The Fall of Arnon

Chapter 22

Sunlight sparkled down on the frosty heads of a dozen roses. The dew covered grass shone gloriously in the afternoon sun. Buds peaked out in a frightened attitude at the bright, blue sky. Side by side, two men of similar stature crushed the stunning green of the grass beneath their leather-shod feet. They were both of an old age, but the pair still walked with the dominance only befitting their titles.

One of the men was skinny, so skinny one would have thought him to simply melt away at the touch of the slightest breeze. His face was shrunken and ancient, but shrewd lines of thought could be seen covering his worn forehead.

The other was quite the opposite of the man in almost every way. His large belly plunged far out over his britches and his cheeks were bright and cheerful in their perfect roundness, but there was nothing cheerful about this man. It is in a man's eyes where truth must always be found for deep beneath the eyes lies the heart either pure or as evil as his soul. And though it may be just the echo of a beat, it pounds quietly through the murky depths of the eyes. And, this man's eyes were not the eyes of a good man.

The shadows of the afternoon glanced off the upturned faces of daffodils and pansies as the men passed by the neatly trimmed menagerie of flowers. But, the two did not see the beautiful pinks, yellows, and red.

"I told you it would come to this, Gerard." A strange growl came out of the thin lips of the first man. "You have lost their respect. When will it be that you lose their loyalty?"

"I have not lost their respect," Gerard said stoutly. "But, if they so much as try something, you know what it is I must do."

"Precisely." The old man let out a crackling laugh. "You are a king in every sense of the word if you don't mind me saying so, Your Majesty."

"Thank you, Libretto." The king smiled down at the other man. "These puny people think they can live without me? They know nothing. They are nothing without me."

"And, they will know what they are soon." Libretto leaned down and carefully plucked a small, pink flower. It twirled through his bony fingers. Then, in one smooth motion, the little petals were smashed into oblivion between his fingertips.

Gerard watched as the pieces fluttered to the ground and smiled. "Yes, they most certainly will."

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The melted wax clung to the withered leaves of the forest floor, the only remaining telltales of the night before. Sir Storen crouched down, his boots sinking farther into the squelching mud. His fingers caressed a small drop of wax, smooth and white against his calloused fingertips. His dull brown eyes surveyed the funeral pier jutting out in the midst of the calm forestry.

He refused to believe his eyes the night before. He had blamed it on the long walk, the lack of air in the tunnel, and the lateness of the night, but here in the harsh, unforgiving light of the morning, he could no longer deny the truth.

Although he had not been able to sneak as close as he would have liked, he had seen things that night, now ingrained upon his mind. If a person had asked him what it was he saw, he knew he could never explain what it was he had discerned through the tangled web of branches from which he perceived the unfolding events.

As he arose from his stooping position, he tossed one more lingering glance at the place then turned with determined strides, leaving the circle of trees behind his retreating figure.
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The church of Arnon looked forlorn as its glory wilted in the afternoon heat. Daffodils of every shape and size looked weary as they turned their bright and shining faces to the earth and away from the oppressive vehemence of the sun.