The White Shadow Saga: The Stolen Moon of Londor

The White Shadow Saga:

The Stolen Moon of Londor

Book I of III

A.P. Stephens

Fanda Books

Dallas, TX

Copyright © 2009 by A.P. Stephens

Smashwords Edition

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All right reserved.

A.P. Stephens

For more information about the author and the
world of Londor, please visit:

www.apstephens.com

Cover Illustration by: Peter Ortiz

For my wife: my muse and my love.

The Stolen
Moon
of Londor

Chapter One: A Troubled World

In the dawn of Londor's greatest tragedy, the
elf-mercenary, Gildan, sat near his campfire--pondering the fate of
the world. The summer night was bitter, yet calm in this mysterious
time. Gildan was accompanied closely by two fellow elves, Faragen
and Telsar, as they rested uncomfortably underneath a large oak
tree before their soldiers of the Obinoth Kingdom. The elves took
refuge from their travels at the edge of the Plains of Erogd, a
place which was all too familiar to them.

Many other campfires laid a short distance
behind Gildan and the two Obinoth officers as the mercenary granted
the soldiers under his authority short respite after two strenuous
days of marching back into the west. Soft songs and inaudible
conversations hazed the night air.

Gildan looked over to the trunk of the tree
where the famed wizard, Randor Miithra, rested peacefully, sitting
propped up with his wide-brimmed hat of blue felt covering his
face. His cloak lay motionless in the weak breeze from the vast
fields. Gildan smiled slightly as he brushed his tall, green hair
back, forever grateful to the wizard's role in the recent victory
of the mercenary and the elves of Obinoth.

As Gildan led the remainder of his army
towards the Obinoth Kingdom, his thoughts were consumed with many
items of business--with no apparent answers thus far.

"Is there anything either of us can do for
you, sir?" Telsar asked.

"No," Gildan replied, looking at Telsar, a
sturdy young elf, who reminded Gildan of himself in his younger
days. "Just try and rest. We will be on the move again
shortly."

Telsar nodded and shifted his silver armor
before leaning back on his elbows. "I hope Obinoth is safe. I have
much to attend to once we are returned."

"As do I," said Gildan. "Though I will no
longer be able to assist you or your king, my future days are now
certain to be full of work from those wishing to solve this
mystery."

"Indeed, sir."

Gildan laid back in the soft grass and looked
into the heavens. The memories of the recent night of catastrophe
charged to the forefront of his mind, and he embraced the details
of his victory, once again.

* * *

Two nights ago, Gildan and his elf-knights
drew up at the edge of a dark, wooded valley--once again on the
heels of the Obinoth's ancient foes. The twin moons rode high in
the clear night sky, casting muted double shadows beneath the
trees. For forty miles the army had crossed the Plains of Erogd, a
region once known for its placid rivers and lush fields. But now
the beauty of this land was tainted, its rivers polluted with blood
and its fields heaped with the bodies of the slain enemy. None of
the Obinoth had ever traveled this far east, and now fatigue
weighed heavier on them even more than their pierced and dented
armor.

Gildan paced alone before the awaiting ranks,
his finely crafted, short yellow cape billowing in the constant
breeze. The cape was the only personal clothing effect he kept with
him, leaving his usual wardrobe of extravagant jackets, pants, and
boots behind. These were set aside for uniformity of Obinoth's
black clothing and silver armor, not very pleasing to Gildan's
taste. His green eyes scanned the valley below, seeking out his
next move, as his fingers tapped the silver buckle on his precious
leather belt.

Telsar and Faragen approached quietly and
stood at attention.

"We await your command, Gildan," said
Faragen.

Gildan turned, looking beyond them to the
gathered troops, seeing the fading morale written on every face.
"We need to end this tonight," he said at last. "Send a small squad
of scouts to get the lay of the land. I do not know much about this
place. Have them search out the Rhingar forces, but tread with
caution--the scouts must not be seen."

"Yes, sir," replied Faragen.

"Report to me once the sweep is complete."
Gildan paused. "Now I must speak with our advisor."

The two lieutenants saluted and returned to
the ranks.

As Gildan strode to the boulder at the dark
valley's edge, he looked uneasily up at the mountains that
surrounded the small valley on three sides.

For centuries the Rhingar had attempted to
overthrow their neighboring country, the Obinoth Kingdom, yet had
never been successful. The Rhingar wished nothing more than to
seize the Obinoth capitol, Handefel, and destroy it--for it was in
Handefel that the founding fathers of the Rhingar Kingdom perished
during the Dark War. For the past eighty years the Rhingar burdened
the Obinoth, bent on vengeance for the spirits of their ancient
heroes.

For months on end both armies waged war at
the edges of the Obinoth Kingdom until, at last, the Obinoth drove
their enemies outside its borders. Yet they pursued the Rhingar
into the east with orders from their king to eliminate them--no
matter the distance traveled. The Obinoth were determined more than
ever to convey to the Rhingar that they would never yield to
them.

There, standing alone upon one of the many
boulders and puffing a long-stemmed pipe, was Randor Miithra, the
eldest servant of the elven god, Ethindar. Randor, as he was simply
called, was invested with all the magic and arcane wisdom of his
famed order of wizards. He stood tall, shrouded in his deep-blue
cloak, uncowed by the continuous battles and lack of rest. Though
he had seen eight thousand winters, he looked like a human of
thirty. His face was shadowed from the moonlight by his
ever-present hat.

This campaign was not the first encounter for
Gildan and Randor, befriending one another many decades ago. Gildan
always welcomed the opportunity to fight alongside his oldest
friend and closest confidant.

Gildan stepped up onto the boulder and held
silent.

"I see you have finally sent scouts about the
perimeter, my old friend."

"Indeed. You have tracked the Rhingar for me
across Erogd, but I will let these elves survey this instance,"
Gildan replied. "But…what do you make of this, Randor?"

"That is a good question," the wizard
replied. He slid his dark-tinted spectacles up his narrow nose and
puffed again at his pipe. "Do you know where you find yourself?"
Randor grinned slightly.

"No. I have traveled far and wide, but this
place has no particular memory for me."

"Before you lies the Valley of Siln."

"Siln," whispered Gildan. "What can you tell
me of this place?"

"A featureless, barren place, with neither
inhabitants nor wildlife--unless you love the company of
scorpions." Randor paused to savor the pipe's comforting taste.
"Only one road leads into and out of the valley…" Gildan turned his
head and looked at the wizard. "This lonesome road is the one that
you and the Obinoth now control."

"Are you certain of this?"

"Although many years have passed since last I
was here, I doubt anyone has altered this land."

Before the elf-mercenary could reply, Randor
raised his hand and added, "I cannot be certain of their strategy
here, but nevertheless, we must not falter now. You hold the
advantage, Gildan, and you must keep it this time. I grow weary of
all this cat-and-mouse."

"Trust me, Randor, when I say that I will
hold true to my vow and see this to its end. The Rhingar are fools,
and we shall slaughter every foul one of them. Besides, the gold I
was paid is wearing thin to my terms of this job." Gildan scanned
the forest, looking for some clue to evil's whereabouts. Even aided
by the light of the two moons, his green eyes picked up nothing
helpful. "They are unpredictable this night," the elf observed.
"Not one campfire, nor a single piercing shriek. Yes, the Rhingar
are behaving most strangely."

Randor nodded. "If there is anyone in this
world I believe in, it is you, good elf. I believe you are
capable."

Gildan turned away and stared at the valley
below. "The day is not yet won."

"Right you are, my friend," Randor answered
as he laid his hand on the mercenary's leather shoulder guard. "One
step at a time."

Some time later the ten scouts from the north
and ten from the south arrived and knelt before the large rock,
removing their dark cloaks and revealing their silver armor, which
shimmered in the moonglow. Gildan and Randor came down from the
boulder together, and as soon as Gildan's feet touched the grass,
his sternness returned. "Report."

"We found no trace of the Rhingar," one scout
answered. "No other roads lead into the valley, and on the
mountains the paths were impassable. We could observe no movement
within the valley."

Gildan's youthful face darkened at the
unwelcome news. "Fall back into formation," he commanded,
exasperated. As his scouts retired, he clenched his fists.
Dare we march into Siln blind? I dislike such
uncertainty
, he thought.

"What is your plan, then, Gildan?" Randor
asked as he tamped a few more wisps of tobacco into his pipe.

"The key to this battle is the road," Gildan
began. "If we secure that, our enemy will not escape us again. Two
hundred and fifty will be sufficient to secure the road, and the
rest will follow you and me into Siln." Gildan raised his tired
eyes to the heavens. "We move by stealth, under moonlight. I
believe that our position and numbers are still unknown to the
Rhingar." He sighed.

"I sense fear within Siln," Randor said
reassuringly. "The time has come for the assault."

"Right away." Gildan strode to the
center of the front rank. "
Ne lui
len!
" At the sound of these words, Telsar and Faragen
came forth from the ranks and faced their respective companies.
"
Tenu mon-tros
," shouted
Gildan, and the Obinoth came to attention as one. Being that Gildan
was well-traveled, he continued to speak in the Obinoth native
tongue, relaying orders that would be given on the march and
thereafter.

Randor inspected the battalion from where he
stood, and was pleased. Praying silently for the elves' courage and
composure to hold true, he watched the elf-mercenary shift his gaze
across the ranks of soldiers and knew Gildan's speech held
more.

"The darkness hides our enemy well," Gildan
observed. "Are you ready for this, Randor?"

The wizard nodded. "You shall see powers of
mine that you, nor any Obinoth has yet seen in this campaign. And
even so, it shall be but a small taste of my true magical
abilities."

Gildan looked at him, perplexed, knowing that
Randor Miithra employed magic only in the gravest of circumstances.
"Are you feeling well?" Gildan asked.

"Never better."

"Then why…?"

"Do not question it, my friend. The time has
come for a different strategy on my part. There are others in the
world who need my help. The Battle of Siln will be my conclusion
with the Obinoth." He paused, letting Gildan absorb the gravity of
his statement. "Take that however you like."