Legend of the Swords: War

by Jason Derleth

  They mounted and rode about a half a mile away from the river before cutting off of the road quite a ways before setting up camp for the night. This was a change—up until now, they had camped just off of the road. Tonight, they went far enough that they could barely see the road in the deepening shadows.

  Ryan brought both horses over to Armand, who looked them over and nodded. Several other squires, including Kevin, were leading their knights’ warhorse, but not their own.

  Gregory lined the knights up, and picked five out, starting with Armand William. Once they were assembled, Armand motioned to Ryan, who led both horses over to Armand.

  Gregory was unimpressed. “What’s he doing here?” He asked Armand.

  “Valuable training. Anything could go wrong. Got to learn to deal with that sort of situation.”

  Gregory considered for a moment, then smiled. “You’re right. All of you, call your squires over. They can stand back and watch how we deal with anything that goes wrong.” The five squires, including Kevin, scrambled to go get their horses. Once the ten people were assembled, Gregory addressed the whole camp.

  “This river has claimed many lives, I don’t have to tell you that. Its flow is fast, and the creatures that live in and around it are strong. Be careful.

  “As to you who stay behind to guard the camp, guard your backs as well. We are beyond the haven of the Abbey’s protection, and brigands are everywhere.”

  He wheeled his horse, and the group was on its way.

  Near the river, the air was still, and heavy with moisture. The sun was almost completely down by the time they got to the river’s banks, and the stars were beginning to shine in the east.

  “Squires stay here, on the road. Stay close together,” Gregory said. “Anything bad happens, get back to camp as quick as you can.” As they looked towards the first bridge, he turned to William and asked, wryly, “I don’t suppose we can use torches?”

  William winced. “No, Gregory, they would keep the flowers from blooming wherever their light fell.”

  “I figured as much.” They handed their torches over to the squires, and began to walk the horses towards the water.

  “Also, we should be upriver as far as we can, the blooms will have more juice.”

  Gregory lifted one corner of his mouth in a sarcastic smile. “Of course…wouldn’t want to be near the road, in case we needed to beat a hasty retreat or anything, would we?”

  “Oh, and one more thing: try not touch the trunks of the trees, if you can,” William added. “Branches and leaves are all right, but not the trunks.”

  Gregory just rolled his eyes.

  The squires stayed on their horses, staring into the darkness intently. The older men rode north over the first bridge, then turned left and traveled on the small island until they were gathered around the western point, facing into the river’s swiftness. It was hard to see them, because of the trees as well as the darkness, but Ryan thought they were lined up on the water’s edge. The moon’s light was bright, and glinted off of the knights’ armor, so he could just make out that William and Gregory were on the south side of the island.

  A few minutes passed, and the stars continued to spread over the sky. A few high clouds slowly faded as the sun traveled far enough in its journey around the planet that the land shadowed even the clouds.

  The blossoms began to unfold, catching the Moon’s light and recasting it more brightly. Slowly, the knights were illuminated from the pure white flowers blooming from the black sludge at the water’s edge. William was staring all around his feet, smiling broadly, Gregory looking around warily. Armand was closest to the squires, staring at William’s beaming face. Finally, he bent to collect some of the flowers.

  “No, Armand! Wait until they are so bright we cannot look at them any longer!” Cried William. Armand straightened, and began tapping his foot impatiently.

  The blooms continued to unfold. Shaped like lilies, they seemed to grow many times larger than the mold from which they sprung. As they grew, they caught more of the moon’s light, and multiplied it—they were easily ten times brighter than the moon. The knights were showered in white light. There were no colors; the flowers were simply pure and unflickeringly white.

  Ryan found that he hadn’t blinked for what seemed like many minutes. He shook his head, and looked up and down the river.

  All the islands were ringed with the silvery light, brighter than the moon. The reflection on the water was somehow ghostly, as if the black water didn’t want to reflect such a pure and beautiful light. Even though the waves didn’t move, they broke the surface and kept the flowers from reflecting their shape in the water. The reflected color seemed bluish, weaker, and less … pure. The more he looked at the reflection, the more uneasy he became. There was one island where the reflection was even stranger: the bow wave seemed larger, but the color was brighter, though no less blue.

  He reached out to Kevin, and nudged him. When Kevin turned, Ryan gestured at the reflections. Kevin shrugged.

  “Now!” Yelled William. “Cut them as near the moss as you can get! Keep cutting until the flowers die and the light fades from their petals!”

  Ryan snapped his head back to the knights, who quickly knelt and began cutting. They had brought canvas sacks with them, and those sacks blocked the light. As the sun set, the island’s front darkened, the reflection faded.

  Ryan looked back at the strange bow wave that had caught his eye before. It was normal, though—less bright, smaller. He looked around at the other islets, making sure he hadn’t misplaced it, but he had looked at the correct one. The wave had changed.

  He nudged his horse forward, to the front of the five squires. Kevin followed.

  “What’s up, Ryan?” he said quietly.

  “I don’t know if anything’s up…” He peered into the darkness. There was a glint, a reflected glimmer between the islands, nothing more.

  Then a long snout surfaced into the pool of light, about halfway down the island from the knights. Its nostrils flared as Ryan grabbed Kevin’s arm, pointing at it…but then it sank beneath the black water again.

  “Did you see that thing?” Ryan asked.

  Kevin shook his head. “I didn’t see anything. What?”

  “That snout! It must have been five feet long!” He grabbed Kevin’s arm again, and began riding towards the island. “Ride!” He yelled at the squires, who sat dumbstruck on their saddles. Kevin pushed Ryan’s hand away, but slapped his reins on his horse’s neck. They broke into a gallop as they hit the bridge, side by side. They would be to the knights soon, the island’s point was only about thirty feet from the end of the short bridge.

  Of course, the horse’s hooves made a lot of noise as they hit the wood of the bridge. The knights looked up from their work. Gregory quickly stood, holding his small knife, clearly pointing backwards toward the camp.

  Ryan tried to yell over the din of the horses. “Gregory, something’s com—”

  Then the water exploded in front of Gregory. The snout was tied to a ten-foot long neck, at least, and towered over him. Gregory tried to draw his sword, but the water beast was as fast as a snake. It bit his side, and with a flick, threw him towards the center of the island. He sailed over the trees and fell on the road in the middle of the island, stunned and bleeding.

  Ryan and Kevin leapt off their horses at the edge of the island, and drew their swords while they ran toward the beast.

  Interlude

  It was difficult for the corpse to move its legs. They were wrapped—almost bound—with swamp weed. The waterlogged, rotting clothing that hung loosely about its limbs wasn’t helping. The sword at its hip was useless to its undead, strength-less arms; it was simply another weight that fought against movement.

  There wasn’t anything else to do, though, and so the corpse kept pulling. The weed slowly pulled out of the soft mud at the bottom of the swamp, and one foot was freed. The corpse’s foot sank deep into the mud as it shambled forward on its fir
st step.

  The mud held fast to its second step. It was like a vise had clamped down, holding tight. The corpse leaned forward, its front foot resting on a large rock lying under the surface. It continued leaning, pivoting on its front foot to bring its entire weight into the effort of pulling its rear foot free. It was as if the swamp did not want to let one of its own leave.

  The muck finally did let go, but too quickly for undead muscles to react—and the corpse teetered forward, tipping, falling…and it once again opened its eyes from under water.

  It rolled over and saw the same circle of sky shining through the water. Blinking, it sat up again, a bit more easily than the first time. Perhaps resolve was tightening sinew, strengthening bone?

  Regardless, it sloshed to its feet, and renewed its efforts, pushing forward step by step toward the mountains.

  Introduction

  The confused kingdom soldiers fell in behind Renek, even though he wore no colors. He fought three blue tabards off, skewering one and sending the other two sprawling. Just as before, they seemed slow, easy to outmaneuver—perhaps even more so, now that he had his makeshift pommel balancing the weight of the blade. He backed up, giving himself and his allies more space, and gestured at the men behind him to gather ranks and retreat more defensibly.

  He killed another of the Triols as about thirty or forty of the Kingdom soldiers pushed their tired bodies into ranks behind him. There were a few of the blue tabards watching him from a distance, now. They started calling for order around them, and several others gathered around. They started slapping their swords on their shields rhythmically, which seemed to be a signal to the others to drop their individual battles and join.

  A quick glance behind him showed him that the soldiers were able to at least lift their shields in the same direction. That was all he needed. It was just in time, too, as the Triols had begun to advance on him.

  “Retreat! Quickly!” He yelled as he turned, running from the twenty or so Triols that had gathered against him. They ran after him, but despite his long walk, he found himself as light on his feet as if he had just awoken. He slapped some of the lagging Kingdom soldiers with the flat of his blade.

  “Run! They will stop to hold the hill!” he called to them.

  He was correct; at the base of the hill, as the kingdom’s forces crashed through and around an old farm’s failing wooden fence, the Triols slowed. There was soon a great rhythmical metallic thumping—slow, at first, but it came faster and faster until the Triols were all thumping their shields with their swords as fast as they could. Then they started yelling and screaming incoherently, apparently in joy at their victory. It was deafening.

  The Kingdom soldiers slowed to a dejected walk, and headed for the hillside that hid their encampment.

  One of them turned to Renek, squinting, and asked, “Who are you, stranger? You probably saved us, but you wear no colors, and I’ve never seen you before.”

  Renek turned slightly to face the man. “My name is Renek, and I fight with the soldiers of the Kingdom.” He smiled, although it seemed to take more energy than he expected to put on that happy expression.

  The soldier didn’t smile back. “Where did you come from?”

  Renek’s smile faded. “I do not know. I lost my memory after a disease. Since I had a sword, and those that healed me live under the protection of the king, I have come to you to help in your cause.”

  The soldier sighed as they crested the hill and their encampment came into view. “Well, I’m afraid you’re too late to help our cause, stranger … Renek.” He shook his head. “We lost this battle, and six before. We’re outnumbered, and the Triols seem blessed in battle. That, or maybe we’re cursed.” His gaze lifted as he saw that other soldiers had returned to the camp. “There’s a little bit of good news! We lost, but the camp seems little diminished. Maybe we can hold them off another day.” The other soldiers seemed a bit heartened, as well.

  A large chestnut horse in full battle gear rode out to greet the returning force. The man on it was obviously of some import; he had a more elegant helm, and his shield had the kingdom’s symbol wrought into the metal. He wore decorated full plate armor, which seemed out of place next to the other soldiers on the battlefield.

  “Captain Rimes!” Came the call from atop the horse’s back. “You are alive! Your Company was hard hit, I tried to send reinforcements but we couldn’t push through. What happened?”

  Rimes gestured at Renek. “We were saved by this man. Says his name is Renek. He came in just as they were ready to o’erwhelm us, and managed to hold them back long enough for us to organize a better retreat. Saved many lives, he did.”

  The chestnut wheeled around, and the man jumped off. He was a youngish man, clean-shaven, with a few stray locks of golden hair escaping from beneath his helm. He held out his hand.

  “Then I am in your debt, friend. I am Lieutenant Hesiod. Thank you for your aid.” He took his horse’s bridle, and walked with the men toward the camp. “Your clothing is strange, you must have come far. In our land, guests are treated well, as long as they are friends—and you have earned that title by saving my men’s lives.”

  He stopped to remount, and the men stopped with him. Renek stared in awe at the huge horse. Its hooves were a foot across. The Lieutenant spoke again, and Renek snapped his gaze up to meet Hesiod’s.

  “I hope that you can dine with me, sir? And you also, Captain? You are dusty with the battle, and you seem tired, so please take some time to refresh yourselves.” He smiled down at the men. “After you have had your fill of food and drink, you can tell me of the battle. I’m certain it will be a tale worth the retelling.” He looked more pointedly at Renek. “And, after that tale, you can tell me what brought you to my men at such an opportune time.

  “Gentlemen, dinner will be served in an hour.” He kicked his horse’s flanks and was off.

  * * *

  Renek was lead to a medium-sized tent, with a nice bed. A soldier brought him some cold water about a half an hour after he had arrived.

  “Sir, here is some water!” the man said, putting the bucket just inside the tent flap.

  Luckily, this woke Renek. He had lain down on the bed, intending to close his eyes for just a moment. Instead, he had fallen asleep in his armor.

  I need to be careful about this. I seem to be getting very tired after a battle, although it was better this time than the first. He grimaced, and retrieved the bucket. It wouldn’t do to fall asleep during a retreat.

  He spent some time cleaning his armor and his sword, and tightening the wire and the leather straps that held his makeshift pommel on. Then he stepped out of the tent into the evening air. The guard gestured towards the largest tent.

  A few moments later, he stood outside of what he assumed to be Hesiod’s tent—the large one flying the colors of the kingdom—which was strangely unguarded. There was no way to knock. He looked around for Rimes, but didn’t see anyone.

  “Hello?” he said, then shrugged and scratched the side of the tent near the entrance. A guard pulled the flap to the side and peered out.

  “Renek?” the guard grunted. Clearly he had been told to expect him.

  “Yes.” Renek looked at the guard with a critical eye; the tall, spindly man’s armor was ill fitted, hanging loosely about his narrow shoulders but too short and tight on his legs. His sword looked too short for his body, as well, which would limit his reach in battle.

  “The Lieutenant is expecting you.” The guard moved aside so that Renek could enter.

  Renek passed the guard, and entered a small antechamber. The real entrance to the tent was still ahead. He reached out to pull aside the flap, but paused. He turned towards the thin man to ask, “How do you announce that you’re outside? There’s no place to knock.”

  The guard laughed. “Well, I don’t know how your people do it, but we generally clap, or just speak a greeting.”

  “Thanks.” He entered the main tent. Captain Rimes was already at the
table, which Renek was surprised to see had a tablecloth draped over it. It also had a lit candelabra. The captain and Lieutenant both rose to greet him.

  “Renek!” Lieutenant Hesiod exclaimed. “I trust your tent was to your liking?” He smiled broadly at his guest.

  “Thank you, it seemed extravagant for my needs.” He smiled in return. The lieutenant’s warmth and pleasure was easy to pick up.

  “Yes, yes, only the best for our guests—especially ones that come to our rescue!” He frowned briefly. “It’s a shame, but we have several extra tents like the one you were in, that would normally be reserved for captains. This has been a brutal war, with a terrible cost.” He shook his head, but brightened immediately. “But please, you must sit and eat with us. We can speak of more serious matters after dinner.”

  Dinner, or at least eating, seems to be important to these people. Renek thought to himself. He looked more closely at the Lieutenant. Hesiod was a bit shorter than he had expected, judging from when he had seen him on his horse. He also noticed that, despite being in good fighting condition, Hesiod seemed to have a bit of extra girth. Perhaps it’s just Hesiod that likes food, and not the whole culture. Renek grinned as he was led to the table.

  The table was set with fine porcelain plates, and real silver. The glasses, already filled with wine, were made of thicker fired clay but were still elegant. Fine cloth napkins sat on each plate, and were folded into the shape of a duck. A large plate with some sort of roasted bird sat in the middle of the table, and several local vegetables were on plates on either side.

  Lieutenant Hesiod lifted his glass and held it out. The two warriors on the other side of the table lifted their glasses in response.

  “To new friends!” Hesiod said, and they clinked their glasses together and drank.