Chapter Ten: Turned Black the Old Oak and Farewell
(Note: This is not official version and may be removed in the near future. This do not reflect what is read in the podcast version, nor any other version you may encounter. I have preserved the rough form for posterity — or something like that. This novel has since been rewritten.) Nub had tried hard to keep James in the room. She pleaded and begged, half dropping to her knee for him to stay. But he couldn’t. He had to know what the sounds were—the horns. He left the room; Nub refused to follow and curled in a ball near the door. Here and there he stumbled from weakness, succumbing to the effects of his wounds. It was all he could do to stay full upright, let alone see all that stood before. Each step, however, grew easier, and he felt his strength returning in groves. Yet, he paused outside the door, using the corner of a nearby wall as a support and nearly fainted. Rays of light ran along his exposed skin and lit up the face of the wall so he could see the paleness of the stone. Dawn, inescapable and unforgettably true, came at him as if a call from the Heaven that only he believed existed. He faced the mountains beyond and became overwhelmed by the greatness of the sun as it passed between two peaks, lighting everything in its path. For the first time, looking east, he saw the wide expanse of farmland that extended down the backside of Arlin City and on past the walls and into the country beyond, meeting up with the Far’anon River. Part of the river had been diverted into a series of canals and irrigation ditches like a giant maze of sparkling pathways. The farmland ended in a series of thickets, each round and independent of one another. They dotted the landscape like a group of toadstools. And then, like a massive blow to his gut, the reality of the situation presented itself. The euphoric moment ended and he realized that the sun was rising from the wrong side—the west. Panic struck through the inhabitants of Arlin City. He had been too blind to it to realize. People of all shapes and sizes ran frantically to nowhere at all. Below he could see nothing but chaos as men, women, and children of all races crowded around the western wall as far away from the main gates as possible. It was as if they hoped they could escape magically through the stone, but he could sense that the majority of them couldn’t use magic at all. Soldiers appeared from various sections of the city below, forming ranks and marching to the western wall, and though from this position he could not see the west, he knew there were more soldiers and people there. He walked along the wall to find an open view of the western side of the city. A few women brushed past and nearly knocked him over. Finally he found an open alcove that ended in a curved balustrade of aged gray stone fitted with alternating pillars carved with armored horses rearing high and regal and bowing as if to a king. For a moment, James feared to look over the edge. He couldn’t be sure what he would see, and at the same time he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know what it was that everyone was so eager to escape from. But, he bit down and pushed away all the fear and limped until slowly the east side of Arlin City and the great green field beyond came into view. As stunning as it was to see the sun rising from the west, the sight below caused every muscle in his heart to lurch as if he were having a heart attack. His throat seized up; a thick bulb that felt like a smooth golf ball swelled up there preventing him from swallowing. Below he could see lines of soldiers lining up along the walls and below, catapults that had not been there before inside the excavated forms of buildings, archers preparing lengths of flaming arrows, and then…beyond the walls. For several hundred feet there was nothing but green and gold grass. Then, where the Old Oak stood, the same place where James had appeared in the Farthland, stood a black mass a mile wide and half a mile deep, interspersed with long squares of silver. Thousands and thousands of creatures, armed and shuffling impatiently, were there, part of an enormous army. There were men there too, normal men indifferent from those of the Farthland. Near the oak a small circle had been cleared, in which was a tall figure in a bright burnished silver suit of armor, helm removed and flanked by the lyphon, who walked in lonely circles in a motion of obvious discomfort at being held at bay for too long. Three massive wooden horns, now bellowing again in such a deep, resonating tone that he had to close his eyes to make it go away, and a series of tarred catapults made up the rear. His heart sunk deep into his chest and he felt as if it wanted to trade places with his gut. An army, he thought. What have I brought down on these people? He started to cry, but stopped himself as the first tears slipped silently off his chin. Instead, he sucked it back; his muscles spasmed in protest. The army remained still, yet no messenger came forward asking for surrender, and neither did anyone leave Arlin City to suggest the same, or a different end. Luthien’s army simply remained still, anticipating, and antsy. A long, black shadow appeared over his shoulder. He turned and met face to face with a dark brown gryphon in mid-flight, diving straight for him. Two fiery amber eyes centered on his face. It shrieked and raised its claws and, just as suddenly as it had appeared, so too did