The White Shadow Saga: The Stolen Moon of Londor (28 page)

"I am not one for adventure. The sooner this
is said and done, the better." Shuffling his feet, Lorn cast a few
small stones down into the darkness. The rocks fell and made not a
sound.

"Nor any of us, I should imagine," Seth said.
"Randor and Gildan are excluded, of course."

"Why just those two?"

"They are wanderers. It is sad, if you want
my thoughts, having no place to call your own."

"I would be lost if I didn't have
Beowulken."

"I know." Seth followed outward to meet
Gildan and Randor out on the bridge, as did Lorn, looking
melancholy.

Randor stood upright as best he could, and
Gildan, glad to see that the journey would continue, readjusted his
sheathed sword on his back. He motioned the rest of the company
forth, and the bridge swayed slightly from the moving weight as
they crossed delicately in a single line. The support beams were
thinner than expected. After crossing the bridge's midpoint, Randor
noticed the first sign of the fabled ancient battle: the handrails
were splintered badly and its wood was discolored by old blood.

"So the legends are true," Gildan said,
inspecting the bridge's scars.

"Where are the slain?" Seth asked. He was
bound for life to a baffled curiosity.

"Down there, no doubt," Gildan offered.

Kneeling next to a support beam, Arnanor
noticed an etching halfway down. The texture was smooth but of an
undeniably elvish symbol. "Geil, come and look," he said
excitedly.

"What did you find?" Randor asked as he
slowly turned to greet the exuberant face of Arnanor.

"A mark of some sort, and it appears to be
one from our own people. The meaning is yet determined." Geil knelt
and looked over Arnanor's shoulder, recognizing it promptly. "What
do you make of it?"

"It is bizarre, my liege," he admitted. "This
is a very old symbol, not used these days."

"The mark says…" Arnanor paused to recall its
meaning. "'Doom,' correct?" he asked softly. He wished now that he
had paid closer attention during his studies when he was younger.
Deciphering symbols was not his strong point.

"You are correct, master."

"Then…my people were once here?" Arnanor
gasped. "How can this be?"

"Northern elves waging war
here
?" Gildan murmured. "Randor,
remind me to seek the history of this later."

"As you wish."

"What does it say?" Gildan demanded.

"'Doom,'" the prince said, rising to his
feet. "It says 'doom.' A tragic end it was for the one who scribed
that final word."

"Maybe they escaped," Muron said. "After all,
the entrance is mere feet away."

"We must not think of it now," Randor
replied, wanting to press on. "A clouded mind serves our purposes
not, nor shall it bring us victory." He looked to Gildan and asked,
"Ready?"

"Always."

"Are there any more symbols, Arnanor?" Randor
asked, not wanting to miss any clues of this castle. The elf
searched and saw nothing. "Then I suggest we move."

A steel door barred the way ahead, and thick
cobwebs covered it as if it had never been opened. Randor ran his
hands down the cold surface, leaving behind ten spaced marks, these
being the only fresh inscriptions in the dust coating it. Finding
nothing on the door that might serve as a latch or knob to give
them entry, he pushed lightly against the steel, but it did not
yield.

"They must have traveled this direction,"
Seth said, "for there is no possibility that their passage took
them into the chasm. Shall we all push?"

"Yes," Randor agreed.

The door was not wide enough for the entire
party to find purchase against it, so Randor appointed Gildan,
Seth, Sir Geil, and Arnanor to pit their combined strength against
the obstacle. Lowering their shoulders against the steel, they
widened their stances as Randor backed away and brought along young
Muron and Lorn to the foot of the bridge. Gildan wiped a large spot
free of dust, not wanting to ruin his fine clothes. "Are we all
set?" Randor asked.

"On your word," Seth answered.

"Now!"

With all their might they pressed until their
muscles burned, but the door did not budge.

"This is pointless!" Seth cried. "This door
must be made with at least two tons of steel!"

"That will be enough," Randor said. "We will
find a way beyond."

"Bound with magic," said Gildan, readjusting
his cape and gloves, mightily displeased with the dust that clung
there. "Your turn, Randor."

Arnanor had enough; he would not let
something simple as this overpower his mind and spirit. "Make way!"
he called out. Approaching his impervious target, he unleashed a
mighty kick into the center of the door. The steel vibrated as a
muffled clang filled the room, but the way ahead remained closed,
as ever. "Impossible!" Arnanor continued to kick and punch the
thick steel to no avail.

"Has he gone mad?" Lorn asked.

"Apparently," Seth replied in disbelief.

"My goodness." The dwarf crossed his arms,
unable to take his eyes off the fuming, cursing prince. "Full of
surprises, he is, if you ask me."

Arnanor stopped his tantrum and stepped away.
His cheeks glowed and not one word flowed from his lips. Squaring
his crown on his head, he glared at the door.

"Are you quite done?" Randor asked,
unamused.

"Please calm yourself, brother," Muron
said.

"I will not!" He threw his cape back over his
shoulders and paced like an animal in close confinement. "Now that
it comes to it, why am I holding back?"

No one knew exactly what he meant by this,
and they were shocked to see him suddenly charge the door again,
with head lowered. "I will prove my true strength this time!" he
shouted, and with a loud cry, he ran full tilt at the door. As he
reached it, it swung open unexpectedly, and he tumbled through the
entryway, coming to rest in a large pile of ash. After a fit of
coughing, he looked up into the darkness. "By the gods, what was
that?"

"Prince Arnanor, are you all right?" Geil
called out.

Before he could answer, a large, shadowed
figure stood over him. In panic, Arnanor reached for his sword, but
a hand restrained him. "Who…who are you?"

"So glad you could join me," said the shadowy
figure. Though Arnanor thought the voice familiar, he could not
place it. "So it appears I have you defenseless."

"Hand over Beldas, you moon-stealer!"

The figure reached down and grabbed Arnanor
violently by his armor and stood him up. "I can see you haven't
lost that tongue of yours…yet." He laughed, releasing the prince.
"Where are the others?"

"Malander…?" the prince asked, still
unsure.

"Indeed."

"Where have you been?" He still was skeptical
of the man and did not expect to believe what he would hear.

"Isn't it obvious?"

"It has been almost an hour, so no, it is not
clear."

"I have been here in the dark--so peaceful it
is….Any trouble getting inside?"

"A little, yes." Wanting more detail from
him, the prince asked, "How is it that you passed through this
door? Four of us pushed with all our might, and it would not
budge."

"A simple push was all it took." His voice
was dark and not reassuring to the prince's ears. "Must have been
left open by these 'moon-stealers', as you so lovingly call
them."

"Where are they now?"

"Beyond our reach, I assure you. I was on
their heels until I was consumed by this wonderful darkness. I
could remain here for the rest of my days." Randor slipped into the
room with the company and stood behind Arnanor. "Greetings, master
magician," Malander welcomed bleakly.

"You have much to explain, Sir Malander,"
Randor said gravely. The Oracle's prophecy was still firm in his
mind, and even Arnanor's wild assumptions seemed to have merit.

"I grew tired of waiting. A mixture of anger
and curiosity plagued me. Once inside, I proceeded across that joke
of a bridge and then through this door."

"With no difficulty?" Randor asked.

Malander laughed. "One of the easiest
infiltrations I've ever done!"

"Where are these soldiers?"

"Through the door at the end of this room, I
would imagine."

"Could you illuminate us a way across?" Seth
asked of Randor. "Knowing this place, more pitfalls surely await
us." He could see the door Malander spoke of, yet the light from
the next room did not spill over any into their location--strange
Seth thought.

"Just keep straight steps toward the door,
and we shall all be well." Randor beckoned his friends forth.

Malander was the first to disappear around
the corner, not waiting for anyone else to follow. Sir Geil
tightened his hand on Muron's shoulder, knowing that the light from
the door was their only means of direction, not knowing what lay at
their feet or in the blackness surrounding them. It was silent as a
tomb, and excess sound might stir unwanted evil.

"I wonder if this room is vacant, or littered
with skulls of elves," Gildan pondered as he tried to pierce the
darkness with his eyes. "Treasure could be right before me, and I
wouldn't know."

"Malander?" Seth's voice called out.

"Hasten to me," the grim warrior called.
Through the entrance the eight were met with a fully lit room. It
was a tower with a grand spiral stairway of brick. Up and up it
went, farther than they could see. Thick vines with green and
yellow leaves covered the walls, spilling over onto many of the
steps and threatening to trip the unwary. Malander had already
begun climbing toward an objective yet unknown. Looking down, he
had his sword drawn at his side. His posture suggested impatience
and a craving for more bloodshed.

"Do you know the way ahead, Malander?" Randor
asked.

"This step is as far as I have gone--looks as
though we will learn together."

For a moment the company stood admiring the
architecture and purity of the high tower's interior. The shiny
stones of the floor left traces of an old circular pattern made of
colored tiles. They resembled an elvish pattern, though it was too
damaged to know for certain.

Randor brought out his pipe, which emitted
smoke immediately on touching his lips.

"And now you
smoke
?" Arnanor said, offended. Randor simply
shook his head and continued his beloved craft.

Malander slowly came down the fifty steps he
had ascended. The idea of idling was not acceptable to him. He felt
held back from the fight he desired. His spirits had begun to rise
when he set off up the stairs and now it began to decline as his
sword scraped the steps in a rhythmic pattern of stone against
metal.

"What say you now, Randor?" Gildan asked.
Idly he strolled around the edge of the floor's artwork, wanting to
discover its meaning. "Could it be a forewarning about this
castle?" He knelt down and wiped away the dirt at his feet but
found nothing except blackened ground. "A pointless riddle." He had
just cleaned his gloves and stood again in his usual proud stance
when a long and terrible shriek echoed its way down the tower,
coming from somewhere high above. Malander spun around in renewed
excitement, raising his sword as if he were under attack, as Randor
and the others looked skyward.

"Looks as though we will have to go on now!"
Malander shouted in a wicked tone, a mad grin on his face.

"No one move!" Randor said sharply.

"That obviously was not one of those who
eluded us earlier," Gildan concluded.

"I agree," Randor replied. "They are close,
and that serves us well."

"Oh, dear," Lorn whispered.

"Something wrong?" Seth asked as he leaned
down to the dwarf's level.

"I just feel that it is futile."

"Do not worry," Seth said with a smile.

Overhearing their remarks, Geil approached
the shivering Lorn. "Where is your confidence, soldier?"

"Soldier?" Lorn answered, baffled. "Me? No,
no, you've got me confused here."

"Have I?" Geil laughed, looking around them.
"Tell me, where do you find yourself right now?"

"In location or state of mind?"

"Just answer the question."

"I find myself in a monstrous tower. Is this
the answer you are looking for?"

Geil ignored the question directed to him and
continued, "If it has not occurred to you, dwarf, you are on the
greatest journey any of us will ever see. This is Londor's hour of
need. You are apart of this just as much as the rest of us are. You
carry a sword, do you not?"

"Indeed, I do carry this…sword, as you call
it, but I do not carry it freely. You told me to keep it on my
person, and that I have done for you. I am an artist, not a
warrior." Lorn reached for the hilt and continued, "Have it back if
you so wish it. I care not to keep it if it defines me as a
soldier." He presented the dirk before the elf in a manner
befitting a royal knight's sense of decorum. "Here, Sir Geil."

Geil took hold of the blade and looked it
over, debating whether to take back his old weapon. "I thank you
for this as well as for your views." He twirled the blade and
suddenly thrust it downward into Lorn's belt, bringing a gasp from
the startled dwarf. But Geil's hand and eye were sure--not one
thread of his jacket had been cut. "I would be more at ease knowing
that you carry it. Keep it well, and use it with honor."

"I will, sir, but please note that I am not a
warrior." He nodded decisively, as if that settled the matter.

Randor gave the order to ascend, and up they
went. All kept their hands close to the wall, stepping carefully.
The stairs seemed endless as they trekked higher. At last, reaching
what must be about the midpoint, Randor spotted an open door in the
tower wall not much farther ahead. Taking a long breath, he paused
to look over his companions.