The Earls' Legacy
Chapter Four
It started with Satyrs. About a dozen of them invaded a supermarket in the South-West of England in the early evening. Though invaded might not be the right term. They ambled in, looked around, then made a bee-line for the Beers, Wines and Spirits section. There they proceeded to settle down, picking bottles of wine off the shelves, smashing the necks to remove the corks and quaffing the contents with some appreciation.
Slightly shorter than the average man, they had goat-like horns on their heads, handsome, bearded faces with sensual mouths and dark, liquid eyes. Their chests and backs were well-muscled and human enough, but their legs had back-bent knees and ended in cloven hooves. They wore no clothing, but from the navel down they were covered in a thick pelt of varying shades of brown or black. Each sported a small tail at the back.
The Store Manager, Mr Longbottom, was a tall, thin man with a roundish face and a quiet manner. He was a man who paid attention to the papers and was not given to panic. He was aware that odd things had been happening of late. Dangerous things. These creatures seemed to be peaceable enough, but there was no way of knowing if they would stay like that. He noted that each of them carried a staff some five feet long, with a bronze pine-cone attached to one end. A nasty-looking weapon, especially in the hands of a drunk.
Mr Longbottom quietly instructed his staff to clear the store of other customers. Especially the women and children. The pelts of the Satyrs did not cover everything, and their response to the sight of an attractive woman was immediate and obvious. That said, they contented themselves mostly with grins and winks at the ladies.
With that arranged, Longbottom went down to speak to his 'guests'. He was greeted heartily and one of their number, older than the others if his silver-streaked hair and beard and his expanding paunch meant the same in a Satyr as it did in a human, stepped to the front.
"Good e'en, mine host!" He said in a deep, rather gravelly tone. "A fine hall you have here! 'Tis most hospitable of you to share your wine with us, though my companions and I do wonder that most of your food be uncooked. Is it not yet the hour for dinner?"
"Ah!" Longbottom said. "There seems to be a misunderstanding. This is not 'my hall', and the wine and food are not mine. This is a market, which I manage."
There was a moments' silence, then one of the other Satyrs commented. "Said we should've asked!"
The older one looked thoroughly embarrassed. "It seems we have made a grave lapse in manners!" He said. "Is it possible to make amends, or must the guards be called?"
"Depends." Longbottom said. "Do you have any money?"
"Money?" The Satyr asked. "We have coin!"
"Same thing." Longbottom told him.
The Satyr took a heavy leather bag from the belt he wore and passed it over. Longbottom fished in it and drew out a few coins. Large, heavy, coins with unfamiliar images on them, but the colour, feel and imaginary warmth to them that speaks of pure gold. Longbottom took out half a dozen and passed the bag back, rather to the old Satyrs' surprise.
"A fair and honest merchant!" He declared. "Not the first, but perhaps the most, surprising thing to find in this strange land!"
Longbottom suspected that he had taken far more than the value of the wine, but chose not to disabuse the Satyr of his notion. Then another stepped forward, brandishing a bottle.
"Mine host, what is this?" He demanded. "Is water so scarce here you must needs sell it?"
"That isn't water, sir." Longbottom said. "It's Absolut vodka. About as far from water as you can get. I'd advise you to be careful with it."
"Hah!" The Satyr said. He twisted the top off the bottle and took a generous swig. Then bent over, wheezing and coughing. "By Dionysos!" He spluttered. "Advice well-given but ill-taken! 'Tis hot as Hephaistos' forge!"
Just then there came the sound of the door swishing open and a babble of female voices. Longbottom turned round to see a phalanx of some fifteen or so women bearing down on him and the Satyrs. Varying heights, several different shapes, wearing short garments in a variety of colours that were sheer enough to leave little to the imagination. All looking around, marvelling, giggling and chattering. Except the one in the lead. A tallish brunette with a pleasant, curvy figure, a face at once sensual and strong, and a pair of direct blue eyes. She stopped in front of Longbotom and smiled at him.
"You'll be Nymphs, I suppose?" He asked.
She nodded. "We've been asleep in our trees, streams and pools for ages!" She said. "Then this lot arrived and woke us up!"
She cast a critical eye over the Satyrs, who had eyes for nothing except the Nymphs who now surrounded them. "I hope they haven't caused too much trouble?"
"No more than the average bunch of Chavs on a Saturday evening." Longbottom averred.
"I'm not sure what that means, but we'll take them off your hands now, Master…?"
"Longbottom. Neville Longbottom. Store manager." He replied.
"Manager Neville." She acknowledged. "When the boys need more wine, can I come and talk to you about it? I'm sure we can come to an arrangement!"
Neville swallowed hard and nodded. He was having difficulty speaking.
Without further ado, the Nymphs rounded up the unprotesting Satyrs and herded them out of the store. Neville pulled himself together and went over to the PA at Customer Service.
"Clean up in Aisle Seven!" He requested.
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The phone beeped insistently in the staccato tone that indicated an internal call. Will swore, put the cafetiere he was about to fill down and went over.
"Hello!" He said, rather snappily.
"Will, it's Evelyn. Apologies for calling so early, but it seems to be the common lot this morning! It seems news had arrived and we are summoned to Main Conference with all dispatch. How long will you be?"
Will glanced over at the open bedroom door. "Jenny's just out of the shower, Ev. Five minutes or so for her to get dried and put her things on, I imagine. Don't suppose they've laid some brekkie on?"
Cream chuckled. "Our remarkably efficient catering staff do not disappoint, Will. There will be a full buffet available. Working for an organisation with an apparently bottomless budget has its advantages!"
"Too bloody right, mate!" Will agreed. "Try not to scoff all the croissants before Jenny gets there!"
"I will endeavour to restrain myself." Cream replied. "See you soon."
Will put the phone down and went through to the bedroom. Jenny, in sports bra and panties, was taking a tracksuit out of the wardrobe. She glanced over.
"I gather we're due somewhere?" She said.
"Main Conference, asap." Will told her. "That one's mine, luv. If we're going to be doing this regularly, we need another wardrobe. I'll put in a requisition."
"Or just a double flat." She said. "Regularly isn't really often enough, now. Getting so I can't sleep properly without you there.
"We'll talk properly about it later. Let's get moving, Buggerlugs!"
XXXXX
Moran called the meeting to order. He was accompanied by a visitor. A tall, gaunt man in a grey cloak, wearing a broad-brimmed slouch hat that shaded the upper part of his face from view.
"My Lord Mithrandir!" Gawain said. "Are matters so dire on hand?"
"They may be, unless swift action be taken." The Phantom Stranger allowed. "But let Sir Michael begin."
"OK." Mike said. "With a bit of help from our friends at the Carnacki Museum, we've managed to identify the…people… we fought at the Sanctuary. They're a species called Orcs or Uruks, and native to a place called Esharra. They're considered minor demons, and there are a number of rituals and spells for summoning them.
"As for the wizards, they are, as that Adamancus bloke said, members of the Order of the Children of Thamungazoth. Quite an old order with chapters all over the world, it seems. But their magic has only just started to work again. We can't find anything out about Adamancus, other than that he's using the name of the orders' original, legendary, founder and that he's been visiting the various chapters for some months now, egging them on to cause trouble.
"The wizards we arrested all swear he's the original Adamancus, and given all that's been going on, I'm inclined to believe them! The Orcs aren't saying a lot but I plan to have a word with them myself later, soldier to soldier."
"You have not put the Orcs to death?" Gawain asked. "'Twas never our way to spare such!"
"Well, it's ours." Mike told him. "We only kill when it's necessary, and these Orcs aren't going anywhere! Not that they haven't tried, but it seems that a faceful of pepper spray and a jolt or two from a Taser was enough to discourage them from attacking the guards. They weren't any too happy about being made to take showers, mind! But they do like the food.
"More importantly, we need to find out more about them. If people are going to keep on summoning them, or other things from Esharra, we need to learn all we can. Once we've proved that there's no getting away, but that they'll be fed and clothed and housed and not ill-treated, they might get cooperative."
"'Tis well thought on." Gawain allowed. "The War of the Jewels was long over before we Guardians came to be. Before Myrddin was born, and many Fae who were there will not speak of it."
"Truth." The Phantom Stranger agreed. "We know little of Esharra, save that the sun there is hot and red and hangs close in the sky which is dark even at noon, and that Niskaru, Firedrakes and Wargs hunt across the lands, preying on all. To learn more may be of value.
"As to the Children of Thamungazoth, this order first rose in Lemuria before it sank, and its founder was Adamancus the Summoner, one of the Nine Wizards of Zaar."
"Zaar being?" Jenny asked.
"One of the ancient cities of Lemuria, far in the North of that land. It is said that when Phondath first led men to that continent, he had with him two wizards, Alatar and Pallando, the Blue Wizards. While Phondath and his folk founded the cities of Althaar, Yb, Kuth, Shandathar and Sanjan, these wizards founded Zaar as a place for the study of magic, distant and safely away from others.
"But change of climate and a spreading plague caused Men to migrate Westward, founding the current cities of Lemuria; Patanga, Thurdis, Tsargol and the rest around the Gulf, as well as the Northern chieftainships of Valkarth and Belnarth. Zaar, however, remained – magically resistant to both pestilence and weather, the City of Wizards saw no reason to remove.
"The fate of Alatar and Pallando remains unknown. It is not even known of what people they were, though it is said that since they were skilled in magic, they must have been Fae. Others speculate that they might have been of the Vadhagh folk, teachers of the Fae in their youth. What is known is that when Thongor I, first of the Valkarthan line, became Sarkon of the West, it became clear that the folk of Zaar had gone over to the worship of Thamungazoth, known to the Fae as Yog-Sothoth, a mighty one among the Other Gods.
"Thongor had already destroyed the cults of Slidith the Blood Lord and Yamath of the Flames. Thus Mardanax, High Priest of Thamungazoth and leader of the Council of Nine, made plans to attack the West and restore worship of the Other Gods there. Ultimately, Thongor slew all of the Nine and Zaar itself went down before the sithurl-guns of the West and sank beneath the sea.
"It seems, however, that the disturbances caused by the rising of Cthulhu and the final sinking of R'lyeh have allowed Zaar to rise from the depths again. It is also clear -for Myrddin has seen it – that Mardanax and the Nine rose with it. For a year now, Mardanax has been sending out a call, and many potential wizards among men have answered it and travelled to Zaar. But now it seems they have sent Adamancus here -where returning magic is strongest – to provide leadership to the Order."
"Marvellous!" Will growled. "Now we've got more wizards, and a bunch of bloody gods to deal with!"
"Not so." The Stranger told him. "The Other Gods are certainly no friends to Men, or any other being. But their concerns and agenda are different. Yog-Sothoth answered Mardanaxs' summons long ago, and at his request granted him great knowledge and power. But beyond that, he has no interest, and does not watch over his devotee or protect him. Yog-Sothoth may indeed have already forgotten about Mardanax, having answered the summons and given the gift on a whim.
"The Nine, indeed, will have to be dealt with. But for now it will suffice if you are able to drive Adamancus off. If you can slay him, then good, but I believe he will flee first. He is a mighty Summoner, but has little skill in arms and Summoning takes time. Use that against him."
XXXXX
Dorchester was not one of Englands' biggest towns, having a population of around 20 000. It remained, in most respects, a market town to which had been added the civil and administrative apparatus of a County Town. It's main claims to fame were as the site of the 'Bloody Assizes' of 1685 that followed the failure of Monmouths' Rebellion and as the trial place of the Tolpuddle Martyrs in 1833. It was, on the whole, a pleasant and quiet place to live.
This night, however, saw the town surrounded by police and soldiers, busily trying to evacuate as many people as they could. Other units were patrolling the streets and scouting in toward the centre. Occasionally, the rattle of gunfire was heard, accompanied by howls and snarls. Somewhere near the centre of the town, a large fire was burning.
Colonel Ashford was at the command post, considering his options, when a tall figure in red, white and blue came up to him.
"What's the situation, Colonel?" Union Jack asked.
"You lot got here quicker than I expected!" Ashford said. "I'd better show you what we're dealing with!"
He led them over to a roped-off area. Lying in it, being studied by some decidedly non-military types, were six bodies. They were, apparently, animals. Grey-furred, about two metres tall at the shoulder, though the back sloped down toward the haunches at a sharp angle. The back legs were short, thick and powerful, but the front ones were longer and slimmer. A pair of arms grew from the shoulders, muscular, hairless and ending in a three-fingered hand with heavy claws. The head, held high on a thick neck, resembled that of a wolf.
"Ugly buggers!" The Cat remarked.
"As fell as they are hideous." Gawain said. "These be the Wargs or Dire Wolves of Esharra! The Hounds of Melkor!"
"Over here." Ashford said. "We've tapped into the towns' security cameras and we've got drones up, so we have a real-time feed."
There were several screens. Some showed civilians being guided out of danger by troops and police. Others showed packs of Wargs, usually six strong, loping along the streets. Union Jack noted that while some were empty-handed, running with their arms tucked in and hands clasped on their chests, others carried weapons; crudely-forged scimitars and heavy maces.
"How intelligent are Wargs?" He asked.
"They have wit enough to speak to one another, after their fashion, and to acknowledge and obey the chieftains among them. Also to wield weapons, though with no great skill. They can be trained to follow commands, but are not reliable if faced with too great a force." Gawain told him.
"That makes sense." Ashford said. "They keep sending out those squads of six in various directions. I think they're trying to find a safe way out of the town. If it wasn't for the surveillance tech, they'd have done it by now. I don't have enough men to put a cordon round the whole town. But once we know where they're heading, we can intercept them.
"They learned about our weapons pretty quick, so a few rounds in the air tends to make them fall back for now. I've got reinforcements on the way in. With a bit of luck, once they start sending bigger numbers out, I'll have enough force to keep them in.
"But the real problem is here!" He pointed to a large screen. "This is the feed from Brewery Square, a new leisure and retail development in the town."
A huge bonfire had been built in the centre. A creature was pacing restlessly around it. The thing had the bulk of an elephant and the height of a giraffe. Its body, and one of its three heads, were those of a massive lion. But instead of a tail, it had a thick-bodied snake with an evil-looking triangular head that weaved around, scenting the air with its forked tongue. Even more incredibly, behind and above the lion head - apparently growing from the same shoulders – was the neck and head of a giant goat!
"What. The fuck. Is that?" Spitfire asked.
"A Chimaera." Jack said. "Right out of Greek mythology!"
"Not quite." The Unborn told them. "Chimaera are native to a Realm called Arcadia. Like many beings from other Realms, they can be summoned and bound."
"Whatever it is," Ashford said, "it's bulletproof. Police Armed Response Unit went after it, we saw the security videos. Gunfire didn't do anything but annoy it! The lion head breathes fire, the snake head spits venom, but it's the goat head that runs things. That's the one that gives orders to the Wargs."
By Jacks' count, there were anything up to a hundred Wargs in the square, milling around. There were also a number of human bodies.
"How many dead?" He asked.
"At least fifty civilians and police." Ashford said grimly. "Three of my lads, too. God knows how many wounded or trapped in there before we could get them out! That Odeon multi-screen is full. Fortunately, the Wargs don't seem to want to go into buildings.
"That's why we can't do an air-strike. We don't have any armour and even if we did, a lot of the streets are too narrow. I've requested gunships – we'll need anti-tank to take that Chimaera out – but their nearest base is a hundred miles away, so they'll be a while getting here.
"Can your lot help?"
"Ideas?" Jack asked his team.
"The Chimaera has a thick, armoured hide." The Unborn said. "But nothing the Black Swords and the Gaebolga can't get through. It won't go down easily, though, and the rest of us will need to keep the Wargs off the ones fighting it."
"We could do with some assault weapons." The Cat said. "There's too many of them Wargs for hand-to-hand, unless Twinkles here's got something to kill lots of 'em at once!"
"Despite anything you may have heard or read, there's no such thing as a Death-spell." The Unborn told him. "The Dragons won't allow it. It's been tried, and the caster died at the same time as the target. I can set one on fire, and it may die, but it would be the fire that killed it, not me. If magic-users want to kill, they have to do it with ordinary weapons, or indirectly.
"However…." He made a gesture, and two crates appeared. "I can provide you with weapons and ammunition. These come from the armoury back at HQ."
"Nice!" Spitfire said approvingly.
"Right!" Jack said when he, Spitfire and the Cat had armed themselves. "Gawain leads us right into the square via the Dragon Paths. The two Knights and the Commando go for the Chimaera. The rest of us keep the Wargs occupied and off them. Samara, you take the high guard, the Hooded Man can find a sniping post and Unborn…just do your thing! Stay fluid, watch each other's backs and keep talking!
"Move out!"
XXXXX
The sudden emergence of the Excalibur team into Brewery Square took the enemy completely by surprise. There was a flurry of barking and snarling that turned into startled yelps as the team fired a short burst. The two Knights and the Steel Commando made straight for the Chimaera. The goat-head emitted a series of barks, and battle was joined!
Samara flew overhead, her ring projecting lethal arrows and javelins of green light into the thick of the Wargs. The Unborn gestured, summoning half a dozen balls of crackling blue lightning that bounced around the area, electrocuting anything they came close to. In addition, he conjured blasts of incinerating fire or freezing cold. The Hooded Man had made his way to the top deck of an abandoned bus and was sniping from there.
All this caused a good deal of panic among the Wargs, and the few determined enough to get close to the embattled Chimaera proved easy prey for the assault rifles.
It rapidly became clear that the Chimaera did not rely on speed and agility, but on its toughness and resilience, as well as the weaponry of the lion and snake heads. Gawain, immune to fire, faced the lion head and had inflicted several wounds. The Black Knight was faring less well against the snake head; while his armour was proof against the venom it spat at him, the weaving head managed to avoid most of his cuts. The Commando, stabbing at the flanks with the Gaebolga, had managed to score a number of deep hits, but to little avail.
"The beast heals itself!" Gawain shouted.
"So I see." The Black Knight replied. "How do we stop it!"
"It heals when the goats' eyes glow." The Commando realised. "If that head controls the magic…"
With that, he changed tactics, stabbing down at the nearest foot, transfixing it and driving the spearpoint into the paving stone beneath. Then he ran at the Chimaera, grabbing the rough-haired hide and quickly climbing onto its back. Grasping the goat neck from behind, he began to squeeze.
The snake head swung round to try and dislodge the stranglehold. But the Black Knight was faster, slicing through the 'tail' near the root. It fell to the ground, writhing and snapping, still alive and eager to attack. The Black Knight pinned it to the ground with Albion, then placed his armoured foot on the head and pushed with his full weight and strength. There was an unpleasant crunching sound, and the snake fell still.
The goats' eyes were bulging and it was gasping for breath. The lion head, unable to intervene, wavered from side to side in confusion. Then the Commando shifted his grip and twisted, snapping the neck like a thick branch. The goat head collapsed, hanging down one flank of the body. As the Commando jumped down and retrieved his spear, the lion head bellowed in pain and rage. But when that noise ended, the Commando hear another one. Helicopter, coming in fast. He began to sprint away from the Chimaera. Cream had heard the same thing, and had also begun to run, dragging a reluctant Gawain with him.
"EVERYBODY DOWN!" Yelled the Commando at full amplification.
A streak of smoke, with fire at its tip, lanced out of the sky at the Chimaera. There was a terrific explosion. The Hooded Man, from his vantage point, saw the Chimaera, broken in two, hurled into the air before crashing back to the ground.
With that, it was over. Without the Chimaera to direct them, and faced with enemies they could not match, the remaining Warg pulled together, cowering and whining, the fight gone out of them.
The team gathered together, Gawain was grumbling to Cream.
"To intervene in battle without declaration was held ill courtesy in former times." He said. "It could lead to misunderstanding and an obligation one might be hard put to discharge!"
"Amateurism." Cream noted. "The crew of that gunship are professionals, doing the job they're paid to do and trained for. They wouldn't for a moment consider that we're under any obligation to them except to do the same for them if the situation arose, because we're all on the same side."
"I've already thanked them." The Commando added. "Advantage of a built-in radio."
"What do we do about these Wargs?" The Cat asked. "Look at 'em! Scared, beaten, pathetic. Not sure I could bring myself to shoot 'em as they are."
"Don't think any of us could." Jack allowed. "Killing in cold blood isn't what we're about. Could you do that, Evelyn?"
The Black Knight shook his head. "People, yes, if they deserved it. But animals and innocents? No."
Then a new sound came. The roar of a powerful motorcycle, followed by the vehicle itself. The tall man riding it shut the engine off and dismounted, striding toward the Wargs. He seemed to bring a shadow with him, and a creeping chill that spoke of fear, despair and inevitable defeat. Instinctively, the team tightened their grips on their weapons and moved into fighting stances.
The stranger ignored them, approaching the Wargs and speaking in soft, soothing tones. They fawned on him, gathering close as if for protection. He turned to the team and removed his crash helmet.
Most of the team saw nothing under the helmet. The Unborn and Gawain, however saw a human face. Pale, strong, stern with dark eyes; ancient eyes that had seen things no-one should see. He spoke, his voice deep and cold.
"This was none of our doing. This is one of your kind meddling. Esharra is no threat to you, the Great Abyss keeps us apart. Let it remain so. But if you do not deal with the meddlers, my Master shall! His patience is not inexhaustible."
With that he turned his back on them and began to chant in a strange language. A harsh tongue whose sounds combined the coldness of stone with the crackle of fire. As he chanted, he and the Wargs began to fade. His voice became fainter, until both it and them had vanished.
"Wow!" Spitfire said. "Scary invisible dude!"
"I could see him." The Unborn said. "Could you, Gawain?"
"Aye, though I wish I had not." Gawain replied. "Such hunger and sorrow are hard to bear, even in anothers' eyes."
"What about you, Samara?" Jack asked.
"I saw a shadow." The Green Lantern replied. "I thought he was a Dire Wraith, until he mentioned Esharra."
"He's a Lich." The Unborn said. "One of the rarest and most powerful of the Undead. Becoming a Lich is what happens to someone when they prolong their life through dark magic. Their life is consumed, their body fades until all that's left is their mind and will, caught between the Mundane Realm and the Spirit Realm."
XXXXX
The Witch-King stood before Sauron.
"They are not fools, my Master." He said. "There is much that they do not know, but they are learning quickly. They are both peaceable and warlike. They tolerate much, but are stern and unyielding to any who step beyond their limits. Their weapons are fell and their warriors dour-handed. Even my Presence did not send them fleeing. Indeed it seemed to bring out their courage as it roused their fears."
"So," Sauron observed, "men are unchanged from the time I sought you out, and your fellows, to be my lieutenants."
"Not unchanged." The Witch-King said. "Many rule themselves without Kings, Knights and Nobles. Even where such things do exist, the actual rule lies with an elected council – they call it it a 'Parliament' or a 'Congress'. Their craft is unmatched, they ride on wheeled machines, or in carriages without beasts to pull them. They have craft that sail both on and beneath the waters, and that fly in the sky. They have devices that allow them to speak to each other across great distance, or answer any question they might choose to ask.
"The warriors I met could have overcome me, at the least I would have been hard put to it. Two came from other worlds, one was possessed by an ancient spirit, two more had had changes made to their bodies, one was a half-blood Fae, another bore ancient and enchanted armour, there was a metal man and a crystal golem." He paused a moment, then said slowly. "I also sensed that the Black Swords were among them."
A hiss escaped Sauron. "Are you certain?" He demanded.
The Witch-King nodded. "About this I could not be mistaken. I was once apprentice to the Winter-Smith, Craftmaster Eol, who forged them. His spirit marks his work, so that any who knew him well can sense when an item he made is to hand, and know what it is. They have been reforged by another, but Eols' mark is still on them."
"I understand." Sauron said. "You did well, Angmar. Now return to Minas Morgul and stay alert."
Alone, Sauron began to pace. The Black Swords were significant, he knew, but precisely how and in what way was never entirely clear. They had been found, at the very beginning of the Cycle, by the Vadhagh, his own people. Two great black swords, each carved with terrible runes. Runes that had been found by the Vadhagh on stele and structures which had somehow survived the Great Conjunction and come through into the new Cycle. The same runes that appeared on the Runestaff that was the sceptre of Manwe the Elder King, Lord of the Titans. Those runes had never been fully deciphered, but enough to reveal the names of the Black Swords – Stormbringer and Mournblade. Various Vadhagh warriors had used the swords over the ages, but in the end, all were overcome by the ravening spirits that dwelt within the blades, becoming tyrants, conquerors and murderers. Finally, they had been locked away by Corum, Saurons' grandfather and greatest of all Vadhagh warriors.
Centuries later, Sauron himself, then a Vadhagh warrior-mage called Mairon the Admirable, had found the blades in the bowels of Castle Erorn, his family home. They were dulled, and blunt, their runes worn away and the spirits within them fled for lack of sustenance. Mairon had given the blades to Eol, Craftmaster of the Winter Fae, who had reforged them, naming them Anglachel and Anguirel, and placing in them spirits of warlike, but not evil, nature. Anglachel had been given in tribute to Thingol the Winter King, Anguirel to Eols' son, Maeglin.
Thingol later gifted Anglachel to Sir Beleg of the Strong Bow during the War of the Jewels. When Beleg was slain, the blade passed to his Knight Hand, Sir Turin, mightiest in arms of all Men. With it, Turin slew Glaurung, chieftain of Morgoths firedrakes. But when his unknown dishonour was revealed to him, Turin fell on his own blade and Anglachel was broken.
Sir Maeglin wielded Anguirel in the service of Turgon, Lord of the Hidden City. But Maeglin broke his faith, went over to Morgoth and betrayed the City. Maeglin was bought to bay by Sir Tuor, the mortal who had wedded Turgons' daughter, and slain. Anguirel broke in his hand and he was cast into a deep chasm.
The fragments of both swords were brought back to Eol, who kept them until one arose who might make better use of them. That one was the half-Fae Mage Myrddin, who took the swords, reforged them and imbued them with spirits of justice. He named one Excalibur, and lent it to his cousin Arthur, the other he called Albion and kept himself.
What had become of them since, Sauron had no way of knowing. All contact with the Earth Realm had been lost shortly after Arthurs' fall, and the Fae knew nothing of what had become of the swords.
But if they were active again, then the times must be perilous. The Earth Realm was far away, but it seemed that echoes of this peril reached into Esharra. Sauron would look to his defences – it was wise to be cautious.