Chapter Ten: A King Returns
Tranith Argan: Book 2
Felanar, Kara, Bren and Dalonír, along with elven armies, have reached the land of Argan. Now it is time to march to the city of Tranith Argan and confront the army from Shanaar that is attacking it.
After several hours’ march in the land of Argan, the legions paused on the open plain. A few minutes were spent sitting on the grass, eating a meal to sustain them the rest of the way. Dalonír, Felanar, Kara, and Bren spoke briefly about final strategic adjustments. The time had come to separate the legions and proceed around Mt. Han, which loomed nearby. No armies had been seen thus far, and it was assumed that the enemy troops had already climbed the mountain pass on the western slopes and were at the city.
The meal finished, Dalonír led half the elves east while the rest continued south. Soon Felanar could no longer see the eastward troops and his earlier confidence began to wane. While Dalonír had been with him, all decisions had been made jointly. Felanar acutely felt that now he was truly on his own, and with elves to command at that. As the mountain drew ever closer, he urgently reviewed all the elven battle training he had received. If he were to order these troops, he wanted to give them orders that made sense to them.
They were now at the base of Mt. Han and the full scope of this mountain was revealed to Felanar. It was enormous: vast, and strong. The top slopes glistened brightly and seemed to beckon him onward, as if calling to him for aid in the fight. Then a cry from one of the elves caught everyone’s attention. The legions halted amidst some low trees and bushes, peering at what the scout had seen. There, up on the lower slopes, along the Royal Highway which wound its way down the side of the mountain, stood enemy troops.
It seemed from this distance to be a small group of soldiers keeping watch. Although elven eyes were keener than others were, the fact that they had been marching in such a large group meant they had probably been spotted too. The elven legion leaders looked expectantly at Felanar, as did Bren and Kara. Thinking quickly, Felanar expressed his thought that they had probably been seen, or shortly would be. At this distance, and with the vantage point the enemy had, there seemed no way to sneak up on the enemy party. Therefore, swift action was called for. The enemy troops may be able to get the word out before being killed, but this was no spy mission. The elves were a very visible force coming to aid Argan, and now was the time to make their presence known to all.
“And let the word go forth that the king approaches,” added Bren. “Let surprise be on our side, and uncertainty on theirs.”
“Yes, Felanar, it is time to make yourself known,” said Kara. “Let your enemies fly before the rightful heir of the throne of Argan, who they dare to threaten!”
Dérevel and the other legion heads nodded silently and it was decided. Felanar took a deep breath, removed his sword from its sheath, and pointed it at the enemy. “It is time,” he said. With a cry he ran forward, with eight hundred elves yelling war cries beside him. As they raced up the slope toward the enemy, the mountainside echoed with their shouts until a cacophony of sound ricocheted through the air. The enemy scout troop, perhaps twenty in all, must have felt as if the sky was falling on them.
As the scouts scrambled for their weapons, Felanar could see that the group was made up of men of some sort, but not westerners. They were armed with swords and bows, and were reaching for their arrows, but it was already too late. Elven archers, while on a dead run, had already shot their silvery arrows high in the air. Before the men could get a shot off, the arrows came arcing down upon them. Half were dead in an instant. The rest turned and fled up the mountain pass, yelling incoherently. Elven feet were swifter, though, and soon they had been cut down by arrow and sword before they could pass word of the attack.
“Shanaarian men,” said Bren as he examined the corpses. “But these were just scouts. I think we will find stiffer resistance from the armies up ahead.”
“Let us meet the resistance with the same fury, then,” said Kara. Felanar, exhilarated, nodded energetically and up they climbed toward the city.
The trees and bushes were sparser now as they moved further up the side of the mountain. The ancient highway was in good repair this close to Argan, and only the steepness of their ascent slowed them. The road itself was wide enough for twenty men across to pass at once. It seemed narrow enough to Felanar, though, as he felt himself hemmed in by the mountain. The highway here was bordered on either side by rising walls of rock where the road had been carved through. He could see why this was a good defense. An invader felt his defensive options slip away the further up the mountain he went. Like an animal being herded into a trap, was how it felt to Felanar.
Sounds could now be heard ahead in the distance. Boom, boom, boom came a low rumble that echoed dully along the canyon walls. Faint yells and cries rang out and it wasn’t long before they heard the clash of metal. Felanar tensed as they marched around a bend for suddenly he got his first glimpse of Tranith Argan. It was still some distance away, but already it was majestic and awe-inspiring. Tall towers with bright banners and flags streaming in the wind rose high above the massive walls. The gleaming white stonework dazzled in the daylight. Houses and halls were interspersed among the towers. Row after row of these living and working quarters stretched up the mountainside and within the base of the city formed by the semi-circular walls. It was a huge city and seemingly an impregnable one.
Below the outer walls were the invading forces. After turning that last bend in the highway, the road dipped down again into a valley that had been carved into the rock. At the base of the valley, the rock climbed up again and it was on this rise that the foundation of the city had been built. The invading army was in a vast bowl cut into the mountain, with Tranith Argan stretching high above them, and the elven army now on a hill behind them. The forces of Shanaar were in an awkward strategic position, even as the builders of the great city has planned.
Nevertheless, those forces were strong numerically, filling the valley with their number. Thousands of troops were fighting, either shooting arrows at the city defenders, or attacking the walls themselves. Great engines of war had been dragged up the mountain as well. The larger ones were hurling boulders at the base of the walls and the gates. Shuddering with each rock hurled, the gates held but were slowly being weakened. The smaller engines were lofting burning objects high above the walls to land within the city. Smoke from these fires filled the air. Meanwhile, ladders and ropes allowed men to climb the side of the walls and engage in sword fighting at the top. The sounds of all of this activity were combined with the loud booming of the drums that came from the back of the army. The city held, but it was taking all the diligence of its defenders to keep the fires out and the invaders off the walls.
As the elven army surveyed the scene, a cry went out from the Shanaarians. Although small in number compared to their own forces, this new army was unexpected and they acutely felt themselves caught with enemies on either side looking down upon them. Given swift orders, most of the invaders turned and charged upon these reinforcements. Felanar quickly whispered to Bren and gave the battle cry to attack. Waves of elven arrows rained down the valley as Bren slipped away to the northern slope of the valley and disappeared amidst the underbrush.
The elves quickly moved into a position lined along the top of the bowl. With disciplined movements, they formed tiers of archers aiming down into the valley. As they launched their arrows, the first troops charging against them were cut down. The invaders wore leather and chain armor, but that was of little avail against the elven arrows. Only an occasional arrow would deflect upon a link of metal and not hit its target. The rest struck with deadly accuracy.
Arrows began flying in the opposite direction, and the elves scrambled into defensive positions. With their numerical advantage, enough invaders survived the elven archers and were now close enough that hand combat began. Swords clanged together, filling the valley with the sound of metal. Felanar and Kara fought together. Standing side by side, they began to clash with Shanaarian men. Using their sword training, they held their own, but were surprised at the ferocity with which the enemy fought. Usually it is the defender of one’s home who fights with desperation, but here it was the attackers who seemed the more desperate.
One particular attacker, a tall man with dark hair peeking under his helmet, and a broad chest covered with chain mail, gave Kara all she could handle. She slashed her sword against the man but he defended and then turned his sword back at her. She spun quickly to the side and allowed his momentum to carry him too far forward. She then raised her sword to give the counter-thrust but her adversary quickly recovered and defended the blow. He then brought his sword down hard upon Kara who defended but felt her body shudder with the blow. She gasped and felt herself out of breath. Her arms still quivering from the blow, she knew she wouldn’t be able to deliver a return strike of any strength. So still bent under from the attack, she quickly stuck out her right leg and kicked the man’s legs from out beneath him. He staggered for a moment to get his balance, and Kara used the moment to right herself and raise her sword in attack. Again the man reacted too quickly and thrust her blow aside. As he prepared to strike back though, he looked surprised and looking down he saw a sword sticking though his torso, thrust from behind. As he sank to his knees, Felanar stood behind him and removed his sword. The man fell over face first.
“Thank you,” said Kara gratefully.
“Come, there are plenty more,” her brother replied, raising his sword to the next attacker. Kara did likewise and the fighting continued.
Arrows from both sides continued to fly from the back of the ranks. As the front lines fought fiercely with swords, their armies were being cut down behind them by the archers. The elven army was less affected for they wore armor that usually held against the arrows of men. Still, enough arrows rained down for some elves to be struck dead.
As this great clash was occurring, the defenders of Tranith Argan looked on with confusion – and rising hope. The catapults were still trained on the walls of the city, but the attackers had stopped scaling the walls and either pulled back in uncertainty or were now fighting the elves. Evidently deciding that it was best to deal with this new threat first, and since the actual city wasn’t going anywhere, the Shanaarian army was now almost completely ignoring it. The Argan defenders standing upon the tops of the walls were astonished at the sight, for it was clear, even at this distance, that the army that had come to their aid was made up of elves.
“They are elves, I say,” cried one man on the outermost wall as he looked west.
“Aye, elves you say, and elves my eyes see, but I don’t understand the meaning,” responded the soldier next to him.
“It is the work of Ravesfel, no doubt,” said a third. “He got word to the elves somehow for it is said he can speak through the air to whomever he wishes.”
“What the old women say, you mean,” ridiculed the second man. “I say the old man is a dreamer, for my father always says – “
Before he could finish that thought, another cry went up from among the soldiers. Pointing to the east, they looked to the other side of the bowl and saw another army. Dalonír had reached the city from the other side of the mountain! The soldiers, realizing that more elves had joined the fight, let out a great cheer. As they did, a voice cried out from the base of the wall.
“Men of Argan, listen to me! Men of Argan, I have returned. Listen!” Bren was at the base of the wall on the western side. He shouted loudly. The soldiers heard his voice and looked down in amazement.
“Bren, it is!” cried one.
“Open the gates, quick!” said another.
“Don’t be a fool, it is still too dangerous,” responded a third.
“Men of Argan, listen!” cried Bren again. “Look, to the west, amid the elves. Look, men of Argan, your king has returned! Your king fights for Argan!”
The soldiers listened in astonishment at this news. Word of this king had spread throughout the city in the past few weeks. The people were excited to the point of an uproar at the thought, and it had been all anyone could talk about until the invasion forces attacked. Now the thought of the king returned to the minds of the soldiers and that same excitement erupted. Not only were the elves fighting for them now, but also their king was fighting for them! Word was quickly passed from the soldiers on the wall down to the men on the ground behind the wall. Like a swift-moving fire, word passed from wall to wall and into the city.
“Men of Argan, your king needs you now.” Bren continued to shout. “Do not despair, for this day belongs to Argan, and to victory. Open the gates and pour out of the city! Rise up, and attack the invaders! Rise up, and fight with your king!”
Dalonír’s army was approaching the eastern wall and began to engage the enemy with ferociousness. Seeing this on the east and the heavy fighting on the west, and hearing Bren’s ringing words below, a great hope rose among Tranith Argan. Their past had come to life and once again they had a king. Moreover, an active king, one leading the fight against Argan’s enemies! A king who could even command the elves! The euphoria spread to the waiting armies stationed inside the third wall. The word was given and the army quickly marched through the third gate and then wound around the second wall to where the second gate stood. Passing that, they gave the word to open the first gate. As it opened, the armies of Argan streamed out of the walls and poured over the few remaining attackers positioned near the city. Cries of “For king and for Argan!” rang out through the valley.
What had been a heavy siege of the city quickly turned into a rout of the enemies. The bulk of the Shanaarian army had been sent to engage Felanar’s army, and despite their greater number they could only fight to a standstill against the elves. The elves fought with their usual efficiency and strength, and it was more than the attackers expected. Now with reinforcements arriving, their position was lost. Caught in the bowl of the mountain, another elven army marched against their weak side. With the Argan army suddenly swarming among them, it was a three-pronged attack of overwhelming force.
The war engines were overrun and destroyed, and the few attackers near the city were killed. Now the main attacking army found itself beset on either side with the mountain hemming them in. They fought with desperation, but their position was hopeless, and the slaughter was swift. In less than an hour after Dalonír’s army appeared, the fighting was over and at little cost Argan had a great victory. And a king.