Legend of the Swords: War (7 page)

He didn’t see any people.

He stopped to eat a light lunch when the sun was at its peak. With no other shelter, he sat under the awning of a farmhouse near the road. He didn’t really feel like going in—the place was in disarray, shutters hanging off of windows, no door, and dust everywhere. Through the doorway he could see some sticks that looked like they had been furniture at one time.

It was hot and dry, this far down from the mountain. Matthew had said that it was spring, but down on the plains it seemed too warm for spring. There was no humidity, so he must be far from the coastline.

On an impulse, he went around the house to the fields, casting about for something to use as a pommel. He found a barn. He pushed the large door open, which creaked in protest at the movement, and found a wall of horse tack and saddles. He grabbed a bridle, and cut it to pieces, coming away with a few long strips of leather. There was also a small amount of wire tying together one of the other bridles, which had been worn through heavy use.

The horses, of course, were long gone.

A thorough search of the grounds yielded a smooth, round stone, about the width of his palm. It was heavy. Probably not heavy enough to balance the blade, but it would help a lot. He spent some time tying the stone onto the hilt of his sword with the leather and wire. It was tedious work, methodical, and his mind wandered.

I wish I knew where I was. Or who.
He thought to himself.
It’s useless, this wondering and wandering.
He stood up, and threw his small pack over his shoulder again. The vial of
vitlach
was like a reassuring rock pressing into his back.
At least I have a direction to travel in, now. That’s something.

The feather-like dust plume seemed closer, after lunch. It was hard to tell, but he guessed from the angle of the sun, he had been walking for four or five hours.
That should be around twenty miles.
He looked up at the cloudless sky.
On a day like today, I don’t think I should be able to see much further than that, should I?
He paused, then said aloud, “Why should I know that?”

He resumed walking, shaking his head in wonder.

It was only a couple of hours later, as the road crested a small hill, that he caught sight of an army encampment. It lay in the shallow valley between two hills. It was empty of people, but filled with red cloth. Some of the tents were red, there were red tabards hanging off of a makeshift log fence. Flying on a pole next to the largest tent was clearly the flag of the Kingdom—red, with a gold unicorn, rearing to the right.

As he reached the top of the hill, he finally got a first glimpse of the armies. They were in full battle; he could see troops and regiments wheeling around each other. When the wind was right, he could hear the clang of sword against shield, the yells of battle. He increased his pace, his heart racing. There was definitely something familiar about the excitement he was feeling. He didn’t stop to think about it, but his heart was racing, his lungs were opening in deep, slow, meditative breaths. Things seemed to slow down again. It felt right, to be racing towards the battle in front of him.

He reached the contested hill that they were fighting on just as the Kingdom forces were beginning to rout. He drew his sword, and lay about him, trying to protect the soldiers in red. Both sides seemed completely exhausted, but the Triols had found a second—or perhaps even third—wind as they chased the Kingdom soldiers away from the hill, their blue tabards flapping in the light breeze.

“To me! To me!” He yelled, hoping that the men could hear his voice above the din of battle.

Squire

Another two weeks had passed. The other squires were ok with Ryan—he was “the new guy,” but they didn’t mistreat him.

His knight, Armand, was another story.

“Boy, here is my hauberk. Go and shine it.” The knight’s chainmail hauberk landed at Ryan’s bed, loudly. Ryan looked up at the window to see only black sky and stars--it was well before sunrise.

“Meet me to the north of camp in a half hour. Your skills are still … embarrassing me.” The knight grunted, then he turned and left.

Armand truly seemed to dislike Ryan. In the short weeks since he had been taken away from the group of cadets, the days had been filled with only three types of activities: marching, sword practice every day that had Armand leaving bruises all over Ryan’s body, and horsemanship. If he did anything incorrectly or incompletely, he was punished—that took up quite a bit of his time as well.

Punishment tended to be physical exercise. The day before he had been especially poor in sparring, so Armand had made Ryan run for an hour, in full gear. The excuse was always the same: fighting the Triols would be worse, get used to it.

The worst part was he wasn’t able to spend any time with Edmund. They sometimes ate together, but that seemed to annoy Armand. He would make loud comments about how he must have misjudged Ryan, that his “skills” weren’t enough to make up for his upbringing after all.

Ryan climbed out of bed, and struggled to pick up the larger man’s armor.
This stuff weighs a ton,
he thought to himself
.
Chain mail, made of circles of wire woven together to make a cloth-like weave of metal, was heavier than plate armor, but easier to make and fit.

It tended to rust, though, so the knights would often have their squires take the mail and brush it carefully. Rolling it in a barrel full of sand would have been best, but since they were traveling they didn’t have any. After brushing, a coating of oil worked into the metal’s weave would help it stay free of rust a bit longer.

Ryan threw the hauberk over his right shoulder—his left was sore from yesterday’s practice—and headed down to the horses, where the various tools were kept.

I miss Edmund.
He thought.
At least then I had someone to talk to when I had to do stupid things.

I miss my family, too.
He frowned deeply.

There weren’t any other squires near the horses when he got there. Ryan cleaned the hauberk and oiled it as quickly as he could. It gleamed brightly as he tossed it over his shoulder.

It looks nice. I wonder if he wants to be the one with the nicest looking armor on the field?
He smiled.
I suppose that’s what squires are for, after all.

As he walked, he pulled his tunic straight, and stood a bit taller. The tunic had the emblem of the Knights of the Crown on it, after all. It didn’t fit, but it was still his. Only three of the squires wore the Knights of the Crown emblem, and he was the oldest. The others were younger and faster than he was—but he was smarter, more efficient. When they battled, he won most of the time despite his inexperience.

He met Armand on the field, who inspected the hauberk closely. He nodded, which was as close to a compliment that Ryan ever got. Armand donned the shining armor. A thick, two-inch wide belt came next, which Ryan belted on for him, pulling the hauberk up so that the belt took some of its weight.

Training came next. Ryan was doing better in these duels, and Armand was a good teacher, even though he hit hard. Ryan did well enough today that he wasn’t given any punishment.

The strengthening winter Sun moved through the peak of its arc in the sky as the company marched. Lunch came; after their knights were done, the squires ate together. Ryan waved at Edmund as the recruits cleaned the camp.

“There are only a few weeks left in winter,” Brian, one of the other three squires said as they sat down with a thick stew.

Ryan grinned. “I had hoped we’d get somewhere before winter.” He looked around. “I mean, aren’t there some abbeys around? Aren’t they supposed to be off limits for wars?”

“We’ve got to keep moving,” Brian said. “They would attack any Abbey we were in, anyway.” He frowned. “At least, that’s why my knight says. The Triols have no honor.”

There was a general murmur of assent.

Ryan flashed a sheepish grin. “Well, Armand doesn’t talk to me much, I guess.”

Brian clapped him on the shoulder and laughed. “I saw you doing laps again yesterday.” The rest of the boys seemed delighted at seeing the best fighter punished so frequently. “What did you do this time, blink too slowly?”

Ryan grinned. “He is hard to please, I guess. But I’m learning a lot.”

Gregory’s squire, Kevin, groaned, and pulled back his sleeve. “See this bruise? Gregory doesn’t make me run laps, he just hits harder in practice if I’m being slow.”

Brian whistled between his teeth. “That’s a nice one, that is. Well, Knight Gregory is commander of the unit for a reason, Kevin…” He laughed again. “Even so, you must have been pretty slow to get whacked that hard!” They all laughed, even Kevin.

“They don’t treat us very well, do they?” Ryan said, smiling sheepishly.

The others got quiet. There were a few nods, but nobody seemed willing to speak. Finally, Ryan continued. “I mean, it was better even as a recruit…maybe they just expect us to be perfect because we’re the ‘chosen few’, but…” he trailed off, shaking his head, eyes looking at the food that the squires were eating, all leftovers from the knights.

Brian picked up where Ryan wasn’t willing to go. “But you wish that you didn’t have to get beaten with a practice sword over and over again?”

Ryan nodded. “And then punished for being beaten wrong.”

Kevin looked at Ryan’s dejected face. “Maybe it seems bad now,” he said, “but we’ll be heading out to the battlefield. Eventually, we’ll be safer on the horses in battle, and the infantry will be the ones taking the losses.” His grin was lopsided, his eyes a bit sheepish. Some of the others nodded, though, and he gained courage. “I mean, if we are the ‘chosen few,’ then we’ll be with the Knights, the leaders of the army. They’re not in as much danger, and they’re the ones who do the strategy, too.”

Ryan’s mouth hung open. “But my friend Edmund is still in the infantry.” His voice got a little louder, more forceful. “I don’t want to be ordering him into the thick of the battle so that I can stay behind, out of the fray!” His hands were in tight fists, his knuckles white.

Kevin lifted his hands. “No, no, I wasn’t saying that we would be cowards about it—”

Ryan cut him off, more harshly than he meant to. “Sure sounded like it.”

“No, that’s not what I was saying at all.” He looked around nervously at his fellow squires. “I just meant that we would be … in charge, kinda.” He looked at Ryan again. “Someone has to keep everybody together … make sure that people are holding their lines.”

Ryan relaxed his hands. “Well, maybe that’s why we’re being pushed so hard," he said, thoughtfully, looking at the food again. Most of it was gone, and he knew they all needed to get to their chores again. “Why we all end up with bruises. We’ve got to fight so well that we can still think about other people, and what they’re doing, and where the battle is going.” He looked up at Kevin, and managed a weak smile. “Sorry, Kevin. I don’t know what got ahold of me there. I shouldn’t have been that angry.”

Kevin sighed in relief as Brian stood up.

“Well,” Brian said, “we’d better get back to our work.” He grinned at Ryan. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not done getting beaten for the day yet. If you want some beating, you can come fight against me next.”

Ryan grinned broadly, his shock at Kevin’s words fading quickly as the group of squires bantered its way to the tents.

*   *   *

Later that week, Ryan and Kevin sparred for the first time since that lunch conversation.

Kevin was one of the best of the squires. He was also one of the other three in the Knights of the Crown order. It was challenging to fight him, but Ryan still won most of the time. Kevin was one of the fastest swordsmen in the camp, including the knights.

They were circling, in heavy padded armor, looking for an opening. They had been avoiding each other in the sparring sessions since their lunchtime argument, and hadn’t talked much either. Today the knights were actually watching the practice, and they had paired Ryan and Kevin for the last fight for the day.

“So, Ryan, you think I’m a coward because I want to lead?” Kevin said through gritted teeth, low enough that only Ryan could hear.

Ryan considered his opponent, looking directly into his eyes. He had found that staring hard into someone’s eyes made them focus only on his eyes, and often they would react just a bit more slowly when he attacked. It wasn’t logical, but it worked. He was still mad at Kevin, though he didn’t really understand why. He wanted to
beat
Kevin, not just win.

“No,” Ryan said, slowly, drawing out the word. “I think you’re a coward because you want to be safe while other people
die!
” With the last word, he jumped forward, raining blows down on Kevin.

Kevin lifted his shield, and deftly moved his sword to defend against the onslaught. He did not back up, or waver. In fact, he grinned disconcertingly at Ryan, almost leering at him, blocking every blow. He was just
faster
than Ryan. He pushed especially hard with his shield on one attack that Ryan made, and Ryan stumbled.

Now Ryan was on the defense as Kevin masterfully advanced, pushing Ryan back, still leering his lopsided grin. Ryan tripped on a stray stone, and hit the ground—but he was already rolling to one side. Kevin’s wooden sword bounced off of the hard ground right where Ryan had fallen.

Ryan was back on his feet and attacking Kevin before Kevin could recover from his failed finishing blow. Kevin was forced to back up as Ryan threw everything he had into his attack. Ryan tightened his muscles and hit harder, at first, but the strength of his blows just forced Kevin to calmly and slowly step back.

In a flash of insight, Ryan realized that his strength wasn’t really helping him. He wasn’t that much stronger than Kevin, after all, he just knew what to do to get him off balance. Kevin was close to being as good as Ryan because of his speed. When Kevin needed his sword to be there to block Ryan’s, it was there; when he needed his shield, it was there; when he needed not to be where Ryan’s blade was, he was able to move out of the way quickly.