The Obinoth troops behind the two leaders were engaged in pitched battle, with the Rhingar so far unable to break their formation. Swords met, and the sparks from clashing steel flickered like falling stars through the heavens. The Obinoth were surrounded; no longer could Randor or Gildan see what was happening to the Obinoth army not too far away. Twenty foes rushed toward Gildan, and as the first sword stroke came, his senses triggered a parry. He didn't have the chance now to thank himself for his gifts. Raising his sword, he was ready for the next two Rhingar to reach him, and deflected every slash and thrust perfectly with over embellished style. All his energies channeled to the task at hand as the emotion of battle consumed him.
Randor, entrapped now, stretched out his left hand; it swayed gracefully before the Rhingar that challenged him. His enemies shifted slowly around him, pointing their sharp blades inward, yet hesitant, for the dark elves knew who Randor was and dared not attack in frivolous haste. Randor preferred not to use his magic this early on, nor did he wish to destroy the forest with spells of fire and luminosity, the most potent short spells he had at hand. The illumination spells would do minimal damage, blinding the Rhingar at best, but the fire would ignite the wood, and the winds would only spread its rage. No, he would hold the magic in reserve for as long as the Obinoth could withstand the enemy on their own.
Then, in the blink of an eye, four Rhingar charged Randor with swords aimed at his chest. With little effort, Randor sidestepped and ducked as one blade swiped the air mere inches above his head, whistling in the night air. Pivoting, he landed a back kick in the attacker's ribs, knocking the dark elf to the forest floor. The remaining three came within arm's reach, and Randor's hands moved with blinding speed, punching, grabbing, and ripping. Blood flowed from his staggering opponents, and within seconds the last one fell.
Gauging his position, he saw that the Rhingar had opted to attack Gildan, deeming him easier prey than the wizard. The Rhingar neither saw nor heard Randor coming, and when they finally detected his presence, it was far too late.
"Nara tihra!" he shouted, thrusting his arm forward, and a bright flash of green light shone throughout Gildan's encircling foes. Eight Rhingar were launched violently upward and away into the night, their mutilated bodies landing a dozen yards away. Gildan was now freed on one side, and Randor grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him outward. The two stayed close as Gildan regained his breath.
"What are you doing?" asked the elf.
"Strengthening your offensive," Randor replied. "The Obinoth need you."
Gildan looked up and saw that he and the wizard were free of immediate threat, though the Obinoth were slowly beginning to crumble. The once solid formation was now scattered, and guidance was lost. Their advantage was diminishing. Cries came from both armies, chilling the very spine of the world.
"Stand aside." Randor raised his arms. "I need you to protect this perimeter while I conjure a spell. Can you do this for me?"
"Consider it done," Gildan replied, bringing his sword up with a wicked smile.
The relentless battle raged on a mere hundred yards from them. If the Obinoth were to have victory, it must come soon. Randor suddenly saw a weak point in the Rhingar's attack. To the wizard's left, a large cluster of the enemy tarried, not helping to contain the Obinoth.
Sidestepping, Gildan took place beside the wizard and suddenly felt the air around him grow cold as the spell began.
"Nara eth sohn barad lei nus ten aoen," Randor murmured, clasping his hands together. Beams of red light blazed out from the cracks between his palms and fingers and shot high into the canopy of dark leaves. The bright color bathed Randor's face and reflected off his dark spectacles.
Blades of both Obinoth and Rhingar drowned in the blood of their antagonists as elves from both armies were shoved, stabbed, cleaved, and thrown. The smell of death thickened the night air all around them as all lives hung in the balance of war.
Though the spell was short in verse, the potency of this particular magic took time to establish. Unbeknownst to Gildan, the time to release the magic drew closer. He desired more than anything to rush to the aid the soldiers, for the mood that possessed him made him believe he could destroy the entire Rhingar horde by his hands alone. And yet, dangerous magic was afoot, and he dare not cross its intended path.
Randor's body was scorching, burning from within. His hands blazed with an unearthly fire. With a flick of the wrists, a blinding red light arced outward. A hundred shards of steel streaked from his palms through the night, piercing a hundred Rhingar as if their armor were paper. The reddish glow faded as the screams of the dying echoed through the forest.
"Charge, Gildan!" Randor cried as he charged away to the clash, no longer careful of where he trod. Randor had been silent for too long; now the battle would go to the bold.
As Gildan raised his blade and charged, Randor let out a vicious cry and drew back his hand to let fly with another spell. "Nara dhei-gen!" yelled the wizard, sending dozens of burning white rays toward his enemies. As the light coursed through the air, each Rhingar it touched fell convulsing on the blood and gore of the forest floor, purged of life. In this way Randor slaughtered the enemy, dozens at a time, eventually allowing the Obinoth to advance.
The spirit of the Obinoth grew strong once more as the Rhingar retreated into the darkness ahead. Cheers flowed from the mouths of the Obinoth as they marched over the mounds of fallen enemies. Randor knew that the fleeing dark elves hastened to rejoin the last of their kindred northward--the direction also of the detached company of Obinoth. With the forest around Gildan now cleared, the sounds of battle faded. He rallied his army so as not to lose their prey again in this mysterious valley. His sights still lay to the north, for their war was not yet completed.
"You honor me with your bravery!" Gildan proclaimed, to which the soldiers responded with a loud war cry, making him feel exultant. A tear of pure emotion trailed down his pale face, and raising his sword, he yelled, "Tu trose!"
"Tu trose!" the Obinoth returned in the universal cry that meant, "Elves, to the death!"
"Tu trose, indeed," added Randor with a nod. The wizard offered no other words of celebration, knowing that the reaction was premature, for the enemy still lived, and those many Obinoth of the detached companies were not yet victorious. "Come, my friends!" he shouted. "We are needed ahead!"
"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 bef
ore 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 re
sponse. "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.
The White Shadow Saga: The Stolen Moon of Londor Page 2
