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Last Stroke
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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1
Last Stroke

Watchmen on the walls tolled the alarm: a menacing armada foaming against the stream — dromunds, galleys of great draught — black sails bellying in the stiffening breeze.

He took a stand atop a green hillock, letting blow the horns to rally the battle-fit; for he thought to fight there on foot till all fell, though none be left to remember.

His ancient sword he lifted high in stern defiance.

Upon the foremost ship a black standard broke, and the wind displayed it as she turned towards the Havens:

The Red Eye.

The Straight Way now blocked, Círdan faced his people's doom.

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