The White Shadow Saga: The Stolen Moon of Londor Read Free

with
a dark blade, almost unseen in the moonlight. The Rhingar were
built in similar fashion like the Obinoth, their complexions were
as gray as the armor they wore. Unearthly cries of war erupted from
every dark tongue as their yellowed eyes focused on vengeance. It
reminded Gildan of the war's beginning, when the Rhingar flooded
the borders of Obinoth and his excitement rose as the enemy raced
ahead; in mere seconds the Rhingar would be within blade's range.
Shouts from the Obinoth rang out, mostly commands to the various
units to hold their tight formation together.
    The fear was palpable among Gildan's army,
and their swords shook like leaves of the forest as the screaming
Rhingar advanced. The enemy trampled up bits of moss, which
dislodged from the earth only to be caught up by the wind. Randor
and Gildan moved apart, leaving enough space between them that they
might fight without endangering each other. No sooner had they done
so, a swarm of Rhingar made haste toward Gildan and encircled him.
But suddenly Randor threw back his cloak, exposing his steady
hands, his only weapons. Though he now felt numb with fatigue, he
knew that the magic, once summoned, would flow regardless. Time was
of the essence now, however, and only short-versed spells would be
practical.
    The Obinoth troops behind the two leaders
were engaged in pitched battle, with the Rhingar so far unable to
break their formation. Swords met, and the sparks from clashing
steel flickered like falling stars through the heavens. The Obinoth
were surrounded; no longer could Randor or Gildan see what was
happening to the Obinoth army not too far away. Twenty foes rushed
toward Gildan, and as the first sword stroke came, his senses
triggered a parry. He didn't have the chance now to thank himself
for his gifts. Raising his sword, he was ready for the next two
Rhingar to reach him, and deflected every slash and thrust
perfectly with over embellished style. All his energies channeled
to the task at hand as the emotion of battle consumed him.
    Randor, entrapped now, stretched out his left
hand; it swayed gracefully before the Rhingar that challenged him.
His enemies shifted slowly around him, pointing their sharp blades
inward, yet hesitant, for the dark elves knew who Randor was and
dared not attack in frivolous haste. Randor preferred not to use
his magic this early on, nor did he wish to destroy the forest with
spells of fire and luminosity, the most potent short spells he had
at hand. The illumination spells would do minimal damage, blinding
the Rhingar at best, but the fire would ignite the wood, and the
winds would only spread its rage. No, he would hold the magic in
reserve for as long as the Obinoth could withstand the enemy on
their own.
    Then, in the blink of an eye, four Rhingar
charged Randor with swords aimed at his chest. With little effort,
Randor sidestepped and ducked as one blade swiped the air mere
inches above his head, whistling in the night air. Pivoting, he
landed a back kick in the attacker's ribs, knocking the dark elf to
the forest floor. The remaining three came within arm's reach, and
Randor's hands moved with blinding speed, punching, grabbing, and
ripping. Blood flowed from his staggering opponents, and within
seconds the last one fell.
    Gauging his position, he saw that the Rhingar
had opted to attack Gildan, deeming him easier prey than the
wizard. The Rhingar neither saw nor heard Randor coming, and when
they finally detected his presence, it was far too late.
    " Nara
tihra! " he shouted, thrusting his arm forward, and a
bright flash of green light shone throughout Gildan's encircling
foes. Eight Rhingar were launched violently upward and away into
the night, their mutilated bodies landing a dozen yards away.
Gildan was now freed on one side, and Randor grabbed him by the
shoulder and pulled him outward. The two stayed close as Gildan
regained his breath.
    "What are you doing?" asked the elf.
    "Strengthening your offensive,"