The White Shadow Saga: The Stolen Moon of Londor (15 page)

"I'm listening to you, elf," he replied. He
gave his ears but kept his eyes on the hill, waiting for Yindraken
to return. Even in this quiet moment, Malander's guard was up, for
he knew that the battle was not yet near its end. As Gildan spoke
the plan, Malander nodded. He found it risky yet interesting, and
anyway, he was in the mood for a daring chance, so he agreed to
follow the elf's lead.

In the brief respite from fighting, strength
returned slowly to their weary bodies. The two cautiously made
their way across the barren hill, and all was calm--or so they
thought.

The sky was free of clouds, and the moon rode
high above the horizon, shining its radiance onto the worried world
below. Now the brightest star, the God Star, outshone the single
moon, which was not typical at all. Gildan began finally to admit
to himself that his life force and strengths as a mercenary were
being affected by the absence of one of the heavenly divinities. He
could not deny that elvish mana flowed from above, and for reasons
unknown, this truth was all that he wished to accept. Gildan had
faced greater foes in his many years, and many had fallen with far
less effort than he had expended this night. True, Yindraken was a
worthy adversary, but Gildan's prowess should outstrip that of the
beast.

* * *

Assuming his victory perhaps a bit early as
he strolled almost casually to the fallen prince, Yindraken dropped
his defenses, forgetting the two enemies he had been pitted
against. There lay Arnanor, helpless on his back, his armor bunched
uncomfortably. He stared at the moon overhead, unable to move even
a finger in his dazed state. His eyelids fluttered rapidly as he
fought to keep consciousness. The sword that he bore was out of his
grasp, lost as he tumbled down the hill. Unable to defend himself
and unaware of the approaching threat, he tried to form a coherent
thought.

Though he wanted desperately to stand, his
body seemed beyond his command. The dreaded moment came when the
Mazazuken lord stood grinning over the prince, ready to claim his
victory at long last over the Northern Kingdom--a satisfaction
Yindraken had craved for hundreds of years. It would be all too
easy to rip his prey apart, but Yindraken had a few smug words of
gloating to express first. Slowly he knelt down and grasped Arnanor
underneath his chest plate, raising him four feet from the ground.
The elf's head tilted back, unable to keep sight of his bane.

"I have waited for this moment for the
longest time," said the beast, "and it gives me untold joy to bring
your pathetic life to an end. The end of suffering for my brothers
is at hand. No longer will we surrender to the elves and be forced
back into caves! My father would be proud of me this day had he not
been killed by your kind!"

Then, with a snarl, he grasped Arnanor by the
hair, lifting his head so that the prince might see his doom come.
Both locked eyes. Arnanor was aware of what was happening, though
he showed no sign of fear. Blood flowed in a thin stream down the
elf's chin as he tried to find words to shout back at the wolf, but
fatigue robbed him of all movement.

"You show much bravery," Yindraken said.
"Pity it was wasted in such a lesser creature." Lowering the elf's
head, he opened his jaws, aching for Arnanor's blood to spill out
onto the hillside. "Know this," he added, "I will return soon to
your homeland and destroy all that remains!" But as he laughed
wickedly at the prospect, Yindraken failed to hear the quiet
footfalls behind him.

Gildan came softly forward, sword pointed at
Yindraken's head, the long blade gleaming in the light. Then,
seeing the monster crouched over the prince, the elf-mercenary
sprinted toward him, unable to withhold the battle cry building
inside.

Hearing the shout, Yindraken turned, dropping
his prey to the ground. Springing into a fighting stance, he raised
his hands, eager to fight, as the elf drew closer. Gildan thrust
his sword, piercing the cold air near the wolf's chest, missing by
scant inches and cutting only fur. Spinning about, he made as if to
attack again, secretly shifting his eyes to the silent, oncoming
Malander.

Malander's long coattail billowed behind him
as he bore in, one hand holding his sword hilt, stretching out his
free arm in the Southern fighting style.

Yindraken stood motionless, waiting--in
another moment, if neither should yield, the two would surely
collide. Malander could no longer contain the pain of his past
inside, wanting only to vent his feelings on his enemy. "Die!" he
screamed, thrusting his blade as hard as he could. Victory seemed
at hand as the blade drove in toward the creature, but then it
stopped, caught in the bare hands of Yindraken. Malander twisted
the blade, trying to cut into the beast's grip, yet no blood flowed
from its hands. Looking at his sword in disbelief, Malander placed
both hands on the hilt and pressed forward with all his strength.
As if without effort, Yindraken held the blade still even as
Malander then tried to pull it free.

"You are no match for me!" the werewolf
gloated, just as Gildan whirled about, slashing deeply into his
arm. Dark blood spurted out, drenching the white fur. Instinctively
clutching his wound to stem the river of blood, the werewolf tried
to retreat up the hill, but in so doing, he freed Malander's sword.
Malander drew it away. With a shriek of agony, Yindraken fell to
his knees.

"Are you all right?" Gildan asked as he came
to rest beside Malander.

"Of course!" he replied sharply. "Always!"
Malander turned to finish off the wounded creature. "My thanks to
you, good elf. This will make an easy ending."

"Do not lose your caution."

On his knees, Yindraken panted heavily and
licked his wounded arm, shaking violently. The battle was over for
the moment, for the Mazazuken Lord had to regenerate his damaged
limb. But as Malander smiled wickedly and quickened his pace,
Gildan felt the presence of something else. The night sounds had
stopped, creating an unnatural silence.

Slowly Arnanor came around; he could move his
limbs, and now he was seeing only one of everything. The prince
turned onto his stomach and pressed himself off the ground by his
arms. He felt sick. He did not yet know that his nemesis had been
wounded, or exactly where he was. The need to engage in battle
crept back into his spirit, and he got to his feet. Moving his head
gingerly from side to side, he felt in the grass for his sword, but
the effort was too much, and he collapsed onto his back.
"Ethindar," he panted, "my Lord, please grant me strength to
vanquish your foes."

"Take your clan and leave this place!" Gildan
declared, but Yindraken did not respond.

"You cannot let him go, Gildan!" Malander
shouted. "I will kill this creature for what he has done to us!" He
raised his sword as a grin crept across his pale face.

"Humiliation is greater than death."

"Not this night!" Malander moved past Gildan
in haste, knowing that werewolves needed little time to heal their
wounds. And indeed, already Yindraken's panting had slowed as the
two approached. Malander would cleave the monster in two and end
this at last.

Yindraken was in disbelief at having been
wounded, especially by someone such as Gildan. After fleeing from
the fight, he had found temporary respite atop the great hill, only
to collapse from pain and loss of blood. His thick fingers, clamped
over the wound, stanched most of the blood flow, but still it
seeped out onto his fur. He knew that if he did not heal quickly,
the prince would soon flee, and it might be months or years until
another chance like this arose. Raising his arm, he licked the
gash. And with each lap, pain shot through his entire body; still,
though the task was all but unbearable, it had to be done. He heard
the two enemies treading toward him but he did not look up;
movement in his left arm had not returned.

Malander drew inward without a care, swinging
his sword playfully, when unexpectedly, Yindraken rolled forward,
catching him off guard. As the Mazazuken lord rose to his feet, two
of his kindred leaped through the air and landed on the ground
behind him. Yindraken peered over his shoulder and acknowledged the
overdue arrival of his gray-furred kinsmen, who stood behind their
master, awaiting his command. Then, seeing the wound on their
lord's arm, the two wolves snarled in unison.

"Now would be a good time for reinforcements
to arrive," Gildan said, turning to confront the newest threat. "I
hope Seth made his way to Randor and the others."

"Perhaps," Malander laughed. "If not, then we
die together!" His laughter held a maniacal edge. Gildan had not
the time to analyze his companion's mental state--to respect him as
a swordsman was enough for now. Retreat was impossible, he knew,
and these two newest enemies would not be the end of it.

Sensing movement behind him, Gildan glanced
downhill and saw yet another pair of gray-furred Mazazuken,
climbing toward them on all fours. "Two more, Malander."

The prince was forgotten as the beasts
approached their leader.

"What are you waiting for?" Malander asked
the beasts calmly. "Patience is a wretched thing," he whispered.
"Strike me down if you dare."

"Appears they await a command from their
lord," Gildan observed. "Well-trained minions have their
weaknesses."

"If we take away their damned leader, then
the rest will surely fall into our hands." Malander paused and
studied the four protecting Yindraken. "Our task proves
difficult…yet enjoyable." He snickered quietly, rolling his
shoulders in sweet anticipation.

After a few moments, Yindraken appeared from
behind one of his brethren. "Master, are you well?" a wolf asked,
and all four sets of burning red eyes glared at the two whom they
held accountable for his wounds.

Yindraken drew in a labored breath and
replied, "Yes, Lieutenant. They have fought well, but now they meet
their end."

"What is your decree, great master?"

"Tear these two apart and bring back the one
who fled from my vengeance, for undoubtedly he has gone to bring
more arms against the Mazazuken. Do this and I shall reward you
greatly."

"To do your bidding is reward enough,
master," the beast said proudly as it bowed. Yindraken removed his
hand from his minion, and a pained smile came to his broad face.
Victory belonged to the Mazazuken.

"What are you waiting for, you sniveling
whelps!" yelled Malander, shaking his sword. "Strike me down! Don't
hold back your fury from me!" He bounced up and down, taunting his
enemies with the edge of his blade. "See you on the other side,
elf," Malander declared as he charged away to his death.

"Yes, you shall," Gildan replied as he, too,
set off.

Surprised by their foe's bold gesture, the
Mazazuken stood dumbfounded around their leader. As their ranks
broke, Yindraken found himself suddenly exposed to Malander in this
final confrontation. Malander would rely only on his weapon and his
skills, throwing himself at the massive evil. He made for the
nearest wolf minion. With a long and powerful jump, he swung his
blade, sinking its fine tip deep into the Mazazuken's shoulder and
paralyzing its arm. Withdrawing his sword as soon as it struck, he
sidestepped the wolf's stumble and slashed again across its belly.
Blood and loops of viscera fell from its warm body. Then, burying
the blade in its chest, the grim knight held the Mazazuken against
his sword, watching in sick delight as it quivered its last moment
of life. The dying werewolf's brothers could only watch,
overwhelmed, as the ruined Mazazuken fell to the ground, gurgling
its final breath.

Yindraken, snarling in rage, shouted to the
remaining three. But Malander turned to them, laughing with glee,
and shouted, "Come on, then!"

"Do my bidding!" Yindraken shouted, and his
three minions bellowed as one and extended their claws. The battle
was on, with two of the beasts facing Malander, and the other
wanting Gildan for his own.

Gildan backed away slowly, full of
confidence, taunting his enemy, who was not pleased by the elf's
sense of amusement. Backing with lowered guard, the elf thrust an
intentionally weak slash, playing with the small mind of the wolf,
implying that this was a contest of little importance.

Watching his kinsman being mocked by this
mercenary, Yindraken was insulted. War was a serious undertaking to
his kind, and all its aspects were interwoven with honor and
respect.

"I must deal with this myself," Yindraken
spoke, looking to his arm and noticing that the blood no longer
seeped from the wound. Clenching his fist, he found it working well
enough for his needs. Gildan had slighted the werewolves' martial
tradition, so it was he who would meet Yindraken's wrath first.
Malander would come last, for the wolf-lord wanted to dispose of
him in a more gruesome way.

Taking six large strides, Yindraken lunged at
Gildan, who feinted and parried him away. Now the mercenary showed
his true handling of the sword, slashing and spinning the long
blade around his body in all directions, keeping the Mazazuken at
bay. The once flowing grass now lay flattened beneath their feet as
they fought across the hilltop. Gildan caught a glimpse of Malander
and attempted to join his side, thinking of uniting to improve
their chances. The elf, for his part, thought this whole matter
trivial and wanted only to be done with it so that they might
concentrate on the larger task before them--the fate of the missing
moon still had to be known.

As the battle continued, the Mazazuken began
to lose concentration. Malander combined blows from his free fist
and his feet with the thrusts of his sword.

"We will never suffer defeat by these lowly
creatures!" Yindraken cried, charging toward Gildan with head
lowered, reaching out to sink his claws into the elf's neck. But
his eyes flickered to his right when the winds kicked up strangely.
Impatient to rid his mind of the mystery, Yindraken turned and was
horrified to see three flickering lights streaking through the sky,
growing larger by the second. But before he could muster a coherent
thought, one of the comet-like lights shot past him, blasting
violently into the Mazazuken that was approaching Gildan's
backside. Fire roared from a gaping hold in the werewolf's chest as
it flew high into the air. It had no chance even to cry out in
pain, for its death was instantaneous.