Chapter Fourteen

The Armies of Light and Dark

COAST OF SIBERIA, KARA SEA

The Siberian coast in winter was as good as its reputation.

Powerful winds moved relentlessly across the glacial plains, whipping the snowfall into a blinding frenzy that only the staunchest would dare brave.  The whistling wind had grown into a mournful wail of the Siberian High and though there was sun above the clouds, it could not penetrate the ferocity of the winter months.  The landscape seemed painted with broad strokes of grey, devoid of colour, desolate and unyielding. In the last century, the Soviets had used this region to immortalise their infamous gulags because in such a world, drained of all that might be considered life, prisoners broke far more easily.

Not all life found this realm inhospitable. Certainly, the female that lumbered across the tundra knew nothing of this. To her, this place was familiar and its harshness by human reckoning, had been home to generations of her kind and to many more, who survived in this seeming desolate region. The children of Ursus who roamed the ice of this so called wasteland rarely saw each other, though they congregated on occasion, frolicking like cubs because contrary to popular belief, Ursus Maritimus were social creatures. They would play, trade stories in a language beyond human comprehension, mate and return to their solitary lives once more.  The female that journeyed inland on this day, had return from such a gathering.

The female sniffed the air with concern and came to the conclusion that she needed to move faster to keep ahead of the approaching blizzard.  Her destination lay some distance ahead and she lumbered forward on her large paws, leaving tracks in the snow the wind soon obliterated.  She could see the  graceful  swirls of snow swept off the ground in a chaotic dance that accelerated with the forceful gale.  It made her feel the cold most acutely, penetrating the thick pile of her fur and prickling the thick layer of insulating under hair and fat she had been cultivating these last few months despite feeding sporadically.   

Once again, food continued to be scarce.  With the ice receding far more than the seasons past, she had spent too much time laying wait for the seal to come through the ice for air.  She had caught one three days ago, a plump male, fat on fish who did not move fast enough and found a grisly end  in her jaws. His blood was still smeared across her long muzzle and across her snowy white pelt.

If she was young and more enthused, she might have tried for bigger game like the walrus or the leviathans but the strength for such a battle was no longer possible because food was too scarce to waste on such expenditure of energy.  She fed for three days on the seal after she had dragged him out of the sea, crushing  his skull in the way her mother had taught her, ending its pain quickly and mercifully.

Nourishing herself and the cubs inside her on his fatty blubber, she devoured all she could of it, until her belly was warm with satisfaction and she had enough stored in her for the long months ahead. When she left his carcass on the ice, only his bones remained and those were feasts for the carrion eaters. In this wilderness, nothing was left to waste.

She moved faster, spurred on by thoughts of the growing life inside of her and the dreams of motherhood given to all creatures. She thought of teaching them to hunt, to move across the great tundra of their world, to someday give new life to cubs of their own. As her mother had done when she was a cub and as was done to her by her mother, the passing of ancient knowledge taught to all her kind by Ursus before the Great Bear went to walk in the stars.

Crossing the glacier, her journey had taken her from the coast to the place of denning. There she would built her den, create the chambers in which her children would be born and would sleep with her during the winter months. When the summer came, they would emerged into a place of rolling hills of green, covered with small yellow flowers that would lead the way to the river where the fish began their journey upstream. Here she would feed her children, make them strong and hardy so they could begin the return journey to the coast, where the real lessons of survival would begin.

Suddenly, something made her pause.

It was a smell unfamiliar to her.  Her large head moved from side to side, trying to determine its source but to no avail. She thought it might have been a man smell for they seemed to produce odours both noxious and strange wherever they festered.  However, she saw no sign of man and man smell had a sharpness that made her wince upon the sniffing of it. No, this was something old, musty and seemingly hidden for too long. The memory of falling into a crevasse, a chasm that nearly killed her, surface in her mind. Determination alone had allowed her to crawl out but she never forgot the smell of that dark, forgotten place.

Dirt, snow, death and malice.

The ground shook beneath her and it followed the low rumble beneath the earth that sounded. like the roar of angry gods, shaking the ice. The ground beneath her paws shuddered and rumbled and once again, she wondered if this was man’s mischief until the Old Memories came upon her. The ones all her kind carried, the memories passed to all children of Ursus and the memories told her that this was a sound older than man, perhaps even older than even Ursus. The Old Memories told her to run and she obeyed, her large body moving across the ice until it fissured and opened up beneath her. A wail of despair escaped her as she began to fall into the darkness, into another  crevasse, that this  time, she knew she would not escape.

As she plunged into the forgotten places of the world, she saw fleetingly, the long, dark bodies of tarnished silver scales that moved past her. They climbed up the walls of the fissure, emerging through the ice with claws as big as her arms, hoisting themselves over the edge to the diminishing light above her. Next to them, she was small, almost inconsequential and they let her fall past them as if she were debris from the world they were about to plunder. Too small for their notice, she almost grateful when she landed on the jagged rocks below and her life came to an end, that at least she would not leave her cubs to face the monstrosity that had just risen from the ancient earth.

****

Watching patiently as he hovered above the cracking pan of ice, Akhorahil sat astride his winged beast, awaiting as Morgul had instructed, for their newest allies to emerge from their long hibernation. The cold drakes that had once terrorised the children of Durin and ruled the Grey Mountains were finally emerging from their long slumber at his Lord’s request. These fell beasts, created by Melkor in the First Age had barely tolerated Sauron’s rule but they were creatures of habit, who desired riches above all else and in the mortal world, mankind had riches to satiate even the most ambitious dreams of avarice.

The leader among them, a beast who traced its lineage back to that of Scatha the Worm, was the first to emerge into the morning sky. His invulnerable scales glimmered dully under the sunlight and he reared back his head to let out a mighty bellow, heralding his return to the world. In the distance, a scattering of birds altered course abruptly in fright, flying away from the terrible noise that seem to shake the sky itself.  Akhorahil’s own mount Claw, snorted its own welcome to the creature, flapping its wings in greeting as the drake raised his massive head and regarded the Nazgul in the sky aloft.

“What presumption possesses Melkor’s servant to summon us forth, little shadow?”  The drake asked, his mouth parting to reveal monstrously sharp teeth and its voice sounded like  the escaping gases of a marshland bog.

“The same presumption that allowed him to open the Forbidden Vaults and release your brethren imprisoned in the shadow realm, Scarga,” Akhorahil answered with as much contempt.

“Because of my  Master, the Urloki now commands the skies of the world once more. He has allowed them to breathe fire and ash across the cities of man.”

“The wars of Melkor and Sauron interest us little,” Scarga declared with disinterest. “Too many times have we aided in the wars of our masters and it has yielded little value to us. We have little need of lands or power. We sleep in the forgotten places of the world, with riches you cannot comprehend.”

“Yes, yes,” Akhorahil remarked dismissively, “I am familiar with your preoccupation with all things glittery. You are like bowerbirds lining their nests.”

Scarga growled with menace, not at all appreciative of the comparison, rearing his head to utter a sharp roar or rebuke made Claw flinch uneasily, until Akhorahil leaned over and soothed its flank with a gentle caress of his gauntleted hand.  

“You dare insult us....” Scarga hissed.

“No insult was intended,” Akhorahil lied blatantly, uninterested with playing the game of one upmanship with the drake. “However, if it is riches you desire, the world of men is full of it. They worship it like religion. The more valuable, the more they desire it. Gold, diamonds, jewels that were unknown to us in our time are there for the taking. My master would have you take the riches of man for your own, by any means necessary if you assist us in our campaign.”

Behind Scarga, the other drakes had emerge. They covered the snow covered plain with their dark, silvery bodies, causing the ground to shake with the rumble of their dark speech. Remaining a suitable distance from Scarga as he parlayed with the Nazul, their impatience at being awakened rippled through their number with snorts and short, indignant growls punctuating the banshee wail of the wind.

“By that you mean that we should slaughter his enemies while we carry out our plunder,” Scarga stated sarcastically.

“We would insist upon it,” Akhorahil replied honestly.  “My master knows how to reward his allies accordingly. Kill as many of them as you wish, ravage their cities until they are graveyards of bleached bone and rotting flesh if that serves you. The spoils following the sacking of their cities is yours to claim.  That is your compact with my Lord.”

“We will hold him to that promise,” Scarga declared, already basking in the idea of an entire world in which to sack and plunder. It had been too long since he and his brethren were given such sport. In a triumph of anticipation, he released another loud screech that further fractured the calm of the morning and even unsettled Akhorahil’s impenetrable facade.

Akhorahil tugged Claw's reins and its wings began to beat faster, lifting them higher a loft so they had enough space to turn in mid air and return the way they came, to rejoin tithe fight. As he did so, both wraith and beast made a sweeping pass above the serpentine army making its exodus from the cracked earth.  Their enormous size when combined, hid the snow beneath them. Instead they were a sea of dragon scales, rippling with power and hungry anticipation.

“We will await your arrival in Mordor,” Akhorahil announced making a final pass by Scarga,  “Do not be late.”

“We will honour our compact, little shadow,” Scarga hissed back. “After, we have fed.”

*********

David Saeran wondered what the press would have made of his latest return to the continent if they were able to see how he was making the journey.

In the past, as CEO of Malcolm Industries, Saeran had sold himself to the world as the next ‘Richard Branson’, jet setting across the globe, bedding beautiful movie stars, scaling Everest and K2 or diving the Black Hole of Andros to the delight of newspapers everywhere.  He had fed the paparazzo’s interest, stoking their invasion of his privacy to near frenzy in order to meet his own ends. The more the world saw him as a playboy billionaire, the less likely they were to pay attention to his dark pursuits as the Lord of Mordor.

He never referred to Mordor as a thing of the past. In his mind, it always existed. From the peak of Mount Doom to the Sea of Nurnen, Saeran cherished every part of that dark land within his memory. At the end days of the Third Age, he was unable to walk the paths of his kingdom as he had done before the loss of the One Ring.  He’d missed that. He’s missed the sensation of the Spurr’s sharp gravel under his feet or feel the ashy wind against his face as he travelled the Doom Road to Bara-dur.  He was not nostalgic by any means but Mordor was as much a part of him as the Nazgul and he would see it restored with the bleached bones of men and elf.

Saeran crossed the English channel by night, leading the demonic hordes he had unleashed from the Forbidden Vaults, escorted by dragons and fell beasts ridden by his Nazgul. He sat astride the greatest of the Urloki to ever emerge from Angband, Ancalagon.  Magnificent wings flapped on either side of him, causing currents that would have rivalled the turbines of any 747.

Ancalagon’s saurian head led the way like the figurehead of a great ship, his nostrils breathing fire as he sailed across the ocean, leading his  brethren in their great migration to Mordor.

Eru’s punishment on Melkor’s dark creations was to trap them within the Forbidden Vaults and Saeron could think of no crueller end to the dragons who were really creatures of the sky. When he had freed them, he had heard their thunderous roars of freedom as they took to the skies above Valinor, basking in the freedom of flight like unfettered children at play. For such creatures, imprisonment in the Vault was as close to hell as the Urloki could imagine. Saeran suspected that their loyalty came not his freeing them from the Forbidden Vaults but because he had given them back the sky.

*********

Much to her disgust, Eve found the tightening arm of David Saeran around her rounded belly somewhat comforting in the face of her terror at their current mode of transport. Lodged between the impressive spinal ridges of the great dragon he'd told her was called Ancalagon the Black, Eve was being spirited across the sky with Saeran’s arms around her while astride the dragon. She could feel his chest against her back and wondered how someone who felt so warm to the touch could have a heart as cold as ice.

Still this was a better way to travel than with the Nazgul who barely tolerated her presence on their winged mounts. As it was, the sheer size of Ancalagon made this a more comfortable trip, as much as could be had by a woman as heavily pregnant as she.

Every time she looked down at her swollen belly, her anguish rose up like bile, threatening to choke her with its finality.  She should have been able to savour her pregnancy, to enjoy the little moments that led up to her son's birth. Eve had imagined decorating his nursery with Aaron, being soothed by Celebrian when her fears became too much or sharing the experiences of impending motherhood with Miranda, Ariel and Tory....God Tory. She blinked away the tears, thinking about her friend Tory who was killed by the same bastard who had dashed all her dreams by his twisted designs on her son.

"I had hoped for a little more conversation," Saeran broke the silence amidst the rushing of winds and the sound of great beating wings around them.

By now, Eve had learned better than to antagonize him because Saeran had no limits to his cruelty when he felt he had a point to make or a lesson to teach.

“What do you want to talk about?” She asked with a resigned sigh, “How the Yankees are doing? The state of the Middle East or will Jennifer Aniston find a guy she can keep longer than ten minutes?"

"If she were remotely interesting between the sheets, she might,” Saeran snorted, bored by the subject but amused by her efforts.

That actually made Eve pause and glance over her shoulder at him, trying to decide if he was playing one of his games or telling him the truth. “You and Jennifer Aniston?" She asked with clear disbelief.

“Briefly,” he replied, bemused at her scepticism.  "Is that so hard to believe? Women tend to gravitate towards men of power and money. As David Saeran I had both.”

Great, now he was bragging, Eve thought. It appeared even dark lords weren’t above masculine posturing.   However, she couldn’t deny the truth of his statement. Even she and Tory had noted the same thing when they’d first learned that David Saeran, playboy billionaire and CEO of Malcolm Industries was in fact, Sauron, Lord of Mordor. They’d wondered how someone so evil could exist in such a pleasing facade.

"Then why me?” Eve asked, deciding that if she wanted to get out of this alive, she’d need to start playing more than the victim. It was clear that Saeran wanted her to engage him and if that was the price of staying alive and keeping her son safe, then so be it. “You could have any woman you want  Why waste your time with me just because I look like Arwen or even this Luthien you talk about."

This spirited display was far more interesting the mewling cow she had been the last few days so Saeran found himself indulging her questions, obvious as they were in their attempts to discern his intentions.

"Because it will keep your precious Aaron distracted," Saeran said smoothly, unafraid to give her an honest answer. She was no threat to him at present. “While you’re here with me, he’ll be tearing the countryside apart trying to reach you. I want his every thought burning with the purpose of rescuing you.  Emotions are the greatest way to weaken your enemy."

"You underestimate him," Eve returned promptly but secretly, she knew he was right. Aaron wasn’t like Bryan. He wasn’t a soldier. He felt things deeply, he reacted emotionally and unpredictably and wherever he was right now; he was going mad with fear and worry about her and their child. In fact, she knew he would do anything to retrieve them. Just as Saeran claimed.

“And you overestimate him,” Saeran countered just as quickly.

Eve’s shoulder sagged forward, trying not to become overwhelmed by his ruthless hatred.

“What happened to you?” She asked, the question was a whisper she did not expect an answer to.   “You were one of them, weren’t you? One of the Maiar?”

She felt him stiffen behind her as if the question had taken him by surprise. “I was the greatest of the Maiar,” he replied. “I saw a vision of the world those elitists fools could not understand, a world of grand design and symmetry. I wanted to bring order out of chaos.”

That he deign to respond to the question did not surprise Eve as much as his answer.

She swung back and stared at him again, this time with clear incredulity. Everything she had heard about Sauron marked him as an agent of chaos. From the First Age to the his destruction in the Third, he had been an engine of destruction and corruption.  Everything he had wrought could not have placed him further from that purpose if he tried.  

"You're joking..." she finally found her voice, unable to disguise her astonishment.

His eyes narrowed and he grabbed her chin roughly, all traces of humour vanishing from his face as she glared at her, the conversationalist dismissed in place of the monster. "Don't presume to try and judge me human," he hissed. "What has your race ever done but to slaughter each other in acts of barbarism that make the orcs tame by comparison? You and your kind have rampaged over Arda and corrupted the earth Eru gave you far more efficiently than anything I could ever imagine!  I saw this when none of the others could, I alone imagined what the chords of Eru’s precious symphony would do and all I wanted to impose some sanity to the music they were orchestrating!"

Eve wrenched her face out of his grips, grasping at the serrated ridge of Ancalagon's spine to keep herself from slipping off the back of the great beast. "By destroying it?" She bit back, emboldened by the lowering of his guard. She suspected that he had never had to justify his twisted vision like this before.

"By imposing order. If they had courage enough for it, I would have never had to go elsewhere or  endured one master after another. Do you know what its like to be slave to a god? First the Valar, then Auel and then Melkor... none of them had the vision I did, none of them had the wit.   Auel the provincial blacksmith and Melkor with his fetish for jewels. He had power enough to destroy them all but not the intelligence. Everything I am, everything I achieved, I did because I alone had the will.  Will is more powerful than the Great Music, it can make Ea out of nothingness and it can make a lesser spirit a god."

And for the first time Eve actually had felt pity for the dark lord of Mordor. A grand design of some purity that had become more and more twisted with the compromises he’s made to achieve that end.  He sacrificed everything to create this 'order' he so craved, unaware with each step he took, he was borne further and further away from that original intent, until finally what he became was unrecognisable and corrupted.

Searan saw her pity and it burned him hotter than the furnace blast from the dragon's nostrils. Fury rose like bile and he swung his fist in a backhanded blow, striking her so hard that it dislodged Eve from the back of the dragon's back and sending her plummeting towards the ocean below. Her screams trailed her departure, rising above the wind as she plunged from the great height. For a moment he remained still, struggling to regain the composure she had so unexpectedly shaken until a fragile sort of calm returned to him amidst her distant screaming.

Cursing under his breath, Saeran barked at Ancalagon in exasperation. “Retrieve her!”

As you wish, the dragon answered and swooped down to capture the screaming woman in his giant claws.   

Whilst he did so, Saeran was almost certain he could hear Ancalagon laugh.  

*********

The silence as they drove to Bristol Airport was the silence of mourning.

There had been plenty of it when Frank, Miranda and Eric rejoined them at the Royal Oaks in Winsford. From the parents, there had been guilt and the children felt the loss of a favourite uncle but for Eric; it was far worse.  Bryan couldn't speak to what the man was feeling per say but he understood the anguish well enough. Eric and Jason had been a team for years, had seen each other through the best and worst of things and now that Jason was gone, the usually unflappable Australian had lost a vital part of his being.

There were no words of comfort that could be offered of course, Bryan knew that. Such platitudes had been meaningless when Tory was taken away from him, so it would be to Eric. It was not to say that Aaron didn't try. The former psychiatrist was bound by his vocation to offer help even when he himself was in an emotional turmoil. It was Legolas that seemed to knew best what to do. Bryan understood then the price of immortality which was to watch helplessly as friends and lovers die, whether through violence or the ravages of age.  

Perhaps that was why Legolas could never see Ariel as little more than a replacement for the woman he lost so long ago. Her mortality had set her apart from the elf's lovely wife and no matter how much Legolas might deny it, it was that humanity that had drawn him to her in the first place. Bryan couldn't speak to it himself but if he had a chance to have Tory back, there wasn't anything he wouldn't do to make her happy. Human or elf.

Saeran's revenge it seemed had taken its toll on them. Even if they defeated the bastard, he'd still win.

Nevertheless, their silent journey to Bristol didn't feel any less urgent.  As they approached Bristol, the sporadic news reports that came crackling out of Radio 1 painted a grim picture indeed. Saeran's army of orcs and monsters had crossed the channel and were now in France. Preceding them were the dragons that laid waste to everything before them. The dreaded monsters had no match in the sky. Planes that were despatched easily as the fire drakes melted fuselage with their terrible breath if they weren't taken apart by mighty claws. Modern warfare knew nothing of mithriel or that the underbelly was the only vulnerable part of the creatures.

In Germany and Romania, monstrous beast men were appearing from the cracks of the Earth, from the former enclaves of Moria and Mordor, decimating the population, armed with modern weapons but possessing animal brutality that swept across the landscape like a scourge. From the north, the great wyrms, asleep for centuries were making their way to join Saeran's growing army. The cold drakes were laying waste to everything in front of them, turning whole towns into sculptures of ice.

When the military was dispatched, the Nine would sweep in and with their black breath, unleashed a plague on the men that dropped them in their tracks, allowing the wargs, orcs and spiders to move in. Broadcasters that dared to remain in the area revealed fantastical tales of carnage in the streets that would have been considered ludicrous on any day, if not the fact that thousands were dying with each second that passed.

However, not all the stories were terrible ones.

One reporters had said that salvation had come out of the mists in a flotilla of great ships that looked like seabirds gliding across the ocean. The strangers had helped the London police take back the city and now had the continent in their sights. As suddenly as they had appeared to help fight the 'orcs' as they'd told the stunned humans whom they'd encountered, they were gone again. Retreating in their magnificent ships, in pursuit of Saeran's army.

The rest of the globe had yet to be affected but they did not know what Bryan and his company knew; that the Three was at this moment, inching it closer and closer to nuclear Armageddon.

One way or another, they had to reach Saeran and put an end to this before it was too late.

*********

While not as large or as busy as Heathrow, Bristol's air traffic was bustling with enough activity to earn itself a fairly modern airport with all the facilities that was required of the demanding air traveller.  As they approached it, they saw the sprawl that radiated from the original terminal building, now relegated for use of private air charters.  Smaller jets, Lears and Cessnas, peered at them through half open hangar doors, inviting them in as Bryan parked the car.

Air travel had been suspended the instant the first footage of the dragons hit the airwaves. With the RAF scrambling jets to deal with the impossible enemy, civilian air traffic had come to a standstill. An incredulous and then horrified nation had watched as the phalanx of Euro fighter Typhoons were quickly overcome by the great dragons who showed no fear at modern weaponry. After the first of the Typhoons had been torn apart by the dragons and sent to earth in a fiery balls of twisted iron, no one in authority wanted to risk the same happening to a 747.

That didn't mean anything to the terrified masses who were seeking to leave the isle for safer ground. As they passed the main airport, Bryan could see the increasing number of vehicles attempting to reach the main terminal, with passengers hoping to be first in line when flights embargo was lifted.

Bryan did not waste his time going there. Commercial carriers wouldn't be flying but he knew that those who were willing to pay for a private air charter would always find someone who was willing to throw caution to the wind for the right price.  Even as they drove up, he could see several smaller air craft approaching the tarmac, waiting to pick up their passengers, the heat from their engines, warping the air as they idled .

Telling the others to remain in the vehicles for now,  It was he, Miranda and Lori who emerged to make their 'travel arrangements'.

*********

"Stay here,"  Bryan told Lori before they got to the door, handing her the Glock at the same time.

"Stay here?" Lori's eyes widened as she saw Bryan reach into his jacket and produce an Uzi. Miranda who had gone ahead and was approaching the doors, was pulling back the safety on the Micro-Uzi she was carrying.

"You wait here. When I give you the signal, get the others." He ordered and started after the his one time partner in the field. " In the meantime, you're our lookout."

"Look out? We're not robbing a bank here!" Lori pointed out, suddenly gaining and inkling about just how nasty things were about to get in the terminal, "Wait,' she hissed after him before he got too far away, “What’s the signal?”

“Oh you’ll know ,”  Bryan retorted, not looking back as he hastened his pace to catch up with Miranda.

Americans, he thought, preferring Lori to remain outside because she was to him, still an untested ally. He had no idea what she was like in a fight. In fact, they knew very little about her at all other than the fact that she was Isaiah Hill's daughter and once was Lothiriel of Dol Amroth. Their paths had crossed because of circumstance and Bryan didn't possess the patience to examine Aaron’s theory of a cosmic turntable where their present selves would keep running into the people they’d known back in the Third Age.

At this moment, he knew Lori was a military pilot. That was a tangible fact he could rely upon, just as surely as he knew that being a military pilot didn’t guarantee she was any good in close quarters combat which was what this was likely to become. Airport Security had changed considerably after the Towers had come down.  Bryan wasn't kidding himself that this could get bloody.  He hope that he and Miranda could surprise security well enough to minimize the violence.

Reaching Miranda, he glanced sideways at her. "Ready to do this luv?"

Miranda nodded, the last few  years had sharpened the edge she had erroneously believed dulled by motherhood and marriage. "Yeah don’t faff about on my account Tyke, let's get it done." She retorted and strode through the automatic doors imperiously through Bryan caught the little smirk on her lips.

"Right Gaffer," he said following her in. "I hope being a mum hasn’t made you a soft."

"No softer than your brain," she made a face at him.

When Miranda and Bryan stepped into the private terminal, the difference between it and the rest of Bristol Airport was immediately apparent. Plush rugs covered the parquet floor surrounded by glass walls that gave a sweeping view of the tarmac and the planes taxiing away from the terminals towards the runaway. However, even in this opulent surroundings, desperation wore the same face. It was easy to see who had secured flights and who hadn’t.

Those who did not were bartering at the various counters, offering the operators everything they could to charter a flight. By the anxious looks on the counter operators’ faces, it was clear that availability did not measure up to the current demand. Those who had flights were seated on comfortable leather sofas, flipping through magazines with a look of boredom that indicative of the idle rich, waiting for their eminent departures, oblivious to the haggling taking place around them.

In response to the growing tension at the counters, security guards kept their attention on the unsuccessful travellers, trying to determine if desperation would escalate into violence.

Good, Bryan thought. As long as they were paying attention to the counter, they weren’t focussed on what was happening elsewhere.

The distracted security guards allowed the two former MI6 agents to survey the rest of the passengers, in particular those who had already secured flights out and were sitting in the lounge, adorned with mink coats and accompanied by their matching luggage, awaiting to board their flights.

Bryan’s gaze came to rest on a sexy blond with nice tits, carrying a furry rodent disguised as a dog, listening with boredom to a short bald man, wearing an expensive but ill fitting suit, a gold Rolex and carrying out a conversation that reeked of obnoxiousness.

Taking a step towards Miranda, he whispered in her ear. “Them.”

Miranda followed his gaze and wasn’t surprised that he’d opted for the statuesque blond and her so obviously paid for boobs. How does one wear Chanel and still manage to look so tarty?

“Nice,” she said sarcastically.

Bryan went to wait in line, taking up position behind a customer who was having a heated discussion with a female member of the ground crew behind the counter. It was a discussion that was fast becoming a full blown argument due to his impatience at being unable to secure a plane for charter. One of the security guards were eyeing like a person of interest which allowed Bryan to stand surreptitiously nearby. The man who was bellowing in a thick Mediterranean accent commanded everyone’s attention which served Bryans purpose perfectly.

Meanwhile Miranda had taken a seat near the couple they had spied earlier.  The woman continued to look bored and earned Miranda’s distaste by chewing gum like she was a caricature of a dizzy Brooklyn broad from a Scorsese film.  By now, Miranda had come to the conclusion that the blond was a mistress since all her fingers except the one for a wedding ring was adorned with jewellery. The same could not be said for the man who was talking to someone about falling real estate prices.

How could anyone think about real estate at a time like this?

Miranda continued her observation though she was becoming more impatient by the second by the fact that people like this could exist when others, like Jason had died for her children.  Her guilt at not being there for Eric’s best friend gnawed at her and gave her new resolve to put an end to Saeran and his bloody war.  It made what came next so much easier, when she had a definite goal in mind especially when she saw the couple’s pilot appear.

He had stepped through a rear door leading to the tarmac where a Lear 25 had just rolled into position near the terminal for its passengers to embark.  When he approached the couple, Miranda met Bryan’s gaze and he agreed with her that the moment had come. His nod had gone unnoticed by the guard whose attention was still very much fixated on the man arguing at the counter. Acknowledging his signal with a imperceptible nod of her own, Miranda moved into action.

So fast that no one noticed until she pulled the trigger, the hail of bullets escaping from the snub nose barrel tore through the air with a thunderous roar of noise. Immediately, people drop to the floor screaming.  The security guard swung in her direction and was immediately brought down by the butt of Bryan’s gun on the back of his neck. Another guard raised his gun and Miranda aimed at his lower half. A bullet tore through his knee and brought him down with a cry of pain, blood quickly flowing from the shattered bone and ruined flesh beneath his pant’s leg.

He’ll live, she thought.

“Alright!” Miranda shouted, noticing that Bryan was covering her as she addressed her audience. “Now that I’ve got your attention, please stay calm. We don’t want to kill anybody but we’re not above wounding a few of you if you give us any bloody trouble. You!” She barked at another security guard who was trying to decide whether or not to shoot, “drop the gun and kicked towards me!”

The man’s face glowered in anger as he debated the choice before him and for a moment, Miranda thought he might do something stupid. Fortunately, common sense prevailed and he obeyed, kicking the Beretta, causing it to slide across the floor towards her.

“Got my back Tyke?” She called out to Bryan who was making his own attempts to secure the perimeter.

“Always luv,” Bryan thought, finding it ironic that it was Miranda who was the harder of the two of them.

Bending over, she picked up the gun and tucked it into her pants.  “Over there,” she waved him to safe corner where she could keep an eye on him while keeping him at a safe distance. The guard obeyed once more, while the passengers remained cowered, watching her with frightened eyes.  

Turning her attention to the couple and their pilot once more, Miranda said sweetly, “I’m afraid we’re going to need to have a lend of your plane.”

*********

Less than ten minutes later, Bryan was securing the door to the Lear while the rest of their company settled themselves into the comfortable seats of the jet.

As expected, Lori had hailed the others as soon as she heard the eruption of gunfire and led them to the terminal. Once their craft was identified, she and Eric headed for it, unceremoniously ejecting the pilot who had been awaiting his passengers to board. As Eric escorted the outrage man off his plane, Lori slid behind the controls and continued with the take off procedures.

"We're good to go!" Bryan hollered up the length the plane as he saw everyone was secured and took a seat next to Fred.

She didn't answer but the gentle jerk forward of the plane told Bryan she had heard him well enough and he eased back into the seat to see terminal being left behind as the craft started to move. The low drone of the engines had increased in pitch as the Lear left the tarmac and headed towards the runaway. From the cockpit, he could hear Lori's indifferent exchange with air traffic control demanding she surrender the plane and return to the terminal.

Bryan had no concerns that she'd be swayed by threats. The pilot knew what was at stake. The fate of the world hung in the balance and its survival depended on them reaching David Saeran before it was all too late. The impending threat of nuclear Armageddon far outweighed any punishment that air traffic control could come up with.

*********

Sitting in silent contemplation, Aaron felt exhausted as the plane left the ground and headed for its destination in Romania. The deaths of Tory and Jason, the absence of Gandalf and Eve, Legolas' estrangement with Ariel, all of it had taken its toll on them. For his part, he tried not to think of what was happening to Eve, what agonies she was suffering as Saeran used his powers to accelerate the growth of their child. What was she going through right now? What terrible things was the bastard subjecting her to in his insane quest for vengeance?

Aaron had never felt so damn helpless in his whole life.

"Your wife is strong," Fred's small voice spoke suddenly as if she could read the thoughts in his head. He honestly wouldn’t be surprised if she could. At this point, anything was possible. In any case, Aaron had given up trying to figure out what was using Fred's body to speak, aware that only that it was a being whose was not only powerful but wise.

"Her faith in you is unshakeable,” Fred continued. “She clings to it and it is a hope not even Melkor's servant can break."

"I hope so," he admitted quietly. "He's using the baby to break her, I know it."

Bryan did not protest because he agreed with the psychiatrist. Saeran’s hatred for all of them showed the man had no limits to the amount of damage he was willing to inflict upon them. There had been no reason to kill Tory, he thought bitterly to himself.   He’d done it out of sheer spite and it wouldn’t surprise Bryan that he was torturing Eve and her child for that same reason.

"You are right," Fred didn't bother to shield him from that fact. "But her love for you and your child will help her prevail against him."

“We should have killed him the last time,” Bryan retorted. “We should have finished him once and for all.”

“We couldn’t and you know why,” Aaron returned. “His spirit would have just found somewhere else to hide.”

It was a pointless argument that changed nothing so Bryan let it go. Besides, he had his own way of dealing with Saeran and his way, would be decisive.  As he thought that, he saw Fred staring at him and even though she said nothing, Bryan knew what she was thinking.

I know your plan.

*********

The land was in turmoil.

The children of the Aerie could sense it like a scream in the night and feel its writhing anguish in the winds that borne them. In the distance beyond the jagged spine of the Pelori, they could see fires burning throughout the many cities of the Eldar. From the air, they spied Valimar, Formenos and Aquallonde ablaze, the amber dance of fire across the land seemed like erupting boils on flesh. Their number was torn between their allegiance to the Eldar who dwelt in this cities, now battling the foulest creatures of Melkor’s pit and their search to discover what had become of Mount Taniquetil.

They circled the Pelori Mountains, seeking out Ilmarin, where the Lord of the Air Manwë, ruled Arda with his Queen, Varda who held mastery over the heavens. However, the great mansion of the Wind Lord remained as elusive the vanished peak of Taniquetil. Still, despite its absence, they could feel his presence. Like the blind man who knew there was something lurking in the dark, they sensed that their master was just beyond the veil.

They were spread across the length and breadth of the Endless Lands. Some of them continued to seek a way to reach Manwë and the Valar while others took up the mantle of message bearers. They carried the news of the assault upon Valinor by the unleashed creatures of the Forbidden Vaults to the Eldar scattered across the land, too far away from the cities to know that Melkor’s servants had been awakened and was now bringing Arda to the edge of disaster. The greatest of them, Grinmir, whose lineage could be led all the way to Throndor, joined the battle against the balrogs decimating the cities.

It did not matter where they were; when the voice spoke to them, children of the Aerie heard.

Your fight is not here in Aman, children of the Aerie. Your fight is in Arda.

The armies of the dark lord lay siege to Arda and the Edain cannot fight them alone.

The armies of light must come forward to be counted in the battle ahead.

Fly the winds of the Straight Road, the way is open to you.

This is the time for all to stand united, the End of Days has come.

The voice did not belong to Manwë but their fealty to it could not be denied.

The children of the Aerie had not seen the lands of Arda since the First Age and though there was apprehension at leaving the Blessed Lands for the unknown world beyond, there was also excitement. It was in their nature to be the messengers of Manwë and when need be, the thunderbolts he hurled against his foes and those who would blight the beauty of Arda. Like their brethren who dwelt high in the peaks of Crissaegrim during the First Age of the Sun, the children of the Aerie would answer the call of Arda in its time of need.

It was time for the Eagles to return to the world of men.

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