"Perhaps." Randor paused. "We will go southeast, actually. I have an old friend who is very wise and powerful, who dwells not far from here. I know he will guide us to our destination."
"Your wisdom cannot help us?"
"In many things it still suffices, but in situations such as this, it fails me. This is beyond any of us, Gildan."
"So the great Randor Miithra lives," Arnanor's voice called out. Gildan and Randor looked up at the prince. "And he comes to Dunane of all places. I take it you are here to aid the investigation of the missing moon."
The wizard responded with a quick glance from under his spectacles. Arnanor smirked, hardly daring to believe in whose company he now stood. The tales and legends of Randor Miithra had reached every corner and dark place of the world, even the far-off towers of the Northern Kingdom. In all the prince's years, he had never thought highly of any Randor, nor even seen one before. Arnanor had always taken the words of wizards with a large grain of salt, disregarding most of what they said.
"What draws you hence, young princes?" Randor asked, knowing that their being here would not go over well with the Council, whom he served.
"Don't worry, Randor," Gildan said. "No one in the Northern Kingdom knows they are here. The Council will not find out. The way I see it, they are but mere mercenaries from the North."
"You agreed to this?" Randor inquired. "I am surprised at you."
"It was my words that allowed the Northern elves into the company. They are under my command." Gildan readjusted his gloves and said, "Now that you are here, you complete the company. I give you control over the party if you wish it."
"Though I would not usually agree with this," Randor said, "I will welcome them. I welcome all who seek to help in this time of trouble." As the two started up the hill side by side, Gildan took up the reins and mounted. Those of the company introduced themselves, and Randor only touched his hat in acknowledgment. "We have tarried here long enough, I should say," the wizard said, mounting his horse in one graceful motion. "If you want to follow my lead, then I ask that you charge forth in my shadow." As he spurred his horse, the seven bolted down the hill after him.
They rode south, through the Dunane Forest without stopping, and within four hours they were beyond Zelok's realm. Many stories were told, and Sir Geil sang long songs for Muron's entertainment. Crossing the Caldron Hills, they reached the Silver Field, where they turned southeast. Gildan and Randor spoke the whole way, with Gildan filling in all the details he had received in Dunane. The sun sank toward the horizon, making Seth and Lorn dread nightfall. In the distance rose a line of mountains clad in thick forest. The company was approaching the Akros Mountains, the secret abode of Randor's friend, the Oracle.
As a precaution, he led them into the forest some miles away from the base of the Akros. "We should be safe here," Randor said, dismounting in a small opening not far from the entrance to the woods. The trees were gnarled horribly, and the dark canopy of leaves shielded the company from weather and prying eyes. The others dismounted, leaving their horses by the trees, and marched into the clearing. A small fire pit, recently used, lay in the center, ringed by white stones.
"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 Rando
r 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 retur
n 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."
"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.
The White Shadow Saga: The Stolen Moon of Londor Page 8