Honor Found (The Spare Heir)

by Southwick, Michael

  They battled back and forth for some time. Although still fast, Neth’s speed was slower than usual due to the deep snow, giving Jorem a little more time to react. He was beginning to think he might actually be able to hold his own when Neth launched a furious attack. It took every bit of concentration he had to deal with the onslaught.

  It was obvious to Jorem he was about to be defeated. He took a step back and bumped into a tree trunk. Snow cascaded off the branches of the tree. Both he and Neth were engulfed in snow. Jorem gasped as snow went down his neck, melting into a cold stream trickling down his back.

  Looking over at Neth, he saw she was no better off than he was. She was covered from the head down with snow. Snow was piled high on top of her head and shoulders. There was even snow on the tip of her nose. Jorem could easily see her as a legendary snow beast, especially with the deadly look she had on her face. Her fierce gaze would have been more effective if another branch hadn’t chosen that moment to release its load of snow onto the already covered mercenary.

  Jorem couldn’t help himself. He got the giggles. Maybe it was the many days of practice and training without a break. Whatever it was he could not stop laughing. Even when Neth threw a hand full of snow in his face he continued chuckling. In the blink of an eye they went from fierce combat to children having a snow fight. The snow didn’t pack well so there was little danger of injury. Soon they were both covered with snow and laughing at the other’s condition.

  It didn’t take long before they were both soaking wet and getting cold. Even so, they were both smiling by time they stopped throwing snow at one another.

  “We’d best get back to the inn before we freeze to death,” Neth said as she brushed the snow out of her hair. Although Jorem could feel the cold numbing his fingers, he felt good. Better than he had felt for some time. The crisp air felt good as he breathed it in. For the first time since Neth had started training with him he wasn’t stiff and sore. He had a number of bruises, but even those had ceased to ache.

  *****

  Back at the inn Jorem sat as close to the fire as he could. Neth had just left and would not be returning today. Taking a sip from a mug of hot cider Jorem relaxed as the warmth spread through his body. Without the usual afternoon training he was at loose ends for something to do. He was considering returning to his room when the innkeeper Biorne strolled over and sat down beside him. The little man was one of the few who knew Jorem to be one of the king’s sons.

  “A messenger from the keep brought a package for you. For Prince Jorem, that is,” Biorne said. “I left it on the desk in your room.”

  Biorne might be the shortest man Jorem had ever met, but his words held great wisdom. Over the past year and a half Jorem had learned to pay attention to what he said as well as what he didn’t say. It was very much like talking to Pentrothe. The old wizard had taught him to listen with his mind, not just his ears.

  “I’ve heard rumors of some troubles building off to the east.” Biorne leaned back into his chair as he spoke. “Might be the King needs you home to lead some of his troops.”

  Jorem thought about what Biorne said before responding. It was true that a member of the royal family led the kingdom’s soldiers into battle. Every soldier was assigned to one of the four divisions in the army and a member of the royal family was given charge of each division. No matter how you did the math with four division and five sons, you had a spare heir.

  Jorem took another sip of cider. “If it were that bad the Duke would be leading his troops to the capital by now. If there is word from my father it is likely a reminder not to break anything of value.”

  Biorne snorted at Jorem's sarcasm. “The clumsy boy the King left here grew into a man any father would be proud to call son.”

  They sat in silence for a while, enjoying the warmth of the fire. Jorem thought about his father and brothers. Things had been so much simpler when he was little. His brothers were his heroes and his father was the mighty King. Now the fairy tale bubble had burst and the pure and glamorous image he’d had of his family had faded to a dull, dingy cloth.

  He had never really fit in before and doubted he ever would. Perhaps it would have been different if his mother had lived past his birth. All he had to remember her by was an empty chair at the dining table and a painting he’d seen in his father’s private quarters.

  Finally Jorem shook his head and stood up. With a sad smile on his face he looked down at the innkeeper. “Any father but my own.”

  Biorne watched the young prince leave the room. Quietly he whispered “More the fool he. More the fool he.”

  Chapter V

  Jorem trudged his way through the melting snow as he headed for the Keep of the Duke of Broughbor. In all the time he had been here he had never visited the keep. He’d seen it in the distance on his few visits to the central part of town, but he’d not had any reason to go there.

  Even though the snow was still piled waist high on the sides of the road and grey clouds scuttled high above, Jorem felt warm inside. The package he’d received had contained letters from both Pentrothe the wizard, who had been both a father and a friend, and Jen the healer, who had taught him how to dance. It had been so good to hear from both of them that he had read the letters several times over.

  There had also been a note from the royal scribe conveying the king’s regards and wishes. The note’s main purpose had been to remind him that he was expected to uphold the family honor. The package had also included a gold crown for his expenses. That his father had had a scribe write the letter was just another reminder that the distance between them was more than physical.

  For the past few cycles, Neth had been teaching him how to move with stealth. The snow had gotten too deep for him to make his trek up the hill. Instead, they had been working out in the denser part of the forest where the snow was not so deep. It was like playing hide-and-seek except they were both trying to sneak up on each other to attack without warning.

  At first, the mercenary had compared his attempt at stealth to a tinker’s wagon rolling over a cobblestone road. Lately, either he was getting better or she was distracted. Several times he’d found her leaning against a tree staring off into the distance. When they battled, though, she was just as intense as ever. When they’d parted yesterday she had told him to meet her this morning at her quarters in the guard’s compound at the keep. She had given him sketchy directions on how to get there. “If you get lost just ask anyone and they’ll point you in the right direction,” she’d said.

  Whenever Jorem made a trip into Broughbor from the inn at the outskirts of town he made a point of stopping by Ohlof’s bakery. The man made the most amazing sandwiches Jorem had ever tasted.

  Ohlof the baker was a huge man easily as wide as he was tall and one of the nicest people Jorem had ever met. Stopping for a meal also gave him a chance to see Cassy, the baker’s daughter. She was a few years younger than him and the prettiest girl around.

  As he approached the bakery, Jorem saw quite a crowd gathered on the porch and waiting to get in. Well, if he couldn’t get a bite to eat at least he would say hello. As he neared the porch, he heard “Rim!” in a high clear voice. The crowd parted as a slim figure squirmed through.

  Cassy’s short brown hair bounced as she came down the steps. She was smiling brightly and her eyes sparkled as she rushed over to him. When she got closer her smile faded and a look of confusion came over her.

  “You’re… you’re wearing a sword,” she said dully. “Why would you wear a sword?”

  Jorem hadn’t even thought about it. Normally, when he came to town the most he carried was a staff. He was going to meet with Neth so he’d automatically put on his sword. With Neth he never knew when she’d test him. It was really only a practice sword without an edge, but it would be more than enough to cause injury.

  “I’ve been training with a mercenary for some time and I was on my way to meet her.”

  By the look of shock and revulsion on her face J
orem was certain he’d said something wrong. Usually when they were together Cassy did most of the talking. There wasn’t much he could say without confessing to being Prince Jorem anyway. One thing he was sure of, if Cassy knew he was a Prince, everyone would know.

  Cassy shook her head and took a step back. Whatever the problem was she was very upset about it. Her hands were balled into fists at her sides. She was looking at him as if he’d transformed into a monster. “The Book of One says it’s wrong to bring harm to another,” she said, still shaking her head.

  Jorem had read the Book of One. In fact, Pentrothe had seen to it that he’d read the writings of nearly all of the religious groups both in and out of the kingdom. “To understand a man you need to know what he believes, what he was taught as a child. A man’s concept of right and wrong is formed early and affects his actions throughout his life.” Pentrothe’s words echoed through his mind.

  “Doesn’t the Book of One also say if you can prevent another from being harmed and you do nothing it is the same as though you had caused the harm yourself?” Jorem asked.

  “That’s just an excuse,” Cassy said. “Father says all fighting is wrong. He prays every night for all weapons to be taken from the land. Without weapons men would have to live in peace.”

  Her words came out heated and hard, but immediately several things came to Jorem’s mind: Neth telling him that everything is a weapon if you know how to use it. Cob, or Jacobs as he now knew him, of the royal guard saying bandits seldom attack when they know you are armed and ready. Jen’s serious face as she said that pain was life’s way of telling you that you were still alive. Even a scene of the new guard recruits on the practice field training with sticks and rocks.

  All these things came to his mind but he knew that, to Cassy, they would make no difference.

  “Men believe what they choose to believe no matter what Gods they profess to follow,” Pentrothe had said so long ago. “Argue with them if you will, but you’ll sooner convince a fish to breath air. Only those who are seeking will hear words they do not already know.”

  By the look in her eyes Jorem knew that Cassy wasn’t seeking and that arguing would only serve to end a friendship.

  “Peace for all is a noble desire and something we should all work towards.” Jorem spoke softly but with conviction. “Until that day comes, there will be a need for defenders to protect the innocent.”

  A tear fell from Cassy’s eye and trickled down her face. “I like you Rim, but I can’t be with you if you follow that path.”

  It felt as though he’d been punched in the gut. Emotions warred inside him. Anger, fear and sadness nearly overwhelmed him. Something inside of him was dying and he couldn’t see any way of stopping it.

  What would Pentrothe say? The old wizard had taught him so many things, but few of those teachings dealt with girls. “When it comes to the heart, the mind has little to say. Throughout our lives we make choices and sometimes the options before us will bring sadness to ourselves and others. At those times we must use not only our knowledge but our hearts as well. We may not be happy with the outcome but at least we will be content in knowing our choices were the best we could make.”

  Pentrothe’s words whispered through Jorem’s mind. Another tear slid down the gentle curve of Cassy’s cheek. She could not be his friend if he followed the warrior’s path. He could accept that. It hurt, yes, but pain was something he had learned to deal with.

  “An old man once told me that when good men stand aside and do nothing, the chains of oppression shed their guise of peace and ensnare all men. I like to think that I am a good man.” Jorem’s words were soft, almost a whisper. “I will not stand aside. Whatever comes, I will be ready to face it, whether it is in battle or at an assembly for peace.”

  ”Cassy’s lip quivered and tears flowed freely down her face. “Goodbye, Rim,” she whispered.

  She turned, fled through the crowd and disappeared behind the bakery door. Jorem stood there in the middle of the road and watched her go. The smile left his face and all that was left was sadness.

  “I will always be your friend,” he whispered.

  The gray clouds were grayer. The warmth he had felt before was gone, replaced by a numbness that would likely remain for some time to come.

  Chapter VI

  The Keep of Broughbor was at roughly the center of the city. Getting there through the maze of winding roads, dead ends and roads that circled back on them selves, proved to be a bit of a challenge. Getting anywhere in Broughbor was a challenge for someone not born there. Jorem was certain there was a shorter route than the way he was going, but every time he’d asked for directions he’d gotten confused and had to backtrack to the main road. By the time he arrived at the keep it was already near midday.

  As Jorem approached the outer walls of the keep, he felt dwarfed by their size. Shear walls of gray stone towered over him at least four or five times his height. Guards patrolled along the top and bottom of the walls, keeping watch on all that transpired near the keep. He felt the guards’ gaze follow him as he walked toward the main gate. No one loitered about without a guardsman asking what their business was and promptly directing them on their way.

  After a few questions, the guards waved him through the gate. They had eyed his sword until he’d shown them the blunted edges. One of the guards told him to follow the main hallway to the servants’ wing. The man stood watching to be sure he didn’t wander off. Jorem thought it odd they’d sent him to the main keep, but you just don’t argue with a bunch of heavily armed guardsmen.

  The keep crouched like a giant caged beast within its protective walls. Gray and sulking, the building looked to have been carved from a single stone. The few windows he could see were mere slits no more than a hand span in width. The entire place was built for defense. Jorem tried to imagine what it would take to successfully attack the keep. That’s when the confusing maze of streets started to make sense. By the time an army got to the keep, they would be strung out all over the city. They would be easy pickings for a few skilled archers and stealthy huntsmen.

  Entering through thick iron-bound doors, Jorem found himself in a large hallway running the full length of the building. The walls were of the same grey stone that made up the outer walls of the building. There were numerous doors to either side of the hallway, though most were closed. Candles to the side of each doorway gave ample illumination for the hall.

  The air in the hall held a slight chill, another deterrent for those who liked to linger. The sound of each of his steps echoed up and down the length of the hallway. Not an easy place to sneak about, Jorem thought. Even trying to walk quietly, his footfalls sounded loud in his ears.

  He was just passing an open doorway when he heard a rustling coming towards him. The area beyond the doorway was dark and the light from the hallway did little to penetrate the darkness. Steel on leather, leather on stone, and silk on silk. The sounds registered in his mind as he sprang further down the hall away from the darkened doorway. Spinning and turning with such speed and grace he surprised himself almost as much as his attacker.

  Sword met sword with a clang that echoed down the hall. Jorem didn’t think, nor did he pause. His body responded almost of its own accord. All of the training Neth had been pounding into him came forward and he let it flow through him. It was almost as if he were an observer, watching someone else wielding his sword.

  His opponent was shorter and stockier. Within three heartbeats Jorem knew the fighter was younger than he, but well trained. Not on the level of Neth—not even close. It was probably a squire, a page or a son of a local lord. This would definitely be the last time this boy jumped out and attacked a stranger without warning.

  With a lunge, a twist and an elbow strike, Jorem laid the attacker out on the floor. He had just set the point of his sword on the boy’s chest to get his attention when a trio of men burst into the hall. All of them were armed and none of them looked happy.

  With a step and a
crouch, Jorem retrieved the attacker’s sword. Neth hadn’t trained him a lot with twin-sword work, but what he’d learned he liked. Still crouching, Jorem studied the three men. As they moved toward him he noted an imbalance in the walk of one, stiffness in the shoulders of another and a slight hesitance in the third. All of these weaknesses could be exploited and all gave avenues of attack.

  The detached part of him was amused at his own reaction. Not that long ago he would have turned and fled in terror, possibly wetting himself on his way. Now, not only was he standing his ground, he was fairly confident he could take all three of them. An old man’s voice whispered in his mind, “Overconfidence cost many a battle.”

  One of the men tightened his grip on his sword. The man to the right led out with his left rather than his right. The third had a belt scabbard hanging slightly askew. Small things until combined together. Feinting to his right and they would be in each others way. Follow that with a low attack to the right and they would become entangled, easily disarmed and defeated. A slight groan off to his side assured him that the boy was in no shape to cause any difficulties.

  Suddenly, a door behind the approaching men slammed open. All three of the men whirled around at the sound then instantly jumped to the sides of the hallway and stood rigidly at attention. Walking stormily past them came a figure Jorem had not seen for some time. He was tall and lean, a man accustomed to fighting and being in charge.

  Pertheron, the son of Duke Rodney, walked past the men without so much as a glance. Jorem remained as he was, watching. “Knife left sleeve, dagger right hip, knife right ankle, mail shirt, anger and arrogance. Not easy, but doable.” Jorem thought as he smiled. Pertheron, still some distance away, stopped. Warily, he glanced at the boy still lying on the floor.