The White Shadow Saga: The Stolen Moon of Londor (12 page)

"He has failed on many journeys," Arnanor
sneered. His opportunity to discredit Randor had finally come. He
wanted to lower the company's faith in its leader, and with Randor
gone from his presence, nothing could now stop his tongue from
speaking his mind. "He is vulnerable, just like any other mortal. I
am sure you all heard of his downfall with the Obinoth. Gildan, you
were there. You and the Obinoth thought him to be dead after the
moon disappeared. If Randor was so powerful, he would not have
yielded so instantly to the moon's absence. I know of no one else
who sickened on the night of that tragic event. You give this
antique wizard credit undeserved."

"Randor Miithra is one servant," Gildan
defended. "Never disparage his works!" Arnanor gloated as Gildan
glared at him.

Muron pulled the fur around his neck closer
to his skin and drew closer to Geil for warmth. He had already
begun to miss his homeland and its wonders: the snow-capped
mountains, the white pines, his father's poetry, and his mother's
tender touch. Though Geil had sung many songs to the young prince
when times were calm, keeping his heart filled with music for many
hours, his guardian could not sing forever, and it was at these
times that Muron felt homesick. He noticed Sir Geil looking at him
out of the corner of his eye. Muron was far from helpless, but
because of his frail build, his father had ordered his most skilled
and trusted knight to keep safe his second son.

"Another song, my liege?" Geil offered.

"That would be wonderful," Muron answered.
"Too long has the air been denied your wonderful verse. You must
sing more often, my friend." Seth and Lorn sat up, eager to hear
another song of the Northern Kingdom.

Gildan rose to his feet, saying, "I will be
in the presence of Randor if you need me," and he, too, left the
fire. He heard the beginning strains of Geil's song as he left, but
now was not the time for music.

Taking a circuitous route to the hill's peak
above the forest, he strolled about and observed the lands lit by
the moon in the distance. To the southeast he saw five orbs of
light on the horizon, sitting on a cliff. "The Oracle," he
whispered, as if hardly daring to speak its name. Gildan was
curious about Randor's comment that this Oracle was unsafe after
sunset. He wanted some answers. Slowly he refocused on Randor's
position and awaited the time to approach.

There at the hill's center stood Randor with
his head tilted back, remaining perfectly still. Hair whipping
violently under his hat in the gusting winds, he murmured a soft
spell to bolster his fading senses.

Though Gildan tried to listen to the faint
words, he was outwitted by the wind. At last, Randor inhaled deeply
and turned his sight to Gildan. The mercenary gazed curiously at
the orbs of light.

"Join me, will you?" said Randor. "Your
company is much needed. There are items of business you need to
know."

Chapter Five: Ill News

"I see you gaze to the next leg of our
journey," said Randor.

"Yes," Gildan answered. "Trouble, if you ask
me."

"This is our only choice."

"I cannot help but have a grave feeling about
this, Randor. It is an unshakable emotion. A great shadow lingers
in my soul about this Oracle."

"When we stand before him tomorrow, your
doubts will diminish."

"But can he truly aid us?"

"I honestly cannot tell you," Randor replied.
"I have known him for three thousand years, and never has his
wisdom failed me. This particular journey to his halls might prove
different this time."

Gildan tamed his billowing cape and rested
his hands at his side. "Will you be returning soon?"

"I will be among the gathering shortly
hereafter. There are still pressing affairs within the winds, and I
must attend to them….Obligations from my master beckon me
here."

"Do tidings grow worse each day?"

"Long is the trail of voices in the air. The
pleas have never been this great."

"What do they pray for?"

"Kings from many realms believe that the gods
have stricken the world of its balance; they ask for the return of
Beldas. They are confused why it is gone. Many blame themselves,
thinking their leadership was flawed. They see…" He paused. "They
clearly see the suffering of their people--without magic and ill
beyond reach of any medicine. Wars rage this very moment, and
kingdoms ask for my assistance." He shook his head, saddened to
know he could not save those in need. "My soul aches and is torn in
every direction across Londor. I cannot preserve all."

Gildan heard the despair in the wizard's
voice and watched him slump in fatigue. It was a condition he had
never seen in his old friend. "You are only one servant, Randor,
and cannot be everywhere at once. Do what you can, and give your
greatest effort. You exceed all my standards, and I admire you for
that."

Randor nodded. "I know, Gildan. This world is
in peril and needs my strength. If I could make one prayer to
Ethindar, I would ask for an abundance of Randors to protect the
planet. Alas, though, I am one of three who remain. I am thankful
to be on this quest with you, Gildan."

"Aye, my good wizard, aye. We can find our
way through the darkest of days. The sights we have seen are things
few shall ever encounter." Gildan smiled as he dreamed of his grand
future, imagining great wealth and many victories in battle. He
never doubted that his legendary deeds would always be remembered.
Looking to Randor, he knew that their friendship was important to
them both. The elf-mercenary would follow him to the ends of the
world and well beyond, even to the fiery depths of the underworld.
Randor was the only person Gildan would sacrifice his life for--the
clearest indication of just how dear the wizard was to him. Both
had fought together many times, and this journey would be no
different. Indeed, it was Randor who, over a hundred years ago, had
once aided Gildan in obtaining the Dragonslayer sword, Marghelor,
from the wicked clutches of Lord Zen-Forlak; the memories of that
dark journey still made Gildan shiver to this day.

"Return to us soon," the elf said. "We need
rest for the long road ahead." He patted Randor's shoulder and
turned to descend the hill.

"Do not tell the others about the concerns of
the outside world. I need the company's concentration here in this
moment and task. The cares of Londor are mine alone to worry
about."

"Our bond is strong, and I will never do
anything to ruin that."

"Many thanks, young elf-warrior." Randor
resumed his focus and loosed his soul to the winds for the last
summons of the night. Though he would not be able to receive the
entire collection of prayers, he would endure as many as possible.
"I will return promptly," he said. Gildan was already on his way to
the camp. He needed rest, and the morning would come soon
enough.

In the firelight, the company was in deep
conversation, guessing at details of the quest. All had their
doubts about the next day's agenda. "What do we know about this
prophet whom we are forced to meet?" Arnanor said, shaking his
head. "Magic should not dominate our path. I have never concurred
with such nonsense!"

"Yet we cannot afford to overlook any help we
may find," Seth replied.

Malander simply laughed to himself, finding
the argument amusing.

Talk ceased as Gildan strode into the
firelight. Arnanor could not conceal his curiosity about the
meeting on the hill, and indeed, all but Malander eagerly awaited
Gildan's report. The mercenary lifted his sword off the cloth on
the ground and began cleaning the blade, making eye contact with no
one.

"Tell me your account," Arnanor demanded.

"Of which do you speak? I have many stories
of interest."

"This one, in which you spend time away from
my presence."

"I merely went to assess Randor's condition,"
he replied plainly. "A bit weary, but overall he is well." He went
back to polishing his blade.

"What news do you bring?"

"None."

"You spoke not a word to him?"

"Randor was deep within a trance. Who am I to
break into his divine reverie?"

"Who are
you
?" Arnanor began, trying to hold back a
derisive laugh. "Why, you are the great Gildan Gundagrin, master of
the sword, and the most renowned mercenary in the entire
world!"

Gildan laughed and took no offense. "Indeed,
I am all these things and more, but I have never been one to
provoke allied wizards. If you want answers, then I suggest you
take your questions to Randor."

"In time I will," Arnanor proclaimed
confidently as he pointed his finger at Gildan.

"What were you discussing on my return?"

"We were at odds about this Oracle friend of
Randor's," Seth replied.

"Ah, yes, the Oracle," Gildan whispered.

"What can you say about this?" Seth asked,
hoping to calm the battle of words. "No two here seem to have the
same idea."

"I say nothing," Gildan replied sharply.

"You must say something!" said the angered
prince.

"Your raised voice gains you nothing," Gildan
retorted calmly, growing tired of Arnanor's intemperance.

Muron, uneasy at the darkened forest around
him, kept constant watch over his shoulder. No one but Geil noticed
the prince's glances. Though Muron's sense of hearing had decreased
somewhat in the two months since the moon Beldas's vanishing, he
could not dismiss the foreign noises that seemed close by. He held
his eyes open as long as he could without blinking, so as not to
miss anything.

"Geil?" he whispered.

"Yes?"

"Do you…hear that?"

"I do not detect any strange sounds, my lord.
I would suppose that those you hear are the natural sounds of this
forest."

"I can clearly distinguish something odd
afoot."

"What are you talking about?" Arnanor asked,
thinking his brother foolish.

"Unfriendly sounds."

"Can you be more descriptive?" Gildan
asked.

"Wait," Seth whispered. "I, too, can hear
something."

"And I," Lorn added. "Faint…but it is
there."

"Wolves?" Seth asked Lorn.

Lorn nodded. "Perhaps so."

A long, eerie howl rang out over the woods,
followed by what sounded like a creaking and rustling of distant
trees. Gildan and Arnanor were quick to their feet; the mercenary
already held his drawn sword. Arnanor stretched out his empty hand,
and Geil fetched the prince's sword from where it leaned against
the log. The elf-prince held his blade high in readiness. Lorn
clung close to Seth, and Muron respectfully took cover behind his
guardian. Malander's eyes shifted wildly, as if a welter of
preposterous ideas tumbled through his wretched mind. Arnanor
turned about slowly with his blade pointed outward.

"That is a sound not familiar to this
region," Gildan stated. "I think a small investigation is in
order."

"Yes," Arnanor agreed.

"Someone needs to tell Randor," Lorn said
meekly. "He would know what to do." Though he was surrounded by a
group of armed companions, it brought him no comfort. More howls
erupted all around them, growing in volume. Lorn moaned and buried
his face in his hands, saying, "I cannot contend with this."

"We can handle this without Randor," Gildan
said.

"Brother, what shall we do?" Muron asked from
behind Geil, who shielded the prince from the unseen threat. The
knight, scanning the trees for a possible clue, dared not relax his
guard. The sounds were all too familiar to Geil, but not wishing to
alarm the others, he remained silent and performed his primary
function.

"Marghelor and I are eager to spill blood,"
Gildan proclaimed, holding his blade proudly before him. "Let evil
come."

Malander finally came around and stood in
grim anticipation, his sword still sheathed but his fingers resting
on the pommel. Weeks had passed since he had a reason to use his
weapon in combat. This was an opportunity he longed for, for it
allowed him to forget his sorrows and fill the great void in his
soul, to quench the burning fury deep inside him, which nothing in
the world seemed able to extinguish.

Muron felt the sheath at his waist and
realized that his sword was missing. Looking to his steed in
horror, he saw his blade, still latched to the saddle. "My sword…,"
he gasped. "I must retrieve it."

"No, you will not," Arnanor replied boldly.
Frantic, Muron leaned over and tugged on his brother's shoulder.
"You heard me correctly, Muron."

"But why?"

"This is not your place. It is my duty,
ultimately, to look after you. I will not lose you to something as
trivial as this." Arnanor stepped closer to Geil.

"Your orders, my lord?"

"Remain here with Muron for the time being.
Do not stray unless I order it. The remainder of the company and I
leave for the surrounding forest."

"As you wish, sire. I await your next
command."

"Come," Gildan said, gesturing to Seth and
Malander. "You two will accompany the prince and me. Lorn, you will
stay behind, if that's what you fancy." Lorn nodded his head and
made it clear to the mercenary that he did not want to fight.
Gildan strode away, leading Malander and Arnanor into the dark
forest. Before Seth was able to attach himself to the group, the
dwarf's shaking hands stopped him.

"What am I to do?" Lorn asked.

Seth looked down at the frightened dwarf and
said, "Just remain calm until we get back. You will be much safer
here than you would be with the four of us. Stay by the fire with
the Northern elves."

Lorn looked up at Seth with eyes glazed over
by panic. It tore at Seth that he must leave his friend behind, but
he had no choice, for the other three were already heading away,
and he could not remain any longer.