The White Shadow Saga: The Stolen Moon of Londor (32 page)

"What are you doing?" Gildan yelled. "If you
allow me to lose their trail I will never forgive your folly!"

Arnanor pushed back both his brother and Sir
Geil, far enough to allow him a short sprint to the gap. Peering
ahead and calculating the necessary steps, he said to Geil, "I will
go first. Then make sure that Muron follows next."

"Understood, my lord."

"See you shortly." Arnanor looked ahead and
took a deep breath. Sheathing his sword, he glanced to his brother,
seeing despair written on the younger prince's face. Arnanor
lowered his stance and broke into a dead run for the gap, cape and
long hair flying behind him, and nearing the jagged edge, he
leaped. Eyes wide, the elf-prince flew across with arms and legs
still pumping. As Gildan stepped back, not wanting to collide with
the prince as he landed, Arnanor fell hard onto the bridge, hitting
with his knees. He moaned, planting his scuffed hands to the floor,
and Gildan reached down to help him up but was shrugged away.

"How great the distance?" Muron's voice
echoed.

"Twenty feet," Arnanor replied as he dusted
off his armor and his hands.

"Smaller than I calculated," Geil said. "Go
on, Prince Muron--your turn."

"Twenty feet?" Muron whispered doubtfully.
"I…I don't kno--"

Grabbing the timid prince by the shoulders,
Geil looked him in the eyes and said, "Yes, you can! Do what you
have learned."

"But this I have not--"

"Yes, you have. I was there, remember?"

"But not so great a distance, Geil. I have
never cleared twenty feet…"

Gildan and Arnanor stood impatiently waiting
on the other side, unaware of Muron's problem. "What are they
doing?" Gildan asked as he paced anxiously, afraid of losing the
trail of the mysterious soldiers.

"I do not know," Arnanor answered. "Sir Geil,
what is the delay?"

"It is Prince Muron, my liege. He tells me he
is unable to clear such a jump."

Arnanor shouted at his brother, "Discard your
fear and get over here, for Ethindar's sake! Do it now!" Walking
back toward Gildan, he lowered his head, ashamed that someone of
his family should show such weakness. "In all my years I have never
been so humiliated."

"You must do as he asks, younger master; I
cannot protect you from your own bloodline," Geil advised. "Clear
your mind and think only of the goal."

"I am, and it is what scares me. I wish my
brother thought as you--having such faith in me."

"He does--deep inside."

"Still you dally!" Arnanor yelled.

"Very well," Muron decided at last, "I will
do it…I don't know how, but I must."

"Now, set yourself just as you have
practiced. Run forward with all your might and reach out as far as
you can toward your brother. Believe you will clear this farther
even than he did."

Muron gave a small smile and nodded as he
mimicked Arnanor's technique, loosening his tensed muscles and
taking a deep breath. Geil stood back, observing the prince's
preparation, and prayed for a positive outcome. Without Muron, his
existence would lie in ruin, plagued with an endless misery that
would never heal--if he could even bear the thought of living.
Indeed, death seemed an easier solution.

Off Muron ran, his eyes shifting fast between
his brother and the gap in the bridge. As he raced ahead, he felt a
sudden shift in his confidence, a feeling he had never known
before. Suddenly, doubt no longer plagued his mind, which was given
over to complete faith in an ability he did not readily possess.
Then the moment came, and he summoned every ounce of his failing
strength into his legs and sprang. The three onlookers gasped as
they watched Muron soar like a dragon, letting out a great cry of
self-encouragement. At first it seemed that victory was his, but
halfway through the arc of his jump, Arnanor could see the odds
leaning against him.

Instinctively he ran to the edge of the
bridge and reached out his arms. "Lean forward!" he cried out, but
Muron did not obey. It suddenly occurred to him that his brother
would fall to his death, and that there was nothing he could do to
save him.

Muron's foot grazed the rough stone, though
not enough to gain a purchase…but Arnanor had positioned himself
perfectly and hauled his struggling brother up into his strong
arms. Safe for the moment, Muron clutched his brother and sobbed.
Normally Arnanor would have pushed him away, not being one for deep
emotions of this sort, but this situation was somehow
different.

"I thought I was going to die," Muron said,
his voice cracking. "Thank Ethindar for you, my brother."

Arnanor drew back from Muron, holding him by
the shoulders, and pierced him with his narrowed eyes. "I told you
to lean forward! Do you have any idea of the torment you have just
put me through?! I could have lost you! Father would have killed
Geil and me both!

"But he will not, for I live. All is well,
Arnanor."

"Yes…for now."

Geil watched as Arnanor led his brother away
from the ledge, giving the knight permission to cross the gap.
Without difficulty Geil jumped and landed, falling into a trot, for
the others had already taken off after the soldiers.

Bursting through one last door of thick red
wood, the four found themselves again among the soldiers. One
soldier stood far away from his companions at the left-hand side of
a vast room while two stood together at the opposite end. The
leader and the remaining soldier stood back, watching expectantly.
The leader acknowledged Gildan and the Northern elves' arrival but
took no immediate action against them. "Welcome once again."

Arnanor saw the Banner of Aldrenos fixed high
upon the wall to his right, and knew at once that he had to stop
the soldiers from getting it. Suddenly, the soldier to their left
dashed across the room at astonishing speed, quicker even than any
elf could move, directly toward the narrow space between his two
cohorts. Leaping ahead, he thrust his dark boot into the
interlocked hands of the two waiting soldiers, who threw him
skyward with great power. As he reached the height of the banner,
he grasped it at its top, yanked it down, tucked it under his arm,
and pushed off the wall, touching down on the stone without
difficulty.

"We have what we came for," said the leader.
"Let's move out!" Turning, he said, "Tell this Randor of yours that
this world will fail, bringing all your efforts to naught!"

"So you do have the moon!" Arnanor said.
"What have you done with it?" Yet all he received as an answer was
laughter as the soldiers fled through the far side of the room.

"We must find Randor at once," Gildan said.
"Though I hate to admit it, we cannot do this without his
help."

"I must agree with you there," Arnanor
replied. "But surely we will not venture back over our path to
track our allies down."

"No," said the mercenary. "Our best chance, I
feel, is still to follow the symbol….They might yet cross paths
with our friends."

* * *

As Randor's group rested after the battle
with the monks, Malander paced the floor as usual while Seth and
Lorn sat with the wizard on the floor. Randor stared off into
nothingness as he puffed on his long pipe, hardly noticing the
grand rings of smoke he blew. He had no solid lead, and the monks
could be anywhere within this castle. Three stairwells presented
themselves to the wizard and company, but Randor did not wish to
venture through any of them just yet.

"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."