Honor Found (The Spare Heir) (3 page)

Chapter V

Jorem trudged his way through the melting snow as he headed for the Keep of the Duke of Broughbor.  In all the time he had been here he had never visited the keep.  He’d seen it in the distance on his few visits to the central part of town, but he’d not had any reason to go there.

Even though the snow was still piled waist high on the sides of the road and grey clouds scuttled high above, Jorem felt warm inside.  The package he’d received had contained letters from both Pentrothe the wizard, who had been both a father and a friend, and Jen the healer, who had taught him how to dance.  It had been so good to hear from both of them that he had read the letters several times over.

There had also been a note from the royal scribe conveying the king’s regards and wishes.  The note’s main purpose had been to remind him that he was expected to uphold the family honor.  The package had also included a gold crown for his expenses.  That his father had had a scribe write the letter was just another reminder that the distance between them was more than physical.

For the past few cycles, Neth had been teaching him how to move with stealth.  The snow had gotten too deep for him to make his trek up the hill.  Instead, they had been working out in the denser part of the forest where the snow was not so deep.  It was like playing hide-and-seek except they were both trying to sneak up on each other to attack without warning.

At first, the mercenary had compared his attempt at stealth to a tinker’s wagon rolling over a cobblestone road.  Lately, either he was getting better or she was distracted.  Several times he’d found her leaning against a tree staring off into the distance.  When they battled, though, she was just as intense as ever.  When they’d parted yesterday she had told him to meet her this morning at her quarters in the guard’s compound at the keep.  She had given him sketchy directions on how to get there.  “If you get lost just ask anyone and they’ll point you in the right direction,” she’d said.

Whenever Jorem made a trip into Broughbor from the inn at the outskirts of town he made a point of stopping by Ohlof’s bakery.  The man made the most amazing sandwiches Jorem had ever tasted. 

Ohlof the baker was a huge man easily as wide as he was tall and one of the nicest people Jorem had ever met.  Stopping for a meal also gave him a chance to see Cassy, the baker’s daughter.  She was a few years younger than him and the prettiest girl around.

As he approached the bakery, Jorem saw quite a crowd gathered on the porch and waiting to get in.  Well, if he couldn’t get a bite to eat at least he would say hello.  As he neared the porch, he heard “Rim!” in a high clear voice.  The crowd parted as a slim figure squirmed through.

Cassy’s short brown hair bounced as she came down the steps.  She was smiling brightly and her eyes sparkled as she rushed over to him.  When she got closer her smile faded and a look of confusion came over her.

“You’re… you’re wearing a sword,” she said dully.  “Why would you wear a sword?”

Jorem hadn’t even thought about it.  Normally, when he came to town the most he carried was a staff.  He was going to meet with Neth so he’d automatically put on his sword.  With Neth he never knew when she’d test him.  It was really only a practice sword without an edge, but it would be more than enough to cause injury.

“I’ve been training with a mercenary for some time and I was on my way to meet her.”

By the look of shock and revulsion on her face Jorem was certain he’d said something wrong.  Usually when they were together Cassy did most of the talking.  There wasn’t much he could say without confessing to being Prince Jorem anyway.  One thing he was sure of, if Cassy knew he was a Prince, everyone would know.

Cassy shook her head and took a step back.  Whatever the problem was she was very upset about it.  Her hands were balled into fists at her sides.  She was looking at him as if he’d transformed into a monster.  “The Book of One says it’s wrong to bring harm to another,” she said, still shaking her head.

Jorem had read the Book of One.  In fact, Pentrothe had seen to it that he’d read the writings of nearly all of the religious groups both in and out of the kingdom. 
“To understand a man you need to know what he believes, what he was taught as a child.  A man’s concept of right and wrong is formed early and affects his actions throughout his life.”
  Pentrothe’s words echoed through his mind.

“Doesn’t the Book of One also say if you can prevent another from being harmed and you do nothing it is the same as though you had caused the harm yourself?” Jorem asked.

“That’s just an excuse,” Cassy said.  “Father says all fighting is wrong.  He prays every night for all weapons to be taken from the land.  Without weapons men would have to live in peace.”

Her words came out heated and hard, but immediately several things came to Jorem’s mind:  Neth telling him that everything is a weapon if you know how to use it. Cob, or Jacobs as he now knew him, of the royal guard saying bandits seldom attack when they know you are armed and ready.  Jen’s serious face as she said that pain was life’s way of telling you that you were still alive.  Even a scene of the new guard recruits on the practice field training with sticks and rocks.

All these things came to his mind but he knew that, to Cassy, they would make no difference. 

“Men believe what they choose to believe no matter what Gods they profess to follow,”
Pentrothe had said so long ago
.  “Argue with them if you will, but you’ll sooner convince a fish to breath air.  Only those who are seeking will hear words they do not already know.”

By the look in her eyes Jorem knew that Cassy wasn’t seeking and that arguing would only serve to end a friendship.

“Peace for all is a noble desire and something we should all work towards.”  Jorem spoke softly but with conviction.  “Until that day comes, there will be a need for defenders to protect the innocent.”

A tear fell from Cassy’s eye and trickled down her face.  “I like you Rim, but I can’t be with you if you follow that path.”

It felt as though he’d been punched in the gut.  Emotions warred inside him.  Anger, fear and sadness nearly overwhelmed him.  Something inside of him was dying and he couldn’t see any way of stopping it.

What would Pentrothe say?  The old wizard had taught him so many things, but few of those teachings dealt with girls. 
“When it comes to the heart, the mind has little to say.  Throughout our lives we make choices and sometimes the options before us will bring sadness to ourselves and others.  At those times we must use not only our knowledge but our hearts as well.  We may not be happy with the outcome but at least we will be content in knowing our choices were the best we could make.”

Pentrothe’s words whispered through Jorem’s mind.  Another tear slid down the gentle curve of Cassy’s cheek.  She could not be his friend if he followed the warrior’s path.  He could accept that.  It hurt, yes, but pain was something he had learned to deal with.

“An old man once told me that when good men stand aside and do nothing, the chains of oppression shed their guise of peace and ensnare all men.  I like to think that I am a good man.”  Jorem’s words were soft, almost a whisper.  “I will not stand aside.  Whatever comes, I will be ready to face it, whether it is in battle or at an assembly for peace.”

”Cassy’s lip quivered and tears flowed freely down her face.  “Goodbye, Rim,” she whispered. 

She turned, fled through the crowd and disappeared behind the bakery door.  Jorem stood there in the middle of the road and watched her go.  The smile left his face and all that was left was sadness.

“I will always be your friend,” he whispered.

The gray clouds were grayer.  The warmth he had felt before was gone, replaced by a numbness that would likely remain for some time to come.

Chapter VI

The Keep of Broughbor was at roughly the center of the city.  Getting there through the maze of winding roads, dead ends and roads that circled back on them selves, proved to be a bit of a challenge.  Getting anywhere in Broughbor was a challenge for someone not born there.  Jorem was certain there was a shorter route than the way he was going, but every time he’d asked for directions he’d gotten confused and had to backtrack to the main road.  By the time he arrived at the keep it was already near midday.

As Jorem approached the outer walls of the keep, he felt dwarfed by their size.  Shear walls of gray stone towered over him at least four or five times his height.  Guards patrolled along the top and bottom of the walls, keeping watch on all that transpired near the keep.  He felt the guards’ gaze follow him as he walked toward the main gate. No one loitered about without a guardsman asking what their business was and promptly directing them on their way. 

After a few questions, the guards waved him through the gate.  They had eyed his sword until he’d shown them the blunted edges.  One of the guards told him to follow the main hallway to the servants’ wing.  The man stood watching to be sure he didn’t wander off.  Jorem thought it odd they’d sent him to the main keep, but you just don’t argue with a bunch of heavily armed guardsmen.

The keep crouched like a giant caged beast within its protective walls.  Gray and sulking, the building looked to have been carved from a single stone.  The few windows he could see were mere slits no more than a hand span in width.  The entire place was built for defense.  Jorem tried to imagine what it would take to successfully attack the keep.  That’s when the confusing maze of streets started to make sense.  By the time an army got to the keep, they would be strung out all over the city.  They would be easy pickings for a few skilled archers and stealthy huntsmen.

Entering through thick iron-bound doors, Jorem found himself in a large hallway running the full length of the building.  The walls were of the same grey stone that made up the outer walls of the building.  There were numerous doors to either side of the hallway, though most were closed.  Candles to the side of each doorway gave ample illumination for the hall.

The air in the hall held a slight chill, another deterrent for those who liked to linger.  The sound of each of his steps echoed up and down the length of the hallway.  Not an easy place to sneak about, Jorem thought.  Even trying to walk quietly, his footfalls sounded loud in his ears.

He was just passing an open doorway when he heard a rustling coming towards him.  The area beyond the doorway was dark and the light from the hallway did little to penetrate the darkness.  Steel on leather, leather on stone, and silk on silk.  The sounds registered in his mind as he sprang further down the hall away from the darkened doorway.  Spinning and turning with such speed and grace he surprised himself almost as much as his attacker.

Sword met sword with a clang that echoed down the hall.  Jorem didn’t think, nor did he pause.  His body responded almost of its own accord.  All of the training Neth had been pounding into him came forward and he let it flow through him.  It was almost as if he were an observer, watching someone else wielding his sword.

His opponent was shorter and stockier.  Within three heartbeats Jorem knew the fighter was younger than he, but well trained.  Not on the level of Neth—not even close. It was probably a squire, a page or a son of a local lord.  This would definitely be the last time this boy jumped out and attacked a stranger without warning.

With a lunge, a twist and an elbow strike, Jorem laid the attacker out on the floor.  He had just set the point of his sword on the boy’s chest to get his attention when a trio of men burst into the hall.  All of them were armed and none of them looked happy.

With a step and a crouch, Jorem retrieved the attacker’s sword.  Neth hadn’t trained him a lot with twin-sword work, but what he’d learned he liked.  Still crouching, Jorem studied the three men.  As they moved toward him he noted an imbalance in the walk of one, stiffness in the shoulders of another and a slight hesitance in the third.  All of these weaknesses could be exploited and all gave avenues of attack.

The detached part of him was amused at his own reaction.  Not that long ago he would have turned and fled in terror, possibly wetting himself on his way.  Now, not only was he standing his ground, he was fairly confident he could take all three of them.  An old man’s voice whispered in his mind,
“Overconfidence cost many a battle.”

One of the men tightened his grip on his sword.  The man to the right led out with his left rather than his right.  The third had a belt scabbard hanging slightly askew.  Small things until combined together.  Feinting to his right and they would be in each others way.  Follow that with a low attack to the right and they would become entangled, easily disarmed and defeated.  A slight groan off to his side assured him that the boy was in no shape to cause any difficulties.

Suddenly, a door behind the approaching men slammed open.  All three of the men whirled around at the sound then instantly jumped to the sides of the hallway and stood rigidly at attention.  Walking stormily past them came a figure Jorem had not seen for some time.  He was tall and lean, a man accustomed to fighting and being in charge.

Pertheron, the son of Duke Rodney, walked past the men without so much as a glance.  Jorem remained as he was, watching. 
“Knife left sleeve, dagger right hip, knife right ankle, mail shirt, anger and arrogance.  Not easy, but doable.”
  Jorem thought as he smiled.  Pertheron, still some distance away, stopped.  Warily, he glanced at the boy still lying on the floor.

“What goes here?” the Duke’s son asked. 

Jorem tilted his head slightly at the boy.  “The boy attacked me from cover.  He’ll be having a headache for a while but he’ll live, hopefully a bit wiser.”

“And you are?”

“Rim, to see Nethira.”

One of the men behind Pertheron hissed through his teeth.  Pertheron himself took half a step back.

“Are you as good as she?” Pertheron asked. 

Jorem smiled at the question.  “Not quite.  I’m close, but not quite.”

Pertheron glanced back at his men.  “Know how hot the fire is before you jump in.  Tanner, escort our guest to Lady Nethira’s quarters.  You two take young Talbot to his room.”

“You might mention to the lad how important it is to identify your quarry before you attack,” Jorem said to the men approaching the still growing boy.

“That happens to be the Duke’s nephew,” Pertheron voiced hotly.

“Even a prince should learn to respect those around him, wouldn’t you agree, sir?”

Jorem’s blade hissed as it slid into the leather scabbard on his back.  He took the other sword by the blade and held it out to Pertheron.  Pertheron’s face darkened as he received the sword but he didn’t say a word as Jorem turned to follow his escort.