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 return 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.
Taking a circuitous route to the hill's peak
above the forest, he strolled about and observed the lands lit by
the moon in the distance. To the southeast he saw five orbs of
light on the horizon, sitting on a cliff. "The Oracle," he
whispered, as if hardly daring to speak its name. Gildan was
curious about Randor's comment that this Oracle was unsafe after
sunset. He wanted some answers. Slowly he refocused on Randor's
position and awaited the time to approach.
There at the hill's center stood Randor with
his head tilted back, remaining perfectly still. Hair whipping
violently under his hat in the
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 return 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.
Taking a circuitous route to the hill's peak
above the forest, he strolled about and observed the lands lit by
the moon in the distance. To the southeast he saw five orbs of
light on the horizon, sitting on a cliff. "The Oracle," he
whispered, as if hardly daring to speak its name. Gildan was
curious about Randor's comment that this Oracle was unsafe after
sunset. He wanted some answers. Slowly he refocused on Randor's
position and awaited the time to approach.
There at the hill's center stood Randor with
his head tilted back, remaining perfectly still. Hair whipping
violently under his hat in the
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