Legend of the Swords: War (20 page)

Rimes slipped off the back of Renek’s horse and ran in close to the giant. “Hey!” he yelled. “What the heck happened to you? Did you eat a whole sheep every day when you were a kid?”

The giant turned to look at him. “Ah, little man! You have bravery, to come back.” He grinned broadly. “And with no shield! I thought you were a coward, like these others,” he said, gesturing around him.

Renek jumped off of his horse and circled around behind the giant as Rimes continued to taunt him.

“Did your mother die in childbirth? I’ll bet you ripped her open!” Rimes laughed. “It must have been like a horse steppin’ on an orange, blood and pulp spurting everywhere!”

The giant reddened, and brought his weapon down at Rimes with a roar. Rimes jumped to the side, and sliced at the giant’s outstretched arm, but his sword just skittered off of the chain mail.

Renek, however, was a bit luckier. He lunged in to the giant’s left flank, and sunk his sword deeply into his side.

The giant lifted his head to scream in pain. Renek struggled for a moment to free his sword, but it was ripped out of his hand as the giant turned and swung his weapon at Renek’s head. Renek easily stepped out of the way of the lumbering giant.

Rimes ran in and pulled Renek’s sword out with his wounded left hand, grimacing at the pain. As he pulled with his left hand, with his right hand he thrust his own sword into the giant’s other flank. The giant bellowed again, and Rimes dislodged his own sword. The giant then spun around to attack Rimes, but he had thrown himself to the side toss Renek’s sword back to him.

Renek jumped to the side to grab his sword, and brought it up under the chin, striking the giant’s neck. He struck true, striking the same gap that he had found before. He pulled his sword to slice deeply, and the giant’s lifeblood exploded out of his neck’s artery, splashing over Renek’s hands and onto the ground.

The ground shook as the giant’s body struck the ground. Nearly three dozen Triol soldiers drew their swords and advanced on the men who had killed their great warrior. The nearby kingdom soldiers joined with Renek and Rimes into a defensive circle.

Renek looked around at his men. Rimes was grim and determined, but the other men hadn’t fought with Renek or Rimes before; they seemed either frightened or resigned. All of them clearly thought that this would be their last battle.

Renek jumped forward, moving as fast as he could, and sliced through three of the enemy soldiers almost before they knew he was attacking.

“Your little friend wasn’t a match for us!” he yelled at the Triols. “Now it’s your time to die.” He engaged the two nearest him, pushing their swords to the side with his own and skewering the one on his right. He paused to look at the other, who was a relatively young man. He said in a low voice, “I hope you’ve made peace with your maker, boy,” lifting his sword menacingly.

The young soldier took a step back, then turned and ran back towards the bulk of his army.

Renek grinned, and turned to the right. Rimes was trying to defend against two men, and Renek quickly went over to help. He parried a low blow for Rimes, pulling the assailant’s attention away. A moment later, the Triol was dead.

Renek turned back to the other Triol, but he was too late—he watched, helplessly, as the Triol pushed his sword’s point past the barrier of Rimes’ chain mail and into his chest.

Time seemed to slow down for Renek. He could almost feel the sword split the rings in Rimes’s chain mail. He watched the point slide smoothly between two of Rimes’ ribs. He had a feeling of dread and helplessness combined; he saw Rimes’s eyes grow wider as he took a stumbling step backwards, pulling his body off of the sword before he fell.

Interlude

The corpse stopped, deep in the forest, and looked at his hands. They seemed to be … less dead, somehow. Perhaps they were healing?

He had heard a noise in the distance. He looked around, but could see nothing. There was still little underbrush, but the trees were dense. He couldn’t see very far.

The noise came again. He cocked his head, tilting an ear towards the noise. It was a heavy rustling, as if something large was coming his way.

The trees swayed in the wind, unconcerned, as if to reassure the corpse that all was normal and well. One especially large tree shivered and bowed to the side.

A dragon’s head appeared next to the bending tree, its scales glittering like red jewels around the golden flames of its eyes. Its head was pushing the tree to the side. Bark rained down upon the forest as the dragon rubbed its head repeatedly on the straining tree. Its eyes narrowed in pleasure.

The corpse found that he could feel awe. And fear. Perhaps his mind was mending along with his body? Or, perhaps his mind was healing faster than his body, as the corpse suddenly found his body was immovable, all he could do was stand stare at the beast in front of him.

The dragon saw the living corpse standing in front of it, and its eyes opened in curiosity. It hugged the ground and crept stealthily past the tree, lifting and placing its feet with infinite care. The flames of its irises coursed faster through its eyes as it approached the corpse.

Its nostrils were larger than the corpse’s head. The corpse stood perfectly still as the dragon sniffed it, once, twice.

The dragon’s eyes widened, and it peered into the corpse’s face with its right eye. Its iris spun open further. The corpse found that it could no longer blink as the dragon appeared to gaze directly into the emptiness where the corpse’s soul should have been.

A thrumming began to rise in the dragon’s throat. At first, it was just noise, but it quickly coalesced into a pensive threnody, an almost tuneless dirge that robbed the very air in the forest of all cheer. The dragon’s glittering beauty made the song’s sadness more poignant. The corpse was surprised to see, reflected in the curved mirror of the dragon’s flawless eye, his own tears streaming down his dead face.

Still singing, the dragon nodded once, then jumped into the air. Easily threading its wings through and around the thick branches, its heavy song carried it above the trees and out of sight.

The dragon’s song lingered in the forest. The corpse stood and wept for a time, sorrow overwhelming all else.
 

Searchers

Battle with the Triols was more difficult than Ryan had thought it would be. The mass of bodies, all bearing weapons, shields, and armor, was confusing. His sword weighed a lot more than he was used to, and it had a different balance. He slashed and cut at anything he didn’t recognize, but despite having come in from behind, he couldn’t seem to get his sword in beyond their shields. When he did manage to hit one of the Triols, his sword seemed to bounce off of the strong armor even though it weighed so much more than his practice sword.

Finally, he felled one of the warriors. He looked around. One of the squires was hanging out of his saddle, throat cut. It was too dark to see who it was. Several of the knights were on the ground, dead—but Culdre was the only Triol still swinging his sword.

Culdre had three kingdom soldiers attacking him. He was still able to hold them off, somehow. Armand was clearly tiring, but his face was set in determination.

Culdre disarmed one of the other two kingdom knights, and quickly slid his sword between the man’s ribs, chain mail links splitting and embedding themselves into the wound. Culdre tried to pull his sword out, but it was stuck. He tugged harder, but as the blade came free, Armand’s attack landed on Culdre’s sword arm and chest. He threw his head back and howled as his chain mail armor twisted and broke from the force of Armand’s blow. Despite his bleeding arm, he managed to flip his sword out towards Armand, knocking his sword away, and he spurred his horse, bolting away from the battle.

Armand followed into the darkness as the rest of the troop gave a feeble cheer.

Sir Gregory frowned at the boys around him, but didn’t say anything about their presence in the battle. Instead, he used the time to instruct the boys about how to clean their bloody swords and to clean up the battlefield a bit.

It was nearly an hour before Armand returned. They had piled the bodies up and put a cairn of rocks over them, then moved down the road towards the front lines before tethering their horses and trying to rest. They had decided not to fully set camp, but had pulled out their bedrolls. Most of them were already asleep—the fight had exhausted them. Gregory rose to meet Armand at the edge of the camp, which woke Ryan.

Ryan rolled onto his side, straining his ears, trying to hear the news.

“He did not escape, Gregory,” Armand said. There was great satisfaction in his voice.

Gregory held out his hand. “Good work, Armand.” They shook hands. “I had Ryan set up your pallet over there. Try to get some rest, you’ve earned it.”

Armand dismounted, then turned back to Gregory. “How many did we lose?”

“Not many. Two knights and a squire. Frederick and Richard. Liam’s squire Dorrin.”

Armand shook his head. “We have too few men for this war, Gregory.”

Gregory reached out and clasped Armand’s shoulder. “I know, Armand. We will have to do our best.”

Armand nodded, then walked over to the where the horses were, tied his horse. He covered the horse with a blanket before staggering over to his pallet. Ryan grimaced—it was less than a half-minute before Armand started snoring loudly.

*   *   *

Ryan rolled over, putting his arm up over his head. He thought back to the battle earlier that day. He opened his eyes wide. He had killed a man in battle.

Why didn’t he feel anything? He had done well…but he had thought killing would be harder, somehow.

He mulled this over for a while. Things had changed so much since the village.

I wonder where my parents are.
He sighed heavily.
Or if they’re even still alive.

Armand’s snores grew louder. Ryan frowned, looking over at the noise. Armand was often cruel to him. Is that why he found it … unnoticeable, to kill someone? He frowned more deeply.

I wish Armand that had been one of the ones killed.
He thought suddenly, and his eyes widened.
Wait, do I really think that? He’s mean, but does he deserve to die?
He shook his head.
No. He doesn’t.

He was going to put me in the front.
Ryan sighed.
I would have been mincemeat, me against 20 Triols—and I think that’s what Armand wanted.
He shrugged.
But it was an empty threat. He knew that Gregory wouldn’t let him do something like that.
His mouth opened in a huge yawn, and he rolled over again, trying to stifle the sound of Armand’s snoring by covering his head with his arm again.

Soon, he too was back to sleep. The next day, as they were putting rolled pallets onto their horses, a kingdom man rode into their camp. He had a few soldiers with him, and, despite his youth, wore the trappings of a general. He seemed to be headed towards the front lines, and as he saw Gregory, he looked relieved.

“Gregory!” he shouted.

“General Petrin! Brother!” Gregory grinned, and ran over to the newcomer, embracing him. There was a similarity, but Petrin was clearly the younger of the two.

“Brother, I am glad that I found you,” Petrin said. “I have news of the war, and it’s not good.” He shook his head, and lowered his voice. “Plus I have a missive from the king, for your eyes only.”

Gregory’s eyebrows rose. “Well, let us step off into the forest a ways, then, general.” He turned to the camp. “Finish striking camp and form up ranks, men. We will return shortly.”

As they stepped over tree roots and around the small scrub brush that was growing this near the edge of the forest, they spoke of the front lines.

“It’s bad, Gregory. We don’t have a chance, or even really any hope of winning. We’re outnumbered at least three to one.

“I’m hoping that the king’s letter to you has some new strategy, something to at least give us some hope.” He handed over a sealed parchment.

Gregory sighed. “Why me, brother? I’m only a commander.”

“Well, I may have been playing you up a bit.” Petrin grinned apologetically. “The king thinks highly of your successes so far.”

“Then why am I still training the new recruits?” Gregory grimaced and broke the seal on the parchment. He held it out so that Petrin could read at the same time.

Dearest Gregory,

The war is not going well. We are pressed back on the main front. Were it not for the Singers greatly favoring our side, we would already have lost most of our army. Thankfully, they seem, mostly, to be on our side.

As it is, we are fighting a losing, retreating battle. Let me rephrase: we are fighting battles, valiantly, but only to delay the Triol forces from taking city after city. We need your help.

One of the Searchers has recently come to my castle. He had to flee, as the battle lines moved over the area that he was searching. He has located the Swords of the Ascendant—

Petrin drew in a sharp breath.

—but because of the battle, and his lack of defensive skills, he was unable to enter the cave. He believes it is hidden, trapped, guarded—in short, he believes it to be dangerous.

Speed is of the essence; I believe that the Triols are looking for the swords as well. You
must
get there first. Take your squire, and, at most, one or two other knights and squires, and follow the map that is drawn at the bottom of this page. Once you have retrieved the swords, bring them back to me, untouched.

I have sent several small groups, and even a small unit, in search of the swords. The Kingdom will not survive unless one of these groups succeeds. I do not expect the others to prevail, they are being forced to cut through the Triols, whereas you will be able to go around. Their groups will serve more as a distraction to the enemy, giving you a better chance for success.

Gods’ speed, and good luck.