HONOR BOUND (The Spare Heir) (7 page)

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 your 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.”

When they looked up at him the reaction was exactly what he was hoping for.  “
Our clumsy little prince has fallen again
.”  He could see it in their faces even though they didn’t actually say it.  The cook waved with his knife toward the corner counter.

“There’s a basin of cold water over there.  Rinse it off an’ I’ll get some salve.”

Jorem walked to the counter and carefully put his hand in the basin.  He was doing his best to act as though it didn’t hurt but the shock of the cold water on his injured hand made him gasp.  The next thing he knew the cook was at his side.  The man peered into the basin at Jorem’s hand.

“Looks to be a bit more than a scrape, Prince Jorem,” the cook said.  “Jen, get me a jar of salve.  Fran, get a cloth from the linen bin.”

For such a large man, the cook was amazingly gentle as he bound up Jorem’s hand.  The salve eased the stinging but did little for the deeper throbbing.  As the cook began wrapping Jorem’s hand with a cloth he looked at Jorem thoughtfully.

“I hear tell you’re a friend of young Lady Andrews,” the cook said.

It took Jorem a moment to realize that the cook was referring to Jennifer.  “She’s been kind enough to teach me to dance.”

The cook nodded and said, “I’ve been told that her lessons for healing have not gone so well lately.  It’s good that she has someone close that she can talk to.  An understanding ear can help more than most folk know.”

Jorem wasn’t sure what the cook was talking about.  Jennifer seldom spoke of her own lessons when they were together.  Her enthusiasm during his dance lessons had diminished over the past few weeks but Jorem had thought she was just getting tired of constantly correcting his missteps.  She had been so incredibly patient with him that he couldn’t blame her.

Not sure of what to say, Jorem just nodded to the cook.  Anything he might say would just be a guess.  Jen had actually become a good friend, but she didn’t talk about her healing lessons.  Jorem had figured that as a healer there were things she wasn’t supposed to talk about.  That she was having problems had never crossed his mind.

“There, that should do,” said the cook as he finished bandaging Jorem’s hand.  “Keep it clean and put a fresh wrapping on it each morning.  I’m no healer, but I’ve dealt with more cuts from kitchen knives than I care to remember.”

“Thank you sir,” Jorem replied.  “It feels much better.  I’d best go let the gardener know I made a mess of the rock garden and you can get back to your cooking.”

“Don’t you worry about that,” the cook said.  “I’ll send Fran here to let the gardener know about his precious rocks.  You go get yourself cleaned up.  You look as if you’d been set upon by bandits.”

As the cook herded him out of the kitchen, he saw Fran go out the door.  ‘
And so the story begins to spread,
’ he thought.  Satisfied that he had played the part of the stumbling prince as best as he could, Jorem headed to his room to get out of his torn and bloody clothes.

Back in his room Jorem set about cleaning himself up.  Stripping off his blood stained tunic he washed off the dirt and sweat with a rag soaked in a basin of cool water.  He dampened his hair and ran his good hand through it to smooth it out.  He still wore his hair long, the same as his brothers.  He stepped into a clean pair of pants and had just slipped a new tunic over his head when there was a knock at his door.

Straightening the tunic, he stepped to the door and pulled it open.  Standing in the doorway were two men dressed in the uniform of the palace guard.

“Prince Jorem,” one of them said.  “We have orders from the King to escort all members of the royal family to the council chambers.”

His first thought was “
Wow, that was fast!”
  The guards seemed to get nervous at his hesitation.  Noticing their hands twitching near their swords, Jorem gathered his wits and responded, “Well, we mustn’t keep the King waiting.  Lead on.”

“After you, Prince Jorem,” the guard stated.

Jorem had the distinct feeling that he was being arrested rather then escorted.  The whole situation seemed a bit much for falling down and scraping a hand.  He began to worry that someone had told his father of the incident with Trenton.  His mind began racing.  He was trying to come up with something that would satisfy his father and keep Trenton out of trouble.

When they entered the council chambers Jorem looked quickly about.  He saw the King and a few of the King’s councilors.  The captain of the guard, the weapons master and his brothers were off to one side.  With a sigh of relief he realized that Trenton was not here.  Then, with a start he noticed the condition of his brothers.  They looked much as he did after his roll in the rock garden, if not worse.

The King stood up from his chair and the room became deathly quiet.  Looking at his sons the King asked, or more accurately, demanded, “Tell me exactly what happened and who did this to you!”

The four brothers shuffled their feet and glanced at one another.  Prince Daniel, the second to the oldest stepped forward.  Clearing his throat, he glanced back at his brothers one last time and then faced the King.  “We went to town this morning to inspect a new shipment of swords.  We spent some time trying to find a blade of quality.  Not finding anything we wanted, we started back to the castle.”

As Daniel spoke his words became surer.  It seemed to Jorem as if his brother was reading from a script.

“We had just left the town,” Daniel continued, “when we were set upon by a band of ruffians.  We thought to do battle with them but we were greatly outnumbered.  We fought our way free of them and fled to the castle.”

Daniel looked back at the other brothers and they all nodded their heads in agreement.  The King looked furious.  Jorem saw the captain of the guards glance over at the weapons master and give a slight nod.  If he hadn’t been standing so close to the captain Jorem would never have noticed the signal between the two men.

Weapons Master Gregorio approached the King and whispered something in his ear.  The King glared at the weapons master, but Gregorio stood his ground.  After a moment the two began a hushed conversation that no one else in the room could hear.  It took only a few moments and then the weapons master stepped away.  The King once more faced the room.  The look on his face had changed and, if anything, looked more dangerous than before.  “Captain,” the King snapped, “this was reported to you when my sons arrived?”

“Yes, your majesty,” the captain answered.  The captain stood stiffly at attention.  “A patrol was sent out immediately.  A dozen men were found camped at the edge of the forest near the town.  They have been arrested and are being held in chains in the courtyard.”

When the captain of the guard had finished he gave a quick salute and stepped back.  Jorem noticed that his brothers looked pale.  The King was silent for a moment and then spoke. 

“Come, let us see what manner of men would attack the royal family at our own doorstep!”

The King gave a measuring gaze at his sons and strode from the room.  Everyone else followed in the King’s wake.  Jorem walked behind his brothers and noticed them whispering somewhat heatedly to each other.  The King didn’t even glance back at them as the group passed through the front entrance to the palace.

As they reached the courtyard Jorem saw a group of men in chains.  They were surrounded by a patrol of palace guardsmen.  The men wore the clothing of workers and farmers.  The clothes were made of tough and sturdy cloth that would stand up to abuse.  The chained men were roughly the same age as his father except for a few who were much older. By the look of their weathered faces and graying hair the older men were likely as old as Pentrothe.