The White Shadow Saga: The Stolen Moon of Londor (17 page)

He found no difficulty in returning. There
were no signs of life, which worried the wizard. Where had they
gone? Prisoners, or dead at the hands--and fangs--of the enemy?
Neither idea was a pleasant one, and he relegated them to a
secluded corner of his mind. There was ample evidence of a
struggle--branches ripped from trees, a long slide in the mud, and
a mound of dead flesh and fur covered in blood. Many sets of
footprints were jumbled in the muddy ground, none granting a clear
picture of where their makers had gone. The fire Randor had created
hours ago continued to burn. Running his hand over the flames one
last time, he made a fist. The fire died in a magical choke, and
complete darkness reigned.

Randor was gifted with the ability to see
through the shrouds of darkness. On his way from the clearing, he
sniffed his way about the thorn bushes: the foul stench of
werewolves united with the not unpleasant scent of elves.

Following the light of his spent magic
against the Mazazuken upon the distant hill, Randor raced down a
path that he hoped would lead to the others. He no longer felt evil
in his presence. From the corner of his eye he saw a small shadow
moving about in the forest. He stopped and shifted his eyes--still
he detected no negative energy. "I wonder what this could be," he
whispered as the form came from hiding and stood before him.

"Randor!" It was Lorn.

"What are you doing out here? Are you
alone?"

"Yes," the dwarf replied, relieved. "I went
looking for Seth. I hate the dark! Have you seen him?"

"Come with me," Randor answered, and he
grabbed Lorn by the arm and continued in the direction of the
fires.

"But have you seen Seth?"

"No more questions now." Lorn's eyes were
filled with the orange glow as he was led in confusion to the
hill.

Muron and Arnanor were still at the base of
the steep incline, with Muron trying to comfort his brother. "Can
you stand yet?" he asked Arnanor.

"I told you to keep your hands off me! I do
not need your help! I am fine!"

"Tell me what happened here," Randor asked on
his arrival. Arnanor looked up to the wizard with eyes wanting to
deny the truth. He sat slumped in humiliation born of the defeat
that had been his this night.

"He was attacked!" Muron answered for him.
"Those monsters…"

"Enough from you!" Arnanor spoke sharply.

The sounds of battle echoed faintly as Geil,
Gildan, and Malander continued in combat against the lone
Yindraken.

"They need your help, Randor!" Muron cried.
He was worried, mostly for his closest friend, who had let anger
control his judgment, leaving him and his brother alone. Arnanor
had made it clear many times that leaving Muron undefended would be
a grave breach of the knight's code of honor, but rage and
long-brewing hatred followed its own regulations.

"My magic will heal you, Arnanor, but I must
attend to the others first."

"Grant me my strength now! Let me finish
this!" Arnanor demanded.

"That is something I cannot do. Lorn, stay
here with the elves."

"Randor!" Arnanor cried as the wizard
strolled away. His emotions poured outward. "Please do not do this
to me!"

"I am sorry," he said.

Arnanor reached out for Randor as if seeking
something that had fallen from his grasp. His fingers were numb,
and he fell back on the grass. He could not find the reason why a
mere kick had sent him into such a downward spiral of sickness.
"This armor has failed me," the prince whispered.

* * *

Yindraken was completely surrounded. As Geil
went after him, the werewolf lashed out in defense. Only Geil
attacked, while Gildan took gradual steps away from the
confrontation in order to entrap the enemy, allowing Geil to try
his fortune against this particular enemy. As Malander rejoined
Gildan, Randor approached undetected.

Geil's fatigue shone through after a long
combination of rapid sword attacks, and his once fluent and crisp
technique grew sloppy. Luckily, he was still able to keep Yindraken
at bay. The sword grew heavy in his sweaty hands as he slashed and
parried, drawing sustenance from the never-ending fire of his
hatred. Killing this evil figure of the North would exalt his
status greatly--a lifelong dream. It was a secret goal he strived
for: never to be forgotten after he passed to the next world.

Victory grew nearer as Geil broke through the
werewolf's defense and sliced into Yindraken's knee. The wolf lord
fell without uttering a sound, the pain already greater than he
could bear. Geil bit down on his lip in anger. Yindraken, accepting
his fate, shut his red eyes.

"Thus, you perish from this world!" Geil
proclaimed. "I will be known as the one who set the elves free of
you!"

Yindraken murmured something unclear--perhaps
a prayer or a spell. Geil seemed to grow delirious as the blood
from his fallen foes dripped into his eyes. This was no time to
lower his weapon in order to clear his sight, for he had the
Mazazuken exactly where he wanted him.

Suddenly, the wounded beast began to laugh
uncontrollably, raising his head to meet Geil's baffled expression.
All who stood on the hill were confused--including Randor. A
suicidal end was Yindraken's main thought now, as his own demise
was apparent. Malander and Gildan backed away with swords held
ready, remaining cautious. Geil's mind and muscles tensed; his
heart desired bloodshed.

You're losing
control,
Geil spoke to himself. Then the elf's entire
being began to crumble as he shook violently from fear. His sword
hung loose in his hand.

"He is failing," Randor whispered.

Geil's weariness was showing, as even
Yindraken, with his poor eyesight, noticed. The courageous knight
fell to a knee.

"Farewell, weakling," Yindraken growled, and
with a mighty leap, he was gone into the night.

Randor moved to where Geil knelt, gazing in
the direction the wolf lord had gone.

"I cannot let him go." Geil struggled to
stand once more. "We must hurry, Randor."

"He has fled into the shadows. We will never
find him before he heals."

"No!" Geil screamed, and started off, but
before he had gone two steps, Randor stopped him. "Let me
finish."

"Another day," replied Randor.

"I cannot go on if he lives! I will not be a
failure!"

"You are not a failure, Geil," Gildan said.
"You fought well…I am very impressed--you have raised my confidence
in Northern sword wielders."

"It will not be long before we must set out,"
Randor advised. Looking at the stars' wheeling pattern, he could
see that sunrise was only a few hours away. The journey back to the
camp, and caring for the wounded Seth and Arnanor, would consume
time that they needed for resting. Randor looked at the devastated
Geil, paused, and gently lifted his chin. The knight's eyes were
glazed, and tears mixed with blood ran down his face. His chapped
lips trembled from the coldness of defeat. As difficult as Randor
found it to deny Geil the chance to redeem himself, he stood firm
in his command and nudged the elf's shoulder toward the fallen
prince. "Come."

Muron and Lorn sat on the ground next to
Arnanor, while Malander remained on the hill and stared off into
night, still wanting to wage war. He knew that the Mazazuken were
out there and that he need only wander about the forest for a short
while to encounter them.

Seeing Geil, Muron embraced his longtime
friend and inspected his condition. Wiping away the blood from his
eyes, he adjusted his guardian's chest plate, now dented with new
scars of battle.

Lorn looked around for Seth, wondering
whether he would ever return. The idea of his friend's death preyed
on his mind. Then, seeing Geil, the dwarf took the borrowed dirk
from his belt. "Here," he said, returning the weapon.

"No, no," Muron said. "You keep that. It will
help you in later situations."

Lorn looked at the gleaming dagger and
smiled; never had he received such a great gift. "Thank you, Prince
Muron. I will cherish this always."

"You are welcome, my friend. I can show you
how to use it when we find the time and a safe place."

"I already have just the place to put it in
my home." Lorn paused. "That is, if I ever make it home."

"You will," Randor reassured him. "Do not
worry about Seth." Lorn perked up. "He is resting near the camp,
not badly hurt."

Everyone was deeply tired and yearned for a
few hours' rest by the fire. Trouble seemed far away for now, and
Randor set off into the forest, guiding the company with a faint
magical light. The path proved easy, and they journeyed in silence
until the smell of smoldering fire and the nickering of the horses
alerted them that they had arrived.

Waving his hand once more, Randor resurrected
the fire, and the party basked in its welcomed warmth. Geil looked
around for the beasts he had killed, but all that remained of his
trophies was blood littering the ground.

"Where did they go?" Lorn inquired.

"What?" Randor replied. "The werewolves? They
returned to the earth….Everyone wait here. I am going for
Seth."

"Can I go with you?" asked Lorn.

"Stay close to me, then." Randor turned
toward the path. "Gildan, watch over the company until I
return."

"With pleasure."

"If anything arises in my absence, do not
hesitate to retrieve me. Whatever you do, though, do not disappear
on me again."

"It shall be done," Gildan answered with a
bow. "I do believe the worst is over."

Randor nodded and took Lorn onto the path.
The Northern elves saw to their horses and attended selfishly to
their own needs while Gildan kept a close eye on the three--he
needed no more trouble from the royalty. Malander, meanwhile,
plopped down and sat in a meditating position, cracked his stiff
joints, and began cleaning his blade with the hem of his jacket.
Though the thick blood settled into the dark fabric, he seemed to
enjoy its presence, as if it were a badge or battle ribbon.
Thinking back on his accomplishments this night, he was frustrated
that the pleasurable experience of killing was over for now, though
overall he was pleased to see another day, in which perhaps to end
his misery.

The Northern elves stood by their horses in
deep conversation. "I wonder what they are saying," Gildan
whispered.

"Hell if I care," Malander replied. "Just
keep well clear of people's business, hmm?"

"I am responsible for keeping the peace here.
We cannot afford any conspiracy against our cause….Perhaps they
plan to leave us."

"Let them. All they are is trouble
anyway."

* * *

Randor reappeared with Seth and Lorn at his
side, and the three sat across from Malander, who still burned with
irritation. After looking over Seth's wounds, Lorn found none of
them too serious, and seeing this, Randor finally relaxed and
pulled out his pipe. Gildan gave into temptation and smoked his
pipe as well.

"Could you blow that poisonous smoke
somewhere else?" Malander grumbled, shifting away to avoid the
bothersome fumes. "Damned pipes."

The Northern elves returned to the fire,
keeping plain expressions as if nothing had occurred while they
were away, drawing a suspicious look from Gildan.

After enjoying his smoke, Randor
decided it was time to begin healing the injured. Placing his hands
on Arnanor, he could feel his stamina decline even further, but he
concealed his fatigue and pain so as not to worry the
others.
No one must know,
he
said to himself, and walked away from the company with his back
turned. Clutching his chest, he asked the gods to relieve his
burning anguish.

Gildan grew concerned. "Are you well?"

Randor managed a deep breath and
replied, "Yes, Gildan. All is well with me." It was a lie, but at
least the journey would continue, even if the wizard should lose
all his strength. Time would heal him--so he hoped.
Return me to balance soon, Master,
he prayed. The breeze felt soothing against his skin and
seemed somehow to rejuvenate him.

Seth placed his arm around Lorn, grateful to
have such a devoted friend. Indeed, Highbinder esteemed Lorn as a
greater healing agent even than Randor's magic.

Arnanor caught Seth's attention, and he
nodded to the prince. "I am glad to see you alive," said Seth. And
he meant it--he never wanted to see a fellow Mudalfaen ally
defeated, and moreover, the consequences would be severe for
Highbinder if the Council were to know of the princes' presence
here. Since the two princes had not an official battalion at their
command, he had to fulfill the law of protecting royalty, even
though Arnanor had made it clear that Seth's service was in no way
welcome.

"Spare me your small talk, knight!" Arnanor
replied as he found some comfort beside the log. Muron took this as
a cue to do the same, and placed his arms behind his head and
watched the heavens until he fell into a deep slumber.

"I suggest all of you gather your strength
for tomorrow," said Randor. "Sunrise will be here sooner than you
think, and we have a long road ahead of us--too long even to
contemplate its end. The Oracle awaits our arrival tomorrow
evening." Randor patted Gildan on the shoulder and smiled. All lay
down to sleep but Malander, who sat like a statue in his
meditation. Randor said gently to the grim knight, "Replenish
yourself, my friend. Our journey is not through."

"I am not tired," Malander answered sharply.
"The only way I'll rest is by you casting one of your ridiculous
spells on me. Otherwise, do not order me to rest."

"Then I will leave you be," Randor replied,
ending it there.

Malander turned his back to the wizard.
Although he was not in command of the company, he would keep to
himself as much as possible and follow in the shadows for as long
as it took. There was bound to be more bloodshed along this dark
road, and this thought alone cheered his clouded mind.