Legend of the Swords: War

by Jason Derleth

  As he walked, he pulled his tunic straight, and stood a bit taller. The tunic had the emblem of the Knights of the Crown on it, after all. It didn’t fit, but it was still his. Only three of the squires wore the Knights of the Crown emblem, and he was the oldest. The others were younger and faster than he was—but he was smarter, more efficient. When they battled, he won most of the time despite his inexperience.

  He met Armand on the field, who inspected the hauberk closely. He nodded, which was as close to a compliment that Ryan ever got. Armand donned the shining armor. A thick, two-inch wide belt came next, which Ryan belted on for him, pulling the hauberk up so that the belt took some of its weight.

  Training came next. Ryan was doing better in these duels, and Armand was a good teacher, even though he hit hard. Ryan did well enough today that he wasn’t given any punishment.

  The strengthening winter Sun moved through the peak of its arc in the sky as the company marched. Lunch came; after their knights were done, the squires ate together. Ryan waved at Edmund as the recruits cleaned the camp.

  “There are only a few weeks left in winter,” Brian, one of the other three squires said as they sat down with a thick stew.

  Ryan grinned. “I had hoped we’d get somewhere before winter.” He looked around. “I mean, aren’t there some abbeys around? Aren’t they supposed to be off limits for wars?”

  “We’ve got to keep moving,” Brian said. “They would attack any Abbey we were in, anyway.” He frowned. “At least, that’s why my knight says. The Triols have no honor.”

  There was a general murmur of assent.

  Ryan flashed a sheepish grin. “Well, Armand doesn’t talk to me much, I guess.”

  Brian clapped him on the shoulder and laughed. “I saw you doing laps again yesterday.” The rest of the boys seemed delighted at seeing the best fighter punished so frequently. “What did you do this time, blink too slowly?”

  Ryan grinned. “He is hard to please, I guess. But I’m learning a lot.”

  Gregory’s squire, Kevin, groaned, and pulled back his sleeve. “See this bruise? Gregory doesn’t make me run laps, he just hits harder in practice if I’m being slow.”

  Brian whistled between his teeth. “That’s a nice one, that is. Well, Knight Gregory is commander of the unit for a reason, Kevin…” He laughed again. “Even so, you must have been pretty slow to get whacked that hard!” They all laughed, even Kevin.

  “They don’t treat us very well, do they?” Ryan said, smiling sheepishly.

  The others got quiet. There were a few nods, but nobody seemed willing to speak. Finally, Ryan continued. “I mean, it was better even as a recruit…maybe they just expect us to be perfect because we’re the ‘chosen few’, but…” he trailed off, shaking his head, eyes looking at the food that the squires were eating, all leftovers from the knights.

  Brian picked up where Ryan wasn’t willing to go. “But you wish that you didn’t have to get beaten with a practice sword over and over again?”

  Ryan nodded. “And then punished for being beaten wrong.”

  Kevin looked at Ryan’s dejected face. “Maybe it seems bad now,” he said, “but we’ll be heading out to the battlefield. Eventually, we’ll be safer on the horses in battle, and the infantry will be the ones taking the losses.” His grin was lopsided, his eyes a bit sheepish. Some of the others nodded, though, and he gained courage. “I mean, if we are the ‘chosen few,’ then we’ll be with the Knights, the leaders of the army. They’re not in as much danger, and they’re the ones who do the strategy, too.”

  Ryan’s mouth hung open. “But my friend Edmund is still in the infantry.” His voice got a little louder, more forceful. “I don’t want to be ordering him into the thick of the battle so that I can stay behind, out of the fray!” His hands were in tight fists, his knuckles white.

  Kevin lifted his hands. “No, no, I wasn’t saying that we would be cowards about it—”

  Ryan cut him off, more harshly than he meant to. “Sure sounded like it.”

  “No, that’s not what I was saying at all.” He looked around nervously at his fellow squires. “I just meant that we would be … in charge, kinda.” He looked at Ryan again. “Someone has to keep everybody together … make sure that people are holding their lines.”

  Ryan relaxed his hands. “Well, maybe that’s why we’re being pushed so hard," he said, thoughtfully, looking at the food again. Most of it was gone, and he knew they all needed to get to their chores again. “Why we all end up with bruises. We’ve got to fight so well that we can still think about other people, and what they’re doing, and where the battle is going.” He looked up at Kevin, and managed a weak smile. “Sorry, Kevin. I don’t know what got ahold of me there. I shouldn’t have been that angry.”

  Kevin sighed in relief as Brian stood up.

  “Well,” Brian said, “we’d better get back to our work.” He grinned at Ryan. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not done getting beaten for the day yet. If you want some beating, you can come fight against me next.”

  Ryan grinned broadly, his shock at Kevin’s words fading quickly as the group of squires bantered its way to the tents.

  * * *

  Later that week, Ryan and Kevin sparred for the first time since that lunch conversation.

  Kevin was one of the best of the squires. He was also one of the other three in the Knights of the Crown order. It was challenging to fight him, but Ryan still won most of the time. Kevin was one of the fastest swordsmen in the camp, including the knights.

  They were circling, in heavy padded armor, looking for an opening. They had been avoiding each other in the sparring sessions since their lunchtime argument, and hadn’t talked much either. Today the knights were actually watching the practice, and they had paired Ryan and Kevin for the last fight for the day.

  “So, Ryan, you think I’m a coward because I want to lead?” Kevin said through gritted teeth, low enough that only Ryan could hear.

  Ryan considered his opponent, looking directly into his eyes. He had found that staring hard into someone’s eyes made them focus only on his eyes, and often they would react just a bit more slowly when he attacked. It wasn’t logical, but it worked. He was still mad at Kevin, though he didn’t really understand why. He wanted to beat Kevin, not just win.

  “No,” Ryan said, slowly, drawing out the word. “I think you’re a coward because you want to be safe while other people die!” With the last word, he jumped forward, raining blows down on Kevin.

  Kevin lifted his shield, and deftly moved his sword to defend against the onslaught. He did not back up, or waver. In fact, he grinned disconcertingly at Ryan, almost leering at him, blocking every blow. He was just faster than Ryan. He pushed especially hard with his shield on one attack that Ryan made, and Ryan stumbled.

  Now Ryan was on the defense as Kevin masterfully advanced, pushing Ryan back, still leering his lopsided grin. Ryan tripped on a stray stone, and hit the ground—but he was already rolling to one side. Kevin’s wooden sword bounced off of the hard ground right where Ryan had fallen.

  Ryan was back on his feet and attacking Kevin before Kevin could recover from his failed finishing blow. Kevin was forced to back up as Ryan threw everything he had into his attack. Ryan tightened his muscles and hit harder, at first, but the strength of his blows just forced Kevin to calmly and slowly step back.

  In a flash of insight, Ryan realized that his strength wasn’t really helping him. He wasn’t that much stronger than Kevin, after all, he just knew what to do to get him off balance. Kevin was close to being as good as Ryan because of his speed. When Kevin needed his sword to be there to block Ryan’s, it was there; when he needed his shield, it was there; when he needed not to be where Ryan’s blade was, he was able to move out of the way quickly.

  For the first time in a battle, Ryan relaxed. His muscles loosened, lengthened. He stopped trying to hit Kevin with strength, and started slicing through the air lightly, but more quickly.

 
; Kevin’s leer disappeared instantly. He was backing up more quickly, now. If Ryan had rained blows down before, now his sword became a downpour on Kevin’s shield and sword.

  With his muscles loose, and moving so fast, Ryan found it more difficult to control his sword. He tried to move it around Kevin’s blade, but it seemed balanced differently, and his blow went wide. Kevin took full advantage, and pressed forward again, a look of triumph in his eyes.

  With a quick blow to the inside of Ryan’s sword, Kevin accentuated Ryan’s wide swing, and tried to get a downward swing in to Ryan’s sword arm. Ryan had no choice but to back up and cover his right side with his shield. Kevin reversed direction as his wooden sword bounced off of Ryan’s wooden shield, and went for Ryan’s left leg.

  Ryan was off balance, and couldn’t move the leg. He felt the wooden sword hit with force, and hissed in pain. He shifted his weight and lifted his leg off the ground. The rules stated that he couldn’t use the leg any longer, but he could still fight.

  And fight he did. His sword had already swung through an outside arc, over his head. Kevin had exposed his left side as he went for Ryan’s leg, dropping his shield as he reached. Ryan tensed his muscles, adding strength and weight into his swing, his sword snapped down, connecting with Kevin’s shoulder with alarming force. Kevin went down, a look of shock and pain on his face. On his knees, he dropped his sword, and reached up to grab his shoulder.

  “Now, Ryan—NO MERCY!” Armand shouted, steel in his voice. Ryan’s brow knitted for a moment as he tensed his muscles to strike another blow…but he paused a moment too long. Instead of an enemy, he suddenly saw a prostrate boy who was in pain.

  He dropped his sword and knelt in front of Kevin. “Are you all right? Did I break your shoulder?”

  Kevin winced. “I don’t think so.” He sucked in air between his teeth. “Why’d you hit me so hard?” The other squires crowded around, and Kevin’s knight, Gregory, pushed his way through. He was older, with some gray in his beard, but still a formidable warrior.

  “Kevin, what happened?” Sir Gregory exclaimed. “You had him where you wanted him! You should have won this battle.” He held out his hand, and Kevin grabbed it with his shield arm. The knight hoisted him to his feet.

  “I’m sorry, Sir. I don’t know what happened.” He looked at Ryan sullenly. “He got faster.”

  The cook rang a small bell announcing dinner, but Armand was at Ryan’s side and grabbed his arm. “Your enemies wish to kill you," he said, his features still as stone. “There is only one rule on the battlefield. No mercy.” He shouldered Ryan as he walked over toward Kevin and Sir Gregory.

  Armand tapped Gregory on the shoulder, clearing his throat.

  “Yes, Armand?” Gregory said, with extreme patience and politeness.

  Armand put his arm around his colleague’s shoulder. “I believe there’s a little matter of the money you owe me.” He started leading the older man away from the center of attention. “Ryan won, fair and square…”

  The gray bearded knight spun around to look at Kevin. “We’ll settle your loss later, Kevin. I won’t forget.” He turned back to Armand. “Kevin did well, I’d say better than you expected, Armand, you dog…”

  When they were out of hearing distance, Brian started laughing out loud.

  “What?” Kevin said, with a hurt look on his face.

  “They bet on you guys!” he positively howled, bending over and thumping his knee. “They bet on you!”

  Understanding came to Kevin, who smiled a bit while rubbing his shoulder. The others chuckled. Brian couldn’t stop laughing until they were serving the knights their food.

  The Gredarin

  It was several weeks later. It was clear, and spring was in the air. While it was still a little cold at night, the days were getting longer, and some of the trees had begun to bud, or even bloom.

  One day, when the weather was especially nice, the knights steered them off of the road that they had been following. A few hundred feet away, nestled in the crook of a hill near a small stream, lay a small abbey.

  “We need a few days’ rest,” Gregory called to them from the front of the line. “And we can buy a few extra horses for the squires.” He turned to Armand. “Hopefully the other knights have made it here already," he said, just loud enough for Ryan to hear.

  They soon found that the other knights had not arrived yet. The monks had not heard anything about soldiers of any sort.

  For most of the next week, the squires had been concentrating on riding skills rather than practicing swordplay. Occasionally they got to ride one of the knights’ horses. With only a few hours practice, none of them were smooth riders yet, certainly not stable enough for battle. But, Sir William had said while training them, knights were more mobile than infantry, and were sometimes moved strategically from one unit to another by the commanders, so all the squires needed horses.

  Ryan spent quite a lot of time brushing and feeding both his and Armand’s horses, over the next few days. He had never thought that he would own a horse, and he wanted to show Armand that he was taking good care of the animals.

  He was brushing the horses one evening after dinner, when Armand came to him with an empty set of saddlebags.

  “Ryan, the other knights have arrived.” Armand’s eyes drooped down to the ground. “You squires aren’t really ready for this, but we’re heading out tomorrow morning. We need to get to the Gredarin as soon as possible. The Triols are already moving.” He sighed. “I had thought we would have another week or two, but it looks like…well, it doesn’t matter, really.” He shrugged. “You’ll do your best, I’m sure—for what it’s worth.” He held out the saddlebags. “Pack these with an extra set of clothes and as much food as will fit.”

  “Sir, have I done something wrong?” Ryan said, apologetically. “I don’t understand. I’m fairly good with the sword in practice, now.” Armand frowned, and Ryan paused for a second, then continued. “I—I know that practice isn’t battle, but I’m the best squire here.”

  Armand looked at him for a long time before he finally answered, voice harsh. “Squire, don’t question your knight. That’s a basic rule.” He turned on his heel and was gone, leaving Ryan fuming.

  What was that? Ryan thought to himself. I’ve done everything he asked, I win almost every sparring match with the others…what does he want? Ryan absentmindedly packed the horse’s brush, a couple of nosebags, and some good oats into one of the saddlebags. He rolled up two extra saddle blankets and attached them to the back of the saddles.

  He went back to the squires’ room to get clothes packed. The other squires were also busy packing, so there wasn’t much chatter.

  A few minutes after Ryan started looking through his things, Gregory, the commander of their unit and one of the Knights of the Crown, came through. He was carrying several identical, simply made steel swords in one hand, and a smaller, heavier bag in the other hand. He set the heavy bag down, grabbed a sword, and held it out by the sheath to the squire nearest the door. It happened to be Brian.

  “You squires haven’t used real swords much.” He looked around the room, clearly enjoying the eager looks that the weapons were getting. “Tonight you’re going to have to learn how to take care of one.” He gestured at Brian, who took the sword into his hands and unsheathed it.

  Its blade was straight, thickest in the middle near the hilt. It tapered evenly through most of its length, but the width narrowed more quickly near the point. The blade had a diamond cross-section, with a thick ridge in the middle. The edge had been sharpened with a rough tool that had left tool marks on it.

  “These are sharpened about as sharp as you ever want a sword. It’s not meant to be a knife.” He grinned. “Find something else to skin any rabbits you catch. This blade is meant to go through armor, as you know, and that’ll put a big notch in a too-sharp edge.

  “Still, we’re going to learn how to sharpen them properly tonight—these were sharpened with a file. A file’s fine i
f you’ve got it, but they’re hard to keep clean in the field, and once a file’s rusted, it’s not gonna help you. Grab a stone from this bag,” he nudged the heavy sack, “And get busy. Sharpening a sword is different than sharpening a knife. With a knife, you move the blade down the stone and keep it at the same angle; with a sword, you move the stone down the blade, and keeping that stone straight is far more difficult.” He looked around the room at the boys, eyebrows raised, grinning. “Well, what are you waiting for? Come get yer sword!”

  Ryan let the others go in front of him. He realized when the sword was handed to him that it was a little long for him—a bit longer than three feet—but it had a nice sized pommel on the hilt, which would give it a nice balance. It had a belt attached to the hilt, so he strapped it on his waist, then picked up his sharpening stone. He heard a few drops of rain hit the roof.

  They all spent some time sharpening, and the commander walked among them, helping anyone who was having problems. A half an hour later, he clapped to get their attention.

  “You’ve all gotten at least one face of one blade done. The rest is pretty much the same. Put your stone in your bag and keep it with you, using it’ll help take nicks out of your blade in the field. Then get yourselves and your knights ready to go. We’re riding out at dawn tomorrow.

  Gregory glanced at Ryan and continued. “There’s been a change in plans: we need to move quickly, so the infantry won’t be going with us. If you have any goodbyes to say, do it tonight.” He dropped his gaze to the floor and walked out of the room.

  The other squires chose to concentrate on their packing as Ryan walked briskly out of the room, struggling to keep his face blank.

  * * *

  “I can’t believe that you’re not going with us,” Ryan said.

  Edmund shrugged. “I don’t know…it sounds like you and your knights have it covered.”