Chapter Twelve: A War Council
Tranith Argan: Book 2
After the old regent regretfully gives up the throne to Felanar, his loyal advisor Canar counseled him to encourage Felanar to invade Shanaar, likely dying in the process.
The people of Tranith Argan rejoiced over the double victory of the day. Not only had an invading force been routed, but a king had returned to them as if from a long-held dream. Generations of men and women had grown up, lived and died with the wistful notion that one day a king would rule on the throne. Early in days of the rule by regents, this expectation was strong. Surely the rightful heirs of Argan would turn up eventually; it was just a matter of living long enough to see that glorious day.
As decades passed, and then centuries, the dream dimmed in the minds of many, though it never faded completely. Even the ones who never really expected to see this day still harbored a tiny hope buried in the far reaches of their imagination. A holdover from youthful fantasies, when little boys would play at being the king of Argan. Their parents, older, and therefore wiser about such things, would remember fondly their own youthful dreams but with less confidence of such desires being fulfilled. In recent centuries, there had been some who flatly denied even the possibility of a king returning, but these were viewed as persons having no imagination (and even less faith). Even if the average inhabitant of the land didn’t actually expect to see a king, even if they would deny having such a hope, in the back of their minds always lay the breath of a wisp of a dream.
And now the dream had become a reality – indeed a reality made glorious by this rescue of the city under siege. Nothing could have prepared the people of Argan for Felanar better than to have him lead a band of elves – elves! – in defeating the forces of evil. Truly, this was a king to be reckoned with. No Indecisive title for this king!
The streets of the city were alive with happy chattering as merchants and customers, soldiers and workers, wives and children, could talk of nothing else. ‘Did you see him?’ they would ask. ‘Aye,’ said some, and described a tall blond warrior. Others denied this and said he had dark hair. Some said he rode in on the backs of the elves, a charge that others called ridiculous. Clearly, it did not matter if they had seen Felanar or not. Stories were being told from person to person until the rumors had far surpassed the reality. Most of the people understood this, but few cared, for the happy reality was that a king sat on the throne again. They couldn’t wait to see the coronation. Pomp and magnificence had returned to Argan!
Inside the palace, the object of this adoration sat at the head of a long wooden table. It stretched the length of a long narrow room next to the throne room. The table’s wood had been carefully polished over the years to make it glisten in the light of the torches along the wall. Several narrow windows cut through the stone work and the light of the afternoon sun shone through the glass onto the far wall. Tapestries hung along this far wall, and swords and spears were intertwined on either end of the room. Some twenty chairs lined the table on either side.
Next to Felanar at the head were Ravesfel, Llarand and Dalonír on one side, and Kara and Bren on the other. The four captains of the army sat further down. Anarth and Canar walked into the room and Felanar invited them to sit down to discuss the outcome of the war. Mindful of his role, Anarth bowed low and sat down next to the chief of the captains, and Canar shuffled in next to him.
“Thank you for joining us, Anarth,” began Felanar calmly. “We have much to discuss, and your knowledge and expertise are very much called for. I hope I can rely on you to provide guidance, for as I’m sure you know I am inexperienced in these matters.”
“You have my complete cooperation, sire,” said Anarth nodding. “Excuse my earlier attitude, please. I was taken by surprise and old men rarely enjoy surprises. I assure you, though, that I have nothing but the interests of Tranith Argan in my heart. All my life I have tried to serve the people well. I will not cease to do so now that my role has ended. You will have my help, my lord.”
Felanar was surprised by these words, but he tried not to show it. Perhaps Ravesfel was right and by showing him honor earlier he had won him over. Certainly he seemed to be acting in an honorable fashion. He thanked Anarth.
“Now,” he continued, “Tain has been telling us of the final outcome of the battle. Ravesfel sent word for me to be brought to the city right away, so I was not present as the prisoners were taken. Tain has been telling us of the enemy. Please continue.”
Tain was the captain of the High Guards of Argan, the highest ranked forces in Argan. There were four groups of soldiers in the Argan military, each with its own captain. There were the Scouts, who gathered information from the fringes of the kingdom. There were the Defenders, who worked in shifts to keep the walls of the city under constant watch. There were the Warriors, the soldiers who made up the bulk of the general battle forces. Finally there were the High Guards, who were concerned with the safety of the palace. It was Argan tradition that the High Guards were the most prominent, and the captains of the other three units reported to the captain of the High Guards. Thus Tain took the lead in these discussions.
“Sire, we took three hundred Shanaarian troops prisoners. Vile men they are, my lord, and not worthy of being called warriors. No honor do they have.”
“Your feelings about them are clear, Tain,” interrupted Felanar. “Earlier you said you had some misgivings. Tell me of them.”
“Yes, my lord, and excuse me. I only meant to say that we know how these Shanaarians fight, and this time it was different. The evil one’s army knows no rules of war. They will do anything to achieve victory, no matter how dishonorable. And when they lose, either they fight to the death, or they kill themselves before they can be captured. This did not happen today. As I said, we have three hundred prisoners, and they gave themselves up willingly.”
“Could it be,” said Llarand, glancing from Felanar to Tain, “that they were not expecting to see Findáran armies? Might that explain their sudden change of attitude?”
Tain, not used to talking with the lord of the elves, felt uncomfortable answering the question. When he did, he addressed Felanar.
“I have no doubt they were as surprised as we were, and for them it wasn’t the happy surprise it was to us.” He paused and got up the courage to look Llarand in the eye. “It was a magnificent sight, lord of the elves, to see your people fight for Argan. Speaking as a soldier, I admire your fighting skills immensely.” He turned back to Felanar. “Yet I do not know the answer to this riddle. Could it be the sight of the fighting elves that made them lose their senses? Perhaps it was, I could not say.”
“Ravesfel,” said Kara from across the table, “did you not tell us of the Shanaarian spies who killed themselves rather than be taken by Low Men? It seems to me that it is not the quality of the foe that causes such desperation, for what are a small band of Low Men compared to an army of Findára?”
Ravesfel listened carefully to her words, and half-nodded in assent, but he said nothing. Next to him, Llarand also nodded and spoke.
“Yes, Kara, it is not the foe that strikes fear into their hearts. It is their lord that causes such emotions.”
“Then what are we to do with such strange soldiers?” asked Felanar. “Certainly we should question them, and find out the plans of the Evil One. Will they talk, do you think, Ravesfel?”
“Mmm . . . perhaps there may be some who will talk,” the guardian answered. “We are not accustomed to having the opportunity. It will be explored.”
Anarth cleared his throat and leaned forward to address the others. “If I may interject, I think the meaning of this riddle is clear. I have been regent for many years, and have been kept abreast of developments on the frontiers by the Scouts. My reports indicate that there are problems of morale in Shanaar. The land does not yield as much food as it once did due to mismanagement of the fields. We hear that much of the food Shanaar requires must be brought in from the west. Vélakk’s forces dwindle through attrition and vigilance of the east. I would suggest that these soldiers acted differently because Vélakk’s power diminishes and they fear him less.”
Llarand and Dalonír bristled at the open naming of Vélakk, but said nothing. One of the other captains spoke up.
“My lord, our regent is correct, for I am the captain of the Scouts. The reports do indicate a desperation of the forces of Shanaar. The winters have been bitter there in recent years, and there are reports of drought and dissent among the people. This invasion may have been the last frantic act of a dying regime. The soldiers who surrendered may have done so for there is no longer any bite to the Evil One.”
“Absurd!” cried Ravesfel. “Your scouts have not been told the whole story, if they think Shanaar is about to collapse. Do not doubt the power of the Evil One.”
“Yes, guardian,” replied Tain cautiously, “you may be right, but I, too, have heard these reports. The power of Shanaar may yet be strong, but it is not what it once was. It has been a generation since we have had any incursions of their forces, and that was a weak stab at Delendor and the Golden Lakes district. Hardly a thrust at the heart of Argan. And before that, it had been centuries since we had a direct conflict with Shanaar. We know in the historical records that the Evil One fought fiercely in the early days, and nearly broke the power of Argan at one point. Would it not be so that this lack of initiative in recent centuries indicates a waning of power?”
“I would not wish to take lightly the power of a guardian,” said Llarand, “least of all one given to evil. I suggest caution, despite the reports of your scouts. Those reports may be accurate, and yet not contain the full story.”
“Your words, master elf, are well considered,” said Anarth. “Yet it may be that the reports contain more truth than not. We saw the results on the battlefield this day. The forces of Shanaar are not what they once were. Now they have been made even weaker by our efforts – and yours, of course, Llarand. We stand at a unique time in our history. We have a king at last! A king who not only claims the throne, but leads elves to victory. Surely songs will be sung about this glorious day and the king who returns to Argan.”
“Sire, this is my thought as well,” said Tain. “The regent is right, the people rejoice in your presence. Morale has never been higher among my troops. Today’s battle reinforces their resolve. Your presence sends their confidence soaring to the sky. May I suggest that this is the moment to complete the triumph? Why not send our troops to Shanaar and strike while the Evil One is at his weakest?”
Felanar said nothing at this, but merely glanced over at Ravesfel and Llarand. On their faces was clearly written caution. Looking over at Kara he saw the same thing. As he pondered this, a knock was heard at the door. A guard opened the door and peered in.
“Sire, excuse the interruption, but an army of the dwarves have reached the city in answer to our call for help. A delegation is here and wishes to meet with you.”
Grateful for the interruption, Felanar motioned for the dwarves to be brought into the conference room.
“Let us see what the dwarves have heard before we make a decision,” said Felanar, “for these matters concern them as well.”
In walked three dwarves dressed in battle gear over their usual clothes. They had on high leather boots, and wide belts that were partially covered by their chain mail. They wore cloaks which they lowered as they reached the table, revealing their bearded faces. They were stocky and short, as was customary for their race. One was older than the others, his hair and beard long ago turned gray. He was flanked on either side by two younger dwarves, one with brownish-red hair and one with black.
Holding out his palm toward Felanar, the older dwarf spoke in a rough voice. “Might you be the one they call king of Argan?”
Felanar nodded and said, “I am king of Argan, Felanar by name. Who might you be, worthy dwarf?”
The older dwarf grunted, “Gram am I known, lord of the dwarves, inheritor of the mines, protector of the gold. Dolen this is, son to me and heir. Thenlo this is, also son, second-born.”
All three dwarves bowed toward Felanar and then took seats at the far end of the table after Felanar motioned for them to sit. Felanar introduced everyone, though Gram already knew Ravesfel, Llarand and Anarth. Dolen and Thenlo were strangers to all, dwarves being in the habit of keeping to themselves.
“Present to you, we do, a band of dwarves to aid in the fight, though it seems we are too late,” said Gram stiffly. “No king we knew ere we left Khrea, so this is a surprise.”
“You came at my call then,” said Anarth warmly. “Honorable folk you are, Gram, and we would have had great need of your aid had not Llarand’s folk already arrived. Truly, Argan has many allies this day, and we are grateful indeed.”
Gram stood and briskly nodded at Llarand. It was not a very friendly gesture, more of a perfunctory head movement, which Llarand acknowledged with a movement of his hand.
“As Anarth says, we are most grateful for your aid, Gram,” said Felanar. “I have heard of the loyalty of the dwarves, but now I have seen your fine qualities for myself.”
Gram stood and nodded again, this time to Felanar, and this time with much more feeling.
“Then our only regret is that we have not had use of this today,” he said to the king, pointing to the axe hanging at his side.
“And a fine job of it you would have made,” said Ravesfel smiling, “for never let it be said that a dwarf cannot hold his own in battle.”
“Aye, this is said, and with truth, for our people love fighting almost as much as we love gold.” Gram nodded a third time, toward Ravesfel, and then sat down. Felanar quickly thought back to his training and what he had been taught about dwarves. A proud race he knew them to be. They were loyal allies in the past toward Argan, and had no quarrels with men.
“How many have accompanied you, Gram?” asked Felanar.
“Fifteen bands, of fifteen dwarves are we,” he replied with pride. “Our way this is after the fifteen sons of Isid the Great. Numbers may not impress sons of men, but fight hard we would.”
“I know you would,” said Felanar warmly, “I’ve many times been told that a dwarf fights with the strength of several men. I am not sorry that we have no more enemy to fight today, but I am sorry to have missed an opportunity to see you in action.”
“We came as soon as we got the news,” the dwarf lord continued. “Slow is traveling by foot, for we ride no horses. One thing clear is not. Why does the Evil One attack Argan?”
“The very point we were discussing, Gram,” said Ravesfel. “Tell us, what do the dwarves hear about Shanaar? Khrea is a far off land, but your people are in the mountains of Argan and travel back and forth along the highways. Have you had trouble with the Evil One in recent days?”
“No sign of the Evil One has been seen,” Gram said. “Delendor was the last, until today. Mines are untouched, though, and wars are not waged. Evil One has not the stomach for fighting dwarves.”
“Mmm . . . perhaps, Gram,” said Ravesfel. “Or perhaps he has not yet focused his attention on your people. I would not dismiss the Evil One that easily, though you speak of a pride in your people that is well justified.”
“This may be a fortuitous event,” said Canar, speaking for the first time. “Having a troop of dwarves to aid our fight is a case of perfect timing. We were just discussing, Gram, how this is an excellent time to finish the job against the Evil One. His army has been defeated, and he is weak. You may get your chance yet to engage the enemy in battle, and test those axes of yours.”
He smiled at Gram as he said this, but Ravesfel was not smiling when he responded.
“That has not yet been decided, Canar, and it is not up to you to plan. This is a matter for the king and his advisors.”
“And I present it to the king to consider, of course,” Canar said nodding at Felanar. “I merely say that we have all the more reason for confidence now that our friends the dwarves have thrown in their lot with us.”
“My men would welcome the opportunity to fight alongside the dwarves,” said Tain as he made eye contact with the other three captains. “It would be an honor to mix sword with axe in ridding our kingdoms of our mutual enemy.”
“This is the point I was making earlier,” said Anarth animatedly, “only now we have even more confidence in victory. With the dwarves at our side, we can press our matter to the end.”
Felanar took all this in and then said quietly, “Gram, it seems many persons are speaking for you. What do you have to say for yourself? Do you seek a battle with the Evil One?”
Gram scratched his beard before he spoke, and looked each of his sons. Then he turned to the king and spoke with vigor.
“Fight we will, and enemy vanquish. Prepared we are to go to Shanaar.”
Felanar nodded in response and turned to Tain.
“Tain, what do you recommend?”
Tain looked at the three other captains who each nodded in turn, and then said, “This is the best opportunity we have ever had, my lord. The iron has been made red hot, so let us strike. We are prepared to go to Shanaar.”
A voice that had been quiet came from the other side of the table.
“May I express my thoughts?” Kara looked at Felanar as she asked this.
“My lord, it is not seemly for a woman to speak at such meetings,” said Canar. “I said nothing earlier, but this is too much!”
“Then feel free to leave if your sense of decorum is offended,” said Felanar, “for my sister has every right to be here. She, too, is an heir of the throne of Argan, and as such she will say what is on her mind, no matter what your customs may have been.”
Canar mumbled a reluctant apology and sank back in his chair.
“Thank you, brother,” said Kara, not looking at Canar during that exchange, but keeping her eyes focused on Felanar. “It seems that we have all the confidence in the world today, from our allies the dwarves, to the captain of our guards, to counselors of regents. Nothing is impossible with a king on the throne! Well I do not share this confidence. I’m troubled by the way the defeated soldiers acted, and I recall well my lessons about the Evil One. I do not think invading Shanaar will be quite as easy as defeating this army today. Even with the stout dwarves to aid us.” She turned and smiled at Gram as she said this, and he smiled back.
“Felanar,” said Llarand, “I fear Kara is right. We do not know the true state of affairs on Shanaar, and would it not it be wise for you to find out first? Send out scouts to ascertain the true strength of your enemy first.”
“Excuse me, elf lord,” said Tain, still hesitant to look directly at Llarand, “but our scouts have been sending back reports on a steady basis. What good would more scouts do?”
Llarand stared steadily at Tain, searching his face for insight into his heart.
“It may well be that there is nothing more to be seen, Tain,” he finally spoke, “and I do not doubt the skills of your scouts. I only suggest caution before beginning to hunt new prey. You have won a victory today and Tranith Argan remains secure. Be careful of greed, for you may not get what you want, and may lose what you already have.
“As for the Findára, I have to counsel that we not go to Shanaar, at least not now. It was controversial enough among my people to support Felanar even this far, though it was done willingly and without regret. Yet an invasion of Shanaar so suddenly would be unthinkable. We do not act hastily without cause, perhaps a function of our length of days. I would not be able to convince the lords of the Findára to accompany the armies of men on such an endeavor. I have no doubt whatsoever that the Erenár will say the same.”
Felanar listened carefully and thought about what Kara said. He turned to Ravesfel.
“What does the guardian of Tranith Argan have to say?”
Ravesfel seemed lost in thought when the question was asked, but he raised himself from his reverie, turned to Felanar, and responded.
“The loss of the elves would be great, I fear, and to have the armies of Argan leave the city would leave the land unguarded. As much as I would like to see the new kingship get off on the right foot by vanquishing the Evil One once and for all, I fear that it would be folly to do this soon.”
“It does not have to be immediate,” said Anarth. “Can we not at least make preparation now, gather up an army from among the peoples of Argan, Delendor, Irular Istan and the dwarves of Khrea? We need not send all our troops out of the city, either, for we surely need some to stay back in its defense. However, if we act now, could we not have an invasion force to be reckoned with in a matter of a few months? By spring we could be ready to launch our ships toward Shanaar, while still keeping Tranith Argan safe.”
“This is something I could bring to the lords of the Findára,” said Llarand quietly. “It may be that some among my people would be willing to aid such a cause, if it were done with proper planning and caution. Perhaps even a few Erenár ships could be available. Much more than that I cannot promise.”
“That is a fine promise even so, Llarand,” said Felanar warmly, “and I thank you again for your unending support. Gram, I think this would be to your liking as well, am I right?”
“Aye,” said Gram as he stood up again and bowed in Felanar’s direction, “fight the enemy we would, and with even more fifteens.”
“Excellent!” said Felanar. “Then I have decided. We will take the middle course. We will gather together the armies of our peoples, while scouting Shanaar. In a month I want our forces to be ready, and let us strike fast before our enemy has time to recover from his loss this day.”
The meeting broke up with this proclamation, with Felanar promising to meet with Gram later that day to discuss what would be required of the dwarves. Anarth and Canar went back to Anarth’s quarters, the captains went back to their garrisons, and Bren to his home. Soon only Felanar, Kara, Ravesfel, Llarand, and Dalonír remained at the table.
“You seemed sure of yourself at the end, Felanar,” said Ravesfel. “This is a very serious decision to make. Do you have any private doubts?”
“Yes, Felanar,” said Kara with some annoyance. “Did you completely discount what I said?”
“I may not be making the right decision,” said Felanar with a pained look, “but I did listen to what you said, Kara. I know it won’t be easy to defeat Shanaar.”
“Yet you are willing to cavalierly order an invasion?” she asked.
“Not cavalierly, Kara. This seems the best course of action to take. We know that the Evil One wants us dead. He has tried to kill us already, and I don’t think today’s defeat will endear us to him any more. Therefore, we have an enemy who will never cease striving to have us killed. What should be done with such an enemy? Left on his own, he will regain his strength and make another attempt. So why not attack first, catch him off his guard?”
“You will never catch him off his guard, Felanar,” said Ravesfel seriously. “Do you think you could move an army and not be noticed by him? He has his agents everywhere. It may be that even in our meeting there were some sympathetic to his cause. Long before you march to his palace, he will be ready for you. And you must not take lightly reports of his weakness.”
“So why do you let my brother order this folly?” cried Kara.
“Folly, is it?” said Felanar angrily. “I’m king for less than a day and already I’m a foolish ruler?”
“That is not what I meant, Felanar,” said Kara, “for I know you to be no fool. However, you are inexperienced in such matters, and were in a room full of experienced men. Some of whom may not have your best interests at heart. If I call this folly, I refer to the action, not the person who ordered it.”
“I know,” said Felanar softly, as he touched his sister’s arm. “I’m sorry to speak harshly with you, but this has been a difficult day for me in many ways.”
“As to your question, Kara,” said Ravesfel, “there are two reasons I let your brother make this decision. One, he is the king and I am merely the guardian. It is not given to our order to make decisions for the kings, but merely to counsel and suggest. We were sent here to help guide the kings into making wise decisions, but at the end we must defer to the decisions they make. This is the mistake the Evil One made.
“Second, I’m not certain this is folly. It falls upon Felanar to oppose the enemy, and a direct course of action is sometimes best. I have heard the scout reports as well, and it may well be that by treating the Shanaarians with too much cruelty, the Evil One has miscalculated. Perhaps it may be that his people are less enthusiastic for fighting than they once were. Long ago he promised the people of Shanaar that they would rule over all the lands. Argan would be theirs, he told them, and for centuries he tried to make this happen. He almost succeeded once, but Argan held. With time, perhaps his people have grown weary of his promises, and wish nothing more than to be left in peace.
“It is true that his attacks in recent centuries have grown rare, but I would not put our hope in his continued inaction. With Felanar’s existence now known, any inaction on his part will have ended. I expect much more trouble in the future. If we can cut him down before he takes the offensive again, so much the better for our chances.
“So you see, Kara, that I do not know the correct course, but it seems Felanar’s compromise is not a bad choice. We move fast enough to prevent the enemy from preparing too much. We move slowly enough to make good preparations ourselves. We live at a crossroads of history, my dear girl. Even I cannot say what we will find on the other side.”
So,” asked Felanar, “is that what you think was the cause of the surrender of the enemy troops? Morale has sunk so low they no longer care for their cause?”
“It may be,” said Ravesfel quietly.
“And if it not be?” asked Kara earnestly. “What other explanation might there be?”
“That it is a trap,” responded Ravesfel, even more quietly.
“How can we know?” asked Kara.
“Only by going to Shanaar,” the guardian said, looking up at Kara. She returned his look steadily but said nothing.