Legend of the Swords: War by Jason Derleth

ground was still wet, though, and mud covered the horse’s hooves. Crown Gregory kept the pace at a light trot, so they would cover a lot ground through the morning hours.
    The road—more of a well-ridden path—didn’t meander much. There was no reason for it to, on flat ground like the plains. Occasionally, it did turn, or it would slowly bear to one side or another. It was monotonous, looking out at the green grass that was growing more than two feet tall. There wasn’t much wind, but the breezes that did come ruffled the heads of the grass in waves. An occasional oak tree dotted the otherwise tired landscape, although the Great Forest was visible as a dark line on the horizon to the north. Any direction shifts that the road had seemed to be keeping the forest just in sight.
    After about an hour, they slowed to a walk to rest the horses for a few minutes. Despite the few hours of practice, Ryan was already getting saddle sore. His legs were tired, too, from trying to minimize the bouncing from trotting for so long. He looked back, and saw pained expressions on most of the other squires as well. The knights seemed bored. It was slow going, trotting for so long, but the horses wouldn’t last very long if they rode faster. Even a canter would tire them out after a few miles.
    Crown Knight William pointed out a few of the more obvious plants along the way—the grass, he said, was a kind of wheat. They had been eating bread made out of it since they had got to the Abbey. The oak trees had been cut down a long time ago, when the Abbey had been more prosperous. For the past few dozen years, they had farmed the grain and milled it to flour, which they sold to the few locals and the occasional traveler.
    He pointed out things that Ryan missed, plants and animals that thrived on the plain. There were gophers, and some other burrowing animals. William even had an eye for insects that were flying about, and explained that the insects could tell you a lot about the weather, the birds that no doubt ate them, and even the ability of the dirt to grow crops. He stopped the troop and showed them all what he meant by digging a small hole with his sword—Armand’s sour expression showed that he clearly did not approve of shoveling dirt with a weapon, but he didn’t say anything. William showed everyone the worms that were crawling through the soil, and explained how it was good for the plants.
    The sun slowly rose in the sky. They slowed the horses to a walk every hour, and Ryan would try to relax his muscles. He could sense his body getting tired already. His stomach muscles pulling his torso forward, his back was holding him above the horse’s neck, and his legs had to hold on to the horse’s body.
    He started experimenting with his body, looking carefully at what he was doing in an effort to minimize what his farming experiences told him would be serious pain the next day. He realized that his left side felt worse than his right—he had been favoring his right side, sitting on his left side. He tightened his right side, bringing himself to center, and immediately felt more solid. He played with how far forward he was leaning. Too far, and it was tough to keep himself from falling onto the neck of the horse; not far enough, and he felt very insecure, rocking with each step of the horse. When he was in the right spot, the horse seemed to react to his knee pressure more quickly.
    They stopped for lunch right after when the Sun was at its zenith. The Sun had baked the morning’s mud into hard clay. It was quite warm, so they went a little ways off the road to eat under one of the large oaks. When they finally stopped the horses under the tree, Ryan saw that he wasn’t alone with his straining on the horse. In fact, every single squire was to stiff to walk normally when they got off their horse. Ryan was the best of the lot; his experimentation in the saddle seemed to have paid off. The knights thought their feeble, bow-legged