The White Shadow Saga: The Stolen Moon of Londor

by A. P. Stephens

"You have given us a much heavier burden," Arnanor said, not knowing how to deal with what he had heard. "Perhaps I should not have asked after all."

  "Will all of this happen?" Muron asked.

  "They are mere visions, not all certain to pass," answered the Oracle. "Foresight can always be changed. All of you have the ability to change what has been set before you. If you wish something to be altered, just believe in yourself, and you will find the future flexible. Nothing is paved for any of us, not even me."

  Seth grew upset and wanted to forget it all. Walking away from the circle and nearing the door, he said, "I have had enough." Lorn immediately followed, needing his friend's comfort. "We will be resting in our quarters if you need us."

  "Yes, indeed," the dwarf added with a rush. "Good night, gentlemen."

  Malander and Gildan took this as a cue to depart as well. After a couple of moments, only Randor and the Oracle remained. The wizard turned to his old companion and bowed in respect. "I thank you for your guidance."

  "It was no trouble in the least. You serve Ethindar well, bearing wisdom that benefits many. All will return to us upon your victory."

  "Once I find this symbol, I know it will not be long before we discover the fate of the lost moon."

  "Use great caution, Randor. Always watch your companions. I know that at least one of them may let his rage overrule his logic."

  "I pray these visions are false. Deception and death are things I care not for." Randor paused, then continued, "What you say about a spy bothers me. If this is so, then your showing of this symbol will quicken his leaving, to report these tidings to his masters."

  "Keep your eyes on your seven companions at all times. If one does leave, you know he is untrue. Then it is your duty to exact punishment for the act of treason at once." He shifted his focus and mood. "What is the world truly like outside my walls? I have not seen Londor with my own eyes for two thousand years. All I see comes through this device of magic, and much of the truth is distorted." He pulled his robes closer to his frail body and grew silent.

  "Much has deformed, and kingdoms fall further from grace," the wizard replied. "Prayers fill my ears all the day long, as it now seems I find myself unable to help those in need. Prosperity is no more in the elven world, and war brews in many fields from shore to shore."

  "Great pain runs through my soul as I attempt to gather my conjuring powers," said the Oracle. "In all my time, never have I been drained of life after visions come to me. For the first time in my existence I desire rest, and this is not my usual behavior." The Oracle shook his head in disgust. "Such an inferior way to regain one's self, is it not?"

  "I do not rest as much as one should, but I enjoy it when it comes," the wizard replied.

  "So be it," the Oracle laughed without humor.

  "I must succeed," Randor spoke determinedly. "If you and I both dissolve from this evil, the world will surely die in vain."

  "Do not be concerned for me," the Oracle replied, caring not for himself. "Strength remains in me and my spirits. Despair will not take me down for a great while."

  "I pray that it does not."

  "The night moves on, my friend. Join your company and prepare them for the quest ahead."

  Randor left the Oracle and made his way to the door. Before he passed through, he glanced over his shoulder and smiled, not wanting to disappoint the one who had taught him so much in this world.

  Through the recently opened door in the vast chamber of their host, the company found a long and dimly lit hallway. Of the three corridors that branched off to their right, Gildan felt the second one best. A single door lay ahead, which the elf-mercenary pushed open without thought, finding a lush, comfortable space of rest. Eight beds lined the wall--an odd number, Gildan reflected, for it was just enough to accommodate the party. Two flames of yellow floated in the farthest corners. Each took a bed, beginning with those nearest the fires. After leaving Randor and the Oracle, they spoke hardly a word, all wanting rest before the new day came. Suspicion played in their minds, the Oracle's voice still burning on about spies and despair. Trust was essential if they were to succeed, but the single word "spy" brought all their hopes low.

  Arnanor suspected Malander, convinced by the knight's silence and his overly dark presence. Malander's mask tore at the elf's curiosity, and he wanted nothing more than to rip it off the human's pale skin before it drove him mad. Seth and Lorn had an understanding without words about Malander, for they thought the same as the prince.

  Malander, however, paid no attention to the many eyes that were fixed on him. He remained at peace in the corner. The Oracle's words were already forgotten to him, and this entire incident would be erased with the rising of the sun. All he wished was the return of his strength, so that he might give his absolute effort to his cause. The final half of the forest was yet to be crossed, and Malander had to be prepared for its uncertain outcome.

  Randor came through the door, finding his way to the soft bed next to Gildan's. The elf removed his sword from his lap and leaned over to the wizard. "What do you say of all this?" he whispered.

  "A heavy weight, to be sure," said Randor, his voice filled with fatigue. "I am not yet able to express myself fully."

  "Will you comply with his words?"

  "I have no choice, Gildan. If, by chance, we find another source that is more likely, then I will take it upon myself to do what is right."

  "I would not rely too greatly on the visions of spies and death. The company is still unfamiliar with one another, but we are strong and possess many talents."

  "Indeed," the wizard replied.

  "I have never seen a prophet who was true in his magical abilities at all times." Gildan knew he had a point, as did Randor, who nodded in agreement. "You saw how his powers were slipping away. Even before our very eyes he grew weak. This evil has clouded his gift, and it will not ensure our immediate victory." Gildan glanced to his sword and sighed. "Time snakes through our grasp like sand, and time is what we most need."

  "The Oracle has never led me astray in my journeys, and I will still hold his words to be true until I see they are wrong."

  "All he has done is place an unneeded fear in our hearts," whispered the mercenary. "I fear not what he says, but the others of our company do not need greater stress than what is already dealt to us." He looked to those around him with a deep concern and asked aloud, "Will the hope and trust that was present before we entered these doors remain now?" Gildan grew frustrated, but his soul was full of passion for good and for progress. "Don't you see what he has done?"

  No one responded.

  "By telling these ludicrous ideas, the Oracle has poisoned your minds." Gildan changed his tone. "I admit that the symbol we saw gave us hope, but as soon as his tide turned and words of despair flowed forth, I saw your spirits sink into darkness."

  "Gildan, please," Randor spoke gently. He did not want this to continue, knowing that if the elf continued in this vein a confrontation would arise. "Calm yourself."

  "That is difficult to do when passion hits my chest! Unity of this company is the only way we can see our way through this. If we crumble, then so does the entire world!" He slammed his clenched hand against the bed frame, startling Lorn. Gildan took a deep breath and tried to lower his temper. "I am not ready for the world to end, and neither should any of you be." Weariness settled in, and he relaxed his tensed muscles.

  "If the world fails," Malander began grimly, "then fate has laid it upon us. You cannot remove the words of the Oracle. They will forever replay in your minds, and I am sure it will bring very uncomfortable dreams." He laughed softly in his ill delight and fell silent again.

  "We just have to be careful where we journey, and keep one another from danger," Seth said as he lay down. "If there is a spy among us, it will not take long for that person to arise, now that our way has been given. The Council will deal with this traitor and his masters later." Then, placing his sword at the foot of his bed, he yawned from pure exha
ustion. "I will see you all in the morning, refreshed." He turned over and was still. "Good night, Lorn."

  "Sleep well, my friend," Lorn said as he continued his artistic rendition of the symbol. He bolded the edges and finely defined the smaller detail. Even though it was not a drawing of joy, the task made him feel important. No one saw the wide smile beneath his woolly beard. The charcoal flowed nicely in his small hands and covered his fingers with its black debris. Lorn noticed he had not much paper left, for he had not anticipated a long journey ahead. His purpose was becoming clearer to him: the cooking and drawing as commissioned was enough to be respected by his fellows.

  "Do not lose that paper," Gildan said, seeing the dwarf place his tools back into his pouch.

  "You need not worry about that."

  "Looks like what we saw," Randor remarked.

  "I am fairly decent at mimicking things I see," Lorn replied happily. Then he, too, lay down and felt the comfort of the bed's soft sheets. Glancing over, he saw that Seth was already fast asleep.

  "So," Gildan began as he pondered the future, "south leads us to the moon."

  "Perhaps," Randor answered.

  Many ranges of mountains, dense forests, winding rivers, and great cities filled the southern region of the continent. Their current surroundings were of forests and valleys; the nearest city in their intended direction was some two days away if they made haste. Randor planned to lead the company to Nar-Fhandon, a metropolis that provided a large market for the trade of spices, meats, jewels, woodcraft, well-made weapons--and ancient secrets. Randor hoped another sign would reveal itself to narrow the search.

  "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.