Renek grinned, and turned to the right. Rimes was trying to defend against two men, and Renek quickly went over to help. He parried a low blow for Rimes, pulling the assailant’s attention away. A moment later, the Triol was dead.
Renek turned back to the other Triol, but he was too late—he watched, helplessly, as the Triol pushed his sword’s point past the barrier of Rimes’ chain mail and into his chest.
Time seemed to slow down for Renek. He could almost feel the sword split the rings in Rimes’s chain mail. He watched the point slide smoothly between two of Rimes’ ribs. He had a feeling of dread and helplessness combined; he saw Rimes’s eyes grow wider as he took a stumbling step backwards, pulling his body off of the sword before he fell.
Interlude
The corpse stopped, deep in the forest, and looked at his hands. They seemed to be … less dead, somehow. Perhaps they were healing?
He had heard a noise in the distance. He looked around, but could see nothing. There was still little underbrush, but the trees were dense. He couldn’t see very far.
The noise came again. He cocked his head, tilting an ear towards the noise. It was a heavy rustling, as if something large was coming his way.
The trees swayed in the wind, unconcerned, as if to reassure the corpse that all was normal and well. One especially large tree shivered and bowed to the side.
A dragon’s head appeared next to the bending tree, its scales glittering like red jewels around the golden flames of its eyes. Its head was pushing the tree to the side. Bark rained down upon the forest as the dragon rubbed its head repeatedly on the straining tree. Its eyes narrowed in pleasure.
The corpse found that he could feel awe. And fear. Perhaps his mind was mending along with his body? Or, perhaps his mind was healing faster than his body, as the corpse suddenly found his body was immovable, all he could do was stand stare at the beast in front of him.
The dragon saw the living corpse standing in front of it, and its eyes opened in curiosity. It hugged the ground and crept stealthily past the tree, lifting and placing its feet with infinite care. The flames of its irises coursed faster through its eyes as it approached the corpse.
Its nostrils were larger than the corpse’s head. The corpse stood perfectly still as the dragon sniffed it, once, twice.
The dragon’s eyes widened, and it peered into the corpse’s face with its right eye. Its iris spun open further. The corpse found that it could no longer blink as the dragon appeared to gaze directly into the emptiness where the corpse’s soul should have been.
A thrumming began to rise in the dragon’s throat. At first, it was just noise, but it quickly coalesced into a pensive threnody, an almost tuneless dirge that robbed the very air in the forest of all cheer. The dragon’s glittering beauty made the song’s sadness more poignant. The corpse was surprised to see, reflected in the curved mirror of the dragon’s flawless eye, his own tears streaming down his dead face.
Still singing, the dragon nodded once, then jumped into the air. Easily threading its wings through and around the thick branches, its heavy song carried it above the trees and out of sight.
The dragon’s song lingered in the forest. The corpse stood and wept for a time, sorrow overwhelming all else.
Searchers
Battle with the Triols was more difficult than Ryan had thought it would be. The mass of bodies, all bearing weapons, shields, and armor, was confusing. His sword weighed a lot more than he was used to, and it had a different balance. He slashed and cut at anything he didn’t recognize, but despite having come in from behind, he couldn’t seem to get his sword in beyond their shields. When he did manage to hit one of the Triols, his sword seemed to bounce off of the strong armor even though it weighed so much more than his practice sword.
Finally, he felled one of the warriors. He looked around. One of the squires was hanging out of his saddle, throat cut. It was too dark to see who it was. Several of the knights were on the ground, dead—but Culdre was the only Triol still swinging his sword.
Culdre had three kingdom soldiers attacking him. He was still able to hold them off, somehow. Armand was clearly tiring, but his face was set in determination.
Culdre disarmed one of the other two kingdom knights, and quickly slid his sword between the man’s ribs, chain mail links splitting and embedding themselves into the wound. Culdre tried to pull his sword out, but it was stuck. He tugged harder, but as the blade came free, Armand’s attack landed on Culdre’s sword arm and chest. He threw his head back and howled as his chain mail armor twisted and broke from the force of Armand’s blow. Despite his bleeding arm, he managed to flip his sword out towards Armand, knocking his sword away, and he spurred his horse, bolting away from the battle.
Armand followed into the darkness as the rest of the troop gave a feeble cheer.
Sir Gregory frowned at the boys around him, but didn’t say anything about their presence in the battle. Instead, he used the time to instruct the boys about how to clean their bloody swords and to clean up the battlefield a bit.
It was nearly an hour before Armand returned. They had piled the bodies up and put a cairn of rocks over them, then moved down the road towards the front lines before tethering their horses and trying to rest. They had decided not to fully set camp, but had pulled out their bedrolls. Most of them were already asleep—the fight had exhausted them. Gregory rose to meet Armand at the edge of the camp, which woke Ryan.
Ryan rolled onto his side, straining his ears, trying to hear the news.
“He did not escape, Gregory,” Armand said. There was great satisfaction in his voice.
Gregory held out his hand. “Good work, Armand.” They shook hands. “I had Ryan set up your pallet over there. Try to get some rest, you’ve earned it.”
Armand dismounted, then turned back to Gregory. “How many did we lose?”
“Not many. Two knights and a squire. Frederick and Richard. Liam’s squire Dorrin.”
Armand shook his head. “We have too few men for this war, Gregory.”
Gregory reached out and clasped Armand’s shoulder. “I know, Armand. We will have to do our best.”
Armand nodded, then walked over to the where the horses were, tied his horse. He covered the horse with a blanket before staggering over to his pallet. Ryan grimaced—it was less than a half-minute before Armand started snoring loudly.
* * *
Ryan rolled over, putting his arm up over his head. He thought back to the battle earlier that day. He opened his eyes wide. He had killed a man in battle.
Why didn’t he feel anything? He had done well…but he had thought killing would be harder, somehow.
He mulled this over for a while. Things had changed so much since the village.
I wonder where my parents are. He sighed heavily. Or if they’re even still alive.
Armand’s snores grew louder. Ryan frowned, looking over at the noise. Armand was often cruel to him. Is that why he found it … unnoticeable, to kill someone? He frowned more deeply.
I wish Armand that had been one of the ones killed. He thought suddenly, and his eyes widened. Wait, do I really think that? He’s mean, but does he deserve to die? He shook his head. No. He doesn’t.
He was going to put me in the front. Ryan sighed. I would have been mincemeat, me against 20 Triols—and I think that’s what Armand wanted. He shrugged. But it was an empty threat. He knew that Gregory wouldn’t let him do something like that. His mouth opened in a huge yawn, and he rolled over again, trying to stifle the sound of Armand’s snoring by covering his head with his arm again.
Soon, he too was back to sleep. The next day, as they were putting rolled pallets onto their horses, a kingdom man rode into their camp. He had a few soldiers with him, and, despite his youth, wore the trappings of a general. He seemed to be headed towards the front lines, and as he saw Gregory, he looked relieved.
“Gregory!” he shouted.
“General Petrin! Brother!” Gregory grinned, and ran over to
the newcomer, embracing him. There was a similarity, but Petrin was clearly the younger of the two.
“Brother, I am glad that I found you,” Petrin said. “I have news of the war, and it’s not good.” He shook his head, and lowered his voice. “Plus I have a missive from the king, for your eyes only.”
Gregory’s eyebrows rose. “Well, let us step off into the forest a ways, then, general.” He turned to the camp. “Finish striking camp and form up ranks, men. We will return shortly.”
As they stepped over tree roots and around the small scrub brush that was growing this near the edge of the forest, they spoke of the front lines.
“It’s bad, Gregory. We don’t have a chance, or even really any hope of winning. We’re outnumbered at least three to one.
“I’m hoping that the king’s letter to you has some new strategy, something to at least give us some hope.” He handed over a sealed parchment.
Gregory sighed. “Why me, brother? I’m only a commander.”
“Well, I may have been playing you up a bit.” Petrin grinned apologetically. “The king thinks highly of your successes so far.”
“Then why am I still training the new recruits?” Gregory grimaced and broke the seal on the parchment. He held it out so that Petrin could read at the same time.
Dearest Gregory,
The war is not going well. We are pressed back on the main front. Were it not for the Singers greatly favoring our side, we would already have lost most of our army. Thankfully, they seem, mostly, to be on our side.
As it is, we are fighting a losing, retreating battle. Let me rephrase: we are fighting battles, valiantly, but only to delay the Triol forces from taking city after city. We need your help.
One of the Searchers has recently come to my castle. He had to flee, as the battle lines moved over the area that he was searching. He has located the Swords of the Ascendant—
Petrin drew in a sharp breath.
—but because of the battle, and his lack of defensive skills, he was unable to enter the cave. He believes it is hidden, trapped, guarded—in short, he believes it to be dangerous.
Speed is of the essence; I believe that the Triols are looking for the swords as well. You must get there first. Take your squire, and, at most, one or two other knights and squires, and follow the map that is drawn at the bottom of this page. Once you have retrieved the swords, bring them back to me, untouched.
I have sent several small groups, and even a small unit, in search of the swords. The Kingdom will not survive unless one of these groups succeeds. I do not expect the others to prevail, they are being forced to cut through the Triols, whereas you will be able to go around. Their groups will serve more as a distraction to the enemy, giving you a better chance for success.
Gods’ speed, and good luck.
Sincerely,
King Aiden
Gregory looked at Petrin. “So they do exist.” He rubbed his chin.
“I guess so. I knew a new Singer had come to the court.” He sighed explosively. “Do you suppose this could be a trap?” he said, raising his eyebrows. “I mean, some Singers aren’t exactly … loyal to the King.”
Gregory nodded. “That’s true of all kinds of men, not just Sorcerers.” He lifted the paper. “I suppose it’s possible. But does it matter? I have my orders.”
Petrin nodded.
* * *
Gregory and Petrin walked back to the camp where the men were waiting.
“Armand, Ryan, come here. Kevin, you also.” He gestured to William. “William, I’ll need to speak with you as well.”
He gathered them around in a circle.
“William, the king has asked me to search for the Swords.” William’s eyes widened. “You’ll be in charge of the unit for a while. Until we get back, which might be a while.” He turned to Armand.
“Armand, you’re easily the best swordsman I’ve got. We’ve got to travel light and fast. I’m taking you and Ryan along, as well as Kevin.”
Armand grimaced, clearly disappointed. “If I’m the best swordsman, shouldn’t I be at the front?” he said. “And I don’t understand what good they will be.” He tossed his head towards the squires.
“I need you with me, Armand. And the squires will do what they can do.” Gregory gestured towards the battlefield. “We’ll travel with the rest of the unit to the edge of the plains, but then we’re going to skirt around the edge. We’ve got to get to the mountain ridge on the other side of the battlefield as quickly as possible.”
Armand nodded, then turned to Ryan. “Are we ready to leave, squire?”
Ryan nodded.
William touched Gregory’s arm. “I’m guessing I am to take the unit to the front lines as quickly as possible?”
Gregory smiled. “Yes, William, you’ve got it exactly right. Thank you.”
“That’s what I’m here for, commander.” He paused, looking at Armand, then at Ryan. “Ryan, can I see you for a minute?”
Ryan raised his eyebrows and looked at Armand. Armand waved at William, nodding.
William led Ryan over to his horse, and rummaged around in his saddlebags. He pulled out a large vial of thick liquid. It was glowing slightly, even in the strong morning light.
“Take this, Ryan.” He grimaced. “You’re the only one who was really paying attention when I was talking about the plants.” He shrugged, drawing his mouth back thoughtfully. “Plus, you’re the reason we made it off of that island alive, back in the Gredarin.”
Ryan reached out to the vial. “How do I use it?”
William smiled. “Just drizzle a little bit on an open wound. It will help heal the wound, and keep it from getting infected.”
Ryan looked over at Brian, sitting on his horse, looking over at Gregory and Petrin. “You’re not giving it all to me, are you? Won’t you need it for the rest of us? I mean, rest of you?”
William glanced over at Brian, and turned back to Ryan with warmth in his eyes. “I have four more vials, Ryan. Brian and the rest of us will be ok. Thank you for asking.”
“Ryan! Get your arse moving!” Armand yelled. Ryan looked around, then back at William.
“You’d better get over to Armand, Ryan,” William said.
“Thank you, Knight William.” Ryan ran over to his horse, and mounted as quickly as he could.
“I only hope it will be enough, young Ryan.” William’s smile faded, and he shook his head sadly.
* * *
Petrin rode with them until they reached the edge of the plains. At that point, he paid his respects to his brother, and galloped off with his men to reach the front before William and the others did. He would let the other generals know they were arriving, and William knew to look for Petrin for orders once they had arrived.
Gregory, Armand, and the two squires shook hands with their friends and practice partners, then turned off to the side. A few clucks brought their horses to a fast trot—they needed to make time.
Ryan looked across the plains to the distant mountains. Odd, that to make extra time we’re going so far out of our way. He thought. If we could just go straight through, we would save a lot of time.
Gregory seemed to be reading his mind. He cleared his throat to get the small troupe’s attention, and gestured across the plains to the mountains, and then to a low, dusty cloud further to the east. “We’ll cut across the fields as soon as I think we’re able, but we’ve got to avoid the battle proper—if they see us, they’ll just send a troupe of archers to cut us down while we ride.”
They rode at a fast trot for nearly two hours before slowing to a walk to rest the horses. Gregory dismounted, and gestured for the others to do the same, and led his horse for a short time.
“I thought we’d better let them really cool down,” Gregory said. “I think we can make more time if we keep up the pace and walk for a few minutes every two hours.”
A few minutes later, they mounted and rode again. It was dusty, in the plains. Ryan began to worry as he realized that they
were raising a small trail of dust that would be visible for a few miles to a trained scout.
Even with the dust, though, the rest of the day passed without incident. They stopped long past full darkness, near a small stream. They were able to wash the dust off, refill their water skins, and water the horses thoroughly—although they were careful not to let the horses drink their fill while they were still hot. They fed the horses before they ate themselves, feeding them from their sparse store of oats.
“It’s important to give them more than just grass,” Gregory said, as he fitted a feedbag to his mount’s head. “Grass doesn’t give them enough energy for pushing them like this.” He shook his head, and patted his horse’s sweating neck. “And make sure to put blankets on them, we don’t want them to catch a chill.
“We’ll wake before dawn. Get as much rest as you can.”
“Do we need to set a watch?” Armand asked.
Gregory shook his head. “No, we should be safe. At most, there are two or three farmsteads that have seen us, and even that many is unlikely. We should be safe for the next two days. We will be within a day’s riding from our objective at that point.”
They stayed awake long enough to eat some travel biscuits, and then they slept.
* * *
The next morning found them riding side by side, the two knights in the front and the squires behind.
“It’s a good thing we traveled for so long to get to the Gredarin,” Kevin said. “My whole body hurts, even with all that practice!”
Ryan nodded sympathetically. He was sore too, but Kevin was clearly worse off. “We’re making good time, though.”
“Yes, we are,” Kevin agreed.
Gregory turned the group inward, beginning their trek across the middle of the plains.
“I hope you squires remembered to put your lunches somewhere that you can get to them.” Gregory called back. “We’re going to eat in the saddle today.”
Legend of the Swords: War Page 16
