"What is he doing?" the Oracle asked, astonished at the elf's lust for battle.
"His job," Malander offered as he sprinted away to join the mercenary.
The two princes and Sir Geil followed in Malander's shadow down the way, wielding their swords at every step, yelling, "Tu Trose!"
As they moved farther away from the mansion, the tall evergreen trees grew closer together, their bases half obscured by a light fog. Geil kept his hand, as ever, on his young master's shoulder, leading Muron around with some difficulty. Arnanor led the way for his kindred, now disregarding the path taken by Gildan and Malander. The princes' path sent them up an incline that made for a harder escape to the unseen river below. Each direction they turned, they found dozens of their hated enemy. Sir Geil led Arnanor now, with sword raised high. All three joined in a premature victory cry as they stormed the hill.
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.
<
br /> 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."
"Hold on, elf-prince," Randor said. "I am not through with you yet." Arnanor crossed his arms and waited impatiently for the conclusion. "I will be at the Green Hall Inn if you need me."
"Why will you be there? Are you not going with us?" Lorn asked.
"We need lodgings and supplies, do we not? I will be at this inn the day long. If you come across something of interest, inform me immediately." He paused. "Seth…"
"Yes, sir?"
"Go with the Northern elves, will you?"
Arnanor was insulted greatly. "What…?"
"It shall be done," Seth said with a salute.
"We don't need his aid, wizard!"
"He will keep a close eye on you for me. You do belong to the Council, after all, mind you."
"Yes, but--"
"I thank you for your cooperation." Randor was not of a mind to argue, and he expected the same from his companions. "Highbinder, if they fall out of line whatsoever, let me know at once." Seth nodded and took his place beside Arnanor, who looked at him with disgust. "If you find nothing here, return by sunset." The company parted, and Lorn went to follow Seth, but he was halted by Randor's swift hand. "Where are you going?"
"With Seth," he replied meekly.
"I need you to go with Gildan and Malander."
"Must I?"
Seeing the despair on the dwarf's rough face, Randor patted him gently on the shoulder. "I will be forever at your service if you do this for me." Lorn smiled and felt important, proud to be in Randor's favor. "There may be a time when Seth is not at your side. You must build your tolerance and willpower. It will make you a stronger person in the end, I promise you."
"Do you really think so?"
"Would I ever tell you wrong?"
Lorn shook his head.
"Good." Randor pushed him forward. "Go on, then, before they leave you." Lorn shuffled down the road and around the first corner he passed, seeing the two warriors a few dozen paces ahead.
The wizard stood alone on the s
treet, surveying the simple structures, and noticed nothing out of the ordinary. Hopefully his strategy would work. Something is here, he thought, but what?
* * *
Randor stepped out the front door of the Green Hall Inn and leaned on the steps, smoking his pipe as nightfall began to take over the world. With him stood Gildan, Malander, and Lorn, who had returned earlier with nothing to report. Gildan tried to set aside his loathing for the city's uncultured, coarse inhabitants. "Nothing has come of our visit here," the mercenary said as he loaded his pipe with fine tobacco he had just purchased. As he put a coal to the pipe, passersby gave him a strange look. He did not let it bother him, though, and merely puffed away. But stranger looks had been given him, and this was certainly nothing to fret over.
"There has been no word from Seth," Randor replied.
Lorn sat off to the side and watched the local citizens walk by. Across the busy street was a woodcarving work area, where buyers flocked to admire the craftsmanship. With his eye for fine detail, Lorn inspected the works through cracks in the crowd from where he rested, noting the flaws. "Seems the base is a bit off on that table," he mumbled. He had to keep busy somehow just to keep from worrying himself into a mess over Seth's departure. The dwarf thought he had handled the day quite well, although he did regret making Malander angry by talking too much. "I guess a little constructive criticism wouldn't hurt," Lorn chuckled as he crossed the cobblestone street.
The crowd thinned as Lorn drew near a table that stood almost to his height. The man behind the table, an old fellow with a full white beard on his weathered face, did not acknowledge him but continued speaking to a handful of people. His eyes were dark and close-set, and he wore a fluffed coat and baggy pants that were stuffed into his knee-high boots. A wide-brimmed hat sat atop his gray hair, set off with three colorful feathers.
The White Shadow Saga: The Stolen Moon of Londor Page 17