The White Shadow Saga: The Stolen Moon of Londor

by A. P. Stephens

  Gildan, enraged, could no longer stand back, and raising his blade, he rushed at Yindraken's back. The wolf, meanwhile, so gloated in his victory over the prince of Northern Kingdom that he was oblivious to the world around him. Closer came the elven mercenary, ready to strike down the evil, but just as his long blade came into deadly reach, Yindraken leaped over Gildan's head. Gildan spun about to continue the assault, and Yindraken retreated slightly, shaking his finger at the elf and laughing. With Malander nearing the enemy, and Seth regaining his feet, the company had Yindraken caught in a triangle once more. Without any real strategy, they fought bravely on.

  But Yindraken continued to counter all their attacks with tremendous speed and power. "Surrender to me!" he yelled.

  The company of three suddenly ceased their attack, and the battle paused as Yindraken summoned his buried mana not yet brought to bear. This was the first time the company had to work as one, and it was a difficult struggle. Their battle plan thus far was not effective and there was no point in carrying on in this manner. If they were to dominate this situation, Gildan would have to organize their collective skills. In the pause, the three watched Yindraken gather his strength. Seth leaned forward and placed his hands on his knees, exhausted and out of breath, and let the tip of his blade sink to the ground. In the midst of his fatigue, he looked up and saw Yindraken staring directly at him. The triangular formation of the company was broken just as quickly as it had formed, and Yindraken was free of threat. The werewolf turned away from his enemies and toward the fallen Arnanor, lying on his back on the hillside. He wanted nothing more than to end the prince's life, thus placing his clan one step closer to mastery over the North. No longer would the elves be the victors. This fueled Yindraken's mind with each long stride he took. He would be remembered as the savior of his people, and for generations hereafter his name would be revered.

  "We must act now," said Gildan.

  Malander and Seth gave their rattled attention to the mercenary. "What is your advice?" Seth asked.

  Gildan paused in short reflection, then said, "Seth, return to the camp and inform the others. We will need Randor's help. There is no doubt that our superior numbers will not last much longer. Yindraken's clan will be here before we know it."

  Seth nodded, then realized that he would be alone in the unknown darkness. Captivated by fear, he debated agreeing to the elf's plan. But Lorn's cries suddenly haunted his soul. Seth would never forgive himself if something should happen to his friend.

  "Are you listening to me?" Gildan asked, frustrated.

  "Yes."

  "Then why are you still here?"

  Seth bit his lower lip and set his fright aside. "Right. I shall return shortly." He began down the hill to the west as quietly as he could manage. He knew that Randor could ward off the evil with ease, but first Seth had to reach him. The fate of the company, and with them the rest of the world, hinged on his trek to find the wizard. The group's inability to bring down the werewolf puzzled Seth's mind as he pressed on. Many times over he analyzed his techniques, but the answer was always the same: he had executed his sword techniques just as he had been taught, but without managing to put a single mark on his enemy.

  Seth was halfway down the hillside when he began to tread more softly, using his toes rather than the flat of his feet. He stayed low to the ground and clenched his cloak in hand so as not to trip, knowing that he was not the best at balance when his nerves were in a dither. Seeing the way clear, he threw stealth to the winds and sprinted toward the forest. Hurdling a small row of thorn bushes, he thumped down on a dirt path. Seth did not know if this was even the correct way to the camp, and he prayed he had guessed right. Deeply he drove into the forest, branches slapping him across his face and chest, yet he did not yield to their sting. As the canopy above him thickened, the moonlight faded quickly, and the blackened land enveloped him as he ran down the twisted path. He still thought of Lorn, wondering what the dwarf was experiencing this very moment. Seth was also concerned with Arnanor, for his own good standing with the Council rested in the well-being of the princes.

  The forest was quiet, with not even a rustle of leaves, as if the trees themselves stood frozen in fear of the werewolves.

  Where is it? he asked himself, out of breath. His legs began to feel unstable. Seth saw the road fork just ahead--one path leading uphill, where the trees thinned out, and the other leading down into greater darkness. He did not deliberate but chose the higher ground, and again moonlight appeared as he passed through the unfamiliar forest. Looking up, he saw that he was passing through a clearing--though not the one he desired. This particular setting was in a horrid condition: dead trees uprooted, rotted black leaves crunching with every footfall, and a small, befouled creek running through the clearing's center. Insects swarmed about the stagnant surface. Though Seth was terribly thirsty, he would never drink this vile liquid. The way across was not clear; he would have to maneuver warily through shattered wood and bad water.

  From the corner of his sight he saw two shadowed figures move silently from tree to tree; they went past him without sound or confrontation. Chances were, the two either did not notice Seth or were not concerned with him--just yet. "Werewolves," he muttered as he pressed his back along a huge fallen tree trunk. I must reach Randor. He crept low, looking around him with every step.

  Passing the midpoint of the clearing, he took refuge beneath a tree that leaned heavily to one side. He clasped one hand to his trusted sword and pointed the blade towards the moss-covered ground. He was not alone, and no longer could he trick his mind into thinking otherwise. Leaves rustled behind him; he could hear the faint sound of shallow breathing heard between gusts of the wind. Carefully he peered over his shoulder, but saw nothing. Seth did not like being in mysterious situations, nor did he take any pleasure in being detained from his duties. The gusts of wind increased, lulling the knight into thinking the threat was gone. Perhaps he had just imagined it all. Swallowing his fear, he sprinted ahead to a small gap in the trees, even though knowing that he would be exposed now to anything wishing him harm.

  The two Mazazuken kept their distance from Seth for their own amusement, knowing that the human was no match for their powers. Seth's haste was considered an insult, and he had to be stopped, but patience was the key for the Mazazuken to take down this particular prey.

  Off into the shadows Seth Highbinder ran, giving the last of his waning strength to the cause. His chosen path crossed many others, but he never strayed from where his feet carried him--this was not a time for second guesses. In the distance he saw a flickering light, which inspired in him a much-needed burst of extra power.

  At long last he had found his companions. Only one last obstacle lay in his way--a great tree trunk lying in thick mud on the forest floor. He would have to jump well over six feet to clear it. "Almost there," he whispered. In a moment he would have reinforcements to balance the battle with the Mazazuken. But he could see no signs of movement within the campsite. He ran toward the down log, planted his feet, and leaped as high as he could, reached upward, and pulled, dislodging a chunk of bark. He was over. He looked to the ground below, but then his focus blurred as he collided with an unknown assailant. Tackled in midair, he hit the ground hard, wrapped tightly in the arms of a gray-furred beast. The two rolled through puddles of water and mud until, stopped at last, the enemy pushed off Seth's body and tumbled away, disappearing into the darkness.

  Seth stood upright and shook his head, trying to dispel the daze. The forest and the firelight blended as if seen through smoked glass, and he could not distinguish anything. His sword fell from his grasp and splashed into the water at his boots as a nauseating pain clenched his stomach. Giving in to the weakness, Seth collapsed in the mud, where he drifted in and out of consciousness, unable to move as he struggled with his inner self. Had he really come all this way only to fall victim to the Mazazuken?

  Chapter Six: A True Fire

  As soon as the four left thei
r presence, Geil, Muron, and Lorn heard more foreign sounds coming from the forest. Geil took up his sword and quickly took Muron's sword from the saddle. Lorn looked at both elves with weapons in hand, and it was suddenly apparent to the elves that this dwarf was unarmed. It baffled Muron and Geil to see a member of the Dwarvish race, even one from Beowulken, without a weapon, and Lorn wished now that he had a sword or ax. Without a word, Geil drew a small dirk from his belt. It was fourteen inches in length and rarely used by the elf-knight, kept only as a side arm. The elf handed it promptly to Lorn, who gazed in wonder at its beauty. The hilt was golden with a red-jeweled pommel, with a few elvish letters burned into the blade, though naturally, the dwarf could not read them.

  Muron assumed a ready position, yet Geil, noticing that it lacked the form he had been taught, adjusted his stance.

  "Use this weapon well, dwarf," Geil said.

  "I shall use it to the best of my abilities," replied Lorn. "It is a splendid tool."

  "In times of trouble it will protect you." Geil maintained his place by the prince, and as the elves turned their senses to the night, Lorn drew in behind the two, having no inkling what to do. As unseemly as it was, he had to rely on the strength and skill of the elves, and he trusted them completely.

  "Whatever you need me to do," Lorn said, "I will do it. Though I am not a fierce warrior as you are, I can follow instructions well enough."

  "Offer accepted," Geil answered. "Remain close by, and you will continue on this journey Randor has planned for us."

  "Agreed." Lorn held the dirk tightly. Muron gestured for him to mimic his actions, and though Lorn found Muron's technique most uncomfortable, especially in the arms, he kept the weapon pointed toward the heavens as his heart sank in fear.

  "Should we follow after the others?" Muron asked. "Something tells me all is not well with my brother….It is a strange feeling. I wish it would go away."

  "I am ordered to stay here with you and the dwarf," Geil replied sternly. "This is my only intention until Prince Arnanor issues my next command. Our belongings also need tending, young master."

  "My brother is far more important than anything else in this world. These horses and miscellaneous possessions hold no meaning by comparison. Supplies can be replaced…" Muron paused, growing emotional. "My brother cannot be."

  Suddenly, from behind the three came a loud noise that sounded like a gasp of air, followed by a sustained sliding sound as of something colliding with muddy ground. Spinning around, they saw a tall, slender figure rise from behind the brush, swaying from side to side as they looked on in new wonder.

  "What is that?!" Muron asked, horrified, holding his shaking sword outward.

  "Who goes there?" Lorn yelled.

  "Silence, both of you!" ordered Geil.

  "Seth? Is that you?" Lorn asked, hoping that it was.

  "Quiet, dwarf!" Geil blasted. "A torch, quickly!" Lorn grabbed a long blazing brand from the fire and passed it across his body. The flames guttered and crackled as they cut through the air and the brand made its way to Geil's outreached hand. Holding the torch high, the elf saw a blue-cloaked figure with blond hair caked in mud. Then, in a blinking of an eye, it dropped to the ground.

  "Seth!" Lorn cried out. "Dear me, he's hurt."

  Geil rushed to the side of the stricken knight and knelt down, placing his sword hand on Seth's shoulder armor, which had been knocked loose by the violent tumble. "Where are the others?"

  But Seth spoke not, his mind still muddled from the attack. He rubbed his forehead, and Geil grew agitated and asked again, "Where are the others, Seth? Where is Prince Arnanor? Tell me!"

  "One mile…roughly, away from here…atop a hill."

  "Does the prince still live?"

  Seth could only nod as he laid his head back in the mud. "Maza…" Seth began. Geil cringed and awaited the rest of the foul word. "Mazazuken have come."

  Geil rose with his sword--his hatred for these creatures ran much deeper than Arnanor's. Now he debated whether to keep his oath to stay at the camp, stewing in resentment all the while, or seek revenge against the Mazazuken. This was a chance to settle scores in the drawn-out struggle between the elves and the wolves. He hated that he was not in a position of authority, for many of his fellow knights had fallen in battle against the Mazazuken clan, and any opportunity to serve up death and destruction to his enemy was not to be passed up lightly. Looking down at Seth's ashen face, he heard the distinct sound of wood cracking nearby. "Looks like you led the Mazazuken back to me." Geil smiled and swung his sword down, rousing his spirit to slaughter the evil. "Where is the prince?" Seth looked around himself and pointed weakly to the southeast, then coughed and held his aching chest.

  "Geil!" Muron's small voice rang, filled with fright. Imagining the terrible things that could be happening during his short departure, Geil dashed back to the fire.

  Lorn and Muron were standing as close to the fire as they could bear. As Geil returned, three large werewolves slunk between the company and their steeds, who became restless and moved about, neighing wildly in fear. Though the three Mazazuken were mighty, they did not compare to Yindraken. Gray fur covered them completely, and their eyes glowed red as their master's did. As two of them dug their claws deep into the wet earth, preparing to spring, the third stood upright and stared menacingly ahead.

  "Which direction did they come from?" Geil asked, dumbfounded. He tossed the torch back into the fire and held the hilt of his sword with both hands. "Mazazuken," he hissed.

  "I saw not their direction," Muron regretted. "We both were distracted by Seth's return. Before we knew what occurred, they were upon us." The prince lowered his head in shame. "All I could do was cry for help. I am sorry. I knew not what to do."

  "You have encountered Mazazuken before," Geil replied sharply.

  "Great, mighty gods!"

  "Calm yourself, Muron. They can sense your fear."

  The Mazazuken knew of these particular elves, and it amused them that revenge would be theirs at long last. The radiating fear given off by Lorn and Muron fed their boldness until the only thing that kept them from attacking was their leader's command.

  "I wish Seth were here," Lorn said with fading hope. "We are doomed."

  "Why do you come to this place?" Geil asked. Knowing that the Mazazuken had not followed them from the Northern Kingdom, the elf-knight began to connect answers with questions he had been asking himself for months. Seconds passed with no response from the beasts.

  "Perhaps they do not understand," Lorn suggested.

  Geil laughed and shook his head. "They know many languages, Lorn. Do not let their ignorance fool you." He decided to use his primary tongue, knowing it would get their attention. "Malor dei fon drafon Maza?" Geil waited.

  "Malar xandror tui falcre!" the leader of the trio replied in laughter, his fiendish voice invading the forest with a supernatural echo.

  "What…" Lorn gulped. "What did he say?"

  "It speaks of conquering a new adversary."

  "Are we that new adversary?"

  "Doubtful."

  "We need Randor now!" Muron spoke. "We are trapped!"

  * * *

  After at last managing to stand, Seth staggered southward with his sword clutched in shaking hands. With what faculties he left, he thought only of Randor; he had to find the wizard. Fortunately, the hill he sought was not far. Being cautious not to alert the Mazazuken to his location, he could vaguely hear the sounds of trouble in camp, but he disregarded them, focused intently on his grueling trek through the bristly shrubs.

  As he finally reached the hill, Seth breathed a little easier. A mysterious feeling came over him, assuring him that evil could not harm him here. No longer able to endure standing, he was obliged to crawl, yet crawl he did, digging his fingers into the ground to pull him upward. The grassy slope seemed never-ending as his sight began to fail him. "Randor," he whispered. Once more, summoning his last atom of power, he managed again to say, "Randor!"

&
nbsp; It was enough. The wizard's concentration was broken, and he turned to see Highbinder collapse facedown in the grass.

  Randor rushed to his side, surprised that there should be distress this early in the journey. "What has happened?" He knelt down, turned Seth over, and shook his shoulders. Seth shuddered and raised an arm to his sweaty brow. Randor looked around with sharpened senses.

  "We…we need your help," Seth spoke softly. "The camp--hurry back to them, I pray."

  A howl pierced Randor's ears for the first time that evening. "Werewolves?" he asked. "Here?"Quick to his feet, he tipped up his hat as he backed away, feeling a strong presence of evil. He drew both hands out from the warmth inside his cloak. He was not tempted to draw Seth's blade, knowing the knight would need it on awaking. Magic would prove ample defense against those who opposed this servant of Ethindar. "Seth," he whispered. "Remain here until your senses return. I will right the forest and keep safe our companions." Randor started past Seth but was halted by the appearance of a Mazazuken. The wolf soared through the air with its fearsome claws clutching at Randor. Its mouth bore long, white fangs that gleamed with slaver, desiring only to tear into the wizard's slender form. Randor stood guard over Seth and rubbed his fingers, knowing precisely what spell to cast, knowing also that negotiating with werewolves was out of the question. Magic would be his only recourse.

  The Mazazuken hesitated and glanced to the east, where he saw his master locked in battle. The view to the other hill was clear, and Randor, too, watched as Gildan and Malander attempted to ward off three beasts. Randor was unaware of Arnanor's condition, and very much displeased with the two warriors. The company lies divided more than I thought. Boldly Randor approached the Mazazuken. Lowering his head, he stretched out his hands to do battle, and whether out of wisdom or out of fright, the Mazazuken retreated and loped off to the east.