, arrayed against a contingent of Corsair vessels. Upon the far end of the Gondorians' line, two opposing ships were locked together, side by side, as Southrons attempted to board via narrow detachments under a flurry of northern arrows. A great many Corsair vessels were already adrift, their oars having been rent upon the bows of their enemies. Other ships fled, and several more were aflame; the wreckage of at least one Gondorian dromund smouldered upon the waves. Men of all origins flailed in the water, clutching debris as they attempted to gain a friendly deck.

As the Alcarindur drew near, Bardlorn sounded a trumpet, sharp and high in the night. It was answered by a chorus of others from all sides, each signalling their own actions. But even as a flurry of action overtook the scene, Aragorn strode up to the Captain and held out his hand. With a look of confusion, Bardlorn passed the horn to his King, who then leapt upon the Alcarindur's prow and blew a series of short blasts.

'They will see you, milord!' cried Maeron in a panic.

'That is my intention,' said Aragorn grimly, sounding the trumpet once again. Quickly discerning his purpose, Éomer joined Aragorn at the prow and raised his own horn to his lips. Their calls were answered by a salvo of Southron arrows.

They quickly dove behind the bulwark. When they looked out once more upon the Bay, more Southrons poured across the detachments onto the Gondorian ship; but the northerners now battled with increased ferocity – for hope sprang within their breast to know their King was returned once more amongst them. With immense effort, the detachments were hewn and the Gondorian dromund drew back, allowing its neighbour to drive towards the offending Corsair vessel.

Whether truly defeated or merely spooked by the appearance of Kings they thought to be ghosts, the Southron navy fell into full retreat, returning back towards the Havens posthaste. Upon finding themselves unassailed, the Gondorian vessels swept about, securing those members of their crew thrown overboard. The abandoned Southrons struck out for shore.

But there was no time to allow relief the opportunity to blunt the Forodrim's fervour. 'Northward!' cried Aragorn. 'To the north, and Anduin! After the enemy vessels!'

Bardlorn sounded his trumpet once more, and what remained of the Gondorian fleet regrouped and turned towards their homelands. Heart still racing, Aragorn strode to the stern of the Alcarindur and watched the glowing remnants of battle disappear in the ship's wake. Éomer soon joined him, as did Bardlorn, and the three gazed out across the churning water after the retreating Southron dromunds.

'Let us hope they go now to reinforce the might of Umbar about the fortress Ka'phos,' remarked the Captain.

'I do not dare to hope,' said Aragorn. 'Indeed, I suspect they shall be swift to regroup and pursue us, with the intent of protecting the rear of their forward armada.'

'My fear is not what lays behind, but what we have yet to face,' said Éomer. 'It was no more than a small flotilla that beset us here at Harnen. Those ships were but a fraction of what we witnessed upon our arrival in the Havens; if the remainder has sailed northward, Gondor is in grave peril.'

'Even with the Swan Knights' aid, the northern forces of Gondor are unaccustomed to naval operations. We cannot possibly hope to equal the Corsairs' strength upon the seas,' said Bardlorn.

'We must make do,' said Aragorn with grave determination. 'There is no alternative, no army of oathbreakers to aid us now, no secretive path to victory. This is a conflict of Men, and so by Men must it be ended.'

'We have but one advantage: our ships are lighter and fleeter than those the Corsairs built to replace them,' said the Captain.

'They believed speed would bring them victory during the War of the Ring,' said Aragorn, casting his eyes upon the sleek dromunds that skimmed across the water about the Alcarindur. 'Yet now it is through strength they seek to overpower us – whether in the confined bay of Umbar, or the narrow lengths of Anduin.'

'We must use our swiftness to our advantage,' said Éomer, 'and hope our ground forces are prepared to match the Southrons' redoubled might. My only regret is that the Eorlingas will not be amongst those numbers, ignorant as my brethren are to our plight.'

'Is there no word from Prince Imrahil?' Aragorn asked of Bardlorn.

The Captain shook his head. 'None, my lord – though three suns have not risen since the messengers departed; there is yet time for hope.'

The three fell silent then, for even were fortune to favour them and the ships of Dol Amroth make a timely appearance, still their victory would be far from assured. The fate of Pelargir and all the northern lands beyond relied upon a series of increasingly improbable events.

Their concerns voiced and all courses of thinking exhausted, the commanders turned to the unceasing tasks of a warship at attention. Aragorn made at once for the infirmary, where his healing hands would find their greatest use in tending to those who had been rescued from their foundered ship. Even so – aside from a smattering of bones to be set or a salve prepared for the victims of burns – there was little to be done save see the sailors were made warm and dry.

Reluctant not to be of use, Aragorn proceeded to spend a shift at the oars before replacing one ecstatic sailor on his dreaded middle watch duty. But darkness passed into a new dawn and still he felt no more at ease. He sat down to a breakfast of stale cram, only for Éomer to descend from his sleeping quarters at that very moment and join him, reaching for his own rations. The horselord took a brief sniff of the hardened tack and sneezed in the resulting dust of flour.

'You will do us no good if you are too tired to fight, my friend,' he said, feigning offhandedness.

'I believe any attempt at slumber would have the opposite effect as desired,' Aragorn replied. 'It is not dreams that visit me of late.'

Éomer continued to inspect the unappealing victuals, saying only, 'Will you not think of it as an example for the others? I will wake you if there is any noteworthy change in circumstance.'

Aragorn passed him a mug of weak tea in which he might soak his cram. Éomer accepted it none too enthusiastically. Though neither said anything further, each retired abovedecks when their modest breakfast was concluded – Éomer to his own watch, and Aragorn to his quarters.

The horselord could certainly not be accused of failing to keep his word, for not a half hour passed before he was pounding on the stateroom door, rousing Aragorn from his study of the overhead planks. Aragorn was at the door at once.

'I'm afraid you were correct,' said Éomer. 'They bear down upon us even now.'

The two Kings raced to the aft, where Captain Bardlorn stood with a spyglass to his eye. He handed it wordlessly to Aragorn, who swiftly brought the dozen enemy dromunds into focus.

'These are not the same we battled at the mouth of Harnen,' he stated.

'These are far swifter,' Bardlorn agreed. 'A second flotilla designed for pursuit, not as burdened as their armoured counterparts.'

'I can only hope this means a greater number of vessels remained behind in the Havens than we initially calculated,' said Éomer. 'And thus fewer lie ahead.'

'We might not be granted the good fortune of worrying about what lies ahead if we cannot outpace what approaches from behind,' said Aragorn, returning the spyglass to Bardlorn. 'How far out do you estimate them to be?'

'It is hard to say, milord,' said the Captain with another glance through the glass. 'They appeared on the horizon only moments ago. Based upon their current distance – and assuming they departed the Havens hard upon the arrival of those we chased away – I would hazard a day's distance; no more than a day and a half.'

Aragorn gave no outward indication of the unease that plagued him. 'Do you suppose we might make the refuge of Anduin before then?'

'Again, I cannot be certain. Even were we to maintain our current pace, it would be only just. But the men flag at the oars for exhaustion, and whatever breath of wind spurs us on likewise gives aid to the Corsairs.'

The three leaders continued to observe the Corsair fleet for quite some time, the distant black sails' incremental gain imperceptible to the eye yet evident in their hearts. Then, one by one, they returned to their tasks.

Aragorn found himself once again in his stateroom, but if he had found sleep difficult before, it was impossible now. He rose and paced the ship decks, assuming each and any menial task in an attempt to keep himself occupied. Everywhere he went, whispers spread of the Southrons' approach, and a constant stream of sailors strained to catch sight of the ominous shadow upon the horizon. Favoured weapons were fetched to be kept close at hand.

Despite the occasional glimpse of the South Gondorian shore to the east throughout the day, there was no sign of Tolfolas nor the Anduin, and as their adversaries' encroachment grew more pronounced, whispers evolved into full-fledged panic. The knowledge they might be caught in open waters against superior Corsair numbers drove the Gondorian sailors to row with heretofore unknown desperation.

As the purples and greys of late dusk crept up the eastern skies, Aragorn stood once more upon the stern of Alcarindur, gazing southward until the enemy vessels disappeared into the darkness. A swath of chafing gear shuffled between his fingers as he mended the worn canvas, absentmindedly plying needle to fabric.

Yet even as he dropped one sheath onto an already copious pile at his feet, the sound of a soft horn wavered across the waters. At first, Aragorn was certain it had come from one of the other Gondorian ships in the fleet, but a sudden flurry of movement spoke otherwise; there was a rush towards the foredeck and Bardlorn's own answering horn. When Aragorn turned portside, he spied a tiny white sloop skipping across the water, sails bearing the swan of Dol Amroth.

The ship's pace slowed momentarily to allow for the lowering of a ladder, and one messenger soon gained the Alcarindur's deck. Nearby Gondorian sailors drew closer and affected labouring attitudes, hoping to glean some snippet of information from this envoy's arrival, yet Bardlorn swiftly whisked him away to the navigation cabin, followed hard upon by Aragorn and Éomer.

'Hail Aragorn King of Renewed Gondor and Éomer King of Rohan!' cried the messenger, sweeping into a low bow immediately upon the door's closing. 'I am Alphtaen, errand-sailor of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, come to convey a report of the surrounding waters!'

'What news is there?' Bardlorn demanded.

'Aside from our own scouts' observations, which reported the Southrons' northward push, we have encountered no enemy ships since receiving your call for aid,' said Alphtaen. 'Not even upon sailing from port to these very waters did we so much as spy a black sail other than your own. We have scouted also the nearest stretches of Anduin and found no enemy vessels lying in wait.'

'So they make directly for the heart of Gondor with the full strength of their northern contingent,' Éomer concluded.

'The Southrons do not wish to divide and weaken themselves further,' said Aragorn. 'Not against an adversary such as Dol Amroth – one that would give them no easy defeat.' He bent close to the map upon the navigation table. 'What of the Swan Fleet's movements?'

'Prince Imrahil made ready to depart even as my men set out,' said Alphtaen. 'It seems we continue to be favoured by a westerly wind; even so, I do not think the main armada's arrival can be expected within the day.'

The cabin fell silent as the same thoughts swarmed each of their minds: the race between enemy and aid, and the swiftly fading hope of gaining the Anduin.

'The Swan Fleet shall have to come to us, wherever that may be,' said Aragorn. 'And we must hold out as long as possible; Pelargir surely feels the brunt of the Southrons' fleet already – we cannot allow even greater numbers to descend upon them without so much as attempting a defence.'

'I shall go ensure the flares are at hand,' said Bardlorn. Éomer clapped a reassuring hand on Aragorn's shoulder before following the Captain out to confirm his Riders' horses were properly stowed and tended to. With a series of deep bows and loud declarations of fealty, Alphtaen disappeared back onto his own sloop, leaving Aragorn alone in the navigation cabin.

After several additional moments of staring at the map as though it might reveal some previously unconsidered solution, he eventually followed the others. Yet no matter how many tasks he devoted himself to, concern gnawed at the edges of his mind, and a second sleepless dawn rose as he sat upon the deck, unlaying frazzled rope to be spun anew. The hulking dark shapes of Southron dromunds materialised against orange streaks heralding the sun's rising. The ships were far closer than the previous night – closer than any might have estimated.

The tension was interminable and unbearable. There was nothing to be done save watch the enemy ships close in league by league. Shifts at the oars were served, menial tasks were executed, fitful naps were abandoned; swords, rapiers, and daggers were removed from scabbards only for the twice-sharpened blades to be tested and resheathed. Arrows were counted and recounted. More than one sailor bit back the urge to snap at his fellows for their nervous fidgeting and tapping.

The Corsair dromonds grew fearfully near. Shapes of individual Southrons could be distinguished upon their decks, darting about in a flurry, making ready for battle. Throughout the Gondorian fleet and their Rohirric allies, not a single breath was released with ease.

Then a sudden shout snapped the strained mood. 'Land!' a scout cried. 'Land, and the Anduin!'

As one, all within hearing leapt towards the starboard bulwarks to make out for themselves the sliver of green arcing from the east across to the horizon ahead. Aragorn swiftly joined them, then turned to observe the advancing Southrons. They appeared even nearer – as though they, too, had heard to call. The pace of their oars increased, splashing into the waters of Belfalas, driving their ships through the spray that broke upon their bows.

With a second glance forward, Aragorn calculated the distances to be nearly equal – there was yet hope! But it was slight, and could easily slip through their fingers. He tumbled down to the deck below, where the oarsmen were oblivious to this new development.

'Land!' he echoed. 'Pull with your mightiest might! Our best chances lie in reaching the safety of Anduin, and those shores are just within grasp! Pull!'

The rowers' exhaustion transformed at once into thrumming vigour, and their pace accelerated as they began to chant and cry out, encouraging one another to delve into their deepest stores of strength. The Alcarindur flew across the waves, joined by her brethren in a final press towards the lands of South Gondor.

Noontide came and passed amidst a strange atmosphere. In spite of the oarsmen's efforts, the Southron ships gained dramatically, and yet the coastline did not seem to draw near with equal measure. Soldiers abandoned all pretence of purpose and sat in stony silence, arrayed along the stern and flanks of the ship, prepared for a battle that seemed ever on the cusp but never actualized.

Even as the fiery sun hung off to the Alcarindur's port side, the stony isle of Tolfolas grew distinct along the shoreline. But in that very same moment, cries went up from the ship stern; for the first salvo of Southron arrows had been loosed, several finding purchase in the wood there. Aragorn raced to the aft and found it was an uproar of noise, though the ranks remained orderly as they manned heavy crossbows upon the bulwarks.

'Save your arrows!' he called. 'We have too few as it is, and our conflict is certain to be protracted. Do not fire unless absolutely necessary.'

The Gondorians stayed their hands. In the lull that followed, several of the more resourceful sailors dodged about, gathering any undamaged Southron arrows that might be reused. Still, tension bit at their fingers, set twinges betwixt their ribs, furrowed their brows.

A second volley of arrows was leased from the enemy dromunds, nearer and more accurate, and yet the Gondorians did not break. Their focus being so consumed with what lay behind, however, they were taken by surprise when the looming mass of rock rose up along their port side: at great last they had gained the meagre shelter of Tolfolas.

With a burst, the foremost Southron dromund lurched forward in a final attempt to halt the Alcarindur's progress, but was met with the cry of 'Loose!' and the first volley of Gondorian arrows.

The scene broke into immediate chaos. Even as the two fleets drifted across the distance between Tolfalas and the Anduin, many drew within a detachment's span of each other, yet the numbers upon both sides were still too great to attempt a boarding. The Haradrim firepower proved especially oppressive, however; they fought as if unconcerned with supplies – for they were – and fired indiscriminately across the distance. More than one sailor upon the Alcarindur was borne belowdecks to the infirmary, a fate echoed on each of the Gondorian dromunds.

The chase wore on, neither fleet gaining an advantage or falling to disadvantage. But then as evening, oblivious to the chaos below, settled into dusk, the Forodrim were at last granted a reprieve: the spurs of Belfalas and South Gondor came together to form the mouth of the Anduin.

'Row, row!' cried Aragorn over the hiss of arrows and shouts of men. 'Draw further into the Anduin, then turn and cut them off in a narrow swath of the river!'

The orders were immediately relayed to those belowdeck, whose muscles bulged and strained against the swift currents; yet there was none who did not understand his survival depended on adherence to these commands. They applied themselves to their oars with renewed zeal. Abovedeck, the sight of fire flaring upon the enemy dromunds sent fear curdling within the northerners' stomachs.

'Prepare the blankets!' came Éomer's shout. 'Smother the flames – they cannot be extinguished with water!'

A horn from the Alcarindur cut across the water just then. As one, the northern fleet slowed and drew abreast one another. Their oars' pace slackened until the ships kept even with a peninsula jutting from the western bank, where a smattering of dwellings and farmland formed a small settlement. The Southron ships suddenly hung back, biding their time and calculating their approach.

'I know this waterway as well as any other,' said Captain Bardlorn, appearing between Aragorn and Éomer at the bulwark. 'The Anduin is wide for a long ways yet; there is no point beyond Gwathail that shall serve us better.'

'Even with one side protected, this shall be a bitter battle,' said Aragorn.

'Then we will make it all the more bitter for those who wish to sour our tables!' Éomer enthused, for the taste of conflict had come upon his tongue and he was eager to draw near his enemies. For too long had the horselord been constrained to boat decks and statesmanship; he longed for a more active role.

But such an opportunity was not to be afforded him, for the Southrons were wise, and sought to avoid the Alcarindur and its kingly warriors. They aligned in column and drove towards the easternmost vessels, swiftly and near-effortlessly breaking the Gondorians' formation. In moments, the first Southron detachment was secured. A furious tumult roiled in the dim light of evening. Tiny arcs of fire grew more distinct against the gathering darkness. Sailors upon neighbouring ships sent volleys in aid, but could not abandon their positions, which were all that stood between the Southron dromunds and their advancing further upriver towards Pelargir and beyond. It would be a short and futile battle, it seemed.

Then a horn, a horn! The sweet sound of the silver horn of Dol Amroth cut through the air, giving the Southrons pause. At once, the Gondorians seized upon this opening and laid ruin to the detachments, sending a large number of Corsairs tumbling into the waters of Anduin.

Through the forest of sable lateen sails appeared those of deep blue, emblazoned with distinctive white swans. As many as the Gondorian and Southron ships combined were the Dol Amrothinian numbers. They filled the channel, preventing the Southrons' retreat and drawing them from fore to aft in a desperate attempt to defend against this newly-arrived threat. Quickly abandoning their arrows, the Southrons made use of more substantial fire orbs, though the Swan Fleet – having so recently left port – were wholly prepared with sandbags soaked in vinegar.

Even as Aragorn's beleaguered troops continued to battle what few Southrons still assailed them, a tiny dinghy slipped unobserved through the black dromunds and pulled up alongside the Alcarindur. At a short sound blast from his horn, the messenger was welcomed aboard – yet this time the leaders were far too preoccupied to insist on removing to the aftcastle. Aragorn, Éomer, and Bardlorn all stood about the bold young lad, impatient for what news he brought.

'Hail King Arago—' he began.

'Yes, yes, what is it?' Éomer interrupted, in no mood for formal introductions.

'Prince Imrahil insists you continue up the Anduin,' said the boy. 'He would like to assure you the Swan Fleet is capable of detaining and overcoming these enemy forces; you are needed more urgently in the north. We will follow soon after, when we prevail here.'

Aragorn did not waste one moment.

'Let us set sail at once,' he said, not so much as waiting for the others' response – though he spoke the sentiments of all. The young messenger slipped back over the side of Alcarindur and down into his own boat, disappearing once more into the melee. Bardlorn waved a signal to Maeron, and his horn's rallying blare sounded above their heads, calling for the northern fleet to turn and advance towards Pelargir.