Honor Found (The Spare Heir)

by Southwick, Michael

  “What goes here?” the Duke’s son asked.

  Jorem tilted his head slightly at the boy. “The boy attacked me from cover. He’ll be having a headache for a while but he’ll live, hopefully a bit wiser.”

  “And you are?”

  “Rim, to see Nethira.”

  One of the men behind Pertheron hissed through his teeth. Pertheron himself took half a step back.

  “Are you as good as she?” Pertheron asked.

  Jorem smiled at the question. “Not quite. I’m close, but not quite.”

  Pertheron glanced back at his men. “Know how hot the fire is before you jump in. Tanner, escort our guest to Lady Nethira’s quarters. You two take young Talbot to his room.”

  “You might mention to the lad how important it is to identify your quarry before you attack,” Jorem said to the men approaching the still growing boy.

  “That happens to be the Duke’s nephew,” Pertheron voiced hotly.

  “Even a prince should learn to respect those around him, wouldn’t you agree, sir?”

  Jorem’s blade hissed as it slid into the leather scabbard on his back. He took the other sword by the blade and held it out to Pertheron. Pertheron’s face darkened as he received the sword but he didn’t say a word as Jorem turned to follow his escort.

  Chapter VII

  Jorem’s escort led him deeper into the keep until they stood beside a dark stained wooden door. The lantern hanging outside the door cast dark shadows down the hallway. The guardsman knocked lightly on the door. The solid thud of his hand striking gave evidence to the solidity and thickness of the wood. If ever the keep were overrun they’d need a battering ram to gain access to every room.

  The door opened quietly but the man made no move to enter. Instead he bowed deeply. “Lady Nethira, a guest has arrived to see you,” he said quietly. With a nod to Jorem he turned and left the way he had come. Jorem peered through the doorway and saw Neth sitting at a desk with a quill in her hand. She didn’t say anything, just motioned for him to enter while she finished writing. The room was spacious yet sparse. A bed and closet in one corner and a comfortable chair to the side near a small hearth were the only furnishings other than the desk. Various weapons either hung on or were leaned against the walls.

  When Neth finally laid down her quill, Jorem looked at her quizzically. “Lady Nethira?” he asked.

  “Watch your tongue and close the door,” she said with a glare. “We each deal with our past in our own way, wouldn’t you agree?” Before he could respond, Neth stood and strode to the hearth. “Sit, we have much to discuss before I leave.”

  Jorem sat on the hearth while Neth sat down in the chair. She sat for a while without speaking, her blue eyes gazing at the flickering flames. With a deep sigh, she steepled her hands in front of her face and looked at Jorem. Even relaxed as she was right now he knew she was like a coiled spring.

  “I’ve family business I must attend to,” she said. “I’ll be leaving at first light.”

  “I could go with you,” Jorem said. “I—.

  “NO!” Neth barked. “I’m sorry Rim, but endangering a prince of the realm is not something I’m willing to do.”

  “What do you mean?” Jorem asked. He had never told her who he was. In fact, he’d gone to great lengths to hide his parentage. Only a select few knew that “Rim” was in truth Prince Jorem, fifth son to the King, and those few would not betray him.

  “Don’t worry, your secret is safe. You hide it well, but even when you’re beaten you face defeat as a true prince should. In truth, you’ve taught me as much with your silence as you have with your determination.”

  Jorem could see there was no point in arguing with her. “I’ve found that what a prince should be and what a prince is are two very different things. I need to find my own way. Who I am, whoever I become, I’m going to earn it. I’d appreciate it if you’d not tell anyone.”

  A sad smile played across Neth’s face. “I understand better than you know. No one will hear it from me.”

  Neth leaned back in her chair and propped her feet up near the fire. Her close-cropped sandy hair reflected golden from the fire’s flame. Jorem wasn’t sure what to say. Learning from her had been the most trying and the most rewarding thing he had ever done. He found himself wondering what he would do, where he would go.

  “Have you any plans?” Neth asked, breaking the silence that hung in the room.

  “I… I hadn’t really thought about it,” Jorem stammered.

  “The Duke is putting together a special squad, mostly scouts, to track down the mystery beast, the one the villagers are always talking about. Some say it’s a demon, others swear it doesn’t exist. The squad will be traveling with a division of the regular guard, sweeping some of the rougher areas for bandits.”

  Neth looked at him squarely. “Would you consider being part of the special squad? You’d be signing on as a scout.”

  Jorem considered the idea for a while. Neth remained silent while he weighed his options. He was in no way ready to return home. With Neth leaving, the best he could do here was to try finding someone else to train him. Finding someone of Neth’s abilities wasn’t likely to happen anytime soon.

  “Do you think it’s a good idea?” he asked

  “It would do you good,” Neth said bluntly. “You’ll be better than any of the rest with a sword and nearly as good at tracking. But you need experience, experience working with a group. You need experience dealing with fellow soldiers, commanders both good and bad and, well, learning what it’s really like to be a soldier. Until you can identify with the common foot soldier you can’t really lead them.”

  Neth’s words startled him for a moment. He hadn’t even considered leading anyone let alone that anyone would follow him. Working with a group of others though, that might not be a bad idea. Jorem considered it for a bit longer before agreeing. Of all the options he had this one felt like the right one. Perhaps it would not be the most enjoyable option, but at least it was headed in the right direction. Everything else felt like moving backward or stagnating.

  “No one will know who I am?” he asked.

  “Not from me,” Neth responded.

  “I can’t think of anything better to do at the moment. Why not?”

  They talked for some time about battle tactics, weapons, weather and terrain. Both were careful not to veer into personal topics. When Jorem finally stood to go, Neth stood with him. She folded a paper lying on the desk and handed it to him.

  “Report to the front gate at sunrise next second day. This is a letter of recommendation. It should get you on the squad.” In a gesture very unlike her, she laid her hand on his shoulder. “By whatever name you choose to wear, be true to yourself. Be well, my prince.”

  By the time Jorem left the keep, the sun had gone down and the stars twinkled brightly in the sky. The streets were empty. Water from the melting snow trickled down the sides of the roadways. As he wound his way through the dark streets and alleys he could only hope he didn’t get lost. The buildings looked so different at night. One thing that didn’t change, however, was the smell. As soon as the smell of fresh baked bread teased his senses he knew where he was. Rounding a corner he could see the familiar sight of Ohlof’s Bakery. Now more sure of where he was, Jorem strode confidently down the road. He was confident, that is, until a giant of a man came out of the shadows to block his way. Jorem slowed cautiously as he approached the large figure cloaked in darkness.

  “Be at ease, lad,” said a familiar masculine voice. “’Tis only I.”

  “Ohlof!” Jorem said in relief. “You nearly scared me out of a year of my life.”

  Now he was closer, the baker’s rotund form was obvious. Large he was indeed, but a threat only if he were to fall on you. Cassy’s father was one of the few truly good people Jorem had ever met. The man would gladly feed his greatest enemy from his own table and go hungry himself if needed. If all the people of the land could be like Ohlof there would never be anoth
er war.

  “Truth be told, Rim, for you I have been watching. ‘Tis of a matter I would speak with you.”

  The scene with Cassy earlier in the day flashed through Jorem’s mind. “Sir, if this is about Cassy, it’s alright.”

  Ohlof waved off Jorem’s comment. “Cassy is a good girl. Very young she is and much I have protected her from the world. For her all is either good or bad. Black and white, she sees it, no grey. Not all bad is this, but much she does not understand. Come, let us sit.”

  Together they walked over to the boardwalk. As the big man sat on the edge of the walk, the boards creaked and groaned. They sat in silence for a while as Ohlof gathered his thoughts. Jorem was in no hurry so he let the other take his time. Ohlof had been waiting for him, so the man must have something important to say. Jorem knew from his time with the wizard Pentrothe that patience and quiet were important aspects of a good listener.

  Ohlof finally gathered himself and began. “Carrying a weapon you are and more than one I suspect. A reason you have for this?”

  Jorem nodded in response, a motion nearly undetectable in the light of the torches. “There are people in this world who think nothing of others. They will attack and kill, or worse, for their own gain. I intend to stand between them and the people of this land. If they can be persuaded to peace with talk, I will talk. If they choose to bring sword against this land they will have to get through me before they can harm those for whom I care.

  “You are choosing to join the guard?”

  Jorem nodded again.

  “This I think is an honorable thing. Never have I seen you look for a fight. Always a gentleman have you been around my daughter. To stand and defend those who themselves cannot defend is looked upon with favor in the Book of One. To oppress, to fight for the sake of fighting, to bring harm for one’s own gain, this I would oppose, for the Book of One teaches peace, understanding of those who us are not like, and to care for those in need.”

  Jorem sat quietly while Ohlof spoke. The man’s sincerity touched him. It was obvious he held his beliefs dear as he spoke of them in a calm, moving voice. Jorem had heard many priests from the various religions speak, but few held the conviction of the man before him.

  “Always welcome you are in my house, at my table and at my hearth. Should you have need of shelter or friendship, here you will find it always.” Reaching into a pocket the baker pulled out a small object. “A small token I have for you. It is of the circle without end, as is the life that binds us each to the other. One are we, all who live and breathe. All are connected, and the deeds we do affect those around us whether we see it or no.”

  The ring of polished wood nestled warm in Jorem’s palm. The dim light from the lamppost reflected softly off the ring into the night. It was so beautiful for a simple circle of wood, rounded and smooth. A symbol of life made from life.

  “Thank you,” Jorem said softly. “Whenever I look upon it I will remember the kindness you have shown me.”

  “To know such men as you serve in the guard gives me hope for this land,” Ohlof responded. “When good men serve others the good will be felt by many, and many will see and know the good. Be watchful of yourself and fair thee well.”

  They stood and shook hands. The baker turned and entered his home. The door was only open for a brief moment yet the aroma of freshly baked goods filled the air. Jorem had no idea if he would ever see Ohlof or his family again. The thought put him in a melancholy mood. So many people drifted out of his life. So few kept in contact with him, and those he heard from only occasionally. With a sigh he shrugged off the feeling and headed down the road.

  A light breeze carried with it the scent of the coming planting season. Soon all would be green and fresh. The sides of the road to the inn were muddy, the road itself not much better. This last stretch of road between the town proper and the inn was a lonely one, especially this late at night. Lightly wooded on either side, all one could see were the trees, the road and a thin stretch of sky. Jorem breathed deeply the fresh, cool air of the country.

  He heard the wagon long before he saw it. The sounds it made were not the usual creaking and banging of a wagon. Those sounds were there, but an odd sloshing, clanking and whir added to its noise. As it got closer Jorem could make out some of the details of the contraption. Four huge beasts pulled the large wagon-like thing. The beasts appeared to be something between a workhorse, a bull and a bear. Considering the size of the thing they were pulling they had to be extremely powerful beasts. A wagon of this size would usually take at least a team of six or eight big horses.

  The wagon was shaped more like a ship than anything else. The front and back were both tapered and the sides were curved. Chains of some sort ran from the axles up the sides to small wheels mounted to the top. A white substance crusted along every crevice outlining each plank. Adding to the strangeness was a peculiar odor, musty yet tangy at the same time. Jorem had no idea what would cause such a smell.

  As the contraption drew abreast of him the driver made a cough-like sound and the whole thing ground to a halt. The beasts grunted and wheezed as they came to a stop. Peering up, Jorem spied a figure nestled in a small alcove atop the wagon. The figure leaned out over the side of the wagon to look down at him.

  “Pardon me, kind sir’” came a swarthy but youthful voice. “Might you know the way to the keep of Duke Rodney?”

  “I’ve just come from there,” Jorem replied

  “Perhaps you could help me then. I’m looking for Prince Jorem. Back at the inn they told he was to be found at the keep.

  Jorem hesitated for a moment unsure why anyone would be looking for him. “What business have you with the prince?” he asked.

  “That’s what they asked me at the inn. Prince Jorem must have impressed the lot of you as much as he did my uncle.”

  “Your uncle?” Jorem asked, more than a little baffled. He couldn’t think of anyone he’d impressed, let alone someone’s uncle.

  “Indeed,” a stocky built young man said as he climbed down the side of the wagon. “Prince Jorem sat with him and his family while they dined at the King’s table. From what I’m told they talked much of seafood and cattle. I don’t know much about all that, but I do recall the way my cousins spoke of how kind he was and the great stories he told them.”

  Jorem racked his mind trying to remember the event he was being told about. There had always been strangers visiting the palace and he’d spoken with many over the years. He vaguely recalled a conversation about seafood and cattle, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember who it had been with or any details about it.

  “Uncle Jaf insisted I bring a full load to Prince Jorem to repay him for his suggestion and insight,” the man continued, once he reached the ground. “Right here I have the freshest seafood to be found between here and the coast. So fresh it’s still alive.”

  “It’s still alive?” Jorem asked warily.

  “Yes sir, right inside here.” The man patted the side of the odd wagon. “It’s my father’s own invention. He and uncle Jaf worked on it for most of a year before they got it right. She’s water tight and as sturdy as any craft to sail the seas.”

  Jorem was torn as to whether he should admit to being Prince Jorem. The man had traveled far to bring this cargo to him. Then again, what was he to do with a wagonload of sea creatures? If the man spoke true of his load he need only make mention of it and he would have half the populace of Broughbor throwing their coin to him for a chance at it. Seafood was rare in these parts; fresh seafood was unheard of. With some surety that the man would not go away empty-handed, Jorem decided to keep his identity hidden for now.

  “I heard Prince Jorem had left for the capital,” Jorem said.

  The man’s shoulders slumped in disappointment.

  “Even so,” Jorem continued, “if you have fresh seafood you’ll have customers eager for a chance to buy some.”

  “It’s not so much the coin as the deed,” the man said. “Uncle Jaf sa
ys he owes the prince for the riches we have. It’s a debt he feels he has to pay. Well, if I don’t find Prince Jorem this trip, perhaps I’ll find him on the next.”

  “If you still want to go to the keep you’d best wait till morning. The streets of Broughbor are a tangled maze. I’ve just come from the keep and I’m not sure I could find my way back in the dark.”

  The man nodded his head in understanding. “It’s just as well I suppose. It’s been a long day and I’m weary from my travels. I’ll just find an out-of-the-way spot to get some sleep. Fair wind in thy sails, friend,” he said as he started climbing back up the side of the wagon.

  Chapter VIII

  It was but a few marks before midnight when Jorem came within sight of the inn. As he approached the door his left hip grew warm. Reaching down, he drew a slender dagger from a hidden seam in his pants. It was the dagger gifted to him on his first and only encounter with the Folk, a legendary people who lived outside of time in an unknown place they had created when they could no longer abide this world.

  The dagger was warm to the touch and gave off a slight hum. Jorem looked at the sky, the light from the moon and the position of the stars. Without knowing how or why, he knew that the strange behavior of the dagger meant that the Folk were coming. Their last visit resulted in the kidnapping and rescuing of Jannett, the blacksmith’s daughter. Many in this area feared the Folk and dreaded their midnight raids, though they happened but once a year.

  Stepping quickly through the door of the inn, Jorem found the commons room deserted. A low fire smoldered beneath a large pot of stew. The tables were cleaned and the floor recently swept. The patrons had either gone to their rooms or to their homes.

  Daisy, one of the servers at the inn, sat drowsily at the counter. She perked up a bit as Jorem approached.

  “Bit of a late night for you, isn’t it?” she asked.

  “That it is,” Jorem replied. “And I fear it has just begun.”