Legend of the Swords: War (23 page)

Gregory smiled “Worried about the stories about this mountain, Armand?”

Armand shook his head. “No. But you can’t be too careful.”

“What’re the stories about this mountain?” Kevin asked.

“The stories say that the gods’ used to keep a smith up here at the top of this mountain,” Gregory said. “They made him immortal so that he could truly learn how to work metal—it took several lifetimes, or so the story goes.

“When he said that he needed helpers, the gods cut him a new cave, deeper into the living mountain than the first. They used the chunks they cut out and made the living rock … live. The rocks broke to form legs, and arms, and heads. They would grind when they walked, but they were strong. They couldn’t do much for the smith, other than hold the iron while he hammered, or work the bellows.

“When the people below found out the man was making pretty metal trinkets for the gods, they came up to get some for themselves.” Gregory grinned. “Turns out those rocks could do more than work the bellows. Nobody came down the mountain alive.

Gregory took a deep breath. “Well, being immortal was pretty tough on the smith. He eventually went insane, they say. Killed himself in his own forge.”

“Bunch of bull,” Armand spat. “Legends. Gods. You ever see a god, Gregory? Or even an angel?”

“No,” Gregory said quietly. “I never have. The closest that I ever came was my wife, when she was alive.” He shook his head, sadly.

“What happened to her?” Ryan asked.

“She got sick, during the plague a dozen years ago, and died.” He shook his head. “We had only been married for three years.” He smiled. “But she did bear me two fine sons. One of them is at court, the other one is down on the field below us.” He frowned. “Or, at least, I
hope
he’s still down on that field.”

He got to his feet. “Well, Ryan, I expect that Kevin still needs his rest.” He waved at the camp. “Time to pack this up.” He looked down at Ryan, smiling. “And don’t forget to join the battle a bit sooner next time. Then you won’t end up being the one who breaks camp every morning.”

Armand barked a laugh, and put a foot up on a rock, clearly intending to enjoy watching Ryan work.

Ryan felt his cheeks grow red as he got to his feet.

Mountaintop

Ryan seethed as he blinked the sleep out of his eyes. G
athering firewood
, he thought to himself.
I should be in the front lines, fighting. I could do some good there.

They had been searching for two days, finding nothing. And Gregory hadn’t stopped having Ryan break down and set up every camp. In the mornings, since the horses were now only lightly packed and didn’t mind carrying the light brush, he gathered firewood to make the evenings a little bit easier. Of course, the evenings were never easy, since Armand insisted that they ‘train’ before bed. He had bruises up and down his legs and right arm. His shield generally saved his left arm from being hit.

I saved his life, dammit.I saved
both
of their lives.
He picked up his first branch for the morning—an old, dried out piece of brush. He kept the leaves on, they would make good tinder.
At least I score on him, too.
He tilted his head to the side, grinning for a moment.
And I think I got him worried last night. It’s good to see panic in his eyes, every once in a while.

He stood up, arms still pretty much empty, and looked around the hillside. It was all dry; nothing seemed to be living any more. They had kept climbing the gentle shoulder of the mountain, and he had gone almost straight towards the distant peak in his search for firewood. Maybe plants couldn’t live this high up?

Maybe they don’t get enough sunlight?
The Sun had not yet overtaken the shadow of the mountain, and it was still cold.
That doesn’t make sense. There are plants here…they’re just dead.

He wandered over to a bush, and waggled one of its branches back and forth. He smiled as it snapped with almost no force.

Well, your destruction is my gain.
He thought.
I’ll get all the firewood I need from you, little dead bush.

Half the bush later, he had plenty of wood for their evening fire. He looked around to get his bearings, and headed back down the mountainside toward the small curl of smoke that marked the campsite.

I hope that means Gregory is warming up some breakfast.
He thought, stomach grumbling.

Gregory and Armand were talking in low voices as he came back into camp.

“I don’t think it’s all the way at the top, Armand.” Gregory was clearly frustrated—there was a bit of an edge to his voice. “But who knows? Maybe it’s in the Smith’s room! Maybe the Smith forged the steel!”

“All I’m saying, Gregory,” Armand drew a breath, punctuating his tone of patronizing patience, “is that we’re nearly out of food. We’d better get there soon or we’re not going to get there at all.”

Gregory sighed. “I suppose you’re right. Maybe we should try to trap something.”

Armand gestured to the still-living scrub brush that surrounded them. “You think that these low bushes might hide a rich, fatty deer?” His voice was oily, overly deferential. “What do you intend to trap?”

In answer, Gregory got up from the fire and strode over to his horse. He opened a small, flat saddlebag that lay underneath his main pack, and withdrew a small bow.

“You’re right, Armand. I doubt I could trap anything.” He mounted his horse. “I’m going hunting.” He gestured northwest, down the mountainside, at the scraggly trees. He then turned towards the peak, almost directly east, and pointed. “Do you see that large outcropping of rock?” As Ryan turned to look at the rock, which was perhaps four miles straight up the side of the mountain, Armand nodded. “I’ll meet you there an hour before sundown. Don’t leave a single stone unturned between here and there.” He turned his horse, then looked over at Ryan. “Have a fire ready by the time I return.” He spurred his horse and was off.

Armand looked over at Ryan, who dumped his armload of brush and began to tie some twine around it.

“I want this camp to look as if we’ve never been here. Do you understand,
squire
?”

“Yes, Sir,” Ryan said, nodding.

“Good. Kevin, come with me, we’ll scout a bit to the sides before we begin the climb—it’s getting steeper, and harder on the horses.” He looked at the peak, shading his eyes against the Sun, which was finally topping the mountain. “We’ll have to walk our horses after today.”

Ryan blew out an explosive breath as they started working their way north. He threw some dirt on the coals of the fire and rolled up the pallets. Gregory was gone, so he packed his own saddlebags with the cooking equipment, and since Armand would get mad at him if he didn’t have the camp totally clean, he strapped all of the sleeping pallets above his bags, right below his saddle. It would be more difficult to mount, but it was easier than sparring with an angry Armand even before they began the climb.

Armand and Kevin rode through camp, slowly. Armand twisted in his saddle, looking at the camp as he led Kevin back through to the south. He looked at Ryan, eyes narrow.

“The fire pit needs to be spread out,
Ryan
.” He spat the name out as if it were a spoiled piece of meat. “And then sweep the camp with one of your branches.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Ryan walked over to the fire pit, picking up the stones. They were still warm, but not burning hot. He tossed them in various directions, and then kicked the dirt-covered ash around until he couldn’t see a coherent pit any more. He walked back to his horse and fiddled with the string on the firewood.

That branch would be good,
he thought, looking at the first one he had picked up. It was stuck in the cords. He sighed, untying one end of the pack. Several sticks fell out, and he bent to pick them up. Finally, he got the leafy branch free, and started to sweep.

Armand Kevin rode back into camp. “You’ve missed a spot,” Armand said, pointing.

Ryan heaved a sigh, and went over to sweep that part of the camp. He straightened. “Is that good enough,
Sir?
” He put just the tiniest bit of emphasis on the honorific.

Armand rode up to him. “That’s a
fine
job, squire.” He reached back and let his hand fly, slapping Ryan hard across the face. “However, I won’t put up with any lip from you.” He straightened in his saddle. “Do you think that you’re
better
than me, in some way, peasant?”

Ryan shook his head, and rubbed his face.

“Good. Now get mounted, we have several miles to ride, and we need to make sure that we’re searching for … something, all the way up.”

When Ryan pulled his hand away from his face, there was a small smear of blood on it.

*   *   *

They found nothing during their day’s search. Gregory came riding in to camp, a small doe tied to his horse’s flanks, just as Ryan was building his fire.

Kevin nudged Ryan. “We’re going to need a bigger fire.” He gestured at Gregory. Ryan groaned as he saw the deer.

“I hate collecting firewood.” He threw the thickest branch on top of the fire. It was perhaps an inch wide, but it would keep the fire burning. Finally, he stood up and addressed Gregory.

“Sir, I’ll go gather more firewood.” His voice was resigned, and he turned away.

Gregory smiled and shook his head. “Squire, you’ll find two small logs under the deer. Help me untie her.”

Ryan looked and saw the wood sticking out on either side of the deer. He smiled weakly and began untying one of the knots that held the deer’s hooves on either side of the horse’s back.

Gregory pulled some other sticks out of his pack and set up a large spit over the fire. He cleaned the doe and started cooking one of the legs. “We’ll have to cook for much of the night, but the meat should keep us going for a day or two. That will stretch the rest of our road rations.”

“Good.” Armand got up. “While you cook, Ryan and I can practice some more.”

Ryan groaned silently as he got up to prepare.
Isn’t my body bruised enough?
He strapped on his practice sword and donned his helmet.

*   *   *

Armand bruised him thoroughly, this time. Kevin came over to help Ryan out of his armor. New bruises crossed some of the old, or sat upon previously undamaged skin. Most of Ryan’s right arm was blue or purple.

“I can’t believe he called light on some of his own blows,” Kevin said. “He was hitting plenty hard.”

“He just wanted me to have more bruises.” Ryan groaned as he pulled off his soaking tunic. “Look at this one.” He pointed at his upper arm, where a four-inch long bruise was beginning to show. “That was one of his blows that was too ‘light’ to count as a point.”

“Ugh.” Kevin grimaced. “Here, let me get your other tunic for you.” He went to Ryan’s horse and rummaged around for a moment. He returned with his eyebrows raised, carrying the tunic and a vial of liquid. “Hey, what’s this?” he said, lifting the vial.

Ryan’s eyes opened a little wider. “That’s some of that flower juice that William gave me.” He reached out. “Here, let me have it.”

The cork pulled off the top with a small
pop
. William had filled it very full, and the liquid coated the underside of the cork. Ryan rubbed the wet cork on his upper arm, and massaged the tiny amount of liquid in to his bruises. They quickly changed color, first fading into the dark purple of a day old bruise, then the lighter darkness of a bruise that was a week old. Finally, and very slowly, they faded out of existence entirely.

“That’s fantastic!” Kevin exclaimed. “Do your legs, quick! Gregory’ll call us for dinner soon, and I’m starving.”

Ryan pulled his pants off, and dribbled a couple of drops on each leg. He stoppered the vial, and then rubbed his legs thoroughly. They came close to following the same pattern of fading that his arms did. The deepest bruises on his legs were still visible, although they looked as if they were a week old.

“Ah, that’s better.” Ryan sighed.

“Fantastic. I’m so glad.” Kevin nudged Ryan’s shoulder. “Maybe you’ll sleep a bit better tonight? I heard you tossing and turning last night.”

Ryan cocked his head. He
had
been tired, this morning. Maybe he hadn’t been sleeping well.

“Dinner!” Gregory yelled.

“Meat!” Kevin scampered off.

Ryan threw on his tunic and pulled his pants up, then went over to his horse to drop the vial back in his pouch. On instinct, right before he dropped it back in to its place, he shook the vial, unstopped it, and licked the liquid off the end of the cork.

“Ugh," he said, out loud. It was
vile
. He forced himself to swallow. Bitter and sour, with a taste in the back of his throat like rotting garbage. He quickly put the vial into his saddlebag and strode over to the fire.

By the time he got there, he felt a surge of heat flowing through his limbs. It was as if his veins were on fire, carrying warmth through his body, all the way down to his fingertips and toes.

He smelled the food, and was suddenly very hungry. Gregory handed him a strip of meat on a skewer, and Ryan tore into it.

“There’s a lot of meat here, and it won’t stay good forever,” Gregory said. “Eat as much as you can tonight, and we’ll have more tomorrow. Then it’s back to travel biscuits and a little bit of dried jerky until we run out.”

“What do we do if we run out of food?” Kevin asked.

“We’ll have to go down to the front and see if the army can spare some supplies.” Gregory grimaced. “We’ll lose at least a week before we can get back here—if we decide to come back.”

Ryan interrupted his meal long enough to ask “Can you go hunting again?”

Gregory shook his head. “No, I was lucky to find this doe. I had to ride too long to find real living forest, and we’re going to be much higher in a couple of days.” He looked towards the mountaintop, but it was covered in the golden clouds of the sunset.

“The map from the king says that there’s a trail up ahead,” Gregory continued. “It’s too steep, so we’ll have to walk the horses, but I figure we can be up to the top in three days at the most, maybe two. So if we run out of food, we’ll have missed finding the cave anyway.” He shrugged. “If we have to go down to the army, we might end up staying there. We’ll have tried our best to do as King Aden wishes, but sometimes even the best people fail.”