The green grass had been cleared in several large circles for the camp being steadily constructed here around seven low and rolling hills to the northeast of Valimar. Tents were rising fast, stuck into the black, ever-fertile earth of Valinor, and already the products of Aule's forges were arriving by cart. Bows, spears, shields and suits of armour were going from those forges by a marble-paved road which had a few weeks ago been nothing but a narrow track, being given to the soldiers as their needs required. 10,000 of the Firstborn had answered the summons of Tulkas Astaldo the past few months. The vast majority were of the Noldor, the elf-kindred most knowledgeable in war (to their everlasting sorrow), but no few of the Vanyar had also began to join the host being gathered.
Ancalimon was one of the Noldor to have joined the host, a descendant of one who had left Endor after the overthrow of Morgoth. In the bright heat of early afternoon it seemed odd to be out of Valimar and even stranger to be carrying a sword in hand. His ancestors had used those weapons - not merely on orcs and other wicked beasts, but on others of the Eldar. If only such weapons, meant only to kill others of the Children, would never be used again. Overhead an eagle let out its piercing cry as it flew eastwards, snapping Ancalimon out of his musings.
His gaze flew up and tracked it unneringly as it flew to Taniquetil, flying over the wooded foothills and lesser peaks surrounding the mountain, rising to perch on a lesser summit (itself much higher than any mountain remaining on Endor) to stare fixedly towards the East. Towards Endor, the land where Morgoth would strike his most devastating bows. He looked from the hill-slope - southwest, more provisions were arriving from Yavanna's fields, yellow waybread and scarlet miruvor in the quantities required for the expedition. And of course, the crack in the western sky remained.
Eldar were sparring with swords and practicing with spears and bows, or learning to ride horses in battle-formation. So busy was the camp that Ancalimon barely noticed when a white rider drove furiously out of the forest to the north.
He was dressed in clothes the colour of forest leaves with a hint of silver underneath, his lance stern and a silver bow at his back. His dark-brown hair was wild in the wind and a woodsman's axe was scabbarded at his waist. Dismounting his white horse he strode powerfully towards the camp. Suddenly there was a commotion - of what cause Ancalimon could not hear - as a thud was heard on the ground.
Rushing toward the sound, he saw Orome with a drake's head at his feet.
"It tried to hide by a nearby stream," the Vala said matter-of-factly. "A fire-serpent of Morgoth has been found and many others may yet be present in this fair land."
A fire-serpent? In Valinor? Ancalimon shuddered. Those had only been stories, spoken of in the Noldolantë and the other tales of Beleriand. He remembered hearing of them as a young child, and of being reassured that they could not touch him in Valimar. If one such as...
"Do not be alarmed," the Vala continued. "But you must be careful. The camp needs to be defended. I will speak with Astaldo of the affair."
He gestured, and Astaldo was there, with the Maia Meassë along in full regalia of war. The three spoke at length in their own language, harsh like the glitter of swords, and Ancalimon listened eagerly though he knew nothing of what they said.
Above, Arien continued her course.
+++SITE ALPHA, MARCH 29TH+++
Bradley's jaw dropped as they entered the underground hangar. The room was a high-tech wonderland, with technicians eagerly looking at computer screens and calibrating instruments. But in the centre was what was msot important. A small plane stood in the centre, jet-black with the Agency's device (a stylised rendition of the Plough) on the doors. It was built for speed, Bradley could tell that. Its wings were swept back, and its engines, currently inactive, gleamed slightly with a blue fire.
"Our newest transport plane," the Sergeant, a British man named Mark, casually said. "Behold, the Falcon-49. Can go form here to Moscow in just over an hour. Can only seat seven, but they will get there in time."
He opened the door and shouted, "Come on in!"
Stephanie was first in, followed shortly by Bradley and then the 5 other squad members. They buckled up quickly. The pilot swiftly went through the pre-launch sequence and then the floor, or the plane, seemed to pitch until it reached a 45-degree angle. Then the machine shot up into the air and the Oxfordshire countryside dwindled into nothing but a grey-green blur. A few minutes later, Bradley saw stars shining out the windows and the earth curved below him. It seemed to him of extraordinary beauty, but somehow almost imperceptibly flawed, like a perfectly-cut diamond with a tiny chip that nevertheless ruined the entire stone.
For about ten minutes they cruised with the Earth's cities imperceptible below them, then just as suddenly as it had lifted off, it began to shoot back down to the surface, thrusters and retros blazing bright. For an instant Bradley had the terrible feeling that they would crash, destroying themselves on the ground below, then their fall slowed and they began a more gentle descent until fifteen minutes later they touched the asphalt underneath.
Looking around the base and waiting, Bradley saw many soldiers passing through, going northeastward by rail. Most were probably heading to join the growing Russo-American task force around Novaya Zemlya, but more than a few were heading to the even more secretive Site Delta in Poland. Looking at the soldiers milling, Bradley barely noticed when Stephanie sat next to him.
"The sky's changing," she said, pointing up.
At first Bradley could see nothing, but then the seven faint stars resolved themselves into a familiar shape painted on the eggshell-blue sky.
"Yeah," Bradley said in agreement.
"By the way," Stephanie said nervously. "I've had...dreams. Since I was a child, but more often lately. They were of deep catacombs below the earth. Filled with monsters."
She continued, "I've looked at the pictures they took of Site Alpha-1 - that's what they call it - in the late 50's and it's just like in the dreams."
"Really?" he asked.
"Yeah," she replied. "We'll see what's happened there while we were away."
+++TWO HOURS LATER+++
The long-abandoned salt mine was the only safe entrance to Alpha-1. After taking a truck to the entrance and descending in a rickety elevator, they found themselves quickly on the first level of the ancient catacombs. Bradley's sword seemed to hum - he drew it to see a faint blue gleam coating its blade. The others also drew their weapons, and began advancing into the darkness, swords drawn.
Bradley walked next to Stephanie, and began to hear unseen footfalls in the dark tunnels. They were narrow and they had to stoop many times to get through. Often a maniac cackle or bestial roar rang through the tunnels as the soldiers continued walking as lightly as they could. Bradley's sword was shining blue well enough to use as a torch, and was invaluable in getting through the tunnels.
Eventually they came to a wide chamber where they rested and ate. However, Mark was clearly worried.
"Something's sealed the passageway," he said, pointing to a recent collapse. "So that's how Red Team vanished."
The deep finality in his voice filled the atmosphere with menace.
"We'll take the left-hand way," he continued. Almost on cue Bradley's sword swung to point right at the dark passageway. "It should be manageable."
Creeping down the corridor, walking on slick stone steps that led down into darkness, they began to hear manical laughter, agonised screaming, tribal chanting, hideous roars and dozens of other pandemoniac sounds. Skittering footsteps were quickly drowned out by the other hideous noises coming from further down.
Then they saw the first monsters. They were human-like small, dwarfish even with slick, pale skin and sunk-in eyes. They didn't seem to have noticed yet, creeping through the darkness, flitting from shadow to shadow and then disappearing through crevices and holes in the rock.
Eventually, they were discovered. Pasing a small chamber Ludwig yeleld out in his German accent.
"Show yourselves!" he shouted. "You creeping, skulking little monsters, come out and face us!"
Before Mark could so much as shout a profanity the sound of drums filled the corridors.
Doom, doom.
Bradley and Stephanie drew swords and stood together, prepared to fight.
Doom, doom.
Hundreds of scratching, screeching voices surrounded them.
Doom, doom.
A monster burst in.
It was a massive lizard larger than a horse, belly thick with fat, thick stubby fangs at its teeth, a long tail swinging behind it. Venom poured from its mouth. Its eyes shone with bestial cunning and its pale, slimy, troglodytic appearance was sickening to look at. Behind it dozens of the goblins followed, carrying rusted, brutal cleavers and maces, close to the edge of the room, milling about, shying away from Bradley's sword.
The lizard-thing leapt into the attack. With one bite of its massive jaws it ripped Ludwig asunder, Bradley holding himself back from rushing to help in as the German's red blood sprayed out from the ruin of his chest. His devastated head, rolling from the cadaver it had been so casually torn off, still had an expression of shock on its face.
From the other side of the room another monster broke in. It was more humanlike than the other creatures, who went up to slightly below its knees, and it was head-and-shoulders above all the Men in the chamber. A hooked sword, designed to tear the vitals, was held in its hand. Its feral mien had a single crude daubing upon the forehead - a solitary red eye.
The thing muttered some curse in a language Bradley didn't know, and ran straight at him with its crude, massive blade. The sword connected with Orcrist, parried but unbroken. A hand then sent a feral swipe at Bradley's light-brown hair, narrowly missing but tearing a good-sized clump of hair off. The pain shocked Bradley and he barely thought to parry a second blow. Around him goblins were falling, but the monster he faced was easily keeping up its barrage of wicked blows.
~*~
Stephanie's sword was rising and falling in great arcs as the goblins kept coming. The lizard-thing ripped one apart in her peripheral vision, apparently finding Ludwig's shreds too stringy a meal to digest. Behind her, on the other side of a central pillar, Bradley was fighting for his life. The six left now were fighting as individuals, but Bradley sounded like he was in the worst predicament of them all. If she could only get to him-
-The lizard loosed fire from its mouth, a blazing inferno like the inside of a blast furnace pouring out continuously. Mark and Jacobs flashed to fire and screamed as they burned, then ceased suddenly. She winced as she saw Mark just...obliterated and Jacobs half-charred to ashen bones. They were both beyond all aid. The lizard smashed a boulder aside with one of its forelegs, and Stephanie ducked just before the monster ended her 23 years. Crawling, her own sword half-melted by the creature's blazing breath, she caught sight of something - a glint of gold? Silver? Without thought she reached out and found a sword - not one of those goblin-weapons but a great longsword of perfectly-balanced steel. As her hand closed round it blazed like a sudden flame, scores of goblins taking flight and scurrying into the passageways.
She ducked again as the lizard loosed more fire, this time close to it, just in striking distance of its unarmoured belly. Without a thought she thrust her blade into the drake's underside, thick black blood pouring out in torrents where her sword hilted itself in the thing's flabby flesh. The monster screamed a hideous cry, shrieking beyond any normal pain, and rolled to its side limp and lifeless.
~*~
The chieftain (or so Bradley was thinking of him) roared and brought his heavy blade down again on Orcrist, using it almost like a hammer - but the venerable weapon would not budge. Only Bradley's arms could. Suddenly the chieftain brought his final strike down, clearly intending to use all his might and break the ancient sword. His own sword shattered into a thousand pieces, flying wildly around the cavern as heavy shards of rusted metal.
Bradley did not waste his opening. The chieftain charged with his clawed fingers extended - Orcrist was already in the way. It pierced iron, flesh, and bone with ease. The creature gurgled his last breaths, black blood bubbling from his lips, then his eyes glazed and he went limp.
Turning his head he saw Stephanie carrying Ludwig's corpse, a gold-hilted blade in her scabbard.
"How we doing?" he asked, panting.
"I think we're done," he said. "We've got the item, Myers has a broken arm but will recover, other than that the guys left are fine."
"We should take our dead back up," he panted. "Can't let the bastards get to them."
"Yeah," Stephanie said then paused.
"I have to talk to you soon. Alone."
"Sure."