The White Shadow Saga: The Stolen Moon of Londor (2 page)

Randor looked to Gildan, who was obviously
curious about where this was going. "I doubt that my full strength
will be called upon, but what I have planned is wonderful, indeed.
I advise you, however, not to place yourself in harm's way once the
conjuring begins."

Gildan nodded and felt at ease. "Once this is
over, Randor, we will both bask in the glory of victory. You above
all have my greatest trust and undying aid. If you are ever in need
of any ally, do not disregard my words."

Lowering his head to hide any emotion, Randor
replied, "I pray the day does not come when I need the aid of those
I am meant to protect." He placed an arm on Gildan's shoulder. "I
do honor your pledge, and shall accept if necessary." Randor looked
into the clear heavens and sighed. "After all, no one is
invincible."

"And yet what you do is phenomenal," Gildan
replied. "Your strength and wisdom have carried you through the
ages. You have protected elves and the lesser for more than eight
thousand years." Gildan brandished at last his beloved sword,
Marghelor, from it sheath. The blade was double-edged and
extraordinarily long, just over forty inches of devastating
steel.

The wizard looked suddenly tired. "I am
grateful for each new day I am given to assist the progression of
this world. This is as it should be."

Behind the two leaders stood the battalion,
armed and ready for the night's engagement. Randor was clearly done
with speaking and uttered these last words: "Let us hasten into
Siln."

"
Orig-nah!
" Gildan yelled proudly as he pointed
his sword ahead, the blade gleaming slightly in the
moonlight.

Randor extinguished his pipe and tucked it
into his cloak as the Obinoth began to march in perfect form, with
the wizard and their mercenary leader forging the way.

Telsar remained at the edge of the valley
with two companies of soldiers to safeguard the path, ready to fend
against the Rhingar if they meant to sneak past the Obinoth that
marched into the valley. Telsar and his companions watched their
brethren advance toward the inevitable conflict.

* * *

The entrance to the valley was a steep and
fairly smooth decline, save the deep footprints of the Rhingar that
scarred the earth. Almost without sound the elven troops progressed
down into the beginnings of the valley.

At the base of the long path flowed a wide
river. Fortunately for Randor and his followers, though, it was
shallow and easily forded. No sign came of the Rhingar's
whereabouts as the Obinoth emerged on the far bank. Randor felt the
hearts of the elves falter, and he lovingly embraced their fear,
knowing that fear drove the will of the strong. In all his years of
service, Randor had seen this emotion elevate those in power many
times. But in all this time, he had never experienced fear of his
own. He often wondered if Ethindar voided this feeling from his
existence.

Staring at the tall line of trees
before him, Randor noticed that the forest felt suddenly very
forbidding and that the trees appeared mutilated--something he had
not seen before in this region. The trunks were gray and knotted
and appeared weak and pithy.
What magic
has come into being within Siln?
he
wondered.

The narrow path into the dark forest
forked in five directions just inside the canopy. All about the
forest floor laid thorny vines, mounds of dirt covered in moss, and
large piles of rotted trees entangled in wretchedness. Gildan knew
that he must divide his army once again. Seeking no counsel, he
spoke, "
Min gaist-thos. Fui len
nah
." Acknowledging the command, Faragen took
two-hundred and fifty more men from the corps--Gildan weighing this
squadron heavier since they would not have the benefit of Randor's
presence.

The wizard caught a movement to his left as
the group of elves marched cautiously through the woods. The wind
had grown warmer and stronger, as if warning its newest guests to
retreat from the forest's brooding presence. Randor advanced
through the crying gale and clenched his cloak tighter to his
chest. The leafy canopy hung low over the paths, and he thought it
odd to see them so long and already black even now, in
midsummer.

Gildan scanned beneath the trees, hoping to
glimpse some sign of the Rhingar, to hear some careless sound that
might lead him to them. Columns of moonlight managing to break
through the thick canopy were all around. All was quiet, and only
the shallow breathing of the Obinoth could be heard. Each set of
eyes looked around uneasily, anticipating the unseen Rhingar.

Wanting desperately, but foolishly, to scream
and thus draw his enemies forth, Gildan sniffed the blustering wind
for a scent but detected nothing. He looked to Randor, hoping that
he knew the true way, but the wizard trod on ahead, apparently
oblivious to the elf's silent plea for wisdom. Gildan caught up to
Randor with four quick strides, clutching his sword tighter. The
Rhingar were well known for their cunning ways of concealment, and
after three years of hard work Gildan was not about to fall victim
to their wiles now.

A long, eerie shriek rang through the forest,
jolting every Obinoth soldier into full alert. Gildan glanced over
his shoulder and observed the structure of his battalion.

As Gildan turned back to the path before him,
the Rhingar sprang from the darkness on all sides, each armed with
a dark blade, almost unseen in the moonlight. The Rhingar were
built in similar fashion like the Obinoth, their complexions were
as gray as the armor they wore. Unearthly cries of war erupted from
every dark tongue as their yellowed eyes focused on vengeance. It
reminded Gildan of the war's beginning, when the Rhingar flooded
the borders of Obinoth and his excitement rose as the enemy raced
ahead; in mere seconds the Rhingar would be within blade's range.
Shouts from the Obinoth rang out, mostly commands to the various
units to hold their tight formation together.

The fear was palpable among Gildan's army,
and their swords shook like leaves of the forest as the screaming
Rhingar advanced. The enemy trampled up bits of moss, which
dislodged from the earth only to be caught up by the wind. Randor
and Gildan moved apart, leaving enough space between them that they
might fight without endangering each other. No sooner had they done
so, a swarm of Rhingar made haste toward Gildan and encircled him.
But suddenly Randor threw back his cloak, exposing his steady
hands, his only weapons. Though he now felt numb with fatigue, he
knew that the magic, once summoned, would flow regardless. Time was
of the essence now, however, and only short-versed spells would be
practical.

The Obinoth troops behind the two leaders
were engaged in pitched battle, with the Rhingar so far unable to
break their formation. Swords met, and the sparks from clashing
steel flickered like falling stars through the heavens. The Obinoth
were surrounded; no longer could Randor or Gildan see what was
happening to the Obinoth army not too far away. Twenty foes rushed
toward Gildan, and as the first sword stroke came, his senses
triggered a parry. He didn't have the chance now to thank himself
for his gifts. Raising his sword, he was ready for the next two
Rhingar to reach him, and deflected every slash and thrust
perfectly with over embellished style. All his energies channeled
to the task at hand as the emotion of battle consumed him.

Randor, entrapped now, stretched out his left
hand; it swayed gracefully before the Rhingar that challenged him.
His enemies shifted slowly around him, pointing their sharp blades
inward, yet hesitant, for the dark elves knew who Randor was and
dared not attack in frivolous haste. Randor preferred not to use
his magic this early on, nor did he wish to destroy the forest with
spells of fire and luminosity, the most potent short spells he had
at hand. The illumination spells would do minimal damage, blinding
the Rhingar at best, but the fire would ignite the wood, and the
winds would only spread its rage. No, he would hold the magic in
reserve for as long as the Obinoth could withstand the enemy on
their own.

Then, in the blink of an eye, four Rhingar
charged Randor with swords aimed at his chest. With little effort,
Randor sidestepped and ducked as one blade swiped the air mere
inches above his head, whistling in the night air. Pivoting, he
landed a back kick in the attacker's ribs, knocking the dark elf to
the forest floor. The remaining three came within arm's reach, and
Randor's hands moved with blinding speed, punching, grabbing, and
ripping. Blood flowed from his staggering opponents, and within
seconds the last one fell.

Gauging his position, he saw that the Rhingar
had opted to attack Gildan, deeming him easier prey than the
wizard. The Rhingar neither saw nor heard Randor coming, and when
they finally detected his presence, it was far too late.

"
Nara
tihra!
" he shouted, thrusting his arm forward, and a
bright flash of green light shone throughout Gildan's encircling
foes. Eight Rhingar were launched violently upward and away into
the night, their mutilated bodies landing a dozen yards away.
Gildan was now freed on one side, and Randor grabbed him by the
shoulder and pulled him outward. The two stayed close as Gildan
regained his breath.

"What are you doing?" asked the elf.

"Strengthening your offensive," Randor
replied. "The Obinoth need you."

Gildan looked up and saw that he and the
wizard were free of immediate threat, though the Obinoth were
slowly beginning to crumble. The once solid formation was now
scattered, and guidance was lost. Their advantage was diminishing.
Cries came from both armies, chilling the very spine of the
world.

"Stand aside." Randor raised his arms. "I
need you to protect this perimeter while I conjure a spell. Can you
do this for me?"

"Consider it done," Gildan replied, bringing
his sword up with a wicked smile.

The relentless battle raged on a mere hundred
yards from them. If the Obinoth were to have victory, it must come
soon. Randor suddenly saw a weak point in the Rhingar's attack. To
the wizard's left, a large cluster of the enemy tarried, not
helping to contain the Obinoth.

Sidestepping, Gildan took place beside the
wizard and suddenly felt the air around him grow cold as the spell
began.

"
Nara eth sohn
barad lei nus ten aoen
," Randor murmured, clasping his
hands together. Beams of red light blazed out from the cracks
between his palms and fingers and shot high into the canopy of dark
leaves. The bright color bathed Randor's face and reflected off his
dark spectacles.

Blades of both Obinoth and Rhingar drowned in
the blood of their antagonists as elves from both armies were
shoved, stabbed, cleaved, and thrown. The smell of death thickened
the night air all around them as all lives hung in the balance of
war.

Though the spell was short in verse, the
potency of this particular magic took time to establish.
Unbeknownst to Gildan, the time to release the magic drew closer.
He desired more than anything to rush to the aid the soldiers, for
the mood that possessed him made him believe he could destroy the
entire Rhingar horde by his hands alone. And yet, dangerous magic
was afoot, and he dare not cross its intended path.

Randor's body was scorching, burning from
within. His hands blazed with an unearthly fire. With a flick of
the wrists, a blinding red light arced outward. A hundred shards of
steel streaked from his palms through the night, piercing a hundred
Rhingar as if their armor were paper. The reddish glow faded as the
screams of the dying echoed through the forest.

"Charge, Gildan!" Randor cried as he charged
away to the clash, no longer careful of where he trod. Randor had
been silent for too long; now the battle would go to the bold.

As Gildan raised his blade and charged,
Randor let out a vicious cry and drew back his hand to let fly with
another spell. "
Nara
dhei-gen!
" yelled the wizard, sending dozens of
burning white rays toward his enemies. As the light coursed through
the air, each Rhingar it touched fell convulsing on the blood and
gore of the forest floor, purged of life. In this way Randor
slaughtered the enemy, dozens at a time, eventually allowing the
Obinoth to advance.

The spirit of the Obinoth grew strong once
more as the Rhingar retreated into the darkness ahead. Cheers
flowed from the mouths of the Obinoth as they marched over the
mounds of fallen enemies. Randor knew that the fleeing dark elves
hastened to rejoin the last of their kindred northward--the
direction also of the detached company of Obinoth. With the forest
around Gildan now cleared, the sounds of battle faded. He rallied
his army so as not to lose their prey again in this mysterious
valley. His sights still lay to the north, for their war was not
yet completed.

"You honor me with your bravery!"
Gildan proclaimed, to which the soldiers responded with a loud war
cry, making him feel exultant. A tear of pure emotion trailed down
his pale face, and raising his sword, he yelled,
"
Tu trose!
"

"
Tu
trose!
" the Obinoth returned in the universal cry that
meant, "Elves, to the death!"

"
Tu
trose
,
indeed," added Randor
with a nod. The wizard offered no other words of celebration,
knowing that the reaction was premature, for the enemy still lived,
and those many Obinoth of the detached companies were not yet
victorious. "Come, my friends!" he shouted. "We are needed
ahead!"