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helm’s deep 687
of the East. And away in the North-west there seemed to
be another darkness brooding about the feet of the Misty
Mountains, a shadow that crept down slowly from the
Wizard’s Vale.
Gandalf dropped back to where Legolas rode beside
Éomer. ‘You have the keen eyes of your fair kindred,
Legolas,’ he said; ‘and they can tell a sparrow from a finch a
league off. Tell me, can you see anything away yonder
towards Isengard?’
‘Many miles lie between,’ said Legolas, gazing thither and
shading his eyes with his long hand. ‘I can see a darkness.
There are shapes moving in it, great shapes far away upon
the bank of the river; but what they are I cannot tell. It is not
mist or cloud that defeats my eyes: there is a veiling shadow
that some power lays upon the land, and it marches slowly
down stream. It is as if the twilight under endless trees were
flowing downwards from the hills.’
‘And behind us comes a very storm of Mordor,’ said
Gandalf. ‘It will be a black night.’
As the second day of their riding drew on, the heaviness
in the air increased. In the afternoon the dark clouds began
to overtake them: a sombre canopy with great billowing edges
flecked with dazzling light. The sun went down, blood-red
in a smoking haze. The spears of the Riders were tipped with
fire as the last shafts of light kindled the steep faces of the
peaks of Thrihyrne: now very near they stood on the northernmost
arm of the White Mountains, three jagged horns
staring at the sunset. In the last red glow men in the vanguard
saw a black speck, a horseman riding back towards them.
They halted awaiting him.
He came, a weary man with dinted helm and cloven
shield. Slowly he climbed from his horse and stood there
a while gasping. At length he spoke. ‘Is Éomer here?’ he
asked. ‘You come at last, but too late, and with too little
strength. Things have gone evilly since Théodred fell. We
were driven back yesterday over the Isen with great loss;