The White Shadow Saga: The Stolen Moon of Londor

by A. P. Stephens

  There in the far corner, he saw an oblong shape wrapped in an old, dingy cloth. He grasped it without much thought, peeled back the cloth, and saw that it was indeed a bull's horn of red with a white mouthpiece. Smiling, Etrigos admired its beauty, then stood and tucked the horn into his belt.

  "Etrigos? What say you?" Fenrahn's concerned voice called out.

  "I have the horn, sir!" he answered triumphantly.

  "Excellent work."

  Etrigos began to climb the ladder, making sure his grip was stronger than before. It was not long before he was at Fenrahn's side once more by the window. He took the horn from his belt and presented it to the captain, who grasped the horn and inspected its condition. Though it had lain unused for many decades, it looked as if it had been crafted only yesterday.

  Etrigos beamed. "This instrument has been preserved well. I hope its inner workings hold true as the outside has."

  "As do I."

  Fenrahn looked at the shiny horn one last time and handed it back to Etrigos. "Sound the alarm."

  With a nod, the elf-knight approached the northern window. The palace lay sparsely lit, as if the majority within were sleeping. He hoped the horn's note would reach those inside, despite the wind and thunder. Slowly he raised it to his chapped lips as Fenrahn looked on. Turning back to the window, Etrigos took in a deep breath and sounded the horn.

  A long, deep note poured forth from the watchtower, piercing the sounds of the gale. At once, more lamps and torches sprang alight throughout the palace. The alarm had been heard. Relieved, Etrigos lowered the horn.

  "Well?" Fenrahn inquired. "What occurred?"

  "Our call was received." Etrigos's heart pounded as he leaned on the wall to calm his nerves. He hugged the horn close to his body and sighed. "Thank Ethindar."

  Fenrahn looked closely to the path below and noticed that the riders were gone, but then he caught the barest glimpse of them as they rode into the city. "And so they come," he spoke.

  "How many?"

  "Just the two."

  "I pray the army is on its way."

  "I assure you," Fenrahn replied confidently, "the enemy will not get far inside the city."

  * * *

  The lead rider lifted the sagging hood of his cloak. There seemed to be no break in the storm; it would remain on them until they took refuge in the city. The palace was their objective, but access would no doubt prove difficult. He looked over his shoulder to his companion. But as he glanced into the forest, a loud noise came from Norganas, spurring him to new haste. Without warning or thought, he thrust his sword forward. Digging his boot heels into his horse's side, he surged ahead and barreled down the path, his companion scrambling to catch up.

  The wind hit them, driving rain into their eyes, as they raced across uneven ground strewn with puddles and stones. Drawing closer to the ungated, arched entryway to Norganas, they could see that it was unmanned. The leader scanned the city walls and the surrounding area for any who might wish to obstruct them, for he expected to be greeted, especially now that a horn had been sounded.

  At last down the hill, they now charged through a broad pool of gray water. The leader leaned forward and urged his steed ahead. Through the stinging rain they saw a red stone street just beyond the entrance. The leader smiled, his cloak flailing wildly behind him, its hem tattered by the relentless winds.

  Passing through the gate, the two were sheltered from the rain for a moment, then met it once more as their horses galloped ahead on the cobblestones. They were now on the main road of Norganas. The street was lined with long, low houses of red and brown. Multistoried buildings rose on each corner of the intersections they passed. The leader glanced around for signs of life, but only the two riders moved in the city. Every home and merchant shop remained unlit as the palace came into view in the distance. Only there could the riders see any signs of habitation. The leader prayed that the lights in the palace towers were not of his doing, for at the palace there would be soldiers--hundreds of them. He and his companion would soon be heavily outnumbered by the Dunane, who no doubt anticipated a massive attack on their kingdom. Little did the Dunane know that on this night only two came into their presence.

  A large bend in the road veered away from the palace, but the leader had no choice but to remain on the road, for fear of becoming lost once again. The structures of Norganas began to thin out as they pressed on until they found themselves in the deserted marketplace. Hundreds of wooden carts, covered by thick canvas, filled the open space and crammed every alleyway. Not one sound pierced Norganas now save the staccato of galloping hooves.

  The way ahead was the leader's main concern, and the potential threat of elven assailants. An attack was inevitable; the only question was when. Surely the elves of Dunane would come to defend their city. Perhaps, though, the alarm was unknown to the citizens, since their way of life had been unthreatened for so long.

  The riders had to reach the palace before they could be intercepted. Soon they passed through the marketplace, and the road curved back toward the palace, much to the leader's relief. As they again saw the mighty towers, the road steepened.

  From behind, another deep note of the horn bellowed out, this time with greater urgency. The riders ignored the elves' signals and rode on; the palace was almost in reach. They spied the grand entrance as the road leveled off. A pair of red doors twenty feet high appeared to be the only way inside. No decorations adorned the dark stones of the palace; not one banner hung from the turrets. The doors were plain in craft, without trim, each having but a single silver ring to serve as a handle.

  Coming to the palace doors, the two reined in. Slowly the leader dismounted, his heavy boots splashing in the water. He grasped his sword and held it before him, praying that the doors would not burst open with a host of armed elves to greet him. His companion could still flee, but for him, at least, a safe exit was not to be had. The leader wanted to charge the doors and fling them open, for the incessant downpour was driving him mad.

  His frightened companion looked around for the elves, but still the city remained quiet. To the pair's left was a stable connected to the palace; it stood open and dark. The mounted rider then dismissed his surroundings and turned his focus back to his friend, who was reaching for one of the silver rings at the doors. Biting down on his lower lip, the leader hoped for the best. Surely, he thought, the Dunane would lock the doors to their palace, but nevertheless, he had to take the chance. He regretted now that they had not taken time to make a secondary plan. Originally, the two were to arrive in daylight, but the nightly appearance of storms had delayed them until now. If the doors were locked, he would be at a loss, with no ally within fifty miles of Dunane.

  Gently he pulled the ring, but the door would not budge. With a stronger grip, he tugged again--but still the door did not move. He released the ring back to its resting place with a clank.

  He had resheathed his blade and grabbed the reins once more, when his companion pointed to the stable. Entering the gloomy structure, they were relieved finally to find respite from the storm. The still-mounted rider strayed to the left while the leader searched in the opposite direction. On the stable's plain wooden walls hung the many tools of the blacksmith's trade: various hammers, rods, tongs, and hooks. The ground was covered with brown straw. Keeping out the wind and rain was a roof of clay tiles, supported by wooden posts spaced some ten feet apart. Both men looked around for any discarded food or bottles of drink but found nothing.

  At last the leader found a small fire pit in the stable's floor. Leaving his horse's side, he approached the long and twirling wisp of smoke that rose from the embers. As he came closer, he welcomed the warmth. Kneeling beside the coals, he warmed his numbed hands. He took in a deep breath and closed his heavy eyelids for a moment. The need for food, rest, and warmth had made him all but delirious. Opening his eyes, he realized there was a bucket beside the fire. A smile swept across his face as he grasped it and drank a portion of the cooled liquid. It
wasn't much, but it filled a bit of the void in his belly. "At least some fortune is on our side," he whispered, and he pulled back his hood and shook the thick blond hair that lay matted against his forehead. "Lorn, come and join me, will you?" He looked over to find his friend still struggling to free his frozen feet from the stirrups. "What's the matter, old friend?"

  "I cannot get down," he mumbled. "I could use some help, Seth."

  Seth rose with the bucket, laughing quietly. "Is my horse unsuited for you?"

  "Indeed it is," the smaller rider answered. "I am a dwarf, after all. I don't see why you couldn't have allowed me to use my pony."

  "A pony would not have been suited for this type of journey. This is a matter of speed, not comfort."

  "What are we doing here anyway? Why do we seek these elves in the midst of a storm?" Lorn scratched his forehead, admitting, "I cannot exactly remember what you told me. My memory has been acting strange lately."

  "I bear a letter to the King of Dunane." Seth looked to the street for any sign of threat as he handed the bucket to Lorn and began to work the dwarf's boots free. "The rest of the water is yours if you want it."

  The dwarf gratefully drank the water, then threw the bucket to the stable floor and wiped his dark beard. "Letter? What's this letter about?"

  "It is from the Council," he answered. "I cannot say more on the matter."

  "Mudalfaen, huh?"

  "My highest calling, yes."

  "And they did not give you the details of this letter you've risked your life to deliver?"

  "No," Seth replied, "though even if they had offered me explanation, I would have closed my ears. If I do not know of a letter's contents, it will not affect my duty of delivery. You know how clumsy I can be when I am nervous."

  "All too well."

  "Truly, it is not my place to know until the letter is in the hands of the recipient."

  "I wouldn't go into something like this blind."

  "Not knowing is less a burden."

  "Maybe so." Lorn threw back his drenched hood and ran his stubby fingers through his dark, shoulder-length hair. He was thick but short in stature, standing an entire foot below the slender-built Seth who was just above six feet tall. "Where do we go now?"

  "I didn't plan this far in advance, I'm afraid. The weather has ruined any hurried plans I could make. I can tell you, though, we probably will not be safe anywhere in Dunane tonight."

  "We should be exempt from danger, correct?"

  "Dunane is an ally of Mudalfaen. This should guarantee our safety." Seth knew all the Council's guidelines, laws, and allies by memory. His training, however, made him rethink his logic. "There is a possibility that I am wrong."

  Lorn did not like that comment at all. He had placed his complete trust in Seth; already the dwarf was scared. "What do you mean? Friends do not attack friends."

  "The past two months could have turned Dunane's thinking to not accept anyone from beyond their borders. There is a chance of that." Seth tapped the silver badge on his chest, bearing the Great Tree of Mudalfaen. "This badge has allowed me to move freely within the Council's lands."

  "Then it shall be this symbol that saves our lives."

  "But, as I was about to say, it could also be meaningless now."

  Lorn came down off his borrowed steed and held his stomach. "Oh, I didn't think my insides could feel any worse, but this news proves they can."

  "Just trust in Mudalfaen as I do, and all shall be well."

  "I will always trust you, Seth."

  Before either could say another word, the doors to the palace opened abruptly. Instinctively Seth and Lorn retreated to the stable's back wall, where they stood motionless in the dark. Dozens upon dozens of brown-cloaked elves armed with blades and torches bore down the street. Seth guessed they were on their way to the southern tower. Only three elf-knights remained at the palace and stood close to the red doors. Seth could see the fear of the Dunane as their swords and torches shook in their grasp. Lorn felt himself begin to choke and buried his face in Seth's attire to muffle his cough and avoid giving them away.

  One elf-knight stepped away from his companions and looked around, obviously curious. Seth immediately tensed his muscles as the elf came closer. It was too late now to retrieve his sword. His horse was twenty feet away, and any swift movement to his weapon would surely be seen as an aggressive act. He would never forgive himself for leaving something so key to his survival this far out of reach. "Keep moving," Seth muttered very quietly. "There's nothing in this stable." The elf-knight kept his gaze in the two travelers' direction, and suddenly his golden eyes shot wide with the discovery of Seth's horse.

  "There's something in here!" the elf cried. He ran back to his companions and pointed with his sword toward the stable.

  Seth had to act quickly. The sword called out to him, and he dashed in seven enormous strides to retrieve it. Drawing the blade, he spun around and stood in front of Lorn. The dwarf, astounded at Seth's speed, backed against the wall. Lorn could not aid his friend in battle, since he possessed neither a weapon nor any fighting skills. The elves stood side by side along the stable's entrance, and three blades gleamed in the torchlight--all pointing at Seth. They stared at the armed intruder, with no one on either side daring move. Seth did not wish to be charged, nor did the Dunane wish to engage him with such a small number.

  "Lower your weapon!" an elf ordered.

  "Drop the blade, human!" demanded another.

  Seth did not respond or comply.

  "The enemy is in here!" the last elf-knight declared. He waved his torch to draw others of his kind to their location. In no time, many elves heading south turned about and rushed to the stable. Now their swords were joined with the original three. Seth began to sway his blade in hand as the Dunane filed into the stable. Lorn and Seth were three-quarters encircled now and held in the corner.

  The elves were shocked to see a dwarf in their presence. Lorn, not wanting to look at his attackers, covered his face with shivering hands.

  "A dwarf?" many of the elves gasped.

  "What do the two of you desire in Dunane?" one elf demanded to know.

  Seth kept his composure and remained silent.

  "Speak, human, if you want to live!"

  "How many men and dwarves camp in our forest?"

  "Lay down your arm!"

  "A dwarf? Here?"

  Countless interrogations and statements filled Seth and Lorn's ears, but all were ignored. The elves' voices began to fade as they parted down the center, allowing one of their own to come forth. Standing now before Seth was a mighty elf, uncloaked and adorned in lightweight gold-colored armor. His hair was silver, and his eyes were blue as the ocean. This elf-knight, Sir Uthrik, was second in command behind Captain Fenrahn. He kept one hand on the sheathed sword at his waist. Uthrik observed the situation and gazed at Seth, the primary threat.

  "I marvel at your stupidity, human. Did you actually believe for one moment that you could enter our kingdom undetected?" He laughed and shook his head. Seth did not answer. "What say you to that?" Uthrik smiled, then noticed Lorn, and his expression changed. "And a dwarf rides to Dunane as well. What is the world coming to?" Uthrik turned to his soldiers and searched for an answer. "Have these intruders spoken?"

  "Not a word, sir."

  Uthrik's attention returned to Seth, and he felt the beginnings of annoyance. Naturally, Uthrik had not been his usual self these past eight weeks--the lack of balance in Londor spared no one. Each new day was a battle to keep his abilities as a leader. "I strongly urge one of you to speak, or neither of you will appreciate my next course of action."

  Seth knew that the time had come to speak. He did not wish for further trouble. "I am a friend of Dunane." He paused momentarily to adjust his introduction. "I mean, we are both friends to you."

  "Well, which is it?" Uthrik asked. "One or both? I still say you are foes."

  "I am a diplomat to the Council. My being sent here is justifiable. This bad
ge warrants my words as truth."

  "Whom did you kill to obtain that sacred symbol of authority?"

  "None, I assure you. I have held this rank for two years."

  "A likely story, to be sure."

  "What more must I do to prove this to you?"

  "First of all, you can state your affairs. Then I might consider allowing you to prove it afterwards."

  "I have a letter from the Council."

  "A letter, you say?" Uthrik grew curious and wanted to know more--much more. He craved resolution to the world's downfall, and to his own demise as well. "Give it to me at once," he demanded. Stretching forth his hand, he awaited the parchment.

  "I cannot," Seth replied sharply. "It is to be placed in the hands of your king alone. Only he can break the letter's seal. If I hand over an unsealed letter, my head will be forfeit."

  "Well, what does this so-called letter say? Has Mudalfaen found a solution to our problems?" Uthrik stared at Seth and prayed for relief.

  "We are saved!" some elves cried.

  "The Council has blessed us!" cheered others.

  Uthrik raised a hand and silenced the stable. "Leave nothing from the tidings you will now tell me."

  "I have no news from Mudalfaen, and I do not know of the letter's business."

  "You lie!" Uthrik blasted.

  "Never would I be so careless as to lie, my good elf."

  "Regardless, His Majesty sleeps in his deepest chambers. We dare not disturb him under any circumstance. Your precious letter will have to be delayed."

  "I suppose it can wait until sunrise," Seth replied.

  "What is your name, Council Servant?"

  "I am Sir Seth Highbinder of the Realm of Dan. Traveling with me is the dwarf Lorn of the Beowulken Valley."