Crescent Moon

by David Partelow

  Ellis Ander looked at his troops with a nod. “Well done,” he said before focusing on the small, dark cave. “I am curious to see what had eight orcs in such agitation,” he said.

  Fel looked at him sternly. “Be careful your wishes,” he countered. “We have no idea what lurks in that cave.”

  Ellis Ander shook his head. “I’ve never met an enemy of orcs that was not an ally of ours,” he said before motioning to the cave. “Let’s go discover the identity of this bane they craved so desperately.”

  Ellis Ander walked towards the cave. As he did so, he was certain he saw a pair of eyes within the cave watching him. While the avian approached, the eyes retreated further into the dark depths. Around the mouth of the cave, the remaining avians took up positions with their weapons at the ready.

  “Be ready for anything,” said Fel as he held his spear tightly and focused it at the dark cave.

  Ellis Ander looked at Fel sternly before holding out a hand to his troops. “Nonsense! Lower your weapons at once! Whatever is in here was merely hiding from orcs. We are likely doing more harm than good even as we speak!” Ellis Ander waited as his troops lowered their weapons before addressing the cave. “Forgive them, for I promise we mean you no harm. Please come out so that we may see to you and your safety,” he added.

  Ellis Ander’s words were met with silence. The avian surmised that his words were being considered. Ellis Ander remained silent and patient as he knelt by the cave in wait. After long moments, Ellis Ander could hear movement from the cave and soon a shadowy figure emerged. At the sight of him, Ellis Ander gasped, for it was a young gnome boy.

  Ellis could not believe his eyes, that such a small child could be considered a tormentor to a band of orcs. The gnome, who was small even as gnomes went, looked upon Ellis and his comrades warily. The little boy wore tattered clothes and was quite dirty, looking in desperate need sustenance. Ellis Ander nodded to the gnome as he motioned for him to come closer.

  Ellis held to his smile as he beckoned further to the gnome. “You do not need to be afraid anymore, little one,” said the avian. “My friends and I have scared off the orcs. They will trouble you no more.”

  The little gnome boy looked about with wide, ice-blue eyes. “They’re gone?” he asked.

  The avian commander nodded. “Yes, they are gone. You have my word that you are safe and shall continue to be so under our care. I am Ellis Ander Crow, and these are my troops. We are from Varion and by the empress herself, I promise we are no friends of orcs,” he said.

  Looking about for another moment, the young boy rushed to Ellis Ander and threw his arms around the avian. Dropping his spear, Ellis Ander held to the gnome, trying to offer the boy comfort. As the gnome wept, Ellis Ander stood up and continued to pat him on the back. Soon the crying stopped and was followed by soft sobbing.

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got you, little one,” said Ellis Ander. “How long have you been running from these orcs?”

  “Don’t know,” said the gnome between sobs. “Many days. Kept trying to be faster and smarter.”

  “What happened?” Ellis Ander asked.

  The gnome sighed painfully and clung tighter to the avian. “My family and friends were on our way to Lognar. Orcs attacked. Lots of them. I escaped. Been running and setting traps for them ever since. Don’t know what happened to my family. I’m so tired and I miss them,” whispered the little gnome.

  Ellis Ander held tighter to the gnome. “You have been very brave in a dark time,” said the avian. “What is your name?”

  After a few moments, the boy replied. “Rodrick.”

  Ellis Ander squeezed the gnome gently. “That is a bold name for a brave young man,” he said. “What do you say we take you to Lognar to see if any of your family have made it there ahead of you?” Rodrick said nothing but nodded in the avian’s arms.

  Ellis Ander turned to see the worry on Fel’s face. “That is further from Varion than any of us have dared travel, Ellis Ander. The empress would not be pleased,” said Fel.

  Ellis Ander narrowed his eyes at his friend. “And what would Empress Aura say if we were to turn our backs on a child in need? How could I look her in the eyes if I had ever done such an unspeakable act?” At his question, Fel lowered his head and Ellis Ander continued. “We shall solve both problems at once. Fel, you will lead our force back to Varion. I will rejoin you at home once I have taken this boy to the dwarven city of Lognar.”

  Fel shifted uncomfortably. “Commander, as your friend and comrade I would advise against this,” he said.

  Just then, Rodrick pulled his head from Ellis Ander’s chest and scowled for long moments at Fel. “I don’t trust him,” said the little gnome.

  Ellis Ander chuckled. “He’s not so bad when you get to know him,” said the avian in jest before nodding to Fel. “You have your orders. I will see you and the others back in Varion where I will accept full responsibility for my actions.”

  Fel nodded. “Understood, sir. Good luck to you,” he said before motioning to the others. Ellis Ander and Rodrick watched as the avians took flight and headed back to Varion.

  Ellis Ander watched them go for a few moments before he smiled again at the gnome in his arms. “Well then, brave Rodrick, are you ready to go to Lognar?”

  Rodrick looked at him boldly as he nodded. “I am,” he replied.

  “Good,” said Ellis Ander as he reclaimed his spear. “Now hang on tight and enjoy the ride. I assure you that there is no better thrill than the wind whipping against you in flight. Now here we go!”

  Thrashing his wings, Ellis Ander soared quickly into the air. Little Rodrick made noises of awe as he held to the avian. Ellis Ander rose higher so that the little gnome could enjoy the majestic view below. Looking at Rodrick, Ellis Ander was impressed to see that the gnome’s eyes were open as he watched on fearlessly.

  Ellis Ander squeezed tightly to the boy. “You have great courage, Rodrick. You would make a fine warrior with the right training,” he said.

  The little gnome nodded, never taking his eyes from the view of the ground. “I have to be. I never want to run from orcs again, or not be able to protect my family,” said Rodrick.

  “This was not your fault,” said Ellis Ander. “You are a youngling and should not be charged with such burdens.”

  Rodrick looked up at Ellis then. “But I will not always be young. I fear now I will grow up sooner than I ever expected,” he said.

  To this, Ellis Ander had no words, yet his heart hurt for little Rodrick. Instead of offering comforting words, Ellis Ander chose to fly freely for the boy, offering him the best trip that he could muster. The avian gave Rodrick a scenic view all the way to Lognar. In his arm, the gnome was silent and took in every single moment.

  At last, Ellis Ander neared the dwarven stronghold of Lognar. Surrounded the great Magma Cliffs, Lognar stood firmly as a beacon to all dwarves and halflings. Circling around, Ellis Ander began to descend as he and Rodrick admired the massive statue figures that towered around the city’s entrance. Figures of legendary dwarves looked equally inviting and protective of the home that paid tribute to them.

  Holding to Rodrick securely, Ellis Ander came to a landing. Kneeling, he lowered the young boy to the ground. Rodrick took him by the hand as Ellis Ander led them toward the gates of Lognar. Again, the avian was impressed with the gnome’s great courage despite all that he had endured.

  As they walked toward the gates, five dwarves rushed towards them armed with swords and shields. Rodrick looked up at Ellis Ander and the avian smiled for reassurance. Ellis Ander stopped and waited with Rodrick as the dwarves approached. Soon the dwarves were upon them and spanned out to surround the two new friends.

  Ellis Ander set his eyes and the dwarf in command as the dwarf pointed a finger at him. “What is your business in Lognar?”

  Ellis Ander offered the dwarf a bow before speaking. “Good sir, I am Ellis Ander Crow from Varion. I assure you that no trouble has been brought to you today.
My patrol discovered this brave gnome being pursued by a band of orcs and so we intervened. His name is Rodrick and he claims that his family was on his way to your city when they were attacked by orcs some days ago. He has been using his wits to keep ahead of the orcs ever since,” said the avian.

  The leader of the guards ordered his men to put away their swords. “We’ve held many instances of orc hostilities over the last few weeks. There is a great chance that Rodrick’s family has trickled in with others that have been attacked. I thank you for your assistance and hope that you forgive our caution. It has been many a season since we have seen an avian in these parts,” said the dwarf. “And I am Eeymor, Ellis Ander. By my beard and word, you and Rodrick are welcome here,” he added.

  Ellis Ander bowed once more. “You have my thanks, Eeymore. May blessings on the wind come to you and all Lognar. May I speak to Rodrick for another moment before he searches for his family?” the avian asked.

  Eeymor nodded. “Of course. I will take Rodrick myself and see that he is well cared for,” he said.

  Ellis Ander nodded gratefully to Eeymore before turning and kneeling before Rodrick. “Well, my new young friend, this is where we part ways for now,” he said.

  Rodrick nodded absently as sadness filled his eyes. “I understand,” said the boy.

  Putting down his spear, Ellis Ander placed his hands upon Rodrick’s shoulders and squeezed them softly. “You are safe now, my young friend. And I have an inkling that we shall see each other once more. Until then, no matter where the winds guide you, keep the courage that you possess and there is nothing that you cannot accomplish,” said Ellis Ander.

  Little Rodrick’s lips quivered as he fought tears. “But I am scared,” he whispered.

  Ellis Ander smiled at him. “And that is quite all right, young Rodrick. What makes courage so great is that you can allow it to rise above your fear so that fear does not define you. And you, my friend, are braver than most. Never lose that and know it is okay to be afraid, but never will it be okay to let your fears best you! Never forget this, Rodrick!” said the avian.

  Rodrick hugged him tight. “I won’t, Ellis Ander! And I will not forget you! I hope one day to be as brave a warrior as you!”

  Ellis Ander hugged him one last time as he stood back up. “I could ask for no greater honor,” said the avian. “Farewell for now, my little friend!”

  “Good bye, Ellis Ander,” said Rodrick.

  As the little gnome went to stand by Eeymor, Ellis Ander waved one last time. As Rodrick gave him a brave smile, the avian took to the skies again, flying over the dwarves and gnome before making his course back towards Varion. Leaving the great city of steel and stone behind him, Ellis Ander prepared himself for whatever awaited him, taking solace in the fact that little Rodrick was safe.

  Back at the gates of Lognar, little Rodrick watched as Ellis Ander became a speck in the sky. As Eeymor guided him into the city, the gnome could not yet understand how much the encounter had just shaped him completely. In his mind and heart, a powerful seed had been planted, one that would drive the gnome to be better and greater than he had ever expected.

  For now, in Rodrick rested the true aspirations and makings of a warrior.

  Act Two

  The Stirring Darkness

  The Prophet’s eyes shot open harshly. The ancient figure marveled at the fact that the Firestar had deeply set. He had no idea of knowing how long he had walked, for it could have been hours, or perhaps days. Gauging from his levels of hunger and weariness, it was the latter. Pausing to rest his aching bones, the Prophet held firmly to his walking staff as he caught his elusive breath.

  It was long moments that the Prophet rested there as the visions cemented in his mind. As he slowly recovered, he let his attention focus upon his surroundings. Quickly he deduced he had traveled three days’ time, guided by his visions and magics wrought by the light. He was not far from his destination and the knowledge instilled him with renewed, bittersweet purpose. Instantly he was reminded of the golden days, when time had not robbed him of his vitality or the prosperous age of a place he once called his home.

  Draining the final contents of his water skin, the Prophet wiped the sweat from his face. He relished the feeling of the cool breeze upon his skin and robes, grateful for the evening’s kind weather. The Prophet could smell mystic lake water in the air, mingling with the piney scent of the approaching forest. Within those scents was a more ancient smell, the smell of memories lost now upon the sands of time.

  Filled with longing and sadness, the Prophet continued his journey into the night, anxious and reluctant to reach his destination. He knew in the moment that he was safe, yet he also knew that such safety would not last. Soon magics would swell in this place like a beacon, drawing good and evil, curiosity and purpose to him. He hoped silently that he still had the strength to endure such a purpose, yet the ache in his bones left him to doubts.

  Before him, the Prophet could hear the waters as he approached. Having walked the route countless times before, he prepared himself for what rested behind the clearing. The impending sight had stolen his breath every time he had cast his gaze upon it. This time would be no different. Pushing forward, the Prophet passed through the forest to see the first traces of an ancient castle and forgotten kingdom.

  Looking now into the night, the Prophet let his vision fill with the immense structure unfurling before him. Ancient stone shimmered softly under moonlight, revealing the echoes of memories come and gone. The worn, stoic stone walls revealed their stories through wrought scars and growing ivy. For the of briefest moments, the Prophet could see it as it once stood before time and darkness robbed it of glory. Its sight, while still breath stealing, was stripped unjustly of its splendor. In silence, it spoke its tale of woe to the Prophet as he longed for its return to times forever gone.

  Pausing, the Prophet let his stolen breath return as he whispered his greeting. “Camelot,” he uttered with deep reverence. “I’ve come back to you.”

  The Prophet took reluctant steps toward the ancient kingdom, unable to resist the pull despite its condition. Never taking his eyes from the place, the Prophet walked down the span of Camelot. Rising like a spire from the rock that it rested upon, Camelot and its damaged walls still held their ground firmly. The Prophet then found comfort as he looked upon the Nivian Lake that nestled along the west walls of Camelot. Not far from there he ran his hands over the stone that once held Excalibur and near to that, a crumbling statue of Arthur himself.

  Nearing the statue, the Prophet placed a hand upon the monument of the great king. “Your efforts and memory will never go to vain as long as I still live. That is my promise to you,” he whispered before putting off the journey into Camelot no longer.

  The Prophet opted for the stone bridge that went across the lake to reach the castle. Though possessing a crumbled and broken gap toward it center, it was also one of the few entrances that was still accessible into Camelot. The broken bridge served as another means of protection and filter to those worthy of entrance.

  Reaching the gap, the Prophet silently raised his staff and placed his will upon it. The gentle waters below stirred before they strongly pushed water-logged stones upward. Rising, these stones bridged the gap, allowing the Prophet to continue forward safely. Now upon the other side of the bridge, the waters beneath the risen stone subsided and the elevated stones plummeted back into the depths of the lake.

  Continuing his trek, the Prophet reached the battered doors of the entryway before him. The doors themselves were broken and useless, yet held to their posts by shreds and splinters. In a few more seasons they too would fall, becoming another piece of Camelot lost to time. The Prophet made his way through the battered castle entrance and into the shadowy darkness of the kingdom’s innards.

  Immediately the Prophet’s heart sank further as he walked about the streets, seeing nothing but emptiness and decay. He knew there were those that still made this place their home, but the years
had made them adept at hiding from strangers and magical creatures who may serve dark purposes. The Prophet paid them no mind for they would offer no trouble at all. Steadily he made his way into the heart of Camelot and into the great hall, instantly reminded of past deeds lived through valor and adventure.

  The better times.

  Walking through the open doors of the hall, the Prophet again set his will into his staff. The tip began to glow with life, offering light where there was none. Now able to see, the Prophet treaded softly through the memories dancing in the flickering shadows offered by his light. He looked upon the faded paintings and tattered tapestries, moved by the reverie as he did so. The Prophet knew the hall well, had spent a lifetime upholding the principles and order of the light within it. They were times he would always cherish and always miss.

  Making his way upstairs, the Prophet opened one final doorway, taking moments to absorb the gravity of his remembrance. There before him now rested a sacred, magical pyre fashioned for communicating through distance and the beyond. Placed around that rested a true symbol of balance and justice, still somehow beautiful through the dust and soot that sullied it. Gazing again upon the Round Table brought the deep feelings to the Prophet fully as he reminisced again of adventures and councils that once were.

  Wordlessly, the Prophet pulled out one of the well-crafted chairs, appreciating the heft of it as it scraped across the floor. Sitting upon it, his weary bones welcomed the respite as he embraced the familiar sensation. He could not remember exactly when he had sat upon the chair last, yet the feeling it gave him in that moment made it feel like only yesterday. Placing his staff down upon the Round Table, the Prophet ran his hands over its smooth, dusty surface and savored the flooding of memories.

  “It has been too long,” the Prophet whispered as he looked about on the tarnish of dust and cobwebs. “You have been robbed of life and that is a true injustice.”