Legend of the Swords: War (39 page)

Renek was at the forefront of the army, his sword flashing, his world slowed. The crystal no longer wept, but the sword’s balance had been improved, and he was the fastest warrior on the field. No Triol could touch him. Even so, he could only do so much.

At dusk they gathered, exhausted, around the table in the king’s tent.

“What are the estimates, general Petrin?”

“Sire, we have lost over a thousand men today, and nearly the same number lie too wounded to fight.”

Renek winced. “And the enemy?”

“My scouts tell me that they have lost a quarter of their forces. At least six thousands of them lie dead, and perhaps a thousand are wounded too badly to fight.”

“Leaving eighteen thousands, sire,” Hesiod broke in. “Against our three. There are six of them for every one of us.”

Renek sighed. “It is not getting better.”

Petrin looked at the floor. “No, sire, it’s not.”

“Is there anything that we can do?” Renek asked.

Hesiod spoke. “Sire—” Renek broke in.

“Hesiod, you know better than to call me that.”

He shrugged. “Renek, I think, perhaps, that the keep to our west might hold all of our men.”

Petrin brightened. “It might. It would be tight, though. Most of us would have to stay in the courtyard or on the outer wall.”

“Would that help, general?” Renek asked.

“Yes.” Petrin nodded. “We might be able to hold out for quite a while, there…and the Singers would have an unobstructed view from the battlements.”

Renek stood up from the table. “Let’s break camp, then, and head to the keep.”

*   *   *

The keep was built to be defensible. It had a set of gates in the outer wall, with a small courtyard with stables for about twenty horses. The keep proper lay beyond a second set of gates.

It was a small keep, with only a few rooms, a kitchen, and quarters at the top fit for a duke.

The next day’s battle was significantly better. The Singers rained death upon the Triols from above. The enemy managed to get close enough to pound the gates several times, but the men on the outer wall shot arrows at the Triols, or threw spears and stones at them.

Renek could do nothing without opening the gate, so he ran around the wall, cajoling and complimenting as best as he could.

He still couldn’t get used to everyone calling him ‘sire.’

At the end of the day, Renek, general Petrin, and Hesiod sat in the duke’s chambers at the top of the tower and reviewed the day’s battle.

“We lost very few men, sire.” Petrin smiled. “Perhaps only a hundred.”

“And the Triols?” Renek held his breath in anticipation.

“At least four thousand died, or so my scouts say," Petrin said.

Renek’s breath exploded out of him. “Then we have a chance.”

Petrin’s eyes were hard. “Only a chance, sire, but yes. We have a chance.”

The War's Front

Kevin started to gather stones to cover Armand’s body, but Ryan stopped him.

“Let him be food for the birds and dogs," he said, jerking his head back at the fallen knight. “He deserves nothing.”

Kevin looked deeply into his friend’s eyes. Finally, he shrugged, and walked his and Gregory’s horses down the side of the mountain a few hundred yards, leaving the fire behind. Ryan followed, and they unrolled their pallets without speaking.

The next morning, Ryan woke Kevin before dawn. He was eager to get to the battlefield.

“Let’s ride down as fast as we can," he said, holding both Armand’s horse’s lead and his own. “We have two horses each, so we can switch when they get tired. We won’t have to walk them.”

Kevin nodded. He glanced backwards, back to last night’s original camp. Ryan had already moved on, buckling his pallet behind his saddle.

They made good time. By noon, they were in the middle of the forest, and were able to increase their speed. By sunset, they met up with a road, perhaps fifteen or twenty miles away from the front.

“It looks like the Triols have gained ground," Kevin said, shielding his eyes from the setting Sun. “They’re further north and west of where they were when we skirted them.”

Ryan nodded. “Did you expect any different?” he said, bitterly. “That’s why they sent us on this fool’s errand.” He put his hand on the crystal hilt at his waist. “Well, it was a ‘successful’ errand, I guess.” He tilted his head to the side, considering. “Not a fool’s errand. But I wish Gregory were here.”

Kevin nodded, and they set about making camp just to the north of the road. They had nothing to eat; there had been no time for hunting.

After a fitful night’s sleep, once again they rose before dawn. There were no stars in the sky. As the sky lightened, clouds scattered the light. They mounted their horses, and rode toward where they thought the battle was. A few moments after dawn, large raindrops began to fall.

 Ryan pushed the horses hard, cantering through the mud for an hour before he paused to let them switch horses. They were both ravenous when they rode into camp after another hour’s hard riding.

A guard stopped them at the edge of the camp.

“Halt!” He held up a hand in a gesture that reminded Ryan of the Bourne.
Do not cross this line.
He thought to himself, and laughed a bit.

The guard was confused by the laugh. “Identify yourselves!” he said, warily.

Ryan put his hand on the crystal hilt at his side. “Squires Ryan and Kevin of the Crown Knights," he said, curtly. “We have traveled over hill and under mountain to reach this camp before the army is completely overwhelmed by the Triols. Where can we get food?” His voice was strong, commanding.

The guard looked them over. “Why do you have four horses, squire?”

“Our knights died, protecting us in the line of duty.” Ryan smiled sadly. “We were successful despite this, and bring … happy news for General Petrin.” He held his stomach. “But we have not eaten in near two days, guard, and must nourish ourselves before we speak with him.”

The guard nodded, and pointed to a tent not far from them. “That is the tent where you can get food…if you want to call it that," he said, grinning ruefully. “I will alert General Petrin of your arrival. Squires Ryan and Kevin, you said? Who were your knights?”

“Gregory, Petrin’s brother, and Armand, both of the Crown Knights," Ryan said over his shoulder, for he had already begun walking his horse towards the mess tent. Kevin was not far behind.

Ryan noted that the army was not on the field, most of the soldiers had sought shelter under their tents. He found that he was a bit disappointed.

I guess I had hoped to enter the fray right after eating.
He thought to himself, and stared up at the sky.
Maybe it will clear up, or perhaps the Triols will attack despite the rain.

He and Kevin tied their horses to a wooden rail outside the mess tent, and went in to get some hot food. 

*   *   *

General Petrin entered the mess tent a few minutes later. He found the two shoveling food into their mouths at the rickety table nearest the soup line. He grinned at their enthusiasm for the lackluster stew. He then frowned as he remembered that there were four that had left, and only these two survived. He strode over to their table and sat down.

He wasted no time in preamble. “The guard said that you succeeded. Where are the swords?”

Ryan swallowed his stew, pulled his sword out and set it on the table between them.

“Sword, not swords. One was missing," he said flatly. “And the sword has claimed me. It did not … work, as a sword, for Armand.” He frowned. “It was his undoing. He could not defeat his last enemy because the sword failed him. But when I picked it up, I was … more successful than Armand.”

Petrin lifted the sword, studying its lines, feeling its balance. Ryan’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

Petrin stood up and swung the sword a couple of times. “It is a nice sword," he said, doubtfully. “But the legends speak of it being red.” He saw Ryan’s expression, and slowly put the sword down on the table.

“Now,” the general said, “tell me what happened.”

Kevin looked over at Ryan. Ryan glanced back, nodded, and spoke.

He mostly told the truth. Kevin squirmed a bit in discomfort at Ryan’s new ending to their tale, but knew that Ryan couldn’t tell the truth about killing Armand.

Ryan’s story ended with a fight with another giant, similar to the ones they had met on the western side of the mountain, but more intelligent. Ryan finished with him describing how he picked up the discarded sword only after Armand had died trying to protect them with the flawed blade. Of course, once the sword bonded to Ryan, it was an easy task to finish off the ‘giant.’

Petrin nodded. “Well, from what you describe, you will be a real asset to the battlefield.” He stood. “Why don’t you finish eating? The several Singers that choose to serve our king say that the weather will clear by the end of the day. They also say that the Triols are planning a major attack tomorrow morning but will leave us alone today.” He smiled at them. “I will have one of the guards show you two
knights
to a tent that is proper to your new station—I hope you don’t mind, we have all junior knights two to a tent. I assure you, they are befitting your new rank.” Kevin grinned at Ryan, who was nodding to general Petrin in gratitude.

“Thank you, general," Ryan said. “We will be happy to serve you.”

“Good,” Petrin said, eyes narrowing. “The first thing you can do for me is to demonstrate the sword’s abilities. Shall we say, three hours after noon, in the central area in front of my tent?” He smiled, but did not wait for a reply. “I’m glad that will work for you. See you then”

*   *   *

The afternoon was clear, as promised. When Ryan and Kevin arrived at Petrin’s tent, there were two infantrymen spreading copious amounts of dry sawdust around the area. The general was supervising.

“Hello, Ryan, Kevin!” Petrin called, waving them over. “I thought it wouldn’t be a fair showing of the sword if you and your opponent were slipping and sliding around in the mud. There is a river not too far from here, and a sawmill whose owner abandoned it not long before we arrived—so I had some men ride over and gather what sawdust there was.” He nodded. “I think it will make things better, don’t you?”

Ryan nodded, looking around, trying to spot his opponent.

“This battle will be to first blood, young Ryan.” The general laughed lightly. “No point in us losing one of our knights! We have too few as it is.” He gestured to a tall man in full plate armor that was riding towards them. “I’ve asked Crown Knight Jenkins to be your opponent. Hello, Jenkins!” He yelled. “Come over here and meet the young man I was telling you about!”

Jenkins dismounted in front of them. He was very tall, but very thin, even wearing armor. He held his hand out to Ryan, who paused for a moment, then shook hands.

General Petrin introduced them. “Jenkins, Ryan. Ryan, Jenkins.” He gestured at Ryan. “Ryan, why don’t you show him your sword?”

Ryan understood that the question wasn’t really a request. He slid the sword out of its sheath, flipped it around, and handed the hilt to Jenkins. Jenkins stepped back and made several cuts back and forth with the weapon, then nodded. He turned the blade around, and slid his fingertips over the crystal pommel before handing it back to Ryan.

“It is a well-made blade," he said. “The pommel is interesting, I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything that smooth.” He smiled. “It was so smooth that it feels soft, although the crystal does not yield.”

“Interesting," Petrin said. “So the rules of this battle are as I told you late this morning, Jenkins: first blood.” He grinned. “Preferably only a little blood, if you can, gentlemen.

He turned to Ryan. “I’d like you to trade swords for a few moments, Ryan.” Ryan’s mouth tightened, and the general held up a hand. “I know you believe the sword has ‘chosen you,’ whatever that means—but Jenkins has a decade’s more experience with the blade than you, he is the most experienced warrior in our forces.

“If it is as you say, then the blade will not work properly for him, and you can have it back. If it is not the way that you say—” his tone darkened. “Well, there is a whole army here, and I do not appreciate it when someone in my army is focused more on his own glory than on the survival of his fellow soldiers.”

Petrin held his hand out. Ryan grimaced, but he had no choice after words such as those. He placed the hilt of the sword in the general’s hand.

Jenkins handed his sword over to Ryan, then took the sword from Petrin. He turned to strap on his shield, and Ryan did the same. They came to en guard.

There was no contest. Jenkins may have had more experience, but Ryan had learned from the best warrior in the army, and the sword Jenkins used could not even scratch Ryan’s shield. General Petrin stopped their fighting before two minutes had passed.

They switched swords, and Ryan’s shoulders relaxed immediately. Although the crystal was no longer weeping water, he felt the rolling ocean of power underneath his hands, and smiled warmly. The warriors came to en guard.

Ryan stood still, waiting for an attack. Jenkins paused, staring at the sword for a moment, then sprang into action. He swept his sword up into the air and brought it straight down, with all his strength, towards Ryan’s head. Ryan brought his sword up to counter, and reached into the sword with his mind, and touched the surface of that ocean of power. There was a loud ringing sound as the two swords met.

Jenkins’ sword was shorn in two, the front half of the blade falling uselessly to the ground. The crystal pommel continued ringing like a bell, the hilt vibrating warmly in Ryan’s hand.

Ryan turned to general Petrin, smiling broadly. “I don’t think we need to go to first blood, do we, general?” He asked.

Petrin shook his head in wonder.

*   *   *

The next morning, just as dawn began to wake the sky, Ryan formed up ranks with the army. He rode with a small group of twenty knights in the center front of the battle line. Kevin was on his right, and General Petrin on his left. They both wore full armor, plates on top of chain mail, that had been pieced together from extras that remained after their previous owners had been lost in battle.