The White Shadow Saga: The Stolen Moon of Londor

by A. P. Stephens

  Taking a closer look, Randor saw what exactly had occurred. He strolled to the center of the hill once more, where he faced east and placed both hands before him. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and muttered, "Nara astei mon ustif fei thrathin-seigoh tar leisha." Exhaling a cloud of vapor, he watched as a luminous glow rose from his damp hands and three orbs of orange light flickered into form, hovering inches from his palms. As he reopened his eyes, Randor focused on the two Mazazuken closing in on Malander.

  All that Randor needed was the opportunity to set loose his magic. He waited for Malander to grant him a path. The grim fighter held his enemies at bay as he feinted and wielded his blade with great skill. Seeing Malander now out of harm's way, Randor thrust his hands forward and sent his powers into the night. The three orbs screamed across the sky, forming comet-like tails behind them as they barely cleared the treetops. The magic's potency loosened Randor's posture as pain racked his body, and he could only pray for fortitude as he watched his work draw nearer to its intended targets.

  Chapter Seven: Night's Fire

  After watching their messenger sneak away into the dark forest, Gildan and Malander both focused on Yindraken, who was just disappearing over the hilltop. Seth had vanished nicely and without detection, hastening on his way to inform Randor and the others of the fighters' distress. Drawing nearer to Malander, Gildan had a plan that he felt certain would work. Malander, eager for once to hear what the elf had to say, leaned inward as Gildan stood at his side. "I have an unorthodox design in mind," whispered Gildan.

  "I'm listening to you, elf," he replied. He gave his ears but kept his eyes on the hill, waiting for Yindraken to return. Even in this quiet moment, Malander's guard was up, for he knew that the battle was not yet near its end. As Gildan spoke the plan, Malander nodded. He found it risky yet interesting, and anyway, he was in the mood for a daring chance, so he agreed to follow the elf's lead.

  In the brief respite from fighting, strength returned slowly to their weary bodies. The two cautiously made their way across the barren hill, and all was calm--or so they thought.

  The sky was free of clouds, and the moon rode high above the horizon, shining its radiance onto the worried world below. Now the brightest star, the God Star, outshone the single moon, which was not typical at all. Gildan began finally to admit to himself that his life force and strengths as a mercenary were being affected by the absence of one of the heavenly divinities. He could not deny that elvish mana flowed from above, and for reasons unknown, this truth was all that he wished to accept. Gildan had faced greater foes in his many years, and many had fallen with far less effort than he had expended this night. True, Yindraken was a worthy adversary, but Gildan's prowess should outstrip that of the beast.

  * * *

  Assuming his victory perhaps a bit early as he strolled almost casually to the fallen prince, Yindraken dropped his defenses, forgetting the two enemies he had been pitted against. There lay Arnanor, helpless on his back, his armor bunched uncomfortably. He stared at the moon overhead, unable to move even a finger in his dazed state. His eyelids fluttered rapidly as he fought to keep consciousness. The sword that he bore was out of his grasp, lost as he tumbled down the hill. Unable to defend himself and unaware of the approaching threat, he tried to form a coherent thought.

  Though he wanted desperately to stand, his body seemed beyond his command. The dreaded moment came when the Mazazuken lord stood grinning over the prince, ready to claim his victory at long last over the Northern Kingdom--a satisfaction Yindraken had craved for hundreds of years. It would be all too easy to rip his prey apart, but Yindraken had a few smug words of gloating to express first. Slowly he knelt down and grasped Arnanor underneath his chest plate, raising him four feet from the ground. The elf's head tilted back, unable to keep sight of his bane.

  "I have waited for this moment for the longest time," said the beast, "and it gives me untold joy to bring your pathetic life to an end. The end of suffering for my brothers is at hand. No longer will we surrender to the elves and be forced back into caves! My father would be proud of me this day had he not been killed by your kind!"

  Then, with a snarl, he grasped Arnanor by the hair, lifting his head so that the prince might see his doom come. Both locked eyes. Arnanor was aware of what was happening, though he showed no sign of fear. Blood flowed in a thin stream down the elf's chin as he tried to find words to shout back at the wolf, but fatigue robbed him of all movement.

  "You show much bravery," Yindraken said. "Pity it was wasted in such a lesser creature." Lowering the elf's head, he opened his jaws, aching for Arnanor's blood to spill out onto the hillside. "Know this," he added, "I will return soon to your homeland and destroy all that remains!" But as he laughed wickedly at the prospect, Yindraken failed to hear the quiet footfalls behind him.

  Gildan came softly forward, sword pointed at Yindraken's head, the long blade gleaming in the light. Then, seeing the monster crouched over the prince, the elf-mercenary sprinted toward him, unable to withhold the battle cry building inside.

  Hearing the shout, Yindraken turned, dropping his prey to the ground. Springing into a fighting stance, he raised his hands, eager to fight, as the elf drew closer. Gildan thrust his sword, piercing the cold air near the wolf's chest, missing by scant inches and cutting only fur. Spinning about, he made as if to attack again, secretly shifting his eyes to the silent, oncoming Malander.

  Malander's long coattail billowed behind him as he bore in, one hand holding his sword hilt, stretching out his free arm in the Southern fighting style.

  Yindraken stood motionless, waiting--in another moment, if neither should yield, the two would surely collide. Malander could no longer contain the pain of his past inside, wanting only to vent his feelings on his enemy. "Die!" he screamed, thrusting his blade as hard as he could. Victory seemed at hand as the blade drove in toward the creature, but then it stopped, caught in the bare hands of Yindraken. Malander twisted the blade, trying to cut into the beast's grip, yet no blood flowed from its hands. Looking at his sword in disbelief, Malander placed both hands on the hilt and pressed forward with all his strength. As if without effort, Yindraken held the blade still even as Malander then tried to pull it free.

  "You are no match for me!" the werewolf gloated, just as Gildan whirled about, slashing deeply into his arm. Dark blood spurted out, drenching the white fur. Instinctively clutching his wound to stem the river of blood, the werewolf tried to retreat up the hill, but in so doing, he freed Malander's sword. Malander drew it away. With a shriek of agony, Yindraken fell to his knees.

  "Are you all right?" Gildan asked as he came to rest beside Malander.

  "Of course!" he replied sharply. "Always!" Malander turned to finish off the wounded creature. "My thanks to you, good elf. This will make an easy ending."

  "Do not lose your caution."

  On his knees, Yindraken panted heavily and licked his wounded arm, shaking violently. The battle was over for the moment, for the Mazazuken Lord had to regenerate his damaged limb. But as Malander smiled wickedly and quickened his pace, Gildan felt the presence of something else. The night sounds had stopped, creating an unnatural silence.

  Slowly Arnanor came around; he could move his limbs, and now he was seeing only one of everything. The prince turned onto his stomach and pressed himself off the ground by his arms. He felt sick. He did not yet know that his nemesis had been wounded, or exactly where he was. The need to engage in battle crept back into his spirit, and he got to his feet. Moving his head gingerly from side to side, he felt in the grass for his sword, but the effort was too much, and he collapsed onto his back. "Ethindar," he panted, "my Lord, please grant me strength to vanquish your foes."

  "Take your clan and leave this place!" Gildan declared, but Yindraken did not respond.

  "You cannot let him go, Gildan!" Malander shouted. "I will kill this creature for what he has done to us!" He raised his sword as a grin crept across his pale face.

  "H
umiliation is greater than death."

  "Not this night!" Malander moved past Gildan in haste, knowing that werewolves needed little time to heal their wounds. And indeed, already Yindraken's panting had slowed as the two approached. Malander would cleave the monster in two and end this at last.

  Yindraken was in disbelief at having been wounded, especially by someone such as Gildan. After fleeing from the fight, he had found temporary respite atop the great hill, only to collapse from pain and loss of blood. His thick fingers, clamped over the wound, stanched most of the blood flow, but still it seeped out onto his fur. He knew that if he did not heal quickly, the prince would soon flee, and it might be months or years until another chance like this arose. Raising his arm, he licked the gash. And with each lap, pain shot through his entire body; still, though the task was all but unbearable, it had to be done. He heard the two enemies treading toward him but he did not look up; movement in his left arm had not returned.

  Malander drew inward without a care, swinging his sword playfully, when unexpectedly, Yindraken rolled forward, catching him off guard. As the Mazazuken lord rose to his feet, two of his kindred leaped through the air and landed on the ground behind him. Yindraken peered over his shoulder and acknowledged the overdue arrival of his gray-furred kinsmen, who stood behind their master, awaiting his command. Then, seeing the wound on their lord's arm, the two wolves snarled in unison.

  "Now would be a good time for reinforcements to arrive," Gildan said, turning to confront the newest threat. "I hope Seth made his way to Randor and the others."

  "Perhaps," Malander laughed. "If not, then we die together!" His laughter held a maniacal edge. Gildan had not the time to analyze his companion's mental state--to respect him as a swordsman was enough for now. Retreat was impossible, he knew, and these two newest enemies would not be the end of it.

  Sensing movement behind him, Gildan glanced downhill and saw yet another pair of gray-furred Mazazuken, climbing toward them on all fours. "Two more, Malander."

  The prince was forgotten as the beasts approached their leader.

  "What are you waiting for?" Malander asked the beasts calmly. "Patience is a wretched thing," he whispered. "Strike me down if you dare."

  "Appears they await a command from their lord," Gildan observed. "Well-trained minions have their weaknesses."

  "If we take away their damned leader, then the rest will surely fall into our hands." Malander paused and studied the four protecting Yindraken. "Our task proves difficult…yet enjoyable." He snickered quietly, rolling his shoulders in sweet anticipation.

  After a few moments, Yindraken appeared from behind one of his brethren. "Master, are you well?" a wolf asked, and all four sets of burning red eyes glared at the two whom they held accountable for his wounds.

  Yindraken drew in a labored breath and replied, "Yes, Lieutenant. They have fought well, but now they meet their end."

  "What is your decree, great master?"

  "Tear these two apart and bring back the one who fled from my vengeance, for undoubtedly he has gone to bring more arms against the Mazazuken. Do this and I shall reward you greatly."

  "To do your bidding is reward enough, master," the beast said proudly as it bowed. Yindraken removed his hand from his minion, and a pained smile came to his broad face. Victory belonged to the Mazazuken.

  "What are you waiting for, you sniveling whelps!" yelled Malander, shaking his sword. "Strike me down! Don't hold back your fury from me!" He bounced up and down, taunting his enemies with the edge of his blade. "See you on the other side, elf," Malander declared as he charged away to his death.

  "Yes, you shall," Gildan replied as he, too, set off.

  Surprised by their foe's bold gesture, the Mazazuken stood dumbfounded around their leader. As their ranks broke, Yindraken found himself suddenly exposed to Malander in this final confrontation. Malander would rely only on his weapon and his skills, throwing himself at the massive evil. He made for the nearest wolf minion. With a long and powerful jump, he swung his blade, sinking its fine tip deep into the Mazazuken's shoulder and paralyzing its arm. Withdrawing his sword as soon as it struck, he sidestepped the wolf's stumble and slashed again across its belly. Blood and loops of viscera fell from its warm body. Then, burying the blade in its chest, the grim knight held the Mazazuken against his sword, watching in sick delight as it quivered its last moment of life. The dying werewolf's brothers could only watch, overwhelmed, as the ruined Mazazuken fell to the ground, gurgling its final breath.

  Yindraken, snarling in rage, shouted to the remaining three. But Malander turned to them, laughing with glee, and shouted, "Come on, then!"

  "Do my bidding!" Yindraken shouted, and his three minions bellowed as one and extended their claws. The battle was on, with two of the beasts facing Malander, and the other wanting Gildan for his own.

  Gildan backed away slowly, full of confidence, taunting his enemy, who was not pleased by the elf's sense of amusement. Backing with lowered guard, the elf thrust an intentionally weak slash, playing with the small mind of the wolf, implying that this was a contest of little importance.

  Watching his kinsman being mocked by this mercenary, Yindraken was insulted. War was a serious undertaking to his kind, and all its aspects were interwoven with honor and respect.

  "I must deal with this myself," Yindraken spoke, looking to his arm and noticing that the blood no longer seeped from the wound. Clenching his fist, he found it working well enough for his needs. Gildan had slighted the werewolves' martial tradition, so it was he who would meet Yindraken's wrath first. Malander would come last, for the wolf-lord wanted to dispose of him in a more gruesome way.

  Taking six large strides, Yindraken lunged at Gildan, who feinted and parried him away. Now the mercenary showed his true handling of the sword, slashing and spinning the long blade around his body in all directions, keeping the Mazazuken at bay. The once flowing grass now lay flattened beneath their feet as they fought across the hilltop. Gildan caught a glimpse of Malander and attempted to join his side, thinking of uniting to improve their chances. The elf, for his part, thought this whole matter trivial and wanted only to be done with it so that they might concentrate on the larger task before them--the fate of the missing moon still had to be known.

  As the battle continued, the Mazazuken began to lose concentration. Malander combined blows from his free fist and his feet with the thrusts of his sword.

  "We will never suffer defeat by these lowly creatures!" Yindraken cried, charging toward Gildan with head lowered, reaching out to sink his claws into the elf's neck. But his eyes flickered to his right when the winds kicked up strangely. Impatient to rid his mind of the mystery, Yindraken turned and was horrified to see three flickering lights streaking through the sky, growing larger by the second. But before he could muster a coherent thought, one of the comet-like lights shot past him, blasting violently into the Mazazuken that was approaching Gildan's backside. Fire roared from a gaping hold in the werewolf's chest as it flew high into the air. It had no chance even to cry out in pain, for its death was instantaneous.

  "What is this magic?" Yindraken snarled.

  The two beasts fighting Malander met a similar death, falling in fiery pieces to the base of the hill. Ash and smoke swirled all about Gildan and Malander, who watched Yindraken sink to his knees in disbelief. The wolf-lord sensed that defeat was near, though he could not accept it.

  "Randor!" Gildan spoke. "Surely it is his power that has done this." Striding before the fallen leader of the Mazazuken, he placed his blade to the ground, signifying the end. "Victory was never yours."

  "What has happened?" Yindraken was confused. He looked to the heavens and searched for the foundations of the magic. "Give me the reason!" he pleaded.

  "Withdraw your forces, beast," Gildan replied, gloating in the knowledge that the advantage was his alone. Yindraken's once proud and upright form was now stooped and shivering in pain. "The fires of heaven will show no mercy on your wretched bei
ng if you do not comply with my demands!"

  "Never!" was the wolf-lord's answer. "I will keep my dignity!"

  Impatient, Gildan raised his sword. "Then die."

  * * *

  In the camp, Sir Geil stood close to his two companions, confronting the three wolves. No sudden movements came from either side, and no words were exchanged--only menacing glares. Geil did not understand why the Mazazuken held back, for he had never encountered a werewolf that did not charge the moment it sensed an advantage.

  Muron was baffled as well but stood ready beside his protector. Lorn was unable to focus, unmanned by worry over Seth, who lay in the mud not far away--or so he thought. None had seen Seth slip away to obtain Randor's help. The jewel-hilted dirk shook in his small hands, giving the Mazazuken a clear message of who was weakest in this lot.

  "Why aren't they attacking?" asked Muron.

  "It bothers me, as well," Geil replied smoothly. "I grow weary of waiting." He spun his blade around in a flashy display and continued, "Permission to proceed?"

  "Are you mad, Sir Knight?" Lorn asked, regretting his words at once, not knowing what had come over him. Geil looked angrily back at him, annoyed at hearing such words from a useless, frightened dwarf.

  "Silence yourself, fool!" Geil demanded. "Do as I say!"

  "Yes…of course, sir," Lorn replied politely. "I am sorry…I will do my best."

  "Say no more." Geil turned to the young prince and asked, "Are you ready?"

  "As much as one can be," he answered with a gulp. "I trust your judgment, friend." He had great faith in the high knight. For all Muron knew, the Mazazuken were merely waiting for more of their kind to arrive.

  "Ne lar mon xentol!" Geil spoke.