The Fall of Arnon

Chapter 28

"We have the advantage, Your Majesty," said Sir Farfel, one of Sir Storen's most trusted men. "They are out in the open, but we are protected behind these walls.

"But, they do not have women and children with them. They are all men of war. And, what do we have? At the most, we have five hundred soldiers, but what is five hundred against five thousand?" He slammed his fist against the age-old wood of the council table.

"If I may intercede, Sir." Tarvale, a eunuch so old many wondered if he had truly ever been born or had just fallen from the sky the day the earth was made, offered. His ugly old face had been long ago carved into a scowl and even when he attempted to smile it only misconfigured his face into something very disconcerting. "I believe I may have some wisdom to offer if you would allow it, your eminence."

"Continue," Sir Storen said noncommittally.

"Thank you, Your Highness," coughed the old man. "Now, what I believe every one of us is thinking is that we must stay inside the walls. That is the logical assumption, for that would seem to be our best defense against an army of such vast numbers. But, if you would but hear me, I believe I have an idea that will win us this battle as well as establish our new country as one of power and domination." As his voice rose so did his hands, and like a wave that reaches its climax and dives back into the sea, he suddenly became quiet.

After a few seconds, Sir Storen looked up to see the man's eyes closed and him swaying as if in a trance. "Tarvale," he cried, throwing his hands down upon the table.

"Your Majesty," Tarvale said, softly, barely registering the impatience in Sir Storen's voice. "We must meet them on an open field of battle.

"What?" Sir Storen and Sir Farfel said at once.

"That would be suicide!" Sir Farfel shouted.

"Listen!" Tarvale threw up his hand, silencing the men. "I am not finished. What you do not understand is that I know these people. These are the Antinians. For many years, they have lived as our neighbors to the south of us. We have done trade with them and lived peacefully. They are not men of war. In fact, they have not fought in a war for nearly a thousand years. The last war they fought was the War of Dragons. They are men of peace. They are farmers, smithies, and carpenters, not fighters, and I promise you that they know it. They are not going to risk open war, not if they can help it. My guess is that they are going to try to starve us out. Burn our fields and outlying homes, and they have us in the palm of their hands. But, if we meet them on the field of battle, I dare say, we may stand a better chance at victory."

The table sat in silence. The king, Sir Storen, was quiet with his fingers steepled together and his eyes gazing deeply into the knots and swirls of the wood.

"It almost makes sense," he said quietly. "Alright, Tarvale, tell me more."

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Lerendo pulled his horse to a halt. Sliding off, he tied it to a nearby tree. "Stay here, boy." He patted the horses head and the horse nickered softly at him. It shook its dark brown mane and the tinkling of his bridal sounded out into the night. "I know, I know, I won't be gone long," he said comfortingly.

Pushing aside the jagged brush, Lerendo peaked out into the darkness beyond. A smattering of lights could be seen coming up from the valley below. Slowly, he climbed out onto the ledge of rocks. He faced the encampment from the west with the Forest of Othelio at his back and the town of Arnon to his left. Like a ghost in the night, he silently slid down the rocky hilltop.

He had been the one chosen for the job of the spy as he was the only one young and fit enough for such a climb, but Lerendo himself knew more about sneaking than the others could have ever guessed. It had been one of Lerendo's greatest accomplishments to sneak around the castle with no detection as he spied on secret meetings, balls, and most importantly, found himself late at night sneaking food out of the kitchens.