HONOR BOUND (The Spare Heir) (8 page)

“So,” the King said turning to his sons.  “These are the bandits who attacked you?”

The King watched as his four oldest sons fidgeted and refused to look him in the eye.  The King folded his arms and took a deep breath.  Turning back to the prisoners the King looked over the group of men.  Pursing his lips he looked at the captain of the guard.

“Hang them.  Hang them all!”  The King spoke loudly for all present to hear.

“No!  No, Father, you can’t!” A voice blurted.  Lauren was Jorem’s closest brother in age.  He stepped forward as he spoke.  “These men didn’t attack us.  We got in a fight at the tavern.”

The four brothers stood together, their heads hanging with shame.  The King looked over to the weapons master and gave a nod towards his sons, “See them to their quarters.”

Turning back to the prisoners the King asked, “So what shall we do with these bandits?”

“I’m no bandit!” demanded the oldest of the men in chains.  “I fought beside your father, King Grendith, in the battle of Darkfield, before you were born.”  Even though the man was aged, his face wrinkled and weathered from exposure to the sun, his eyes sparked with anger.

“Grendith gave me a plot of land in reward for my service.  My family and I have farmed that land ever since.  We’ve brought our harvest to market.  These others traveled with us for safety in bringing their flocks to market.”

The King turned away from the old man as if he hadn’t heard a word the man had said.

“Send them on their way,” the King said to the guardsman nearest him.  Looking at the castle, the King watched the four princes disappear through the doorway.  The sigh that escaped his lips said more than words ever could.  Resolutely, the King turned and marched back to the castle, his councilors and guards following him in silence.

Jorem watched as the farmers and herdsmen milled about.  Their complaints that they had lost a full days bargaining at the market was not lost on Jorem.  Pentrothe had told him several times that a kingdom was nothing without the people.  These men were part of what Pentrothe called the backbone of the kingdom.  They deserved better than to just be dismissed after what they had been through.

“Excuse me sirs,” Jorem interrupted their discussion.  “Would you say that your crops and livestock are of good quality?”

The men turned to Jorem, their irritation obvious in their faces.  “You’ll not find better,” said one of the men.  “What does it matter to you, boy?”

“I speak with the Kings cook on occasion.”  Jorem replied.  “If you would like, I could ask him to take a look at your produce and animals.  If they’re as good as you say he might have the Treasurer purchase them from you.  I can’t guarantee a sale, but you would get a better price without having to pay the market fees.”

The men discussed Jorem’s proposal amongst themselves for a while.  Some of the men spoke in excited tones while others looked unsure.  One of the men approached Jorem.

“Exactly how do you come to know the King’s cook?”  Jorem could tell that the man didn’t believe that a boy could sway the cooks mind.

“I pass through the kitchen once in a while,” Jorem said, trying hard not to smile.

The old man that had spoken of Jorem’s grandfather walked over to them.  As he came neared he looked Jorem up and down, then peered into his face.

“What happened to your hand, lad?” the old man asked.

“I stumbled and fell,” Jorem said, looking the old man squarely in the face.

The old man looked even closer at Jorem.  His stern face slowly softened in a slight smile.  “That would make you Prince Jorem,” the old man said softly.  “You have your grandfather’s look about you.  He was a good man and a fine leader.”  He hesitated for a moment then continued.  “Go talk to your cook.  He can find us camped just this side of the city proper near the river.  We’ll be expecting him.  And lad, thank you.  It’s a fine thing you’re doing for us.”

The men spoke for a few moments and then began their trek back to their camp.  Jorem headed back to the castle.  He wasn’t sure how he was going to convince the cook to go look at a bunch of goats and grain, but he was sure that he had to try.

Chapter IX

Convincing the cook was far easier than Jorem had expected.  As soon as he had described the old man the cook had rushed to grab his jacket.  The cook was nearly gone before Jorem could tell him where the men were camped.  Apparently, the cook knew the farmer and was well aware of the quality of the man’s goods.

When Jorem arrived at Pentrothe’s quarters, he found the wizard deeply engrossed in a large leather bound book.  The book was obviously very old, the pages yellowed and fragile.  Jorem peered over the wizard’s shoulder but the lettering was nothing he could read.  It looked as if someone had dipped ants in ink and let them run about on the paper.

“It’s an ancient language from a people that disappeared long before I was born.”  Pentrothe didn’t even look up when he spoke.  “I’ve been trying to decipher it for years and I think I’ve finally found a key to its meanings.”

Pentrothe sat back and stretched.  “We’ve lost so many things to war.  Knowledge that could make our lives so much better.”

“If things were so much better, why were there wars?” Jorem asked.

“Why indeed!” Pentrothe responded.  “People always want what everyone else has—land, riches and power, anything and everything.  It’s the nature of man I suppose, never to be satisfied with one’s lot in life.”

The wizard gently closed the book and placed it on a shelf filled with odds and ends.  Jorem saw that the workbench was empty so there wouldn’t be any experiments today.  That usually meant Pentrothe would assign him a book to read.  After he’d read the book they would discuss the people and events from the book.  The books were often about historical events or distant lands.  Jorem always enjoyed learning about different places and people.  He knew it wasn’t the same as actually going to these far away places, but it fascinated him to read about them.

Pentrothe pulled a slender book from another shelf and handed it to Jorem.  “I believe you’ll enjoy this.  It’s about a people who rejected the ways of man and found another time to exist in.  It’s difficult to read but I think you can work it out.”

Jorem sat down at the workbench and began reading the book.  Whoever had written the book was definitely not a great writer but the people he had written about were, to say the least, amazing.  That an entire city’s population could transport themselves into a place where time doesn’t exist was fascinating.  Jorem turned back to the cover page to see if it had the author’s name on it.  The writing on the cover was quite faded.  Looking closely, Jorem could just make out the writing.
“The Folk” by Grendith, Son of Dohran
.  Jorem had to go over the lettering twice before he could accept this revelation.

The Folk were just a legend.  No one actually believed they existed.  But here, in this book written by his grandfather’s own hand, was an account of their lives.  King Grendith had died long before Jorem was born.  He didn’t refer to himself as King so it must have been written in his youth.  That would have been fifty, maybe sixty years ago.  Switching to one of the more comfortable chairs, Jorem immersed himself in a tale that left his mind swimming with questions about both the Folk and his grandfather.

Jorem wanted to ask Pentrothe about what he had read, but the wizard was nowhere to be found.  A glance out the window told him that more time had passed than he’d thought.  Walking to the shelf, Jorem replaced the book in the space it had been in.  It looked out of place and he couldn’t remember seeing it there before, but Jorem had learned some time ago not to question Pentrothe’s actions. He always had a reason.

The main hall was already crowded by the time Jorem arrived for the evening meal.  Seating himself at the first table he came to, Jorem noticed that the chatter was louder than usual—all except for the table his brothers were sitting at.  Their normal boasting and laughter had been replaced with a sullen silence.  “
Not a good sign
,” Jorem thought.

A serving maid whisked past balancing trays of food and drink in both hands.  With deft movements, she deposited a plate of food and a mug of juice in front of him.  Jorem could just imagine the disaster that would occur should he attempt such a graceful act.  For himself he found eating with his left hand almost more than he could cope with. His right hand seared with pain whenever he tried to move it.

Jorem was just sopping up the last bits of gravy off of his plate with a piece of bread when the King stood up.  Apparently everyone was expecting this because the room fell instantly silent.  “
Really not a good sign
,” thought Jorem.  “
What else could have happened while I was reading
?”

“We have received an invitation from the Duke of Broughbor to attend the knighting of his eldest son Pertheron.”  The King’s voice sounded tired.  “As Broughbor is some distance, we shall be leaving at first light in order to arrive in time.  My sons shall be accompanying me on this visit, along with my personal guard.”

It looked as if the King had more to say but instead he turned and left the room.  The silence continued for a few moments, then pandemonium broke out.  Jorem was reminded of a hornet’s nest after being struck by a stick.  Everyone began rushing about and with so many people speaking at once it was impossible for anyone to be heard.  To prepare for a royal outing in just a few short hours was something Jorem couldn’t fathom.  Unless he was mistaken a lot of people would be going without sleep tonight.

When he left the hall he meant to go to his rooms to start packing.  Instead he found himself standing at the door to Lord Andrew’s suite.  Absently he knocked on the door and waited.  When no one answered he knocked again.  Perhaps Jennifer had been called away for something.  He was just about to give up when the door slowly opened.

Jorem was a bit startled by Jennifer’s appearance.  Her eyes were red and her cheeks puffy.  Everything about her seemed to droop.  She wouldn’t even look him in the eyes.  All of her sparkle was missing.  She didn’t even say anything, just turned around and walked back into the room.

Jorem closed the door and followed the young girl into the sitting room.  When they got there Jennifer sat down in the corner of a couch and pulled her feet up beneath her.  She picked up a small pillow and held it tightly in her lap.  She still hadn’t looked at him and didn’t even look up when she spoke.

“I’m not really in the mood to dance tonight.  I hope you don’t mind.”  Her voice was so quiet it was almost a whisper.

Jorem wasn’t sure what to say.  He had never seen her like this.  “It’s okay,” he temporized.  “After the trouncing I gave your toes last week you probably need extra time to recover.”

“You hardly ever step on my feet anymore,” she said with a slight sniff.

She looked up at him and when their eyes met a tear trickled down her face.  She looked so miserable that Jorem couldn’t help but want to comfort her.  He had noticed that she had gotten quieter over the last few weeks, but he had thought she was just very busy.

They sat there in silence for a while and finally Jorem decided to ask.  “So, do you want to talk about it?”

“He said that I’m useless.”  The last words came out in a sob.

“Who said that and why would he say such a terrible thing?”  Jorem’s anger surprised both of them.  “I mean, you’re a healer.  What you can do is amazing.”

“That’s just it,” she choked out between sobs, “I’m not a healer.  I’m just a trainee, and Healer Devonne says I’m no good.”

“Did Healer Rellen ever say that?” Jorem asked. 

Jen sniffed and hugged the pillow a little tighter.  “No, but I had the problem even then.  Healer Rellen always said it would work itself out, but it hasn’t.”

“So, you can’t heal?”

“Yes, yes I can.  It’s just that,” she paused to gather the courage to go on.  “I hurt people.”  Tears began flowing down her face again.

“I don’t understand.” Jorem said in confusion.  “If you’re healing, how can that be hurting?”

“Whenever I use my healing gift on someone, it causes a lot of pain.  It’s not supposed to do that.  They’re not supposed to feel anything.”

Jorem could see that she was getting angry that he didn’t understand.  She even turned away from him as if to exclude him from her presence.  Jorem reached for her as he had seen Jeseph do when they first met.  When he brought his hand up, he saw the bandages and had an idea.

“Show me,” he said.

“What?”  Jennifer almost snarled.

“Show me,” he said again and held up his hand.

She seemed to deflate when she looked at his hand.  “I heard you got in a fight with a pile of rocks,” she said with a sigh.  “I suppose that’s better than your brothers being beaten by angry bar maids.”

“Are you serious?” Jorem asked in disbelief.

“I talked to one of the girls,” Jennifer said, expecting Jorem to defend his brothers.  “She said they had had enough of their boorish behavior so they took after them with brooms, pots and pans.  About time, if you ask me!”

Jorem shook his head and laughed.  “No wonder Father was so angry.  They’re supposed to spend mornings at weapons training.  They did say they got in a fight at the tavern, but they didn’t say who it was with.”

Looking at Jennifer as seriously as he could, Jorem held out his hand again.  “Jen, I want to understand your problem.  Show me, please.”

“It’ll hurt,” she said hesitantly.

“Ya, well, it hurts anyway.  Besides, pain is just our body’s way of letting us know that we’re still alive, right?”

Jennifer took his hand in hers and began unwrapping it.  Jorem winced as the last few layers peeled away from his palm.  Jennifer looked at his hand to assess the damage. Then she looked again.

“They said you fell in some rocks.  This isn’t from falling,” she said, indicating his hand.

“You’re right, its not.”  Jorem looked at her steadily.  “But that’s what I need everyone to believe.  Promise you won’t tell?”

She looked at his hand again then looked back at him.  “I promise, but why?”