The White Shadow Saga: The Stolen Moon of Londor

by A. P. Stephens

  The priest landed gracefully before the motley group and, pointing his finger at the five soldiers, snarled with a deep hatred, "Hep ahten mos, ei oph--ghest."

  "Who are you?" the leader of the symboled soldiers demanded. "Where have you hidden the Banner of Aldrenos?"

  "The Banner of Aldrenos?" Gildan replied, shocked. The appearance of the soldiers in this city was now clear to him. For years he had wondered about this ancient relic. "That is one of the most precious treasures in the entire world."

  "Give us the banner and I might spare you!" the leader said clearly.

  The priest laughed and replied, "Sen tuh Nugalas." Drifting backward, floating barely above the ground, he beckoned any brave enough to enter the doorway behind him. "Xontos meh cosdar costot len Aldrena."

  "Is Nugalas your name?" the leader asked, receiving only a nod as a reply. "Very well, Nugalas, you will lead me to the banner at once!"

  "Why are you in search of this relic?" Gildan asked.

  The leader held out his sword as his soldiers moved away from the company, not frightened by Nugalas's invitation to journey farther into his castle. Eyeing Gildan, he said, "Don't meddle in our business. You have no right to know, nor could you understand."

  "I have an idea of what you plan to do with it." Gildan was well versed in the lore of the Banner of Aldrenos, for he had been commissioned long ago to capture it for a king in a distant land, though he had never found its elusive hiding place--until now. The princes looked on, baffled, not knowing what was spoken of.

  "What could an elf know?" the leader laughed, "especially one of your nature, outlandish sword wielder!"

  "I far exceed your skills," Gildan remarked boldly.

  The lead soldier turned his attention back to Nugalas but saw that he and his monks were gone, having vanished in silence during the short exchange of words. Remarkably, no one had seen them leave. "Believe me, mercenary, your time will come sooner than you think."

  "I await that moment," Gildan replied.

  The leader left through the door with his companions just at his coattail. Somehow he seemed to know that the banner he was after lay in this direction. Failure to return the relic to his master would probably result in great punishment--something none of the five would want.

  "Tell me about this Banner of Ald--" Arnanor paused, trying to remember the name. "Whatever it is, Gildan, you know what I speak of. Do not offend me and make me say a word I do not recall. Inform us if you will--that is, if you truly know of this item."

  Gildan said, "The Banner of Aldrenos was once exposed to the world, flying high in honor above the castle where it once resided. In its long service it changed hands many times, finally falling out of view over one hundred years ago."

  "What was so impressive about it?" Arnanor asked impatiently, thinking the story was taking entirely too long to explain.

  "Whoever bore it was granted prosperity beyond your wildest imagination. It gave a kingdom and its people unfailing health; no one died or fell into sickness. The Banner of Aldrenos was greatly desired during the Dark War between the two continents of Dunith and Argos."

  "I am guessing the victor of the war possessed it," Muron said.

  "Strangely enough, the collective armies of Dunith did not," Gildan replied. "It disappeared before the war ended, or that is what I heard. Randor would know exactly how it all came to pass."

  He walked slowly away from the group in contemplation as the others looked to him for the next move. "So this is the famous place of the banner after all these years of search." He smiled, thinking of the reward that was promised to him before. Then an even wider smile crept to his pale face at the thought of selling it to whoever offered the most money.

  "Are you in search of it, Gildan?" Muron asked, puzzled.

  "Yes," he answered happily. "I was once upon a quest to retrieve this banner. The incentive offered to me would have taken many decades to spend…even to earn, really." His eyes glazed over.

  "How much was that?" Arnanor asked curiously.

  "Four million gold pieces."

  "What?!" replied the three, shocked at the huge sum.

  "That makes me sick," Arnanor declared, shaking his head. "That kind of money could last my people for eons."

  "Four million is a small price to pay for a kingdom's undying health and prosperity."

  "That is robbery, mercenary."

  "It is a fair and honest trade."

  Arnanor began to conjure a grand idea and approached Gildan alone. "So this banner, carried into battle, would bring victory?"

  "Who owns it is victorious in all his pursuits."

  Arnanor spun away from Gildan's sight and grinned with an underlying purpose, his ideas one step closer to a solid solution. Dreams of glory filled his soul as he thought of the greatness he could achieve with the banner under his control. But he shared the plan with no one, not even his own brother or Geil, for he did not want to risk its exposure.

  Muron could see him daydreaming and wanted to know what he was thinking. "What is it, my brother?"

  "Nothing, Muron. Nothing at all."

  "Are you sure? You can always talk to me, you know."

  "Just ready yourself, all right?"

  "I am ready."

  "And I am ready whenever you are, my lord," Geil added.

  "Gildan?" Arnanor said.

  "Yes?"

  "We are ready on your word."

  Chapter Thirteen: New Smoke Rises

  "Do not attack yet! Let them come to us," Randor advised as the enemy closed on them fast.

  "If we don't act now, we will not see another battle!" Malander replied, trying to contain the impulse to charge.

  "What are we doing?" Seth asked. "We will surely die if we wait!"

  "Not true," Randor said in a calming tone as he thrust out his arms and bent his knees. The first monk reached them, only to be repelled by a powerful kick from Malander. Strangely, although the robed figure fell back, Malander felt no contact with his foot, as if he had kicked only air. The downed monk rose fast and renewed the assault. "I didn't even touch him!" Malander said, bewildered.

  "Beware of these monks," Randor said. "Do now what you must to survive."

  "Oh, with great pleasure!" Malander replied, diving into the enemy host. With fierce kicks and great, arcing slashes of his sword, he fought with all the strength he had left, though he could not prevent half the enemy's numbers from spilling around him and advancing on Randor.

  As Seth and Lorn moved behind the wizard to guard his flank, Seth noticed that Randor's strength seemed to be slowly returning to him. The notion to use magic had indeed occurred to Randor, but the confined space would make things risky. Moreover, his magical powers would wreak havoc on the ancient castle structure, which went against his code of preserving the antiquities of the world. "Do not take shelter behind me, you two," he said, nudging them away. "Spread out to reinforce our powers!"

  Seth raised his sword and inched away from his leader, ready to engage the monks, as Lorn drew his weapon and faced two attackers who had turned in his direction. Seeing them approach, the dwarf trembled and almost dropped the dirk to the floor.

  "Keep calm, Lorn," said Seth.

  "So it begins," Randor whispered as he thrust his hand at his attackers, stabbing only air. It became clear to him that an ancient spell protected these monks and that everything he and his companions tried would be in vain--yet they must try nonetheless.

  "Magic keeps you well!" Malander shouted as he continued to press his assault, disregarding the outcome that he knew would follow. "It is all that allows you to live!"

  Randor had to find a proper spell that would allow his companions to counter the enemy and bring victory--without his gift of magic, the battle would linger in a stalemate. During the heat of the conflict, he allowed a small corner of his mind to slip away to his subconscious, there to draw on the inner powers he yet possessed. Even as he parried the clawed blows of his assailants, he heard himself say, "N
ara tugas ei randa ben!"As his hands blazed with a luminous white light, the two monks nearest him backed away. Then, before they realized the meaning of this event, Randor lunged forward, striking with his palm the chest of a monk and paralyzing him where he stood. Smoke poured from the monk's torso as he looked down in horror and attempted to retreat, but it was too late--his body convulsed violently, and Lorn could hear the sound of breaking bones as the robed figure sank to the stone floor. There the body lay for a moment before bursting into blue flames, leaving only black smoke as a reminder. Lorn's stomach almost heaved at the horrid sight.

  "To me!" Randor shouted, and the three closed ranks, buoyed by a new sense of hope. Randor's hands blazed white, beckoning any who dared to oppose him. "I know your weakness," he boasted. "Go and tell your master this news, for I am sure he wishes to see my powers!"

  "Yes," Malander snarled, "go and fetch that devil at once!"

  As the monks fled the chamber, their chanting again filled the halls, fading with their retreat. When at last all was quiet in the chamber, Randor lowered his hands and released the magical glow.

  "I am glad they are gone," said Lorn.

  "But for how long?" Seth wondered.

  "They will return sooner than you think," said Malander. Though he had been unable to visit his vengeful wrath upon the monks, he had still greatly enjoyed honing his techniques on them, and now his blood coursed through his veins with the vibrant exuberance of battle. It would be some time before his mood calmed back to its usual surly darkness.

  "I have a feeling we are about to follow them," said Seth.

  "I think you already know the answer to that," Randor replied.

  "Indeed," Seth laughed. Then, seeing Lorn looking somewhat back to normal, he said, "Found your courage after all, it seems."

  "I suppose I did," the dwarf answered meekly.

  "I am proud of you, old chum. You will see your valley again and return to all the delights you once knew."

  Lorn chuckled. "I certainly hope you are right."

  "Of course he is," Randor added. "Now, if we are all ready, let us pass through the door ahead and see where it leads. But stay vigilant--danger is not yet far enough away for us to grow careless. Let us continue ahead." Randor waved his hand and the four ventured through the newly opened path.

  * * *

  Before Gildan knew what was happening, the chase after the soldiers began once again, taking him and the Northern elves through many dimly lit corridors and across bridges spanning pits of darkness, doggedly at their enemy's heels. Finally they paused before a large bridge with a sizable gap in its middle--destroyed ages ago by causes unknown, and with no apparent way across.

  Gildan edged out onto the decrepit span and looked down into the chasm, gauging the momentum needed to get safely across. Then, without even a running start, he pushed off with his left foot at the gap's edge and soared through the air. Clearing the gap with room to spare, he rolled shoulder-first onto the stone and stood upright and looked back to the other's progress. To his surprise, his three companions remained on the opposite side of the bridge, staring uneasily into the darkness below, astonished at the mercenary's feat.

  "What are you doing?" Gildan yelled. "If you allow me to lose their trail I will never forgive your folly!"

  Arnanor pushed back both his brother and Sir Geil, far enough to allow him a short sprint to the gap. Peering ahead and calculating the necessary steps, he said to Geil, "I will go first. Then make sure that Muron follows next."

  "Understood, my lord."

  "See you shortly." Arnanor looked ahead and took a deep breath. Sheathing his sword, he glanced to his brother, seeing despair written on the younger prince's face. Arnanor lowered his stance and broke into a dead run for the gap, cape and long hair flying behind him, and nearing the jagged edge, he leaped. Eyes wide, the elf-prince flew across with arms and legs still pumping. As Gildan stepped back, not wanting to collide with the prince as he landed, Arnanor fell hard onto the bridge, hitting with his knees. He moaned, planting his scuffed hands to the floor, and Gildan reached down to help him up but was shrugged away.

  "How great the distance?" Muron's voice echoed.

  "Twenty feet," Arnanor replied as he dusted off his armor and his hands.

  "Smaller than I calculated," Geil said. "Go on, Prince Muron--your turn."

  "Twenty feet?" Muron whispered doubtfully. "I…I don't kno--"

  Grabbing the timid prince by the shoulders, Geil looked him in the eyes and said, "Yes, you can! Do what you have learned."

  "But this I have not--"

  "Yes, you have. I was there, remember?"

  "But not so great a distance, Geil. I have never cleared twenty feet…"

  Gildan and Arnanor stood impatiently waiting on the other side, unaware of Muron's problem. "What are they doing?" Gildan asked as he paced anxiously, afraid of losing the trail of the mysterious soldiers.

  "I do not know," Arnanor answered. "Sir Geil, what is the delay?"

  "It is Prince Muron, my liege. He tells me he is unable to clear such a jump."

  Arnanor shouted at his brother, "Discard your fear and get over here, for Ethindar's sake! Do it now!" Walking back toward Gildan, he lowered his head, ashamed that someone of his family should show such weakness. "In all my years I have never been so humiliated."

  "You must do as he asks, younger master; I cannot protect you from your own bloodline," Geil advised. "Clear your mind and think only of the goal."

  "I am, and it is what scares me. I wish my brother thought as you--having such faith in me."

  "He does--deep inside."

  "Still you dally!" Arnanor yelled.

  "Very well," Muron decided at last, "I will do it…I don't know how, but I must."

  "Now, set yourself just as you have practiced. Run forward with all your might and reach out as far as you can toward your brother. Believe you will clear this farther even than he did."

  Muron gave a small smile and nodded as he mimicked Arnanor's technique, loosening his tensed muscles and taking a deep breath. Geil stood back, observing the prince's preparation, and prayed for a positive outcome. Without Muron, his existence would lie in ruin, plagued with an endless misery that would never heal--if he could even bear the thought of living. Indeed, death seemed an easier solution.

  Off Muron ran, his eyes shifting fast between his brother and the gap in the bridge. As he raced ahead, he felt a sudden shift in his confidence, a feeling he had never known before. Suddenly, doubt no longer plagued his mind, which was given over to complete faith in an ability he did not readily possess. Then the moment came, and he summoned every ounce of his failing strength into his legs and sprang. The three onlookers gasped as they watched Muron soar like a dragon, letting out a great cry of self-encouragement. At first it seemed that victory was his, but halfway through the arc of his jump, Arnanor could see the odds leaning against him.

  Instinctively he ran to the edge of the bridge and reached out his arms. "Lean forward!" he cried out, but Muron did not obey. It suddenly occurred to him that his brother would fall to his death, and that there was nothing he could do to save him.

  Muron's foot grazed the rough stone, though not enough to gain a purchase…but Arnanor had positioned himself perfectly and hauled his struggling brother up into his strong arms. Safe for the moment, Muron clutched his brother and sobbed. Normally Arnanor would have pushed him away, not being one for deep emotions of this sort, but this situation was somehow different.

  "I thought I was going to die," Muron said, his voice cracking. "Thank Ethindar for you, my brother."

  Arnanor drew back from Muron, holding him by the shoulders, and pierced him with his narrowed eyes. "I told you to lean forward! Do you have any idea of the torment you have just put me through?! I could have lost you! Father would have killed Geil and me both!

  "But he will not, for I live. All is well, Arnanor."

  "Yes…for now."

  Geil watched as Arnanor led his
brother away from the ledge, giving the knight permission to cross the gap. Without difficulty Geil jumped and landed, falling into a trot, for the others had already taken off after the soldiers.

  Bursting through one last door of thick red wood, the four found themselves again among the soldiers. One soldier stood far away from his companions at the left-hand side of a vast room while two stood together at the opposite end. The leader and the remaining soldier stood back, watching expectantly. The leader acknowledged Gildan and the Northern elves' arrival but took no immediate action against them. "Welcome once again."

  Arnanor saw the Banner of Aldrenos fixed high upon the wall to his right, and knew at once that he had to stop the soldiers from getting it. Suddenly, the soldier to their left dashed across the room at astonishing speed, quicker even than any elf could move, directly toward the narrow space between his two cohorts. Leaping ahead, he thrust his dark boot into the interlocked hands of the two waiting soldiers, who threw him skyward with great power. As he reached the height of the banner, he grasped it at its top, yanked it down, tucked it under his arm, and pushed off the wall, touching down on the stone without difficulty.

  "We have what we came for," said the leader. "Let's move out!" Turning, he said, "Tell this Randor of yours that this world will fail, bringing all your efforts to naught!"

  "So you do have the moon!" Arnanor said. "What have you done with it?" Yet all he received as an answer was laughter as the soldiers fled through the far side of the room.

  "We must find Randor at once," Gildan said. "Though I hate to admit it, we cannot do this without his help."

  "I must agree with you there," Arnanor replied. "But surely we will not venture back over our path to track our allies down."

  "No," said the mercenary. "Our best chance, I feel, is still to follow the symbol….They might yet cross paths with our friends."

  * * *

  As Randor's group rested after the battle with the monks, Malander paced the floor as usual while Seth and Lorn sat with the wizard on the floor. Randor stared off into nothingness as he puffed on his long pipe, hardly noticing the grand rings of smoke he blew. He had no solid lead, and the monks could be anywhere within this castle. Three stairwells presented themselves to the wizard and company, but Randor did not wish to venture through any of them just yet.