Authors: Michael G. Southwick
Chapter V
As they continued traveling north, they came by several other isolated cottages. Occasionally there would be two or three close together. Jorem stopped at each house to check on the inhabitants. In each case, the scene was similar to what they’d found at Pirta’s cottage. The men had been taken by the King’s guard, leaving only women and children.
When they finally came across a small village, Jorem’s heart sank. In the fields around the dozen or so houses, elderly men and women were trying to work plows meant for much stronger hands. Young children followed the plows, planting seed in the newly turned soil. Even the horses they used to pull the plows were old and swaybacked. By the time they got enough planted to support themselves it would be winter.
Here, not only had they taken the men, but the women as well. What was left of the people of the village soon gathered around Jorem and his men with faces both angry and tired, but mostly filled with a sense of despair. As their story unfolded, Jorem too was filled with anger. But instead of despair, he turned his anger into determination.
The soldiers had come as they had elsewhere. Only here, there were older people who could care for the children. So they had taken both the men and the women. Anyone who could hold a pike or throw a stone, they took to fight in the war
. “Would whatever enemy the Kingdom was fighting do worse than this?”
Jorem wondered.
They were now less than a day’s journey from Cragg Keep, the largest city in this part of the Kingdom. Jorem had hoped to arrive there before nightfall but he couldn’t leave these people without helping. So he sent Hector on to Cragg to check out the situation there. If nothing got in his way, he would be back by noon on the morrow.
Jorem didn’t even think about whether he should or not, he just took charge. He sent Conrad, two of the elderly from the village and a gaggle of children off into the woods to find whatever they could that was edible. He sent four of his men to take over the plowing.
Jorem and the remaining six men started moving people and supplies. There was no point in so few people living separately. If they could get them all into four of the buildings, it would take far less wood for heating and cooking. Not to mention, it would be easier for the elders to keep track of the children.
For the children, this was a grand idea. They would be able to spend all their time with their friends. From the elders, there was considerable grumbling. Bad enough the Crown had left them with no one to do the work, now they were being forced from their homes. Jorem informed them that there would be a town meeting in the morning to discuss their problems.
Jorem didn’t bother telling anyone who he was. Right now, there was work to be done. Besides, knowing his men, everyone in the village would know his identity before sundown. By the grudging looks he got occasionally from the older men and women, he figured word was spreading with its usual lightning speed.
What really surprised Jorem was the fortitude of the children. They worked as hard as any of the others. When they were set to a task, they did it. They generally caused a fair amount of mischief while they were at their tasks, but no more than was to be expected. More often than not, they turned whatever they were doing into some sort of game, generally accompanied with much laughter and teasing.
Jorem didn’t crawl into his bedroll until well into the night. He chose to sleep in one of the recently vacated houses so he would have some privacy but be easily found if needed. Even though he was exhausted, he had difficulty falling to sleep. He worried over the supplies these people had left. He thought of spring herbs they might be able to find to help if anyone got sick, they likely already knew of these but he would mention it just in case. Every once in a while, he’d have an idea he wanted to write down, but he’d left his pack in the main building and didn’t want to disturb the others by rummaging through his pack for paper and quill. When morning finally came, he couldn’t be sure whether he’d slept or not.
When he did wake, it was to the muted whisperings of three children. As he sat up, they went quiet. There was some poking and prodding, followed by some more whispering. Finally, a stocky girl with long corn silk hair edged forward. Jorem guessed she might be ten years old, maybe younger.
“You don’t look like a prince,” she said in an accusing tone.
“You don’t act like a prince neither,” added one of the other girls.
Jorem rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stifled a yawn.
“Half the journey is choosing your path,”
he thought to himself. So often he’d seen adults dismiss the questions and comments of children. Where would he be if his friend and mentor Pentrothe had ignored a certain lonely little boy all those years ago?
Allowing himself a big stretch, Jorem looked at the youngsters with a lopsided grin on his face.
“You know, I’ve heard that so many times. Maybe you can help me out. What exactly does a prince look like?”
“A prince is tall and handsome,” said the second girl.
“With long, wavy hair,” said the third in a dreamy voice, “and lots of muscles.”
“Like the pictures we saw of Daniel and Brentin,” added the first girl.
Jorem had to smile at the illusions of the three girls. Such adoration for his older brothers was common for those who didn’t know them. More often than not, his four older brothers were referred to as the Fearsome Four, generally not in a kindly manner.
“Don’t forget Farthon and Lauren,” Jorem said. “They are much from the same mold.”
“So who are you?” asked one of the girls.
Jorem grabbed his scabbard as he stood and strapped it on. He’d chosen to sleep in his clothes just in case he was needed in a hurry. He’d taken most of the hidden blades out of his armor as he’d found they weren’t exactly comfortable to sleep on. It would take a bit of time to put them all back, plenty of time to answer their questions.
“Surely you’ve heard of the spare heir,” he quipped as he began sliding the blades into their niches in his shirt and pants.
“Told ya,” said one girl to the others.
“But pa said you was a runt, good for nothing but watching after and tending.”
Jorem had heard these and many other similar remarks before. Time and repetition had taken much of the sting from the words. The time he’d spent working for the blacksmith and then as Neth’s apprentice had added more than just strength and skill. He’d gained confidence in himself. What strangers thought of him didn’t seem so important any more.
“Well ladies, as I’m sure you know, some runts turn out better than others. Now then,” he said as he slid the last blade home, “shouldn’t you three be helping the little ones with first meal?”
“Gram sent us to fetch you, if you’re hungry.”
“Lead on, for I am hungry indeed.”
************
First meal was little more than porridge and coarse bread, but it was hot and he got to sit in a chair at a table while he ate. Compared to his time since joining the guard, he felt almost civilized.
At first he was hard pressed to get a mouthful. Every child in the town had some question they just had to ask Prince Jorem. Finally, an elderly woman shooed away the children. Apparently the children’s departure was a signal though, for as soon as the last toddler exited the room, Jorem found himself surrounded by the older inhabitants.
“So, you’re Prince Jorem?” The man who spoke was stocky, verging on portly. A light fringe of gray hair circled his otherwise bald head. The rumpled clothes and calloused hands told Jorem the man was no stranger to hard work. His brusque manner and severe tone told him he was speaking to the man in charge.
“Aye, that I am,” Jorem responded as he sat back in his hair. At least they’d let him finish most of his meal.
“We’ve heard of ye.”
Jorem chuckled and smiled at the comment. “I’d wager there’s few in the Kingdom, or out for that matter, that haven’t heard of the spare.”
“I suppose they have at that.” The old man’s eyebrows rose as he spoke. “But just because you’re a prince, it don’t give you no right ta be tellin’ people what to do!”
Jorem didn’t respond to the man’s words. Instead, he leaned forward and placed his elbows on the smooth, wooden table. Looking at the people to either side of the old man, he folded his arms. Then he focused back on the speaker and arched one eyebrow. They all knew he had the authority to do whatever he chose. After being intimidated by someone like Lady Mage Zensa, this gray-haired man and all his friends were hardly a worry.
“Now don’t get me wrong.” The old man started back peddling when he realized Jorem wasn’t going to be intimidated. “Gettin’ us all moved in together was a good idea. We should’ve thought of that some time ago.”
Jorem realized there was something bothering all of the people in the room. All of this blustering was just the old man winding up his courage to put the real subject on the table. Having things to do and wanting to get started for the city of Cragg, Jorem decided to get them to the point. Holding up a hand, Jorem forestalled any more rambling. “What is it, exactly,” Jorem asked, “that you want to know?”
“Well…,” the speaker for the group stammered.
Finally, someone from the back of the group piped up. “We want to know how long you and your men plan on staying here.”
Jorem paused before answering.
“Think before you speak,”
his mentor Pentrothe had always told him.
“Make certain what you’re saying is what you want heard.”
These people were worried he was planning on hiding out here until whatever war was going on was over. Maybe once upon a time he might have. Then again, maybe not.
Finally he broke the silence hanging in the room. “You have things well in hand here. If you have the older children set snares out in the woods, you should have meat. My men tell me there’s a fair amount of edible roots and that the greens have already sprouted. With a little planning you should be fine.
“As for my men and me, as soon as my scout returns from Cragg, we’ll be on our way. I intend to check on as many people as I can find between here and the border. Many aren’t as well off as you are and they’ll need help.”
“It’ll take two or three sevendays to reach the border,” a woman said.
“Closer to a full cycle, depending on how many times we have to stop,” Jorem replied.
Just then, Conrad poked his head in the door. “Rim, Hector just got here. Thought you’d want to know.”
“Right,” Jorem replied. “Ladies, gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get my men ready to go.”
After Jorem had left, the man who’d been the speaker for the group turned to the others. “Now don’t I feel the fool? He weren’t nothin’ like what you said. If I were a younger man, I’d sign up to follow that lad.”
“He reminds me of his mother,” one of the women said. “It’s a shame he still carries the blame for her death.”
“There might be a bit of his mother,” said another, “but that was his grandfather you just saw, no doubt about it. Folks, the King included, need to take another look at the man he’s becoming.”
Chapter VI
Cragg Keep was less fortified than Jorem expected for the area. The main building was more of a manor house. It was large enough and built of stone, but the over-large windows, sculptured terraces, and filigree edging left doubt as to anyone being able to defend it.
What at first had appeared to be thick, protective walls proved to be buildings all connected together. With the manor at the center, the buildings circled around a central courtyard to meet at an arch. Likely, there had been a gate in the arch at one time, but now it was just a pathway leading from the courtyard to the ramshackle addition of shacks and sheds into which the growing population had flowed.
A wide expanse had been cleared of trees beyond the shacks. The area had been cultivated and was likely a primary food source for the people here. A few small buildings stood at the far edge of the clearing. To the sides and back of the Keep was a deep chasm.
The walls of the chasm were steep and smooth as glass. The only approach to the Keep was to cross the clearing and traverse the narrow paths between the shacks. So it was little wonder there was a group waiting for them when they arrived.
The group before them parted as they went up the steps. A maid greeted them at the door and escorted Jorem into the manor. The rest of the men spread out to reconnoiter the situation. Hector had not entered into the city on his earlier visit. He had only spied on the place from concealment long enough to verify that the people here were in the same situation as those they had encountered before.
The maid was older, though her hair was not yet graying. She was very serious and spoke little as she showed Jorem into a large chamber filled with chairs and tables, several of which were occupied by elderly women. The women’s eyes locked on Jorem with concern the moment he entered the room.
A stately woman stood as he approached. She wore a long, dark red dress with white ruffles at the sleeves and collar. Her hair was a steel gray, pulled back in a bun. Fine wrinkles covered her narrow yet still attractive face. Gray eyes held the look of one accustomed to being obeyed.
Jorem nodded his head in acknowledgment. “I…”
“Before you make any demands, young man,” the woman interrupted, “you should understand that the King has already taken anything worth taking. What little we have will be needed if we are to survive. You and your pack of brigands might as well be on your way!”
Jorem smiled at the indignation in the woman’s voice. “Before you have me thrown out,” he said still smiling, “allow me to introduce myself.” He bowed deeply then straightened. “I am Prince Jorem, fifth son to King Halden, more commonly referred to as the spare.”
The shock on their faces at his words was priceless. A situation they thought well in hand had just gone out of control. The viper at their door had just transformed, but they weren’t sure whether it was an eagle or a vulture. Three of them started talking at once.
Holding up a hand to gain a little control, Jorem continued. “My men and I are here to help you and those living to the north in any way we can.”
Shock turned to disbelief, then hope. The babble arising from the group was both loud and confusing. Each person tried to be heard above the rest, some making demands, others pleading their cause. All were drowned out by a voice coming from the corridor, a voice Jorem recognized all too well.
“So, is he a brigand or a prince? Oh, never mind. One is as useless as the other. If he’s a brigand, we’ll hang him. If a prince, we’ll toss him back in his carriage and send him back home!”
Jorem turned just in time to see Nethira burst into the room. She wasn’t wearing armor; she was, however, carrying a sword. Her sky blue eyes were bright with anger. Her breaches and white tunic contrasted with the gowns worn by the other women. From the look on her face, if he were a brigand, he’d better have a fast horse.
“I’ve neither the patience nor the time for this,” she said bluntly. “I have word of troubles from the border I need to deal with.”
“Nice to see you too,” Jorem drawled. “Now put that thing away before you hurt someone.”
Her startled look lasted but a heartbeat, then was quickly replaced by a wide grin. Rather than sheath her sword, she tossed it onto a table.
“RIM!”
With a bound, she was before him. Without any hesitation, she grabbed him in a warm embrace, then stepped back and pounded him on the shoulder.
“OW!!” they both said in unison.
“You and your cursed blades,” she said.
“You and your foul temper,” he said.
“Gods above, it’s good to see you.”
“So, this is home?”
“Um… ya. I suppose I missed the introductions.”
“Actually,” Jorem smiled at all in the room, “we were just getting started.”
Everyone else in the room stood staring at the two of them, mouths agape.
“Well then,” Neth said with a twinkle in her eye, “allow me.”
With a deferential nod to the woman in red, Neth began. “This is my mother, Lady Bethania, wife to Lord Gerard of Cragg Keep. Mother, this is Prince Jorem, the only person I’ve ever met I’d trust with my life.”
“Lady Bethania, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Bethania, along with everyone else in the room, curtsied or bowed to Jorem. He found it most humorous to suddenly be an honored guest where just moments ago he was about to be thrown out as a brigand, all for a title most would rather he didn’t hold.
“Please,” Jorem said as he deftly stepped to Lady Behania’s side and assisted her back up, “that’s not necessary. In fact, I’d prefer it if you didn’t. As I said, we’re here to help.”
“If I’m right, you’ll need to have brought an army with you,” Neth said brusquely.
“Why? What’s happened?” Jorem asked in concern.
“We’ve lost contact with Krin Valley.”
************
Krin Valley was more a flat spot set between two mountain ranges than it was a valley. Just inside the border of the Kingdom, it was a small farming community that traded with the nearer villages for things they could not grow or make themselves. The people of Krin held allegiance to the king more out of custom than need. Though the village was well off the beaten track they were well known for their craftsmanship with wood.
Neth had started keeping in touch with Krin by messenger bird shortly after she had returned to Cragg Keep a few cycles ago. The last set of birds she’d sent to Krin had returned today bearing the same messages they’d left with. It was possible the birds had gotten turned around, she had admitted, but not likely.
Jorem sent Conrad and Hector to scout out the situation. If they found anything amiss, Conrad was to return immediately. Hector, with his ability to go unnoticed, was to get as many details as he could before returning. Meanwhile, Jorem set about finding out what and who was left at Cragg Keep.
Much the same as elsewhere, anyone of an age to fight had been taken. Gerard, the Lord of the Keep, had insisted on leading his people rather than having them taken by force. Due to his position and innate ability as a leader, the fighters of Cragg had formed their own unit and their exodus had been more orderly than it would otherwise have been.
The people of Cragg had followed Lord Gerard to defend the Kingdom, with one notable exception. Neth had refused to leave her home undefended. If what the children told Jorem was true, she had drawn her sword and challenged two squads of soldiers to battle. Jorem figured Neth was just crazy enough to have done exactly that.
The soldiers had relented only after Lord Gerard had informed them that any man drawing sword against his daughter would not live to see the morrow. When they learned she was “the mercenary Neth,” they were just as happy they had not pressed the issue.
After everyone but the elderly and children had left, Neth had spent most of her time arguing with her mother and the others who’d been left in charge. She wanted to set up defenses and work with the older children on fighting.
“The border is a long ways away,” they had told her. “No one would send an army against the Kingdom by this route. Everyone knows what would happen to any force sent against the people of the mountains.”
When Neth had pointed out that all the fighters were gone, they assured her that no one would think them all gone. Jorem wasn’t so certain. In fact, he had an uneasy feeling that someone did know. Thoughts of skilled bandits following the mysterious leader, the Dark Mage, kept gnawing at him.