Legend of the Swords: War (35 page)

“Couldn’t … go a little … slower … eh?” He asked, staring balefully at Renek’s calm smile.

“I just wanted to make sure that you were warm after spending such a cold night on the mountaintop.” Renek laughed at the pained expression on Hesiod’s face.

They turned to walk down the mountainside, but stopped when they saw James and his Singer watching them from about a hundred feet away.

“Huh," Renek said. “Why is he so far away?”

Hesiod grabbed Renek and pulled him to the side. “Look out!”

The Singer threw something about the size of his hand. It arced through the air, quickly growing in size. Renek managed to keep his eyes on the sparkling projectile as Hesiod knocked them both to the ground. It burst into flame about ten feet from them, exploding and pushing their chests into the ground with its force.

Another projectile was already on its way.

“That way!” Hesiod said, pointing at a bush that had already burst into flame.

They scrabbled, crawling on all fours as fast as they could. The projectile was too fast for them, though, and the Singer’s aim had improved. Hesiod, the closer of the two, was knocked into Renek when it exploded.

“You’re on fire!” Renek yelled, slapping at the flames to put them out. Once Hesiod was no longer burning, Renek leapt to his feet. A third projectile was already in the air, but he drew his sword and ran towards their two enemies.

To Renek, the universe seemed to stop. Even he was moving slower than his mind perceived things, and he was not moving slowly. He inspected the sparkling globe as it passed overhead; it seemed like a wisp of cloud that was expanding as it traveled through the air. He slid his sword through it, and the sparkling clouds parted into two smaller clouds. They flew apart from each other, exploding harmlessly yards to either side of Hesiod.

Renek continued to push forward, studying the look on the Singer’s face as it slowly changed from the look of cool confidence that the mastery of power brings to the look of panic that comes with failure in a dire situation.

The sword felt no resistance whatsoever as it sliced through the Kind’s neck. His head parted from his body, flying to the side, and Renek brought his sword’s point up to James’s neck. Blood seemed to pool into the letters that were carved on the blade.

“Your highness,” Renek began, very politely. “I believe that you might want to stop trying to kill me.”

Time snapped back to normal for Renek, and he staggered.

James saw the staggering. Seizing the opportunity, he stepped backwards, narrowing his eyes. “I am the prince of this realm!” He cried. “I will not take such behavior from an …
inferior!
” He drew his sword and spat on the ground.

Hesiod cautiously approached. “Your majesty, Renek now wields one of the Swords of the Ascendancy," he said, gently. “I don’t think it would be … wise for the two of you to duel.”

“Wise!” Shrieked James. “Wise?” His brows lowered in fury. “That sword was
mine!
” He stamped his foot on the ground, as if he were a small child. “Give it to me now, or I will have you killed!” He reached his hand out towards Renek.

Renek paused, considering.

“Your highness.” Hesiod’s voice was full of soothing smoothness. “You are here alone. There is no one to do your bidding.” He raised his eyebrows, opening his expression gently. “Renek and I are your only subjects here. Surely, you do not think that we will kill each other for you?”

James bellowed in fury. “Then I will kill you myself, you worthless deserters! You heinous usurpers!” He brought his sword down at Renek with all his strength.

Renek blocked with his own blade. The Prince’s blade came away with a deep notch in it; Renek’s was undamaged. General James pressed the attack, swinging violently, carelessly.

This time, nothing slowed for Renek. However, James’s lack of care made it easy to defend against his blows. Renek backed up, slowly, fighting a defensive battle only, which gave him time to think.

Losing the sword was a crushing blowto him, I think
. Renek mused, moving his sword almost mechanically against the maniacal blows and thrusts.

James’s general’s insignias sparkled in the early morning sunlight. He stepped back, slamming his foot on the ground again. “Why do you not fight!” He yelled.

“James, nothing would be accomplished by killing you," Renek said.

“
General
James, to you!” He screamed. “And you’re going to have to kill me—I’m not going to stop fighting!” He ran forward to attack again, but Renek parried his sword and struck him on the head with his crystal pommel. James slumped to the ground, unconscious.

Renek bent and checked James’s pulse while Hesiod walked up next to him.

“You should kill him," Hesiod said, bitterly. “He is a small and petty man, who has never once thought of anything other than himself.” He snorted, shaking his head. “And he will be ruler of the kingdom, someday.”

Renek turned to face his companion. “Hesiod, you were worried about coming back without the
horses
. What would we do if we came back without the
prince?
”

Hesiod didn’t flinch. “Lie about it.” He laughed at the look of shock on Renek’s face. “It happens all the time, in court.” He shrugged. “No witnesses but us…” He paused, considering. “We could sti—”

“We’re not killing him," Renek said, firmly.

“If you do not,” Hesiod said, “He will make you sorry for it.” His eyes narrowed. “Be aware of consequences. He will likely have you killed, once he is near the king again.” He winced. “Or worse—he is an unstable man, and by our actions we have likely removed what little stable foundation he had in him.”

Renek stood, looking at Hesiod for a moment. He shook his head. “How am I supposed to prove to you my loyalty, by killing the heir to the throne?” He looked around. “Are those the horses?” he said, pointing down at the tree line.

Hesiod sighed. “Yes, they are.”

Hesiod muttered something about amateurs under his breath, as Renek walked towards the horses. More loudly, he said, “You should have killed him.” He shook his head “We
will
come to regret this.”

*   *   *

As they rounded to the eastern side of the mountain that day, they looked down to the battlefield, hoping to see something of what was happening down below—but they found the army was not where they had left it. They searched the horizon while the sun passed its zenith.

“I’m worried about James. I didn’t mean to hit him so hard," Renek said.

Hesiod reached out to James, who was tied to one of the other horses. He poked the prince, hard, in the side. There was a low groan.

“He’ll be fine," Hesiod said, satisfied. He turned to the valley below them. “What’s that in the distance?” He asked, pointing far to the east.

Renek leaned forward. “I think it’s the army…and it looks like they’re on the far side of that keep.”

Indeed, there was a small keep several miles to the west.

“Something’s happened," Hesiod said. “There’s no way that they could have advanced that far in our absence.” He looked back at Renek. “How long have we been gone?”

Renek shook his head. “No more than four days, I think. But we couldn’t see the sun, so it could have been longer.” He paused. “Although I think we would have eaten more if that were the case.”

“Well, we had better get riding," Hesiod said, nudging his horse forward. “We’ve got further to go than we thought.”

*   *   *

As they passed the small keep, they realized that there were more soldiers on the Kingdom side than before. At least there were more tents. One of them had a giant banner flying over it.

“Oh, gods no," Hesiod said, fear dripping from his voice.

“What?”

“King Aiden is here.”

Interlude

The corpse sat on its bed. People came and went nearby, the sun rose and set. The monks brought in a young woman on a stretcher and lay her on a bed nearby. Days of nourishment and nurturing followed, and the corpse watched with disinterested eyes.

Occasionally, the monks would grab him by his elbow, and he would stand, and walk with them. Once, he was led out into the night air, and the monks pointed up at the twinkling stars, discussing things for hours as the wheel of the sky turned, moving the stars along with it.

The young woman sat up one day, and pointed at him fearfully. She muttered to herself for a few minutes before the monks came and took her away. Nothing much changed, for a time. The sun rose and fell, but time did not seem to really exist.

One day, several monks came to him at the same time. They lifted him, he stood. They steered him, he walked. Soon, they were in a large, round, domed room that had several channels cut into the dome. There were wheels, gears and levers on the side opposite the door. Two monks turned one of the wheels and the entire dome began to rotate. Another monk turned a smaller wheel, and several circular openings of various sizes came up out of the walls and moved through the channels in the dome. The sky was visible through the openings.

A shaft of weak sunlight fell through one of the openings, and the corpse was guided into it. He looked around and saw that the full moon shone through another opening nearly opposite of the sun. Strangely, he could see stars shining through the other openings despite the daylight.

Then the monks sang.

It was a sad song, and tugged at the frayed edges of his mind's memory. Had he heard this song before? They sung no words, no discernible melody, but the sadness was palpable. The golden eye of the sun shone down upon him.

The song continued, becoming clearer, colder. The corpse looked at the faces of the men singing, carrying the wordless tune an octave higher. Had it become less sad? There was promise in the song, and, for the first time since arriving, the corpse began to feel desire—desire for the culmination of the song.

The song split, the tenors rising higher, the basses dropping lower. They had a weird harmony, neither happy nor sad now, but with a thrumming bass providing a slow rhythm that had not been there before. The rhythm echoed forcefully in the round chamber, and for the first time, the corpse realized he was standing at the center. The bass's thrumming seemed to be driving deep inside of the corpse, he could feel it in his very bones.

A countertenor added his voice to the choir, singing in descant, his voice high and clear. Although nothing else changed—the underlying melody remained the same—his voice somehow brought the pure force of indescribable joy to the room. The monks were all smiling, their faces beaming, but covered in sweat. They were putting more than just their voices into this music.

Finally, the two women sang. Their soprano voices lifted to the heavens. If the music had been joyful before, it was now ecstatic, a pure celebration of life. The corpse looked on at the chorus in awe. Tears rained down from his face.

The bass's thrumming voice sped up—or maybe he had been slowly increasing tempo the whole time—and everyone followed him. The song's joy crashed over the corpse in waves.

The moon and the stars seemed to be focused by the dome--suddenly the shaft of light that he was standing in was no longer just made of sunlight. Motes of dust played in the shafts of light, seemingly moving in time with the music.

The monks were no longer smiling. Exertion and fatigue were the clothes that their faces wore. The corpse realized that they, too, were adding to the light in the room. In fact, it was too bright to keep his eyes open. He didn't want to close them, something was happening, something important, but the brightness hurt his eyes.

There was a sound as one of the monks, a tenor, collapsed. The corpse opened his eyes slightly to see a broad-shouldered, white haired man step forward out of the hallway to take the unconscious man's place. The replacement's voice was strong, full of power.

The bass singer's thrumming had become so fast that it merged into a single note. The corpse wondered how much effort the monks must be spending, to be sweating so profusely in such a cold room. He shivered, wrapping his arms around himself. And how could they stand the brightness? He could no longer even squint against the brightness, and closed his eyes again.

The music stopped. All was silent.

When he opened his eyes, the monks were gone, the door was closed. Nothing in the room was casting any light. The shafts from the celestial bodies were gone—the Sun, Moon, and stars had all turned away from the openings in the dome. Or perhaps the openings had been closed. Yet the walls glistened with dappled light, as if the sun were shining through a tree's leaves. The corpse looked around, trying to find the source of the light. He looked down on the floor and realized that it was his body that was glowing, and, along with the glowing, he could feel a great deal of energy building within his flesh.

The glowing brightened, brighter patches swirling around his skin. He brightened, and brightened, but the light did not hurt his eyes. He did not know what to do; he could not move, but the energy within him was growing stronger, and already made him feel as if he were going to burst. There was no release possible.

The energy increased the tautness in his body, smoothing wrinkles, strengthening bones, restoring blood. He felt a strange pressure in his chest, and he drew a breath that no longer rattled ...

… and began to sing.

Warm radiance poured out of his mouth. He was a baritone. His voice sounded rich, like velvet, or gold. He sang the tune of joy that the monks had sung, carrying his voice up into the tenor range.

The light slowly dissipated from his flesh. His breathing fueled the sound, and his very heart kept time for the song. His body rapidly became tired, although his mind was intact, his thoughts whole.

He brought his voice down, to where the song had begun, to the wonderful and energizing tonic—but it was not energizing enough for him to remain on his feet. As his song finished, his flesh cast no more light, and he found he could no longer stand. He sank to his knees, heaved his labored breath for a moment, and then collapsed into unconsciousness.