Blood Legacy: The Story of Ryan (24 page)

Ryan frowned for her own reasons and let her hand rest comfortably on the hilt of her sword. She started down the hill after him.

They approached the edge of the camp and an alert rippled through the encampments nearest them. Their approach was greeted with much interest and men began to gather as they neared. It seemed odd that a man and a boy should appear out of nowhere, on foot, carrying with them nothing but their swords.

Ryan could see the awe in the men’s faces, but even then it was difficult to imagine how the two of them appeared.

The soldiers saw a man, taller and broader through the shoulders than nearly any man they had ever seen. A man who moved with an unusual grace and power, a man whose image seemed to ripple with the mist that he walked through. His companion was tall as well, but slender, and as fair as the man was dark. Both possessed an unnatural beauty, a beauty that even the comeliest of lasses would not wish to compete against.

A sentry stepped forward as if to challenge the pair but a single icy glance from the dark-haired man froze the man in his tracks. The guard felt his innards seem to liquefy and he could do little but step back as the two passed.

The word of their coming continued to ripple through the camp and it was not long before a knight came forward to escort Victor to the inner circle. Ryan waited patiently outside as Victor was ushered into a resplendent tent.

Ryan was preoccupied with her own thoughts and ignored the stares of the men around her. She fingered the hilt of her sword, drawing comfort in its familiar feel. She wondered idly where they would sleep as they had not carried tents with them.

“Where are your horses, boy?”

Ryan turned to the man who was standing too closely to her and staring. She could smell the alcohol on his breath and wondered if the rest of the army was in the same state of readiness.

Ryan gazed at him silently for a long moment, and just when the man was beginning to squirm in discomfort, she replied coldly. “They will catch up.”

This brought much laughter from the surrounding crowd that was watching the exchange. They thought the boy had made a clever reply, not realizing Ryan was telling the truth. The man muttered something to himself and stumbled off.

Victor pulled the flap of the tent aside and exited. He bent down, whispering in Ryan’s ear.

“We will bed with the King’s company tonight, and until our company arrives. Tomorrow I will meet with the knights to plan strategy. We may be in Agincourt before the new moon.”

Ryan kept to herself over the next few days. She could hear the whispers of the men, as loudly as if they had been shouting in her face. There was much discussion revolving around the dark Lord and his fair companion. Some of it was ribald speculation regarding their relationship. Ryan was more amused than angered by this talk; the truth was far more illicit than even they could imagine. Other talk circulated about the Lord’s alleged fighting prowess; some spoke in awe, their tone hushed. Others professed doubt, no matter how imposing his appearance.

Ryan overheard others speak of the two’s strange behavior. They had no horses, no one had seen them eat, and neither appeared to sleep, roaming the camp at all hours of the night. The two would also disappear into the darkness together, which would generally circle the conversation back to crude speculation.

In truth, both Ryan and Victor were restless and the two would roam for miles around the encampment, both exploring and scouting the area ahead of them.

They reached Agincourt on a frosty morning and it was then that Ryan realized how truly small the English army was. The French barred the way to Agincourt, blanketing the horizon with their superior numbers. Word reached their camp that they would attack the next day.

The following morning men stood in the long shadows shivering from both cold and fear. Both armies stood in the open, perhaps a stone’s throw from one another. The English, however, were flanked by thick woods on both sides. They had no reserve and lined up in a single line of dismounted knights and men-at-arms, with the archers between them and at their flanks. The King stood at the center, as did Victor and Ryan.

Victor and Ryan wore only mail, unlike the knights behind them who wore full armor. Neither wore helmets, or the leather headdress of the archers. They were the only two on the field uncovered.

Victor turned and smiled at Ryan, and it was the smile of a predator. Ryan felt a shiver of excitement run up her spine, and she could not help but smile as well, the smile of a hunter ready for sport.

The two armies stood facing one another, neither liege willing to sound the attack. Hours passed as Ryan paced impatiently, and the sun was nearly overhead when they finally received the word to attack.

The English marched forward and Victor restrained Ryan, whispering they would halt when within bowshot. Ryan whispered that she was already within her range and Victor suppressed a smile. The men-at-arms in front of them stopped and began planting stakes to repel a calvary charge. The opposing army began to move towards them.

Victor watched the battle with keen eyes. Because of their position, they were safe from a flank attack, and because of the stakes, they beat back the frontal attack. As soon as the front wave of French calvary began to retreat, he pushed Ryan forward to chase them down.

The retreating calvary flung their own advancing infantry into confusion that was worsened when the second division began to advance. The two waves of humanity came clashing together and it was quickly evident the French army was being pushed back. Victor searched the line for the weakest link in the chain of men; that would be where the two would go.

Victor ran forward, easily outdistancing his line. Ryan kept pace with him and the two loped across the field to the spot Victor had chosen. Ryan knew her duty; she and Victor would fight back-to-back, entrusting no one else to protect them.

Victor reached the line first and with a tremendous blow, cut a man in two with his sword. The surrounding soldiers were so stunned at the feat, they could not protect themselves from Ryan’s flashing sword. She quickly dispatched three before a fourth could raise his sword, and even this act did him no good. Ryan impaled him, chain mail and all.

The world became a mad swirl of blood and flailing bodies, of dust and screams and amputated body parts. Everything appeared in slow motion to Ryan; the men surrounding her moved as if their limbs were frozen. The only person who appeared to be moving at a normal speed was Victor, who fluidly cut a swathe through the sluggish masses.

Ryan followed Victor as he moved forward. She had the brief impression they were surrounded by enemy soldiers, but this sea of humanity flowed to their deaths as the two cut them down as easily as the previous ones.

There seemed to be a pause in the fighting and Victor glanced over at Ryan with warning. To the surprise of those around them, Ryan sheathed her sword and moved closer to Victor, gazing far off into the distance. She stepped in front of her mentor, waiting patiently.

She did not have long to wait. The sky was suddenly blackened with arrows as enemy archers let the missiles fly. The rain of arrows fell to the ground, blanketing both friend and foe alike. Screams of agony filled the air as men cried out when the arrows found their mark.

But they did not fall to the ground near Victor, nor did they come near him. Ryan stood in front of him and in a study of concentration, began to snatch the missiles from the air. Her hands moved with blinding speed as she knocked them to the ground or deflected them to the side.

At the same time, Victor was dispatching any enemy still standing. It was only a matter of moments before he and Ryan were the only two still standing within a great distance.

The hail of arrows ceased and Victor turned his gaze to the enemy line. The ground began to shake as knights on horseback rode down the hill toward the battleground. The ground behind them also began to shake as the English knights began their charge. Ryan again drew her sword.

The two calvaries clashed with a horrendous noise and Victor and Ryan were trapped between sweaty, wide-eyed horses and unseated knights who struggled to their feet in their bulky armor. On horse or on foot, the enemy knights were no match for Victor’s sword as he cut through their mail or smashed them to the ground, armor and all.

Ryan was separated from Victor, but she was only slightly concerned. Her sword flashed out, smashing a lance in two and knocking the horseman from his mount. She beheaded him and turned to block another blow.

Ryan was beginning to feel fatigued. She had lost all sense of time or the number of men she had killed. She was covered in blood and the heat was beginning to wear on her. The noise of battle and the screams of death of both men and animal seemed endless. Although the surrounding men still appeared to move in slow motion, she herself began to feel as if she was slowing down.

She heard the sound of hooves behind her and whirled, her sword held ready. But she had not turned fast enough and the tip of the lance passed beneath her sword and pierced her chest above her heart.

The pain was immediate and intense as the lance traveled straight through her. Her vision blurred and in fury she grabbed the lance and leaned backward, lifting the startled knight from the back of his horse. The horse galloped by her as she held the knight suspended, dangling helplessly, and then she smashed the lance in two with her sword. The knight came crashing to the ground toward her and her sword flashed out, cleaving him in two.

Ryan dropped her sword and staggered away from the dead man. She grasped the lance and tried to pull it from her body, but she was weakening and had poor leverage. The battle seemed to be waning, but Ryan did not notice. Unable to free herself from the lance, she decided she would attempt to jar it loose. She took a deep breath and fell backward, jamming the lance into the ground and pushing it back up through her body as she followed it to the ground.

Ryan laid on the ground staring up at the sky. The pain was enormous, blocking out all sound and all sight. She still was not free of the lance and now the tip was embedded in the ground beneath her. She tried to pull the lance upward once more, but now she was weaker, and effectively pinned to the ground.

A shadow fell over her and she noted distantly that an enemy was standing over her. With a cry of triumph, he thrust his sword into her lower torso and Ryan felt the searing pain cut through her. He yanked his sword loose and prepared to stab her a second time.

With the same dispassionate interest, Ryan watched as blood spread over the front of the enemy’s torso. The tip of a sword appeared through the man’s chest and he screamed as he was lifted from his feet.

Victor swung his sword, dislodging the man and throwing him to the ground. Ryan turned her head to look into the dying man’s eyes. He gurgled once, then his eyes were lifeless. She turned her head once more to stare up at Victor.

Victor stared down at his charge, mentally noting her injuries. He inwardly cursed himself for not staying closer to her, but outwardly he was unconcerned.

“Must I always keep an eye on you?”

Ryan stared up at her mentor, uncertain whether she should feel fear. She glanced at the lance protruding from her chest. “I guess someone has to.”

Victor shook his head and placed his foot on her sternum. He grasped the lance firmly in one hand. “I guess that would be me, then.”

With one swift move he yanked the lance from Ryan’s body. Ryan gasped at the pain and closed her eyes. Victor threw the weapon to the side and leaned down and grasped Ryan’s collar. He lifted her effortlessly, holding her upright with one hand. He stared at the wound, even now feeling his hunger stir.

Ryan opened her eyes, catching the glint in his. “I hardly think now is an appropriate time,” she said through clenched teeth.

Victor did not speak but instead lightly bit his own lip. He placed his lips on Ryan’s and she tasted his blood in her mouth. Strength immediately flowed through her and the pain, although still present, suddenly seemed manageable. All she wished to do now was sleep.

He ended his kiss, still holding her close to him. With his free hand he thrust his sword into the ground and then lifted her into his arms. The battlefield was littered with dead as he began to pick his way through the bodies. Men stared in awe as the dark lord stalked from the grounds into the forest, carrying his mortally wounded companion.

It was not simply the common man who stared. The King sat on the back of his horse on a nearby hilltop. He had been mesmerized from the beginning of the battle by the ferocity and skill of the two warriors. He stared at the lone sword standing amongst the piles and piles of bodies, by far the greatest number slain anywhere on the field. He had witnessed in disbelief and fear as the lad had plucked arrows from the sky. He had watched as the dark lord had cut men in two, armor and all. He had watched the lad suffer the grievous injury, and still slay his attacker. And he had watched that strange, sensual kiss between the man and his dying boy.