The White Shadow Saga: The Stolen Moon of Londor (23 page)

Seth and Lorn accompanied Randor and the
Oracle down a straight-shot path that disappeared into the
thickening fog. The knight and the dwarf stood back to back as they
maneuvered along, at first without incident. Then, as they passed a
thick copse of trees, five large werewolves leaped down onto the
road, hissing and snarling at the four escapees. Lorn began to lose
his slowly regained composure when he looked up to see the
silhouettes of the massive figures. Three of the five stood over
him…yet did not attack. Lorn found it difficult to breathe as the
glowing red eyes seemed to hypnotize him. Reaching behind him, he
tried to gain Seth's attention, but Seth was occupied already with
the other attackers. The Mazazuken seemed unfazed by the ferocity
of Seth's looks and laughed at his effort.

Stepping forward, Randor stretched out his
arm toward the wolves and saw a slight backstep--they knew exactly
who he was. "Retreat or you shall feel pain like never before!"
Under the tinted glasses and shadow of his brimmed hat, a quiet
rage grew; unlike the Oracle, who slumped his shoulders in fatigue,
Randor was not in the mood to hesitate.

Slowly the five attackers stepped back
farther, then fled around the company and headed up the hill toward
the mansion. Lorn clapped his hand to his chest, but his moment of
relief was short-lived, ending as Seth nudged him forward along the
path. Randor grabbed the Oracle once more and followed close behind
the knight.

"They are running away without a fight!" said
Seth, dumbfounded. His mouth dropped open as he saw the horde back
away, leaving them unopposed. But he had little time to think
why.

"We are of no consequence to the Mazazuken
now," Randor said. "They are not seeking us any further. What they
are after is not with us." The Oracle looked to Randor with tired
eyes, for even he was baffled by the comment. "Keep your current
pace, Seth. The river is not far." He could see through the trees
and guided purely from his memories of where the bridge was
located.

* * *

"Brother!" Muron cried, still battling the
wolves that rose up in their path. He and Geil had fought together
since escaping the mansion, spilling much enemy blood, to their
immense gratification. Arnanor led the way, though it was not the
quickest or the straightest path toward the others, and they were
forced to fight an uphill war until at last the numbers of the
enemy thinned. As Muron flailed away, barely managing to stay on
his feet, he could see exactly what was happening behind them, at
the mansion. "Stop, Arnanor!"

But Arnanor kept moving, ignoring Muron's
attempt to change his actions. He kept on in haste, trying to find
the nearest way off the hill. Sniffing the brisk air, he began to
doubt the wizard's assurance that this river actually existed at
all.

"Prince Arnanor!" Geil gasped.

Arnanor peered over his fur-trimmed shoulder,
still moving forward. Before he could reply, he saw. Dark smoke
billowed from many broken windows of the once great mansion. After
tossing dozens of torches inside, the Mazazuken roared in victory.
Flames danced along the foundation of stone. Apparently, Yindraken
had achieved his objective.

"We must return to see if everyone made it
out all right!" Muron said, huffing.

"All have escaped," Arnanor replied, not
knowing whether his words were true. He only knew that he did not
want to backtrack, not even for his companions.

Not far away, the elves heard the faint sound
of running water. Heartened by the sound, the three redoubled their
efforts to reach the river. Down the hill they went, making easy
progress. The trees thinned out, and they were moving through tall
grass that covered the sloping hill. The fog was behind them now,
and their destination lay dead ahead--but no bridge stood there.
Across the wide, swift water, another dense band of woods ran the
entire length of the river.

"No bridge," Arnanor said softly. Clambering
atop a nearby boulder, he looked both ways, relishing the cool wind
blowing across his sweaty face. The prince sheathed his sword and
crossed his arms.

"Which way shall we go?" Geil asked.

Arnanor looked again and saw nothing.
He knew they couldn't have been the first off the hill, nor could
they be far from their mark. His body ached from the long, running
fight, and the armor weighed him down. He could see his brother
panting as he rested his hands on his knees, placing his blade at
his side. Geil stepped back to give the young prince room to
breathe.
East or west?
Arnanor
thought. No sense of intuition was left in him, for the absence of
the moon had stripped away what elvish abilities he had. It
frustrated him that even the simplest powers were now beyond him.
"Muron," he said as he came down from the rock. His brother looked
up to him, his face worn with fatigue.

"I will be fine," Muron offered.

"I know you will," replied Arnanor. "Have you
any intuition left?"

Muron lowered his head and closed his eyes in
concentration. Dizziness consumed him as he attempted to draw out
his gift. But try as he may, all magic was void. The elf shook his
head. "I am sorry, my brother, but mine is gone as well."

"Damn!" Arnanor yelled, spooking a nearby
flock of birds into flight. He paced the ground and looked into the
dawn sky. They could not afford to wait around. Arnanor did not
want Randor finding the three lost; the embarrassment would be too
great to bear. The prince had to decide quickly the way he would
lead them. "We will make haste to the east." Arnanor turned and
said, "Keep your guard up, especially you, Sir Geil."

"Yes, my lord."

Onward the three went, ducking between
massive granite boulders, as the sun rose over the evergreen
forest. The riverbank seemed clear of any threat, but as they
crossed a long bank of dark sand, a shuffling of leaves startled
them.

"What was--" But before Muron could finish
his thought or draw his sword, Gildan and Malander emerged from the
bushes. The startled Geil instinctively swung his toward the
threat--directly at Malander, who pushed off the blade.

Wagging his finger, he said, "Don't try that
again, elf."

"Where is Randor?" Gildan asked, cleaning off
his sword in the river shallows. The three small jewels on his
forehead gleamed in the morning rays.

"You don't know, either?" asked Muron.

"We'll find him," Arnanor replied. "Follow
me, everyone." The prince led the charge as the delayed companions
hastened away to find their leader.

* * *

As Arnanor came atop the last of the large
hills of the Oracle's land, he saw the river curve drastically
around the base of the hill, where the rapids grew stronger.

"There it is!" Muron exclaimed, relieved to
see Randor, standing at the middle of the bridge with the rest of
the company. "I'd thought we'd never see this."

"The elves!" Seth shouted, leaning over the
bridge's heavy handrail. Glad that the battles were over for now,
Seth realized how very tired he was, for he hadn't had a good,
sound night's sleep in more than two weeks. And something told him
that it would be a while longer yet before he could rest. Lorn was
at his side, sitting down on the wooden planks with his back
propped against a support beam.

Randor stood quietly alongside the Oracle,
watching the smoke pour from the woods atop the hill.

"Look at that," Seth gasped, pointing to the
north, his eyes wide with amazement. Lorn's sight followed the
outstretched arm.

Randor lowered his head, not looking forward
to the Oracle's reaction.

"My home," the Oracle managed to speak, aware
for the first time that the mansion was no more. He longed to
return, to attempt to save what was left. The people and spirits he
had guarded these long ages needed his guidance, and all would be
lost in the supernatural realm if he failed. "I must leave." He
pushed off the handrail.

"It is folly," Seth said, shaking his head.
He would not aid the Oracle. "Leave me out of this."

"I am with you, Seth," Lorn added.

"So are we all," Randor replied, to Seth's
surprise. He placed his hand on the Oracle's shoulder, stopping his
movement. The Oracle shrugged, releasing Randor's grip. "You cannot
return, my friend. You are not well enough….There is nothing for
you to save." He paused. "Save yourself."

"Nonsense."

"Your death is not an alternative."

"Death is always an alternative, Randor." The
Oracle started down the bridge. Randor and the others watched the
frail being limp along, supporting himself by the rail when
needed.

Just then, Malander and the Northern elves
arrived and stepped onto the bridge, unknowingly blocking the
Oracle's way. Looking up, Malander took a few steps more, then
stopped, puzzled at the Oracle's advance. He gripped his sword more
tightly, unsure what to expect, as the Oracle looked at him
strangely and staggered ahead.

"What are you doing?" Malander asked
softly.

"Stand aside," the Oracle warned.

"Remain steadfast," Randor ordered. "Do not
let him off this bridge. He has grown delirious."

"I don't want to harm you," said the Oracle
as he raised his hands.

"I doubt you could!" Malander growled, his
overconfidence showing itself.

"Do not tempt me."

"I believe I just did."

"What is going on here?" asked Arnanor.

The Oracle slumped against the handrail and
said, "You leave me no choice." As he raised his hands, the wind
kicked up suddenly, blowing Malander and the elves backward a few
steps. The Oracle, unaffected by his magic, stared at the angered
Malander and began to unfasten his long, fur-trimmed robe. As he
unfastened it from his shoulders, it caught on the wind and was
carried off, over the head of Malander and the others standing
before him.

"Wings?" Seth gasped, staring at the Oracle's
back. And indeed, a pair of long, white-feathered wings stretched
out behind him to a more than eight-foot span.

The Oracle looked over his shoulder and
smiled at Randor. The gods forbade the usage of wings by the Oracle
and his kindred; the punishment could well be death.

"Do not do this!" Randor pleaded, not wanting
to see his old friend come to grief. The absence of the Oracle
would leave the world in emptiness.

"It is too late," he replied, uncaring of the
consequences. He had lost his most cherished possession; losing his
life meant little now. Malander still inched his way toward him,
sword aimed directly at his chest. "Find the moon, Randor!" the
Oracle cried, giving a great flap of his wings. The entire wooden
structure swayed from the force. "Farewell." And with a mighty wing
thrust, the Oracle shot straight up into the sky, where he hovered
for a brief moment above the company. The smoke that rose in the
distance held his eyes prisoner, calling him back to his burning
abode. He felt strong once again as his remaining powers surged up
in him. It had been ages since his wings were exposed, but never
would he forget how to use them. The gentle flaps felt wonderful;
it was a shame he had to hasten away to settle business just
now.

"We must stop him, Randor!" Seth said.
"You're the only one who can bring him down from there!"

"I am not one to bring intervention to his
affairs. All I can do is offer my advice. It seems, though, his
ears are closed to our voices."

And as the Oracle bolted off and soared high
over the tall trees, soon falling from view, Randor said, "Come, we
have a task to complete." Pointing across the river, he retook the
lead. "To the south!"

Chapter Ten: Out of the Shadows

After their harrowing encounters within the
Oracle's forest, the company endured three long days of marching.
There were no signs of the Mazazuken on their heels since the
werewolf clan's business laid only with the Oracle's mansion.
Through the Hills of Magadon they saw no signs of civilization, nor
any enemies--just never-ending green slopes. Food was rare along
the way south, as was clean water, and the princes missed their
horses, never having traveled without them. The days were filled
with warm weather and silence, with no one feeling much in a mood
for conversation. Randor and Gildan spoke from time to time but
generally kept to themselves, and in the cool evenings Geil
provided some diversion with elvish songs and tales while the
wizard and the elf-mercenary filled the air with great clouds of
pipe smoke, laughing now and again at the bawdy lyrics of Geil's
songs.

Lorn used his free time drawing the hills
around them, while Seth was content simply to relax and glance over
the dwarf's shoulder at his work. All found it amusing that
Malander sat away from the gathering, still cursing the Oracle for
arousing his anger.

On the forth day at dawn, while few citizens
were on the streets, Randor led the company from the fields to the
edge of Nar-Fhandon, lined with houses of rough brown stones and
red shingled roofs.

"Lorn," Randor whispered. The dwarf
approached and awaited his next word. "Show me the drawing of that
symbol. I want everyone to have an exact idea of what to look for."
Lorn removed the paper from his rolled collection of drawings and
handed it over, to be passed around for all to commit afresh to
memory.

"Your orders, sir?" Seth asked, standing at
attention.

"Divide into two groups and search the area
for any clues. Ask any local folk you deem trustworthy, and keep
your composure. If this symbol is evil, I am sure it has spies
everywhere." Separating the company at this point in time seemed
the best plan to the wizard, for the diversity of Zelok's group
might draw unwelcome curiosity in this region.

"That settles it," Arnanor, said, stepping
away. "Muron, Geil, let us leave."