The Fall of Arnon

Chapter 30

Their King rode across the lines of men, his eyes flashing. His voice thundered through the sky, words of inspiration, of life, and of war. The Antinians rose as one, shouting until their voices breached the atmosphere. And, in response, the Arnonians answered back with a cry of their own.

Father Thomas sat in the saddle and looking down at his hands, he saw them trembling. He knew all too well that this just may be his last day on earth. But, looking about himself, he realized that there was no-one else he would want to die beside. Lerendo and Sir Ryan looked regal in their knightly robes. Televetale was nearly swallowed by his, but in each of their faces was the truth and loyalty he had come to expect out of each one of them.

Lerendo sat shoulder to shoulder with him, his bearing so much that of a king, Father Thomas felt a small shiver of sadness for the boy. He was a prince who would never even get the chance at becoming a king. To his left, Sir Ryan sat as still as a statue, awaiting the command to charge. Father Thomas smiled at the hardened profile of his friend. Every moment of their lives had led to this moment. From the time he had spotted the young, proud knight astride his prancing horse, his waves of dark brown hair falling across his forehead, to this hour when both their fates would be decided.

"Archers!" The cry sounded from behind him, and he spotted a large knight atop a white horse galloping in front of the line of archers. In unison, they pulled their bows taut. "Ready! Release!" And, through the air, a mist of arrows surged ahead. Screams of agony and a noticeable diminishing of the army met the stream of arrows. But, as soon as the surge of joy in the hearts of the Arnonians rushed through them, the deadly blades were shot through the air from the Antinian bows, and all around him, Father Thomas saw and heard the blood spurt from one man's chest and the cry of terror from another.

"Charge!" King Storen raised his sword high above his head and rushed forward. Thundering across the field, the cavalry stampeded forward. The Antinians rushed to meet them. Father Thomas's eyes blinded only for a moment. The two armies met with the clash of steel on steel and the deafening roar of the men as they fell one upon another. Father Thomas raised his sword and with a sickening crunch, it slid through the man's armor and into his belly. He met the man's eyes. He was a meaty man, with eyes of blue. Blood spurted from his mouth before he fell to the ground, dead.

Sir Ryan's sword flew with speed and accuracy against the untrained Antinians. Blow by blow, he met his mark. Deep red blood spread across his arm as one man grazed his broadsword across it. With an angry grunt, Sir Ryan lunged at the man. He tore through the insignia of the red lion. The man parried his blow with one of his own, knocking Sir Ryan back. Sir Ryan pulled a knife from his sleeve, and ducking below the flying sword, he turned and slashed the man's throat. The blood gushed out onto his hand, and he let go, watching the man fall.

Lerendo felt the blood sore through him. He grasped his sword with the grip of a true swordsman. He dodged a sword and parried another. He thrust his sword into the neck of one man and cut another straight through the heart. His horse reared and kicked another man in the chest. He fell with a grunt.

Televtale threw himself full-force into the saddle. His sword swung from side to side. Like a faraway dream, he could hear the men's shriek and bellow as they went to meet their creator. Suddenly, he felt a cold sting slice through his right leg. His own mouth opened and he let out a cry of pain. His horse bucked and he fell to the cold, hard ground. Through the mist above a shiny, metal ax came into view. His body lurched forward and his sword found its place in the chest of the man above him.

As new breath coursed through his veins, Televtale thrust his sword through his next assailant. The man gasped for air before falling to the ground. His sword clashed with another, his body felt the sting of steel through the fragile skin, and his anger burst within him. Like an enraged bull, he rushed into the fray. He shouted in renewed vigor and threw himself headlong through the swarm of heavily armed men.

From above, one could see the side of the Antinians beginning to weaken. Just as the old man had foretold, the farmers, the carpenters, and the workmen were no equal to the war-hardened, well-trained knights of Arnon. They fell before the Arnonians like grass before a sickle. Their numbers began to tell a story of defeat. No longer were they the larger army. As the rain began to pour, the Arnonians began to see a new light emerging through the clouds of destiny.

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The King of Antin, King Scendaron paced the matted grass in the peace of his tent. "We are losing!" He cried. "You told me this would be only a matter of starving these people out!"

"Your Majesty," King Gerard, the old king of the Arnonians said, soothingly. "You do not really believe that I would lead you where I knew you could not win?"

"What do you think this is, Gerard? This is not winning. My men are being slaughtered out there!"

"I did not wish for it to come to this, but there is one weapon that I have yet to use." He smiled greedily.

"You spoke of this before, but what weapon can stop this massacre?" King Scendaron placed his head in his hands. His face was drawn and he looked old, much older than his years.

"Libretto, come here," King Gerard motioned to a corner of the tent, and from out of the shadows proceeded the man called Libretto. He slunk into the light like a serpent slithering across the ground, one almost expected a forked tongue to shoot from his mouth and for him to hiss bitterly. But all that came from his mouth were two obsequious words: "Yes, master."

"It is time," Gerard nodded at him and from his cloaks, Libretto produced a large book that appeared to have materialized out of thin air.

He placed it on the table between them. Its black, oily skin drew every eye to it. "What is it?" Scendaron asked, carefully.

"It is your salvation," he murmured.

"Wonderful. Do you have another army in that book?" He asked.

"No, I have something much better." He flipped the worn pages. "I have a dragon."

Not for hundreds of years had the world seen a dragon. Many believed them to have gone extinct. Some still sought them in the mountains, but not one had been heard from since the dreadful War of the Dragons. That was the reason King Scendaron looked at Libretto as if he had suddenly grown a tail. But, Libretto simply smiled a greasy, slimy smile.

"A dragon? What dragon? There hasn't been a dragon on the earth for hundreds of years."

"Yes, there has," he said, cryptically.

"What do you mean, yes there has?"

He made no answer but began reciting the page in front of him. It was in a language none of the men in that tent understood, so all they could do was stand back and watch whatever was to happen, unfold.

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Stone and mortar, and rock. The gleaming eyes of ruby, the hardened body of gold. The statue was beautiful even in the surging rain. Lightning shook the sky above it. Rivulets of water ran down its hardened muscles.

Thunder awoke the land causing little children to hide beneath their bed covers, shivers to run up the backs of old and young alike. And, through the sheet of torrential downpouring, a light flashed through the dark. A red, burning light, searing the world around it. A low murmur filled the air, barely perceptible to even the most vigilant listener. Slowly it grew, from the depths of the earth until it exploded into an ear-shattering bellow. Through the city, across the plains, far into the forest, the roar shook the ground beneath and the sky above.

Stone began to melt with the heat of a thousand fires. From beneath the rock-like core, a heart began to thump. Quietly at first, only a murmur until it beat with the life it had so long ago. A shadow grew across the marketplace of Arnon, covering the cold stone. And with one, powerful stroke, the creature rose into the sky, flying higher and higher until it ascended above the clouds. The Dragon of Arnon had awoken.