The Fall of Arnon

Chapter 7

Lerendo smiled kindly at the woman sitting across the expanse of rough, wooden flooring. He was answered with a knowing nod. Her wrinkles melted away as the crisp look of adventure wafted across. She nodded to a door wedged between the roaring fire and the wall.

He was gone before he could see the smirk that caught hold of her features as the door unceremoniously was thrown open and two broad-shouldered men, clothed as knights stomped into the welcoming little cottage.

Lerendo bolted across the dirt path laced with bright, white lilies and hurled himself over the wooden gate blocking his road to freedom. Pastureland stretched out before him, lulling green beyond the horizon. A welcome sight, though, it was not. No mound or gullies large enough to conceal a grown man graced the land.

To his right, however, was far more reasonable in its hiding places. The Forest of Othelio, old in name as well as lore. Deep within the rustling branches, lay the small town of Othelio, but few ever traveled there and even fewer ever returned. It had long ago turned to a place filled with goblins and ladies of the wood in the outlying towns.

The Forest of Othelio was told by many to be a place of evil, where darkness holds reign among the rotting death such a place must hold. Those who ventured in and somehow managed to return always spoke of a heaviness that filled even the strongest with consternation. Since he was a boy, Lerendo had heard stories, stories filled with death, fear, witchcraft, and a deep bitterness born from the very heart of the forest.

One legend told of an ancient person, a wizard born from the ashes of death itself. To some he was the embodiment of evil, to others a master of the dark magic before time itself. No-one knew where he came from and few believed he ever truly existed, but none dared to ever speak his name. It was a name believed to be written in the Book of Othelio, but it had long been lost in time or some believed hidden for the safety of the world.

To these things, Lerendo gave little thought before his long limbs flew from under him into the darkened forest. It was just as he reached the leaf-laden haven that the cries of two angry men rang out into the quiet, sunny fields. Quickly, he looked around himself, but stopped, the breath catching in his throat.

Around him the air choked through the dim cracks of light fluttering through blackened leaves. Vines laced with a cacophony of thorns slithered across the muddy floor, strange blue flowers held a sickly glow among the gloomy palor of the cracked, wrinkled bark of the lonesome trees.

Lerendo knew only too well the fear the knights of the realm held for the dark, dank place, but his instincts ordered him to find a place unseen even from the forest floor. Grasping one of the lower limbs of a tree near him, he ignored the slimy touch of its fingers and shot up into the unwelcoming stench of stale, wet leaves.

Soon enough, the crackle of old, dead grass heralded the approach of his two unknown assailants. Their voices were low and halting, but he could barely make out something of a conversation.

"He can't have gone far," one voice squeaked. Lerendo guessed him to be no older than fifteen with a voice sounding of two knives scraping against one another.

"Thank you for that observation, Sir Knight," the other answered. This one sounded much older. Deep and gravelly in its manly timber, it held a note of command that held the respect of all those fool enough to cross him.

"W-well," the younger stuttered. "Thank you, Sir."

A rustling of leaves brought the two men immediately inside the dense forest. Not much different in build, the two were more than distinguishable in bearing, face, and hair. The younger was of tall stature, a bright hope of new life shone in his face, and his hair fell in bright golden curls. Eyes of sapphire blue looked about in awe and pretended courage at the frowning, dark forestry eyeing him unpleasantly.