The White Shadow Saga: The Stolen Moon of Londor

by A. P. Stephens

  "Brave words for such a small man," the leader sneered. "The feeling is mutual, I assure you."

  "Why are you here, stranger?" Malander wanted to know. "This is not your kingdom, nor have I seen such a ridiculous symbol as the one you wear so proudly."

  Outraged, the man took four steps back and lifted one side of his coat, revealing his sword. "I do not tolerate slander against my master's crest of power!"

  Seth doubted that he and Malander could fend off these apparently skilled fighters long enough for help to come. It was a difficult situation, in which neither fighting nor running was wise. How he wished he could summon Randor to his side.

  "You need to heed my advice, knight, or whatever you might be." Malander was not intimidated in the least; on the contrary, he rather enjoyed matching words with the stranger. He stood as tall as he could, shoulders back, aching for the man to brandish his weapon. At least three will fall before death finds me,he thought.

  "Your fate stands before you," the leader laughed, drawing his blade.

  "Malander, please…," Seth begged.

  "Malander is your name?" The leader lowered his weapon and, smiling, returned through the line of soldiers. "I will remember that for our next meeting. My generosity will not extend so far next time." And at a wave of his arm, the soldiers sheathed their swords and followed him toward the castle.

  "Next time I will kill you," Malander said as he rubbed his mask's dark fabric.

  "We must return to Randor at once!" Seth entreated.

  "Go on ahead." Malander wished to calm himself before seeing the others, and he did not want to hint of a struggle in their absence from the tavern. Watching the soldiers disappear into the castle, he turned to Seth, whose back was to him. "What are you waiting for? I will remain here. They might leave after losing sight of us."

  "Sound design, Malander. In a moment I will return with the others." His nerves still shaken by the encounter, Seth hesitated as if not knowing where to turn. Malander pointed to the alleyway, and the knight soon disappeared.

  It was a rough passage back to the tavern, and Seth stumbled many times before reaching Fallon's End. His senses were still rattled as he entered, and the smoke stung his eyes. He reached Randor and related the story.

  * * *

  In very little time, Seth stood with Randor and the company before the immense castle. He told of Malander remaining within the courtyard, but there was no sign of him now. The winds died down, and all was quiet in the vicinity. Randor scanned the area to better his understanding of the situation; Seth's details had been too scattered and not well put in speech. Only after slowing the knight's excited babbling did Randor finally learn of the soldiers entering the castle. The wizard looked up at the castle that none in the city wished to recall, though he knew that it had spawned many myths and legends of war--of a great battle of men and elves against an evil whose name no one remembered. According to the stories passed down, few had survived the struggle against a powerful magic that still lay within the gates. Randor had once been curious of this place when he was younger, and now came the long-awaited chance to venture within.

  "Are you sure this is where they went?" Arnanor asked, doubting Seth's claim. "Malander is not here." He approached Randor and leaned in to whisper, "I have known this since the beginning."

  "What is that?" Randor asked, half listening.

  "He is with them as we speak--a spy indeed, that human is."

  "I would reconsider, my lord," Seth said, overhearing the prince, and was surprised to find himself defending his angry colleague. "You had to witness his exchange of words with those men. I can confirm that they were not friendly. Thank goodness everything turned out all right."

  "It was all an act, I tell you!" Arnanor countered, trying to convince those around him that the traitor prophesied by the Oracle was among them. "Surely, Randor, you think as I do."

  "I think nothing of it. If he is with those soldiers, there is nothing any of us can do now. Time will show the truth."

  Chapter Eleven: The Past Returned

  Gildan stared at the castle, his green eyes wide with enthusiasm for a bit of treasure hunting. There had to be something of great worth inside, and a long time had passed since his hands touched plunder. Images ran riot through his mind, of mountains of gold and jewels. "What are we standing here for? I have riches to seek!"

  "More important items lie within," Randor said.

  "Perhaps, but I have an empty pouch that needs filling." He bowed his head and extended his arm. "After you, Randor."

  "Shouldn't we wait for Malander?" Seth asked, not believing that the knight was inside among the soldiers who wore the symbol.

  "He shall arrive when he does," Randor answered. "We are strong without him still."

  Gildan rubbed his hands together with delight, a broad smile on his face. Flipping his cape over his right arm, he walked to the door with his head held high. Randor paused as he stood at the enormous door. Fear, anxiety, and confusion looked him in the eyes through his companions, but thus far at least, he could detect nothing of the legendary evil of this place, which gave him hope.

  "Are we going in?" Seth asked, praying the answer was no. The entire venture was much to his disliking. He felt that observation from afar was the much better idea, though he kept these ideas to himself, knowing that no one would consider them.

  "Indeed we are, Highbinder," Randor stated. "This is our greatest and only clue. I would be a fool to turn around now. Let your senses become alive and active, and stray not. Keep reserved, and act only when I say." He opened the door. "There is no telling what we will encounter."

  "Five moon-thieves and a traitor," Arnanor muttered, still firm in his opinion. Making his way to the front of the gathering, he was determined to walk through the door, unwilling to remain calm. "If you will not lead the way, I will."

  Randor pushed the prince aside, and Arnanor bristled, appalled that someone should touch him in such a manner. "Must I bind your hands behind you and lead you inward like a disobedient child?"

  "Unnecessary precaution, wizard," the prince replied.

  The lone moon sank behind the buildings across the courtyard. Knowing that dawn would break upon the world soon, Randor was first to enter the castle. Seth and Lorn gasped as they looked across a chamber that was void of flooring except for a narrow bridge of wood that spanned to the far side of the room, where a door led to places unknown. Gildan and Randor parted the gathering and stood at the edge of the bridge, devising a course of action.

  "This place is barren--not one trace of neither war nor treasure," Gildan said, disappointed. "Perhaps there is more beyond this room." He leaned on the bridge railing. "What do you make of it?"

  "I am puzzled, to be sure. If a great battle had occurred, evidence would be left behind."

  "I am feeling odd since we set foot inside this place," said Gildan. I do not know what it is, but a great evil is at work."

  "I do not perceive anything," the wizard replied.

  "Don't think ill of me, Randor, but I grow tired of Malander and Arnanor's ways. They bring tension and disorder to our efforts. We need to keep them under stricter discipline."

  "Rest your fears, my friend."

  "I am not afraid," said Gildan boldly. "Failure is not yet known to me."

  Randor laughed gently and replied, "I have seen many things fall to ruin. Must we forget the Second Age?"

  "Grim of an end that was, indeed, but that was not your fault."

  "But I was deeply involved with the outcome. I try not to think much it anymore." Randor's head sank as he was filled with ancient memories. Even after three thousand years the images were as clear as yesterday. This portion of his life was the hardest of all--trying to forget the millions of people who died in that tragedy. "Just have faith, Gildan."

  "Faith?"The elf was repulsed by the word and threw up his hands. "Faith is for the weak and ignorant."

  "For most it is what motivates them forward in life."
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  "The power of my skills and wealth are all I rely on in this world. They have given me more than I could ever glean from faith."

  "Do not place your entire trust in these earthly talents. One day they might fail you, although I hope this never happens."

  "It will never come to pass, I assure you."

  "I think the company has had enough time to rest," Randor said, wiping away the sweat that beaded on his brow. The stale air inside the castle was surprisingly dank and stuffy. Even Randor's vision suffered from the heat that swelled in his head, causing the bridge to waver in and out of focus repeatedly until he pressed his fingers to his temples to quell the throbbing.

  Gildan laid his hand on Randor's shoulder and asked, "Are you well enough to continue?"

  "Yes," he answered softly, cloaking his pain. "I will be fine."

  "You don't have to fool me. If it is time you need to regenerate, then we shall wait."

  "As if we could afford to let these men wearing this clue slip from our grasp," Randor murmured. As he slowly pulled himself forward by the railing, Gildan came up behind and turned the wizard around, seeing the agony on his friend's face. Randor's breaths were short and rapid, and his lips were chapped and splitting.

  "You need to rest," Gildan said, his words edged with worry.

  "What is going on over there?" Arnanor asked.

  "Nothing." Gildan had to shield the others from this sight or risk disrupting what morale was left. Though Randor was becoming dead weight, Gildan had the strength to keep him on his feet, for he did not trust the bridge rails enough to prop the feeble wizard against them.

  "Do not look upon me as this," Randor said. "I have not been myself the past two months." His soul and lifeline were directly linked to Londor, each affecting the other with any pain it felt. The magical spirits that dwelled in his ancient body had all but fled.

  "Does our quest end here?" Arnanor asked, pacing restlessly along the platform.

  "I certainly hope not," Muron replied. Still optimistic about his first true adventure, he said, "I am not ready to return homeward just yet." There was not much there for him, just roaming the palace grounds and being tutored by the many scholars brought in by his father. It was his father who dominated all business of the kingdom, while his brother spent his every waking moment perfecting his swordsmanship. And when he wasn't fencing, Arnanor paraded around the kingdom for weeks on end to satisfy his pampered, egotistical lifestyle. Whenever there was not war with the Mazazuken, Muron spent his days in the beautiful northern climate with typical elvish festivals of song, food, and fellowship.

  Naturally, Arnanor had wanted a true escape from the North, and on learning of the quest in Dunane, he had taken Muron and Geil secretly away to join in. "You will not return home soon, but we three shall all return as heroes only to ourselves. No one must ever know of our being here," Arnanor whispered.

  "This secrecy is a burden, Arnanor, but it will not leave my lips," Muron assured him.

  "Randor," Arnanor said loudly, "should we linger so?"

  "Give him a moment," Gildan replied.

  "What for?" the prince demanded. "He has had all this day and night to rest and think. We have work to do."

  Gildan did not want to alarm anyone over Randor's temporary lack of equilibrium. They did not need to know that world's suffering was consuming him whole.

  With any luck there was only one entrance to the castle; thus, anyone wishing to leave would have to cross paths with the company. "Decisions still lay unattended," he told the others. "Stand by for further direction." Gildan's nerves began to crumble under Arnanor's verbal onslaught. "Is that clear enough for you?"

  "Unfortunately so," Arnanor said under his breath. "Yes, yes, very clear, sir," he replied, full of sarcasm.

  Lorn leaned over as far as he could bear and squinted into the endless chasm beneath them. "I wonder where it ends. More importantly, I wonder what lies at its bottom."

  "I would not know," Seth retorted. This place was frightening. "I try not to think of evil festering in this castle."

  "Honestly, I do not want to know anything, either. I'd like to leave right now. Even sitting at Jerthom's table sounds much more pleasant."

  Seth laughed. "I wouldn't go as far as that, my old friend. You should favor adventures and excitement over ridicule and depression."

  "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 ob
stacle. 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?"