Legend of the Swords: War (8 page)

For the first time in a battle, Ryan relaxed. His muscles loosened, lengthened. He stopped trying to hit Kevin with strength, and started slicing through the air lightly, but more quickly.

Kevin’s leer disappeared instantly. He was backing up more quickly, now. If Ryan had rained blows down before, now his sword became a downpour on Kevin’s shield and sword.

With his muscles loose, and moving so fast, Ryan found it more difficult to control his sword. He tried to move it around Kevin’s blade, but it seemed balanced differently, and his blow went wide. Kevin took full advantage, and pressed forward again, a look of triumph in his eyes.

With a quick blow to the inside of Ryan’s sword, Kevin accentuated Ryan’s wide swing, and tried to get a downward swing in to Ryan’s sword arm. Ryan had no choice but to back up and cover his right side with his shield. Kevin reversed direction as his wooden sword bounced off of Ryan’s wooden shield, and went for Ryan’s left leg.

Ryan was off balance, and couldn’t move the leg. He felt the wooden sword hit with force, and hissed in pain. He shifted his weight and lifted his leg off the ground. The rules stated that he couldn’t use the leg any longer, but he could still fight.

And fight he did. His sword had already swung through an outside arc, over his head. Kevin had exposed his left side as he went for Ryan’s leg, dropping his shield as he reached. Ryan tensed his muscles, adding strength and weight into his swing, his sword snapped down, connecting with Kevin’s shoulder with alarming force. Kevin went down, a look of shock and pain on his face. On his knees, he dropped his sword, and reached up to grab his shoulder.

“Now, Ryan—NO MERCY!” Armand shouted, steel in his voice. Ryan’s brow knitted for a moment as he tensed his muscles to strike another blow…but he paused a moment too long. Instead of an enemy, he suddenly saw a prostrate boy who was in pain.

He dropped his sword and knelt in front of Kevin. “Are you all right? Did I break your shoulder?”

Kevin winced. “I don’t think so.” He sucked in air between his teeth. “Why’d you hit me so hard?” The other squires crowded around, and Kevin’s knight, Gregory, pushed his way through. He was older, with some gray in his beard, but still a formidable warrior.

“Kevin, what happened?” Sir Gregory exclaimed. “You had him where you wanted him! You should have won this battle.” He held out his hand, and Kevin grabbed it with his shield arm. The knight hoisted him to his feet.

“I’m sorry, Sir. I don’t know what happened.” He looked at Ryan sullenly. “He got faster.”

The cook rang a small bell announcing dinner, but Armand was at Ryan’s side and grabbed his arm. “Your enemies wish to kill you," he said, his features still as stone. “There is only one rule on the battlefield.
No mercy.
” He shouldered Ryan as he walked over toward Kevin and Sir Gregory.

Armand tapped Gregory on the shoulder, clearing his throat.

“Yes, Armand?” Gregory said, with extreme patience and politeness.

Armand put his arm around his colleague’s shoulder. “I believe there’s a little matter of the money you owe me.” He started leading the older man away from the center of attention. “Ryan won, fair and square…”

The gray bearded knight spun around to look at Kevin. “We’ll settle your loss later, Kevin. I won’t forget.” He turned back to Armand. “Kevin did well, I’d say better than
you
expected, Armand, you dog…”

When they were out of hearing distance, Brian started laughing out loud.

“What?” Kevin said, with a hurt look on his face.

“They bet on you guys!” he positively howled, bending over and thumping his knee. “They
bet
on you!”

Understanding came to Kevin, who smiled a bit while rubbing his shoulder. The others chuckled. Brian couldn’t stop laughing until they were serving the knights their food.

The Gredarin

It was several weeks later. It was clear, and spring was in the air. While it was still a little cold at night, the days were getting longer, and some of the trees had begun to bud, or even bloom.

One day, when the weather was especially nice, the knights steered them off of the road that they had been following. A few hundred feet away, nestled in the crook of a hill near a small stream, lay a small abbey.

“We need a few days’ rest,” Gregory called to them from the front of the line. “And we can buy a few extra horses for the squires.” He turned to Armand. “Hopefully the other knights have made it here already," he said, just loud enough for Ryan to hear.

They soon found that the other knights had not arrived yet. The monks had not heard anything about soldiers of any sort.

For most of the next week, the squires had been concentrating on riding skills rather than practicing swordplay. Occasionally they got to ride one of the knights’ horses. With only a few hours practice, none of them were smooth riders yet, certainly not stable enough for battle. But, Sir William had said while training them, knights were more mobile than infantry, and were sometimes moved strategically from one unit to another by the commanders, so all the squires needed horses.

Ryan spent quite a lot of time brushing and feeding both his and Armand’s horses, over the next few days. He had never thought that he would own a horse, and he wanted to show Armand that he was taking good care of the animals.

He was brushing the horses one evening after dinner, when Armand came to him with an empty set of saddlebags.

“Ryan, the other knights have arrived.” Armand’s eyes drooped down to the ground. “You squires aren’t really ready for this, but we’re heading out tomorrow morning. We need to get to the Gredarin as soon as possible. The Triols are already moving.” He sighed. “I had thought we would have another week or two, but it looks like…well, it doesn’t matter, really.” He shrugged. “You’ll do your best, I’m sure—for what it’s worth.” He held out the saddlebags. “Pack these with an extra set of clothes and as much food as will fit.”

“Sir, have I done something wrong?” Ryan said, apologetically. “I don’t understand. I’m fairly good with the sword in practice, now.” Armand frowned, and Ryan paused for a second, then continued. “I—I know that practice isn’t
battle
, but I’m the best squire here.”

Armand looked at him for a long time before he finally answered, voice harsh. “Squire, don’t question your knight. That’s a basic rule.” He turned on his heel and was gone, leaving Ryan fuming.

What was that?
Ryan thought to himself.
I’ve done everything he asked, I win almost every sparring match with the others…what does he want?
Ryan absentmindedly packed the horse’s brush, a couple of nosebags, and some good oats into one of the saddlebags. He rolled up two extra saddle blankets and attached them to the back of the saddles.

He went back to the squires’ room to get clothes packed. The other squires were also busy packing, so there wasn’t much chatter.

A few minutes after Ryan started looking through his things, Gregory, the commander of their unit and one of the Knights of the Crown, came through. He was carrying several identical, simply made steel swords in one hand, and a smaller, heavier bag in the other hand. He set the heavy bag down, grabbed a sword, and held it out by the sheath to the squire nearest the door. It happened to be Brian.

“You squires haven’t used real swords much.” He looked around the room, clearly enjoying the eager looks that the weapons were getting. “Tonight you’re going to have to learn how to take care of one.” He gestured at Brian, who took the sword into his hands and unsheathed it.

Its blade was straight, thickest in the middle near the hilt. It tapered evenly through most of its length, but the width narrowed more quickly near the point. The blade had a diamond cross-section, with a thick ridge in the middle. The edge had been sharpened with a rough tool that had left tool marks on it.

“These are sharpened about as sharp as you ever want a sword. It’s not meant to be a knife.” He grinned. “Find something else to skin any rabbits you catch. This blade is meant to go through armor, as you know, and that’ll put a big notch in a too-sharp edge.

“Still, we’re going to learn how to sharpen them properly tonight—these were sharpened with a file. A file’s fine if you’ve got it, but they’re hard to keep clean in the field, and once a file’s rusted, it’s not gonna help you. Grab a stone from this bag,” he nudged the heavy sack, “And get busy. Sharpening a sword is different than sharpening a knife. With a knife, you move the blade down the stone and keep it at the same angle; with a sword, you move the stone down the blade, and keeping that stone straight is far more difficult.” He looked around the room at the boys, eyebrows raised, grinning. “Well, what are you waiting for? Come get yer sword!”

Ryan let the others go in front of him. He realized when the sword was handed to him that it was a little long for him—a bit longer than three feet—but it had a nice sized pommel on the hilt, which would give it a nice balance. It had a belt attached to the hilt, so he strapped it on his waist, then picked up his sharpening stone. He heard a few drops of rain hit the roof.

They all spent some time sharpening, and the commander walked among them, helping anyone who was having problems. A half an hour later, he clapped to get their attention.

“You’ve all gotten at least one face of one blade done. The rest is pretty much the same. Put your stone in your bag and keep it with you, using it’ll help take nicks out of your blade in the field. Then get yourselves and your knights ready to go. We’re riding out at dawn tomorrow.

Gregory glanced at Ryan and continued. “There’s been a change in plans: we need to move quickly, so the infantry won’t be going with us. If you have any goodbyes to say, do it tonight.” He dropped his gaze to the floor and walked out of the room.

The other squires chose to concentrate on their packing as Ryan walked briskly out of the room, struggling to keep his face blank.

*   *   *

“I can’t believe that you’re not going with us,” Ryan said.

Edmund shrugged. “I don’t know…it sounds like you and your
knights
have it covered.”

Ryan winced. “Don’t be like that. This isn’t my choice. You know if we were doing what I wanted, we’d probably both be with our parents now.” He smiled wryly.

Edmund snorted. “Yeah. Whether they’re dead or captured, if we had run into the forest that night, we would have probably joined them.” He looked up at Ryan. “You remember what we were talking about, on the way home, right before the fire?”

“How could I forget?” He laughed. “You were telling me that you were going to choose to be a woodsman for your profession.”

“Yeah, well, it was a good idea!”

He picked up his sword, which was identical to the one Ryan had received earlier. “I don’t know … this metal feels so
cold
. I like the wooden ones better.”

“Heh. Maybe you should sing to it a bit.” Ryan’s lips curled. “Your singing made my shoulder feel better. I think it might have been more powerful than the poultice.”

Edmund ducked his head, but Ryan could see him smiling.

Ryan stuck out his hand. “Whatever you do, keep me in your thoughts," he said.

“Thanks, Ryan.” Edmund looked up as he shook Ryan’s hand. “I will.”

Ryan turned sharply and rushed out of the room. He heard Edmund’s voice in quiet song behind him.

*   *   *

It was relatively warm at dawn the next day, and the squires had lined up in a row with all of the horses under their care. They wore what armor they had been given, and all of them had their swords strapped on. Ryan had stayed up late to finish sharpening his. The rain from the night before had left the delicious smell of wet earth, but the dawn star shone brightly, low in the sky. The clouds had gone.

The knights came out of their building one by one. Armand was one of the first ones out, wearing his shining chain mail, shield strapped across his back. He had a pair of highly ornate grieves covering his shins. He inspected Ryan’s work: the horses were brushed, their packs tightly closed. He nodded curtly before motioning Ryan to assist him in mounting.

The knights formed up ranks. Armand was behind Gregory, but in front of William, the third Crown. The rest of the knights were behind the Crowns. The each squire was beside his knight. When they were all in line, the lead Crown yelled, “Move out!” and they rode out of the abbey.

This abbey they had been training at was near Forest Cairn, one of the six Great Forests, and its lands bordered the river Gredarin. The river’s waters flowed out of the mountains far in the north, meandered through the Cairn and onto the plains before spilling into Lake Gigno, a large lake a bit further south that was fed by several rivers. It was to the southeast they rode, towards the river’s path, and towards the Triols.

The rain that had fallen the night before kept the dust down while they rode. The ground was still wet, though, and mud covered the horse’s hooves. Crown Gregory kept the pace at a light trot, so they would cover a lot ground through the morning hours.

The road—more of a well-ridden path—didn’t meander much. There was no reason for it to, on flat ground like the plains. Occasionally, it did turn, or it would slowly bear to one side or another. It was monotonous, looking out at the green grass that was growing more than two feet tall. There wasn’t much wind, but the breezes that did come ruffled the heads of the grass in waves. An occasional oak tree dotted the otherwise tired landscape, although the Great Forest was visible as a dark line on the horizon to the north. Any direction shifts that the road had seemed to be keeping the forest just in sight.

After about an hour, they slowed to a walk to rest the horses for a few minutes. Despite the few hours of practice, Ryan was already getting saddle sore. His legs were tired, too, from trying to minimize the bouncing from trotting for so long. He looked back, and saw pained expressions on most of the other squires as well. The knights seemed bored. It was slow going, trotting for so long, but the horses wouldn’t last very long if they rode faster. Even a canter would tire them out after a few miles.