The White Shadow Saga: The Stolen Moon of Londor (30 page)

"I know I am proud of what I have become and
what has been given to me," Arnanor added. "Never would I exchange
my royalty for anything in this world or beyond!"

"Any break in this hall yet, Gildan?" Geil
asked.

Only more darkness lay ahead, with no sign of
light or crossing paths. A soft breeze wafted through the corridor,
and a faint smell of an oak fire lingered in the air, growing
stronger as they progressed.

"You will never find such a hall in my
father's palace," Arnanor boasted. "This is utterly
ridiculous!"

"Please lower your voice," Gildan warned
him.

"We must be close," Geil announced. "The
smoke fills my nose with its thick aroma."

"A horrid smell," Muron said, coughing.

"Keep your guard up," Gildan said,
unsheathing his sword. Extending his free hand, he felt an obstacle
that barred the way. "Alas, the door to yet another passage."

"Well, then open it!" Arnanor demanded.

Gildan moved his hand around, trying to
discover a latch hidden in the darkness, and at last his fingers
fumbled around an iron ring. As he pulled it back, a slit of light
crept along the rough stone wall, growing larger until there was
room for the princes to pass through--which they promptly did,
leaving behind Gildan. With swords drawn, the Northern elves fanned
out, scanning the large room of plain masonry.

"Anything at all?" Gildan asked casually.

"All that you see before you now," Arnanor
responded.

"Then we must continue ahead."

"And haste into nothing? We squander our
resources and time with this foolishness!"

Gildan turned his head away from the annoying
princeling and strode over to a grand stairway of aging stones,
snaking up the wall to a pair of steel doors. But before he could
reach the first step, the doors began to open.

Gildan waved his hand to halt the company,
his senses now fully aware. "Hold your positions," he whispered as
one of the symboled soldiers appeared. "Do not move!" the elf
ordered of the black-clad man, startling him so that he quickly
ducked behind the door and was gone before Gildan could react. "He
will not escape us this time!"

"We shall stop them!" Arnanor shouted as he
led the charge upward. Muron and Geil immediately followed with
swords out.

* * *

Lowering his arms, the red-cloaked priest
kept his ears tuned to the soft, rapid footfalls of his attackers.
His pale lips crinkled into a sneer. Then, hearing the distinct
sound of a sword being drawn, he spun around and parried Malander's
slash with blinding speed, then drew away to the black drape behind
him.

With a menacing grin, the priest
pointed a clawed finger at the shocked Malander.
"Tu tagesh mont nonte loos. Eph lon ti
eir!"

Backing away from the platform, Malander
whispered, "What the hell did he just say?"

"I do not know," Randor replied. "It is a
strange tongue."

Malander shook his sword at the priest in
frustration. "Speak in the common tongue, you devil!"

"Ephf lon ti eir,
lohs!"
The priest vanished in the air, leaving only a
thin haze of black mist, which quickly faded.

"Damn!" Malander yelled, angrily
driving his sword deep into the stone of the platform and leaving
it there. "Just wait until I find that conjurer!" He turned around,
outraged by the unfairness of it all, and sat on the platform.
"Randor, what
was
that?"

"He is an ancient priest of the underworld
spirits, I should guess. Something all but unheard of these
days."

"You couldn't make out what he said?" Seth
asked. Throughout the siege he had remained in the rear guard of
the company in case Lorn needed help. "I heard that you are aware
of all languages."

Randor laughed softly. "I wish it were so. I
have been graced with many languages, but many are erased from my
memory when I return to Ethindar. As time progresses, many things
are forgotten in this world, and with some, it is just as well. My
master has set it all according to plan, and I do not struggle with
His grace." Randor put his hand on the damp hilt of Malander's
sword and freed the blade. "I am blessed with every day I am given.
Never would I have guessed those millennia ago that I would live to
see this era," he said as he handed the sword to the seething
knight. "Here. You may need this in the near future."

"You speak true," Malander answered as he
returned the sword to its sheath. "Neither I nor my blade shall
wait long."

"This must be their main place of worship,"
Lorn thought aloud. "Seems as if their belongings have been here
for many ages."

"Victors of that ancient war against the men
and elves," Seth offered, agreeing with Lorn's hypothesis. "But how
could fifty monks create such damage?"

"By the hands of that red devil, no doubt,"
Malander answered. "I can be certain he handled the entire feat by
himself."

"I may have to agree with you there," Randor
said as he stood on the platform and studied the drape, which was
void of any symbol. "A great evil dwells here in this room--far
greater than those who serve it." He leaped down and strolled to
the exit, where the lesser monks departed. "We must not stay here.
Quickly, before the power destroys your souls! I can stand its
temptations a bit longer than you, but I fear for us all."

"I do not fear this evil!" Malander
proclaimed.

"Your proof is not necessary, Malander,"
Randor replied. "This way." He vanished through the door with
Malander, returning to the deep shadows, but Lorn and Seth lingered
behind under the grip of the room's powerful magic.

"I already begin to feel what he spoke of,"
Lorn said, and began to sink to the ground, his knees giving under
a sudden great pressure. "It lies heavy on my heart." His face
cringed as sweat dripped from his brow.

"It is because you are smaller than the rest
of us," Seth replied. "Once we are free of this castle it will
diminish--I know it will."

"Keep up, would you?" Malander's voice echoed
from the corridor.

"Come, Lorn, let us go."

"No," the dwarf replied. "Let me just rest a
moment."

"No!" Seth yelled. "I will not!"

"Please, Seth."

"You cannot rest here! This place is evil!"
He grabbed Lorn by his jacket and yanked him down the narrow hall
after the other two. The dwarf was heavy, though, and did not
cooperate with Seth's efforts to escape. He did not want to be left
behind in this unfamiliar territory. After many laborious steps
through the blackness, only a short distance remained through the
passage that led into another chamber, and soon Seth found Randor,
already at work on a green door that glowed radiantly. Ten black
banners with no decor hung loosely upon the stone walls. The wizard
knelt with his hands pressed to the surface, studying the structure
as his ears were filled with the same faint chanting he had heard
earlier. To counter the enchantment of the voices, Randor began to
speak softly, randomly selecting any mantra that entered his mind,
hoping one might release the spell.

"If I had the power," Malander grumbled, "I
would ban all of this foolish magic and send it back to Ethindar so
that he might make use of it!" With sword now in hand, again he
swung his blade through the air several times over, letting loose
his aggression. His footsteps grew heavier and stiff, echoing
through the once quiet chamber.

The glow from the sealed door reflected in
Randor's dark glasses, making it harder to see his work at hand.
Frowning, he stood back and tried to figure a way in.

"Do you feel any better?" Seth asked Lorn as
they stumbled into the room.

"What does he feel?" Randor inquired. "Are
you hurt?"

"I don't know what came over me," Lorn
answered. "I hurt all over, particularly in the chest. My will to
live is slipping away."

"Is the sensation still strong?"

"It has varied its grip on me."

"I have not the power to heal you now. Can
you bear the priest's magic a bit longer?"

"Yes," Lorn replied. "Though I do not show
it, I have strength left somewhere deep inside me."

"He is as tough as any dwarf warrior anywhere
to be found!" Seth added proudly. Lorn smiled and took the
compliment, then leaned against the jagged wall.

"Magic failed you?" Malander asked Randor
haughtily. "What great shame this makes for us." He laughed quietly
to himself.

Ignoring the knight's insolence, Randor said,
"The door is marked in that strange tongue, it seems. It will take
some time to figure this out."

"And how much time do you think we have,
hmm?" Malander asked, resuming his pacing, this time keeping his
eyes on the wizard. He raised his arms and opened them outward.
"The world is dying all around us, and our chance to end its
illness lies right behind this door! You want us to wait?!"

Randor replied, "Please, if you can do
better, do so."

Malander did not rise to the challenge. His
mind was too agitated to ponder such things, so he dropped the
matter.

Randor closed his eyes and lowered his head
as he began to pray. "Master, please show me Your divinity and
provide a passage through this. Grant me the power to free this
world of Yours from its suffering."

After a few moments the glowing passage began
to flicker, and the green light died.

"So the gods do answer prayers," Malander
added gruffly. "What a change that must be for them."

"Watch your tongue, Knight!" Seth warned.

"Watch yours, boy."

"Lorn?" Randor said. "Are you well enough to
continue?"

"I would be disappointed if we had to stop on
my account. Do lead us on."

"Very well."

The door swung open. At once Malander darted
through the entrance. Finding nothing unusual, he shrugged his
shoulders and turned away from the dark tunnel, and before he could
respond, a chain wrapped around his thick neck. Desperately he
tried to free himself, but it closed faster on him by the second.
His pale skin flushed red, and every vein in his forehead and neck
stood out.

"The priest has a magical chain, Randor!"
Seth yelled. "Do something!"

The mysterious attack soon brought the brave
knight to his knees, though he fought on gamely. Randor promptly
started to assist the fading Malander by pitting his own strength
against the chain, yet still it did not yield.

"Try to hold on," Randor said, receiving no
response from his strangling companion. "Seth, do help me, would
you?"

But before Highbinder could reach the door,
the chain released itself, though not from anyone's doing, and
vanished back into the hallway. Malander fell at Randor's feet,
gasping for air as, slowly, his red-tinted skin returned to its
usual pale complexion. Randor grabbed the stricken knight by his
arm and pulled him away to a safer distance. Again the strange
chanting began to creep through the corridors, growing stronger.
Where would this threat come from?

"We shall be outnumbered soon," Randor said.
"They are coming here, no doubt."

"What must we do?" Seth asked. "Remain or
retreat?"

"I will never retreat!" Malander spoke his
first words since nearly being stifled. Though he rubbed his chafed
neck, his sword was ready to strike as he glanced into the dark
hall.

"Neither will I," said Randor. "If they come,
we must be ready for them. They will not be as powerful as their
master."

The chanting grew louder with each
repetition, drumming the room full of demonic mantras, the very
noise making the four companions' hearts beat faster with
anticipation. The banners that hung on the wall flapped violently
and then fluttered down to the cold floor.

"What trickery is this?" Seth asked,
horrified. Slowly the black cloths began to rise, forming into
figures of dark-robed men. A small ball of light glowed in the
middle of each shape and faded, revealing partial portions of
faces, heads shadowed by hoods, and bodies enveloped in
darkness.

"Not as powerful, you say?" Malander growled.
"So they come after all!"

The ten cloaked monks turned to the small
company, chanting, connecting and combining their strength as they
spoke in unison. Randor search his mind for a memory of this
language, but not one syllable could he translate.

"Silence your rubbish and come forth!"
Malander taunted them, waving his sword to beckon them to him. All
he could dwell on was vengeance, thinking how blissful it would be
to cut them clean in two.

The chanting stopped as the ten monks lowered
their heads, then drew slowly inward. "Attack on my command,"
Randor whispered. As soon as he spoke these words, the monks rushed
at them, their clawed hands reaching out, craving destruction.

* * *

"Come back, you thief!" Arnanor demanded as
he reached the door first. Drawing his sword back beyond his head,
he opened the door, and in no time his three companions were at his
side, Geil now leading the way ahead with sword in one hand and
Muron's arm in the other, literally dragging the young prince up
the steps. When the four were inside, to their surprise they found
no one.

"Do you hear that?" Muron asked, his long
ears alerted to an unrecognizable sound. "It is close by, too."

"Yes," Geil agreed, "Sounds like metal
clashing against metal--a battle, perhaps."

"Randor?" Muron said, concerned. "It could be
the others in peril! We must help them!"

"Come, then!" Arnanor urged. "Let us waste no
more precious time!" The elf prince dashed through the chamber,
weaving in between columns of crumbled marble, kicking up dust and
bits of gravel as he charged ahead.

"Foolish elf!" Gildan cried. "You do not know
what may lurk there!"