All talking stopped in the room as the weapons master entered. He was dressed in dark gray and could have passed for a shadow. Weapons Master Gregorio was the tallest man Jorem had ever seen. His hair was black, cut short, with a sprinkling of gray at the temples. His mustache and goatee were also short and showed a bit more graying than his hair. Jorem’s first impression of the weapons master was all angles and hardness.
“Form up!” shouted the weapons master. The men quickly sorted themselves into three rows facing the weapons master. Jorem took a place at the back, not at all sure what to expect. “I was expecting young Prince Jorem to join us today.” The weapons master’s voice was not rough and gravelly as Jorem had expected, but soft and smooth like the sound of a well-oiled sword sliding out of a leather scabbard.
“Perhaps he finds his brothers’ training more to his liking,” remarked one of the men in the front of the room. Jorem thought he had seen him in the castle before and presumed him to be the son of one of the many Lords that had residence there.
“Aye, an ale in one hand whilst the other reaches fer a wench.” Jorem recognized that voice as one of the guardsmen he’d heard on the path earlier.
“Trenton!” The young man who had spoken first flinched as the Weapons Master Gregorio spoke his name. “I seem to have left a strap of leather at the western guard post. Fetch it for me and be quick about it.”
Trenton shrugged as he started for the door. The western guard post was a good five miles away. “And Trenton”, the weapons master added, “As it’s such a fine day and you’ve such energy, you had best go afoot.”
Trenton visibly sagged as he reached for the door. “Jacobs, you had best accompany Lord Haliver’s son to keep him out of mischief,” the weapons master said as if it were a trivial thing. The guard, whose remark had followed Trenton’s, let out a sigh, turned and left the arena with Trenton.
“Now then, if there is no more foolery to be had, have any of you see Prince Jorem today?” asked Gregorio.
“I’m here sir,” Jorem said quietly, half afraid he had done something wrong.
The room went deathly silent. No one moved, no one looked, no one even breathed. The weapons master moved to stand before Jorem. As Gregorio stood looking down at him, Jorem’s first thought was “How does he move so quietly?” followed by “I’m dead”.
The tension in the arena was so high that when the weapons master spoke it was as if a whip had cracked. Although he spoke just above a whisper, in the silence it sounded much louder.
“Although Jacobs should know better, Trenton is young and oft his mouth starts running before he thinks. I would ask that you not begrudge him his remarks.”
With a start Jorem realized that they were expecting him to cause trouble for Trenton and Jacobs. Thinking of his brothers he could see any one of them demanding that punishment be meted out for a far lesser offense.
“Sir,” Jorem’s voice quivered a bit, “they believed themselves to be among trusted friends when they spoke, and if what I have heard of late has truth in it, I cannot blame them for what was said. Perhaps you might have a word with them. They should be aware of all those who might hear before speaking ill of another.” With a bit of a smile Jorem realized that what he had said was almost word for word one of Pentrothe’s lectures.
Weapons Master Gregorio looked at Jorem with mild surprise. With a nod of his head he said, “Very well Prince Jorem, I will see to it personally.” Everyone in the room relaxed a bit and a few exhaled breath that had been held in expectation of disaster.
Clasping his hands behind his back Gregorio relaxed his stance. “So, Prince Jorem, as this is your first time with us, we must decide how to start. Tell me, what do you know of self defense, fighting and combat?”
“Please sir, just Jorem. I’ve read a lot about wars of the past and the tactics that were used, but as for actually doing the fighting, I’m afraid I don’t know much. The records don’t go into that much detail. As for self defense, the only thing I’ve found that works is to run faster than my brothers or hide in places they can’t find me.”
The weapons master looked at Jorem as if he expected something more. What else could he say? He didn’t dare make anything up. Besides, Pentrothe had told him more than once not to pretend to knowledge he didn’t have. “If people find you don’t know the things you say you know, they will have no confidence in you when there is need.” So he just looked up at the weapons master and waited.
Gregorio nodded his head, looked thoughtful for a moment and then began pacing up and down the rows of men.
“Retreat from a superior force is a sound tactic, but not one that can always be used. Sometimes a soldier must stand and fight, knowing he might lose or even die. Here you will learn how to be better than those you might face. You will learn to duel with honor and precision. As you have no knowledge of fighting you will have no bad habits to unlearn. All will be new. Learned right the first time is always best.
“We will start you with basic stances and foot work. Defensive moves to begin with. Did you bring a sword and helm, a shield perhaps? We don’t want any accidental injuries.” When the weapons master said this he was looking more at the other men than he was at Jorem.
“I brought all of my gear sir, but I didn’t think it proper for training with.” Jorem could feel his cheeks color and hoped no one would notice.
“Bring them here and we’ll have a look at them.”
Jorem hurried over to the bench and reached into the bag to get his helm. As he pulled it out he winced at how brightly the lights reflected off of its shiny surface. For as excited as he had been to wear it this morning, now he was almost embarrassed for the others to see it. Picking up his sword and shield, Jorem walked back to the weapons master and held them out to him.
Weapons Master Gregorio took the sword and inspected blade, grip and pommel. “Definitely a beautiful weapon. It’s light, strong and well balanced. Not a blade meant for daily use. A gift from the King, is it not?”
“Yes sir.” Jorem nodded as he replied.
The weapons master looked closely at the gem studded grip and then down at Jorem. “Hold up your hand,” he said in a commanding tone. Slightly confused, Jorem did as he was told and held a hand up.
Grasping Jorem’s hand Gregorio ran a thumb across the palm. Jorem’s body twitched in reaction to the feel of the rough calloused hands of the weapons master rubbing against his smooth palm. Years of wielding a sword and a myriad of other weapons had left the man’s hands with layers of calluses and a grip of iron.
The weapons master’s lips compressed together. “That will not do,” he said. “As this is a gift from the King you must wear it and there is no sense wearing a sword you cannot use. For now your hands are too soft to wield it for long, so until they are toughened up a bit, have the grip wrapped in doeskin. It will have a better grip without the bite. Choose a practice sword from the rack over there. Your helm you will wear.”
Jorem looked down at his helm then back up at the weapon master. “It’s a bit ummm shiny for this isn’t it sir?”
“It will mark you as a Prince,” said Gregorio as he looked at each of the men in the room, “so that those who practice with you will have care with their strokes and not risk injuring a son of the King.”
“Sir,” Jorem said hesitantly, “I understand that there are risks in wielding a sword. The healers were very detailed in their chronicles of the last few wars. I’m not afraid of getting hurt, but if the others hold back in my training I won’t” Jorem realized that his hand was beginning to cramp from holding his helm so tightly. Taking a breath to relax a little he continued, “A friend of mine told me that the best metal comes from the hottest forge. I’ll work hard and follow orders sir, but if they hold back in my training, I won’t ever be good at this, and sir, I want to be good at this!”
There was a slight twitch to the corner of Gregorio’s mouth that might have been a smile. “I believe I know this friend of yours and
he speaks well of you. I’ll do what I can for you but you must understand this, the care I speak of was not for you. If any man here injured you his life would be forfeit, as would mine.” Again his gaze crossed the eyes of every man in the room. “Now fetch a sword and we will begin.”
Jorem walked over to his bag of armor and set his sword beside it. As he walked over to the rack of swords, he could feel the others in the room watching him. None of them actually turned toward him, but they watched him nonetheless. “So many swords, which one should I use” he thought. Jorem glanced back to see that Gregorio was watching him. “He’s testing me. Great! No pressure!”
Jorem turned back to the swords. “The trainees used sticks at first, but I don’t see any sticks sooo, the next best thing would be.” Reaching out he grasped the hilt of one of the wooden swords. It was heavier than it looked for being made of wood. The edges and the point had been blunted. As he drew the sword from the rack, Jorem saw that it was a bit longer than his own sword and that it had numerous dents and scrapes along the blade. The grip was darkened from the sweat of the many hands that had held it.
When Jorem turned back to the room he saw Gregorio give him a slight nod. He almost dropped the sword when the weapons master barked, “Pair up! Jeseph, I want you to work with Jorem. Basic defense moves and evasion. Light contact and focus on stance and sword positions.” With that the weapons master began moving from pair to pair, giving instructions as he went.
A young guardsman approached Jorem, his tunic coloring marking him as a palace guard. The guard gave Jorem a deep formal bow then stood stiffly erect. “Your Highness, I am Sir Jeseph, son of Lord Andrew. I am to show you the basic moves for defense against an armed opponent.”
What followed for the next half mark was Sir Jeseph explaining a variety of stances, movements and terms that left Jorem more confused than anything. It might have been less confusing if Jeseph hadn’t begun and ended every sentence with “Your Highness,” “Prince” or “Sire.” With grim determination Jorem did his best to keep everything sorted out in his mind, though he quickly lost track of which terms belonged to which moves.
Next, Jeseph began instructing Jorem on how to position his body and sword for each of the stances. To everyone else in the arena it was most likely very amusing. Each time Jeseph used a royal honorific, Jorem would grit his teeth. Each time Jorem’s uncooperative body would refuse to move as instructed, Jeseph looked confused and perplexed.
“Let’s try feint and evade,” Jeseph said with a little bit of exasperation in his voice. “Hold your sword in the guard position. A little higher Your Highness. Sire, if you could turn the sword slightly so that the edge is toward me. Very good, Your Highness. Now then Sire, take one step forward then two steps back. As you step back allow the tip of your sword to move slightly away from your body.”
Dutifully Jorem took one step forward, focused on moving his sword point away from himself, stepped back onto his own foot and fell backward with a thump onto his posterior. Jeseph looked shocked. “Your Highness, are you alright? This is totally my fault. I am so sorry. Are you injured?”
Jorem looked up to see Jeseph wringing his hands, his eyes wide and an expression of pure panic on his face. Without thinking Jorem retorted, “So, it’s your fault that I am a complete klutz. And all this time I thought it was me.”
With that Jorem began to laugh and every time he looked up and saw the bewildered face of Jeseph he laughed harder. What Jorem had said slowly began to sink in and Jeseph’s expression changed from complete shock to one of amusement. Soon both boys were laughing.
“Is there a problem here?” The weapons master’s voice cut though their mirth instantly.
“I’m sorry sir. I tripped and fell. I fear I may have injured my pride,” Jorem said. Jeseph’s face turned red with the effort of trying not to laugh.
“More practice, less foolery!” Gregorio shook his head, turned and moved to another pair of guardsmen.
Picking himself up off of the floor, Jorem stood squarely in front of Jeseph. “Jeseph, my name is Jorem, not Prince, not Sire, and certainly not Your Highness. The rumors that I’m sure you’ve heard that I am a bit clumsy are at least partly true. My mind and my body don’t often agree. I’ve dreamt of being a warrior for as long as I can remember. I’ve studied tactics from the writings of some of the greatest leaders of the past. This is something I want to do, maybe I can even do some good.”
“But you’re a Prince.” The confusion in Jeseph’s voice was obvious.
“And you’re the son of a Lord. Shouldn’t you be training to take you father’s place?”
“My older brother will follow father.”
“Right, and I have four older brothers. I’m a spare—the spare heir as my brothers are fond of saying. I’m not needed here, not by most.”
“Sire, that’s not true.”
“Jorem, my name is Jorem. I’ve heard the whisperings at court my whole life. Even the servants avoid me when they can. ‘One less heir and we’d still have a queen.’ That’s not exactly the way I want to be remembered. I need to be good at this,” Jorem held up the sword for emphasis. “Really good.”
Jeseph looked at Jorem as if he were trying to see what was on the inside. “You’re serious?” He asked.
“Yes, I’m serious.”
“You’re not at all like your brothers!”
“I’ll take that as a compliment and I’m sure my brothers would as well,” Jorem said with a laugh. “So, will you help me?”
“You mean treat you like any other trainee, complete with beating, bashing and abuse?” Jeseph asked with obvious doubt.
“If that’s what it takes. Just keep the bruises where my clothes will cover them. Father tends to be a bit over zealous about protecting his family.”
“Why not?” Jeseph shrugged. “After all, how many guys get to whack a prince on a regular basis? Let’s get back to what went wrong with that last move. It should be a simple one, I mean it’s the same as the opening step in the hunting dance.”
“I ummm… I don’t know how to dance.”
“But you’re a Prince.”
“Right, I guess I had better look that up in my scrolls of proper princely behavior.”
“Okay, okay, I get it, no dancing. Hey that gives me an idea. I’ll work left handed and you mirror everything I do. Kind of like dancing.”
“What’s the worst that could happen? I might fall flat on my, oh wait, I already did that.”
An hour later Jorem’s arms felt like lead weights. Sweat was running down his back and his hair was plastered to his face. He had never worked this hard in his life. Holding the wooden sword up took all of the determination he had. Holding it steady, well, that wasn’t going to happen. The sword tip was drooping again and his legs began to tremble with fatigue.
“Enough!” shouted the weapons master. “Ten times around the practice grounds, then back to your duties.”
“What does that mean?” Jorem whispered to Jeseph.
“Running. It’s even easier than dancing. Put your sword back in the rack and let’s go.”
Jorem was just finishing his fifth time around when the others had finished ten. His lungs were burning and his legs felt like mush. There was a pain in his side that made breathing next to impossible. He was just starting to stagger a sixth time around the practice ground when a hand grasped his shoulder. Turning, he found himself looking up into the face of the weapons master.
“That will do for today. Gather up your things and go see if the cook has something to quiet the beast I hear inside you,” said Gregorio as he turned Jorem toward the arena door and gave a light push. “Tomorrow bring only your helm and sword. No sense in hauling armor back and forth until you have need of it.”
When Jorem lifted his bag of armor it seemed as if it had doubled in weight. Thinking that perhaps someone was playing a joke on him, he looked inside the bag, but it only held his armor.
“I can have a servant take th
at to your rooms if you would like,” Weapons Master Gregorio said.
“I brought it down, I’d best take it back. The servants are busy enough without having to pick up after me.” Jorem swung the bag over his shoulder and headed out the door.
He had just started up the path to the palace when Jeseph jogged up behind him. “Jorem, I was thinking, a lot of the moves we’ll be doing are just like dance steps. So if you learned how to dance maybe you wouldn’t have such a hard time with the moves I’m teaching you. So what do you say, do you want to learn to dance?”
“You want to teach me to dance?” Jorem asked a bit bewildered.
“Well, not me, my sister. Mom made her learn to dance when she was little. She’s really good—a bit intense since she found out she has the healing gift, but a really good dancer. I didn’t realize how much it helped with sword work until I watched you. You need to learn to move more smoothly, more gracefully. That’s what dancing is really, following patterns as smoothly as possible. So, what do you say? Want to give it a try?”
“Do you really think it will help?”
“Couldn’t hurt could it? Besides, a prince really should know how to dance.”
“Okay, okay! If you’re sure your sister won’t mind. I’ll give it a try.”
“Great! Meet me at my parents’ suite about half a mark after the evening meal.”
“Right, half a mark after evening meal at Lord Andrew’s suite. See you there.”
With a wave Jorem started back toward the palace. He needed to get cleaned up and have a bite to eat before meeting with Pentrothe and Lady Zensa. It wouldn’t do to have his stomach growling, especially if they decided to do some spell casting.
Chapter III
Pentrothe knew more than anyone Jorem had heard of, but Lady Zensa seemed to have been everywhere. She was always talking about creatures that most people thought to be mere legend and far away places Jorem had never even heard of. She was also the most striking woman Jorem had ever met. Long dark hair framed her dark, delicate features, golden skin and emerald green eyes that could entrance any that looked into them.
HONOR BOUND (The Spare Heir) Page 2
