The White Shadow Saga: The Stolen Moon of Londor (3 page)

"
Orig-nah!
" commanded Gildan, and the Obinoth
marched through the darkness in haste. Randor resumed his place
leading the elves. Fate, he knew, ultimately claimed whatever it
longed for, and at this moment no one knew what or whom it
stalked.

* * *

The Rhingar escaped to the north at a fast
pace, though they were beset with fatigue. Gildan and Randor
commanded the pursuit, encountering obstacles of fallen trees and
murky water every step of the trek. The moonlight was dimmer now as
the Obinoth pressed through the heart of the forest.

Gildan paused and listened. In the distance,
sounds of war cries and the clanging of swords urged his troops
forth.

"We're close," Gildan whispered.

"Yes," replied Randor. "It will not be long
now."

"Then let us charge with full speed."

"So be it," Randor said simply.

Gildan peered over his shoulder and extended
his sword. Through the rare columns of moonlight, the Obinoth
hastened into the unknown forest. Randor did not try to keep
up--the battle belonged to the elves now--though he would remain
close by to grant secondary aid if necessary. The wind stung the
elves' eyes but did nothing to daunt their inspiration. Their ears
rang with the sounds of battle as they raced toward a clash that
they could not see very well. Their sight grew dimmer and darker as
prayers sprang like fountains, all asking for light to grace the
path ahead.

Randor softly uttered a spell, and to the
Obinoth's surprise, a shimmering comet of silver light arced
through the air above Gildan's head and beyond. Randor's unexpected
aid struck the Obinoth with dismay, however, for they could see the
battle as plain as day before them. Rhingar filled their sight,
with no Obinoth soldier to be seen.

One last row of tall trees barred Gildan and
his followers from the skirmish. Rushing through the forest, the
elf-mercenary led them into the Rhingar's midst, and before the
dark elves knew what was upon them, Obinoth blades struck, killing
many. The Rhingar were bombarded, and the last remnants of
discipline they possessed melted away. Gildan sought out his
companions as he hacked down one enemy after another. All that he
found, however, were more Rhingar to meet his sword, bejeweled with
dark blood. Bodies of the enemy tumbled all around him.

Randor was left in solitude at the edge of
his gracious light. Pausing in his advance, he crossed his arms and
watched over his allies. To the wizard's satisfaction, the Obinoth
pressed farther north, with not one of Gildan's soldiers falling to
the dark swords. The Rhingar were soon surrounded, and the Obinoth
companies were reunited.

Gildan smiled, prouder than ever to see
his battalion together again. Free from danger for an instant, he
shouted, "
Tu
trose!
"

At long last, Randor sensed the battle
drawing to its end, and he calmly approached as the final shrieks
of agony from the enemy faded. The Rhingar were defeated at last.
The elves of Obinoth were burdened no more, and celebration began
at once. Randor took out his tobacco pipe and lit it with great
satisfaction.

Gildan drew away from his army, and smiling
toward Randor, said, "Come. Share in the victory."

"I am not one given to partake in such
festivities. This night is yours to rejoice in, for it was you and
the elves that brought victory."

Faragen came forth from the crowd and fell to
one knee, lowering his head humbly, and the rest of the Obinoth
followed suit--except Gildan who knew better from past adventures
with Randor. "Your wisdom and strength will endure through the ages
within our people's songs and stories, Great Servant."

"Rise, Lieutenant Faragen," Randor said,
uncomfortable with any form of adoration. He placed his hands on
the elf's shoulders and brought him to his feet. "Do not kneel
before me, but rather give your thanks to Ethindar alone. I cannot
bless you or your kind as he can. Praise Ethindar for the mana from
the moons, giving your kindred and the rest of the world their
strengths."

Faragen nodded and, turning, motioned for the
army to rise. "What is your next command, Gildan?" Faragen
asked.

"Search for the wounded first." He paused,
and knew his next words would not be pleasant for the Obinoth to
hear. "Then I want you to bury the slain in this forest. Collect
all their personal items, for these shall be returned to their
proper places in your kingdom."

"It shall be done."

Faragen took sole command of the army and led
them southward, leaving Randor and Gildan behind.

"I will require an exact count of those
alive," Gildan said.

"All in good time," replied Randor. As they
strode into the thick of the forest, the magic light dimmed and
then was no more.

"I have to admit that I can no longer
remember the reason for this war's beginning," Gildan confided in
Randor. "My memory has been altered by the constant change of
conflicting feelings." He laughed quietly. "I almost forget how
much gold the Obinoth king gave me, but I am not that far gone
yet."

"The Rhingar may not be prepared to strike
again soon," Randor said, "but I am sure another force will greet
the Obinoth in the future."

"If I catch wind of an uprising, I may
consider aiding the good people of Obinoth again--if the price is
in my favor." He wiped his blade clean with a small white cloth and
sheathed it.

Their pace slackened as they drew closer to
the Obinoth, who were already at work over their fallen brave,
using small spades and hatchets to dig beneath the forest
floor.

A group of soldiers searched the forest for
survivors, and when Faragen appeared from behind a great beech
tree, his expression unclear, Gildan and Randor greeted the elf
kindly.

"What tidings do you bring?" Gildan
asked.

"Sixty-three have been returned to us, sir,
only a few of them seriously afflicted. This raises the count of
Obinoth within the forest to three-hundred and twelve."

"Thank you," replied Gildan, and Faragen
saluted, proceeding with his duties.

Randor studied the heavens, deep in thought.
"The dawn approaches. We must be away with the sun."

"Their labors here will be complete before
then," Gildan assured him.

"Sixteen days shall it be before we see the
border of the Obinoth kingdom. It will be a wondrous sight,
Gildan."

"I can already smell the gold set aside for
me."

* * *

The two were standing alongside the grave,
which was six feet deep and stretched ninety feet in length. The
slain elves were laid inside with great reverence. Swords and
jewelry were removed and stored on the path leading out of the
forest. Randor propped his back against a tree and looked into his
tobacco pouch, noticing that it was almost empty. It would be five
days before they reached a decent city.

Finished at last with the burial, the elves
filled the grave with dirt and tamped and smoothed the earth. The
sounds of labor ceased, and Gildan turned to the soldiers. Without
uttering a word, the battalion came to attention and awaited
command.

"Those bound to the possessions of the dead
do so as we move out. We take the high pass and rest upon the
Plains of Erogd tonight. At sunrise we make haste to Obinoth."
Gildan's speech was drowned by a deafening cry of happiness from
his elves. Raising his hand, he brought silence back to the forest.
"I am honored to stand before you as your leader. You ennoble my
existence." He smiled, looked to Randor, and turned back to his
elves. "So, come. Let us march, my friends."

Gildan pointed to the west, and the army set
off. Seventy elves remained behind and secured the belongings of
the dead to their persons, each latching three or four swords to
his belt and tucking jewelry into side pouches.

Only Gildan and Randor stood reflecting in
the forest. Randor stood upright and dusted off his cloak. "Come
ahead, my good elf," Randor said, beckoning.

* * *

Free at last of the darkened forest, Randor
and Gildan followed the path under the shining heavens, listening
to the sweet sound of the battalion's voices raised in cheer. The
warriors had already crossed the river and were gathered with the
company that had been left to guard the passage. With no reason now
to remain vigilant, all were in the valley for celebration. The
news of battle's end had been told, and praise was given to the two
leaders as they approached the opposite bank. Swords were raised
high into the night sky. Taking the lead, Randor directed Gildan to
the water's edge. Gildan relaxed and let the soft breeze cool his
sweaty face as he gazed blankly toward the high pass. Slowly his
strength was returning to him.

Randor's eyes were drawn to the stilled water
as he looked at the twin moons' reflection there. He took one step
into the river; then something stopped him. A powerful sense of
befuddlement filled him as he watched the moonlight on the ripples.
Many ripples spilled over one another, distorting the once perfect
mirroring of the moons as Randor watched in horror, feeling
confused and yet powerless to find any resolution to this sudden,
strange feeling. He tried to shift his sight, but a greater power
locked his eyes to the celestial forms in the water. When the
ripples ceased, only one moon's reflection remained.

"My vision falters," he whispered. And slowly
he raised his head and stared at the sky, saying, "This must be a
nightmare." But much though as he wanted it to be, it was not. Only
one moon now shone down on Londor. "Gildan!" he gasped.

The elf broke free of his stupor and noticed
Randor's weakened state. "What happened, Randor?" he asked in
panic. Rushing to the wizard's side, he caught him just before he
fell.

"Look into the heavens, I ask."

Gildan looked upward in confusion and
soon saw the source of Randor's fright: the moon, Beldas,
was
gone
. He blinked his eyes
rapidly, trying to refocus, but when he looked again, he still saw
the empty spot in the heavens. "But how…?" He looked to Randor.
"Did you see what occurred?"

"I--I do not know," was his pain-filled
response. "I watched it vanish in the water's reflection."

"Did magic cause this?" Gildan grew cold, and
his fear began to creep into his soul. "Did it disintegrate? Did it
fall into the Black Void?"

Randor did not reply, and the Obinoth around
Gildan did not see what had occurred either to Randor or to the
moon. Gildan lifted the wizard higher and placed his arm under
Randor's, aiding him across the river. The elves, concerned for
Randor, followed the two leaders across unbidden. Telsar and
Faragen strode through the water and were at Gildan's side, aiding
him to the best of their ability. As they reached the western bank
of the river, Randor dropped in a swoon. His pipe broke free from
his trembling lips, and his hat was caught away by the wind and
skipped end-over-end across the river cobbles. Randor clasped his
hand over his chest, feeling a sudden, growing pain, as Gildan
hovered at his side and tried to keep him awake. The rest of the
Obinoth, now aware of the moon's strange disappearance, looked
about themselves in shock and began to wail in anguish at the
world's unthinkable loss.

Gildan, sobbing now, knew not what to do. His
body gave way to shivering, and his mind reeled with dizziness. No
wizard, and least of all Randor, ever fell in sickness.

Gildan and the two lieutenants knelt around
the motionless Randor, dumbfounded; the three elves could only
exchange worried glances. Gildan removed the sweaty strands of hair
from Randor's quickly paling face.

"Is he dead?" Telsar asked.

Gildan pressed his fingers to Randor's neck
and felt about. "I do not feel the blood pulsing through his
veins." For the first time in his life it became difficult for him
to speak. "Let it be said that he passed after Beldas, leaving a
void here on earth to match that left in heaven."

It was a tragedy beyond all knowing, for the
elves depended utterly on the formation of the heavens. The moons,
Beldas and Cadmor, were the source of all mana bestowed on the
race. The balance, not only of the elves but also of the entire
world, was controlled by these two celestial beings. And since
Randor Miithra and the rest of his order were directly connected to
Londor's spirit, the sudden misconfiguration of the moons would
affect all their existence. All of Randor's strength, magic, and
well-being lay solely with heaven's gracious mana. The idea of
Londor's only source of power vanishing was unfathomable.

What could possibly do
this?
Gildan asked himself.
What could subject the world to such ultimate
downfall?
Gildan staggered, grieving, to his
feet.
We are doomed for
certain.

"What shall we do?" asked Faragen.

"We must turn to the Council now. Only they
can help. Surely the Great Tree still houses their wisdom in spite
of everything." Gildan turned back to Randor. "Help me carry him
out of this accursed place." The two officers aided Gildan in
lifting Randor up onto their shoulders. He lay heavy in their damp
and shaking hands, but their will was strong.

The climb was slow and arduous, and now the
only concerns were the moon and Randor, the flush of victory over
the Rhingar already a distant memory. The steep road now lay behind
them as they drew level with the high pass. "Careful," he ordered.
"Make way…" The Obinoth kept their distance from the three bearers
as they advanced to the front. "Right over there." A blanket from a
nearby soldier was placed on the ground as Gildan let go of
Randor's body.