Renek continued his sword’s motion, and flicked it across Adam’s body. Since it was blade-heavy, it hit Adam’s left hand with surprising force. Adam yelled in pain as the sword bit deeply, and his dagger fell, following his sword onto the floor.
Weaponless, Adam looked at Renek for a moment, holding his bleeding hand. “You’re a devil!” he yelled, backing up. “Nobody moves that fast, it’s impossible!” He turned and ran to George, who was also backing up.
Renek felt as if he was coming out of a trance. He looked down at his bloody sword, and the hand the held it, in surprise. What was he talking about? Adam had been slow. I suppose to someone that slow, I must seem fast, he reasoned.
Len was sputtering in rage. George didn’t say a word, but he grabbed Len’s clothing and dragged him through the door. Adam followed, still making noises about ‘the devil is in him.’ The door slammed shut with a satisfying thunk.
Renek looked at the two men, who were staring back with mouths hanging open. “You had better check on your horses, they might still be thinking about thievery.”
As they got up and rushed out, Renek walked over to the bar and picked up a rag to clean his sword with. Freiya looked over the counter at him, smiling but still wary.
“That was some nice work there,” Freiya said.
Renek nodded. “Thanks.”
She nodded. “You were mighty fast, they were right.”
She seemed to be considering something, so Renek filled in the empty space while she thought. “I dunno,” he said, “maybe they were just slow.”
Freiya shook her head, frowning. “No, you were fast. I’ve seen soldiers brawling before.” Her frown turned into a thin smile. “You can stay and eat here tonigh’, no charge.” She put 7 copper down on the counter, and Renek raised his eyebrows questioningly. “Yea, no charge. Thank’ee. That were a good thing you did, helping me like that.”
Renek sheathed his sword and picked up the coin. “You’re welcome. Just try to ‘pay it forward’ and help someone else, okay? That’s why I helped you—I owe someone, and so I’m helping you.” He turned to walk back to his table and food. As he smelled the food, he realized that he was ravenous, absolutely starving for food. He rushed to his bowl of stew.
The old woman smiled. She poured another mug of beer and brought it over to Renek, who was busy wolfing down his food. “You came from that Abbey up on the mountain, didn’t ya? They’re always talking about helping people.” Her eyes narrowed. “They must’ve done you a good turn, for you to help a stranger like me.”
Renek looked up at Freiya, spoon in mouth, and nodded. She visibly relaxed.
Thomas and Will came back inside. “Well, you were right.” Thomas huffed as he sat down at the table. “They were in the middle of untying our horses. We chased them off.” He looked at Renek. “I think they were afraid that you were going to follow us out there. They hightailed it pretty fast when we yelled at them.”
“Good.” Renek managed to say in between bites.
“That was some pretty nice dueling, there. You must be an experienced soldier.” He paused, searching Renek’s face. “I’ve never seen anyone move that fast. Do you think that you could take Will, here, as an apprentice? I’ve never thought about giving him up, but, you seem a good man…Will mentioned it outside, that he would like to do that.”
Renek took his time finishing his stew, mopping the last of the liquid up with the hard bread. He looked across the table carefully at the man and his boy. Will was round-eyed, full of hope, but the man seemed less happy. He wasn’t smiling.
“Thomas, right?” The older man nodded. “Thomas, I’m not a knight, I can’t take apprentices.” Thomas’s look of relief was clear.
“Well, I suppose I still need him on the farm, anyway. Too much work for an old man like me by myself.” Will looked crestfallen, but didn’t say anything.
Renek drank his beer, warm and foamy, and stood up. “I agree. Will, you’ll be happier this way. It’s not right to leave your father in the lurch.” Will looked chagrined, as if he had only now thought of the consequences of what he had suggested to his father. “And now, I am tired, and would like to go in to bed.” He realized as he said the words that they weren’t just an excuse; his stomach seemed as heavy as lead, and that heaviness was radiating outwards to the rest of his body. He was tired, as tired now as he had been hungry earlier.
He turned and looked over his shoulder. “Freiya, where is my room?”
“Down the hall, second door on your right.”
“Thank you.” He nodded at Thomas and Will, and then walked out of the room.
Renek’s room was very small. The bed fit in it, but the door brushed the blankets as it opened. There was a small nightstand with a candle and a pitcher of water on it, and that was it. Nothing more would have fit.
He stepped in, leaned over the nightstand to make room for the door, and closed it firmly. He dropped the simple latch into place, pushed his pack up against the door to make some noise in case lock didn’t work, and slumped on the bed to fall asleep while still fully clothed.
He thought of the skirmish, and his apparent speed of movement, and how his body knew what to do with a sword better than his mind did. He shook his head slightly, and shivered under the covers.
“Who — or what — am I?” he muttered to himself.
* * *
Amazingly, Renek awoke at the beginnings of dawn, feeling completely refreshed. He collected his things and splashed some water on his face from the pitcher by his bed. The water didn’t smell drinkable—it was dusty and murky—but it helped wake him up. It was still early when he came out of his room.
He entered the common room to find the innkeeper placing day-old rolls on the floor of the fireplace to warm them.
“Are those for your guests?”
Freiya jumped up, hitting her head on the fireplace with an audible thunk. “Ah, didn’t hear you come in, sire.” She rubbed the back of her head. “Aye, they be for ye. I don’ have no other guests right now.
“Would ye be wantin’ some eggs, or mebbe some corn grits? I like me a bit o’ hot food in the mornin’, I can make some extry for ye.”
“Eggs would be good, Freiya. Thank you very much.”
“Oh, aye, it’s no problem. Have yourself some of that water if ye like.” Freiya shuffled outside, presumably to the henhouse to gather some eggs. Renek saw the pitcher of water that Freiya had offered on one of the tables, with a glass next to it. He sat down and sniffed the pitcher. Finding it fresher than the pitcher in his room, he poured a glass and drank.
Freiya came in a few seconds later carrying a load of eggs in her apron. She grabbed a sooty pan that was hanging next to the fire in the back, and scooped some grease into it. Renek sat and watched her as she cracked a dozen eggs into the pan, which was black with soot from the fire.
“The soot helps the eggs not stick,” Freiya called over her shoulder. “Saved me more than one mess, hangin’ the pot in the smoke of the fire.” She was holding a large piece of cloth, folded over many times, between the pan and his hand. “‘Course, the grease helps too.” She was quite dexterous, even through the cloth, as she swirled the pan in and next to the fire. With a quick flip of her wrists, she got the eggs to ride up the side of the pan and curl gently back down onto their yolks. No yellow seeped out—the yolks were still intact. Renek clapped in appreciation, and the woman shook her head, embarrassed, but clearly pleased.
“I’ve been doin’ that for years, I have.” She set the pan down and ran across to the bar to grab two plates. After putting the eggs onto one plate, she pulled out a knife and cut them in two large groups of fried eggs, and slid half of them onto the second plate. She handed the second plate to Renek and sat down with him.
“Have you owned the tavern for a while, then?” Renek asked.
“Oh, aye, twenty years now it’s been.” She pulled a couple of forks out of her pocket and handed one across the table. Renek grabbed the fork and began
to eat, and Freiya did the same. “Thing abou’ the soot, it makes those eggs taste ok, don’t you think?” She cut another egg and started eating. “‘Course, the grease helps too.”
They ate in silence for a while. The eggs were tasty, with the yolks runny but thick from the heat of the fire. The rolls were hot and had one side toasted nicely. Freiya was the first to break the silence after their meal.
“So, where are you headed, then?” She leaned back, looking at Renek.
“I don’t really know. I had thought to go look for the battle, help the locals against their foes.”
“Those foes would be the Triols, friend. They’re a nasty bunch.” She leaned forward, the legs of her chair giving a firm thunk as they hit the floor. “They’ll gut you and tie you up with your entrails, they will, and leave you to die. I’ve heard tell that if you struggle with yer guts tied around you, it feels like you’re stepping on your own insides.” She shook her head. “No way to treat a human bein’, if you ask me. Kill him straight up, give him a decent burial, I say.”
“Well, I don’t really have anywhere better to go.” He leaned back in his chair. “I don’t know anyone in the area, and I seem to be pretty good with a sword.”
“That ye are, friend.”
“So maybe I should put my talent to use for a good cause.” He dropped his chair legs back onto the floor, and stood up. “What direction should I travel, Freiya?”
Freiya considered. “I think ye should go out the door an’ turn east. Go past me chicken coop near the road and see if you can see the dust trail those soldiers always kick up.”
“How will I know the Triols from the kingdom’s soldiers?”
“Aye, ye are from far away.” She nodded. “A good question to ask, then. The Triols wear blue and white, have spikes on their armor, and speak our tongue but poorly. Our lads wear red, have a crest of red with a rearing horse.” She scratched her head. “I think the horse is wearin’ a crown.”
“Okay. Thanks.” He turned towards the door, but Freiya spoke again.
“Before ye go, lad, you should know—” She shook her head again. “It’s bad out there.”
“We’re losing?”
“No.” She paused to reconsider. “Well, aye, mebbe we’re losing, slowly—but that’s not what I meant. I mean that our king, he’s … he’s been concerned with this war for a long time. We’ve been at war, or preparin’ for war, for years now. Mebbe as long as I been keepin’ this inn.” She shook her head yet again. “Some people out there have been hurtin’ for a long time.”
Renek looked at Freiya. She seemed tired and troubled. The lines around her eyes were deep. “Thanks, Freiya. I’ll try and do what I can.” He smiled tentatively.
Freiya smiled broadly in return. “Well, if last night means anything, then the Triols won’t know what hit em.” She laughed aloud. “Do your best, young sire. Do your best!”
Renek strode to the door, but paused and turned back for a moment. “I will. And see if you can help someone to repay the help I gave you last night. Pay it forward.” He looked at her smile, framed in the doorway for just a moment, and then turned and left.
I hope Freiya’s smile lasts all day, though.
* * *
Freiya’s directions were easy to follow: there was a large tail of dust wafting into the sky to the east. He followed the road, since it led that way and it was easier to walk on. The road also led back towards the mountain range that he had come down the day before, although it seemed to be heading towards another peak. The battle was clearly taking place on the plains north and east of the mountain range, but quite a distance away.
His walk took him past a few fields that were in good shape, but by mid-morning, he was passing farms that had been destroyed. It seemed clear that the armies had been through the area and had taken every scrap of food and clothing that they could put their hands on. One farmhouse had been burnt to the ground.
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 R
yan. 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.
Legend of the Swords: War Page 5
