Arnon Read online

  Arnon

  By

  JL Rowan

  Uncial Press

  Aloha, Oregon

  2101

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events described herein are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-1-60174-099-1

  Copyright © 2101 by JL Rowan

  Cover design Copyright © 2010 by Judith b. Glad

  All rights reserved. Except for use in review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the author or publisher.

  Published by Uncial Press, an imprint of GCT, Inc.

  Visit us at http://www.uncialpress.com

  Arnon

  "Retreat!" Arnon yelled, over the din of clashing swords. The call echoed in the great clearing as other, friendly voices took up his cry.

  His tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth, but he had neither water to slake his thirst nor time in which to drink it. "Retreat to the forest!"

  He had fought for the past two hours to keep alive the people of his village Erenwest, and failed miserably. If not for the Guardians, the queen's soldiers would have effected a complete rout of all Talithia by now, for he had no doubt that they had attacked all the villages in Talithia. He only hoped the others had fared better.

  There was no time to consider their fates, though. If he and his neighbors didn't take immediate advantage of the opening in their enemy's ranks, even legions of the great, black cats would be powerless to save them.

  Straightway, he heard in his mind a cascade of Guardian voices transmitting his command to the minds of all those who defended his village, the strongest Talithians, armed with swords or bows. Like a school of fish, they fled by horse or foot for the dark tree line at the far edge of the meadow. Arnon followed close upon their heels, urging on his tired mount. He felt a wave of gratitude for the Guardians--perhaps a remnant of Talithia would survive this horror.

  The defenders ran the length of a full arrow-shot into the forest before slowing their retreat, and continued for another length before stopping and sinking to their knees, panting.

  Arnon pulled his horse up short and dismounted. "We haven't time to get comfortable! Find the women and children and set up camp. It will grow dark soon."

  They rose wearily.

  He searched the crowd for Guardians. Organizing a camp was only the first thing on a long list of things they must do. They needed food and water, shelter, lookouts--although he highly doubted Queen Corrin would attack them here. Her religion held that the forest was the abode of the lost souls of the wicked dead. It was rumored that even the bravest of her soldiers quaked at the thought of entering it.

  They probably think their dead will finish us off. Arnon snorted in derision. As inane as he considered Corrin's beliefs to be, he was more than grateful for the protection those convictions now afforded those who survived.

  He caught sight of the Guardian Dara, a member of the Council, and made his way toward her. Her long tail dragged on the forest floor. "Dara."

  Her ears rose and she lifted her head. Arnon. Her voice in his mind sounded more than relieved--it bore sharp overtones of desperation. Thank the Lady you're alive!

  "How many Guardians remain?" He'd seen so many of them fall that day.

  I know not. We cannot take a firm count for all the havoc. She glanced over her shoulder into the depths of the forest. Lilya and Tanner have organized lookout parties, and Sidra has rounded up a group of women and children to search for something edible. Her ears drooped, and her silver eyes betrayed her weariness. I must find what remains of the Council. There is much to be done.

  "Summon me if I'm needed. I'll be working with the other men." He felt his own weariness stalking him, but he ignored it and strode off, already coordinating in his mind the necessary tasks for their safety and survival.

  Hours later, he sank beneath a tree deep in the heart of the forest. Every muscle ached, and he could hardly keep open his eyes, but he reached for the bowl of stew and the loaf of bread that rested beside him. He knew he needed the nourishment. Disregarding the burl of wood that screwed into his back, he slowly ate, the warmth of the stew spreading through his body and drawing him into a pleasant drowsiness.

  He should be more alert, given the surprise of Corrin's first attack, but the lookouts had been posted, and he was tired, so tired. He could almost forget that he'd killed more men that day than he could count, almost forget the faces of the dead.

  Janna--

  Almost.

  You look like you've been dragged through the lowest hell face down, rang a deep, masculine voice in his mind.

  Arnon blinked heavy eyes. Gaenbur, the Prime Guardian and Head of the Council, stood before him. He stretched his lips in an attempt at a smile. "I don't doubt it." He brushed his hand against his tunic and breeches, feeling the tears in fabric made stiff with the dried blood of his enemies.

  He surveyed Gaenbur with a critical eye. "You're not looking so fair yourself, old friend." Even in the pale firelight, he saw where blood had matted Gaenbur's otherwise sleek and silky black coat. The enormous cat, however, seemed none the worse for the wear.

  Like you, I have yet to bathe away the stains of war. By the grace of the Lady, however, none of the blood is mine.

  "Indeed." Precious few could make such a claim. "How is everyone faring?" He tore off a hunk of bread and held out his bowl to Gaenbur in offering.

  The great cat settled beneath the tree and shook his head in polite refusal. Many of the children remain inconsolable, especially those who lost their fathers.

  "And mothers." Several of the heartier women had joined the men in battle that day, fighting and dying valiantly beside them.

  May She hold them all. Thank the Lady, Corrin doesn't have mages in her employ. I doubt any of us would have survived.

  "I know. I thought the same during battle." Arnon drew a deep draught from his waterskin. "Will I be needed at the lookouts tonight?"

  I think not. We have enough volunteers at the moment, and Corrin won't attack us--not tonight, anyway.

  With the last bit of crust, Arnon wiped clean the sides of his bowl and popped the morsel into his mouth. He set the bowl by his feet. "Do we have a final count, yet?"

  Gaenbur lashed his tail like a whip against the ground. It's not good. The queen attacked all of the villages in Talithia. Of the some three thousand Talithians, only eight hundred seventy-three remain, and about three-fourths of those are women, children, and the elderly. He shifted his position to lean against the trunk. Of the forty-seven Guardians, twenty-five remain. We lost three from the Council, one youngling, and six kittens. We are fortunate that most of villages bordered the forest, else we would have lost far more for lack of a refuge.

  Arnon shot Gaenbur a quick glance, suppressing the sudden, overwhelming stab of pain in his heart. "Your kittens were not lost, I hope." Gaenbur and his mate, Dreisa, had recently become the proud parents of two mischievous balls of fur.

  No, thank the Lady, said Gaenbur. Some Talithians fled when the queen attacked, and are now returning. I expect we'll see more of them as the night progresses, but I don't anticipate the number to rise above nine hundred.

  The heartbreak of knowing so many of his friends and neighbors were dead drove the breath from Arnon's lungs in a long sigh. "Have the all the Guardians returned?" After the battle had ended, several had hid near the edge of the forest to search for survivors once the field was clear. Corrin's soldiers had shown no mercy during the battle, and Arno
n had little hope of the Guardians finding any of their people alive.

  All but Dartha, Nevaeh, and Kaedin. They'll search the villages tonight for those in hiding and return by morning with survivors. Gaenbur yawned. The others returned alone.

  Arnon closed his eyes. "Can we bury the dead?"

  The Council has considered this and decided it would not be wise. He groomed a spot of matted fur on his shoulder. There are too many dead and too few living, and the soldiers are camped over the next hill. We haven't the time or the resources, and the queen will surely set up a permanent post in the next few days to ensure we won't try to retake our land.

  "With what army?" Arnon said, his voice sharp with sarcasm. "Besides, doesn't she think us dead anyway?"

  She doesn't strike me as someone who takes chances, not even when she has the upper hand.

  Arnon reached for his waterskin. He'd drunk more in the hours since the battle ended than he often drank in a day, and still his throat felt dry. "They won't find anyone alive, you know."

  We must be certain we do not leave anyone behind. Gaenbur paused his grooming and lifted his head. Arnon--

  Arnon lowered the waterskin.

  Janna and the children--I haven't seen them, but with the state of the camp as it is-- His great eyes dimmed as he lowered his lids for a moment. Have they been gathering food?

  Arnon dropped his gaze to the tips of his blood-stained boots. "They're gone." For the span of several heartbeats, the only sound he heard was that of his own breathing.

  I am so sorry, Arnon.

  "It doesn't seem real." He stared into the depths of the forest for a long moment. "Nothing today seems real."

  Pulling his gaze back to Gaenbur, he swallowed twice before he could speak. "I was behind the cottage, but I could see her through the window. She was holding little Parah, helping Jan with his noonmeal. And then Corrin's men appeared as if from nowhere, and Janna--"

  He closed his eyes against the memory and fought for control. "She and the children were close to the door. I don't think they understood what was happening before the soldiers--" His throat tightened.

  Have you mourned?

  Tossing the waterskin to the ground, Arnon snorted. "When might I have found time to do that today? During the battle? Or perhaps afterwards..." He spat the words. "...when I was trying to calm everyone and set up camp and establish lookouts and--"

  Arnon--

  "If I hadn't had my sword at my side, I would be lying dead with my wife and children." His sword lay sheathed near his feet. He gave it a swift kick. "As it is, I can only curse the bloody thing and wish I'd never picked it up this morning."

  Gaenbur said nothing.

  Arnon heard the defensive tone that had crept into his voice. "I couldn't stay in the house to mourn them. Soldiers were swarming through the villages. I had to gather as many men as I could to draw them away from the women and children."

  I know. I was there.

  "Then you know that none of us has had the luxury of tears."

  You do now.

  He was silent for a long moment, staring into his empty bowl. "We should never have fought." With grimy fingers, he rubbed his tired eyes. "We should have fled from the first."

  Gaenbur did not reply.

  When he spoke again, after staring into the fire for a long time, his voice was a harsh, tortured whisper. "I wanted to make them pay for Janna--"

  Everyone wanted to make them pay.

  "But I was in charge." He met Gaenbur's silver gaze. "I could have sounded the retreat long before I did."

  You were in charge because there was no one else to lead, and had you sounded the retreat before you did, no one would have obeyed you.

  Arnon watched a log break apart in the flames, sending sparks into the air. "I don't know."

  The people are farmers and craftsmen, not a trained army. She attacked us in our homes, without provocation, and while treating for peace. Not to have defended ourselves against such treachery would have been dishonorable. He snorted. Would you have obeyed such an order?

  An image of his family rose before his eyes, forcing him to shake his head.

  You're a farmer, Arnon, Gaenbur stated with naked bluntness. You're not a military tactician, and even if you were, the question is academic now, and one we cannot afford to ponder. What's past cannot be changed. Punishing yourself will only result in there being one fewer able-bodied man to help us survive.

  "Perhaps." He reached behind himself for an apple that appeared as battered and bruised as he felt. "So what shall we do now?" He bit into the fruit and winced. The flesh had turned soft. While his normal inclination would have been to discard it for the birds and ants, food had become too precious a commodity to waste. "We can't stay in the forest forever."

  No, the people haven't the skills to adapt to a life in the forest. Gaenbur stretched his front legs before him and yawned. Heading north seems our only viable option.

  "Anshaar." Arnon chewed with deliberate thought. "The treaty with them still stands, and King Orontes seems friendly enough."

  He also has plenty of unclaimed land, especially on his northern border.

  "But would he allow us to govern ourselves as we please, or would he require that we be subject to him? Would anyone?"

  That is the question, indeed, upon which our entire future hangs.

  Arnon consumed the rest of the apple. The Guardians, created and sent by Arana Herself, ruled the people of Talithia. It was this fact that defined and distinguished them from the other kingdoms and realms around them. This aspect of their society must not be compromised.

  If their unique form of government were not important, they would simply have sworn fealty to Corrin, and allowed her to absorb their tiny land into hers as she wished. But they would not compromise, would not swear loyalty to any but the ones given to them by the Lady.

  The queen had feigned understanding, had declared her desire to sue for peace. All the while she had planned her invasion. She had taken by force what she could not get by treaty. And to make the Talithians pay for defying her, she had launched an all-out slaughter.

  His people could certainly not put themselves in a situation where such a thing might happen again.

  Of course, it's all speculation until we learn what Her will is for us now, Gaenbur said, drawing Arnon from his thoughts.

  "Of course." Arnon tossed the apple core into the bracken beyond the fire. He stared into the flames, feeling their heat vying with the cool breeze for claim to his senses. "Does She care?"

  Yes.

  It was a simple reply, but spoken with such conviction that Arnon couldn't help but look up at his friend. In the ease of their relationship, Arnon too-often forgot Gaenbur's true nature. But now, in the firelight and shadows, he saw a true Servant of Arana sitting before him, and a tingle of awe set the hairs on the back of his neck to standing.

  "Then why did this happen?"

  I don't know. Gaenbur blinked, his silver eyes unfathomable. Even we don't have all the answers. He gracefully rose and padded over to Arnon. But I do know this: I'm exhausted, and you look ready to drop where you sit. Torturing yourself with these questions tonight will serve no purpose. Take your rest, my friend. Tomorrow will come sooner than our poor bodies would wish.

  Arnon bid his friend a good night. He watched the cat's great black form disappear into the shadows. He supposed Gaenbur was right. He usually was. What he had said earlier about the battle made sense--too much sense.

  After what the queen's soldiers had done to Janna and the little ones, wild beasts couldn't have dragged him away from the chance to avenge their deaths. Was he then to deny other husbands and fathers their own equal right to fight? He had sounded the retreat once he'd seen that there was no way the Talithians were going to be victorious. By then, Corrin's army had nearly overpowered his men, and by the time the Guardians had forced an opening in the ranks, there were few of them left to retreat.

  If only Radic had survived. Arno
n acknowledged the sudden thought with a sigh. Radic knew military tactics, but he hadn't been seen once the fighting had begun. Arnon could only assume he was dead. His absence had left the men without a leader.

  Arnon had stepped up and tried to organize the individual fighters into something more coherent, something that would give them a better chance for survival. Had he made the right choice?

  So many, he thought. So many had been Embraced by the Lady that day. There were so few of them left. What was to become of them?

  The wind that rustled the leaves above him offered no answer. Too tired to mourn--too tired to think--he curled up under the tree and slept.

  He woke the following morning to a dull, persistent headache and a mental summons to appear before the Council as soon as he was presentable.

  Presentable is certainly a relative term nowadays. He knelt next to the tiny trickle of a stream that seemed to be the only water source in his part of the camp. His muscles protesting his every move, he splashed some of the cold water on his face, realizing what he had thought.

  Nowadays.

  It seemed an eternity since they'd been attacked, not merely a day--and barely that. It would be a long time before life would ever be considered normal again.

  He scrubbed away as much dirt and dried blood from his face and hands as he could. When he drew a handful of the crisp water to his dry lips, he winced as it stung the inside of his mouth. He must have gnashed the soft flesh on the inside of his cheek at some point during the battle yesterday, and had been too tired the night before even to notice.

  Ignoring the dull throb, Arnon fought stiff muscles and aching joints as he rose. Others in the camp were stirring, and several of the women were already preparing food for the day. The scent of leftover stew traveled through the fresh air, reaching his nostrils and setting his stomach to growling.

  Firstmeal would have to take second place to the Council summons, however. He wove his way through the camp, stepping around--and sometimes over--sleeping bodies. The dawnbirds were chirping away merrily, but their song was mingled with the crying of babes and the muffled sobs of women who'd been made widows all too soon.