"Fiegor!"came the unison response from all three.
"They will not surrender," Geil translated. Gripping his sword tighter, he said, "Then you will see your end here!" And with that, Geil bolted forward and charged the enemy. Three seconds passed before Muron and Lorn realized what was happening, and followed their leader, prepared for the worst.
The three Mazazuken stood tall on their hind legs and awaited their victims, but before they could react, Geil's terrible sword was upon them, cleaving completely through the first two. Then, with an airborne spinning slash, he decapitated the final beast. Fountains of dark blood gushed in all directions, drenching the ground where the three werewolves fell in pieces before their destroyer. Muron and Lorn, finally arriving at Geil's side, were astonished at the swiftness of the killing. Lorn turned away and covered his mouth, his stomach overcome by the gore.
"I have never seen you so fierce, Sir Geil," Muron said, shocked by the carnage. Looking a little crazed, the elf-knight stared down at his blooded sword. Though the enemies were defeated, Geil still desired more Mazazuken blood, knowing that others were somewhere about.
"Madness is given the glory, my lord," Geil said at last. The blood dripped from his sword to form a little puddle at his feet. The knight licked the corner of his mouth as the blood of the Mazazuken dripped down his face. It tasted salty and seemed to increase his stamina. Neither of his companions saw him do this, it being a guilty pleasure he indulged when given the chance. Rather than clean himself of the splattered gore, he left it as it was, as a warning to others who would cross his path. "Go back to the fire, you two," Geil said. As Lorn and Muron turned around and approached the fire, Geil sniffed the air, which was filled with the stench of death.
From the shadows behind Geil came yet another Mazazuken, charging inward on all fours. Drawing near the elf-knight's back, the creature jumped forward, but Geil avoided its attack by dropping to a knee and rolling sideways.
The werewolf gathered its assault, leaping onto a large tree and springing away towards Geil once again. Geil stood upright, and as the werewolf scratched the air with its claws, the elf retreated, swinging his blade in each direction the strikes came. Farther back the Mazazuken drove Geil until the knight slammed his back into a tree. The Mazazuken roared and swung at Geil's head, but the elf's reflexes outdid that of the beast as its fist met with the trunk of the tree, scattering shards of splintered wood and bark into the darkened forest. Geil struck hard the stomach of his assailant and the werewolf stumbled back to regain its composure.
Lorn and Muron watched on from the safety of the campfire, both knowing they could not help their fellow companion in this situation. They watched Geil being driven back and pinned to a tree, but were relieved as Geil turned the tide back to his favor. The Mazazuken retreated and leapt from tree to tree once again, trying to outwit the elf. Still Geil remained diligent as the beast returned to do battle. Their ears were filled with the sounds of Geil's blade clanging against that of the beast's sharp claws and the exchange of Geil grunting and the Mazazuken snarling as the struggle continued.
"I am going to find Seth!" Lorn exclaimed, seeing the Mazazuken distracted by the battle.
Lorn passed the fire and directed his small steps in the direction he had last seen Highbinder. Out of the firelight, he could not see much, though his determination never flagged. Everything inside him desperately wanted to call out for Seth, but the thought of Mazazuken lurking nearby silenced him. Branch after stinging branch slapped the poor dwarf across his face, yanking at his beard, until he found his way to a dirt path.
The Mazazuken battling Geil soon grew frustrated from his lack of progress upon his enemy and attempted to disengage from the battle. Geil's hair whipped back as he bore ahead in a full sprint, and as he greeted his life-long curse, he swung his sword downward with all strength possible. The werewolf countered with an upward forearm block, unphased even when the blade penetrated its tough hide. Strike after strike of the elf's steel continued to rain down, and though the werewolf's forearms deflected most of Geil's rage, the elf-knight managed to penetrate its defense, gashing the Mazazuken's body in many places. The foul blood of Geil's opponent flung about in thick streams as the Mazazuken became more careless and suicidal in its attacks.
The horses behind the two combatants grew even more aggravated from the disturbance of the night. The three steeds of the North began to buck as the Mazazuken howled, sending the other horses of the company into the same panic. Geil darted his eyes quickly to his horse and noticed the rein that secured it to the tree was no longer bound.
"The horses, Geil!" Muron cried out. "They will get away!"
Seeing Geil distracted, the werewolf bolted from the campsite, disappearing into the shadows. As the evil fled from the two elves, the eight horses grew calm once again, leaving Muron much relieved. He did not relish the thought of chasing after the animals into the dark, werewolf-infested forest with only Geil at his side, no matter how fierce the warrior proved with his sword.
Geil turned around to the fire pit and saw Muron standing alone. Immediately he rushed toward the prince. "Where is that dwarf?"
"I believe he left to find his human friend."
"Why didn't you stop him?"
"Who am I to do such a thing?" Muron replied mildly. "He is not under my control, thus not giving me the right."
Disturbed at the prince's answer and knowing that Arnanor wouldn't be pleased with such an attitude, Geil took it upon himself to correct the situation. "What would your brother say if he heard that?"
"I don't care, really. I am not like Arnanor, nor do I plan to be. Individuality is a virtue." He crossed his arms and raised his head, striking a proud stance.
"You are incorrect," Geil said firmly. "You are of royal descent, and this betrays your claim to individuality as false. You belong to your father, brother, and the people of the Northern Kingdom. You, my lord Prince, are a servant to the elves, and a leader. Never can you live for yourself alone." Geil knelt at the prince's feet, showing his profound respect. "I mean no offense when I speak in this way. My words and actions have been dictated by your father and brother. Like you, my liege, I am bound to serve the High Court, and I would not change that for the world. We both have our calling in life."
"You speak true," Muron answered. "At times I wish it were not so, but Fate has chosen otherwise." He helped Geil to his feet.
"Now is not the time for further conversation. Let us look for your brother."
As Muron turned to the path the four had taken earlier, Geil rested his hand, as normal, on the prince's shoulder. The knight never strayed far from Muron when on foot, lest he ever need to pull the prince from harm's way.
Though they crossed many paths, Geil trusted to his fading gift of intuition and wasted no time. Nearing the hill, he could feel the others close by. The wailing winds strengthened as they reached the base of the hill, and it was here that they found their fallen prince, lying on his back. Arnanor was motionless near a blazing Mazazuken carcass with thick smoke billowing from its opened chest. The prince was very pale, though not as ghostly white as Muron, who dropped his sword in disbelief. Shrugging Geil's firm grip away, he fell to his knees at Arnanor's side.
"Brother!" Muron cried, with tears running down his face. "What have they done to you? Please, don't leave me. I need you--" But before he could finish his plea, Arnanor opened his tired eyes and tried to raise himself up. Muron smiled in relief and attempted to embrace his beloved sibling, but before one finger could caress his form, Arnanor pushed him away with the little strength that remained.
"Leave it," Arnanor whispered, then looked around and asked, "Where is Geil?"
"He is right behind me."
"Sir Geil…," Arnanor managed with feeble authority.
"Yes, my liege?"
"The one who did this to me is on the hilltop."
"Who did this to you, my lord?"
"Yin--" He coughed, then took
another breath. "Yindraken."
Geil felt numb and his knees buckled from hearing the name. Squinting his eyes, Geil boiled deeper in fury as images of the past flooded his mind. The horrid screams of his fellow knights being slain by this monster rang in his ears, the fallen souls crying out for revenge. Their young and innocent faces were his greatest nightmare, for they had sacrificed all to the kingdom. He would not let their deaths be in vain. If any were to find out that he had failed against Yindraken, he would never be able to show his face to the people who had suffered so from this enemy's onslaughts.
"Dispose of our people's enemy," Arnanor spoke. "Take Muron with you."
"I will eliminate your foe," Geil answered. He gestured for Muron to remain behind, then began his march up the hill.
Arnanor closed his eyes and did not see the elf-knight leave his side, nor would he have approved of Geil leaving Muron unattended. Geil's sight thinned into tunnel vision as he stalked away to give Yindraken his well-deserved doom. But as he reached the hilltop he noticed two more streaming comets blazing down to earth. The bright glow of the magic reflected in his eyes and then was gone as each light blew through the chest of a Mazazuken minion, sending the blazing carcasses backward into the shadowy night. Geil noticed Gildan's blade raised at the werewolf's head.
Blood ran down the elf-knight's pale face, and Yindraken, smelling it, knew that it was his kinsmen's. Yindraken sat motionless beneath Gildan's blade, watching Geil lick the shiny debris from his mouth as he began to approach.
"I will rip off your head and drink the blood that will flow from your dead veins!" Geil declared, pointing his sword forward.
Yindraken shook his head and replied, "You can never destroy me, weak elf of the North. Upon the next moon I will return to your barren homeland and rid this world of your kind!"
"You'll have to kill me first!" Geil drew back his sword and let out a hellish war cry, charging ahead in a suicidal fit.
* * *
Watching his splendid magic fly across the night sky, Randor saw the three projectiles hit their marks. He crossed his arms and rested briefly, for his labor was far from over. Only one werewolf still drew breath: a white-furred beast apparently at the mercy of Gildan's blade. Seeing a faint light flicker behind the hill, Randor glanced over his shoulder and found Seth still lying as before, moaning in his daze.
I have wasted far too great a time here, said Randor to himself. And readjusting his wildly flowing cloak, he set off, passing by Highbinder one last time. "One of us will return for you when order is restored in full," he said to Seth. Then, like an agile cat, Randor sprang from his position and disappeared into the darkness, toward the campfire.
He found no difficulty in returning. There were no signs of life, which worried the wizard. Where had they gone? Prisoners, or dead at the hands--and fangs--of the enemy? Neither idea was a pleasant one, and he relegated them to a secluded corner of his mind. There was ample evidence of a struggle--branches ripped from trees, a long slide in the mud, and a mound of dead flesh and fur covered in blood. Many sets of footprints were jumbled in the muddy ground, none granting a clear picture of where their makers had gone. The fire Randor had created hours ago continued to burn. Running his hand over the flames one last time, he made a fist. The fire died in a magical choke, and complete darkness reigned.
Randor was gifted with the ability to see through the shrouds of darkness. On his way from the clearing, he sniffed his way about the thorn bushes: the foul stench of werewolves united with the not unpleasant scent of elves.
Following the light of his spent magic against the Mazazuken upon the distant hill, Randor raced down a path that he hoped would lead to the others. He no longer felt evil in his presence. From the corner of his eye he saw a small shadow moving about in the forest. He stopped and shifted his eyes--still he detected no negative energy. "I wonder what this could be," he whispered as the form came from hiding and stood before him.
"Randor!" It was Lorn.
"What are you doing out here? Are you alone?"
"Yes," the dwarf replied, relieved. "I went looking for Seth. I hate the dark! Have you seen him?"
"Come with me," Randor answered, and he grabbed Lorn by the arm and continued in the direction of the fires.
"But have you seen Seth?"
"No more questions now." Lorn's eyes were filled with the orange glow as he was led in confusion to the hill.
Muron and Arnanor were still at the base of the steep incline, with Muron trying to comfort his brother. "Can you stand yet?" he asked Arnanor.
"I told you to keep your hands off me! I do not need your help! I am fine!"
"Tell me what happened here," Randor asked on his arrival. Arnanor looked up to the wizard with eyes wanting to deny the truth. He sat slumped in humiliation born of the defeat that had been his this night.
"He was attacked!" Muron answered for him. "Those monsters…"
"Enough from you!" Arnanor spoke sharply.
The sounds of battle echoed faintly as Geil, Gildan, and Malander continued in combat against the lone Yindraken.
"They need your help, Randor!" Muron cried. He was worried, mostly for his closest friend, who had let anger control his judgment, leaving him and his brother alone. Arnanor had made it clear many times that leaving Muron undefended would be a grave breach of the knight's code of honor, but rage and long-brewing hatred followed its own regulations.
"My magic will heal you, Arnanor, but I must attend to the others first."
"Grant me my strength now! Let me finish this!" Arnanor demanded.
"That is something I cannot do. Lorn, stay here with the elves."
"Randor!" Arnanor cried as the wizard strolled away. His emotions poured outward. "Please do not do this to me!"
"I am sorry," he said.
Arnanor reached out for Randor as if seeking something that had fallen from his grasp. His fingers were numb, and he fell back on the grass. He could not find the reason why a mere kick had sent him into such a downward spiral of sickness. "This armor has failed me," the prince whispered.
* * *
Yindraken was completely surrounded. As Geil went after him, the werewolf lashed out in defense. Only Geil attacked, while Gildan took gradual steps away from the confrontation in order to entrap the enemy, allowing Geil to try his fortune against this particular enemy. As Malander rejoined Gildan, Randor approached undetected.
Geil's fatigue shone through after a long combination of rapid sword attacks, and his once fluent and crisp technique grew sloppy. Luckily, he was still able to keep Yindraken at bay. The sword grew heavy in his sweaty hands as he slashed and parried, drawing sustenance from the never-ending fire of his hatred. Killing this evil figure of the North would exalt his status greatly--a lifelong dream. It was a secret goal he strived for: never to be forgotten after he passed to the next world.
Victory grew nearer as Geil broke through the werewolf's defense and sliced into Yindraken's knee. The wolf lord fell without uttering a sound, the pain already greater than he could bear. Geil bit down on his lip in anger. Yindraken, accepting his fate, shut his red eyes.
"Thus, you perish from this world!" Geil proclaimed. "I will be known as the one who set the elves free of you!"
Yindraken murmured something unclear--perhaps a prayer or a spell. Geil seemed to grow delirious as the blood from his fallen foes dripped into his eyes. This was no time to lower his weapon in order to clear his sight, for he had the Mazazuken exactly where he wanted him.
Suddenly, the wounded beast began to laugh uncontrollably, raising his head to meet Geil's baffled expression. All who stood on the hill were confused--including Randor. A suicidal end was Yindraken's main thought now, as his own demise was apparent. Malander and Gildan backed away with swords held ready, remaining cautious. Geil's mind and muscles tensed; his heart desired bloodshed.
You're losing control, Geil spoke to himself. Then the elf's entire being began to crumble as he shook violently from fear.
His sword hung loose in his hand.
"He is failing," Randor whispered.
Geil's weariness was showing, as even Yindraken, with his poor eyesight, noticed. The courageous knight fell to a knee.
"Farewell, weakling," Yindraken growled, and with a mighty leap, he was gone into the night.
Randor moved to where Geil knelt, gazing in the direction the wolf lord had gone.
"I cannot let him go." Geil struggled to stand once more. "We must hurry, Randor."
"He has fled into the shadows. We will never find him before he heals."
"No!" Geil screamed, and started off, but before he had gone two steps, Randor stopped him. "Let me finish."
"Another day," replied Randor.
"I cannot go on if he lives! I will not be a failure!"
"You are not a failure, Geil," Gildan said. "You fought well…I am very impressed--you have raised my confidence in Northern sword wielders."
"It will not be long before we must set out," Randor advised. Looking at the stars' wheeling pattern, he could see that sunrise was only a few hours away. The journey back to the camp, and caring for the wounded Seth and Arnanor, would consume time that they needed for resting. Randor looked at the devastated Geil, paused, and gently lifted his chin. The knight's eyes were glazed, and tears mixed with blood ran down his face. His chapped lips trembled from the coldness of defeat. As difficult as Randor found it to deny Geil the chance to redeem himself, he stood firm in his command and nudged the elf's shoulder toward the fallen prince. "Come."
Muron and Lorn sat on the ground next to Arnanor, while Malander remained on the hill and stared off into night, still wanting to wage war. He knew that the Mazazuken were out there and that he need only wander about the forest for a short while to encounter them.
Seeing Geil, Muron embraced his longtime friend and inspected his condition. Wiping away the blood from his eyes, he adjusted his guardian's chest plate, now dented with new scars of battle.
Lorn looked around for Seth, wondering whether he would ever return. The idea of his friend's death preyed on his mind. Then, seeing Geil, the dwarf took the borrowed dirk from his belt. "Here," he said, returning the weapon.
The White Shadow Saga: The Stolen Moon of Londor Page 12
