Legend of the Swords: War

by Jason Derleth

  Renek smiled. “I doubt that.”

  “Huh?” Hesiod grunted. “Why do you doubt that one of them has the swords?”

  “Think about it, Hesiod.” Renek gestured to the throne room outside. “Those frog-things have been dead for a while.” He grimaced. “That knight’s blood was drunk a long time ago. The door was hard enough for us to open, and I’m sure it will never close again.

  “No, whoever took these swords did so a long time ago. Maybe decades.”

  Hesiod’s eyes narrowed while he pondered. “Where are the swords, then?”

  Renek shrugged. “I don’t know. But they’re not here.” He turned back towards the throne room. “And standing here isn’t going to change that.” He stepped out of the room.

  Hesiod sighed, following. Renek was already sitting on the floor again. “We’ve failed, then,” Hesiod said quietly. “The Triols have a superior force and we will not be able to turn them.”

  Renek nodded. “I’m tired, and hungry. We might as well eat. I’d rather not sleep next to all of these bones, but we should rest before we continue on, and we don’t need to use our torches if we stay here.” He grimaced. “The empty sword room will provide us with enough light.”

  “How about we put all the bones in there?” He asked. He bent to pick up some of the broken bones at his feet, and he tossed them into the spherical room with a clatter. “It’ll only take a minute.”

  Renek got up to help. A few minutes later, the only bones left in the room were the old knight’s. They both stared at him.

  “I wonder who he was,” Renek said, quietly.

  “I don’t know, but he was a Crown Knight.” Hesiod shook his head. “He should have had a better end than having his blood drunk.”

  “He looks peaceful, there,” Renek said. “Let’s leave him.”

  “You don’t mind?” Hesiod looked at Renek, eyebrows raised. Renek smiled.

  “No. I feel … more peaceful, with him here. Let’s rest for a little while.”

  Renek went over to the side of the room again, and pulled out a thin blanket. Absentmindedly, he pulled out his sword to tighten the wires on his makeshift hilt. His eyes opened in shock as he stared at the hilt of his sword.

  There was a groove around the edge of the end of the hilt, identical to the one in the scepter. He had used the groove to anchor some of the wire. He stared at the throne, and shot to his feet.

  “What is it?” Hesiod asked, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

  “No!” Renek said. “It can’t be.” He stepped over to the throne, and stared at the scepter, holding his sword in his left hand, pointing at the floor. The grooves were identical in every way, and underneath the wire wrapping, the hilt had the same designs.

  “What?” Hesiod scrambled over next to him.

  “My sword!” He shook his head. “It can’t—it simply—it’s impossible.”

  “What!” Hesiod demanded.

  Renek slowly reached out and grasped the sphere on the end of the scepter. Looking at it more closely, he could see that the shaft that connected it to the scepter actually ran entirely through the crystal, and was flattened like a small cap on the outside of the sphere. He tightened his grip and twisted, but it didn’t budge.

  “Hand me a cloth,” he demanded urgently. Hesiod fumbled in his pouch for a moment, and then simply upended it, spilling its contents on the floor, and handed the pouch itself to Renek.

  Renek gently wiped the crystal, drying it as best as he could. He then wrapped the pouch around it, and grasped it with his right hand. He twisted, but the shaft of the scepter rocked in the throne’s socket.

  Renek thrust his left hand across his body, pushing the sword’s hilt towards Hesiod. Hesiod took it, bewildered, and watched Renek try a third time.

  Renek grasped the scepter’s crystal with both hands and twisted. For a moment, nothing happened—but then, the scepter’s crystal broke free to spin smoothly on its threaded spindle. His shoulders relaxed as he spun the crystal faster, until it fell free into his palm.

  He grasped at the sword without taking his eyes off of the crystal. Hesiod handed it to him, eyes wide and unblinking.

  Renek pushed at the wire and rock, but it wouldn’t come loose. He growled with frustration. For some reason, he didn’t want to hand the crystal to Hesiod. Instead, he put the crystal back on the scepter and gave it a couple of turns to hold it for him.

  He ripped the wire off of the hilt of his sword. The stone clattered as it fell to the floor. Eagerly, he spun the crystal off of the scepter and brought the spindle over to the hilt of his sword.

  It was a perfect fit. He spun the crystal down onto his sword’s hilt, and hefted the blade triumphantly into the air, grinning at Hesiod’s shocked face.

  Water flowed on the pommel, draining into the hilt. The words on the shaft momentarily glowed a dull red, and a shock coursed into Renek’s body like lightning. He sank to the floor, still grasping the sword tightly, eyes wide with wonder.

  Discovery

  There was a young boy, playing hide and seek. He was running from the girl who was “it”. She had found him, but he was small and weaselly, he had scrunched between two suits of armor in the castle, and gone through the kitchen where all the staff had been quick to get out of his way, since he was the prince.

  He had gotten away. He had run to the armory.

  A boy of five, he had never been to the armory before. It was filled with swords and axes. The castle had to be defended, occasionally, and they kept all the weapons in there.

  It was a neat place.

  There wasn’t much light--he had closed the door almost all the way, and the room was in the middle of the castle. There weren’t any windows. There wasn’t much light.

  He picked up a long knife. It was almost sword-size for him. Grinning hugely, he thrust and cut the air.

  He got tired quickly. He wasn’t very strong. But he was good at hide and seek.

  Good at hiding, anyway.

  The wall in front of him lit up wrongly. At first, he thought that he was caught, that maybe he wasn’t so good at hiding. But he realized that the light from an opening door wouldn’t be so green.

  The wall got brighter, and greener, and he turned around.

  There was a sword hung on the wall. It was old. And its pommel was glowing. Glowing green, and glowing black.

  It seemed odd that it was glowing black.

  He walked over to it. The light was getting even brighter now.

  He reached out to touch the gem in the pommel.

  It was cold, and hard.

  The light winked out, but the prince smiled in the semi-darkness.

  He had touched his sword.

  His special sword.

  And it loved him.

  More importantly, it needed him.

  Throne Room

  Armand pushed his legs through the stagnant, slimy cave water. Ryan and Kevin looked at each other for a moment, then dropped their shields next to Armand’s, and splashed in behind him. The water soon climbed to waist deep. Ryan frowned, thinking about the heavy rust that he would have to clean off of the mail once they got back to camp.

  It was slow going. Armand had aimed them towards the island in the middle, holding one of the torches over his head. As they reached the halfway point of the ringed lake, the water was no deeper than the bottom of Ryan’s ribs. He could still walk, but he kept his arms out of the water to keep at least some of him warm and dry.

  Armand was a bit taller, and so he made better time. As the squires finally lifted their feet onto dry land, he had already inspected the Bournes’ camp.

  “Not much here,” Armand grunted, kicking the edge of the still-burning fire. “A few of their pig pokers, and a knife.” He gestured. “Footprints where they were dancing.” He strode towards the water, heading towards the dark shore on the other side of the room. “Let’s go. Who knows what they’re doing to Gregory.”

  They all waded into the cold water again. It was d
eep enough on this side that Ryan had to swim a few strokes. He worked hard to keep his head above water.

  They were quick, but obviously the Bourne’s webbed feet were quicker. The only trace of the amphibian-like men on the other side was some wet footprints. Armand followed the wet trail at a light jog, his armor jingling with each step. The squires were close behind.

  They came to a junction in the hallway. One passage went off to the left, but the one they were in continued straight. Armand hesitated, but after a glance at the floor, chose to continue straight ahead.

  It’s very cold, now. Ryan thought. He was trying not to think about how much value Armand seemed to be placing on Gregory’s life, or how little he seemed to place on Ryan’s. He looked down at the faintly orange-glowing slime dripping off of his legs. Huh. It seems to be drying into some sort of gel. Still glowing, too. He grimaced. So much for hiding.

  Soon they came to another split in the hall. Armand paused, again looking at the floor. He turned to follow the wetter of the two passageways. It curled off to the right, and seemed to go down further into the mountain.

  Gregory’s not going to like that. Ryan thought, as he headed down the stairs. That is, if he’s in a position to see that he’s headed down further.

  The passage kept going down, but seemed to randomly turn right or left; sometimes it went straight as an arrow. An occasional split came up, but Armand was always fast to choose which way to go. Ryan soon had no idea how what direction they were headed, or deep they were into the mountain. They jogged down the twisting corridor for at least twenty minutes before it stopped going down. The mountain walls again split into two passages, but Armand walked down the one to the right without hesitation. As Ryan and Kevin stepped into the new passage, they saw two lit sconces in the distance.

  Armand slowed to a careful walk as they got close to the burning torches. Ryan noticed that the walls were different in this passage, and reached out touch them. They were wet; water was weeping down the sides, into a small gap between the wall and the floor. The torchlight seemed to penetrate into the walls, which had been worn into smooth ripples by the rivulets of water. For a moment, Ryan couldn’t move his gaze; the walls seemed to sparkle from within. They were no longer made of granite, but rather a clear, gemlike substance that the flickering light seemed to reflect off of in a strange way.

  Then he heard a gurgling sound from up ahead, and remembered where he was. He tore his eyes away from the strange wall and saw that the corridor ended in another ornate archway, similar to the one that led into the mountain far above, but larger. There were two of the creatures guarding the door, but they were different.

  They were taller, first of all—just over four feet. They were wearing a sort of armor that seemed to be made of large fish scales. Their small pikes were tipped with iron, and they had ornamental headdresses, made of fish bones and long bird feathers. They each had an amulet hanging from a bone necklace, faintly glowing orange like the water in the pool above.

  Armand stopped, and reached down to rub his slightly glowing leg where the first Bourne had grazed his skin. When he stood up, he seemed a bit unsteady for a moment, but then was solid again. He walked up to the two guards.

  “Bourne!” they said as one, in a high-pitched gurgle. They pointed at the ground in front of them and made the same pushing gesture that the previous ones had made.

  “To hell with that!” Armand, said, pulling his sword out. He struck at the one on his right, but before his blow could land, the creature had moved. There was no counterattack, it just stood in the doorway, warily watching Armand’s blade.

  “They move fast, don’t they!” he called back to the squires, laughing. “Well?” He asked, turning to look at Ryan. “Do I have to do this all myself, or are you going to help?” He smiled sarcastically. “I thought you liked saving other people?”

  Ryan and Kevin came forward. The hallway was just wide enough for the three to stand abreast and still move their swords.

  “Attack on the count of three, squires,” Armand said. “One…two…three!” He yelled, and they all swung down at the Bourne in front of them.

  Their blows fell on nothing, for the Bourne had moved again.

  Armand cursed, then began hacking. The creatures twisted and turned, ducked and dodged. It was impossible touch them with a blade. After a few seconds of whistling his sword through the air, Armand stopped and held his hands out to the squires. They all stepped back a few paces.

  “If you can’t beat them, join them! Or, at least, pass them,” Armand said, with a lopsided grin. He stepped forward and staggered. His right leg didn’t hold his weight, and he crashed to the floor. The Bourne stepped back just a hair to let him fall.

  “Damn leg.” Armand crawled back to standing, and lifted his long chain hauberk out of the way. The tiny puncture wound was swollen, and his skin seemed to glow orange from within.

  “Well, at least it’s not poisoned,” Armand said. He turned to Ryan. “Tell me you brought William’s flower juice.” Ryan nodded, and pulled out the vial. The stopper made its now familiar soft popping sound as he withdrew it.

  One drop of the fluid stopped the glowing. A second drop was needed before the swelling started to go down. Ryan re-stoppered the vial and slipped it back into his pocket.

  The two Bourne simply stood and watched them without moving.

  “That’s better,” Armand said, getting up on his once again steady legs. He glanced over at the two guards and said, nonchalantly, “Now, where was I? Oh, yes, since we can’t hit these fishy things, I was just going to walk past them and see what they do with their little pig stickers.”

  As he strode towards them, the two Bourne tightened their grips on their small pikes. As Armand stepped between them, they moved very quickly, flipping their pikes sideways and sweeping his feet from behind. Armand awkwardly fell backwards, chain mail jingling as he hit the ground.

  Armand’s face was screwed up in anger as he got back to his feet. He jerked to face Ryan.

  “Any ideas?” Armand spat. He sneered as Ryan shook his head. “Huh. Guess you’re no better at this than I am. What a surprise.” He turned back to the guardians.

  Ryan looked at Kevin, who shrugged.

  They stood there for a moment, considering.

  Ryan suddenly raised his eyebrows, and nodded. Kevin saw the nod out of the corner of his eye, and turned to him.

  “You’ve got something?” Kevin asked. Armand turned to look at them, eyes narrowing.

  “Maybe,” Ryan answered. He looked down at his feet, which were still faintly glowing. “Maybe not.” He looked at Armand, and gestured at the two guards. “Maybe we can step back and talk farther away from them?”

  “I will await your … brilliance here, squire,” Armand said, and turned back to stare at the creatures.

  Ryan and Kevin looked at each other, and both shrugged simultaneously. Grinning at their mirrored action, Ryan pulled Kevin to the glittering wall a few steps back from the doorway.

  “I don’t know if this water is from the pool that we waded through,” Ryan began, “But it doesn’t feel as slimy.”

  Kevin rubbed the gel left on his legs. “Maybe the slime stays in the lake.”

  “Maybe. But you know how, when you step out of your house at home at night, your eyes take a few seconds to adjust to the darkness?” Kevin nodded, and Ryan continued. “I think we can collect some of this water and put out those torches. Maybe then we can run past.”

  Kevin nodded again, then his eyebrows knit together. “Do you have anything to collect it in?”

  Ryan shook his head, thinking. He shrugged, looking at Kevin.

  Kevin’s eyes opened wider. He bent over, and took off a boot. “Heh. The floor’s really cold," he said, holding the boot up to the wall. It started to fill with water.

  Quickly, Ryan did the same with both of his boots. “Take your other one off, too—we’re going to have to run, and having one boot on will slow you down.” He tu
rned to look at the torches. “And I don’t want to miss one of the torches by accident—the more shots we have, the better.”

  Kevin did, and filled that one with water too. “I’ll take the left torch, you take the right?” he said, and Ryan nodded.

  They walked back to the guards, and to Armand, who looked at their bare feet and raised his eyebrows.

  “Are you going to try to defeat them with your foot smell?” He asked.

  “No, we’re just going to try to get past them,” Ryan said, gesturing to the sconces and winking.

  “I hate to say it—” Armand paused, tilting his head to the side. “No, wait, I don’t hate to say it—but you’re no quieter without shoes, squire.” He leaned forward conspiratorially, and whispered: “I think they can see you anyway—you’re standing right there.”

  Ryan just smiled, then turned to Kevin, and nodded. They both threw the water at the torches. The corridor plunged into darkness.

  “Run, Armand!” Ryan shouted, as he himself pounded the stone floor with his feet.

  The Bourne were thrusting their pikes randomly into the air in hopes of catching one of them, but the three burst into the chamber beyond without even a single poke.

  The small chamber beyond had purple curtains hanging around all of its walls. A central fire gave warmth and light to the room. Several Bourne were gathered around the far side of a stone table that stood in front of a throne. The largest Bourne of all—perhaps four and a half feet tall, wore an ornate crown and held a scepter apparently made of gold, and topped with a clear crystal similar to the walls. The throne was close enough that Ryan could see that the crystal was weeping water just like the walls outside were.

  The table in front of the throne was rectangular, about seven feet long, and had a lip around its edge with a depression in the middle.

  Ryan groaned. Gregory was lying, tied, in the depression. His throat had been cut, and his lifeblood was pouring into the table.