Crude paddles dipped into the harbour of Umbar. Both Inglor and Haleth were swathed in dark cloaks to better blend into the surrounding night. The moon had not yet risen and the strange, southern stars glittered like brilliant gems in the velvet blackness of the sky. Haleth knew their glimmering light would reflect in Inglor's eyes. She had spent more than enough time watching him when he was not aware of her scrutiny. Firmly resisting the temptation, to turn around, she squared her shoulders and thrust her paddle into the water.

She did not just want to look upon Inglor simply to admire his beauty. She desperately wanted to turn to him for strength and reassurance. Memories and self-doubt assailed her from every side and she half wished Ossë would send a tidal wave to swallow every ship in the harbour of Umbar, including her own small craft.

They approached the Raptor, Gimilkar's flagship, from the ocean side of the harbour. The proud vessel stood at anchor, bobbing gently on the harbour waves. If Haleth's information was correct, most of the crew was still ashore while Gimilkar himself was onboard, awaiting a messenger who bore a very powerful gift.

Their small, 'borrowed' crafted pulled along side of the Raptor with no outcry. A purr whispered through the sea air as a grappling hook whirled around Haleth's head. She released the hook and it sailed onto the deck of the Raptor. Inglor and Haleth waited in anxious silence, their faces tilted upwards, for a warning to be called or an arrow to fly at them.

When no attack came, Haleth carefully hauled on the rope until the hook caught. She quickly tested her weight on it. Without a word to Inglor, she scrambled, hand over hand, up the rope while walking up the hull.

She paused at the top, peering anxiously over the Raptor's side. There was no one in evidence. The rower's benches stood empty. There was no one at the wheel. The entire ship gave the impression of being deserted. Mindful that not every threat could be seen, Haleth scrambled over the railing, crouched between the rower's benches and wondered where everyone was.

Her question was answered almost immediately when a square of light pierced the darkness. Someone had opened the low door that led below deck. A dark figure stood outlined against the yellow light of a lantern.

"We trust that you can put the sword to good use." The voice was low and melodic and edged with menace. Haleth's spirit shrieked at the sound of it.  The speaker stepped onto the deck and was immediately joined by a second man.

"Fear not," answered his companion in the pompous, slightly shrill tone that the proud affect when confronted by something they fear. "When the Men of Gondor learn that I carry the Sword of Numenor, they will recognise me as the true heir to their kingdom."

"That may be true for some, Gimilkar, but the Men of Gondor have always had stiff necks. You may have to break a few heads to convince them properly."

"Breaking heads will be no problem with this," Gimilkar said, drawing his sword. The brilliant blade glimmered, deadly sharp, in the starlight.

Haleth, blinded by rage, reached up and tossed the grappling hook away from the side of the ship. It flew over the edge as though there was a weight attached to it. There was a soft splash of something hitting the water. 'This one is mine,' she thought with grim determination. 'I don't want the Elf's help.'

"What was that?" the first man asked at the disturbance of the water.

"Nothing," Gimilkar said dismissively as he examined his new blade. "A fish jumping for its dinner."

"I'm not so certain," the guest said. He approached the place where Haleth was huddled beneath the rower's bench.  Her hand tightened on the hilt of her sword.

"You are just like the Haradrim, Ulfor," Gimilkar sneered. "They fear the Sea as well."

"Caution is not a sign of discomfort, Gimilkar," Ulfor said disdainfully. "Do not allow yourself to become overly confident simply because you hold a piece of metal."

"Do not take that tone of voice with me!" Gimilkar roared. Drawing himself to his full height, he towered over the Easterling and raised the weapon menacingly. The much shorter Ulfor momentarily quailed before him. 

"Mercy, Lord!" Ulfor cried, sinking to one knee, his hand tugging on the hem of Gimilkar's tunic. The Easterner's arrogance had vanished in the face of Gimilkar's powerful, immediate threat.

The Lord of the Corsairs sneered down at the Easterling, then snorted dismissively and sheathed his sword. "Stand," he said, raising the man to his feet.

"My Lord is merciful," Ulfor simpered.

"Indeed," Gimilkar agreed grandly. "But do not forget yourself again!"

"No, my Lord." Ulfor bowed deeply. Both men went to the side of the ship facing the city. Ulfor swung himself over the side and climbed down a ladder to the small boat that awaited him.  Gimilkar watched him descend, his cloak thrown back so that his hand rested menacingly on the hilt of his new sword.

No sooner had Ulfor disappeared from view than the grappling hook sailed over Haleth's head. Springing silently to her feet, she deftly caught the rope and swung it so that the metal prongs flew back from whence they had come.

Gimilkar stood with his back to Haleth, watching his unappreciated benefactor make his slow way back to shore. Haleth, in turn, tried to decide what to do next.

Her best course of action was to wait until Gimilkar went to his quarters and then to abscond with his new weapon while he slept.

The simple, elegant plan was immediately ruined when the door opened again. A man, bent almost double, slouched through it.

Without a word he approached Gimilkar, carrying himself with obsequious excitement.

"My Lord?" he enquired nervously.

"Give the signal, Zimramul," Gimilkar barked. "We leave for Pelagir as soon as the men are onboard. The rest of the fleet awaits us at sea."

He paused for dramatic effect.

"I will be the King of Gondor before the next cycle of the moon."

"Yes, my King." Zimramul bowed and scuttled to the back of the ship, Haleth slinking after him in the shadows. Gimilkar's announcement severely curtained the amount of time she had to retrieve the sword; even if she managed to successfully stow away on the Raptor and then take the blade without being caught, there was the little matter of getting back to dry land. Her plans had to be changed from a vague, optimistic outline to completely flying by the seat of her pants. Haleth stifled a weary sigh. It had to be Inglor’s fault. This sort of thing had never happened to her until he had shown his handsome face. Now it happened all of the time. She observed that he had once again conveniently disappeared at the exact moment she needed him, conveniently forgetting that she was responsible for his absence.

Zimramul climbed onto the rear deck of the ship where the tiller stood. The tall, thin man was bent over what appeared to be a very thick arrow, fumbling with something. Haleth edged closer behind him, peering over his shoulder as the man grumbled nervously under his breath.

"This is no time to behave this way. Mustn't keep his Lordship waiting. If this succeeds, I'll have a fief of my own but if I'm not quick, he'll gut me with that new toy of his."

He gave a satisfied grunt as a spark flared to life.

Haleth, throwing a silent apology in Zimramul's direction, brought the hilt of her knife down on his unsuspecting head. The man sighed and toppled over.  As he fell he extinguished the fire he had taken such pains to start.

That took care of part of Haleth's problem; the Corsairs would not be summoned until the signal was sent.  Now she need only wrest the sword away from Gimilkar while he was awake and very much aware of her presence.

Drawing her dark cloak more tightly around her, Haleth made her silent way back towards Castamir's heir. There was some small chance he would be so engrossed in imagining his coronation in Minas Tirith that he would not notice her taking the sword from his person. The outlandish idea almost seemed possible. Gimilkar was still standing where Zimramul had left him, staring at the lights of Umbar.

Haleth soundlessly descended the ladder and wondered if Inglor would arrive and help to subdue Gimilkar.

Neither possibility was to be. Gimilkar, roused from his dreams of grandeur, addressed Haleth as she approached him.

"Why did you not send the signal?" he demanded. "Do you still not know how to start a fire?"

Haleth cringed dramatically in imitation of Zimramul's behavior. If she could get just a few steps closer, she could reach the sword.

Apparently the show of fear was not convincing enough.

"Halt!" Gimilkar's voice was low but commanding. "Who are you?"

Haleth glanced quickly along the deck, hoping for some sign of Inglor. In typical fashion, the Elf was nowhere to be seen.

"It doesn't matter who I am," she said, throwing off the encumbering cloak. "I have come for the sword. Please give it to me and I'll be away without any unpleasantness."

Gimilkar studied her in silent incredulity.

Then he threw back his head and laughed.  It was a most unpleasant sound and stirred an ancient, evil memory in the back of Haleth’s mind.

"Now I can die saying that I have seen all things," he chuckled. "I am not about to give you anything, except maybe a bath in the harbour. How did you get on to my ship?"

"That doesn't matter, either," Haleth said, extending her left hand. "Please just give me the sword."

Gimilkar's' face twisted into a nasty smile.

"Try to take it," he laughed.

~*~

Without aid of a rope, a soaking wet Inglor made his way up the Raptor’s hull. Haleth had deliberately thrown the grappling hook over the side twice. He had no reason to believe a third attempt would yield any different results. It was a tortuous climb, even for the elf, as the Corsairs were able shipwrights. There were barely chinks and cracks for even his elvish fingers to use.

He silently wished that Haleth was a little less proud. His offers of help were never meant to diminish her, but she always took them as a personal insult. Inglor was desperately worried that one day her stubborn pride would be the death of her.

The faint sounds of a conversation drifted down to his sensitive ears.

"Try to take it," a man's voice said. His tone promised grievous bodily harm.

"Why all the fuss over a sword? It's just a piece of metal." Haleth asked in a mild tone that Inglor immediately recognised.

"Just a..." the man sputtered.

Inglor heard the unmistakable, metallic ring of a blade being drawn from its sheath.

"This," the man said proudly. "Is the Sword of Numenor, Aranruth, which was carried by Thingol, King of Doriath in the Elder Days. As his descendant and rightful heir, I claim the right to this blade!"

"I am sorry to inform you that both Doriath and Anadûnê have sunk beneath the waves. Perhaps you have an arrangement to bring them back?" Haleth asked calmly as Inglor tried to make better speed. "Even if you did there are those in line to rule before you."

"Your current knowledge of geography is lacking," the man sneered. "Gondor still exists and I am her rightful King! The Stewards who rule in Minas Tirith are not descended from Elendil."

"I know of Gondor," Haleth said tranquilly. "But I was not speaking of the Stewards. If you willingly give me the sword, I will see it gets to its proper place."

"Draw your weapon!" he shouted. "I'll never let it be said that I slew a youth who could not defend himself."

There was a pause, then the cold ring of a sword sliding from its sheath.

"What sword is that?" the man asked, curious in spite of himself.

"One I found someplace," Haleth said dismissively. "It's amazing what you can find if you know where to look."

"Then look upon your death," the man said, menacingly.

"I've seen it," Haleth shrugged. "It was far more impressive than you."

There was a wordless cry of anger, followed immediately by the clash of metal striking metal and the pounding of feet upon the wooden deck.

Inglor pulled himself to the top of the railing to see Haleth and a man who could only be Gimilkar, locked in a deadly dance. Unwilling to shout and cause a fatal distraction, he waited and watched with terrified admiration as Haleth attacked, parried, riposted and attacked once again. Inglor had to admit that it was an impressive display of swordplay and not something of which he had though her capable.

Gimilkar pressed his attack, believing he had an advantage. Haleth retreated from his furious onset, barely parrying the blows. Without warning she lunged forward, the point of her sword aimed directly at her opponent’s heart. At the last instant Gimilkar brought his sword down and hastily backed away. Haleth's blade grazed his forearm, drawing blood.

"First blood," she said, retreating while Gimilkar briefly examined the wound. "Why not save both of us the trouble and give me the blade now?"

"If you want the sword, you can have it!" Gimilkar cried, lunging wildly at her.

"Handing it to me would be preferable," Haleth murmured as she deflected his thrust and stood to one side so that he charged by her. She slapped his backside with the flat of her blade as he rushed past.

The indignity annoyed Gimilkar sufficiently to remind him of his technique.

He whirled around, seething with anger and wounded pride, to find Haleth grinning insouciantly at him.

"You will pay for your insolence," he said, his voice deadly quiet, saluting her with his sword.

Haleth raised her own blade in formal acknowledgement of the challenge.

The two foes circled each other slowly, swords at the ready, each attempting to read the other's intentions.

Gimilkar lunged without warning and Haleth, hard-pressed to defend herself, was driven backwards towards the oarsmen's benches. Metal chimed against metal in a deadly song.

A dark stain spread across Haleth's tunic where Gimilkar’s blade had found his mark. Her blood spilt onto the deck in thick pools.

Aranruth glowed with cold anger in the starlight as Gimilkar advanced upon her. Haleth’s blade shone with equal fury.  It was as if both swords recalled some other, ancient battle and were fighting it once again.

Inglor prepared to draw his own sword when Gimilkar, taking advantage of a gap in Haleth's guard, drove forward with the point of his sword. The Elf rushed forwards, certain that he was witnessing the last moment of Haleth's life while he was too far away to be of any help.

At the last possible moment, Haleth's sword sliced crosswise and upwards, forcing Aranruth wide and away from her. Before Gimilkar could recover, she chopped her blade downwards, slicing deeply across his upper arm.

The Corsair moaned in surprise and pain. Aranruth fell to the deck.

"What are you waiting for?" he growled, clutching his arm, blood pouring over his fingers. "Finish it."

Haleth laughed ruefully.  She gave him an ironic salute with her sword before kicking Aranruth's hilt so that the blade slid across the deck.

"Very well," she said, sheathing her own sword. Turning her back on Gimilkar, she hurried to retrieve the Sword of Numenor.

Shouts rang across the water. The disturbance aboard the Raptor had been noted and Gimilkar's men were coming to their Lord's aid.

In her rush, Haleth, who had been the picture of grace and agility up to this time, slipped in a puddle of her own blood. She slid forward, her arms cartwheeling wildly in the air, and landed on her backside with an ignominious thump. She remained there for a moment, winded and blinking, seemingly forgetting Gimilkar.

Inglor, still unnoticed, was directly beside Gimilkar when the Corsair drew a wicked, jagged knife and prepared to throw it at Haleth's unsuspecting back. With a carefully calculated amount of force, the Elf brought the hilt of his sword down on Gimilkar's head. The Corsair sighed and collapsed, just as Haleth picked up Aranruth.

The dull thump Gimilkar's body hitting the deck brought Haleth back to her immediate surroundings.

"Hello, Inglor," she said weakly. "What took you so long?"

"I had trouble getting onboard," he explained, stepping over Gimilkar to help her.

She offered Aranruth to him as he helped her to her feet. "I think you should take this," she said faintly. "It doesn't seem to care for me."

"Half a minute," Inglor murmurred calmly. With preternatural speed, he removed the scabbard from Gimilkar's belt, examined it quickly, then shuddered and dropped it.

"I'll just have to carry it like this," he told Haleth as he wrapped his free arm around her waist and helped her to the far side of the ship. The first of the smaller boats had almost reached the Raptor. The angry shouts of the Corsairs, calling Gimilkar's name rang in the night air.

"Did you think to secure our boat?" Haleth asked her companion.

"No," Inglor replied, the slightest hint of annoyance in his fair voice. "I did not have a rope."

"But I kept trying to give you one," she said as she peered into the inky blackness. "It's drifted away."

"It is just over there," Inglor said, pointing towards the ocean. "We can reach it."

They both leapt over the railing.