HONOR BOUND (The Spare Heir)

by Southwick, Michael G.

  “It’s getting dark outside and I have to be going,” Jorem said. “I’ll see that Jen, the healer, receives your gift.”

  Sashia stood as if frozen, her gaze fixed upon the pile of coins. She gave no response to Jorem’s statement. Her mouth was opened slightly, her lips forming an O. Jorem carefully picked up the box containing the power stone, tucked it under one of his arms and started for the door.

  “I’ll just let myself out, if that’s alright,” Jorem said quietly as he left.

  Retracing his path through the house, Jorem gathered up his cloak and bundled up before leaving. As he left the house he found that the snow had nearly stopped and only an occasional flake drifted lazily out of the evening sky. Fortunately, the tracks from the wagon wheels were still visible in the snow and Jorem was able to follow them for some distance before they disappeared under the new fallen snow. After that he had to rely on his memory to find his way.

  Darkness had fallen and Jorem had yet to find the road that led to the inn. The streets were very quiet. The only noise he could hear was the sound of his feet crunching in the snow. Only a few of the buildings had lights on and in the darkness Jorem couldn’t recognize them. As he rounded a corner, Jorem saw someone sweeping the snow from a doorway. Swallowing his pride, Jorem decided he had better ask for directions or risk spending the night wandering about in the dark.

  As Jorem approached the person sweeping the snow away he realized it was Cassy, the baker’s daughter. If this was the bakery, then he knew where he was and how to get back to the inn. He considered just walking past without stopping. He had his free hand in the pocket of his cloak. The smooth surface of the stone he had bought from Sashia brushed the back of his hand. Jorem didn’t know why he had bought the stone. He certainly had no need of it. It had just seemed like the thing to do at the time. Cassy was so intent on her sweeping that she didn’t even notice Jorem until he was right next to her.

  “Hello again,” Jorem said quietly.

  Cassy yelped and jumped away from him. She held her broom up in front of herself like a club. Her expression warred between fight and flight until she recognized who he was.

  “Rim!” she exploded at him. “You nearly scared me to death. What are you doing sneaking up on people like that? Why, I thought you were a bandit or something. I ought to call the guard on you for scaring me that way.”

  She still held the broom defensively, her hands gripping the shaft tightly. Jorem had to smile at the sight. Here she was, a little girl with a broom, fighting off a bandit. Then a picture of his brothers being thrashed by the bar maids flashed through his mind and his smile grew wider.

  “I was just on my way out of town and I wanted to stop and thank you and you’re father again for being so kind.” Jorem reached into his pocket and pulled out the dark red stone. I bought this for you while I was wandering about.”

  Cassy’s eyes grew wide at the sight of the stone. She reached out hesitantly and touched the smooth surface of the stone. Jorem could see that Cassy was unsure about accepting the stone so he pushed it into her hand and let go. Cassy gasped as she nearly dropped the stone.

  Jorem smiled at the girls concern. “Don’t worry, the woman who sold it to me said it is nearly indestructible.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Cassy murmured as she gazed into the depths of the stone.

  She held the stone as if it were as delicate as a newborn chick. Reluctantly, Cassy held the stone out to Jorem. She slowly shook her head as she spoke. “It’s beautiful Rim, but I can’t accept it.” Her eyes never left the stone as she spoke. “It must be worth a fortune. Why, I’ve never even heard of a blood stone so big as this.”

  Jorem smiled at the young girl. “It’s not a blood stone. The woman that I bought it from said she made it. I’ve never seen anything quite like it myself. Keep it, like I said, you and your father were kind to me when you didn’t have to be.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked excitedly. “It’s so beautiful. If it’s not a bloodstone then what is it?

  “She didn’t say what they where called,” Jorem said thoughtfully. “She did say something about them glimmering, so I suppose that would make them glimmer stones. There were many different colors, but I thought this one suited you best.”

  “Glimmer stone,” Cassy almost whispered. “It’s wonderful Rim. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Jorem said. “It’s getting late and I’d best be going. Thank your father for me.”

  As Jorem turned and began walking down the road to the inn Cassy asked, “Rim, will I see you again?”

  Jorem kept walking, but turned as he spoke. “Perhaps. As I told your father, I’m just passing through.” With a wave he turned back to the road.

  Chapter XX

  The next few days went quickly at the blacksmith’s shop. At first the smith grumbled about everything having been moved. After a while, though, his attitude changed as he found the work going so well. There were only a few times Franks had to rummage through the discard pile to find some part that was missing from a project.

  At the end of each day Jorem stayed for a half mark or so. Even though he was tired and aching from constantly pumping the bellows, he stayed to sweep up and put things back in their place. A myriad of hammers, tongs, rasps and files seemed to scatter themselves about the shop on their own. The piles of things needing to be fixed were nearly gone by the end of a sevenday. Jorem was beginning to think he might have a day off before Firstday, if they finished what was left. After five days of pumping the bellows and shoveling coal, he was ready for a break. Franks, however, had other ideas.

  “Tomorrow we can deliver these things to their owners,” the blacksmith said, waving to all of the newly mended items along the wall. “With luck, we will find more work along the way.” Glancing at the few things left to be mended, the big man waved them off. “Those can wait. We will load the wagon first thing tomorrow so build no fire in the forge in the morning.”

  Wiping the sweat from his brow with his forearm, Franks took off his heavy leather apron and laid it on a nearby bench. With his hands on his hips the smith looked over the room from end to end like a guard dog surveying its domain. He hesitated a moment, as if he were going to say something. Instead he just nodded his head absently and strode out of the door.

  Jorem gathered up the apron and hung it on a hook in the wall. With a sigh he turned back to the room and began the task of putting the tools back in their places. He wasn’t going to get a day off, but at least he wouldn’t be pumping the bellows. Anyway, he thought, how long could it take to deliver the mended things? Perhaps he would get part of the day off after all.

  The sun was just setting when Franks pulled the wagon up next to the doors of the smithy. At each stop to deliver something, more items needing repair were piled into the wagon. Several times they stopped for children, sent by their parents, asking Franks to fix one thing or another. Before they got back, the wagon was piled high with bent, broken and twisted items.

  It took the two of them nearly two marks to get everything sorted out and organized into piles along the walls. Franks shook his head at Jorem’s insistence that each item be kept separate. By the time they had everything in the shop, there was hardly any space left along the walls.

  Franks grumbled a bit at having things strung all across the shop. “There’d be a whole lot more room if we put it all in a corner.”

  Jorem had to agree that the place looked cluttered. “Maybe if we had some shelves or crates for the smaller stuff.”

  Franks rolled his eyes at the idea. “Not tonight. I’m for my bed. A pleasant Firstday to you.”

  Jorem stayed for a while contemplating different ways to organize the various piles and pieces of metal. Most of the things he was familiar with. There was a wagon wheel that was in need of a new rim, more shovels needing new blades, pitchforks with bent and broken tines, plow blades, scythes, shears and a myriad of pots and pans. He’d never thought about someone having to fix all
of these things. Growing up in the castle, if something broke it was replaced almost before it was noticed. Seeing this made him wonder what other things he had taken for granted.

  The days drew on and the weather got colder. The snow was more than waist deep and paths had to be dug between buildings. Jorem spent nearly every waking moment at the forge. A few times Franks sent him to help the city guard to clear the roads after a heavy snowfall. It didn’t take long for Jorem to decide that the heat of the forge was far better than the bitter cold in the snow.

  When work got slow, the blacksmith tried to teach Jorem how to form horseshoes. Occasionally they would smelt the raw ores from their piles into bars of metal. The molten metal was poured into rectangular molds. Once the metal was cool, the bars were stacked in a corner for later use. Most of Jorem’s attempts were piled next to the bars. As hard as Jorem tried he couldn’t get the metal pounded into the shape he wanted. Franks would take a bar of metal, glowing red from the forge, and within minutes have it formed to whatever shape he needed, the ringing of the hammer striking metal so rhythmic it was almost musical. It was almost like magic the way a piece of metal would twist and curl as it danced to the blows of the blacksmith’s hammer.

  After what had to be Jorem’s hundredth attempt to make a horseshoe, Franks picked up the latest misshapen bar and tossed it into the corner with the rest.

  “A blacksmith you are not!” The smith’s tone was soft, yet brooked no argument. “Nor do I think you ever will be. Best that I have you do the rough shaping and leave the rest to me. Let us stop for today and begin anew in the morning. The Duke has requested that I make a few swords for his guardsmen to test. Much of the first steps of forming a sword I think you can do. Go now,” he said, waving Jorem to the door. “Tonight I must choose the best ingots to make into swords.”

  Somewhat discouraged at his inability to make so simple a thing as a horseshoe, Jorem slumped through the doorway. The cold air bit into his skin the moment he stepped through the door. Wrapping his cloak more tightly around him, Jorem shuffled his way to the inn. The sun had already set, but it was still light enough to see. There were no clouds in the sky and a few of the brighter stars twinkled like diamonds on deep blue velvet. The snow crunched and squeaked under his feet with each step. Fortunately, this evening there was no wind to suck the warmth from his body.

  Before he reached the inn, his nose and fingers were numb. “Why would anyone live in such a place?” he wondered aloud. Looking around at the trees with their boughs hanging low from the weight of the snow and the mountains that seemed to glow with their own light, he knew the answer. Cold though it might be, there was a quiet majesty and power to the beauty of this land. Somehow, the harshness of the weather brought out the strength of both the land and the people.

  As Jorem stepped into the warmth of the inn, the frigid air released its grip on him. His coming and going to and from the inn had become so commonplace that few even noticed his passing. He did note that those few in the common room were people he had seen there before. Mostly they were mercenaries wintering at the inn and a few merchants gathering to discuss business.

  After a good scrubbing and a clean set of clothes, Jorem seated himself at his usual corner table for his evening meal. Those closest to his table were mostly soldiers and mercenaries relaxing over an evening meal with their comrades. Jorem enjoyed listing to them tell of their adventures to one another. Through their tales he learned much about things happening all around the kingdom. He listened closely whenever they spoke of their officers.

  Jorem found it interesting that when they spoke well of an officer they did so loudly and proudly. When they spoke ill of an officer, or the poor decisions of an officer, they did so in low, muted tones, as if they feared being overheard. Of course, there were a few who became loud and obnoxious when they drank a bit too much ale. A quiet word from Biorne never failed to diffuse such situations.

  Jorem asked the little man what he said to the troublemakers that had such an instant affect. Biorne smiled at the question and asked Jorem how he would feel at the threat of spending the rest of the winter in a tent. Jorem cringed at the thought of just one night of such a punishment. The bit of time it took to traverse the distance from the smithy to the inn was bad enough

  Having sopped up the last few drops of stew with a course piece of bread, Jorem was trying to decide whether to retire to his room or to remain a while. It was a quiet night in the common room. Even the usually boisterous mercenaries were subdued by the harsh cold outside. He was just about to get up when the inn door opened and a pile of rags staggered its way in. What little conversations there were stopped as those in the room tried to decide just what had entered.

  The pile of rags shrugged, dislodging the top layer of cloth. A mass of tangled, gray hair and a pair of ice blue eyes protruded out of the top of the rags. After a bit more shrugging and tugging, the wrinkled and weathered face of an ancient woman appeared. Finding themselves faced with an old woman wearing a cloak made of pieced-together rags, the others in the room dismissed the newcomer without another glance.

  After a brief conversation with one of the servers, the old woman hobbled into the room. As she got closer to Jorem, a tingling sensation began to creep up the back of his neck. “Magic,” Jorem thought at once. A quick glance around the room proved that the only thing out of place was the old woman, and she was making a haphazard route toward his table.

  Without knowing exactly why, Jorem looked directly at the old woman and closed his eyes. The blinding white light that appeared startled him so much that he jerked his head back and opened his eyes. Something about the feel of that light was familiar. The closer the old woman came the more confident he became of that feeling. When the old woman finely arrived at his table, Jorem stood and gave her a deep, formal bow.

  “Lady of light,” Jorem said. “How may I serve thee?”

  It took a great deal of effort to keep a straight face. The effort, though difficult, was rewarded with an almost imperceptible look of surprise that flashed across the woman’s face. If he hadn’t been watching for her surprise, he would never have seen it. Her expression changed in an instant, from surprise to an icy glare. When she spoke, it wasn’t with her normal silken voice, but with a grating cackle that well matched her hag-like appearance.

  “Impertinent boy!” She snarled, though a corner of her mouth twitched up a bit. “Fetch me something to eat and keep your insults to yourself.”

  Jorem smiled as he said, “Ever at thy command.”

  As quickly as he could, Jorem went to the kitchen and gathered up a plate of mixed meats, cheeses and bread. He shuddered at the thought of Lady Zensa drinking ale and poured a mug full of cider instead. On his way past the fire, Linda handed him a steaming bowl of stew. She looked at him questioningly, so he simply nodded and said, “A friend of a friend,” and continued on his way.

  Setting the meal before what appeared to be a haggard old woman, Jorem sat down in a chair on the opposite side of the table. He sat patiently as she daintily picked at the meal. She had only eaten a small portion of the food on the plate when she pushed it aside and dabbed her mouth with a napkin. Picking up the mug, she took a small sip. With a start, she looked at the mug, took another sip and closed her eyes. When she opened her eyes again, she looked at Jorem and smiled.

  “Sweet cider,” she stated. “Its taste brings back so many happy memories from so long ago.”

  She sighed and sat back in her chair. Lost in thought, she sat quietly for a while. She looked so peaceful that Jorem couldn’t bring himself to disturb her. After a short time, she shook her head and looked across the table and a smile played across her face. Even disguised as an old woman, Jorem could see her beauty and poise. The smile didn’t last long. Her face took on a stern expression and her eyes flashed as she glared at him.

  “You, young man,” she growled, “have some explaining to do. How is it that when I arrive here, the only way that I can recognize you is
by the long head of hair you and your brothers always wear? And yet you, with no trouble at all, see right through one of the best disguises I have ever conjured up?”

  Jorem looked around to see if anyone was listening in on the conversation.

  “Don’t worry, no one can hear us,” Zensa said without dimming her glare. “I’ve already taken care of that. Now, tell me how you knew.”

  Jorem shrugged his shoulders and explained. “You know that I can feel magic. As soon as you started across the room I knew there was a spell working. Then, when I closed my eyes, I could see you.”

  Zensa looked at Jorem as if she thought he was losing his mind.

  “You remember in Pentrothe’s lab,” he continued, “when I said that I saw a light?”

  A slow nod was all the reaction that Zensa gave.

  “It was you. When I close my eyes I can see you, at least when you’re using magic I can.”

  Jorem closed his eyes to demonstrate and flinched so hard he nearly fell out of his chair. He looked away from her and blinked his eyes a few times to clear them.

  “Well, not you so much as something about you. When I close my eyes you become a bright, white light. Apparently the closer you are the brighter you get. So when I saw you, the light part, it just felt like you. Those blue eyes had me confused for a bit though.”

  Zensa’s glare dimmed a little. She sat staring at him, her finger lightly tapping the mug she still held in her hands.

  “Have you told anyone else you can do that—see magic, I mean?” she asked.

  “No.” Jorem said with a laugh. “Aside from you and Pentrothe, no one even knows I have a clue about magic. I may not be able to do magic, but I can feel it and I know it when I see it. As for the people here, most of them have forgotten the King is my father and they’d probably lock me up as a nut if I started talking about seeing magic.”