"What are we waiting for?" Seth finally said. "Is this part of your plan, sir?"
"Everything that I do is apart of the master plan, Highbinder."
"I…meant no disrespect."
"I know, young one. Your inquisitiveness is strong, but sometimes you must wait for things to progress, without pushing them. Events will unfold without any effort from you. We are weary, and it is pointless to expend our remaining energy on puzzles. I grow tired of this maze."
"Well said," Seth agreed. "This is why you are appointed to lead us--wisdom is our greatest ally."
"And also my greatest weapon against evil," Randor added with a smile.
"We shouldn't be here," Malander said quietly.
"Why do you speak thus?" Randor asked.
"I have a deep feeling of unease, one that I cannot shake from my heart."
"What do you see? Do inform me, for it may help our cause."
"How can you expect me to explain a feeling like this?" His emotions were cloaked, so that others might not see his true nature.
"All I ask is for you to try," the wizard calmly replied.
Malander raised his arms and yelled, "Well, I cannot! Just let me be with it, and disregard my feelings, would you?!"
"As you wish."
A small commotion began in the corridor to their left: the distinct sound of many feet moving in haste, bringing Randor and the others instantly to their feet. As louder and much more rapid footsteps rang down the tunnel, their anticipation grew.
Seth tried to believe it was only Gildan's squad charging this way, but Malander seemed to think the very opposite and readied himself for battle. "I do hope it is Gildan," said Seth.
"As do I," Lorn added. "I can't take much more of this dangerous business."
"Do not let hope deceive you," Randor told Lorn. "This goes for all of you."
Shadows loomed on the wall of this stairwell, and the sound of metal skimming across the stones grew louder with each moment the company waited. Now the forms appeared that Lorn hoped not to see, though Malander was more than pleased with the prospect of battle. He spun his sword in his hands, unable to hold it still. Redemption, long overdue, would be his at last. "You come back at an opportune time!" he yelled. "Now I will exact my payment!"
"Not with the Banner of Aldrenos in my possession," the leader of the dark-clad soldiers boasted. "Your payment, as you call it, is void!" And so saying, he brought his followers around to the far door, though which none had yet ventured, and turned to the wizard in the dark blue cloak and hat. "Randor, I presume."
Astonished at having been identified, Randor nodded. "You have assumed correctly, sir. Who are you?"
"I am General Bharot of the High Order."
Slightly out of breath, the elves emerged on the heels of the soldiers and, seeing Randor, ran to his side. Bharot merely shook his head in disgust.
"They have the banner, which has been in this place," Muron reported, assuming that Randor new nothing of this turn of events.
"Aldrenos?" Randor said, puzzled.
"Yes, sir. But…how did you know?"
"I have already found it, Muron."
"Oh."
"Leave the banner here," Randor ordered to Bharot.
"And if I refuse?" Bharot asked, amused that anyone could presume to take the banner from him. Snapping his fingers, he reached back his hand, and a soldier gave him the tightly furled banner. Bharot looked at the banner, then at Randor. "I will make you an offer."
"Offer?" Randor replied. "What could you possibly bargain for?"
"I didn't say bargain, wizard. I said an offer. It is clear that you do not listen."
"Well, make this 'offer' of yours, then."
"If you can take this precious relic from my hands, then it is yours." He smiled. "If you cannot, then it shall travel with us."
"A simple task," Arnanor laughed. "You are not only a thief but a fool as well. You are outnumbered."
Bharot shook his head and said, "I merely said take it from me--not us. So come, one of you. Who would dare take it from me, a master swordsman? You will die under my blade." He unsheathed his sword, holding it outward. "Choose your champion."
"I will go," Malander said eagerly. "He is mine alone."
"I had hoped it would be you," Bharot said with obvious delight. "Step forward and meet your doom." Holding the banner, he strolled forward menacingly and smiled. "To even the bout, I will keep only one hand on my sword."
"You will need both to contend with me," Malander said, laughing to himself. "Oh, devil take it--I'll keep this fair by using my weaker hand," he added as he switched his weapon to his right hand, swinging it about with grace.
Mimicking Malander, Bharot flourished his own blade with splendid technique. "Is this all you have for me?" With a multiple twirl, Bharot swung his sword in an arabesque the company had never seen before. It was highly unorthodox yet blindingly fast and appeared effective. Unexpectedly, Malander mimed precisely the general's movement, then added personal touches of his own.
"Enough of this pointless exhibition," Bharot snarled.
"Yes," Malander goaded him, "enough. For I grow tired of outperforming you. This needs to brew directly to the point: determining who is superior."
Approaching the center of the chamber, neither man could hold back any longer his loathing for the other, and they raised their swords and went at it. After the first clash and parry, Malander wasted no time centering himself again and charged inward with a wicked cry, wanting only to silence the insolent general for good. His enemy did the same, swirling his blade high above his head. As they met for the second time the standoff began. The general's soldiers stood at ease, appearing not even to focus on the battle before them, but Randor kept a close watch, ready to overthrow Bharot if it seemed that he might dispose of Malander. Malander, using all his skill, began to take control of the duel, but the general soon closed the gap. With a fixed grin on his face, he toyed with Malander, fighting only well enough to avoid being pinked.
"I can see this lasting for a good while," Gildan commented. "One of us should relieve him."
"Not just yet," Randor replied smoothly, his faith still with the grim knight. "As a precaution, though, decide among yourselves who is to be next."
"No!" Malander cried out, overhearing the conversation. Bharot's sword ground against Malander's, and the two glared at each other. "No! Don't even think about it, wizard!" Bharot laughed at his opponent's imprudence.
Suddenly, from the darkened stairwell behind Randor and company, a chain like the one that had nearly ended Malander's life shot through the air from behind the company, grazing Randor's hair in passing. Caught up in their mutual hatred, neither Malander nor Bharot heard or saw it come directly toward them, then divert its path, curving slightly as it wrapped itself around both men's weapons and held them fast.
Uncharacteristically, Bharot froze, at a loss what to do. His many long years of training had never prepared him for this. Malander saw the general's confusion and took advantage, driving a deep knee thrust into his enemy's unprotected midsection. Bharot fell backward and let go his entangled sword. Malander, also unable to free his weapon from the chain, let go as well, leaving both blades caught in the hovering chain.
The general, clenching his stomach, slowly straightened and, tossing the rolled banner back to his soldiers, shouted, "Give me another blade!" The soldier who caught the relic opened the front of his coat, drew his sword, and tossed it to Bharot. The new weapon was slightly lighter and thinner than his customary choice of weapon, but it would have to do.
Malander backed away from his inaccessible sword, frustrated that he could not hold his greatest possession and only friend. He knew that asking Randor for aid would prove unhelpful, for he had been unable to do anything about the chain earlier. Seeing Bharot approaching, Malander clenched his fists. He would have to trust to his swift kicks and punches, which were just as honed as his skills with the sword. In fact, Malander enjoyed hand
-to-hand combat, for he could better feel the blows he inflicted on his unfortunate enemies.
Bharot moved forward nonchalantly, knowing now was the moment to rid himself of this foe.
"Give him your blade, Seth!" Lorn cried as Bharot approached to within only a few steps of Malander.
But before Seth could process what was asked of him, Malander shouted, "See what I can do without a crafted weapon. I will show him my diverse skills as a warrior!"
"Hand combat is inferior to our ways," Bharot explained. "Your trust in your hands will be the end of you."
"Your narrow mind will be your undoing."
The chain began to tremble and quickly retracted whence it came, sending the two blades end over end deep into a crevice in the stone wall, far from the combatants' reach. Randor stared at the door behind him and turned to the Northern elves. "Arnanor?"
"I am listening."
"You and yours keep watch of the rear entrance."
"So be it," Arnanor replied.
"We can ill afford an ambush." The Northern elves turned about and kept close watch, mind and body on guard. "I have a feeling this will grow worse."
Bharot pressed the attack, directing his new blade in every way possible. At first Malander simply parried the attacks, dodging from side to side, moving like a mighty cat ready to pounce on its prey. Though the general's blade cut through the air with tremendous speed, Malander found that avoiding the blows was easier than he imagined. He could sense the confusion of his opponent that still lingered after the chain's inexplicable appearance, and after an ill-timed lunge from Bharot, he began his assault. Fists, hand edges, and open palms struck Bharot on all the vulnerable points of his body, taking a vicious toll on his neck, ribs, and internal organs. Knocking him farther back, the grim knight finished with a kick that lifted Bharot and dropped him violently on floor. Blood flowed from his mouth as Malander stood ready to deliver more. It was the best Malander had felt since the fight with the Mazazuken.
"I--I don't understand," Bharot cried, wiping the blood from his face. "This banner is powerless!"
"Randor," Arnanor whispered, "I can see movement within the shadows--those monks again, no doubt."
"Do we hold our ground?" Seth asked.
"Yes," Randor ordered, "Let them in. It is time we finished this."
In that instant Nugalas soared into the room to hover above Randor and the others. All turned their attention to the laughing evil that floated above them. Nugalas appeared to be alone. "Xen mouten grust fon grentoh."
Malander and Bharot, their fight interrupted, retired to their respective sides, the general falling back first. Seeing that the center of the chamber was cleared, Nugalas descended, touching down as softly as a dropped feather, and turned toward Randor. But by focusing on Randor, he allowed Bharot to gather his men and flee down the corridor nearest them. Randor moved Malander aside, desiring to further his understanding of the dark priest.
"Ghen-ahros tah." Nugalas formed a rectangle of his hands, then made tight fists, which he shook violently. "Ahros tah!"
"What do you guess he means or wants?" Muron asked, baffled.
"The banner," Arnanor answered.
"You are correct," Randor added. "The soldiers have escaped with Aldrenos."
"Where did they go?" Seth asked, surprised he had missed their exit. "Did you see them leave, Lorn?"
"No, I was not paying attention to them."
Nugalas turned sharply and snarled, finding the burglars gone from his sight. Enraged, he ran to the door and peered down into the stairway, seeing no trace of the banner. With a blood-curdling howl, he turned to face the company with fangs exposed, gleaming in the pale light. Randor gathered his companions closer to him and prepared for another encounter with the wily priest. Slowly the wizard directed the throng backward.
Overcome with rage, Nugalas could no longer hold back his powers, and with a withering glare, he shouted, "Einxas oenfex aui-uthinah!" Raising his hands, he released his infamous chain from out of his long sleeves. In no time at all it would be within the middle of the company.
"We won't make it!" Seth gasped as he tried to hurry those in his way out the door.
As the iron weapon of Nugalas crossed the midpoint of the chamber, a sword shot through the air from the doorway off to their left, catching Nugalas unaware as it passed through a chain link and veered it from its intended path, wedging it deep into a crack in the stone wall, next to Malander's sword. Still Nugalas tried to control his power, struggling to free the chain by the force of his mind.
"Did you see that, Randor?" Arnanor asked.
"I am afraid not."
The eight stopped their helter-skelter flight because the threat had ended. They turned and faced Nugalas, unsure just what he planned next, but guessing that the priest had more than one attack up his sleeve.
Randor looked to the stairwell to his left where the blade shot from, but all that he could see was smoke, rolling off the top of the archway of the door. The gray smoke brought with it a wondrous aroma of flowers, a smell that made Randor crave his own pipe. Then, in a dramatic entrance, a highly decorated soldier of the symbol strode in. With a long, red pipe in his mouth, he darted his cold eyes about the room; then, looking to Nugalas, he laughed and shook his head in pity for the priest, who turned and, with a cry of rage, fled down the stairs after the banner, caring no more for Randor or anyone else.
Malander, who wanted only to finish his fight, said, "Bharot!"
The soldier blew out a great cloud of smoke and sighed as he lowered his beautiful pipe to his side, as one might lower a sword. "Do not insult me again. How could you possibly cross me with that amateur?"
"Then who are you?" Malander wanted to know.
"General Helfare."
"Are you a member of this High Order?" Gildan asked.
"No, I am no longer a part of this order you speak of."
"So you are not with them?" Malander asked, distrusting Helfare's words. Already he knew that these soldiers had no honor, and this one seemed no different. "I find this information hard to believe." He crossed his arms and awaited the real answer.
"You must believe me, my friends."
"I am not your friend," Malander was quick to say. "Know this now and keep my words in your brainwashed head!"
Helfare slowly approached the others, who raised their guard, unsure of his motives. He brought up his hands, showed only his pipe, and indicated that he would not attempt any sudden aggressive movements. "I mean you no harm. I am unarmed." Opening his dark jacket, he exposed the empty sheath of his sword, still lodged in the wall, where it held the priest's chain.
The members of Randor's company were torn at the thought of siding with this tall, young, obviously accomplished swordsman. "See here, dear sirs, I am utterly incapable of doing you physical harm." And though Randor thought Helfare a well-spoken gentleman, he was still skeptical.
"But you still possess the forked tongue common to all your kind. Slice it from your mouth, and then the eight of us shall be kinder in dealing with you!" Malander exchanged evil glares with Helfare, not yielding to his speech.
"What has brought the eight of you here to a place such as this?" Helfare was very sly and graceful with his question. "It is dangerous here for such a…small squad of folk."
Malander, who had enough of the newcomer, spoke up. "Now, you listen to…"
"Calm yourself," Helfare advised. "I do wish to know the outline of your business. I can clearly see you all do not work together well."
"You are wrong, sir," Seth protested.
"Not to mention that none of you don similar armor or symbol--royal party excluded, of course." The Northern elves looked mutely at one another. "All I do know at this point is that the eight of you must be on some sort of quest benefiting each of your kind: man, elf, and dwarf." Helfare studied the company a moment longer and turned to the leader. "You, my good wizard, must be a Randor of Ethindar."
"Indeed," the wizard answere
d.
"But which Randor you are, I cannot guess. I have not heard of a Randor attired in blue." Helfare puffed on his pipe. "Perhaps you are new to this world."
"I am Randor Miithra, and no, there has not been a new Randor in many Ages."
"What are your tidings, Miithra?"
"My tidings are great and far too deep to give in any detail. You, General Helfare, can just call me Randor, for this is what people simply refer to me as these days."
"One of the Seven Wielders of Ethindar going only by his title? Tidings are strange." Helfare looked the other seven over. "Surely you can share your adventure with me. Perhaps I can assist you along the way." He still could not gain their trust, but he pressed on. "By the Mighty Hand of Ethindar, I swear to you that I intend no ill toward you." He bowed humbly before Randor. "You have my solemn oath."
"On your oath to my Master," Randor began, "I, for one, will take your trust sincerely."
"You cannot be serious!" an incredulous Arnanor said.
"For once I agree with the elf-prince," said Malander. "We cannot afford him in our circle."
"This decision is mine alone," Randor announced, brooking no argument. "We have the symbol within our grasp now. Have you no wish to heal this world?"
"If the world is a concern, then my aid to you is in sore demand." Helfare spoke as one in tune with their mission. "I have guessed your secrecy," he said confidently. "Is Beldas a spark in your emotions?"
Arnanor stepped forward and pointed at Helfare. "What did I tell you? These men did in fact steal our beloved moon--and I will wager that this particular one did the stealing."
"I am sorry to report that my powers do pass into the realm of magic, but only my former master could perform such a feat of evil. Not even Randor could conjure such magic, I would say."
"I could pull the moon from the heavens if I only wished to sacrifice both myself and Londor in the act. Never, though, would I destroy this wonderful planet that has given me such wisdom and life." Randor was drawn back in reflection, but suddenly one of Helfare's words struck him. "Formermaster, you say?"
The White Shadow Saga: The Stolen Moon of Londor Page 24