HONOR BOUND (The Spare Heir)

by Southwick, Michael G.

  “Not to worry,” Jeseph said, patting Jorem on the back. “I told you, she’s training to be a healer. She has more patience than anyone I’ve ever met. According to her there’s nothing in the world that can’t be accomplished if a person will just take the time needed to get it done.”

  “I hope she’s got plenty of time,” Jorem said.

  Jeseph laughed and said, “Relax, it’ll be fine. The only problem I can see is that she isn’t very fond of your brothers. I told her that you’re not like them and that you needed her help. She’s kind of funny that way. She can’t not help someone who really needs her help.”

  Jeseph stopped and opened one of the ornate doors that lined the hallway. He led Jorem through a small reception room with a small table and a few decorative chairs. The next room was obviously for entertaining guests and for small family gatherings. It was bigger then the receiving room, the furniture designed as much for comfort as for décor. Family portraits covered much of the walls and a large chandelier hung from the ceiling.

  Jorem had just begun looking at the portraits when a door on the other side of the room opened. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting of a healer in training, but the girl that entered the room wasn’t it. She was short and so slight that a strong breeze might blow her away. She was perhaps a year or two younger than he was. Her mouse brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail and her clothing was plain and simple.

  Everything about her seemed to be saying, “I’m not here”, but her attitude more than made up for that. She walked into the room without saying a word. She walked right up to Jorem, looked him up and down then walked around him as if inspecting a horse.

  “So, you’re ‘Prince’ Jorem.” The way she said prince made it sound like a vile thing.

  “Jorem, this is my sister Jennifer. I fear she’s not very fond of your brothers,” Jeseph said. “Jen, I already told you he’s not like them. Now be nice to him or mother will have kittens.”

  “I’ve seen what your brothers are like,” Jennifer snapped. “Those brutes and bullies. Just because they are royals they think they can do as they please. One of these days they’re going to go too far and the townspeople are going to forget that the King is their father.”

  Jorem had begun backing toward the door with his hands raised as if expecting to be struck. “I just came to learn how to dance. If you’d rather not teach me that’s OK.”

  “Whoa! Sis,” Jeseph interjected, “what happened to compassion and understanding? Did someone put some anger dust in your evening meal?”

  Jennifer looked as though she was torn between hitting someone and breaking down into tears. Instead she flopped into one of the chairs, closed her eyes and shook her head. She had a look of total dejection about her.

  “I’m sorry, Jorem,” Jennifer said, then looked up at Jeseph. “Healer Rellen has decided to retire. He’s the only gifted healer here. How am I supposed to learn to use my gift without someone to teach me?”

  There was so much anguish in her voice that Jeseph knelt down beside her and wrapped his arms around her. That Healer Rellen was retiring didn’t come as a surprise to Jorem. The man was ancient. Pentrothe had said the healer was very skilled and could calm a wild cat with its tail on fire. One thing, however, Jorem was certain of, his father, the King, would not be without a healer.

  “Has the King been informed of Rellen’s decision?” Jorem asked.

  “I don’t know,” came the muffled response. “He couldn’t make Rellen stay even if he knew.” Her voice wasn’t quite a sob, but it was close.

  “No, Rellen has more than earned his rest.” Jorem replied with certainty. “As soon as the King hears of it though, I’m sure that he will request a replacement from Healing City.”

  Jennifer sat up and Jeseph released his hold on her, but remained kneeling beside her. Jorem felt a bit of envy that the two were so close. That they cared for one another was obvious. “That’s what family is supposed to be,” Jorem thought as he watched them.

  “It won’t be the same,” Jennifer said. “It won’t be Rellen. He’s the best. Everybody knows it.”

  “You’re right, it won’t be Rellen. But you can take what he’s taught you and build on it with what the next healer can teach you.”

  She seemed to consider Jorem’s words for a moment. “How long do you think it will take the King to get a healer to come?”

  Jorem snorted. “Knowing Father, he’ll have a rider on the way in less than a mark from the time he hears!”

  “The captain of the guard has his evening review with the chancellor shortly,” Jeseph said as he stood up. “I think I’ll have a word with him before he goes.”

  “Would you?” Jennifer asked, trying not to plead.

  “Of course. Just promise not to hurt Jorem while I’m away.”

  Jeseph reached down and tousled Jennifer’s hair. Turning he began to walk toward the door. When he passed Jorem, he turned and looked back at his sister.

  “A word of warning,” he whispered loud enough for only Jorem to hear. “She is my sister and I’m very protective of her. What’s more, to know how to put a person back together, a healer has to know how to take them apart.”

  Jorem grinned back at him. “Have you always been so good at building self-confidence in others? I’m just hoping she doesn’t make me look as foolish as you did this morning.” As Jeseph hurried out the door Jennifer stood and walked toward Jorem, “Shall we begin then?” she asked.

  Compared to weapons practice, learning to dance was pure torture. When he had accidentally struck Jeseph with the wooden sword, Jeseph had given him a look of disgust or hit him back. With Jennifer, whenever he missed a step, invariably he stepped on her foot.

  Jorem was so self-conscious of his mistakes that whenever Jennifer winced from being trodden upon he would jerk back. Mostly this just caused him to stumble or trip and fall. Occasionally they both ended up in a heap of tangled arms and legs. The harder Jorem tried, the worse it got. Before a full candle mark had passed, Jennifer called a halt. She sat down and removed the delicate slippers she had been wearing from her feet. There were nearly as many scuff marks on the tops of the slippers as there were on the bottoms.

  “I’m really sorry,” Jorem started saying.

  “It’s ok,” Jennifer said as she rubbed her feet. “Healer Rellen is always telling me that pain is just the body’s way of letting you know that you are still alive. I’ll be fine, but next time I’m wearing shoes with hardened toes.”

  “Next time?” Jorem asked in disbelief. “You mean you’ll keep teaching me?”

  Jennifer looked at Jorem and tilted her head to the side. “Jeseph’s right. You’re not at all like your brothers. Are you sure you’re from the same family?”

  “The more I learn of my brothers the more I ask myself that very question. More often than not, I wish I could live a different life.” Jorem’s last words were almost a whisper.

  “I like to finish the things I start,” Jennifer said. “Besides, it’s nice to be the teacher for a change. We can only have lessons once or twice a week because of all the time I have to spend with the medics. How about the second day of the week, and maybe the fourth or fifth day if I can?”

  “That would be great, I mean, if you’re sure. You can’t have a lot of spare time as a healer. I read an old chronicle that said a healer’s time is more precious than coin.”

  “I’m not a healer yet,” she said with a laugh, but the sparkle in her eye told Jorem that she appreciated his remark. “Besides, three or four days should be plenty of time for my toes to recover.”

  Jorem’s face reddened at the reminder. From the grin on her face he knew that she was just teasing him. It was still embarrassing even though it was just the two of them. That thought quickly led to another.

  “Are your parents going to mind you spending time with me?” he asked.

  Jennifer’s cheeks reddened slightly. “Actually, that’s what I’m getting out of this. Mother is con
stantly nattering at me about spending all of my time elbow deep in blood and gore when there are so many eligible boys around. I’m training to be a healer. I don’t have time for boys.

  “So if I spend some time with you and let Mother think that we’re friends, she’ll stop bothering me. You don’t mind, do you?”

  It was obvious that she was embarrassed to admit that she was using him. Oddly enough, it didn’t bother him at all. He stood up and turned toward her and held out his hand.

  “I’d like to be your friend,” he said earnestly.

  “Just friends,” Jennifer stated.

  “Just friends.” Jorem grinned and shook her hand to cement the deal.

  Chapter VII

  “KEEP YOUR SWORD UP!” the weapons master bellowed.

  Sweat ran down Jorem’s face as he brushed the hair out of his eyes. For three months he had been training and still the wooden sword felt like a lead weight in his hands. The dance lessons had helped and he seldom tripped any more, but his sword work had stagnated.

  Gregorio was getting frustrated and often grumbled about Jorem’s lack of strength and stamina. Jorem tried, he really tried. But after the first few minutes of practice the tip of the weighted wooden sword would start to droop. The harder he tried to keep it from happening the worse it got. He had suggested using a lighter sword but Gregorio had rejected the idea.

  “You can’t always choose your weapon.” The weapons master had responded. “You have to be able to use what comes to hand.”

  The weapons master stood contemplating Jorem for a moment. “Perhaps this is not so much a problem with the body as it is a problem with the mind.” He began pacing in front of Jorem, hands behind his back. “Let us change the situation a bit and see what happens.”

  Gregorio turned and strode over to a pair of men and began talking to one of them with an occasional glance back at Jorem. After a moment he returned with one of the men following him.

  “Jorem, this is Trenton. He is perhaps one of the best swordsmen I have ever taught. I want you to spar with him today.”

  The look of bafflement on Jorem’s face prompted the weapons master to explain. “I’m going to have you work with live steel. I don’t want you or your opponent to be injured so I’m pairing you up with one of the best. Now, get your sword and lets give it a go.”

  Both Jorem and Trenton walked to the stand near the door where personal swords were left during practice. Jorem drew his sword from its scabbard. The ornate gems in the grip felt cool as they bit into the palm of his hand. The light gleamed off of the length of the blade. When Jorem turned back to the room the floor was empty. All the others were at the far end of the room looking at him expectantly. Jorem’s feet refused to move. Did everyone want to see him be humiliated?

  Trenton noticed his hesitation and the focus of his attention. “When there is live steel in play only those in the bout are allowed on the floor. Fewer distractions help to reduce mistakes.”

  Still nervous, especially with everyone watching him, Jorem quipped, “I thought it was so that if I slipped and accidentally skewered you or myself the story tellers would have more witnesses for details.”

  Trenton grinned and looked at Jorem. “You forget, I’ve seen you with a sword. If you get a touch on me I deserve a scar or two. Just keep the pointy end toward me and away from yourself.”

  They walked to the center of the room and faced one another. Jorem’s hands were sweating with apprehension so he gripped his sword a little tighter. He’d seen Trenton defend himself against three opponents before in a training exercise so he knew what the outcome of this bout would be. Raising his sword to the ‘on guard’ position, Jorem waited for the weapons master to signal them to begin.

  Weapons Master Gregorio raised his hand over his head, held it there for a moment and then dropped it to his side. Before Jorem could even blink Trenton’s sword struck his own with such impact that his arm went numb to the elbow. Jorem gasped in surprise more than pain and took a few steps back.

  “Take it down a few notches Trenton,” Gregorio cautioned. “Work with him for a while, but keep him on his toes.

  Trenton began to methodically attack Jorem working him back and forth across the training room. Every time Jorem’s sword drooped the attack was a little fiercer. Trenton didn’t talk. He didn’t even smile. He was totally focused on Jorem. Nothing distracted him. After a short time, sweat began to run down Jorem’s face. He could feel his shirt sticking to his back. His fair fell into his eyes and every time he tried to brush it back, Trenton would attack.

  Jorem knew that Trenton was holding back, but it didn’t feel like it. Trenton hadn’t even broken a sweat while Jorem was rapidly nearing exhaustion. The numbness in his arm was turning into a dull throb. His hand was still numb and he was afraid he might drop his sword so he tightened his grip. The clash of steel blades added adrenalin to his moves.

  Every time Jorem attempted to attack, Trenton would counter the move almost before it began. He had no idea how long the bout had been going. His vision began to blur and his steps became unsure. Once more his blade dipped and in a blurring move Trenton knocked the sword from his hand.

  Jorem watched his sword skitter across the floor, leaving a streak of red liquid in its wake. Puzzled, Jorem looked down at his hand to find it oozing blood. When he opened his hand he saw that the flesh was torn and ragged. His hand had blistered from being continuously rubbed against the gems of his swords grip. As his sword was knocked from his hand the rough surface of the grip had torn through the blisters.

  Looking up at Weapons Master Gregorio he asked, “Why doesn’t it hurt?”

  It wasn’t until Gregorio began to rinse and clean his hand that the pain began. It wasn’t bad, but his hand was a mess. As the weapons master began wrapping his hand in a cloth Jorem noticed Trenton standing in a corner surrounded by several guardsmen. Trenton was pale and unmoving.

  “What’s wrong with Trenton?” Jorem asked.

  Gregorio’s expression was serious when he replied. “The King will not look fondly on someone who has injured one of his sons.”

  “This wasn’t his fault,” Jorem blurted, holding up his hand.

  “True,” Gregorio sighed. “The fault is as much my own. I too will feel the wrath of the King.”

  “No!” Jorem said angrily as he stood and pulled away from the weapons master. “It’s not right. There has to be another way.”

  Thinking furiously Jorem looked from his hand to his sword to Trenton and back to his hand. There had to be a way to explain this to his father that would keep everyone else out of trouble. What would cause his hand to be injured like this that didn’t involve anyone but himself? An idea began to form in Jorem’s mind.

  Stripping the bandage from his hand, Jorem walked over to his sword and began wiping the blood off of the grip and pommel. Then he wiped the streak of blood up off of the floor. Walking back to the weapons master, he held out the bloody cloth.

  “Burn this,” Jorem stated matter-of-factly. Then he turned to face the others in the room. “This didn’t happen.” As he spoke, he looked into the eyes of every man there. “Practice went just like it does every day. Nothing out of the ordinary happened. Swear to it! Each of you!”

  Jorem looked at each man in the room until he received a nod of acceptance from each. They were looking at him differently. He had been with these men every morning for nearly three months and with this one act everything had changed. No longer was he the clumsy prince taking up their master’s time. Something had changed.

  Jorem turned back to the weapons master. “I’m tired sir. I fear that today I must use my princely prerogative and decline to run about the practice grounds. If anyone should ask, I’m feeling discouraged with my lack of improvement with the sword. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to go find some place to trip and fall down.”

  As Jorem was walking to the door, Trenton approached him. “You shouldn’t be discouraged. You’re better with a sword than y
our brothers. I should know. I’ve had to let each of them beat me.”

  Jorem could see that Trenton was earnest in what he said. His hand was throbbing and he could feel the blood oozing through the fingers of his clenched fist. Looking at Trenton he knew he had to say something to relieve his worry. “Who else but Prince Jorem could injure himself with the safe end of a sword?”

  Chapter VIII

  There was a small rock garden along the path between the castle and the training arena. Once Jorem reached the rock garden he stepped off of the path just a few paces. By dragging his feet, he made some furrows through the smaller rocks. Then he got down on his knees and scuffed his pants on the rocks until a few tears in the material were evident.

  “Now for the fun part,” he thought. Looking about to make sure no one was watching, he began opening and closing his torn hand. He winced at the pain it caused but kept at it until the blood once more began to seep out of the lacerations. Carefully he started patting his bleeding hand on the rocks around him. The process was more painful than he expected and he was forced to grit his teeth to endure it.

  Getting up Jorem pressed his injured hand between his side and his opposite arm to help reduce the bleeding and the pain. The last thing he wanted was to be around people but he knew the best way to spread a story was to tell it to someone who liked to talk. Pentrothe had told him that the best information, no matter where you were, was found in the kitchen. With that in mind, Jorem headed for the kitchen entrance.

  As luck would have it the cook and two of his servants were seated at a table peeling vegetables. Wasting no time, Jorem walked up to the cook.

  “Excuse me sir,” Jorem said. “I stumbled and fell in the rocks and I fear I’ve scraped my hand up a bit.”