Chapter 11:

The White Tower

After one hundred thousand years, Sauron had finally claimed the White Tower.

Granted it was not the same White Tower erected in Minas Tirith by King Calimehtar as a challenge to his own Barad-dûr in Mordor but it would suffice. The King had built his tower as a beacon of hope, a shining affront to the lord of Mordor that the armies of light would prevail no matter what assault Sauron could hurl at them. Of course, now the city of Minas Tirith, the kingdom of Gondor was a memory and the tower he stood upon now was in fact the Tower of London, sometimes called the White Tower.

Still, Sauron, now David Saeran, took the symbolism for what it was.

Thanks to the Nine, the forces sent to battle them at London Bridge had not only been defeated by their Black Breath but the dragons had seen to it that they received no support from the air. Downed planes burned where they had crashed throughout the city, their demise marked by tendrils of smoke rising into the air in the distance. The watchers had now claimed the Thames, moving up and down the length of the river, killing anyone foolish enough to attempt a crossing at the numerous bridges. Saeran allowed them their play, giving them their just reward after so many millennia forced into hiding, feeding on scraps. Today, his minions would feed.

The trail of destruction that began at Sennen Cove in Cornwall had followed them in their march east, with the cities of Reading, Maidenhead and Hounslow falling to the onslaught of his fell army before they arrived in London itself. Once there, it did not take them long to ensure that city was soon enveloped in the same scourge of fire as the others preceding it. Now London burned as dragon breathe reduced it to a cinder. Its tall buildings ignited like matches, the flame spread quickly to the surrounding buildings, setting ablaze centuries of civilization in a day.

People were scattering in all directions, desperate to escape the carnage once it became clear that the police and the army could do nothing to save them. Roads leading north and southwards were jammed with vehicles, trying to outrun this unlikeliest of enemies, who for many of them until today, existed only in myths. Except these myths had become flesh and were craving blood and meat. The ravenous reach of the host that he had unleashed from the Forbidden Vaults was growing swiftly, pursuing the seemingly inexhaustible source of food.

Saeran did nothing to bring his servants to heel. He wanted them to feast well for they would need the sustenance. As it was, he could feel the presence of the enemy approaching. The elves were coming and they were close, however, Saeran remained unconcerned. His servants were many, not just those released from the vaults but the others he had cultivated over the centuries. Creatures, forced into hiding in the deep places of the world, had waited for so long to be able to answer his call to arms.

In the sky above, Searan could see the dragon’s circling; lording over their mastery of the sky to the terrified Londoners who had yet to become prey to his army of were in the midst of fleeing the city. With a smile, he saw one of the dragons perched atop Big Ben, bellowing its cry of triumph as its saurian neck lifted to the sky and sent a column of flame into the air that parted the clouds above. Its voice rallied the others to do the same and soon the terrible song of the dragon settled over the city like a fine layer of cinder.

They were joined by the Nazgul who travelled the air for a wholly different reason; to watch for the coming of the elves in their fleet of Teleri ships. Through their eyes, he could see the length and breadth of the Thames, the flotsam of dead bodies that had been left in the wake of the Watcher’s feeding frenzy, the detritus of modern civilization in half submerged cars, pieces of clothing and shattered mobile phones. They flew astride their mounts, winged beasts that had been birthed by Melkor at the beginning of the world, older even than dragons. Their wings flapped in great beats as they carried their Nazgul masters, their eyes seeking out any sign of the approaching fleet.

Stepping off the balcony, he retreated into the stairwell that spiraled to the top of Bell Tower, where prisoners of the highest standing were once kept. It was time he attended to the other matter that was as equally important as the task of conquering the free world. In the past, he had always gambled to win without any consideration given to the consequences of loss. Even in recent times, when he had made his bid to retake the world, he was once again thwarted by the children of Gondor and doomed to a prison of flesh in Valinor.

Not this time, this time he would have an escape and his escape would be in the cruelest place imaginable.

Ascending the staircase, he took the path that had been taken by the likes of William Wallace, Charles of Orleans and Elizabeth the First, to reach the cell that was the highest room of the tower. In it, he had placed his unwilling companion, she who wore Luthien’s face but none of her spirit, more valuable to him because of the seed she carried and the instrument upon which he would avenge himself for the trespasses of Isildur, Aragorn Elessar and now Aaron Stone.

Reaching the heavy door, he needed no key to open it. A mere exertion of power and that door swung open as if a strong gust of wind had blown it open. As it slammed against the wall, he saw Eve who was sitting on the wide gap before the large window at the end of the room, shrink into the shadows a little more, perhaps hoping she would remain unseen. She was dressed in a loose dress now, acquired for her when her own clothes had been discarded after his last private visit.

He saw her wiping her cheeks quickly, obviously trying to hide the fact that she had been crying from him before lowering her hands to envelope her swollen belly, a futile attempt to protect the baby in her belly. The proud defiance was gone from her features though he still saw sparks of it in her eyes. He suspected that until he laid her husband’s body in front of her, cold and lifeless, he would not be able to drive from her the hope of rescue.

“Why are you doing this?” She asked disturbed by what she was seeing outside her window, the city of London in ruins with so much blood spilt it could be scented on the wind, along with the smoke.

“I believed we’d already discussed this,” he commented before pausing and leaning against the wall, near the window she was perched, “the world of men gone, burnt to a cinder as it should have been in the Third age.”

“You could do anything,” she shook her head, thinking that if perhaps understood the monster, maybe there was a way out of this for her and her baby. “Why destroy it? You’ve got more than enough power to rule the world.”

The conversation spark a hint of amusement in him for it was always a welcome change when she wasn’t whining her captivity or hurling impotent threats at him for what he and his army were doing.

“We all have our parts to play in destiny,” he said enigmatically. “The time of the Eldar and the Edain is coming to an end. The world changes to suit whatever comes next and this time I intend to shape that outcome. Humans are paranoid and reactionary, what they will do to fight me will ruin this Earth far more effectively than anything my dragons or Nazgul could ever conjure. All I have to do is to frighten them enough and it will unfold as I will it.”

Inwardly Eve cringed because he was right. She knew what humans were like. The last two years in the company of elves had taught her to look at her race with fresh eyes. For all their advancements, humans had evolved little. They still fought over things that ought to be shared, allowed borders and petty rivalries to lead to the bloodiest battles and remained ignorant to each other’s suffering. Why couldn’t Saeran succeed in his plan if he threatened them enough?

She was still pondering these thoughts when suddenly she felt a stab of pain lanced through her belly. There was a brief flash of clarity before the agony took her, when she realized what he was doing and shot him a look of pleading mercy, even though she knew she’d get nothing from him. The pain drove her off the window ledge, to the floor until she was on her hands and knees, staring up at him like a dog.

“No…” she started to whimper, “not again.”

And for the second time since this nightmare had begun, Eve found herself screaming.

She screamed so loudly that the sound penetrated the walls of the tower and caused the wargs currently occupying the compound of the Royal Fusiliers Museum to howl with her, as if they could feel their master’s evil power in her tortured voice. The agony wracking her body was as excruciating as before but now, her strength weakened she could hold nothing back. There was no pride left in her for even an obligatory attempt to maintain her composure.

Inside her womb, she could feel her son’s pain as Saeran’s unnatural power assaulted his tiny body. His pain caused her more anguish than the agony that what she was experiencing herself. What was he thinking? Was there enough awareness in him to understand what was happening or did he simply feel and nothing else? She wanted to soothe his hurts and yet she couldn’t even help herself. Half screaming and half pleading, what ability was left in her mind to think forced to concede that she may have to promise him anything, that she would have to surrender to Saeran for mercy. For her child, she would do anything.

In no way that science could even explain, Eve knew her child was terrified, that within her womb, her baby, innocent and unknowing was crying out in pain. His little mouth making soundless cries as his tiny body continued to develop at an alarming rate, the natural development of his body accelerated by Saeran’s power. As he grew faster, her belly continued to swell, inflating like a balloon. She could feel her abdomen distending, cramping, clenching against the power that was shaping her like a figure of clay, protesting against the magic that was hastening her baby’s birth.

Once again, she lay in filth of vomit and urine, unable to exert any control over her bodily functions in the midst of this torture. Humiliated and broken, Eve’s pain was such that she had completely forgotten that she was not alone in her cell. Saeran watched her dispassionately. He saw no pleasure in her agony as this was a task to be performed, the way the men who worked in an abattoir viewed the cows they were forced to slaughter. It was a necessary evil.

While Saeran wouldn’t consider what he was doing to Eve McCaughley evil, it was necessary for his ultimate revenge.

Eve had not fallen unconscious this time, perhaps because she was becoming inured to the pain but she couldn’t decide if this was a blessing or a curse. When the pain ended, she collapsed against the hard floor, panting hard, sobbing in despair at her cruel circumstance. She couldn’t let this continue, couldn’t let him turn her baby into a slave or worst yet a monster. She shuddered as she wept, oblivious to him, wishing her hate could become tangible and strangle the smug bastard where he stood.

“I think that will be all for now,” he said finally, tired of the screaming.

It was such a pity, he found himself thinking, not for the first time, that she had not inherited Luthien’s sweet siren voice. The memory of the lady’s song when he ruled Tol-in-Gaurhoth, the Isle of Werewolves had been one of the few memories he had that could be considered pleasant. Perhaps it was also part of the reason why Eve was still alive.

“Leave me alone you bastard!” She hissed, spitting out the words like venom.  As she tried to hug her knees to her chest, Eve discovered with fresh horror that she couldn’t. She knew that he was warping her body to shape his own needs but until now hadn’t realised how much. She didn’t look like she was two months or even five months pregnant any more; she looked like she was seven or eight. Her body was ripened, its fruit almost ready to be picked.

“Oh God,” she gasped at the realization, sobbing fresh tears. “Please,” she met his gaze, desperate for any kind of clemency. “No more, I’m begging you no more.”

He would have smiled but gloating seemed followed at the moment. Instead, he said brusquely as he started to leave the room, his back to her as he spoke, “I trust you will be able to attend to yourself this time?”

Eve let out a cry of frustration and rage, shouting after him. “BASTARD!”

XXXXXXX

BILLINGSGATE FISH MARKET

EAST LONDON

It was hard to believe the building with the stately appearance overlooking the Thames with domed ceilings and ornate architecture was actually home to one of London’s oldest institutions, the Billingsgate Fish Market, however, that was precisely what it was. On a good day, the courtyard outside the building fronting the river would be filled with fish mongers selling their wares in barely hygienic stalls, with the salty stench of the sea wafting through the place and clinging to the clothes of all comers.

For the beast called Draugluin, made whole upon his release from the Forbidden Vaults, it was a moment to rejoice as he feasted on the bodies of the freshly killed with his wolf brothers and distant cousins, the wargs. They had moved across this place like a scourge, quickly overtaking the fleeing men and women who had tried vainly to escape their jaws. There was a symphony of screams whose song was as sweet anything sung by an elf as Draugluin, led his people to the feasting that came with slaughter.

Some had leapt into the water, trying to escape the death of crushing jaws only to fine that the river was no safer. The Watchers were happy to claim any food that was within its reach. The ground ran red with spilled blood as they hunted, stalked and brought down the prey. The race of men had always provided the best sport for they were more delightful to hunt than any creature and the meat just as tasty.

Draugluin moved through the killing floor, his paws as big as plates, his bulk the size of a small elephant and as he passed his brethren, some of whom were shaking their prey by the necks as if needing proof of death, his muscles made his russet pelt shimmer under the sunlight. He thought with some acrimony that when he had been killed by Beren, it was his pelt that the hero had taken and the thought made his blood boil, made him yearn for a fresh taste of man flesh. He needed the taste of blood to wash away the taste of that indignity.

A woman screamed and Draugluin the father of werewolves turned to see that somehow one female had escaped, she was making for the water and the great beast bared his teeth in the semblance of a smile and launched himself upon her. His paw landed on her back, driving her into the concrete ground. Her arms and legs struggled until his weight crushed her spine and by the time he snapped his jaws around her head, she was incapable of offering any resistance. He lifted his great neck and pulled her skull of her shoulders with ease, ending her final scream abruptly. Widening his jaws, he barely chewed as he swallowed her head down his throat.

Suddenly, a shadow fell over him and Draugluin reared his head to the sky to see Morgul astride Gnash, hovering over him. The beast retreated as did the other wolves feeding, clearing a space for the Witch King to descend. The winged creature touched upon the ground, its wide wings folding neatly to its sides as its master beckoned Draugluin to come forward with fingers encased in amour.

Draugluin snorted, his nostrils flaring annoyance at the summons but stepped forward nonetheless. His yellow eyes narrowing as he stared at Sauron’s chief lieutenant. “What is it you will of me, Nazgul?” He asked, sounding more like the uneasy tremor of the earth than a voice speaking its mind.

“Are you happy to grow fat with easy prey or would you care to undertake some business for me?”

“For you?” Draugluin retorted, his brow furrowing at the question.

“For me…yes,” Morgul answered, his voice a hiss. “The children of the shield bitch are on these shores. When the time comes, having them in our power will make her bend to our will like the whore she is. Bring them to me, alive and unharmed and I will let you feed on a ring bearer when our victory is complete.”

Of course Morgul had ulterior motives that lay closer to home but there was no need for Draugluin to know this. What was required of the hound was obedience.

A ring bearer, Draughlin’s ears twitched in interest. Child flesh was tender enough but a child that was a ring bearer? That was an especial treat, one that Draugluin was happy to entertain. His mouth watered at the thought, clear rivulets of saliva hung pendulously from his jaws.

“How do I find them? I must have scent to track.”

“Return the way we came,” Morgul continued to instruct. “Retrace our destruction and you will find their scent, journeying northwards.”

“How can you know this?” Draugluin asked and then again, decided he should have known better than to ask. The Nazgul and the master had their ways of gathering intelligence.

“Our allies are more than just the beasts of the Forbidden Vaults. There are creatures here in Arda that are willing to share in our victory. Carrion eaters who know that war makes for plentiful feeding are our eyes and ears. They speak of the children being taken to the lands of the north. Do as I instruct and you will find them.”

“And if I encounter others who are our enemies?” The greatest of the werewolves asked.

“If you must ask the question that you are not the hunter of legend,” Morgul taunted.

Draugluin snorted once again in contempt and replied with a growl now that the compact was agreed upon. “It will be done.”

Gnash’s wings extended outward, flapping once again, extending to its full span before it let out a screech that made the wolves howl back in response. A second flap and it was airborne, with Morgul’s robes flowing along the sides of the beast. Draugluin watched rider and beast soar into the sky, rejoining the other wraiths who had had taken mastery of the sky, now that he’d been given new instructions to follow.

“Remember,” Morgul warned once more in parting, “they are no use to me dead.”

“I know my duty,” Draugluin retorted and then turned to his brothers and summoned them forth in a roar loud enough to shatter glass in unbroken windows. Fragments few in all directions as the wolves approached him and he delivered his demands in sharp barks that conveyed Morgul’s instructions.

And with that, Draugluin set off with his pack, embarking on a hunt, ready for the kill.

Ready to feast upon a ring bearer.

XXXXXXX

“That’s impossible,” Aaron declared after hearing Lori Hill’s story about what she’d seen in the town of Exeter after she had been forced to make an emergency ejection from her fighter over that town.

They were on the motorway, having left Exeter behind and flanking Taunton on route to London. The multi-lane road was devoid of cars and there was nothing on the radio. Whatever power Searan had used to interfere with communication, it seemed to be continuing the closer they reached the capital. Ahead of them, the clouds were grey and heavy, threatening to rain but not quite managing. Yet there was an eerie stillness in the air likened to the sharp intake of breath before a scream.

Lori had related experience in Exeter, how she’d seen the Nine and Saeran leaving the ruined town, taking with them their terrible army of darkness. Most of what she had revealed came as no surprise to any of the SUV’s occupants save one detail.

“It can’t be Eve,” Aaron insisted. “She’s barely six weeks pregnant.”

“The woman I saw wasn’t six weeks,” Lori retorted, unable to forget how terrified the poor woman had been. Her pale skin was almost white with fear. Lori had recalled feeling terribly helpless as she watched the robed Nazgul as she now understood they were called, ferrying her away on those winged monsters. “She was at least five months pregnant.”

“Well then it can’t be Eve,” Aaron retorted, aware that they were talking in a circle. He’d been relieved at first when Lori described a woman with Saeran and the Nine who had to be Eve but the last part of her description was impossible which made he question where was Eve, if this wasn’t her.

“What did she look like again?” Eric asked once more, wanting to get the truth for Aaron’s sake. The doctor looked like he was about to lose his head.

“I told you,” Lori frowned, unable to tell whether or not she had named the right person with her description “She was very pretty, really dark hair, blue eyes and great skin. You know the creamy, supermodel kind.”

“Aaron,” Legolas tried to reason with his friend though he knew his words would do little to comfort Aaron. “I do not understand how this can be but the lady’s description does resemble Eve. Furthermore, the possibility that Sauron would have discarded Eve for another woman with child appears to be remote and highly improbable. As impossible as it is…”

“It is Eve,” Fred spoke for the first time, confirming everyone’s worst fears.

“You must be strong Aaron, the enemy had quickened your child’s growth in her belly for his dark purpose.”

Lori was looking at the faces of the people with her and wondered what kind of insanity she had wandered into. However, after everything she’d seen thus far, what with dragons, dark robed specters on flying monsters, insanity seemed the order of the day. Still none of it was as unnerving as listening to this little girl who spoke in the voice of someone far older, revealing truths that she couldn’t possibly know yet felt right nonetheless.

“Dear God,” Miranda whispered, stabbed to her maternal core by the horror of Saeran meddling with a baby’s growth while still in the womb. “We have to get away from that animal.” Her mind was still filled with the terrible sound of bone snapping when Saeran took Tory’s life. She had felt so helpless then and she felt helpless now.

Aaron couldn’t breathe. The walls of the car felt like they were contracting around him. He was struggling not to lose his calm but knowing that his wife was being tortured by Saeran and worse yet, his child was being twisted inside her body, made it almost too much to bear. He could hear his friends trying to speak words of comfort but there was none to be had, not when Eve was still in Saeran’s power and now something was happening to the baby too?

“Why?” He managed to ask, not expecting an answer. Whatever force was occupying the little girl’s body seemed to offer intelligence in dribs and drabs but Aaron took what he could or else he’d end up screaming.

“Because he wants to make you suffer,” Bryan spoke for the first time. “He wants the baby born before you die so you can see it, so you die knowing he’s won.”

“Jesus,” Aaron whispered, his face turning ashen because Bryan was right. There was no other reason for Saeran’s actions other than spite. He wanted to kill the bastard, murder the son of a bitch with his hands. Aaron had never wanted to kill anything in his life as much as he wanted David Saeran dead.

“Alright enough,” Frank spoke sharply, reminding everyone that some delicacy needed to be shown because Aaron’s fears were getting out of control and it would not take much to send him over the edge. “The best way to help Eve is to reach her.”

Suddenly, Fred’s head snapped sharply to the rear window, her blue eyes staring down the road they had left. “STOP!”

Her cry made Bryan jam his foot on the brake causing everyone inside the vehicle to be jostled forward and then back again.

“What…what is it?” He demanded anxious, the car still stationery as he stared at Fred in question at her sudden outburst.

“Are you people completely crazy?” Lori declared, unable to keep up with everything that was taking place around her. However, no one appeared to be eager to answer her as they seemed to be taking their cues from the little girl. Another weird thing she couldn’t figure out.

“Just take it easy,” Eric tried to placate the woman, appreciating that an outsider might have difficulty following anything they were saying right now. The woman was being dropped into this cold and Eric, who was used to all the strangeness had to admit, they were taking in a lot in a short time.

Fred looked to Miranda and for the first time, her features were devoid of the calm they had been accustomed to seeing in her since departing Valinor. In fact, her expression was anxious and disturbed. “Your children are in danger.”

“What?” Miranda exclaimed, her heart starting to pound as she thought of Sam and Pip in the arms of that monster again. “What do you mean?”

“The Witch King sends him minions after the Ring bearer,” Fred answered and looked Miranda in the eye. “He’s still fears you, even if you are no longer the shield maiden of Rohan. He still fears that at the moment of his greatest triumph at his master’s side, you have it in your power to destroy him, that weakness he cannot abide. Thus he seeks to gain your subservience by capturing your children.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Frank retorted, maintaining his composure even though he was no less alarmed than Miranda at this sudden turn of events. However, Frank had learnt that he had to be the voice of reason when his wife was not. “Bryan, first car we see, stop. Miranda and I are going after them.” He spoke with a tone that broke no argument from anyone in the SUV.

“Alone?” Bryan shot his brother a look of alarm. Frank wasn’t a fighter, not the way Miranda was and there was no telling what that damn Nazgul had sent after his nephews. “You don’t know what it’s sent after the kids…”

“We don’t have a choice,” Frank cut him off because there was no argument that Bryan could make that would have him or Miranda stay behind. When it came to their children, there was no such thing as sense. “We’re going to get our children, one way or another.”

*****

If someone had told Detective Sergeant Gerald McInnes a week ago that he’d be battling monsters in front of a fish and chip shop in Bermondsey Wall, he have thought they were barmy. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen his share of monsters in this job. After ten years as a policeman, he encountered all manner of villains, pedophiles, rapists, thieves and murderers. He’d come face to face with the depths of human ugliness and he coped with it by retreating to his little house in Blackheath, potter about the garden and all would be right with the world again.

Unfortunately after today, he’d have to spend a year in his garden before he was able to feel that safe again.

The last twelve hours had seemed like something a nightmare.

All through the day, they’d been hearing reports of something approaching from Cornwall. It was all jumbled mess really. Telephones weren’t working, radios spat out some nonsense about flying creatures that were downing airplanes and they’d thought it was some kind of a joke, like the sort that Orson Wells pulled on the Americans during that fabled War of the Worlds broadcast. Then there were people flooding into London from the west, evacuating on mass, fleeing from burning cities with stories of a monster army that was slaughtering everyone in sight.

Large spiders, wolves the size of bears, goblin men and giant trolls, wielding maces and blades, cutting down civilians, eating them as they moved through the countryside, led by dragons the size of 747s, breathing fire and oh…Dementors. At first the authorities had thought that this was the result of mass hysteria caused by the anguish of the Harry Potter series coming to an end. It was easy to discount such things as rubbish until the proof presented itself in a way that could not be denied.

What had happened on London Bridge was not mass hysteria. Gerald had seen it from Potter’s field Park and after that, he was a believer. How could he be anything but? Leviathans had risen out of the river, massive things with too many tentacles, with maws edged with sharp, terrible teeth. He watch people desperately trying to escape, only to be turned to a cinder by the dragons’ fiery breath, washing the length of the bridge with a flame so intense that nothing could escape. Those who hadn’t died there had been snatched off the bridge by the leviathans, taken screaming into the Thames, leaving a pool of a red where they’d disappeared.

The F-35 fighter jets had been called into attack but there was no contest. The dragons picked apart their planes like they were toys, hurling them to earth like a child throwing away and unwanted toys and Gerald remembered the horror of watching those fighters flying into his city, a trail of fire and smoke following them until a fireball marked their crash sites across the city, creating more destruction and death.

Then the monster army from the west entered London, like a two pronged attack and Gerald didn’t even know they were attack. The army was called in. He’d seen trucks with soldiers from the British Army and even those SAS blokes going to meet the creatures. He’d seen none of this at first, his duties requiring him to evacuate the city. However, it was soon evident that the soldiers were no match for whatever was coming. There was talk of the Dementors being able to turn soldiers mad and in their madness, the horde of hellish creatures devoured them with ease.

In a matter of hours, London was over run. With telephone lines down and communications disrupted, it was difficult knowing if reinforcements were coming. After all, this was the heart of the British Empire, it could not simply fall right? Gerald didn’t know but when he saw the creatures moving through the streets, killing everything in sight, he knew that it was no longer possible to ponder such questions. In an effort not seen since the Blitz, London’s tattered civil defense services moved into action.

The first business was to get everyone out.

They’d let the army deal with the creatures and focus on evacuating.

“Come on! Come on!” Gerald shouted at the constables who were ushering frightened civilians into a lorry they’d commandeered for the evacuation. A few streets away, Gerald could hear screaming and growls. Another slaughter was on approach and Gerald didn’t know if he wanted to face what it was doing the killing. As it was, his gaze kept touching the sky, trying to keep a vigil for the dragon, fearful they’d see the big shiny lorry and get in their mind to take a look because that would only follow an incineration.

“I’m hurrying as fast as I can!” hollered Constable Janine Harris, who was helping an elderly man into the back tray of the lorry.

“Well work faster,” Gerald demanded, glancing anxiously at the sky again. Gerald checked the AR-15 in his hand and turned to the other five policemen from his station. “Resh! See anything?”

Constable Kumaresh who was keeping an eye on the other end of the street, shook his head beneath the riot gear helmet he was wearing. “Nothing yet Sarge,” he answered. “But lots of a noise though. We better get a move on quickly.”

“No shit,” Nicols, another one of his men grumbled. Nicols stood at six foot four and looked rather formidable in his riot gear, armed to the teeth with all the guns they could carry and yet, Gerald could sense the anxiety in his voice. Nicols had fought in the Falkland Wars and did a stint in Kuwait. When he got scared, you knew you had to worry.

Constable Kai Chong, whose parents who’d given him an English first name that they’d thought would help him fit in but misspelled it in his birth certificate, was standing near the front of a butcher’s shop window. Like the rest of his comrades, he was struggling to grasp with the unreality of the situation even though what they’d seen on the telly and with their own eyes was no illusion and there were flesh eating monsters trolling the streets of London today.

He glanced at Janine and thought fleetingly, she looked pretty hot in the riot gear and wondered if she’d like to go out for a drink when this insanity was over. Not that it was just the riot gear that had made him asked the question. She had pretty red hair and sea green eyes that lit up when she laughed. Janine was organizing the civilians into the truck.

“That’s it!” She announced and he was about to answer when something appeared at the rear of his vision.

He swung around just in time to see a large yellow eyes staring at him through the glass a second before it pounced. The creature smashed through the glass, landing on top of him with such force that he was almost knocked out by the weight of its meaty paws on his chest. He closed his fingers around his gun, prepared to shoot when he realised that the weapon had fallen out of his hand…

The last thing he thought as it moved in for the kill, was thinking that he’d should have asked Janine out for a drink before this.

“KAI!” Gerald shouted as he ran forward, firing into the creature’s pelt as the beast took Kai’s head with barely a thought. The bullets tore through its massive bulk and the creature turned its large head towards the remaining police.

“GET GOING JANINE!” Resh ordered Janine and he and Nicols ran to join his sergeant.

“But…” the youngest of them opened her mouth to object but then she saw that there were more creatures emerging through the shop front. These ones were carrying weapons. Thinking about the terrified people who had broken out into cries of fear at the sight of the enemy, waiting for rescue, Janine swore under her breath and hurried to the front of the lorry and climbed behind the wheel.

Unleashing a hail of bullets at the beast, the wolf lunged at him when suddenly, something blew past his ear, coming from the direction of the Thames behind him. For a moment, Gerald wasn’t sure what he was seeing until the arrow slammed into the open mouth of the creature and kept going, striking the concrete behind it. The beast twitched uncomfortably and this halted the progress of the goblin creatures that had spilled out through the shop front.

“What the hell…” Nicols exclaimed.

“GET CLEAR!” The voice that sang out of chaos was unfamiliar yet strong and commanding.

Gerald spun around in confusion, wondering if Central had managed to send some reinforcements. However, whoever had issued that warning was no policeman. It came from a man standing on a boat that was fast nearing the embankment. The boat reminded him of one of those gondola things he’d seen when he’d taken the missus to Venice, except this one was white and its shaped like that of a great swan. It was…beautiful. There was no other word to describe.

The man wasn’t alone. He and his company, Gerald countered at least nine, were wearing amour from medieval days except these didn’t seem rusty or cumbersome. This armor gleamed and when they moved in it, it felt almost fluid. There were shields across their backs, swords hanging at the hip, long broad swords from an age more civilized than this one. They were arming bows, preparing to fire a phalanx of arrows at the enemy. The unreality of the situation made him feel light-headed, made him think that he was dreaming.

Then he remembered Kai, whose headless corpse was still bleeding all over the sidewalk where he’d died and reality returned soon enough. These things may seem improbable but they were here and they were capable of killing.

The goblin creatures, overcoming their shock, were spilling out of the shop front, spreading out across the street. They were barking at each other in a foul sounding language that Gerald couldn’t identify but understood nonetheless. The language of violence was one he understood quite well. They moved like roaches, unsheathing jagged swords and arming their own bows, rushing to keep up with the new arrival’s own preparations.

“GET CLEAR!” The stranger shouted at Gerald again.

By now the lorry full of civilians was speeding away from the scene. Janine doing her job to get the innocents out of the way. Gerald retreated, not about to argue the point when it was clear what was about to happen. Besides, judging by the fear he could see in the eyes of the villains, Gerald wasn’t about to argue and there was more, a sense of trust in the stranger that he couldn’t explain.

The stranger and his ilk looked almost luminous and as he lingered his gaze on them a moment more, something made him want to trust them. It was just like the time he’d sat in church and saw the sunlight peering through the stained glass window, trust that God was in the room, listening.

“Do as he says!” Gerald shouted at Nicols and Resh who were in a similar state of shock as he. His shout jolted the sense back into them as they were able to deal with something tangible, a direct order from a superior.

“You sure?” Nicols looked at him, grapping with similar difficulties about what was happening in front of them but relying on his sarge’s lead to act.

“No,” Gerald answered honestly, retreating out of the way and ensuring that Nicols and Resh were doing the same as these two opposing forces prepared to meet in combat. If they stayed too long, they’d get caught in the middle and Gerald still wasn’t sure whose side the new lot was on. A skip bin sat up against one of the walls and Gerald motioned Resh and Nicols to it, deciding that its large size would provide ample cover. Besides arrows or not, he didn’t want to get caught in the crossfire.

Still on the boat, the new arrivals stood upright and tall, like the statues of ancient warriors. Their arms pulling back the strings of their bows with one hand, while the other stretched forward, bending the limbs of the bow, ready to unleash death upon the enemy. The leader, the one who had ordered Gerald to retreat stood at the head and shouted a command in a language that he did not understand but knew instinctively was old, very old.

"Si!”

The arrows flew through the air, a hail of them that struck the goblin creatures with such force that some were swept off their feet and brought down like the animals they were. A second volley of arrows followed, impaling more of the creatures as the boat reached the stone embankment. The archers wasted no time, leaping gracefully from the embankment onto the pathway beyond it.

This slight delay gave the goblin creatures time to react and they did so, firing arrows in return. The archer moved with speed that Gerald didn’t think was human. Like dancers, they reached behind them, swung the shields above their heads and let the twisted, gnarled arrows bounce harmlessly off them to clatter to the ground.

With the distance between the two groups narrowed, the bow was forgotten and swords were drawn. The swords belonging to the archers gleamed in the sunlight and the light seemed to make their goblin like opponents flinch and recoil. Then they rushed the enemy and for the next few minutes there were screams and gurgles of pains as limbs were hacked off, bodies run through and dark blood splattering across the streets that was for once, not the blood of innocent victims. Gerald and his men simply watched, aware that with their guns, they could have helped put an end to this melee decisively but it almost like intrusion, like their weapons were the unnatural thing here.

Even when they fought, the archers were mesmerizing to watch. Their movements were fluid, their speed so quick that it didn’t seem possible, and when they fought, it was almost like a dance, except that there was only death to follow their performance, not applause. Still, Gerald watched with awe, trying to understand how any of this could be.

Next to him, Resh and Nicols were similarly affected by the scene. The three men knew that they were seeing something incredible but there didn’t seem to know how to articulate it.

“I think I saw this movie…” Resh remarked, not knowing what else to say.

The skirmish ended quickly with the goblins making a run for it when too many of their number had been killed and the victors gave brief chase, felling those who ran off with swift arrows to the backs, letting none of them escape. The leader of the archers swept his gaze across the empty street, wincing when he sighted Kai’s body and walked over to it. He seemed to offer a silent prayer to the dead and the others dropped their head in similar respect for the fallen human. The gesture touched Gerald deeply, they hadn’t known Kai, not like he, Nicols or Resh had but it was nice that they showed grief at his passing.

“You can come out now,” the leader spoke out loud, draping his cloak over the dead body.

The three policemen looked at each other and it was Gerald who gave them silent instruction to remain until he decided if it was really safe or not. Emerging from behind the skip, he approached these strangers who looked like something out of a story book.

“Thank you,” Gerald said softly, glancing at Kai’s dead form.

“He is one of your men,” the stranger asked.

“Yes,” Gerald nodded, “he was a good lad.” Behind him, Nicols and Resh emerged, deciding it was safe now and joined their sergeant at his side.

The stranger nodded and removed his helmet, allowing dark hair to spill around his shoulders, revealing his ears. Gerald spotted the tips immediately and noted the same feature on all the archers. “What are you people?”

Having dealt with a similar reaction from Eve once before, Elladan smiled faintly and introduced him. “I am Elladan, son of Elrond. We are elves.”

“Go on…” Nicols started to declare and then looked at the men closer again, finding hard to find a credible argument after the day he’d had where he’d seen goblins, dragons and sea monsters.

While the rest of the company kept a vigil on the sky, ensuring that they were not set upon by dragons, Elladan addressed the Edain since he was the only one of them who could speak the language. He only hoped that this man, with the graying hair and the craggy face would be as open to reason as Frank and Aaron had been during their first meeting.

“Elves?” Gerald voiced his own disbelief. “Elves?” He repeated himself only because it sounded so bloody insane.

Once again, this was not the first time he had received such a reaction since returning to the world of men. “Is it any more difficult to believe that we are elves in light of what you have seen this day? Today you and your men have learned that the world is a far more mysterious place then you know. There are dark forces a foot my friends, dark forces that are tearing your world apart, if we are to survive this, we must work together.”

Already other boats like the one he’d commanded to the shore had left the fleet and were disembarking to help the Edain combat the creatures that were turning this city in a killing ground.

“I don’t fucking believe this…” Nicols retorted shaking his head.

“Shut it,” Gerald snapped because he had trouble believing it too but the proof was there. The city was under siege and even if the invaders weren’t conventional, he knew that something was happening. Today, he had seen sights he’d never imagined were real. People were dying and no one had any answers until now. Trying to wrap his head around it, he asked the elf (yeah the elf) named Elladan the most obvious question on his mind. He’d deal the ramifications of the answer later on.

“What were those things?” He gestured to the dead goblin like creatures on the ground.

“They are orcs,” Elladan answered, his face curdling in distaste as he spoke. “They serve a master that has come to your world to rule. You have already seen his Watchers and his dragons claim the sky and the sea. He has armies of orcs and other foul creatures that intend to claim the land as well. We have come to help because this matter concerns not just the realm of the Edain but also that of my people.”

“We?” Gerald asked, feeling lost again.

Elladan gestured to the river.

In all his life, Gerald MacInnes would never forget the day he saw the Elves return to the world of men.

An audible gasp escaped him as he saw the great, white ships of the Teleri sailing across the Thames. They were like great birds swimming…no gliding across the water. With graceful swan necks that tapered into the ship’s bow, he saw the shaped wings that made up the side of the ships. It was the most breathtaking thing he’d ever seen. He thought of all the terrible things he’d seen in his life and how his garden had been his balance and now, for the rest of his days, this image would be a symbol of how beautiful the world could be.

XXXXXXXX

The white ships of the Teleri sailed up the breadth of the River Thames, a flotilla that caught the eye of all who saw it. Cirdan, master of the lead ship, saw people on the river banks, watching with mouths agape as the ships of the elves passed them, staring in a mixture of wonder and awe. It was a reaction that he was accustomed to from men, even in the Third Age. He wondered if they thought they were dreaming or perhaps there was a part of them that remembered that once long ago, they shared Arda with races far older than themselves.

Whatever was in their mind, Cirdan could not say. However, when he saw their city being assailed by dragons in the air, with their great towers in flame, the foreboding scent of the innocent slain coupled with the stink of orc, just as it had been at Sennen Cove, it set a flame an unquenchable anger within the heart of the elder elf. Sauron’s power was indeed strong, stronger than it had been during the War of the Last Alliance but Cirdan like Elrond was determined to put an end to him once and for all.

If this was indeed the End of Days and time was diminishing for the Eldar then they would go into Halls of Mandos with their heads held high and with the enemy destroyed once and for all.

Suddenly, the water began to froth ahead of his craft and he knew that the attack that they’d been expecting had finally come. Sauron had finally sent his minions to deal with the Eldar. He did not have to see the beast to know what it was about to assail them. Cirdan had been master of the sea for nearly the entire existence of his people. He knew the fell creature s of Morgoth, particularly the ones who had terrorized the oceans during the dark days of the First Age.

“WATCHER!” He shouted out loud to the elves on the deck. ‘WARN THE FLEET!”

No sooner than he had said those words did he hear the great horn being blown and its trumpet roar bellowed warning to the rest of the fleet. Across the deck of his ship, the rest of his crew were emerging from below, armed with swords, spear and arrow, preparing for battle.

Sure enough, the battle came swiftly when tentacles exploded out of the river, slithering over the deck as the dark beast attached to them lifted itself out of the water, widening the monstrous maw of its mouth in readiness for the feeding. Cirdan did not doubt that this watcher was alone and knew the rest of the creature’s kin would be spreading out to the fleet, launching similar assaults. He drew his blade, prepared to give Sauron’s dark minions and even the dark lord himself, when the moment came, a fight that none would not forget.

The ship shook underneath his feet as the river became violent with the battle raging and he saw bowmen showering the watcher with barrage after barrage of arrows while others hacked at limbs trying to snatch them off the deck. As he stood behind the ship’s wheel, a tentacle came at him, its thick, grey arm trying to snare him. Cirdan waste no time severing it in half and turned his eyes to the front of the boat for a more decisive attack plan.

As expected, he saw other watchers appearing out of the river, carrying out similar assaults on the fleet behind him. Cirdan hoped the rest of the his kin were as prepared for the attack and he hacked away yet another tentacle trying to entangle him, causing a spray of black blood to splattered across the deck from the severed appendage. The creature roared in pain, retracting the severed limb, trailing dark ooze as Cirdan fought his way to the bow, watching with dismay when he saw one of his elves being dragged away screaming into the water.

“USE YOUR HARPOONS!” He heard Elrond shouting to the other ships as he made his way to the front of the ship and pulled away the cover that concealed the weapon he had installed before leaving Valinor, knowing what it was they would fight when they returned to this world. He had ensured that all the remaining Teleri ships were similarly armed.

Wasting no time, Cirdan ignited the wick and stepped back as the black powder within the mechanism was ignited. He covered his ears as the loud boom roared through the air and the harpoon was sent on its way, tipped with mithril to kill not merely watcher but a dragon if it came to that. The harpoon sailed neatly through the air and struck the watcher in the dead centre of its large misshapen skull, the mithril point driving deep into its flesh. The beast howled in agony at the killing blow. Its limbs became slack and as its life drained, it began to sink, its limp tentacles dragging over the deck before being pulled into depths with it.

And for the first time today, the blood that turned the Thames dark was neither elf nor man.

TO BE CONTINUED