The White Shadow Saga: The Stolen Moon of Londor (29 page)

"Finally, a door to the inner chambers," Seth
said, relieved.

"This cannot be the door," Gildan objected.
"We seek an even higher entrance."

"You feel this, as well?" Randor asked.

"Without any doubt."

"How can you be so sure?" Arnanor asked,
positive that both were wrong.

"I have my doubts," Randor replied, tipping
up the brim of his hat. "My judgment is clouded, and I despise this
temporary lassitude I find myself in. Can any of you see a higher
path within the tower?"

The four elves immediately scanned the spiral
staircase as far as they could, finding nothing with their once
sharp senses. Gildan, too, peered upward, but his vision grew
blurred and so did his concentration.

"It is pointless to try," Arnanor said,
surprising Gildan with his caring tone. "Save yourself. The--"

"There!" Gildan said, pointing to a
ledge far above them. "There's another spot where the steps level
out for a second time--another door to higher opportunities."
Reflecting a moment, he said, "In fact, I
know
it is there." And he lowered his head and
rubbed his burning eyes.

"Splendid find!" Randor said, smiling
feebly.

"So which doorway do we take?" Seth asked,
ready to embark at once.

"We have to keep together," Arnanor
suggested.

"Then we risk allowing their escape," Gildan
retorted. "Our chances are split directly in half."

"We will divide ourselves once again," Randor
answered. "Although you know I dislike separating our strength,
this particular case involves a great chance for mishap. Should we
stay together, our path may not cross with our pleasant friends.
Thus, two parties would prove much more effective. In respect to
all, though, let us have a vote."

"Separate," Gildan spoke first.

"Together," said Lorn.

"Separate," Seth said, surprising Lorn.

"I speak for three when I cast my vote for a
separate venture," Prince Arnanor declared.

Randor looked to last of the company who had
not voted. "Malander, what say you on this matter?" He stood as
still and emotionless as a statue. "Very well, I will take your
silence as--"

"My choice is neither," Malander interrupted.
"If it were my decision, I would go alone."

"You are not in a leadership role, so your
vote of solitude is invalid," Arnanor said.

"It is my option," Malander replied in kind.
"I just want to kill the one who spoke so rudely to me earlier." He
trailed off into an unclear sentence that none could make out.
"Just choose so that we can go on."

"Gildan."

"Yes, Randor?"

"I want you to lead the elves down this lower
corridor. Hopefully, our paths will conjoin."

"I will not fail you," Gildan said with a
bow.

"I know you will not." Randor patted his
shoulder and smiled. "If you are led into nothingness and find them
not, make haste to me above." Gildan nodded with confidence filling
his soul. "And do be careful."

Gildan waved his hand. "Come, then, princes,
let us leave."

Arnanor muttered incoherently and followed.
Climbing carefully, they gained the few remaining steps and
maneuvered around Seth and Lorn, who stood in front of them.

"Behave yourselves," Randor advised as the
princes and Geil filed past him. "Follow Gildan as if he were I."
As the last steps were taken by the four elves, they reached the
doorway, then were gone.

Turning to the remainder of the party, Randor
clasped his hands together, fingers interlocking, and surveyed
their morale. He could see the heavy stress and tension that
consumed them. "Shall we go on?"

"How much more is there?" Lorn asked
sadly.

"Worry not about the distance," Randor
answered.

"It is the least of your worries," Seth
added, meaning to comfort him but only adding to his fears.

Gildan reached the lower of the two doorways
first and with a wicked grin, he was gone.

As Seth and Lorn followed Randor upward, the
vines that covered the walls began to thin out, revealing the pale
brown stones. All looked closely, hoping to find some clue to what
had occurred here those many centuries ago. Randor would now be
their link to the elvish symbols if any more was to be found;
hopefully he could decipher them.

"It is remarkable that no trace was left of
this mythical battle of yore," Seth said as he pondered the idea.
"What great magic erased the horror?"

"Vanishing the dead is not such a difficult
task," Randor replied. "'Would only take half a moment at the
most."

"It appears that the master of this castle
prefers to keep it vacant at all times. I would hate to see its
face now that we and the symbol are here." Seth shrugged his
shoulders, not wanting to visualize the outcome.

* * *

The door Gildan had spotted for Randor high
above was in clear view now. With a grand ledge at its front, the
opening stood ten feet high and four feet wide, revealing a long
and declining corridor. A warm draft poured from the hall. The
company led by the wizard paused at the ledge, not liking the
warmth. The sweat on their faces spoke their discomfort more
clearly than words ever could.

"Dragon's breath," Seth muttered.

Lorn stopped in mid stride and opened his
mouth in horror. "Why do you say such things, Seth?"

"It is only a guess," he replied, trying to
soothe his friend. "I have felt a foul dragon's lingering before,
and this is what it made me think of."

"Not hot enough," Malander added. "Besides,
do you smell sulfur?"

Seth sniffed the air more thoroughly, as did
the others. Lorn could vaguely remember the offensive smell, for he
had worked with the substance some years before. "What relief!"
Lorn exclaimed, patting his chest to calm his heart. "I do not
smell it at all." He laughed to shake off his fright, with little
success.

"Perhaps it is just a fire up ahead," Seth
suggested. Then, looking up toward the stained-glass dome, he
puzzled, "It is not daybreak yet, and the room is full of radiant
light. I wonder where it comes from."

"Magic is afoot, Seth," Randor said. "Simple
magic, really."

Through the door all light was gone, and they
were forced to feel their way down the steep path. Still, Randor
knew this would be safer than using his illuminating orbs. Each
breath they took was hot, and sweat stung their eyes, growing
thicker as they pressed down the tunnel. Malander began to breath
deeper, enjoying the inhospitable air.

"We are walking into a great unknown," Seth
whispered. Though he spoke softly, his voice carried and echoed as
if he had shouted. His cloak felt heavy and oppressive on his
burning body as the humidity overloaded his motivation to almost
nothingness.

At last, a small, flickering blue light came
into faint view in the distance--a sign of the corridor's end.
Randor slowed his already crawling pace, extending his arm outward
so that none could pass. Drawing to the corridor's end, the four
stood before a large blue flame, burning in the center of a
low-ceiling, dome-shaped room.

"No one here," Randor whispered. "The way is
clear."

Stepping into the room, he strolled to the
fire. Placing his hand above the flames, he said, "As I knew it
would be," running his fingers from side to side through the arms
of blue light.

"Doesn't that hurt?" Seth asked with a pained
expression.

"This is a fire of magic."

"A well of power or just a magical fire?"

Randor removed his hand and studied his
fingers. "It is not a source of power, as you would say, for I
would receive its sustenance." Sadly he concluded, "It is a mere
blue flame of magic that will burn until ordered extinguished. It
serves only as a source of light to see by."

Looking beyond the room's center, Seth
noticed three doors. Lorn tugged on his cloak and beckoned him down
as Malander and Randor studied the doors. "Something wrong?" Seth
asked, concerned. He rested his hands on his knees, prepared to
listen.

"The road has grown more puzzling--and now
three choices lie before us," said Lorn.

"Randor will know which to take," Seth
assured him.

"But what if he divides the group further? We
will not stand a chance!" Lorn looked around Seth to see what was
happening.

Randor paced in front of the three doorways.
The middle path, with cracks and brown moss lining the entryway,
appeared to be the oldest, and the path to the left the newest and
least flawed. At his right was a wooden door with metal bars that
were rusted and loosely secured. The two open paths were pitch dark
and felt and smelled no different from the vestibule where they now
stood.

"You know the correct way…right, Randor?"
Seth asked.

"The problem, Highbinder, is that there is no
correct way anymore."

"Do we just choose one at random?" Seth did
not understand Randor's meaning.

"Three paths, three men to travel them,"
Malander murmured. "Well, the dwarf can go with Seth."

"As you can see, these doorways are all
different in their own right," said Randor. "The middle door
clearly is the oldest--probably as ancient as this place." He stood
before the entrance covered by the door. "A door such as this tells
me that someone or something wants to lure the curious down this
path to meet their doom." Turning to the middle doorway, he said,
"This is the direction we go."

"Are you sure of this?" Seth asked,
skeptical.

"Of course."

And so the four entered yet another dimly lit
tunnel, unaware of the dangers ahead. At the far end glimmered a
pure white light, reminding Randor of his journeys back through the
Gate of Ethindar. He closed his eyes and sighed, longing in the
deepest recesses of his heart to return to the planet Ethindos and
regain his powers. A faint chanting began in the distance, growing
louder as they moved toward the light that allowed more of the
corridor to be seen.

"Mutee nen de morgen non
feng lok shetag mar,"
a ghastly, demonic-sounding voice
uttered.

"What's going on down there?" Seth
gasped.

"Let's turn back," Lorn stammered.

"I am curious now," said Malander.

"As am I," Randor added. He slid along the
wall to gain a closer view of the activity ahead. "Monks," he said.
"The likes of whom I have not seen for centuries."

"What?" Seth replied. "What do you see?"

"Black-robed figures--about forty or
fifty."

"Doing what, Randor?"

"Prayer, it seems."

"Is there an idol? Perhaps it lives here in
the depths."

"No, just a figure clad in red, upon a
platform in front of the robed figures. Its arms are raised."

The room was lined with multiple candles on
grand silver candelabras that branched out in snakelike curves. On
the back wall, a large black drape hung over the dismal gray
bricks, and before it stood the platform where the apparent leader
conducted the ritual. His head was lowered, and a mysterious shadow
covered his face. Randor could feel the inner power of the monks as
he leaned against the wall.

Gathering his courage, Seth gently crept
forward, keeping low to the floor. Never had he seen such a
gathering of spiritual beings. "Are they of good or evil?"

"Judging from the feeling I am getting,"
Randor began, "I would say their intentions are not good. The aura
is strong, and redolent of devilry."

"The five soldiers are not among them," Seth
said. "What is your next order?"

"Let us watch. Who knows what we may
learn."

"Oenoth fugist dar
reneeoth,"
the monk bellowed darkly, and his followers
repeated the phrase. He stretched out his arms, revealing long,
thin, pale fingers with clawlike nails.
"Dargroth nos belahdith!"
Then the rows of
disciples filed out into an exit on the right-hand side of the
room, and only the red-cloaked figure remained. Chanting something
unclear, he turned to the black drape and bowed in
praise.

"Let us attack while his back is turned,"
Malander said with sword drawn. "He doesn't look that
powerful."

"I still feel the evil he radiates," Randor
said.

"Quick, while he is alone."

"I say we detain and question him," Seth
suggested.

"Can't we just let him be?" Lorn asked, not
liking the other choices. "He is not the one we are looking
for."

"True," Randor replied. "But this monk could
be a link to Beldas."

"Permission to proceed?" Malander asked
nicely.

Randor thought half a moment, and then
nodded. "Permission granted, my companions."

"I thank you for that," Malander laughed.

"But do not strike to kill. We need him
alive." Randor looked over his companions one last time, and still
Malander laughed quietly. He was the first to spring forth. The
four ran quietly to catch the red-robed monk unaware, little
knowing that he awaited the opportune moment to unleash his fury on
the intruders.

Standing motionless, the monk smiled in pure
delight.

Chapter Twelve: Twisted Roads

"Are you all right, Muron?" Geil asked,
concerned.

"Yes," Muron replied cheerfully, "I am
well."

"Will this darkness ever end?" Arnanor
complained. "How could anyone walk through this?"

"The same way I do, Prince," Gildan replied,
pressing on. Not bothered by the darkness, the mercenary smiled in
amusement at his companions' grumbling. "I wonder how Randor is
coming along."

"No doubt better than we are," Arnanor
offered.

"I wish I were a wizard," Muron sighed.

"Be careful what you ask for. The burdens of
his kind are heavy, even greater than I would wish upon myself,"
Gildan replied. "Just be thankful for what you are."