HONOR BOUND (The Spare Heir)

by Southwick, Michael G.

  Zensa paused to consider the best way to explain. “It isn’t the death of the body that is the main concern. Man has been killing man since they first arrived on Devedna. It is the essence, or soul if you will, that concerns us. The essence does not die, it continues on without end. In this we agree with the priests. Where the essence goes after the body dies is as yet debatable. But what if it were trapped? Blocked from journeying to its destination? That is what the Forbidden does, but even worse is that once trapped the essence can then be drained of power. Unable to escape, it is helpless in an unending void.

  “There are ancient writings of a mage who was trapped in a Forbidden for a day and then released. Apparently tampering with unknown magic is irresistible to some.” This Zensa said with a glance at Pentrothe. “The mage wrote of the experience as if it were years not just a day. He wrote of excruciating pain and the total absence of hope.

  “His descriptions of the experience are very similar to how many priests describe hell. The Forbidden has no other purpose. In and of itself some may not consider it to be evil. The only reason for which it has been used is to steal power from mages to be used in the control and domination of others. For this reason dragons chose to lock it away. If Pentrothe is right and someone has found one and is using it, there may be terrible days of darkness ahead.”

  “The hour grows late,” Pentrothe said, placing his hand on Jorem’s shoulder. “Zensa and I have much to discuss that would bore a young man. Off with you now or you will miss your evening meal.”

  Not wanting to leave but knowing a dismissal when he heard one, Jorem took his leave of Pentrothe and Lady Zensa. Heading down to the main hall, Jorem realized that he was indeed quite hungry, even though his head was still buzzing with what he had just learned.

  Chapter V

  Even as often as Jorem was in the main hall, it still seemed enormous to him. Banners representing the various duchies and districts in the kingdom and elaborate tapestries depicting historical events and people hung on the walls. A large fireplace on the far wall was kept lit to add warmth and comfort except on the hottest days of the summer. The immense stone from which the castle was constructed kept the edifice cool nearly all year long.

  For the evening meal, several tables had been brought in with one being on a raised platform near the fire for the King and his closest advisors. The remaining tables had been placed orderly about the hall for others to seat themselves at as they wished. One chair at the raised table was always left empty. Whenever the King was asked about this oddity he always answered, “To remind us of compassion, concern and tenderness. That is what my queen brought to my life and what I miss most in it now.” Jorem truly hated being in the vicinity when his father spoke of it.

  Usually Jorem sat with his brothers for the evening meals so that he could listen to their tales of duels and bravery. Today he decided that might not be a good idea. He hadn’t realized how much those tales had meant to him until they had been proven to be false. His brothers were the heroes, or at least they had been. He still wanted them to be the heroes he’d thought them to be. It was only now that he realized how much hearing the talk of the guards at practice had hurt.

  The hall quickly began filling with the Lords, Ladies and families of those who lived at or were visiting the castle. Jorem sat at one of the side tables so as to be less conspicuous—out of sight, out of mind, or so he hoped, a task hopefully aided by the large number of visitors. Mostly they were Lords of outlying areas and a few trade masters hoping to curry favor with the King.

  The King and his advisors entered the hall without ceremony. This was an informal meal. The pomp and circumstance for more formal events was dreary and time consuming. Once the King was seated, servants emerged from the kitchen bearing platters piled with roast and potatoes. Other servants bustled from table to table ensuring that everyone had sufficient ale, wine or spring water to go with their meal.

  The conversation in the room ranged from a mild hum to just under a loud roar. Most of the tables near Jorem were fairly quiet. He was seated with a family that, judging by their clothes and accent, were from somewhere near the western border by the sea. The two boys were eating their meals as if they thought someone might take it away before they got their fill. Of the two girls, both younger than the boys, one seemed to be savoring every bite while the other was more intent on watching everything in the room. The parents spent most of their time trying to keep their children under control. Jorem sat directly across from the father.

  “Jaf,” said the woman, “this meal must cost enough to feed our entire village for a month. It’s not even a holiday. Why would they be serving such costly food?”

  “Maybe they heard we were here and fixed something special,” spouted one of the boys through a mouthful of roast.

  “Quiet, Pell,” said the father. “It does seem a bit odd. Perhaps it’s a local holiday or something of the sort. I’m sure there’s a good reason.”

  “Is this how our taxes are spent? So that a few privileged people can have the best while everyone else must be satisfied with what they can gather from the earth?”

  “Now Em,” Jaf said, “your making it sound as if everyone is starving. We have plenty and so does everyone else in the village.”

  “But Jaf, you saw all of those people on the street the same as I did. People begging for scraps of food, and here we sit eating such rich food. It’s wrong, Jaf.”

  Having overheard some of the Lords at court discussing the beggars in the city, Jorem decided that he should say something.

  “Excuse me, but those beggars you saw, did you offer them some food?”

  The woman looked a bit startled. As though she hadn’t realized there was someone besides her family at the table. “Why, no,” she said. “I gave a few coppers to a few. That’s really all we had to spare.”

  Jorem smiled at her and said, “Next time try offering a slice of bread or a piece of fruit. Most of them won’t take it. They only want money. Oh, there are a few that are truly in need, but most of those you saw beg for a living. There are some men that pay them to beg for money. I’ve heard they do quite well, better than many.”

  “I find that hard to believe,” Jaf’s eyebrows rose at Jorem’s words.

  “It’s easy enough to see,” Jorem continued. “At days end, as the lamp men are lighting the street lights, watch where the beggars go. You have to watch closely because they don’t want anyone to know, but if you’re careful, you’ll see them getting into carriages. Every morning, before daylight, they are dropped off at their corners, and every night after sundown, they’re picked up.”

  “Are you trying to tell me that there are no poor in this city?” Em asked in an accusing voice.

  “No, ma’am,” Jorem answered. “I’m told that in every area there are those that have more and those that have less. It’s the responsibility of those that have more to help those that have less, especially those with nothing. The hard part is figuring out which ones really need help.”

  “What about this food?” asked Em. “I’ll not begrudge the King a fine meal, but what about all the rest. Surely everyone needn’t eat such extravagant food.”

  “This?” Jorem said pointing at the food on his plate. “Beef and potatoes are the most plentiful foods in the area. If you go to any of the local inns you’ll find they are serving much the same foods. The cook here at the castle does have a knack for adding just the right spices though.”

  “You’re telling me you have beef all the time?” Em asked incredulously.

  “Not every meal, no,” Jorem said with a laugh. “We have pork and chicken as well, and occasionally some fish. Beef is the most common because it is less expensive.”

  “That’s a bit hard to take in,” said Jaf. “We don’t have beef more than a dozen times a year. Where we are from, beef is quite rare and very expensive.”

  “Where are you from?” asked Jorem.

  “We’re from Sunrise,” Jaf answered. “It’s
a small coastal village in the west.”

  “It’s a beautiful place, right next to the ocean.” The pride in Em’s voice was obvious. “Jafrey is the head of the village council.”

  “So being right next to the ocean, I guess you have seafood the same way we have beef,” Jorem stated.

  “Well, yes,” Em said with a sigh. “It would be boring, but there are so many different kinds.” Seeing the interest in Jorem’s eyes, she continued. “There’s herd fish, that’s what we catch the most of. Then there’s pink fish, white fish, and rockfish, just to name a few. But there’s more than just fish. There are clams, crabs, squid, eels, skimmers, not to mention tubers and sea lettuce.”

  “I’ve had herd fish a few times and pink fish once.” Jorem’s mouth watered at the memory of the flavorful pink meat. “Father said that it was terribly expensive to get it here. It’s a shame that there isn’t a way to ship the fish here and the beef there. But I suppose it would be difficult to keep fish fresh for the time it would take to get it here. I’ve heard of crab before from my Father. He said it was like prying gold from rocks. Does it really taste as wonderful as he said?”

  Em was delighted to find someone interested in what was apparently one of her favorite topics. She went on to explain the different ways to cook the various denizens of the sea. Jorem was amazed that anyone could talk so much and still manage to eat a meal. Jafrey, on the other hand, had become very quiet and was making notes on a paper he had pulled from his pocket.

  A hush had fallen over the hall and Jorem looked up to see his Father standing. The King often chose the end of evening meal to make announcements and to discuss minor matters that concerned him. Jorem hadn’t heard any rumors from the servants so he didn’t know what was on the King’s mind any more than anyone else. Everyone in the room looked to the King expectantly. Only the King’s advisors looked on with disinterest.

  King Halden was tall with broad shoulders, the image of power and authority. His dark hair was thinning only slightly, with touches of gray on the edges. The resemblance of Jorem’s older brothers to the King was obvious. Jorem, on the other hand, had a smaller build. Often he had been told that he looked like his mother. Jorem had seen the pain in his father’s eyes whenever anyone compared him to his mother. That was when he had realized that he would never be as close to his father as his brothers were. It was difficult to accept at first but after a while it didn’t hurt so much.

  “Weapons Master,” the King said, his voice easily carrying to the extent of the hall.

  Weapons Master Gregorio stood up at one of the tables near the King, “Yes, Your Highness?”

  “Prince Jorem began his training with you today. What say you of his skill?”

  Gregorio paused a moment as if considering his words. “Great,” thought Jorem. “Announce to the entire kingdom that the King’s youngest son is a bumbling idiot who should be kept away from sharp pointy objects.” It wouldn’t be the first time he’d disappointed his father.

  “He has unusual metal for one so young, Your Highness.” Weapon Master Gregorio’s voice cut into Jorem’s thoughts. “His judgments are sound if a bit unsure.”

  “Yes, well, do what you can for him,” the King said as if discussing a lame horse. “If nothing else a bit of physical training should reduce the number of accidents in the castle.”

  The King turned to face the table where Jorem’s brothers sat. Finding only four of his five sons, the King scowled. Jorem hunched a little lower in his chair.

  “Where is Jorem?” the King asked in an angry tone of voice.

  Jorem winced when the King called his name. “So much for being inconspicuous.” “Here Father,” he said as he stood. He could feel the heat of his face coloring as everyone in the room turned to look at him.

  “Ah, there you are. I thought perhaps you were locked away with that confounded wizard again.”

  Jorem gritted his teeth. He hated it when anyone belittled Pentrothe, especially when it was his father.

  “When last I saw Pentrothe he was discussing something with the Lady Dragon Mage Zensa.”

  The King flinched slightly at the mention of the Dragon Mage. Even the King knew better then to speak badly of a Dragon Mage. Getting the most powerful mages in the land irritated with you was well known to be bad for your health.

  “Very well then,” Jorem’s father blustered in an attempt to regain control of the situation. “See that you mind the weapons master. I trust your brothers are helping you with your training.”

  Jorem glanced at his brothers and saw their warning looks. He could read their thoughts as if they had been shouted at him. ’Betray us and you may not see tomorrow!’ “My brothers are as helpful in my weapons training as they have been in all aspects of my life.” Sometimes telling the truth in just the right way was far more effective than a lie.

  Jorem’s father opened his mouth as if to say something more. Then his mouth closed and his lips pressed together. He looked at Jorem for a moment more, nodded his head and took his leave of the hall.

  When Jorem sat down to finish his meal, he found the family he’d been dining with looking at him as though he had transformed into a purple frog. Em’s eyes were bulging. She began babbling an apology, something about speaking to a “Prince” about fish when Pell, the older of the two boys, blurted, “Do you really know a Dragon Mage?”

  Eager to avoid another round of “Princing,” Jorem pounced on the subject. “Indeed, I do. She comes to visit a friend of mine, the wizard Pentrothe.”

  “She?” asked the girl next to Pell. “I’ve never heard of a Lady Dragon Mage. What’s she like?”

  Ignoring their mother’s consternation, Jorem began telling the four children about Zensa. As Zensa was one of his favorite things to talk about, he found himself quite enjoying the conversation. He told them a few of the stories Zensa had shared with him of strange places and stranger creatures. Every time he tried to stop, they begged for more.

  At the end of one of the tales, the younger boy, Teri asked him “Are you really a prince?”

  The way he asked the question was so serious that Jorem felt the need to answer him as well as Zensa had answered his own questions.

  “They tell me that I am and as the King is my father, I suppose that it’s true.”

  “You don’t look like a prince,” Pell stated curiously.

  Jorem looked down at himself and laughed. “No, I don’t suppose I do. I’ve just come from a lesson with Pentrothe and it appears that I spent a bit of time tumbling about the floor.”

  “What’s it like, being a prince, I mean?” asked Shanell, the older daughter.

  “I’m the King’s fifth son so I won’t be the next King. For that matter I won’t be a duke or even a count. All it really means is that people call me prince this and prince that and never really listen to a thing I say. Most of the time I feel about as needed as…” Jorem paused to think of something they would understand, “about as useful as a fishermen with two broken arms.”

  “Uncle Fren broke both of his arms once,” Teri piped up. “He spent the whole summer teaching us kids about knots and currents and winds and things.”

  “There, you see.” Jorem said with a chuckle. “I’m not even that useful.”

  “So what do you do?” asked Pell.

  “Mostly I try to stay out of trouble. That and lessons on history, protocol and sword work.”

  “You mean a prince has to take lessons too? I hate lessons, especially letters and figuring.” The sour look on Pell’s face communicated his sentiments even more than his words.

  Jorem smiled at the boy’s response and noted the exasperated look on his mother’s face. Reaching over, he tousled Pell’s hair. In a blink he could see himself having a very similar talk with Pentrothe a few years ago.

  “A friend of mine once told me that if you try to learn how to fight in the field of battle it would likely be a very short fight.” Jorem paused as he looked at the younger boy. “I suppose th
at’s true with most things. If someone is willing to teach you, you should learn all you can. Would you want to figure out how to tie a good knot on a boat during a storm, or in a warm room with your uncles help?”

  “Hey, Jorem, are you coming?” asked a voice at his shoulder.

  Looking up, Jorem saw Jeseph with his hands on his hips and an expectant look on his face.

  “Shards! I completely forgot!” Jorem exclaimed as he got to his feet. Looking down at Pell he added, “Speaking of lessons, I have to go teach my two left feet to not trip over each other. It’s been a pleasure to meet you,” he said, nodding to Jafrey and his wife.

  Chapter VI

  Walking down the corridor with Jeseph, Jorem realized he was actually quite nervous about learning to dance. Pentrothe had told him about the great balls that had been held years ago and his brothers had spoken of parties at the homes of some of the Lords and the girls they had danced with. There hadn’t been a ball at the castle since, well, before he had been born.

  “Are you sure your sister won’t mind teaching me how to dance?” Jorem asked. “You’ve seen how graceful I am. The last time someone tried to teach me to dance, it didn’t work out very well.”

  “Who was it?” Jeseph asked.

  “Lady Bethesda.”

  “No surprise there. With Lady Bethesda you’d better already know how to dance or be exceptionally gifted. She has the patience of a fire ant. Breathe wrong and she’ll take a bite out of you.”

  “Yeah, well, after a quarter of a mark, she told me to leave. She said…” Jorem hesitated, “Well, it wasn’t very flattering.”

  Jorem didn’t repeat Lady Bethesda’s words but they rang inside his head and hurt as though they had just been spoken. ‘You didn’t have the good graces to inherit your father’s looks, I thought you might have at least gotten some of your mother’s gracefulness.’ It wasn’t as if Jorem had asked her to teach him to dance. When the King had told him to report to Lady Bethesda’s studio he had dutifully gone. The report she sent his Father must have been awful judging by the looks he had gotten from his Father for the following week.