"No, no," Muron said. "You keep that. It will help you in later situations."
Lorn looked at the gleaming dagger and smiled; never had he received such a great gift. "Thank you, Prince Muron. I will cherish this always."
"You are welcome, my friend. I can show you how to use it when we find the time and a safe place."
"I already have just the place to put it in my home." Lorn paused. "That is, if I ever make it home."
"You will," Randor reassured him. "Do not worry about Seth." Lorn perked up. "He is resting near the camp, not badly hurt."
Everyone was deeply tired and yearned for a few hours' rest by the fire. Trouble seemed far away for now, and Randor set off into the forest, guiding the company with a faint magical light. The path proved easy, and they journeyed in silence until the smell of smoldering fire and the nickering of the horses alerted them that they had arrived.
Waving his hand once more, Randor resurrected the fire, and the party basked in its welcomed warmth. Geil looked around for the beasts he had killed, but all that remained of his trophies was blood littering the ground.
"Where did they go?" Lorn inquired.
"What?" Randor replied. "The werewolves? They returned to the earth….Everyone wait here. I am going for Seth."
"Can I go with you?" asked Lorn.
"Stay close to me, then." Randor turned toward the path. "Gildan, watch over the company until I return."
"With pleasure."
"If anything arises in my absence, do not hesitate to retrieve me. Whatever you do, though, do not disappear on me again."
"It shall be done," Gildan answered with a bow. "I do believe the worst is over."
Randor nodded and took Lorn onto the path. The Northern elves saw to their horses and attended selfishly to their own needs while Gildan kept a close eye on the three--he needed no more trouble from the royalty. Malander, meanwhile, plopped down and sat in a meditating position, cracked his stiff joints, and began cleaning his blade with the hem of his jacket. Though the thick blood settled into the dark fabric, he seemed to enjoy its presence, as if it were a badge or battle ribbon. Thinking back on his accomplishments this night, he was frustrated that the pleasurable experience of killing was over for now, though overall he was pleased to see another day, in which perhaps to end his misery.
The Northern elves stood by their horses in deep conversation. "I wonder what they are saying," Gildan whispered.
"Hell if I care," Malander replied. "Just keep well clear of people's business, hmm?"
"I am responsible for keeping the peace here. We cannot afford any conspiracy against our cause….Perhaps they plan to leave us."
"Let them. All they are is trouble anyway."
* * *
Randor reappeared with Seth and Lorn at his side, and the three sat across from Malander, who still burned with irritation. After looking over Seth's wounds, Lorn found none of them too serious, and seeing this, Randor finally relaxed and pulled out his pipe. Gildan gave into temptation and smoked his pipe as well.
"Could you blow that poisonous smoke somewhere else?" Malander grumbled, shifting away to avoid the bothersome fumes. "Damned pipes."
The Northern elves returned to the fire, keeping plain expressions as if nothing had occurred while they were away, drawing a suspicious look from Gildan.
After enjoying his smoke, Randor decided it was time to begin healing the injured. Placing his hands on Arnanor, he could feel his stamina decline even further, but he concealed his fatigue and pain so as not to worry the others. No one must know,he said to himself, and walked away from the company with his back turned. Clutching his chest, he asked the gods to relieve his burning anguish.
Gildan grew concerned. "Are you well?"
Randor managed a deep breath and replied, "Yes, Gildan. All is well with me." It was a lie, but at least the journey would continue, even if the wizard should lose all his strength. Time would heal him--so he hoped. Return me to balance soon, Master, he prayed. The breeze felt soothing against his skin and seemed somehow to rejuvenate him.
Seth placed his arm around Lorn, grateful to have such a devoted friend. Indeed, Highbinder esteemed Lorn as a greater healing agent even than Randor's magic.
Arnanor caught Seth's attention, and he nodded to the prince. "I am glad to see you alive," said Seth. And he meant it--he never wanted to see a fellow Mudalfaen ally defeated, and moreover, the consequences would be severe for Highbinder if the Council were to know of the princes' presence here. Since the two princes had not an official battalion at their command, he had to fulfill the law of protecting royalty, even though Arnanor had made it clear that Seth's service was in no way welcome.
"Spare me your small talk, knight!" Arnanor replied as he found some comfort beside the log. Muron took this as a cue to do the same, and placed his arms behind his head and watched the heavens until he fell into a deep slumber.
"I suggest all of you gather your strength for tomorrow," said Randor. "Sunrise will be here sooner than you think, and we have a long road ahead of us--too long even to contemplate its end. The Oracle awaits our arrival tomorrow evening." Randor patted Gildan on the shoulder and smiled. All lay down to sleep but Malander, who sat like a statue in his meditation. Randor said gently to the grim knight, "Replenish yourself, my friend. Our journey is not through."
"I am not tired," Malander answered sharply. "The only way I'll rest is by you casting one of your ridiculous spells on me. Otherwise, do not order me to rest."
"Then I will leave you be," Randor replied, ending it there.
Malander turned his back to the wizard. Although he was not in command of the company, he would keep to himself as much as possible and follow in the shadows for as long as it took. There was bound to be more bloodshed along this dark road, and this thought alone cheered his clouded mind.
Taking one last glance around, Randor finally felt enough at ease to surrender to sleep. He slept only rarely, but now his eyes grew heavy as he looked into the fire. Taking off his hat and placing it at his side, the wizard sank to the ground and was soon asleep.
Chapter Eight: Prophesies in the Snow
Dawn found all the traveling companions yearning for more sleep. Malander was first up, stretching his sore muscles and taking a swing or two with his sword as the elves of the North fed their horses the little grain they had left in their pouches. Lorn, Gildan, and Randor lit their pipes and sat around the fire.
"What is today's plan?" Seth asked, eager to begin.
"We reach the Oracle in the late afternoon or just before sunset." He paused to blow out a great cloud of smoke. "It is imperative we make it before nightfall. Otherwise, we must pass another night like the last."
"May I never spend another night outdoors in these woods again!" Seth exclaimed with a shiver.
"Hopefully this Oracle friend of yours will give us a much needed clue," said Gildan.
"Trust me, Gildan, all of our questions will be answered."
"Yet your wisdom and insight cannot help us?" Seth asked. Knowing that Randor had thousands of years' experience, he was puzzled why the wizard should be unable to help them.
"This burden is perhaps greater anyone can bear," Randor replied. "Any who claims he can undo this evil is lying both to the world and to himself."
Gildan, nodding in agreement, said, "No doubt this will be my ultimate quest."
* * *
The eight mounted their steeds and fell into single file on the dim path. Seth thought the wood looked healthier than it had the night before, as if a great evil had left it. Memories of the night's battles came back to haunt the travelers as they reached the top of the hill, which appeared untouched and fresh. Randor stopped and gazed to the south, seeing faintly their destination on the hazy horizon.
Abruptly and without a word, Arnanor dismounted, with sword drawn and a serious look on his face. He strode a few steps away, with Muron and Geil quickly following, and the three stared into the rising sun. "Montah!"they
said in unison, and after pronouncing the elvish word, they knelt with their blades to the ground before them. Randor and Gildan, knowing this ritual, sat in respectful silence, while Lorn looked to Seth in wonder, not knowing what to make of the elven ritual of praise to Ethindar for granting another day of life. After they moved their lips in quiet prayer, Arnanor stood first, took in a deep breath, and again mounted his horse, soon followed by Geil and Muron. Randor pointed to the thick forest ahead, and the party set off again.
* * *
By midday the company had put many miles behind them. The forest came alive with the calls of birds and the drone of insects, measured by the never-ending clop of hooves along the path. To entertain his royal charge, Geil recited many verses and told stories, sometimes breaking into song. Arnanor, meanwhile, said nothing, glowering at Gildan and Randor, who, he supposed, were scheming some grand idea without his help. Finally, unable to hold his peace, he lightly spurred his horse and broke free from his brother and Geil's side. With his head raised in pride, he galloped along the edge of the path, reining in beside the wizard but keeping his eyes straight ahead.
"Yes?" Randor asked.
"Don't mind me," Arnanor answered. "Just a change in position is all."
Gildan shook his head, not believing the prince for one moment.
"Think I am up to something?" the prince asked offhandedly.
"I can feel some of your emotions, young prince," Randor said, wishing the elf would return to his brethren.
"And what do you sense?"
"I would rather not say yet….There are more pressing things at the moment."
Arnanor laughed, drawing a strange look from Randor, who knew not what brought on this amusement. "It is odd indeed that not even you, Perfect Child of Ethindar, have the slightest idea of what happened to Beldas," said Arnanor, as if to show that he was not intimidated by Randor or anyone else. He would always let his mind speak aloud. "Eight thousand years upon Londor shows you nothing?"
"I am not as perfect as perhaps you would like me to be," Randor replied. "Do you come to belittle my wisdom? For if that is your goal, then a fruitless one it is." He kept his eyes on the road, preferring not to goad Arnanor on in his folly. "Perhaps I should allow you to lead this company."
"If you renounce your role among us, then I will gladly accept."
"So you intend a double meaning when you speak of a change in position?"
"Not originally," the prince lied.
"After you reveal your master plan," Randor began, "then the quest is yours to deal with."
"Splendid."
"History shall be written: Prince Arnanor's flawless leadership was the key in restoring the world to balance once again. His bravery was unmatched, and his skills with the sword were those of a god." Listening, Arnanor imagined the stories as if they were already true and written in the scrolls. Randor went on, fueling the arrogant prince's imagination further before putting him back in his place. "Failure, on the other hand, could ruin your family name and the fortunes of your precious Northern Kingdom." Chuckling, Randor continued, "I can see it all clearly."
Arnanor's smile was gone as he quickly turned his head to the unwatching Randor; he had to know what the wizard meant by those cryptic words. "What are you saying? What do you see?"
"I speak of failure. If I allow you to command this quest, it will be your name the world will remember. Yes, the world will never rebalance, and our quest for Beldas will end in tragedy. You and your kindred will ride back to the North, if you survive this journey, and go about your lives--what remains of them. Stories will reach to every corner of the earth, and they will blame you for their bitter and horrific end. Armies will rise and take up arms against your father, and you will be crushed. The Council will not aid your kingdom, for you are now traitors to the Great Tree of Mudalfaen." Arnanor slowed his pace and fell gradually behind Randor, and still the wizard spoke of what he saw. "I see brilliant fires burning atop the mountains of snow. No structure will stand after your countless enemies come. Your family's banner will be ripped apart and paraded in every Mudalfaen kingdom for the remaining days on end!" Randor finally turned around and saw Arnanor's flushed complexion, then pleaded, "So please, my good elf, come take my position."
"Yes," Gildan added, laughing, "I beg of you, lead me."
"Have it your way, wizard!" Arnanor blasted, gritting his teeth as he at last fell back to ride next to his brother.
"That is that," Gildan commented. "I suppose it will be a while before he wishes to sound off again."
"His temper will be the end of us all," Seth said softly to Lorn. Much relieved now, they both had thought Randor serious at first about the leadership change, with Seth especially worried. "Thankfully, it has ended well."
"I worry about that one," Lorn huffed.
Muron could be heard in the back, trying to converse with Arnanor, but his elder brother did not speak, boiling in his anger. Malander rode behind the princes, and Seth thought he caught the faint wisp of a smile from Malander due to the Arnanor's folly. This was the first time, away from battle, that anyone had seen this mysterious knight show any sign of gladness. Malander straightened his lips and resumed his stern, cold expression.
* * *
As the sky began to turn orange, the company reached a high cliff above the trees, and there they stopped to rest. Across the vale, some two miles away, on another cliff top, perched a black mansion, dark as night and as magnificent as a castle. Steps carved in the stone cliff side led downward from the company's position. The steps reentered the last of the forest, and beyond that, another high flight led upward to the front of the Oracle's cliff-top fastness. The mighty structure had many lit windows, and smoke billowed from five chimneys. Though Gildan had caught a glimpse of this place the night before, he had had no idea it would be so enormous. The dark dwelling gave an eerie feeling to any who looked upon it. Above the mansion's highest peak, a flock of blackbirds soared like dead leaves in a whirlwind.
Randor dismounted and knelt to the ground, resting his hand on a rough place in the road--something had caught his eye.
"What is it?" Seth asked.
"Footprints," Randor answered. "Three days old, I would say."
"Mazazuken?" Arnanor suggested anxiously.
"They appear to be, but the weather has distorted them a great deal," Randor said as he rose, wiping his hands free of the soft dirt. "Let us proceed with caution."
Letting the horses pick their way, they descended the cliff, taking the long, curved flight of ancient steps without mishap as the forest loomed ever closer in view. The darkening forest stood before them, looking very unwelcoming as the sun sank through the trees, with no sign yet of the higher path to the mansion. Failure to reach their destination would result in another night of fighting Mazazuken, who would use the darkness to finish the company off. Randor's energy was still low after his use of magic the night before, and it would be two or three days before his full strength returned--what was left of it, anyway.
"If we make it," Seth said, "a much needed rest awaits us."
"I can already feel the warmth of a bed!" Lorn added. Both were optimistic, though they remained well in the middle of the riders. "I just hope he does have such comforts."
"Follow me!" Randor called out, encouraging his companions.
"There it is!" Muron gasped as they cleared the cover of the forest. There stood the stone staircase, beyond a final declining hill. The steps were wide, yet their horses would not be able to carry them on their backs up the steep incline, for cracks and erosion over the ages had weakened the structure. Thin clouds of wispy fog snaked down the stairs, growing thicker as the travelers rose higher.
Randor looked high above and put his mind on the obstacles ahead. Very little light remained in the sky, and this place held great evil--Randor alone was the only one who could hold this gathering together. He doubted that Arnanor could control himself; a constant watch over the prince would be necessary.
/> The air seemed to grow thinner with every step, and soon the forest disappeared beneath the low-hanging clouds, causing Lorn and Seth to abandon their thoughts of warmth and rest. Then a great, invisible power seemed to grip their chests, relentless in its hold.
"What is happening, Randor?" Seth managed to speak.
Not only Seth and Lorn felt it, for all seemed to struggle as they continued doggedly ahead. Only the horses seemed unaffected by this mysterious force. The elves of the North could feel their armor weighing down on them and heard the faint sounds of their fine metals giving in to the strain.
"A magic barrier," Randor replied. He had forgotten just how the Oracle protected his grounds from those outside. "Everyone stop now. A few more steps might be fatal to us all."
"Nonsense," Arnanor said, unwilling to trust this wizard's advice. "What are you hiding from us?" He shoved Lorn out of the way, almost knocking the dwarf off the steps and to the depths below, and drew his sword as he took the steps two at a time. He felt pleased with himself until the moment came when the barrier slowed him down almost completely, crushing his body without mercy. His head throbbed under the weight, yet Arnanor still ignored the warnings. Geil finally took it upon himself to stop the madness but was halted by Randor's hand. The prince raised his sword higher into the magic barrier and charged ahead in vain, feeling his armor pressing harder against his bones. Though wanting to scream, Arnanor held his tongue. Sweat poured from his brow and stung his squinting eyes, and all reasoning was lost. Finally, having had more than enough, Arnanor sank back in defeat, his sword clanging against the steps as he made his way back to the others.
"Are you all right?" Muron asked.
"I am alive," Arnanor answered, ashamed.
"Let me attempt a better solution," Randor said, turning around. "Stand back." Facing ahead, he raised his hands, hoping that some of his powers still remained in reserve.
Arnanor resheathed his sword with a shaky hand and bent over, elbows on knees, trying to reclaim his breath.
The White Shadow Saga: The Stolen Moon of Londor Page 13
