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.
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.”
Legend of the Swords: War Page 13