Gathering his courage, Seth gently crept forward, keeping low to the floor. Never had he seen such a gathering of spiritual beings. "Are they of good or evil?"
"Judging from the feeling I am getting," Randor began, "I would say their intentions are not good. The aura is strong, and redolent of devilry."
"The five soldiers are not among them," Seth said. "What is your next order?"
"Let us watch. Who knows what we may learn."
"Oenoth fugist dar reneeoth," the monk bellowed darkly, and his followers repeated the phrase. He stretched out his arms, revealing long, thin, pale fingers with clawlike nails. "Dargroth nos belahdith!"Then the rows of disciples filed out into an exit on the right-hand side of the room, and only the red-cloaked figure remained. Chanting something unclear, he turned to the black drape and bowed in praise.
"Let us attack while his back is turned," Malander said with sword drawn. "He doesn't look that powerful."
"I still feel the evil he radiates," Randor said.
"Quick, while he is alone."
"I say we detain and question him," Seth suggested.
"Can't we just let him be?" Lorn asked, not liking the other choices. "He is not the one we are looking for."
"True," Randor replied. "But this monk could be a link to Beldas."
"Permission to proceed?" Malander asked nicely.
Randor thought half a moment, and then nodded. "Permission granted, my companions."
"I thank you for that," Malander laughed.
"But do not strike to kill. We need him alive." Randor looked over his companions one last time, and still Malander laughed quietly. He was the first to spring forth. The four ran quietly to catch the red-robed monk unaware, little knowing that he awaited the opportune moment to unleash his fury on the intruders.
Standing motionless, the monk smiled in pure delight.
Chapter Twelve: Twisted Roads
"Are you all right, Muron?" Geil asked, concerned.
"Yes," Muron replied cheerfully, "I am well."
"Will this darkness ever end?" Arnanor complained. "How could anyone walk through this?"
"The same way I do, Prince," Gildan replied, pressing on. Not bothered by the darkness, the mercenary smiled in amusement at his companions' grumbling. "I wonder how Randor is coming along."
"No doubt better than we are," Arnanor offered.
"I wish I were a wizard," Muron sighed.
"Be careful what you ask for. The burdens of his kind are heavy, even greater than I would wish upon myself," Gildan replied. "Just be thankful for what you are."
"I know I am proud of what I have become and what has been given to me," Arnanor added. "Never would I exchange my royalty for anything in this world or beyond!"
"Any break in this hall yet, Gildan?" Geil asked.
Only more darkness lay ahead, with no sign of light or crossing paths. A soft breeze wafted through the corridor, and a faint smell of an oak fire lingered in the air, growing stronger as they progressed.
"You will never find such a hall in my father's palace," Arnanor boasted. "This is utterly ridiculous!"
"Please lower your voice," Gildan warned him.
"We must be close," Geil announced. "The smoke fills my nose with its thick aroma."
"A horrid smell," Muron said, coughing.
"Keep your guard up," Gildan said, unsheathing his sword. Extending his free hand, he felt an obstacle that barred the way. "Alas, the door to yet another passage."
"Well, then open it!" Arnanor demanded.
Gildan moved his hand around, trying to discover a latch hidden in the darkness, and at last his fingers fumbled around an iron ring. As he pulled it back, a slit of light crept along the rough stone wall, growing larger until there was room for the princes to pass through--which they promptly did, leaving behind Gildan. With swords drawn, the Northern elves fanned out, scanning the large room of plain masonry.
"Anything at all?" Gildan asked casually.
"All that you see before you now," Arnanor responded.
"Then we must continue ahead."
"And haste into nothing? We squander our resources and time with this foolishness!"
Gildan turned his head away from the annoying princeling and strode over to a grand stairway of aging stones, snaking up the wall to a pair of steel doors. But before he could reach the first step, the doors began to open.
Gildan waved his hand to halt the company, his senses now fully aware. "Hold your positions," he whispered as one of the symboled soldiers appeared. "Do not move!" the elf ordered of the black-clad man, startling him so that he quickly ducked behind the door and was gone before Gildan could react. "He will not escape us this time!"
"We shall stop them!" Arnanor shouted as he led the charge upward. Muron and Geil immediately followed with swords out.
* * *
Lowering his arms, the red-cloaked priest kept his ears tuned to the soft, rapid footfalls of his attackers. His pale lips crinkled into a sneer. Then, hearing the distinct sound of a sword being drawn, he spun around and parried Malander's slash with blinding speed, then drew away to the black drape behind him.
With a menacing grin, the priest pointed a clawed finger at the shocked Malander. "Tu tagesh mont nonte loos. Eph lon ti eir!"
Backing away from the platform, Malander whispered, "What the hell did he just say?"
"I do not know," Randor replied. "It is a strange tongue."
Malander shook his sword at the priest in frustration. "Speak in the common tongue, you devil!"
"Ephf lon ti eir, lohs!" The priest vanished in the air, leaving only a thin haze of black mist, which quickly faded.
"Damn!" Malander yelled, angrily driving his sword deep into the stone of the platform and leaving it there. "Just wait until I find that conjurer!" He turned around, outraged by the unfairness of it all, and sat on the platform. "Randor, what wasthat?"
"He is an ancient priest of the underworld spirits, I should guess. Something all but unheard of these days."
"You couldn't make out what he said?" Seth asked. Throughout the siege he had remained in the rear guard of the company in case Lorn needed help. "I heard that you are aware of all languages."
Randor laughed softly. "I wish it were so. I have been graced with many languages, but many are erased from my memory when I return to Ethindar. As time progresses, many things are forgotten in this world, and with some, it is just as well. My master has set it all according to plan, and I do not struggle with His grace." Randor put his hand on the damp hilt of Malander's sword and freed the blade. "I am blessed with every day I am given. Never would I have guessed those millennia ago that I would live to see this era," he said as he handed the sword to the seething knight. "Here. You may need this in the near future."
"You speak true," Malander answered as he returned the sword to its sheath. "Neither I nor my blade shall wait long."
"This must be their main place of worship," Lorn thought aloud. "Seems as if their belongings have been here for many ages."
"Victors of that ancient war against the men and elves," Seth offered, agreeing with Lorn's hypothesis. "But how could fifty monks create such damage?"
"By the hands of that red devil, no doubt," Malander answered. "I can be certain he handled the entire feat by himself."
"I may have to agree with you there," Randor said as he stood on the platform and studied the drape, which was void of any symbol. "A great evil dwells here in this room--far greater than those who serve it." He leaped down and strolled to the exit, where the lesser monks departed. "We must not stay here. Quickly, before the power destroys your souls! I can stand its temptations a bit longer than you, but I fear for us all."
"I do not fear this evil!" Malander proclaimed.
"Your proof is not necessary, Malander," Randor replied. "This way." He vanished through the door with Malander, returning to the deep shadows, but Lorn and Seth lingered behind under the grip of the room's powerful magic.
"I
already begin to feel what he spoke of," Lorn said, and began to sink to the ground, his knees giving under a sudden great pressure. "It lies heavy on my heart." His face cringed as sweat dripped from his brow.
"It is because you are smaller than the rest of us," Seth replied. "Once we are free of this castle it will diminish--I know it will."
"Keep up, would you?" Malander's voice echoed from the corridor.
"Come, Lorn, let us go."
"No," the dwarf replied. "Let me just rest a moment."
"No!" Seth yelled. "I will not!"
"Please, Seth."
"You cannot rest here! This place is evil!" He grabbed Lorn by his jacket and yanked him down the narrow hall after the other two. The dwarf was heavy, though, and did not cooperate with Seth's efforts to escape. He did not want to be left behind in this unfamiliar territory. After many laborious steps through the blackness, only a short distance remained through the passage that led into another chamber, and soon Seth found Randor, already at work on a green door that glowed radiantly. Ten black banners with no decor hung loosely upon the stone walls. The wizard knelt with his hands pressed to the surface, studying the structure as his ears were filled with the same faint chanting he had heard earlier. To counter the enchantment of the voices, Randor began to speak softly, randomly selecting any mantra that entered his mind, hoping one might release the spell.
"If I had the power," Malander grumbled, "I would ban all of this foolish magic and send it back to Ethindar so that he might make use of it!" With sword now in hand, again he swung his blade through the air several times over, letting loose his aggression. His footsteps grew heavier and stiff, echoing through the once quiet chamber.
The glow from the sealed door reflected in Randor's dark glasses, making it harder to see his work at hand. Frowning, he stood back and tried to figure a way in.
"Do you feel any better?" Seth asked Lorn as they stumbled into the room.
"What does he feel?" Randor inquired. "Are you hurt?"
"I don't know what came over me," Lorn answered. "I hurt all over, particularly in the chest. My will to live is slipping away."
"Is the sensation still strong?"
"It has varied its grip on me."
"I have not the power to heal you now. Can you bear the priest's magic a bit longer?"
"Yes," Lorn replied. "Though I do not show it, I have strength left somewhere deep inside me."
"He is as tough as any dwarf warrior anywhere to be found!" Seth added proudly. Lorn smiled and took the compliment, then leaned against the jagged wall.
"Magic failed you?" Malander asked Randor haughtily. "What great shame this makes for us." He laughed quietly to himself.
Ignoring the knight's insolence, Randor said, "The door is marked in that strange tongue, it seems. It will take some time to figure this out."
"And how much time do you think we have, hmm?" Malander asked, resuming his pacing, this time keeping his eyes on the wizard. He raised his arms and opened them outward. "The world is dying all around us, and our chance to end its illness lies right behind this door! You want us to wait?!"
Randor replied, "Please, if you can do better, do so."
Malander did not rise to the challenge. His mind was too agitated to ponder such things, so he dropped the matter.
Randor closed his eyes and lowered his head as he began to pray. "Master, please show me Your divinity and provide a passage through this. Grant me the power to free this world of Yours from its suffering."
After a few moments the glowing passage began to flicker, and the green light died.
"So the gods do answer prayers," Malander added gruffly. "What a change that must be for them."
"Watch your tongue, Knight!" Seth warned.
"Watch yours, boy."
"Lorn?" Randor said. "Are you well enough to continue?"
"I would be disappointed if we had to stop on my account. Do lead us on."
"Very well."
The door swung open. At once Malander darted through the entrance. Finding nothing unusual, he shrugged his shoulders and turned away from the dark tunnel, and before he could respond, a chain wrapped around his thick neck. Desperately he tried to free himself, but it closed faster on him by the second. His pale skin flushed red, and every vein in his forehead and neck stood out.
"The priest has a magical chain, Randor!" Seth yelled. "Do something!"
The mysterious attack soon brought the brave knight to his knees, though he fought on gamely. Randor promptly started to assist the fading Malander by pitting his own strength against the chain, yet still it did not yield.
"Try to hold on," Randor said, receiving no response from his strangling companion. "Seth, do help me, would you?"
But before Highbinder could reach the door, the chain released itself, though not from anyone's doing, and vanished back into the hallway. Malander fell at Randor's feet, gasping for air as, slowly, his red-tinted skin returned to its usual pale complexion. Randor grabbed the stricken knight by his arm and pulled him away to a safer distance. Again the strange chanting began to creep through the corridors, growing stronger. Where would this threat come from?
"We shall be outnumbered soon," Randor said. "They are coming here, no doubt."
"What must we do?" Seth asked. "Remain or retreat?"
"I will never retreat!" Malander spoke his first words since nearly being stifled. Though he rubbed his chafed neck, his sword was ready to strike as he glanced into the dark hall.
"Neither will I," said Randor. "If they come, we must be ready for them. They will not be as powerful as their master."
The chanting grew louder with each repetition, drumming the room full of demonic mantras, the very noise making the four companions' hearts beat faster with anticipation. The banners that hung on the wall flapped violently and then fluttered down to the cold floor.
"What trickery is this?" Seth asked, horrified. Slowly the black cloths began to rise, forming into figures of dark-robed men. A small ball of light glowed in the middle of each shape and faded, revealing partial portions of faces, heads shadowed by hoods, and bodies enveloped in darkness.
"Not as powerful, you say?" Malander growled. "So they come after all!"
The ten cloaked monks turned to the small company, chanting, connecting and combining their strength as they spoke in unison. Randor search his mind for a memory of this language, but not one syllable could he translate.
"Silence your rubbish and come forth!" Malander taunted them, waving his sword to beckon them to him. All he could dwell on was vengeance, thinking how blissful it would be to cut them clean in two.
The chanting stopped as the ten monks lowered their heads, then drew slowly inward. "Attack on my command," Randor whispered. As soon as he spoke these words, the monks rushed at them, their clawed hands reaching out, craving destruction.
* * *
"Come back, you thief!" Arnanor demanded as he reached the door first. Drawing his sword back beyond his head, he opened the door, and in no time his three companions were at his side, Geil now leading the way ahead with sword in one hand and Muron's arm in the other, literally dragging the young prince up the steps. When the four were inside, to their surprise they found no one.
"Do you hear that?" Muron asked, his long ears alerted to an unrecognizable sound. "It is close by, too."
"Yes," Geil agreed, "Sounds like metal clashing against metal--a battle, perhaps."
"Randor?" Muron said, concerned. "It could be the others in peril! We must help them!"
"Come, then!" Arnanor urged. "Let us waste no more precious time!" The elf prince dashed through the chamber, weaving in between columns of crumbled marble, kicking up dust and bits of gravel as he charged ahead.
"Foolish elf!" Gildan cried. "You do not know what may lurk there!"
By now the Northern elves had dashed to the far reaches of the chamber, leaving Gildan by himself, shaking his head, torn by the actions of his kindred. Throwing his cape back, he sprin
ted to join them. The clanging of weapons became extremely loud as Gildan crossed the vast room--only to find an astonishing scene.
Twelve monks clad in black were locked in combat against the five soldiers of the symbol, and to Gildan's left, the princes and Geil fended off whoever came near, not knowing whether the monks were friend or foe. The five dark soldiers fought bravely against the unarmed monks, though swordsmanship seemed to gain them no advantage. Even with their great skill, they were unable to stop the relentlessly attacking monks. For many long minutes the battle waged in a continuous stalemate, with the soldiers fighting separately from the elves, each having two or three foes to deal with, maneuvering around great pits of swirling fires. Swords were swung true, only to be deflected by clawed hands, which seemed impervious to the relentless assaults, as if made of metal.
Arnanor and Geil still fought bravely, keeping their many opponents checked, yet they could not inflict a single injury. Muron remained in Geil's shadow, making little use of his still unblooded blade, though he felt alive and important now within the ranks of Randor's company.
The battle came toward the three from all sides, with the entire room in utter chaos. Then, just as Gildan made his way toward his embattled companions, a red-robed monk glided into the rear of the room, hovering several inches above the floor. His followers, without glancing at him, began to retreat, fading before the eyes of all who opposed them, growing almost transparent, only taking solid form as they stood humbly against the walls. The five soldiers, two princes, and Sir Geil remained in the chamber's center, standing together, their differences forgotten for the moment.
Gildan strolled inward and stood next to Arnanor, who did not take his eyes away from the newest guest. "What is he?" Arnanor asked. "An apparition?"
"A monk, more or less, though I have never seen his like before."
"Well, look upon him now, for these shadows will soon fall slain," Arnanor declared.
The White Shadow Saga: The Stolen Moon of Londor Page 22