Legend of the Swords: War (36 page)

The Heart of the Mountain

The king of the Bourne drained its cup of blood and water. It gurgled, clearly laughing in joy.

“You bastard!” Armand advanced on the king, who laughed again, more deeply this time. It gurgled for a few seconds before Ryan realized that it was speaking intelligibly. It held up its hand pushed at Armand, who stopped cold, as if he could not move.

“You have come here looking for greatness, tall one,” it gurgled.

Other than the gurgling, this thing speaks fairly clearly
, Ryan thought.

The king turned to Ryan. “You have come seeking what is just—but also to assuage your anger.”

Finally, it turned to Kevin. “And you have come because you did not know what else to do.” It laughed for a long time, after speaking.

It gestured to Gregory’s still form. “Your friend, here, came because he wanted things to stay the same.” It shook its head. “Things never stay the same.

“But his blood was good, nevertheless.” It smacked its lips. “Powerful.” gestured at Armand, who staggered backwards. “Now, you will pay for killing my brethren.”

Armand quickly looked at Kevin and Ryan, and gestured with his sword. The three of them moved as one to confront the green king.

It made the armored door guards seem slow. Holding its scepter with one hand, it brushed aside their attacks, and hit Ryan so hard that he flew into the curtained wall nearly twenty feet away. He was stunned, and missed the next few moments.

When he opened his eyes, Kevin was slumped against the doorway that they had come in. Armand was wheeling around, blade flashing, constantly retreating from the king’s almost lazy attacks.

Ryan tried to get up, but the curtains had fallen over him somewhat, and his arms were tangled in the now sodden drapery. He pulled down hard on the curtains, and more of them came free, exposing the gemlike, weeping wall.

He pushed against the wall, trying to regain his feet, but his hand quickly slipped off of the slick surface. He pushed on the floor, but a thin film of liquid was running over the floor where the drapes had clogged the gap between wall and floor.

He rolled over and touched his wet pants. His heart skipped a beat.
The vial!
He dug deeply into his pocket and pulled it out, still intact. He stared at it for a moment.

On instinct, Ryan pulled off the cork and held the vial up to the wall, letting the water mix in with the flower’s potion. He capped the mixture, shook it, and drank about half of what remained.

Unlike the pure flower potion, which had been bitter, the combination of flower juice and water was indescribably sweet. Like thin honey, it coated his tongue and throat. He felt that same energy as when he tasted it on the mountainside, but multiplied tenfold. He pushed against the wall, finding it easy to hold on, and sprang to his feet. His boots splashed in the sweet nectar of the mountain, and he slipped the vial back in his pocket.

He ran forward and swept his sword down on the king’s scepter. He had so much strength, so much speed, that the scepter was ripped out of the hand that held it. The king’s green eyes narrowed, and the he spun around to catch his royal weapon as it bounced off the floor.

Armand’s eyes opened wide as he stared at the two blurs fighting in front of him. He could barely tell which was Ryan and which was the king.

“Squire!” he called, dropping onto his hands and knees behind the caverns’ king.

Ryan saw Armand dropping as if he were moving slower than maple syrup in wintertime. He swirled his sword around the king’s scepter, setting him up, then drove his palm into the Bourne’s chest, driving him back.

Armand sprawled to the floor from the force of the impact, but his trick worked—the king flew backwards, landing with its legs and arms akimbo—and then Ryan’s sword pierced through its chest, driving into the floor.

Ryan wiggled his sword out of the floor, sheathed it, and ran over to Kevin. He touched Kevin’s arm, gently, but it flew out with such force that Kevin flipped over.

Huh. I guess I’d better not touch him.
Ryan thought.
Or, for that matter, anything. I’m a bit hungry, though…maybe I should get some food from my pack.
He ran over to his pack, and pulled out one of his last three biscuits.

Wait, Gregory!
Ryan shook his head.
What’s wrong with me? I forgot Gregory!
He ran over to Gregory and checked for a pulse.

There was no pulse. Gregory was dead, his lifeblood still dripping out the table’s spout.

Ryan groaned, and looked down at his biscuit, no longer hungry. He was trembling from the energy in his body. He ran a couple of laps around the room, quickly, then went to check on Armand, who was finally sitting up.

“ArmandGregory’sdeadandIwashungrybutcouldn’teatoverhisdeadbody," he said.

Armand blinked, slowly. “Wwwwhhhhaaaaaat?” he said, while Ryan did jumping jacks in an effort to stay in front of Armand instead of running around the room.

Ryan suddenly ran out of energy, at the top of one of his jumping jacks. His arms were still in the air, biscuit in his right hand. He sat down and began eating ravenously.

“What did you say, squire?” Armand said, pulling himself to his feet.

“Gregory’s dead,” Ryan said around a mouthful of biscuit. “We were too late.” He finished his biscuit, crumpled to the floor, and slept.

*   *   *

Ryan woke many hours later. Armand had decided to camp in the throne room, and had dragged all the dead Bourne, including the king, behind the throne.

Ryan stood and stretched, gazing at Gregory’s body. Armand had flipped him over, cleaned him, bandaged his wounds, and clasped his hands on his chest.

Kevin and Armand were sleeping on their pallets near the doorway. Ryan turned to look more closely at the throne.

It seemed to be made well, with parts of solid gold and parts of the strange weeping mountain crystal. There were traces cut into the gold and the crystal in a complex pattern, and the water seemed to splash playfully as it flowed down those traces. Its legs drove into holes in the stone dais below. There was a hole, about two inches across, in throne’s left arm.

That’s
probably where the scepter is supposed to go,
Ryan thought. He looked around. The scepter lay near Armand’s bag. He went over and picked it up, studying it closely.

It was simple, but beautifully made. It was very heavy, and the gold was polished mirror bright. It had a ring around the bottom of the crystal that caught the water that was flowing off. Where the water went was anybody’s guess—it seemed to go into the shaft and disappear.

“I’ll be having that back, now, squire," Armand said. “If you don’t mind.”

Ryan turned. “I didn’t know that you had claimed it, Sir knight," Ryan said apologetically—but with an unmistakable edge to his voice.

The knight was sitting on his pallet. Ryan walked over to him and handed the scepter over. Kevin sat up, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

Armand gazed at the scepter. “I’d take the throne, too, but it’s attached to the dais.” He spat on the ground. “At least we got one valuable thing for the king out of this … little adventure,” he groused. “No swords, dead commander, and two insubordinate idiots to lead back home.”

“Hey!” Kevin said. “That’s not fair!”

Armand turned, eyebrows raised. “You have a different opinion, squire?”

“Sure I do!” Kevin’s eyes shot daggers at Armand. “I killed those two door guards. Ryan got us past them in the first place.”

“Luck comes to all of us," Armand said. “That explains your ‘killing blow.’ As for Ryan…” he turned, eyes narrow. “I hardly think that sneaking past your enemies in the dark bodes well for his chances of becoming an honorable knight.”

Ryan’s mouth dropped open in shock. Armand continued.

“Now that Gregory’s dead,
I
am the commanding officer of this … unit, such as it is.” He stood up, and grabbed his pack. “We have failed. We are out of food, or close enough that it doesn’t matter.”

Ryan’s stomach grumbled loudly, as if on cue.

“We’ve failed to find the swords,” Armand continued. “And we’ve lost our commanding officer.”

Ryan snorted. “You didn’t even
like
Gregory," he said. “You thought he was wrong most of the time.”

“
That does not matter!
” Ryan was shocked at the vehemence that Armand displayed. “He was our commanding officer, we were his soldiers.” Armand took two steps toward Ryan, staring into the younger man’s eyes. “An army is
nothing
if its men ignore their leaders. A small, but disciplined force can overcome a much larger undisciplined one!

“And you’d better hope that we can hold discipline on the field below," Armand said, more quietly. “Because the Triol forces are vast in comparison to ours.

“Now, get your pack. Let’s go.”

“No," Kevin said.

Armand stopped, and turned to look at Gregory’s squire. “What did you say?”

“I said: No.”

“Say that again, squire, and I will knock you unconscious and drag you out of here.”

“I don’t care what you do," Kevin said, shaking his head. “If you do that, I’ll just steal your food and run away.” His voice rose. “Ryan’s right, you didn’t even
like
Gregory. You always disagreed with him.

“Thing is,” he said, smiling, “Gregory was usually right. And
you
were usually wrong.” He tilted his head to the side, smiling more broadly. “Why would I follow someone who was wrong all the time?” He asked.

Armand reddened, sputtering.

Kevin ran over to where the two had been sleeping, grabbed both packs, and bolted out the door and down the hall. Armand was caught flat-footed for a moment, but then tossed the scepter towards Ryan.

“Hold on to that,” he growled, drawing his sword. “
We
will be right back.” And then he was out the door, chasing after Kevin.

Ryan caught the scepter, and, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, he turned and drove the scepter home into the hole on the throne’s arm.

The ring at the bottom of the crystal fit tightly. The water from the scepter’s crystal stopped draining into the handle, but began to pool in a small well on the arm of the throne. It overflowed into a previously empty channel, and Ryan watched with fascination as it traveled down the arm to join with the rest of the water that was splashing so playfully.

The throne’s water reversed course, where the scepter’s water touched it. More and more rivulets flowed
up
, as the scepter’s water spread. The crystals on the high back of the throne started to glow brightly, and pulse as water began to enter instead of exit.

Armand came back into the room, dragging Kevin by the arm. He looked up at Ryan and the throne. “What’s going on?” He demanded.

There was a heavy grinding sound as the throne sank a bit deeper into the dais. A much louder grating sound echoed it, as the dais sank a bit deeper into the floor. Finally, there was a bone-shaking scraping sound from behind the curtain behind the throne.

Ryan nimbly jumped around the throne, and pulled the curtain open.

Kevin whistled between his teeth.

There was a round chamber behind the throne room.

Not just round,
Ryan thought.
Spherical, except for the floor.

All of the rock—the floor, the walls, the ceiling—was glowing, pulsing with light. Small spheres of crystal were set at waist height all the way around the room. There was a small sword rack in the center of the room, and a single sword hung in it, point downward, its spherical pommel of crystal sitting just to the right of the exact center of the spherical room.

*   *   *

Ryan stepped just past the room’s threshold, gazing at the sword, but he stopped there. Something was wrong. The sword should have been in the exact middle of the room; it was clearly just to one side—the balance was off. He gasped as he realized there was space for another sword in the rack, but it was gone.

Armand shoved his way past Ryan. The room was small; two steps carried him next to the sword. He reached out and picked it up as Kevin came to stand next to Ryan.

“Ahh….” he breathed. The room’s lights pulsed more slowly. “It’s perfectly balanced.” Armand swung the sword, apparently mesmerized by the feel of it. “It’s as if it were a living part of my hand.” He smiled beatifically.

Ryan continued to stare at the sword. Even though the room seemed to be glowing less brightly, the blade gleamed as if it held light within itself. It seemed flawless—as if no rust had ever touched it, despite the fact that the walls were continuously weeping water.

Armand tested the edge with his thumb. “It’s so sharp!” he said, and turned the blade sideways, staring at the markings on the flat of the blade. “Huh,” he grunted. “I wonder what it says?” He looked around at the darkening room, and quickly stepped toward the door.

“Well, we’ve got what we came for after all," he said, simply. He turned to look back at the sword stand. “There were supposed to be two, though. I wonder what happened to the other one?” He turned and brushed past Ryan and Kevin.

As Armand passed the throne, he stopped and tried to pull the scepter out. It wouldn’t budge, but there was a click and gravity reasserted itself on the water coursing over the throne, and the bone-jarring scraping noise sprang back to life. The room beyond the throne was darker, but it still glowed more brightly than a torch.

Ryan and Kevin jumped out of the way as a piece of wall rotated back over the gap, obscuring the sword room beyond. Ryan tripped over the king’s dead body as he tried to walk around the throne. He glanced down, and saw that one of the dead king’s hands was pointing at the doorway, and the other was making the flat-palmed pushing gesture.

Armand stared down at the scepter for a moment, shrugged, and walked out of the room, hand on the hilt of his new sword.

Down the Mountainside