The White Shadow Saga: The Stolen Moon of Londor

by A. P. Stephens

  "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.

  "Finally, a door to the inner chambers," Seth said, relieved.

  "This cannot be the door," Gildan objected. "We seek an even higher entrance."

  "You feel this, as well?" Randor asked.

  "Without any doubt."

  "How can you be so sure?" Arnanor asked, positive that both were wrong.

  "I have my doubts," Randor replied, tipping up the brim of his hat. "My judgment is clouded, and I
despise this temporary lassitude I find myself in. Can any of you see a higher path within the tower?"

  The four elves immediately scanned the spiral staircase as far as they could, finding nothing with their once sharp senses. Gildan, too, peered upward, but his vision grew blurred and so did his concentration.

  "It is pointless to try," Arnanor said, surprising Gildan with his caring tone. "Save yourself. The--"

  "There!" Gildan said, pointing to a ledge far above them. "There's another spot where the steps level out for a second time--another door to higher opportunities." Reflecting a moment, he said, "In fact, I know it is there." And he lowered his head and rubbed his burning eyes.

  "Splendid find!" Randor said, smiling feebly.

  "So which doorway do we take?" Seth asked, ready to embark at once.

  "We have to keep together," Arnanor suggested.

  "Then we risk allowing their escape," Gildan retorted. "Our chances are split directly in half."

  "We will divide ourselves once again," Randor answered. "Although you know I dislike separating our strength, this particular case involves a great chance for mishap. Should we stay together, our path may not cross with our pleasant friends. Thus, two parties would prove much more effective. In respect to all, though, let us have a vote."

  "Separate," Gildan spoke first.

  "Together," said Lorn.

  "Separate," Seth said, surprising Lorn.

  "I speak for three when I cast my vote for a separate venture," Prince Arnanor declared.

  Randor looked to last of the company who had not voted. "Malander, what say you on this matter?" He stood as still and emotionless as a statue. "Very well, I will take your silence as--"

  "My choice is neither," Malander interrupted. "If it were my decision, I would go alone."

  "You are not in a leadership role, so your vote of solitude is invalid," Arnanor said.

  "It is my option," Malander replied in kind. "I just want to kill the one who spoke so rudely to me earlier." He trailed off into an unclear sentence that none could make out. "Just choose so that we can go on."

  "Gildan."

  "Yes, Randor?"

  "I want you to lead the elves down this lower corridor. Hopefully, our paths will conjoin."

  "I will not fail you," Gildan said with a bow.

  "I know you will not." Randor patted his shoulder and smiled. "If you are led into nothingness and find them not, make haste to me above." Gildan nodded with confidence filling his soul. "And do be careful."

  Gildan waved his hand. "Come, then, princes, let us leave."

  Arnanor muttered incoherently and followed. Climbing carefully, they gained the few remaining steps and maneuvered around Seth and Lorn, who stood in front of them.

  "Behave yourselves," Randor advised as the princes and Geil filed past him. "Follow Gildan as if he were I." As the last steps were taken by the four elves, they reached the doorway, then were gone.

  Turning to the remainder of the party, Randor clasped his hands together, fingers interlocking, and surveyed their morale. He could see the heavy stress and tension that consumed them. "Shall we go on?"

  "How much more is there?" Lorn asked sadly.

  "Worry not about the distance," Randor answered.

  "It is the least of your worries," Seth added, meaning to comfort him but only adding to his fears.

  Gildan reached the lower of the two doorways first and with a wicked grin, he was gone.

  As Seth and Lorn followed Randor upward, the vines that covered the walls began to thin out, revealing the pale brown stones. All looked closely, hoping to find some clue to what had occurred here those many centuries ago. Randor would now be their link to the elvish symbols if any more was to be found; hopefully he could decipher them.

  "It is remarkable that no trace was left of this mythical battle of yore," Seth said as he pondered the idea. "What great magic erased the horror?"

  "Vanishing the dead is not such a difficult task," Randor replied. "'Would only take half a moment at the most."

  "It appears that the master of this castle prefers to keep it vacant at all times. I would hate to see its face now that we and the symbol are here." Seth shrugged his shoulders, not wanting to visualize the outcome.

  * * *

  The door Gildan had spotted for Randor high above was in clear view now. With a grand ledge at its front, the opening stood ten feet high and four feet wide, revealing a long and declining corridor. A warm draft poured from the hall. The company led by the wizard paused at the ledge, not liking the warmth. The sweat on their faces spoke their discomfort more clearly than words ever could.

  "Dragon's breath," Seth muttered.

  Lorn stopped in mid stride and opened his mouth in horror. "Why do you say such things, Seth?"

  "It is only a guess," he replied, trying to soothe his friend. "I have felt a foul dragon's lingering before, and this is what it made me think of."

  "Not hot enough," Malander added. "Besides, do you smell sulfur?"

  Seth sniffed the air more thoroughly, as did the others. Lorn could vaguely remember the offensive smell, for he had worked with the substance some years before. "What relief!" Lorn exclaimed, patting his chest to calm his heart. "I do not smell it at all." He laughed to shake off his fright, with little success.

  "Perhaps it is just a fire up ahead," Seth suggested. Then, looking up toward the stained-glass dome, he puzzled, "It is not daybreak yet, and the room is full of radiant light. I wonder where it comes from."

  "Magic is afoot, Seth," Randor said. "Simple magic, really."

  Through the door all light was gone, and they were forced to feel their way down the steep path. Still, Randor knew this would be safer than using his illuminating orbs. Each breath they took was hot, and sweat stung their eyes, growing thicker as they pressed down the tunnel. Malander began to breath deeper, enjoying the inhospitable air.

  "We are walking into a great unknown," Seth whispered. Though he spoke softly, his voice carried and echoed as if he had shouted. His cloak felt heavy and oppressive on his burning body as the humidity overloaded his motivation to almost nothingness.

  At last, a small, flickering blue light came into faint view in the distance--a sign of the corridor's end. Randor slowed his already crawling pace, extending his arm outward so that none could pass. Drawing to the corridor's end, the four stood before a large blue flame, burning in the center of a low-ceiling, dome-shaped room.

  "No one here," Randor whispered. "The way is clear."

  Stepping into the room, he strolled to the fire. Placing his hand above the flames, he said, "As I knew it would be," running his fingers from side to side through the arms of blue light.

  "Doesn't that hurt?" Seth asked with a pained expression.

  "This is a fire of magic."

  "A well of power or just a magical fire?"

  Randor removed his hand and studied his fingers. "It is not a source of power, as you would say, for I would receive its sustenance." Sadly he concluded, "It is a mere blue flame of magic that will burn until ordered extinguished. It serves only as a source of light to see by."

  Looking beyond the room's center, Seth noticed three doors. Lorn tugged on his cloak and beckoned him down as Malander and Randor studied the doors. "Something wrong?" Seth asked, concerned. He rested his hands on his knees, prepared to listen.

  "The road has grown more puzzling--and now three choices lie before us," said Lorn.

  "Randor will know which to take," Seth assured him.

  "But what if he divides the group further? We will not stand a chance!" Lorn looked around Seth to see what was happening.

  Randor paced in front of the three doorways. The middle path, with cracks and brown moss lining the entryway, appeared to be the oldest, and the path to the left the newest and least flawed. At his right was a wooden door with metal bars that were rusted and loosely secured. The two open paths were pitch dark and felt and smelled no different from the vestibule where they now stoo
d.

  "You know the correct way…right, Randor?" Seth asked.

  "The problem, Highbinder, is that there is no correct way anymore."

  "Do we just choose one at random?" Seth did not understand Randor's meaning.

  "Three paths, three men to travel them," Malander murmured. "Well, the dwarf can go with Seth."

  "As you can see, these doorways are all different in their own right," said Randor. "The middle door clearly is the oldest--probably as ancient as this place." He stood before the entrance covered by the door. "A door such as this tells me that someone or something wants to lure the curious down this path to meet their doom." Turning to the middle doorway, he said, "This is the direction we go."

  "Are you sure of this?" Seth asked, skeptical.

  "Of course."

  And so the four entered yet another dimly lit tunnel, unaware of the dangers ahead. At the far end glimmered a pure white light, reminding Randor of his journeys back through the Gate of Ethindar. He closed his eyes and sighed, longing in the deepest recesses of his heart to return to the planet Ethindos and regain his powers. A faint chanting began in the distance, growing louder as they moved toward the light that allowed more of the corridor to be seen.

  "Mutee nen de morgen non feng lok shetag mar,"a ghastly, demonic-sounding voice uttered.

  "What's going on down there?" Seth gasped.

  "Let's turn back," Lorn stammered.

  "I am curious now," said Malander.

  "As am I," Randor added. He slid along the wall to gain a closer view of the activity ahead. "Monks," he said. "The likes of whom I have not seen for centuries."

  "What?" Seth replied. "What do you see?"

  "Black-robed figures--about forty or fifty."

  "Doing what, Randor?"

  "Prayer, it seems."

  "Is there an idol? Perhaps it lives here in the depths."

  "No, just a figure clad in red, upon a platform in front of the robed figures. Its arms are raised."

  The room was lined with multiple candles on grand silver candelabras that branched out in snakelike curves. On the back wall, a large black drape hung over the dismal gray bricks, and before it stood the platform where the apparent leader conducted the ritual. His head was lowered, and a mysterious shadow covered his face. Randor could feel the inner power of the monks as he leaned against the wall.