The White Shadow Saga: The Stolen Moon of Londor (11 page)

"An old campsite," Seth said. "Safe, you say?
How do you know no one will be returning to this fire tonight?"

"This was my place of rest just yesterday.
There are no others who would come into this forest these days."
Randor took a seat by the pit and relaxed. "The Oracle goes
unnoticed by the world, and the forest is all but lifeless. If any
desired to live here, they would struggle to survive." He paused
and looked about them. "But I have compassion for this forest. It
used to be so beautiful in the autumn months." All sat around the
fire pit except Seth, who prepared to hunt for the night's
provisions.

"I will return shortly," he said as he walked
back to his horse. Taking his bow, he soon vanished in the
woods.

With a wave of his hand, Randor ignited the
damp wood in the pit, and a flame sprang to life, warming the
travelers. Its light graced the entire clearing, yet no
farther.

In the campsite, Malander sat in the same
manner he rode--away from the others--and kept his back to the
company. The Northern elves huddled close together and spoke in
their native tongue, keeping their affairs to themselves. The
elf-mercenary and Randor brought their tobacco pipes out and lit
them.

"This place is somehow unaffected by the
weather," Randor said. He looked up into the swaying canopy of
leaves.

"Did you see this Oracle yesterday?" asked
Gildan.

"No," he replied. "I arrived just as night
took over the world. I dare not disturb him after sunset. It would
be…" He paused. "It would be unsafe; I will leave it at that."

"Dangerous?"

"Let us not discuss this in the open, my
friend. We have much still to say of our separate ventures, do we
not?"

"We haven't the time to complete them to
their ends," Gildan answered. Both laughed, knowing it was true.
Gildan drew out his sword and laid it across his lap, inspecting
its condition before letting go of the hilt. The sword was an
uncommon weapon for an elf--no other of his kind would ever
consider arming himself with a blade over forty inches long. "What
type of tobacco are you using these days, Randor?"

"Esdacor," Randor muttered around the pipe
clamped between his teeth. "My pouch soon grows bare, I am
afraid."

"I am willing to share some Goldtrine I
purchased in Dunane." Gildan reached into a pocket, pulled out a
small white pouch, and shook it with delight. "My belongings are
yours as well."

"Even your vast hoard of gold?"

"I wouldn't press my good standing, Randor,"
the elf replied with a grin.

Arnanor stared at the flickering fire. Not
satisfied with its size, he snapped his fingers to gain Sir Geil's
attention. "Take Muron and yourself for more firewood."

"Yes, my lord." He stood, as did the young
prince. Muron stayed at the elf-knight's side as they disappeared
into the thick brush nearby.

Seth returned to the fire, carrying a brace
of four plump fowls--a type of partridge known as red hearths.
Lorn, in awe of his friend's consummate bowmanship, welcomed him by
making room on the log where he sat. Seth tossed the birds to the
ground and looked at Randor. The wizard nodded and said, "Good
work, Sir Knight."

"Thank you, sir." Seth knelt to the ground,
and he and Lorn began plucking the long feathers from the birds. He
suddenly felt very hungry.

Arnanor smiled and looked at his companions
with disdain. Dreams were constantly in his thoughts about the
future, when he would become monarch of the Northern Kingdom.
Arnanor would never see the others in the company as equals--not
even his own brother. He inspected the gold facets on his precious
armor. The climate was warmer than he was accustomed to, but he
didn't complain or wish to lighten his load, for wearing the royal
armor gave him a feeling, if not of invincibility, at least of
superiority.

"The food shouldn't be long," Lorn announced
as he stretched the first bird on green wands over the fire. He
rubbed his hands in the warmth and sat beside Seth to admire the
roasting meat.

"This will be a decent meal," Seth commented.
He glanced at Arnanor, who was impatiently awaiting the return of
his brother and Geil. Both appeared moments later with armfuls of
wood of various colors and sizes. It would be more than enough to
get them through the night.

Randor looked like a statue as he stared
blankly into the dancing tails of the blaze. The air around him was
enveloped with the sweet smell of Goldtrine as its smoke swirled
upward. Geil bent down close to the wizard, placed the logs on the
ground, and tossed some of the smaller pieces in, sending red-gold
sparks up into the night.

"Any thoughts on Beldas, Randor?" Seth
inquired. Though he hadn't had time yet to speak to the wizard on
the matter, he had no doubt that Randor would come up with an
answer from all the lifetimes of experience and knowledge he
possessed.

"None at the present time," Randor answered.
"We do not need to be hasting about without a plan. We shall know
tomorrow; I promise you this."

It bothered Randor greatly that he had not
found a solution for Londor's troubles. In his eight thousand
years, he had mended the problems of many kingdoms without delay,
but this situation was steeped in an evil much older and more
cunning than any he had ever seen. Whoever or whatever was at the
bottom of this diabolical plot against Londor was no stranger to
secrecy and darkness.

Lorn attended to the roasting meat, feeling
of value for the first time since he left Beowulken. Juices
trickled down in long strands and met the fire with a hiss. The
dwarf thought about the drawing he had begun in Zelok's palace. The
charcoal in his satchel seemed to call for his hand to move it
deftly across the paper. His nerves calmed at the prospect of a
normal evening--something he had not seen in two long weeks.

"Seems like a clear night," Gildan said as he
looked up into the canopy. His view fell to a gap within that
showed the lone moon creeping slowly across the black sky. He still
felt strange at seeing it alone in the heavens.

"Fortunately for me, I missed the storms of
the elven valley," Randor said. He removed his hat and stroked back
his tangled hair. "Wretched weather, I should imagine."

"Fourteen straight days of it, the elves told
me," Seth added.

Arnanor was consumed with disgust,
miffed at not having his usual private tent and a royal battalion
surrounding him, at his beck and call. As regret began to gnaw at
him, he grew unsure why he had ever decided to enlist with such a
shabby company. No one knew where to begin the investigation, and
all in all, the motley group seemed most unpromising. To make
things even worse, now he had to follow the orders of a Randor.
Ultimately, though, the prince knew that it was his own choice to
be here, and he would see this journey through--even at the cost of
his own life. Though Arnanor was not concerned with the entire
world's suffering, he could not abide seeing the Northern Kingdom
fall into ruin. The rain still fell in his father's realm, and the
rivers flowed more wildly with each passing day. The icebergs were
melting rapidly, and a mood of impending disaster plagued the
prince's mind. He glanced at Muron and Geil, who seemed content
with their surroundings.
May this night
end soon
, Arnanor said to himself.

"Why has the weather turned so inclement,
anyhow?" Lorn asked as he turned the birds on the fire. "Does the
moon have a role in this?"

"Yes," Randor replied, blowing a great ring
of smoke into the air. "Much of the world--elves especially--relies
on the twin moons." He pointed up into the heavens, to where Beldas
should be. "For when Cadmor and Beldas are aligned with the God
Star, it releases the purest mana." All but Malander and Arnanor
listened to Randor. "Magic is manifested, giving the elves their
life force, wisdom, prosperity, and spirit." Seth had heard all
this earlier from Zelok, and he knew that Lorn had lost interest
earlier in the elf-king's words and no doubt was doing so now.

"What will happen if we do not succeed?"
Muron asked. Although the scholars of the Northern Kingdom had
lectured him on what to expect if the source of power was not
rebalanced, Muron had never believed them--until now. "I thought
all of those stories about drawing mana from the moons was a
fable."

"Do not be so naive," Arnanor snapped, coming
out of his despair, ashamed to hear such foolishness from his own
blood. "You know, Muron, that our way of life and power is directly
linked to the formation of the moons. Without the heavens, we will
all die in vain!"

"This past month I have seen the beginnings
of the world's ruin," said Randor. "The harvest is small, and great
kingdoms are withering." Sighing, he confessed, "Even I become
weaker, and over time I will be destroyed."

"I will not let that happen," Gildan
proclaimed with all his heart. "You are too dear to me."

"I know," Randor answered softly. "You hold
my undying trust, my good elf."

"Excuse me, gentlemen," Lorn interrupted.
Gildan and Randor looked at the dwarf. "The food is ready if you
are hungry. It isn't much, but it's better than boiled thistle, at
least." He smiled and stoked the fire with a pine knot. This
particular camp, anyway, was not as bad as he had feared. After
studying the darkened meat, he brought the roasted birds one by one
away from the flames and passed them out to his companions. "Please
eat, everyone."

The food was devoured in a twinkling. Seth
uncorked the first water skin and passed it to Lorn. As it made its
way to Muron, the young prince drank and tried to give it to
Arnanor, who shook his head and refused to touch it. "Have some
water, brother," Muron encouraged.

"Sir Geil," Arnanor spoke regally.

Geil placed his half a partridge on the
forest floor and stood before his master at once. "At your command,
my liege."

"Bring my canteen from my steed at once."

"Yes, my lord." Geil hurried across the
clearing to the prince's horse and untied a hidden skin of pure
water from the North, which he brought to his master. After taking
a long drink, Arnanor passed the skin to Muron. Not wanting it,
Muron passed the Northern canteen to Geil.

Arnanor frowned and leaned over in anger.
"Give that back to Muron!" he yelled.

"But I have already drunk," the young prince
said, pointing at the skin of communal water. Arnanor snatched the
inferior canteen and flung it through the air, though Malander
caught it before it could burst on the ground.

"This hostility of yours cannot remain if you
wish to travel with me," Randor advised. "Set aside your arrogance
until you leave my side. This is one thing I insist on from
you."

Arnanor didn't acknowledge the wizard but
stared into the fire. "Who is he to tell me what to do?" he
muttered under his breath. "Foolish wizard."

"You know what I am capable of, Prince,"
Randor answered, hearing every word the elf spoke. "You will
respect me no matter what. You will also respect those around
you….We must band together for the purpose--search your heart for
the higher calling."

"You expect me to trust
you
?" Arnanor blasted. "I have no
reason to!" He glared at Randor. "You admitted yourself that you do
not know where we are to go."

"Not even the wisest and eldest of creatures
know everything. I can only do what I can until my time on Londor
ends. Still I learn, even at this great age. I yearn for knowledge
so that I might pass it to those needing guidance."

"I find it hard to believe that with all your
years, not even one notion about the moon's vanishing speaks to
your soul," Arnanor said.

"I never assume, my proud but misguided
prince."

After this interchange, a mood of silence
settled over the company. The lone moon shone through a gap in the
canopy. No clouds blocked its view, and the company looked up, each
entertaining his own ideas about Beldas's disappearance. A gentle
breeze rustled the trees. Randor pondered long over what should be
done, but nothing came to him. His wisdom had failed him thus far,
but he had to put it right, for no other on Londor could complete
the task that was his to do. He then pondered whether the answer he
sought lay in the higher whisperings of the wind.

"Any thought yet?" Gildan asked. "With all of
me, I cannot conjure a solid idea."

Randor stood and placed his hat on his head.
"I must meditate," he said, and turned away from the company. He
strolled away to the south and was swallowed by the night.

"What's he doing?" asked Seth. "Is he leaving
us?"

"He will never abandon us, Seth," Gildan
answered. "Randor has gone to higher ground, to listen to the
winds."

"To hear what exactly?" Lorn asked.

"The prayers of the world."

"How can this be?" the dwarf replied. "Is
Randor a god?"

"He is a servant of Ethindar, Master of the
elves and Lord of creation. Randor has the ability to hear the
prayers meant for the gods, as all servants of Ethindar do."

"A servant?" Lorn was amazed. In his many
years he had heard very little of wizards, magicians, and the
various gods. His life as an artisan now showed, revealing his
narrow learning of the wider world--indeed, Lorn had a hard enough
time keeping up with the affairs of Beowulken. "How long has he
served Ethindar?"

"Eight thousand years," Gildan calculated,
watching Lorn's eyes growing even wider. "During that time,
however, he does return to his master every so often."

"Is he immortal?"

"No," Gildan answered sadly. "He can die."
The elf then laughed at the idea, which he thought ludicrous. "But
do not fear. There are none living that could possibly accomplish
the feat of slaying him. Not even a swarm of dark dragons could lay
a scratch on him."