Honor Found (The Spare Heir) (2 page)

Chapter III

When Jorem arose the next morning he donned the newly purchased armor.  By the time he had all of the lacings tightened he felt as though he had grown a second skin.  He opened the package containing the rapiers and knives he had purchased and laid them on his bed.  He smiled as he recalled the shopkeeper’s face when he had explained what he wanted.  A room brimming with bright polished blades and there he was asking for something in a dull gray.

The shopkeeper had kept trying to push a decorative dagger on him until Jorem had lost patience, grabbed the dagger and plunged it deeply into a tabletop.  Grasping the handle he applied his weight and strength sideways on the knife and bent the blade over.
  “I’m looking for real blades. Can you help me or not?”
he’d said.  After that the shopkeeper had been most helpful.  The prices of the blades became far more reasonable as well.

The blades he had chosen appeared unfinished other than the sharpened edges. The flats were dull and rough.
They were, however, hard and strong.  Perhaps not as good a quality as the swords the blacksmith Franks had made, but they were good enough for what he would be using them for.  They could be used for weapons if needed, but their main purpose was to augment his armor.

Carefully Jorem slid each blade into its appropriate sheath—forearms, biceps, thighs and shins.  Once they were all in place it was difficult to tell he actually had thirty plus blades hidden on his person.  The trickiest part was figuring out how to wear his sword.  The scabbard was designed for the formal position at the waist but there was no way he would be able to draw the blade from there as quickly as Neth had drawn hers. He remembered she had drawn her blade from over her shoulder.  Jorem tried that position but found he couldn’t get the blade to clear the scabbard.  With a bit of ingenuity and the use of some leather straps he trimmed the length of the scabbard down and secured it to his back.  It felt a little odd, but he was able to draw the sword fairly quickly after practicing with it for a while.  Now if he could manage to draw it with the flash of speed Neth had, without cutting his ear off, that would be something.

He wished he could see himself in a mirror.  He had the feeling that he looked foolish.  No breastplate, no greave, cuisses or spaulder, nothing that normally made up a set of armor. He had never seen a fighter dressed like this.  The closest he could think of were the royal woodsmen who tracked game when the King went hunting.  They had to be able to move fast and quiet.  Then again, they usually didn’t have to worry about anyone swinging swords at them.

Jorem was a little self-conscious as he entered the common room.  He was certain he would be the center of attention in this odd outfit.  As it turned out, he needn’t have worried.  Neth was already there, waiting for him.  She quirked an eyebrow at him as she looked him up and down.  Then she shrugged her shoulders, turned and walked out the door.  Jorem was left to hurry after her without even the time for a bite to eat.

She was already at the back of the inn by the time he caught up with the lady mercenary.  He had remembered to take the blunted swords with him and the first thing he did was to hand her one of the practice blades.  She took it in her hand and held it out to test the balance.  Her eyes traveled along the length of the blade.  She stood there for a moment looking back and forth from the blade to Jorem. Finally she spoke.  “Do you have a problem with sharp edges?”  Her voice held a hint of derision.

“No,” Jorem said smiling.  “But my neck seems to have become rather sensitive to the touch of a blade.  I’m sure you have the control to keep from slicing me to bits, but I’m not so sure of myself.  I’d hate it if, by some miracle, I got past your guard and managed to cause you injury.”

“You should be more concerned for yourself,” she said with a smirk.  “Even without an edge you’ll need more than a bit of leather for protection.  What did you do, make off with a beggars rag pile?”

Jorem stepped back and took a defensive stance.  “I figured if I am to learn to fight like you I should wear something similar in design if not in style.”

Neth bared her teeth in a menacing grin.  “Let’s show you what it means to have style then.”

The woman’s sword blurred as she advanced on him.  Jorem reacted as best he could.  He was fairly certain that he blocked four of her strikes before he
r sword impacted against his arm.  The sound of her sword striking the blade in his armor made a high-pitched clang.  The force of the blow knocked him sideways a few steps.  Looking down at his arm, Jorem saw that his armor had performed just as Cob had said it would.  He’d still likely have a bruised arm come tomorrow, but at least he’d still have an arm.  Even with leather armor, if her blade had been sharpened he could have lost his arm from such a blow.  No wonder no one else would practice with her.  If it hadn’t been for the blade in his armor his arm would likely be broken.

Neth didn’t even look apologetic about the blow to his arm.  Instead, she looked surprised.  She walked up to him and tapped his arm with her sword.  Even through the leather of its sheath, the blades clinked together.  Neth’s head cocked to one side as she tapped Jorem’s arm again.

As Jorem stood there, Neth walked around him.  Once in a while she would reach out and tap him with her sword.  Whenever she found another blade, there would be a distinctive clank of metal striking leather-padded metal.  When she was done, she walked a few paces from him, turned and simply nodded.

What followed was the worst beating of his life.  Jorem felt as though every finger length of his body was bruised.  He was soaked with perspiration and breathing so hard he thought his lungs might burst.  Neth, on the other hand, hadn’t even broken a sweat.  Jorem raised his sword in preparation for another onslaught.

Neth shook her head.  “I think that is enough.”  She flipped her sword around and handed it to Jorem, hilt first.  “You were slow to begin with, now you’re beyond slow.”

As she turned and began to leave, Jorem asked, “Same time tomorrow, then?

She turned back toward him.  The look on her face showed a little surprise.  Apparently she had expected him to quit after being so thoroughly trounced.  Jorem wasn’t sure he would be able to move tomorrow, but he was sure of one thing.  He wanted to be as good as she was.  If it cost him a daily beating then so be it.

“How many times did I ‘kill’ you this morning?” she asked.

Jorem smiled.  Even that hurt.  “I lost count after the first dozen.”

She stood silently for a while.  Jorem could tell she was arguing with herself.  Finally she looked at him and nodded.  She didn’t look happy about her decision.  She did, however, look determined.

Neth turned and pointed off into the distance.  “You see that hill over there with the bald top?  I want you to the top and back before first meal.  After that, if you’re up to it, we’ll work on improving your speed.”

She didn’t stay to talk. She just turned and left.  Jorem looked off to the hill Neth had pointed at.  The top was indeed treeless.  From the inn to the tree line looked to be dense forest.  If it were level ground Jorem figured it would take a mark or so to get there and the same to get back.  Fighting his way through underbrush and up the hillside could easily take twice that.  If he were lucky there might be a trail he could follow.

Chapter IV

The next morning, and every morning after, found Jorem headed for the top of the hill.  The first sevenday had been the worst.  Between being thoroughly bruised and totally out of shape he didn’t get first meal until nearly midday.

He had agreed to pay for Neth’s meals at the inn, so she was always there waiting for him.  She gave him just enough time to wolf down a quick meal and change into his armor before marching him out for another beating.  After the second sevenday of this routine, she told him to start wearing his armor on his daily trek up the hill.  She didn’t give him a reason, but he dared not disobey.

Two days later he was extremely glad he had heeded her order.  He was about halfway up the hill when an armor-clad warrior jumped from behind a tree and attacked him.  Jorem was so startled that he didn’t even manage to get his sword out before the attacker was upon him.  He blocked a sword stroke with his arm blades and spun around the attacker in an attempt to gain enough time to draw his sword.

Something struck him on the back of his head that sent him sprawling.  Before he could regain his feet, he felt the point of a sword resting in the middle of his back.  He was going to die here and no one would ever know what happened.  Prince Jorem would simply cease to exist.

“Always be ready for an attack.” Neth’s voice came harsh to Jorem’s ears.  “It can and will happen when you least expect it.”

The touch of the sword at his back went away.  Getting to his feet, Jorem turned to face the lady mercenary only to find her gone.  Without so much as a whisper of sound she had disappeared into the forest.  Rubbing the rapidly forming knot on the back of his head, Jorem continued his trip up the hill. 

Twice more she attacked as he made his way up the hill.  Both times she appeared, and disappeared, in silence.  Not once had he been able to draw his sword.  By the time he got back to the inn he had a black eye and blood from a bloodied nose covered the front of his shirt.  Neth was sitting at a table nibbling at a plate of cheese as though she had been at the inn all morning.

Day in and day out his training continued.  Nethira’s method was merciless, but it was effective.  The weather grew cold and snow fell.  The silence of winter covered the forest.  The only sounds Jorem heard as he made his way to the top of the hill were his own breathing and the crunch of the snow underfoot.  He wore the fingerless mittens to keep his hands from freezing, but Neth had forbidden him from wearing a coat.  “If you’re cold then you’re not moving fast enough,” she said.  He did manage to wear a set of light clothing under his armor so he wouldn’t freeze.

Even with the cold and the snow, Neth still managed her sneak attacks.  The attacks were never in the same place.  Once she even caught him as he was just leaving the inn.  Some days there were no attacks.  Other days, it seemed like a non-stop battle from start to end.

During his time with the blacksmith, Jorem had built a lot of muscles on his upper body.  His training with Neth had trimmed him down considerably.  He hadn’t lost any strength though.  If anything he was even stronger.  It was as if his muscles had condensed to whip cords, adding faster reactions to his strength.

Even though he had his evenings free, Jorem seldom left the inn after the evening meal. He simply didn’t have the energy to do more than collapse on his bed. He did manage to notice at some point that the Duke’s son was wedded to Jannett.  From what he’d overheard there’d been quite a celebration.  Other than a crowded inn, the only thing Jorem noticed was that Neth had been in a very foul mood.

The afternoon training had slowly progressed from a daily beati
ng to something almost resembling a duel. Less and less Jorem was relying on his special armor to block the mercenary’s crushing blows. He had to replace several of his knives due to breakage, but better them than his bones. He was still nowhere near as fast as she was. Even though he’d improved, she still ‘killed’ him with such ease, sometimes he felt foolish. The harder he tried the fiercer she fought.

And there were no days off with Neth. “Death happens every day.
Even the King can’t change that”, was her reasoning.  It wasn’t long before Jorem didn’t even know what day it was.  Soon after that he was too tired to care whether the sun came up in the morning.  The only sense of time he had was the deepening of the snow.

**************

The nearer to the top of the hill he got, the deeper the snow became.  He was almost to the tree line and the snow was already almost to his waist.  Thankfully there had been no ambushes today.  This had been the hardest climb he could remember.  As he stopped to catch his breath he slipped and nearly fell.  Realizing he’d been thinking too much about the past and not focusing on the task at hand Jorem blew into his hands to warm them and studied the snow covered landscape.

Taking a deep breath Jorem pushed on through the snow.  Just a bit further and he could start making his way back to the inn.  The sun came out from behind a small bank of clouds and the expanse of snow beyond the trees sparkled brightly in the sunshine.  It looked like a carpet of miniature suns lay on the ground.  Jorem had read of an entire army being defeated because they had been blinded by the sun’s glare on the snow.  Now he understood how it could happen.  The snow was so bright it was painful to look at.

He was just about to step from the shadows of the trees onto the glittering surface before him when the snow at his feet exploded upward.  He attempted to jump back but his feet slipped on the icy surface under the snow.  As he fell he heard the swooshing of a sword above his head.  The powdery snow covered him as he went down.

In his mad scramble to get back up he collided with his attacker.  Without thinking Jorem reached out, grasped the assailant and heaved.  There was a squawk of surprise amidst the flapping of arms. Jorem quickly stood and drew his sword.  The look Neth gave him did not bode well as she stood and wiped snow from her face.

With a quick flip of his fingers Jorem removed the flap of his mittens to expose his fingers.  He had just that much time before the mercenary charged.  Even in hip-deep snow Neth was incredibly fast.  The clang of sword striking sword rang through the trees.  Jorem grunted with pain as Neth slipped an elbow through to his chin.  He kicked out with his foot but the mercenary dodged back.

They battled back and forth for some time.  Although still fast, Neth’s speed was slower than usual due to the deep snow, giving Jorem a little more time to react.  He was beginning to think he might actually be able to hold his own when Neth launched a furious attack.  It took every bit of concentration he had to deal with the onslaught.

It was obvious to Jorem he was about to be defeated.  He took a step back and bumped into a tree trunk. Snow cascaded off the branches of the tree.  Both he and Neth were engulfed in snow.  Jorem gasped as snow went down his neck, melting into a cold stream trickling down his back.

Looking over at Neth, he saw she was no better off than he was.  She was covered from the head down with snow.  Snow was piled high on top of her head and shoulders. There was even snow on the tip of her nose.  Jorem could easily see her as a legendary snow beast, especially with the deadly look she had on her face.  Her fierce gaze would have been more effective if another branch hadn’t chosen that moment to release its load of snow onto the already covered mercenary.

Jorem couldn’t help himself. He got the giggles.  Maybe it was the many days of practice and training without a break. Whatever it was he could not stop laughing. Even when Neth threw a hand full of snow in his face he continued chuckling.  In the blink of an eye they went from fierce combat to children having a snow fight.  The snow didn’t pack well so there was little danger of injury.  Soon they were both covered with snow and laughing at the other’s condition.

It didn’t take long before they were both soaking wet and getting cold.  Even so, they were both smiling by time they stopped throwing snow at one another.

“We’d best get back to the inn before we freeze to death,” Neth said as she brushed the snow out of her hair.  Although Jorem could feel the cold numbing his fingers, he felt good. Better than he had felt for some time.  The crisp air felt good as he breathed it in.  For the first time since Neth had started training with him he wasn’t stiff and sore.  He had a number of bruises, but even those had ceased to ache.

*****

Back at the inn Jorem sat as close to the fire as he could.  Neth had just left and would not be returning today.  Taking a sip from a mug of hot cider Jorem relaxed as the warmth spread through his body.  Without the usual afternoon training he was at loose ends for something to do.  He was considering returning to his room when the innkeeper Biorne strolled over and sat down beside him.  The little man was one of the few who knew Jorem to be one of the king’s sons.

“A messenger from the keep brought a package for you.  For Prince Jorem, that is,” Biorne said.  “I left it on the desk in your room.”

Biorne might be the shortest man Jorem had ever met, but his words held great wisdom.  Over the past year and a half Jorem had learned to pay attention to what he said as well as what he didn’t say.  It was very much like talking to Pentrothe.  The old wizard had taught him to listen with his mind, not just his ears.

“I’ve heard rumors of some troubles building off to the east.”  Biorne leaned back into his chair as he spoke.  “Might be the King needs you home to lead some of his troops.”

Jorem thought about what Biorne said before responding.  It was true that a member of the royal family led the kingdom’s soldiers into battle.  Every soldier was assigned to one of the four divisions in the army and a member of the royal family was given charge of each division.  No matter how you did the math with four division and five sons, you had a spare heir.

Jorem took another sip of cider.  “If it were that bad the Duke would be leading his troops to the capital by now.  If there is word from my father it is likely a reminder not to break anything of value.”

Biorne snorted at Jorem's sarcasm.  “The clumsy boy the King left here grew into a man any father would be proud to call son.”

They sat in silence for a while, enjoying the warmth of the fire.  Jorem thought about his father and brothers.  Things had been so much simpler when he was little.  His brothers were his heroes and his father was the mighty King.  Now the fairy tale bubble had burst and the pure and glamorous image he’d had of his family had faded to a dull, dingy cloth.

He had never really fit in before and doubted he ever would.  Perhaps it would have been different if his mother had lived past his birth.  All he had to remember her by was an empty chair at the dining table and a painting he’d seen in his father’s private quarters.

Finally Jorem shook his head and stood up.  With a sad smile on his face he looked down at the innkeeper. “Any father but my own.”

Biorne watched the young prince leave the room.  Quietly he whispered “More the fool he.  More the fool he.”