The White Shadow Saga: The Stolen Moon of Londor (21 page)

"Have you been to Nar-Fhandon, Gildan?" he
asked casually.

"Thirty years ago," the elf replied, not
thinking much about the question. "Can't say I cared for that place
at all." The memories of the city were not close to his heart, and
a sour look crossed his face as he tried not to dwell on them.
Suddenly realizing the reason for the question, he turned quickly
to meet Randor's curious face. "Don't tell me this is where your
strategy falls."

"Precisely."

"What would those vermin know of this? I'll
wager a thousand gold pieces that they haven't even noticed the
moon being gone!" He sank his face into his cool leather gloves and
shook his head. Gildan despised the entire region--his standard of
living far exceeded the crude comforts of Nar-Fhandon.

"Let us not be so negative about all of
this," Randor replied, hoping to change his companion's attitude.
"I cannot risk your dislike of these folk dampening our efforts
when we arrive. I do respect you and your opinions, but please
contain your feelings while you are there."

"Of course," Gildan answered. "Generally I do
keep these thoughts to myself, but I am sitting here with you and
with no one I might offend. Perhaps I am wrong to admit my views
aloud, but I will never jeopardize our quest." His pride ran deep,
and it was only natural for him to look down on those beneath his
ways. "I would follow you anywhere in the world, Randor, even
beyond the Four Gates of Ethindar."

"I know you would, and one day you may have
to."

Gildan was curious about what the wizard
might know. "How long do you think the world can last without
healing?"

Randor thought quickly on the question. "Six
months more, I would say." It was not a long time by any reckoning,
but it was what he saw as a probable conclusion. "The moon has been
gone for two months, and already much is lost. I can only imagine
what will come about in half a year."

"Londor will surely die if we fail," said
Gildan.

"True enough--but we will not fail, my
friend."

"I will perish before that happens. This
world has been too good to me." Though much adversity had been laid
before him in his years, he overcame it every time, and indeed,
many times Gildan had been the linchpin ensuring victory. In these
mercenary jobs he had made abundant wealth in the process. The
riches he earned had blessed him with the finest clothes, lodgings,
and foods and allowed him to travel the globe many times over.
"There is still much wealth left in Londor for me."

"Indeed," Randor laughed. "That aside," he
continued, "just concentrate on the present."

Gildan nodded in agreement and lay down,
placing his hands behind his head. He found the bed to his liking
as slumber rushed over him like a wind-filled storm.

After a while only the wizard remained awake,
unable to sleep. He was surprised that the restless Malander found
rest here, though his hand clutched tightly the hilt of his sword.
Randor leaned back against the wall and removed his hat and
glasses. The thought of famine came to his mind as he relaxed his
guard--the relentless storms, the sicknesses of the elves of
Londor, wizards bereft of magic, and the death of vegetation.
Randor knew that not even he could overcome the ultimate fate of
the world if this persisted. His soul was directly connected to the
spirit of the earth, and if Londor died, he would die with her. Not
even the god of creation could intervene--nor did Ethindar choose
to. Although it was His creation, diverting the course of the
future was one thing He would not do.

Randor realized that this task was his
greatest challenge. Looking over his companions, he was ever
grateful to be surrounded by others who would sacrifice their lives
to lift the burden of the world.

Chapter Nine: A Narrow Passage

"Wake up, Seth!" a voice cried out in the
sleeping knight's ears. He thought he was still in the middle of
the dream that had played in his mind all night long. The voice
that rang loud was not at first recognizable, but as he opened his
heavy eyelids a blurred Muron fell into view. The prince shook
Seth's shoulder hard, jolting him upright. Highbinder pushed his
damp hair from his forehead and noticed everyone wide awake,
standing at the steel door with weapons drawn. The armed company
leaned toward the hallway, their ears alert to what lay
outside.

"What is happening?" Seth asked,
confused.

"Lower your voice," Muron advised. "Strange
noises are all about us."

"Noises?"

"We do not know what they are," the prince
replied, his voice betraying an edge of panic. "They are still too
far away to be determined." He pulled on Seth's arm and dragged him
out of bed.

Randor stood closest to the door, his hands
pressed firmly against the cold steel. Seth stumbled over to the
gathering and took his place next to Lorn, as he always would.
Everyone seemed composed except Lorn and Muron, who were obviously
frightened. Though trembling in fear, the dwarf held his small
weapon out just as the others did. It was not long before Seth
heard the sounds of scratching and short, rapid hissing coming from
his left side and from under the stone floor. His eyes widened, and
the sleepy feeling was gone as he looked to the floor in disbelief.
Through his boots he felt a slight rumble, and it was confirmed
when he saw the expressions of the company, who felt it as
well.

"Did you feel that?" Lorn asked.

"Earthquake?" Arnanor suggested, it being the
only logical explanation he could think of. "Surely this place is
safe from any attack."

"The barrier guards us," Seth added, needing
to relieve his nerves.

Another tremor came, stronger than the first,
and particles of dust floated down from the high ceiling, clouding
the air with a light brown haze. The beds shifted slightly as the
wooden posts slid from side to side with each tremor thereafter. As
the pace of unsure movement created more dust, making Muron cough,
Geil clasped his free hand over the prince's mouth to prevent any
cough that might betray their whereabouts. The knight had a feeling
that this was no earthquake, and given the choice, he preferred to
escape this place without a fight, though the quarters were too
small and the hallways too narrow to afford an easy flight.

"This is no earthquake," Randor said. "The
tremors are rhythmic and can only be caused by someone or
something." Gathering his company's attention by a snap of his
fingers, he was now ready to give his command. "The Oracle is under
attack." Seven pairs of eyes stared at him. "We must find our host
and flee together. Keep close to me and remain focused." Cracking
the door gently open, he peered out into the corridor--no apparent
sign of threat yet, though whatever it might be was closer than he
liked. "We will head back down this hall, turn left, and return to
the mansion's main room. I will give further orders at that time."
The door was fully opened as Randor stepped out. "Be ready for
anything, my friends," he whispered, and with a wave of his hand
the escape began.

The company moved swiftly into the dim
passageway, and a foul stench greeted their nostrils. Pressing
their backs against the wall, they sidestepped slowly toward the
intersection just ahead. The smell grew stronger as an intense blue
light flickered around the corner. Randor stretched back his hand
and halted the movement. Not a sound was spoken. With the lights
that moved across the wall, a great snarling echoed louder with
every second. Whatever was coming seemed to be taking its time.

Arnanor and Geil shared the same
assumption: that the Mazazuken had entered to finish whatever evil
business they had planned. Geil tensed, gripping his sword tighter.
The image of Yindraken was forever lodged in his mind--the hill of
battle, the Northern Kingdom's battlements, the rivers of blood,
and the everlasting demonic words the monster spoke.
"Weakling,"
Geil whispered to
himself, feeling his hatred for the word grow.

Arnanor, suppressing his own emotions, could
literally feel Geil's throbbing anger and placed his hand on the
knight's chest to caution against any unwise actions. Muron
squeezed closer to his guardian's side, reassured by the weight of
Geil's hand on his shoulder.

Randor looked back on Gildan and smiled,
knowing that the mercenary sensed the plan that was to unfold. The
wizard's smile left as footsteps shuffled across the floor, coming
in their direction.

An unrecognizable figure, enveloped in
shadow, moved slowly through the intersection, looking straight
ahead of itself, and all held their breath as it passed. From what
they could see, it looked like a Mazazuken. Randor risked a glance
around the corner. The werewolf was gone and the halls were clear.
From where they stood, the stairway leading upward was barely
visible; they could ill afford to become trapped. Randor turned and
whispered, "Hurry, while secrecy lasts." With one hand stretched
out to feel the rough bricks ahead, he slipped around the corner.
Every ten feet they passed beneath a faintly burning torch that
helped guide them to the door.

Setting foot on the first step, the foulest
sort of odor engulfed them--the undiluted stench of death, making
where they had been smell like fields of sweet flowers by
comparison. Seth, feeling sick at his stomach, wanted to retreat to
a pocket of fresher air but knew it was impossible. The door atop
the stairs was broken into three pieces, two of them still hanging
onto the hinges. What laid beyond the door was visible through the
breaks in the once fine wood.

Randor took each step slowly. Nearing the
top, he saw numerous Mazazuken in the pillared room, ransacking and
destroying every marble pillar and statue they could find.

"Do you see something?" Arnanor asked.

"Silence," Randor replied. "Say
nothing." He gestured, and everyone readied their weapons. The
much-needed rest they had hoped for was over, and battle was
unavoidable. Seeing no sign of the Oracle, Randor feared the worst.
His solid plans had now proved unfeasible.
I wonder where he is,
thought the wizard. There
were far too many doors to search. Backing down three steps, he
said, "There is an amendment to my plan, I am afraid."

"What is going on out there?" Gildan
asked.

Randor hesitated, not wanting to alarm the
Northern elves. "The room has been overrun by Mazazuken."

Geil and Arnanor perked up and grew impatient
with their motionless status. Frowning, Geil shook his head,
feeling his old hatred rekindle as his weariness fell away along
with the pain in his muscles.

"We are heavily outnumbered," Randor
admitted.

"Good," murmured Malander.

"What is your command?" Seth asked.

"Guard the staircase just outside this door
while I go in search of the Oracle. I will try his chambers
first."

Arnanor slapped his hand across Geil's chest
and grabbed the elf-knight's full attention. "Don't you leave my
brother again! This is your only function!"

"Yes, my liege," Geil replied humbly.

"I will kill you if you fail me!" His
expression showed Geil that he was not fooling. "I won't
hesitate--not even for you, my old friend."

Bowing in respect, Geil took the words to
heart. "You have my word, my lord."

"And if the Oracle is not there?" Seth
wondered.

"Then follow me wherever I lead." Randor
started up the steps again and pushed down a large piece of the
door leaning against the pieces still attached to the frame and
sprinted ahead. "Forth!" he shouted. A great howling
instantaneously erupted, filling the mansion with its wretched
sound, as all Mazazuken eyes focused on the company.

Malander finished off the broken door and
sent it skidding across the ground toward the first line of
oncoming werewolves, who jumped easily over the projectile.

Geil stood as close to Muron as he could
without unbalancing the prince. In Geil's mind it seemed that all
the Mazazuken were heading his way, and his excitement grew with
each step the enemy took. Geil truly desired to charge into the
very heart of the Mazazuken offense and exterminate as many as he
could. Arnanor kept a close eye on his knight, making sure he did
not leave his brother's side.

"I have missed you greatly!" Malander shouted
to his foes, grinning. "Come and meet your deaths!" He would be
cured once again as the battle began, allowing him to forget his
life of misery in the heat of conflict.

Lorn, who was at the edge of the group, was
soon pushed to the middle. As the oncoming threat came howling into
range, the company spread outward, giving themselves fighting
room.

The beginning of the fray favored Randor's
company, as they struck down the first beasts to come within
blade's range. Thus far, Randor would be safe from harm in his
search for the Oracle. The howls filled his ears, and he didn't
bother to guess the number of Mazazuken. He had one goal in mind;
he would leave the secondary task to his followers. Moving quickly
up the carpeted flight of stairs, his cloak flying behind him, he
reached for the closed door and looked back briefly at the pursuit.
The wizard took leave into the chambers as the seven maintained
their half-circle in front of the staircase. Still the Mazazuken
warriors advanced from all directions.

* * *

Randor was submerged by the darkness of the
void. No pool of radiant light greeted him this time. The Oracle
was not here, and he lowered his head in disappointment as he ran
toward the center of the great room, hoping his old friend would
reveal himself. "You must come with me!" Randor yelled, his voice
echoing through the chamber. "Your home has fallen under attack!
Hurry while we still have time!" Spinning about, he found nothing,
and as he stopped, a small beam of light shot up from beneath his
feet. It was the pool of light, and his eyes were instantly drawn
inward. Visions came, rapid and unclear. He stepped to the edge and
watched in wonderment: indistinguishable lands and wars, then a
vision of his seven companions just outside the door. They were in
the midst of a great battle against the werewolves. The company
looked to have the advantage, but dozens of the enemy were finding
their way to the staircase, and he could see the worry and stress
on each of his companions' faces. The vision soon faded, replaced
with a horrifying spectacle of the company being overwhelmed and
falling slain at the bloodied, clawed hands of the Mazazuken.
Randor did not know which to believe as the random visions of
nonsense returned. He wanted to break free from the pool but was
deeply compelled to stay, his curiosity not yet content. Surely
what he saw was not real, yet doubt clouded his thoughts. He did
not know which to believe about what might be happening just
outside. No sounds penetrated the Oracle's void, and Randor
strained to listen.