Honor Crowned (7 page)

Chapter XII

             
It took Jorem a while to regain his composure.  When he did, he noticed that Jacobs had managed to sit up.  The urge to reach over and knock him down again was almost irresistible.

The anger must have been evident in Jorem’s glare.  Jacobs slumped and looked away.

              “They said you were good,” Jacobs said after a moment silence.  “I figured they were exaggerating.  When you tripped over your own shovel yesterday and fell on your face, I figured I was right.”

Jacobs shook his head.  “Then you take off through the trees like a deer.  You up and disappeared in the middle of a wide open clearing and appeared like magic in front of me.  As soon as we crossed blades, I knew I didn’t have a chance.  Why didn’t you finish me?”

Jorem’s emotions were still raw in his throat.  He took the time he needed to get control over himself before responding.  When he spoke, he kept his voice low and flat.  As much as he wanted to rage at this man, he wanted to control the situation more.

“Dead men don’t answer questions very well,” Jorem said, “and I want answers.”

They sat in silence.  All of the wildlife had vacated the area during the fight.  Not even a breeze rustled the leaves.  Only the moonlight casting shadows gave contrast to the forest about them.

“Why, Jacobs?” Jorem asked evenly.  “Why does my Father want me dead?”

“That’s a long story, Jorem.”

“Trust me.  You don’t have anywhere else to go.”  Jorem’s words came out with an edge.

Jacobs sighed.  “The King blames you for Queen Tervena’s death.  It doesn’t make sense, I know, but that’s the way it is.  He poisoned your brothers against you as well.  Every bad thing that has happened since her death, he blames on Tervena not being there.

“He did everything he was duty bound to do as King, but never anything more.  He kept hoping one of your accidents would get your neck broken.  Everyone at court knew the score.  No one was allowed to hurt you, but there was no punishment for not helping you.

“Then, when you came of age for arms training, the old man started scheming.  Lord, that armor he gave you must’ve cost a fortune.  But he knew sending you out there all dressed up like a peacock would set every soldier against you.”

Jorem held up a hand and Jacobs paused in his tale.

“I get all that,” he said in a resigned tone.  “Father has never been fond of me.  That has never been a secret.  But this, sending you here to… well, it just doesn’t make sense.”

“I didn’t say it made sense.  I’m just saying what it is.  All those years the King had spent convincing everyone you were nothing more than a nuisance, then you turn up for your first day of arms training.  A clumsier runt of a boy I’ve never seen.  But, by the end of that first session, you had an entire room of guardsmen thinking maybe they were wrong about you, myself included.

“And you kept coming back—no complaining, no whining, and no shirking.  You worked hard and took your lumps like any other recruit.  Shame you had to make friends with that young healer girl though.  The King saw to it she was as miserable as possible.  That didn’t work out as well as he planned either.  Nobody messes with a healer if they want soldiers on their side.  The King was trying to leave you without any friends, but he lost a lot of support from the guard.  He’d of gotten rid of the Dragon Mage if he hadn’t been scared to death of her.”

Jacobs’ words about Jen made Jorem furious.  That anyone would have caused Jen harm made him angry.  That it was his own Father left him seething with fury.  The very idea of someone harming a healer was beyond reason, and the bond between Jen and himself made him even more protective of her.

“The King thought it quite the boon when he left you to slave for the blacksmith in Broughbor.  He couldn’t see how your decision affected the guard and the commoners.  That you stayed impressed them.  That you volunteered made you the topic of conversation in many a tavern.  Personally, I’ve never been so proud of a royal in my life.

“Then rumors started coming of you helping the poor.  Some of my favorite tales were of you rescuing fair maidens and battling the goblin hordes.  Tall tales they may have been, but to the average person, they transformed you from the bumbling spare into a hero.  And then you up and disappeared.  You weren’t here and you weren’t there.

“The King showed no sign of concern, so no one took it amiss.  New rumors came that you’d run off.  They said you were afraid to face the lies you had been spreading.  Others said you had perished, whether through your own clumsiness or misfortune depended on the teller.  I’m pretty sure where those rumors came from.

“Some believed it, some didn’t.  No one knew for sure.  Then out of nowhere, you reappeared.  No rumors this time—nothing less than a formal report from my brother, the Duke of Broughbor.  You had single-handedly tamed the Folk.  Without so much as a by-your-leave you brought peace between two people and ended a war before it began.

“That’s about the time the King decided you were after the throne.  He’s a hard man and you had stopped being a hindrance and had become a threat.  He sent me after you,
“to
eliminate the treasonous wolf,”
he said.  But once again you had disappeared without a trace.  I found your things, but you were gone.  I waited, but you didn’t return.”

“If he knew I was gone,” Jorem interrupted, “why did he send Lord Radworth to retrieve me?”

Jacobs looked at Jorem quizzically.  “I’ve never heard of a Lord Radworth.  He did send a messenger to Broughbor with orders for you to report to Captain Jonas.  Of course, he didn’t expect you to be there.  He just wanted everyone to notice you were ignoring your duty.  Odd though, the messenger never returned.”

“I don’t think he will,” Jorem said, pondering.  “Three men came for me, two burly guards and a man claiming to be Lord Radworth von Snelis.  I think they were supposed to lead me into a trap, a trap that had already been sprung.  I sent them packing.  Now I’m glad I did.”

“Any idea who sent them?” Jacobs asked.

“All I have is a reference to a dark mage,” Jorem replied.

“The Dark Mage?” Jacobs asked in surprise.

“I suppose there’s likely more than one,” Jorem mused.

“There’s only one who calls himself by that name.” Jacobs said cautiously.  “He’s the one who started this war.  It’s his army marching toward the capital as we speak.”

“A war is about to start and the King sends you to kill a prince?” Jorem asked shaking his head.  “That doesn’t make sense.”

“More sense than you know,” Jacobs replied.  “When Jonas and his troops arrived, word about you spread like wildfire.  If even half of the tales are true, you could have the entire army at your beck and call with a single word.”

“Soldiers always exaggerate given the chance.  You know that as well as anyone,” Jorem said.

“That was my thinking, until I spoke with Jonas.  That man is as circumspect as they come.  In this case, the King is right, you are a threat.  If you showed up at the capital right now and demanded the crown, Halden would have no choice but to give it to you.  So he sent me to eliminate the threat.”

Jorem sat quietly, pondering the tale he’d heard. 
“King Jorem?”
  He’d never even considered it.  It didn’t sound right and it didn’t feel right.  He had always dreamed of being a great warrior and he found that dream much less glamorous in reality.  But to be King?

Thoughts of his Father and brothers flittered through his mind.  All of the Lords and Ladies came to mind with all of their posturing and pretense.  Somehow he just couldn’t see himself among them.  No, he was the spare.  He missed the few friends he had there, but he no longer fit.

Jorem looked Jacobs steadily in the eye.  “I have no desire for the throne.  In fact, I’m not sure I’ll ever go back.  I’ve made a promise to the people of Cragg Keep.  Keeping that promise may well prove the end of me, but, they’re good people and they need my help.  The only decision troubling me right now is what to do with you.”

Jacobs nodded.  “The smart thing to do would be to kill me.”

Jorem’s brows furrowed.  “Smart or expedient? There is a difference, and one does not justify the other.”

Jacobs chuckled before replying.  “If it makes it any easier, either way I’m a dead man.”

“What do you mean?” Jorem asked.

“Even if you let me go,” Jacobs sighed, “the King will have me hunted down.  The first rule of assassination, assassinate the assassin.  The King cannot allow the killer or attempted killer of one of the princes to live.  No, for me this is a one-way trip.”

Jorem sat staring at Jacobs.   There was another option, but it was risky.  Jacobs, assassin or not, was a good man to have in a fight.  The question was, could he be trusted?

Jorem stood and drew his sword.  A slight hiss of metal on leather and a quiet ting and the blade cleared the scabbard.  Jacobs watched the gleaming blade as Jorem slowly lowered the point.  With a deep breath, Jacobs bowed his head and closed his eyes.

Jorem circled around Jacobs until he was behind the assassin.  Ever so carefully, Jorem slid the tip of his sword between Jacobs’ wrists and cut the cord binding him.  Jacobs remained motionless.

“There is another way,” Jorem said quietly.

Silence hung in the air.  Jacobs didn’t even quiver, resigned to his end.

“You can join me,” Jorem stated, “and serve the people.”

“You would trust me?” Jacobs whispered.

“No, not yet, maybe never.  You did pledge loyalty to the King, but I need you.”

Jacobs slowly swiveled around to face Jorem, than levered himself to one knee.

“The King is not the man I thought him to be.  I can serve him no longer.  I pledge to you my life, my service and…”

“No!” Jorem growled, raising the point of his sword to rest on Jacobs’ chest.  “Not to me!  If you must pledge yourself, pledge to the people.  One man does not a Kingdom make.  You’ll have to be more than just another guardsman.  You’ll have to decide for yourself whether what you are doing is right or wrong.  Not just for you, but for everyone.”

Jacobs remained kneeling, his eyes locked on Jorem.  So many questions came to Jacobs’ mind, each dismissed as obvious or unworthy.  Jorem watched the man’s face, a blank mask showing no emotion.  When the assassin finally spoke, it was with uncertainty.

“How will I know if what I do is right?” Jacobs asked.

“How did you know before?” Jorem questioned.

“I just followed orders.”

“And did you think the order to kill me was right?”

“I didn’t think.  I…,” Jacobs hesitated,” Okay, no… yes… maybe… I don’t know.  The last time I saw you, you were a scrawny runt of a thing.  Listen, I don’t get paid to think.”

“Well,” Jorem smirked, “you still don’t get paid, but you’d better start thinking.”

“How do
you
know what
you’re
doing is right?” Jacobs argued.

“I ask myself that very question every day,” Jorem said as he sheathed his sword.  “The answer is never easy and no one can answer it for me.  At this point, if I’m absolutely certain I’m right, then I’m probably asking the wrong question.”

“When the King finds out you’re still alive, he’ll send someone else,” Jacobs stated.

“Hmmm,” Jorem mused.  “Barring an extreme amount of luck, in a few days he won’t have to bother.”

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

There were still a few hours till dawn when Jorem and Jacobs arrived back at the Keep.  Other than a challenge from a sentry, all was quiet.  Even after the hike back to the Keep Jorem’s emotions were still raw from his talk with Jacobs.  Rather than risk facing anyone, Jorem decided to have them both remain outside the wall so he would have a little more time to mull it all over in his mind.  Finding a piece of ground and the wall to lean against, they both dozed off.  Neither awoke until the noise from others roused them from their slumber.

Chapter XIII

Today’s task, though less arduous than that of previous days, was intense in its need for craftsmanship and cunning.  Spikes ranging from an arm’s length to the height of a grown man were sharpened to a point and then planted in the trenches.  Pathways were left clear of spikes in each trench to allow for safe passage across the clearing.

Once the camouflage of the trenches began, spikes were placed to fill in the pathways and planks were laid across the top for crossing.  When the enemy drew nearer, the planks could quickly be removed.  The forested area beyond the clearing ran amok with children gathering small branches and grasses to help hide the trenches.  Of Jacobs, Jorem saw little.  He hadn’t the time nor the energy to spare for worrying about the choice he’d made.

As the work progressed, a problem with their camouflage became evident.  With their limited time, there was no way to completely hide the trenches.  Broad strips of rough ground separated by smooth strips of packed earth covered the clearing.  The difference between the camouflaged areas and the rest was so evident it made the camouflage useless.

Jorem stared at the clearing and pondered.
“How do we hide something so obvious?”
  It wasn’t so much making the trenched areas less obvious by hiding them as it was making them difficult to see.  Rather than just covering them with more grass, Jorem decided to change his approach.

Instead of trying to hide
that
there were trenches, maybe they should concentrate on making them hard to locate, at least until it was too late to avoid them.  Jorem smiled as he recalled a lesson learned from the wizard Pentrothe.

“I can’t find it,” Jorem had whined.

“It is there,” came Pentrothe’s grating whisper.  “Had it been put away it would be easy to find.  As it is, you will have to find where it was left.”

“It’s just a pen.  I could go get another,” Jorem disparaged.

“And then I would have a room full of pens.  Find what you lost and use what you have.”

“It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack,” Jorem complained after another fruitless search.

“A needle is different than hay,” Pentrothe said in his usual patient tone.  “Being different, they are easy to distinguish one from the other.  Think how much more difficult it would be were you to lose a needle in a stack of needles.”

At the time, Jorem had wanted to scream.  So much time wasted on such a useless search.  Now, so many years later, the wizard’s words made sense.  Had Pentrothe known that the lesson he was teaching would hold such import nearly a decade later?  Possibly.  The wizard’s mind traveled different paths than those of average men.

A few marks later, branches and grasses lay strewn all across the clearing.  All signs of the trenches with their deadly spikes were hidden from view.  Unless one knew of the crossing planks and their locations, crossing the clearing would be a costly venture.  Even knowing where the planks were, you had to be very careful.

The day was nearly spent with their efforts and the people of Cragg Keep were a tired lot.  Young and old had worked hard these past few days.  Through their efforts, they had found hope.  This evening, he would have to inform them of the army coming behind the monsters.  There was an escape, a way out.  Some, at least, would have a chance of surviving to see a brighter tomorrow.

“Prince Jorem,” a young voice piped.

He still cringed at the formal title.  It had been so much easier when everyone thought of him as Rim.  Now the responsibility weighed him down.  So many people were depending on him.  So many choices that could cost the lives of people he didn’t even know.

“Lady Nethira sent me for you,” the young girl said.  “She says it’s important.”

Jorem smiled at the girl.  “Then we’d best be on our way.  It’s never wise to keep a lady waiting, especially when she’s as good with a sword as Neth.”

The girl giggled at his comment and scampered off toward the Keep.

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

Jorem was totally unprepared for what awaited him in the dining hall.  Stacks of bows and bundles of arrows were piled high on every table.  In the center of the room lay a contraption unlike any Jorem had seen before along with numerous sealed barrels.  Standing beside it all were Cort and Nethira.

“I thought all the weapons were taken with the King’s men,” Jorem said in a wondering tone.

“As did we all,” replied Neth.  “That is, all of us except Cort.”

Jorem turned expectantly to Cort.  “So where did you find all of this?”

“Found it in da wecowds,” Cort replied in his stilted speech.  “Was a secwet woom wif a secwet doow.  Undew da Keep in da owd passages.  Nobody goes down dew no mow.”

Jorem walked up to a table piled high with bows.  It must have taken hours to carry all of this up.  Picking up a bow, he tested its strength.  If these bows were as old as he thought, they could be weakened to the point of uselessness.  One hard pull and they’d snap.  To his surprise, the bow he held was still strong and resilient.

There were dozens of bows.  If they were all good, he could arm an army.  Now if he only had an army.  What good were all these bows if there was no one to wield them?  Not to mention, they’d need strings for the bows.

Even as these thought ran through Jorem’s head, on elderly man came scurrying into the room.  The man rushed up to Nethira and held out a leather satchel. 

“Here they are m’lady,” the man said.  “I was going to save them for selling at the mid-season fair, but I think there will be no fair this year, or any other year if we do not succeed.”

Neth opened the satchel and pulled out a small cloth envelope.  From the envelope, she removed a long waxy string.  With a few deft movements, Neth strung one of the bows.  Notching an arrow to the bow, she drew and released.

The arrow hissed as it flew across the room.  With a loud “thwap” the arrow buried itself into the center of the map that still hung on the wall.

Jorem walked over and pulled the arrow out.  The point was sharp and the wood still solid.  The fletching was a tad brittle, but still serviceable.  Whoever had stored these had done a remarkable job for them to still be useable after so many years.

When Nethira approached, Jorem turned to her and asked, “How many of your people can use a bow?”

Neth smiled.  “This is Cragg Keep.  If they can walk, they can shoot a bow.”

“Are they any good?” Jorem asked dubiously.

“About what you’d expect.  Some are better than others.  As long as the targets are big enough and not too far away, they do all right.”

“What if the target is a man and he’s coming at them with an axe?”

Neth was quiet for a moment before answering.  “I don’t know.  The elderly should do all right, but the children, I don’t know.”

Together they walked to the center of the room.  Jacobs was there running a hand over the contraption Jorem had seen earlier.  It looked like a giant crossbow, but it was huge.  It would easily take four men to lift the thing, maybe more.  Gears, handles, and levers protruded all over the device.

“Any idea what this is?” Jorem asked.

Jacobs ran an appreciative hand along the curve of the bow.  “This, my friend, is a power bow.  Positioned correctly it can send a shaft twice the length of the clearing out there.  With the right tip on the shaft, you can punch a hole right through a solid oak gate half a hand span thick.”

“I don’t suppose you know how this thing works?”

A gleam came to Jacobs’ eyes.  “You tell me where you want a hole and I’ll see to it you have a hole.”

Jorem took in the complexity of the device.  “How long does it take to reload?”

Jacobs grimaced.  “That would be the downfall of the power bow.  If I get in a little practice, I might get off two shots in the time it would take a man to run across the clearing out there.  Fire, reload and fire.  After that it would depend on how long it took them to reach me.”

“I guess we’d better save it for a target that counts then,” Jorem surmised.

He turned to Neth.  “How long do we have until this party starts?”

Nethira raised an eyebrow at his choice of words.  “Conrad sent word to expect the first of the monsters around midday.”

“Neth, I need everyone in the courtyard.  No exceptions.”  Jorem paused and took a deep breath.  “We need to get the infants and toddlers to as safe a place as we can.”

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

It was a quiet, solemn group gathered at the steps of the Keep.  Even the children were subdued.  It was an odd sight.  Gray and silver haired elderly men and women surrounded by young wide-eyed children. 

“These people shouldn’t be here,”
Jorem thought. “
They should be somewhere safe and warm.  I shouldn’t have let them stay.  Why didn’t I make them leave?”

Doubt and worry crowded into Jorem’s mind.  He hadn’t slept much since arriving at Cragg Keep., and what sleep he’d gotten had been fitful at best.  Now it was time to explain to these people why they needed to leave—not just leave, but run.  They needed to get as far from here as possible.

An old woman supporting herself with a cane hobbled to the front of the crowd.  Watching her slow progress served to lower Jorem’s spirits even more.  The joints of her limbs were swollen and obviously painful. How was he supposed to ask this woman to run?

“Get on with it, young man,” the woman said in a waspish tone.  “Some of us aren’t up to standing upright much these days.”

The woman’s attitude brought a smile to Jorem’s mind.  If he could have harnessed the edge of her tongue, they would have had a powerful weapon.

Jorem stepped forward so he stood at the top edge of the steps leading down to the courtyard.  Everyone who was there stopped their conversation and looked to him.  Jorem cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back. 
“This would be so much easier if there weren’t so many eyes on me,”
he thought.

“As most of you know,” he began, “there is a large group of creatures heading this way.  I’ve been informed they’ll arrive sometime around midday tomorrow.  What you may not know is that, behind the creatures, comes an army of about 300 men.”

Some of the children started whispering at the news.  The adults appeared resigned to what the news entailed.  In a few moments, the adults had hushed the children.  They all remained focused on Jorem. 
“Hopefully I can convince some of them to escape.”

“I have men out doing what they can to whittle down the number of creatures coming, but there is little they can do about the army that follows.  Against a herd of unthinking animals, we have a chance, small as it may be.  Against an army of 300 trained warriors, we won’t last long.”

“What do you want us to do?” a voice asked from the crowd.

“I want you to leave,” Jorem said bluntly.

“I’ll not leave my home!” the old woman at the front of the crowd blurted, shaking her cane.

“Would you have the children die?” Jorem asked in a voice loud enough for all to hear.  “The infants?  The babes in arms?”

“Where could we go?” another asked.

“There is a passageway that begins inside the Keep and leads down to the bottom of the chasm.  Some of us will remain here to defend the Keep for as long as it takes you to reach the bottom.”

“What will stop them from following us to the chasm?” one of the men asked.

Nethira stepped forward to answer the man.  “At the bottom of the passageway, there is a hidden lever.  One hard pull and the passage will collapse.” Nodding at Jorem she stepped back to her previous place.

“I’m not leaving my home!” insisted another man.  Several others agreed with him.

Jorem ground his teeth in frustration. “I don’t have the men to force you to go.  But tell me, what good is your home if you allow the children to be killed?  Understand this,” Jorem said, allowing his anger to show, “I want every child too small to draw a bow at the bottom of the chasm.  I don’t care who does it.  I don’t care how it gets done. But you will get it done, and there will be adults with them to take care of them!”

Every face Jorem looked at held a wide-eyed, stunned expression.  Whether they understood or were too shocked to respond, he wasn’t sure, but no one argued.  Even his own men were taken aback at the authority his voice had conveyed.

“Jorem,” Neth whispered behind him.  “You’re going to have to put someone in charge or they’ll just stand around and argue with each other.”

“Do you want the job?” Jorem growled at her.

The look she gave him nearly withered him on the spot.  “I’m staying!” she hissed at him.

Neth was right.  These people needed someone to follow; someone who knew the passageway would be helpful, but he doubted any of those who knew about the passage would be willing to use it.  Looking about the courtyard, Jorem’s eyes were drawn to a small area of calm.  There, smack in the middle of it, was Cort.

“Cort!” Jorem called out.

Cort raised his head, but did not speak.

“Cort,” Jorem repeated, “Do you know the way through the passageway to the chasm?”