Legend of the Swords: War (16 page)

“But there was more. Yi starts getting smaller. He yells, ‘cause it hurts, but he somehow pushes what makes him a God into the blade. And when he pulls that sword out, the wound isn’t there—but he’s just a mortal man, standin’ up there on the side of the mountain, looking at Colwyn.

“Now, Colwyn protests, but the rules is the rules, and he agreed that he had to do whatever Yi did. The other Gods hold him to it. So Colwyn knows he’s beat, and he does the same thing. Pretty soon there’s two swords with God’s blood in them, shining blood red near the fire—and two mortal men standing on the Gods’ mountain.

“But there was more. The enchantment that took the Godhood out of those Gods, me mam said that it ‘rent the fabric of the universe.’ The universe wants its Gods back. Those men, Yi and Colwyn, they went down the mountains with their swords. The men died, but the swords lay in wait for the next mortal touch them.

“She used to tell me that the next person touch them would become a God. Or have a God’s power, which I dunno, sounds like the same thing to me. Said that ‘the universe wants to fix itself’ or something.

“Anyway, that’s the story she told me. I always thought that it was jus’ a story.” He drained the last beer from his mug. “We used to run around the village, playing with sticks, saying that we had the ‘Swords of the Ascendancy’ and sayin’ that we won the battle and such.” He smiled, then frowned, and turned to Hesiod.

“Are you saying that the Searcher is trying to find the Swords for them? That two o’ the Triols could become Gods?”

Hesiod smiled, but put his cup down and spoke. “The scholars and historians back at the court disagreed as to if the swords existed, and, if they did, what they would do. Most of them dismissed the tale, as you did. Some of them thought that the swords existed, but that the story about them was made up long after they were made.” He shrugged. “Something about how they were
very
well made swords, and wielded by
very
good swordsmen…after they had killed a thousand people, the swords were covered in so much blood that the stains would never come off. We humans tend to assign great beginnings to things that have affected our history so much, for good or for ill. Perhaps such amazing weaponry caused whomever it was turned against to tell tales that gave the blades epic powers, simply to make themselves feel better about having lost so badly.

“Personally, I don’t know what to think," he said, tilting his head to one side. “Regardless, however, the King, bless his trusting—or greedy?—heart,” he said, smiling sadly, “believes that the blades exist. And, despite what his scholars said, he believes that the swords will turn him into a God if we can get them for him.” He shook his head, smile fading. “Him
and
his son. But we don’t have a Searcher.

“The Triols do, though. And they sent him here. The scholars believe that he was headed to the mountain just to our south. I had given up on searching for the swords, but now that we’ve broken their back, we can go search.”

Renek gazed at Hesiod’s smile. It was … disconcerting. “Hesiod, did the Searcher even survive the battle? We killed so many.”

Hesiod’s smile faded. “I don’t know. I suspect that he did. He wouldn’t have been part of the battle, after all. Perhaps he was in their base camp—

“Well, we took care of their base camp, sir,” Rimes broke in.

“I know. I was there, Rimes.” He smiled to take the sting out of his rebuke. “I didn’t see him, but then I was on the front lines. You two didn’t see anyone who was wandering around barefoot, looking lost?” The two shook their heads. “I didn’t think so. It’s most likely that he survived.”

“If he survived,” Renek said, “what’s to keep him from going to the Triol main army for reinforcements? How far away is their army?”

Hesiod waved his hand dismissively. “It’s quite far away, actually, from what I hear.”

Renek smiled. “It seems like you’re intent on the swords? Are you … interested?”

Hesiod laughed easily. “I wouldn’t want to be a god, if that’s what you’re implying. More trouble than it’s worth, I’m sure. Besides, I’m not really a swordsman. All brains, no brawn. What would I do with the bloody thing?

“No, I think that the people who should get these swords are men like you two.” His smile faded. “You’ve both shown that you’re willing to fight, and even die, for the kingdom—although, Renek, I think you have a bit more to prove before I can trust you.” He shook his head. “But I can sense that you
believe
that you’re an honest and true man, at least. But perhaps you’ve been fooled by yourself, or …” He smiled, perhaps a bit sadly. “Some other thing that I can’t think of is wrong.

“For instance, you haven’t met our king.” He straightened, becoming serious again. “He isn’t always … the kindest of people. I think court intrigue sometimes gets the best of him.”

Renek smiled. “I thought it sometimes got the best of you?”

They all laughed. “Perhaps, perhaps,” Hesiod admitted. “But I think we’re all formed by the world around us.”

Rimes nodded. “Yeah, I can see that. Me, I was born in a town prett’ far away from Foradawn, where the king is, and I got this accent. Only people from my town have this accent.”

Hesiod smiled, and patted Rimes’ shoulder. “That’s
just
what I was saying, Rimes. We learn everything that we are from those around us: how we speak, how we act, it all comes from imitating people around us that we admire, and not acting like people we dislike.”

Now Renek was nodding, but tentatively. Both imitation of likes and ignoring dislikes were necessary to make a human—but was it really a complete description? He mused a bit. There seemed to be something lacking … but he didn’t voice his concern.

There’s a part of us
, he thought to himself,
that’s fully our own. Certainly it’s influenced by others, but our heart of hearts is our own—for why else would we admire the people we do, and dislike the others, if not that they are like our heart of hearts?

“Gentlemen,” Hesiod said, smiling broadly. “I think it is time for us to retire. It is certainly time for
me
to retire, and, surely, I cannot do that while you are still in my tent.”

“I bid the two of you good night.” He stood, and walked them to the door of his tent.

Renek stepped into the cool night air with Rimes at his side. A few moments later, back in his tent, Renek’s cot seemed more comfortable than he remembered. He almost didn’t spend any time at all lying awake, trying to remember who he was.

Missive

It did take a few hours to break down the camp. Most of the tents and food folded up tightly and were placed on packhorses or donkeys; the rest were wrapped up into packs that fit nicely on a soldier’s back. Renek used some of the time to tighten the wires and leather strips that held on his makeshift pommel.

Renek’s saddlebags were fairly heavy, but he had less to pack than the other soldiers simply because he didn’t own anything. The other soldiers all had small trinkets, wooden cups and spoons, favors from their loved ones.

I wonder if I have any loved ones who are waiting for my return.
He shrugged.
I wouldn’t know where to begin to look for them.
Still, he felt a momentary pang of guilt, wondering if there were any people who missed him, or thought he was dead.

Nothing he could do about it anyway.

The unit formed up into a train of rows of soldiers, five men abreast, and began to move out. There were cavalry at the front and rear, with the supply animals just behind the infantrymen. At Hesiod’s call, they all started marching.

Renek was surprised at how fast the army marched. They were able to walk quite quickly despite the packs they carried, nearly four miles an hour. He looked around at the soldiers, who were keeping time with each other as they marched, and felt … pride? honor? to be marching with them.

The mountains were many miles away, but they dared not send a small group of cavalry to search for the swords. There were still three hundred Triols, and perhaps they were still trying to get there themselves. It was too dangerous to send a small force.

Hesiod did send a scouting party of ten cavalry, with one captain, to skirt around the army once every hour. The scouting party was to look for the enemy—or any other problems that might occur—and report back. They changed the group every hour to keep people fresh.

About half the way through the day, a courier arrived from Foradawn, bearing a message from the king. Hesiod called a halt, read it briefly, and then the army began marching again. The courier rode with the cavalry for the rest of the day. The slower pace allowed his horse to cool down and rest.

Renek’s scouting party went quite well. The men worked with him without hesitation, knowing that it was his strategy that had brought them such an unanticipated success at the last battle. Nothing of note happened during the scouting trip; they kept the army just within sight and traveled a large circle around them. The only thing that seemed even remotely threatening was the hot sun, which beat down upon them unmercifully.

They made camp for the night just beyond the rise of the first of the foothills below the mountain range. Renek and Rimes dined together, Hesiod stayed in his tent, studying the missive that had arrived via courier earlier that day.

Renek studied the mountains in the deepening dusk, looking for some hint of where to begin the search. Assuming that things went well, they would be in the position to begin searching in two or three more day’s time, and it would be good to find some indication of where to begin. Unfortunately, nothing presented itself.

The march continued smoothly the next day. About noon, when they stopped for their midday meal, Hesiod asked a few soldiers to set up a pavilion on the side of a rise near a small copse of trees. He asked Renek to eat with him so they could discuss the missive the king had sent. They sat in the shade of the pavilion while Hesiod read the note.

“‘
My dear Hesiod
:’” He began, then interrupted himself. “That’s never a good thing, when he starts with ‘My dear’ instead of ‘Dear’.” He shook his head. “‘
I am quite disturbed to hear that you are doing so poorly. Perhaps I can send you more troops, but I sincerely doubt it. The front lines are simply too far away, and too troubled themselves, to spare any men. I sent with you an entire battalion, along with hundreds of mounted soldiers. Surely that is enough?
’

“He’s responding to an earlier letter I sent to him, explaining how outnumbered we were.” Hesiod rolled his eyes. “He liked me, and thought I was smart, so, obviously, he expects me to be able to—every time, mind you!—lead our men on to successful battles, even when the force we are facing is double, or even triple, of our own!” He shook his head. “He continues: ‘
You were
’—note that word, ‘were,’ past tense, not ‘are’—‘
You were one of my most promising lieutenants. I hope that you can return to that status ere your return.’
Sincerely, the king’ etc. etc.”

“Well, sir,” Renek said, “it looks like we’re not getting any reinforcements.” He raised his eyebrows. “But at least we don’t need them any more.”

Hesiod smiled. “Ignoring the elephant in the room, purposefully, are you? The point of sharing this missive with you isn’t to show how much I trust you—I don’t! Rather, it’s to show how poorly the king rewards failure, or the perception of failure. It is a good thing for me that you came along, now I can send a letter of great success, instead of more failure.” He looked away from Renek, apparently taking a close study of the tent fabric. “I, ah,
won’t
be mentioning you by name, I’m sorry to say. It’s the way these things work, you know—success or failure is attributed to me and me alone.” He shrugged apologetically.

Renek nodded. “I know that, sir. I am glad to know that you think highly of my actions. I hope that you—” Hesiod cut him off.

“Yes, yes, I know, you hope that I continue to think of you as an asset, etc. etc.” He seemed impatient, hurried. “Of course I do, and will continue to do so, Renek, as long as you keep fighting for our side. Stop with the niceties. We aren’t in the court; you’re not a courtier.

“I just wanted you to know how I feel. That’s why I showed you this lett—” Their heads both snapped around, as there was a cry from the far side of the field, followed by the immediate sound of battle. Renek stood and strode to the edge of the pavilion. His eyes widened in shock as his gaze landed on the tabards of the Triols. He spun, lunging for his helmet, sword, and shield.

“Hesiod, there must be an attack. We’ve got to get out there!”

Hesiod leapt to his feet. “Come with me to my horse, my helmet and weapon are there.” Renek nodded, and they both ran toward the copse of trees where the horses were tied. Unfortunately, it was away from the battle—but Renek wanted to be mounted as well.

They leapt onto their horses, and Hesiod jammed his helmet on his head. They galloped to the crest of the hill, where the main body of their soldiers were milling about in panic. They finally gained sight of the enemy.

There were at least two thousand Triols. Most of them were swordsmen, but there were a few archers on foot. Not one of them was mounted.

Hesiod cursed, and spat on the ground. “There must have been reinforcements on the way," he said, glancing up at the mountainside that was their goal. He spun to look at Renek. “We have to organize a retreat. You go back into camp and get the men gone, I’ll go try and get the front working to give you some time to get the men gone.”

They both rode off. Renek was able to get everyone organized fairly quickly. As the first of the men streamed out of camp, Renek brought a small troupe of archers towards the battle to give Hesiod some relief. He watched long enough to see that the arrows did in fact push some of the Triols back, then went back to help more soldiers form ranks and retreat. He gave them instructions to march away from the battle as fast as they could run and still stay together. They were to head back towards the previous battle site.