Legend of the Swords: War (17 page)

He wheeled his horse around and galloped back to the battle line. Hesiod and his men were more organized, but not doing well. He rode toward Hesiod, who was engaged with a positively huge Triol. He must have been over six and a half feet tall.

Strangely, he was wielding a large mace. It was nearly the size of a normal man’s leg, perhaps two and a half feet long, and capped with a forged metal head that had large studs all over. He laughed maniacally as he swung the huge metal-tipped timber as if it were made of straw. Hesiod gracefully guided his horse out of the way, but the huge man kept coming.

Renek yelled fiercely as he approached Hesiod, hoping to distract the giant. It did not work. The man brought his mace down at Hesiod, who tried to deflect the blow with his sword. He managed to glance his sword off of the mace, and the giant stumbled, his weapon pulling him off balance as it hit the ground.

Hesiod yelled and brought his sword down on the man’s mailed back with all his might, but the blade had been damaged from the impact with the mace; his sword shattered into pieces as it struck the man’s armor. The giant lifted himself up, and threw his head back in laughter, clearly amused at Hesiod’s misfortune. It was at that moment that Renek arrived.

With the giant’s head thrown back, a bare patch of neck showed through a gap in his armor. His massive head and neck seemed to be covered only by a small piece of chain mail, modified only just enough to fit over his head. Renek aimed at that patch of bare skin. Spurring his horse into a gallop, he thrust with all his might.

He nearly missed, but his sword’s point dug into the giant’s neck at the edge of his armor. It was not a fatal blow, but managed to sever one of the tendons that connected his head to his shoulder. The giant bellowed in pain as his head lolled over to one side. He lifted his massive weapon far over his head and swung with all his might, dropping his massive weight into the swing.

Renek’s horse instinctively jumped to the side, but that massive mallet struck Hesiod’s knee. The armor caved in easily as the mace crushed bones, tore muscle. Hesiod didn’t yell; instead his eyes rolled back into his head as he passed out, slumping against his stumbling horse’s neck.

Commander

Hesiod’s leg was shattered, and he slumped to the side in his saddle.

The wounded giant tried to look around, but couldn’t move his head properly.  Renek’s blade had cut deeply. Blood flowed over his armor, shining red in the sunlight. The giant retreated, leaping over Hesiod and his horse, and ran deep into the Triol army.

Now that Hesiod was ‘secure,’ Renek called for a retreat. Rimes was nearby, and he quickly picked up on the call. The soldiers managed to stay together and shield each other somewhat as they fell back.

There was no pursuit. For whatever reason, the Triols had decided to stay at the hill upon which the battle had begun. As the kingdom soldiers passed beyond melee range, arrows began to fall upon them again. Almost worse than the arrows, though, were the Triol foot soldiers as they started rhythmically beating their shields again. It seemed to Renek that the sound palpably lowered his spirits. He looked around at the grim faces of the retreating soldiers around him, and saw his feeling of despair echoed in their expression.

*   *   *

They had lost nearly a third of their men. Morale was nonexistent. They stood on the site of their previous victory, but no heads were held high, no smiles were visible.

Hesiod’s leg had to be amputated. There were no Singers in this unit to assist with healing, and it had been completely crushed. The unit’s “doctor”—a soldier who had seen to many battle wounds—came to the lieutenant’s tent to do it. Hesiod called his captains in a few hours after the doctor had taken his saw back to the medical tent.

“Gentlemen,” he said, his face pale and strained. “I obviously can’t lead the unit any more.” His breath was ragged, and his knuckles were white from how tightly he gripped a cup filled with grain alcohol. “I’ve brought you here to promote Rimes to my position. He’s been—” he stopped for a moment to drink, and grimaced at the rawness of the liquor “—very good with our men.

“Obviously, with the enemy nearby, we can’t continue the search. I’m told that a new messenger arrived. Lieutenant Rimes will have to see what the king wants.” He took another drink, longer this time, and put his head back on the rolled blankets that were serving as his pillow. “That’s all. Thank you.”

Rimes seemed as stunned at his promotion as Renek had been the previous night, but he didn’t have time to be shocked. The messenger was pressing an envelope into his hands, and he pulled Renek with him into his tent.

“Hang on a second, let me see what the king has to say.” He opened and scanned the very short letter, then grimaced. He read the terse note aloud:

“‘Lieutenant Hesiod, the front is in dire straits and needs your men. Please take your men there immediately.’ Signed, sealed, etc.”

Renek just stared blankly at Rimes for a few seconds before speaking. “Well, we couldn’t have stayed here anyway. It’s too dangerous with the Triols outnumbering us again.”

Rimes sighed. “Well, I don’t know what good a few hundred soldiers will do," he said, then fumbled about in his bags. He drew out a bottle of alcohol, and handed Renek an extra wooden cup.

They didn’t emerge from Rimes’ tent for quite a while.

*   *   *

The camp was a beehive of activity as everyone prepared for the march to the front. Renek had two soldiers helping him pack his tent. They seemed to know what they were doing better than he did, so after he folded the wrong flap in the wrong way the second time, he stepped back and let them do your job.

He thought he saw a look of relief in the men’s eyes, and grimaced at his inefficacy.

“Are you Renek?”

He turned to look at the speaker, a young swordsman. “Commander Hesiod asked me to give you this, sir.” He held out a small piece of paper.

“Thank you.” Renek took the paper, and unfolded it.

The note read:
I would appreciate seeing you before we left camp.

Renek looked up. “Can you two handle the tent packing?” He asked.

They looked at each other. “Yes, sir,” one of them said, perhaps a bit too eagerly.

Renek nodded, smiling ruefully, and headed off to where Hesiod’s tent had been.

No doubt his tent has been packed by now.
He thought back to the two men who were helping pack his tent.
People here seem willing to help. That, or Hesiod asked them to help me.

When he rounded the corner, he saw that Hesiod’s tent was indeed already packed. Hesiod himself was sitting on a horse, his amputated leg carefully bandaged and padded on the end. He smiled and waved Renek over.

“Thank you for coming," he said as Renek came close. “How did you sleep, last night?”

Renek rubbed his head. “I had a bit of a headache upon waking.” He grinned. “Rimes had a bottle in his tent that he shared with me.” He lowered his voice. “To be totally honest, I’m not sure that he was really prepared to take your place.”

Hesiod laughed. “Well, I’m not surprised. It’s not an easy job.” He heaved a sigh. “Renek, I’ve called you here because I think you’re a good man.” He held out a piece of paper, which had the royal seal on the bottom. “Read this, and tell me what you think.”

Renek slowly closed his hand on the paper, drew it closer, and began to read.

My Dear Hesiod,

I know that, despite harsh circumstance, you have done very well with your unit. I also know that, despite your protestations of ‘I don’t want a higher rank,’ or ‘I want to come home,’ you have always wanted to be a general in the army.

As recently as a week before I wrote this letter, I received news that one of my generals at the front was killed, presumably in the line of duty—I don’t know, they just said ‘in battle.’ I naturally thought of you for the post, but decided against it. I think that you still have too much of the court in you—I know that the court life prepares you for people stabbing you in the back, but that’s usually just figuratively!

I have decided, instead, to promote my son to general. He will be serving with the other generals, so I am not worried that he is too young to serve in such a capacity. Besides, he is the best swordsman in the castle! I am so proud. We held lists and nobody was even able to score a point on him.

I know that you had your heart set on the position, though, so it saddens me somewhat to write this letter. Still, I must do what I think is best for the country, for the army, and for the people. It is my responsibility.

Yours,

King Aiden

Renek straightened. “How old is his son?”

Hesiod grinned. “Sixteen.”

Renek whistled through his teeth. “I don’t want to say anything … untoward, about our king…” he trailed off.

“But?” Hesiod raised his eyebrows.

“Well, I wouldn’t put a sixteen year old in charge of a foot soldier, much less thousands of men.” He shrugged. “Perhaps the boy is exceptional, though.”

Hesiod laughed. “Yes, he is ‘exceptional.’ Exceptionally poor in judgment, and exceptionally arrogant. This is an unmitigated disaster.”

“I couldn’t tell in the letter. Was the king being serious, or sarcastic?” Renek asked.

“About what?”

“About ‘your heart’s desire’ being to be a general?”

“Oh, heavens, no. If I could go home, I would leave now. Eagerly.” He shook his head and gestured at the stump he had left for a leg. “Even with this leg, though, the king would tell me to stay. I can hear him now: ‘Just go have the Singers fix it, I need your help there. The Singers can make the pain go away even if they can’t restore it.’” Hesiod had adopted a high-pitched, singsong voice.

Renek’s eyebrows rose. “
Can
they fix it?”

Hesiod sighed. “Perhaps, if we can get to them soon. It would take at least two of them working together, right now, and the longer it takes for us to get to them, the more of them it will take to fix it. If there are enough of them, and they have the spare energy, I’ll ask—” He shook his head, clearly not even hoping for a positive answer. “Things are going badly, though, so I don’t expect much.”

Renek nodded.

“Well, I just wanted to show you that letter,” Hesiod said, waving towards where Renek’s tent was getting broken down. “Thank you for coming, even though you probably had things to pack.”

“Not really.” Renek smiled. “I don’t have many things, and I’m not very familiar with these tents. I think the men who were helping me pack the tent were glad to see me go.”

“Ha!” Hesiod grinned. “Well, maybe you should go and check on Rimes, then. He might need your help with something.”

Renek headed towards the commander’s tent. When he got there, it seemed that there were dozens of people milling about Rimes. Renek shrugged and walked up to the end of the line of people who were waiting to speak to him.

“Commander, there are two men who are arguing about some of the things that we were able to pick up from the farm a while back.”

Rimes rolled his eyes. As he leveled his gaze, again, he saw Renek standing in the back of the line.

“Renek!” he said, a smile of relief coming to his face. “What’s going on? Did you need something?” He looked pointedly at the men around him, then back to Renek.

“N—uh, yes," he said, changing his mind as he saw the disappointed look on Rimes’ face. Rimes brightened at the response. “Hesiod got a letter describing some of the … “ he struggled to find the right word to replace
nepotism
. “ … situation at the front. I thought we could discuss.” He looked at the fairly large number of people who were waiting for Rimes. “It probably wouldn’t take long.”

Rimes sighed. “That’s too bad.” He turned his gaze on the other people. “Well, you heard the man. Come back in a few minutes!”

They stepped to the side, and waited a moment for the other people to disperse.

“Oh, thank the gods!” Rimes sighed. “I just need a minute without fifty people asking me to make decisions for them!” He closed his eyes for a moment. “Why did you come over? You look upset.”

“I am, a little.” Renek waited a moment for Rimes to open his eyes and looked at him. “Hesiod showed me a letter from the king. It said that the king was putting his son in place of a general that died last week,” Renek said. “Does that seem odd to you?”

Rimes sighed. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem all that odd to me.” He looked around to make sure that the others had moved out of earshot. “The king supposedly dotes on his ‘little boy’—and that boy has become a bit of a terror, from what I’ve heard.” He shrugged. “Not much we can do about it, though. The king makes the laws, right? It’s his choice.”

Renek thought for a moment. “Kind of puts the other generals into a tight spot, though, doesn’t it?”

Rimes nodded. “Yeah, I wouldn’t want to be one of them! The youngest and most inexperienced of them can just go to ‘daddy’ when he doesn’t get what he wants?” He laughed. “They can either follow instructions, and watch as their men die in battle, or try to do the right thing—and get executed for treason.” He shook his head soberly.

“Exactly what I was thinking.”

“The generals will do their best to work around the situation,” Rimes said. “They
could
outvote him, or do whatever they want and ask forgiveness later.”

“To me, it sounds like the boy’s not going to want to put up with that sort of behavior.” Renek raised his eyebrows. “I wouldn’t want to have to ask forgiveness if the king’s son is as much of a terror as you say that he is.”

“Well, maybe the rumors are just rumors.” Rimes smiled. “I’ve never met him.” His gaze wandered over Renek’s shoulder, and his smile faded as he sighed heavily. “I think my ‘few minutes’ are up.”

Renek smiled as Rimes brushed past him to listen to the problems raised by breaking camp.

*   *   *

They headed out later that morning. Renek was surprised; it hadn’t taken that long to break camp. It had seemed so chaotic.