Legend of the Swords: War (5 page)

Ryan shook his head. “What are you going to do?”

“My mom used to make this herbal thing," he said, grabbing a small pack out of his trunk. “She made it enough that I think I can do it. It uses the leaves off of a particular type of wild rosebush. I saw some of them while we were marching this morning. I’ll be back in a quarter hour.”

Edmund ran out of the building before Ryan could protest. He sighed.

“That sergeant’s a mean one, ain’t he?” someone said, quietly. He turned and saw that it was Chris, a boy about a year younger than Ryan, who had come from a farm further north than Middleton. Chris plopped down on the bed next to Ryan.

“Yeah, he is.” It wasn’t worth trying to explain his reasoning as to
why
the sergeant was mean. “Beat me pretty good, didn’t he?” Ryan smiled.

“I dunno, you did pretty well.” He shook his head. “I thought you were goin’ to beat him after you caught his shield push.”

Ryan shrugged, then winced with the pain that came. “I shouldn’t have tried that, I knew he was bigger than me.”

“Still, you pushed him back, didn’t you?” He grinned. “That’s pretty good.”

Ryan tilted his head. He wasn’t used to compliments. “Thanks.”

“Sure thing.” He wandered back to his bunk and sat down.

Edmund came back in a few minutes later, panting from his running. He spilled some shiny dark green leaves into his hand, and some thin scraggly roots.

Ryan shook his head. “You didn’t have to run.”

Edmund grinned. “Yes I did.”

“You didn’t have to do anything.” Ryan grimaced. “This’ll be ok by tomorrow.”

“No it won’t, don’t be stupid.” Edmund grabbed his canteen. “We have to go outside, I need dirt to mix this in.”

Ryan walked to the door with his friend, who knelt down in the dust, still wearing his leather jerkin, and poured a little water into the dust.

“Mom always crushed the leaves—and the roots, too, I forgot that she used to use the roots—with a mortar and pestle, but we’ll just have to tear them up and rub them into the dirt. I hope that’s good enough.” He started to break the leaves into small pieces over the water.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, Edmund, don’t worry about it.” Ryan tilted his head to the side again and shrugged—but only with his good shoulder, this time. “Thanks.”

“No problem. I should have thought about it right after that guy beat on your shoulder, I could have picked up this stuff before dinner.” He hummed absentmindedly as he ripped the roots into small sticks, threw them in the water, and started rubbing them back and forth. This broke the leaves up even smaller, and started making the water soak into the dirt. Soon, he had a thick mud, and he stopped humming. Edmund beckoned to him. “Come here.”

Ryan knelt next to him. Edmund started singing quietly as he picked up a handful of the mud. Ryan immediately felt warmer, and his shoulder felt better even before Edmund slathered the mud on, roots sticking out every which way. Edmund’s voice caught, and then he started laughing.

Ryan frowned. “What?”

“You look like some sort of crazy hermit that can’t afford a shirt, so you’re wearing mud and sticks instead!” He laughed a bit more before clapping Ryan on his good shoulder. “You’d better put your tunic back on, I don’t think that the sergeant’s going to care why you got the bed muddy—he’ll just aim for the other shoulder!” He started laughing again.

“Thanks, Edmund,” Ryan said, eyes wide open with fake innocence. “I appreciate the advice.” He pushed Edmund through the barracks’ door. “You’ll go far with smarts like that, you will.”

Edmund just kept laughing as they headed back inside.

*   *   *

A few weeks of marching later, it started snowing.

We’re a bit far south for it to snow heavily, thank goodness
, Ryan thought,
and we’re moving further south every day
. His shoulder had healed completely within days, but the sergeant had started pushing him harder than anyone else. He constantly had sore muscles, but was doing very well in the cadet contests that they staged once a week.

Today was a contest day, and the cadets were lined up in front of the sergeant again, waiting to find out who would fight whom.

“Boys, I want you to form a little
dance
line.” Edmund nudged him in the ribs at the word. “Spar with each other for five minutes, then rotate—winner heads to the center, losers stay where they are.” He pointed off to his left, the cadets’ right. “I’ll head up and down the line to give advice.

“That’s me, always tryin’ to help.” He grinned “‘Course, my help might hurt a bit…so do your best!”

Ryan bested Edmund in the first two minutes, feinting high and to the left, which made Edmund overbalance when he tried to defend with his heavy shield. It was a simple matter to trip him and put the wooden sword on his chest. Ryan helped his opponent regain his feet, and they caught their breath.

Chris won the skirmish to Ryan’s right, and so he was next up. Ryan quickly defeated him with a well-timed shield bump that sent him sprawling.

“Heh. Forgot about that one,” Chris said as Ryan helped him up.

As they walked over to get a bit of water, Armand came up to the sergeant. He was wearing his full armor, which showed that he was one of the Knights of the Crown, the elite order that sometimes served as the king’s personal guard. Camp rumor was that, along with guarding the king, they also did some of the most dangerous secret missions. Recon deep into enemy territory was supposed to be the easiest thing they did. Some even whispered that assassination was their main purpose.

Ryan perked his ears up, but was unable to hear what the conversation was about as they walked back to the groups of sparring cadets.

The next two battles were a blur. He won both, the first by trading shield blows for a while until his opponent got sloppy, the second by moving around his opponent clockwise slowly. His opponent followed him with his shield, blocking Ryan’s strokes easily, but not with his feet. Once he was turned a bit, he closed shields, pushed, and landed a blow to the head while he was disoriented.

Ryan was really getting warmed up now, and he was near the center of the lines where the sergeant and the Knight stood. His new sparring partner, Joshua, lined up against him. Joshua was a much larger boy, perhaps by a half a foot. In their previous matches, he had been aggressive and intimidating. He was well muscled, too—his biceps reminded Ryan of the blacksmith’s son back in Middleton.

“Ha! I’ve wanted to battle you for weeks, Ryan.” He grinned. “I’ve been watching you. You’re probably the best in the class, other than me.” He banged his sword on his shield. “You lost a battle yet today?”

Ryan shook his head.

Joshua smiled. “Me either.” He then jumped at Ryan with no warning, swinging his sword over his head and then down at Ryan with all the strength he could, screaming loudly.

Ryan acted out of instinct; there wasn’t time for thinking. Backing up rapidly to give himself space, he lifted his sword’s hilt, pointing the wooden blade downwards at an angle. Joshua’s mighty blow glanced off of it, but there was still enough force to numb Ryan’s arm. And Joshua kept coming, hailing blows at Ryan, who couldn’t do anything but back up to give himself time to defend. Most of the other cadets had stopped to stare at this wild series of attacks, accompanied by Joshua’s cacophony of incoherent battle cries.

Ryan noticed Joshua’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly, and he sidestepped instead of backing up, avoiding a log meant to define the edge of the field. Ryan was beginning to notice a pattern: Joshua’s eyes weren’t moving, but his shoulders were giving away every move in advance. When he was going to swing at Ryan’s left side, his shoulders would point there first, and then his torso and arms would swing through. Also, his swings to the left were a bit harder than the swings to his right.

That was all Ryan needed.

He waited for his opponent’s shoulders to turn to the left, and as soon as they did, he dove to his right, rolling under the swing. Joshua had swung so hard that when his practice sword didn’t land on anything, he was caught by surprise—instead of a threatening battle yell, his next sound was more of a yelp. Ryan pivoted on his butt, kicking Joshua’s feet out from under him, and leapt up to administer a blow to the young man’s back. Hard enough to hurt, but not do any real damage. Some of the other boys actually gave a cheer.

“That was well done.”

Ryan spun around to find Armand standing near him. Up close, the man looked tired and worn. Several days’ worth of stubble grew on his cheeks. He had a guarded expression, brown eyes narrowed somewhat, but his hand was extended in congratulations. Ryan took his hand, and found it crushed in the man’s vice-like grip.

“T-thank you, Sir.” He managed to gasp out, wincing in pain.

Without letting go of Ryan’s hand, the Knight turned to the sergeant, and called: “If you don’t mind, sergeant, I’d like to test this boy’s mettle. Could you please hand me a training sword.” He turned a bit further, pulling Ryan far enough that he had to shift his feet, and gestured to one of the cadets standing nearby. “And you, boy, go get my shield for me.” Wide-eyed, the cadet scurried over to Armand’s warhorse and grabbed the shield, which the knight had hung off of the pommel.

Oh, great. And he’s just crushed my hand, too.
Ryan thought. The sergeant tossed over a sword, which fell on the ground, and the knight finally let go to pick up the wooden trainer. Ryan massaged his hand quickly while the knight strapped on his shield.

Ryan squared his shoulders to the Knight, who was even bigger than Joshua, and was wearing armor. His real sword still hung at his side, a broadsword.
That might encumber him a bit
. Ryan thought, hopefully. Unfortunately, the armor looked well made, so Armand’s movement would still be fluid and easy.

The knight saluted, drawing up into an attention-like pose, and bringing his blade up to point at the sky before swooshing it diagonally down. Ryan followed suit, and they both came to an easy en-guard.

When it was clear that Ryan was ready, the knight attacked. He moved swiftly, but not overly so, into a standard slashing attack from his right. Ryan easily caught the blow on his shield and counterattacked in a similar way.

The Crown Knight threw his shield out to meet the blade. His shield arm was strong from years of carrying a heavy kingdom shield; Ryan’s sword clanged off of the shield so hard his arm was jolted. The armored warrior quickly brought his sword down towards Ryan’s shoulder.

Ryan knew that trick, though, and he brought his shield up to take the blow. The warrior was too strong, though, and Ryan’s shield arm dropped. To protect his shoulder, Ryan fell to his knees, and the force of the blow drove his shield’s point drove into the ground. Despite being on his knees, Ryan managed to make swipe from his jarred sword-arm, but the Knight carelessly pushed it aside with his shield, and tapped Ryan’s head with his wooden sword.

“Do you yield, cadet?”

“I yield.”

Armand turned and strode over to the sergeant, tossing his practice sword carelessly to the side, and they spoke in muted voices. Edmund and a few other students rushed over.

“Are you ok?” Edmund said. “He hit you pretty hard.”

“He did, didn’t he?” Ryan lifted a knee, and brought himself to standing. “He hit harder with his shield than we’ve ever hit with our swords.” He rubbed his shocked sword arm a bit. The life seemed to be returning to it, there was no real damage. “Wasn’t much of a challenge, was I?”

Edmund grinned wryly. “Nope. He took you out.”

The sergeant leaned around the knight to look at the boys and yelled, “Form up!”

Ryan had to wiggle his shield back and forth to get it out of the ground, so he was the last one back to the line. From the edge of the ranks, he snapped to attention, saluting the sergeant and the knight, who were both looking directly at him.

“Cadets, you just saw what it’s going to be like fighting
real
soldiers! Your skills are obviously lacking. Even the best among you couldn’t last a minute against our friend here. We’ve got to—” The Knight put his hand on the sergeant’s shoulder, and the sergeant stopped abruptly. The Knight’s armor clanked a bit as he stepped to the front to address the cadets.

“I won’t lie to you, I watched you fight, and I picked the best one, despite his … background. He didn’t do well, but he did much better than I had thought he would.” He gestured at Ryan. “Boy? Your name is Ryan?”

Ryan nodded, and tried to swallow the lump that seemed to have appeared in his throat.
Something’s going on here…
he thought to himself.

“Boys, I want you to all train in the weeks to come. Do your best to be like Ryan here. He fought a good defensive battle, and held me off for a time. He managed not to get hurt.

“In the battlefield, that’s often all it takes. A friend can come to your aid in a few seconds. A number of you look promising, but most of you are … rough around the edges.

The Knight frowned deeply. “Sir Gregory says I must choose a squire. That it’s in the best interests of the Kingdom if I do so.” Ryan made a strangled noise deep in his throat. Edmund grinned and thumped him on the shoulder.

“Despite his rapid defeat, Ryan is the best here.” The knight shook his head sadly. “That’s why I’ve decided to take him on as my squire," he said, heavily.

Ryan and Edmund looked at each other, eyes wide.

Battle

Renek stood with his sword pointing at the leader of the three men.

Len seemed to think Renek’s threat was hilarious. “HA! He wants us to leave, he ha ha! Says? We’ll show him leave, won’t we,
gentlemen
? Ha ha!”

The tall one grimaced. “Everybody thinks they’re funny, Len. Remember last week, when that hired thug thought he could … remove us?”

“Ha! Yeah, George, I remember! We
removed
him but good, didn’t we? Ha ha!”

“Look, mister,” George said. “That there’s a nice new shirt ya got on there. I’d hate to have to put some … holes in it, see?” He smiled, but it wasn’t a friendly smile. It didn’t reach his eyes. “I don’t know if you learned countin’, like I have, but, see, there’s three of us, see, and only one of you…that’s not very good for you.”