Honor Found (The Spare Heir) (14 page)

Chapter XXI

Jorem’s inner thought and sel
f-doubts were interrupted by loud voices raised in argument.  He might have worried, but in all the time he’d spent at the inn there hadn’t been so much as a minor brawl, other than the fiasco his brothers had caused.  Somehow it was understood by everyone that if you caused trouble at the Broken Arms Inn you’d get, well, broken arms. The sight greeting him as he entered the commons was so comical he couldn’t help but smile.  The power of a man should never be determined by his size.

A tall, slender man with a haughty face, hawk nose and thin mustache stood rigid and incensed.  Black oily hair hung limply down to his shoulders.  Two hulking guards stood at each shoulder of the thin man.  The guards looked sullen, like a pair of storm clouds about to loose their fury.  Blocking the way to the inner rooms of the inn was Biorne.  Little more than half the height of the thin man, Biorne stood with his arms folded and in impassible look on his face.

“I don’t care who you are,” Biorne said in a gritty voice.  “Prince Jorem is a guest in my inn.  He has been informed of your wish to see him.  You can wait for him here or you can wait for him outside.  If you harass my help again, you’ll wait for him at the city stockade.”

Jorem sauntered up behind Biorne as though nothing at all were amiss.  Putting his hand on his hip in a gesture of complete indifference, he glared at the thin man.  He didn’t recognize the man, but by the quality of his clothing he guessed him to be of the king’s inner council.  There was always a parade of nobles falling in and out of the king’s good graces.  The self-importance of the man’s attitude irked Jorem more than anything.  His brothers thinking themselves better than others, that they were somehow owed everything they wanted, had caused a lot of misery for a lot of people.  This man seemed made of the same cloth.

“All right,” Jorem said in as hard a voice as he could muster, “I’m here.  What do you want?”

“I am Baron Ver’Sneliss,” the man said in an intolerably haughty tone of voice. “I have come on orders of the King to collect Prince Jorem and escort him to the capital.”

“Really,” Jorem said flatly.

“The King will hear of this outrage if I don’t see Prince Jorem immediately.”

“I’m Prince Jorem,” Jorem said with deadly calm, “and if your manners represent what passes for civil at home, it’s no wonder the kingdom is having problems.”

The man’s shock was palpable.  The silence in the room was deafening. The man’s eye slowly traveled from Jorem’s feet up.  Then his head tilted up until he looked Jorem in the eyes. Obviously Jorem was not what he was expecting.  He'd come to corral a young, sniveling boy.  Faced with a tall, lean man, hardened at the forge and honed with harsh remorseless training, Jorem almost felt sorry for him, almost.

“Prince,” the man’s voice cracked.  “Prince Jorem?”

“So they keep telling me,” Jorem said, tilting his head to the side.  “Is there a reason for your rudeness to my hosts?  And it better be a good reason.”

Obviously shaken, the man stammered, “The king sent me to collect—.” The man’s voice froze at the look in Jorem’s eyes.

“Prince Jorem,” the man started over with an effort to compose himself.  “King Halden has ordered that you lead a battalion of the royal army.”

“What of my brothers?” Jorem asked with concern.

“They are well,” the man assured him.  “The King is organizing a fifth battalion for a special assignment.”

Jorem’s eyebrows arched.  There had never been a fifth battalion.  Not in all the histories of the kingdom had he read of such a thing.  Something in this puzzle did not fit.  There was in this a tune being played off key.  If his brothers were all well then someone was playing a game of some sort.  His reputation at the castle for being clumsy was known throughout the land.  No one there would ever seriously consider putting him in charge of anything, let alone one of the king’s battalions.

“Come, sit,” the caution in Jorem’s voice was not well hidden.
“Say on, good sir.  Ever am I the servant of the king.”

For the moment they had their choice of tables.  The inn’s usual crowd had yet to arrive.  That would change in short order.  Jorem chose a table off to the side, giving them some privacy but not so much that Ver’Sneliss or his guard would try anything underhanded.  Jorem didn’t trust this man, nor the guards he traveled with.  More than once he’d read of nobles making off with a royal for reasons less than well-intentioned.  The more people who saw him with these men the better it would be.

“The king fears our enemies might march through the mountain passes to attack us unaware.  You are to march forth to prevent this.”  The man’s tone was low and conspiratorial.

Again, something rang untrue.  Jorem held his gaze steady.  The unease in the man’s eyes told Jorem there was something he was not being told.

“Leave us!”  Jorem said, glaring at the guards. He then placed a gentle hand on Biorne’s shoulder.  “Thank you, Biorne.  I can handle it from here.”

Without so much as a backward glance, Biorne sauntered over to the counter.  Jorem motioned the man to be seated at the table.  Once seated, he signaled a serving girl to bring food and drink.  Daisy had them served quickly, with another curtsy to boot.

Jorem took a long drink and set his mug down.  “Sir?” Jorem prompted for a name.

“Baron Radworth Ver’Sneliss, special messenger to the King,” the man said importantly.

“Sir Radworth, I think we both know there is no fifth battalion.  Never has been, never will be.  So what’s this really about?”

“Prince Jorem, I assure you that—.” Radworth’s face grew redder as he spoke.

“Stop!” Jorem said, holding up a hand.  Taking a deep breath, Jorem slowly exhaled.  “King Halden wouldn’t trust me to guard his cattle,” he said bluntly.  “He certainly wouldn’t put me in charge of anything critical to the safety of the Kingdom.  I’m not the boy the King remembers.  Tell me the truth now.  Out with it.”

Radworth mulled over what Jorem had said and seemed to come to a decision.  Before he spoke, he checked over his shoulder to be sure no one would overhear.

“There is some unrest in some of the smaller holdings in the Northern mountain areas.”  Again he looked over his shoulder.  “The King and his council feel a small troop of soldiers led by an heir to the throne would quell the dissent.  All you have to do is ride through the area and assure the people that the King has their best interest at heart. When a young tactician brought up the possibility of the enemy coming through the mountains, outlandish as the idea may be, the council decided to use the idea to justify sending a small contingent.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know the name of the tactician, would you?” Jorem asked.

“I believe it was Lord Andrew’s son.  I don’t recall the boy’s name,” Radworth said peevishly.

Jorem took a bite off his plate and chewed while he thought things through.  Lord Andrew’s son would likely be Jeseph.  Jeseph had helped Jorem when he was first training in sword work.  He’d also introduced him to his sister Jen.  If there was one thing Jorem was certain of it was Jeseph’s ability to read a situation and draw the right conclusions.  The people in the northern mountains were a hard and resourceful group.  From what he had heard and read, it would take more than a mere army to overcome them on their home ground.  Not exactly the kind of people you’d want to make an enemy of.

“And where would I find the troops I’d be leading?”  Jorem asked.

“The troops are already well on their way.” Radworth’s voice was smooth, perhaps too smooth.  “They are camped several days’ ride to the northeast of here.  I believe a Captain Jonas is leading them.   My escort and I would be glad to ride with you to meet them.”

Several thoughts ran through Jorem’s mind.  A group of bandits lying wait in the hills to capture or eliminate someone important.  A pompous official, someone high up in the ruling class, a member of the royal house perhaps, volunteering to travel through rugged wilderness  An escort ensuring he traveled a route near the camp of the bandits.  A young, supposedly defenseless boy faced with a dozen armed men.  Was someone going to try to use him to put pressure on the king for some unknown gain? 

Jorem looked at the man squarely.  “I don’t think that will be necessary.  I already know the way.”

“But Prince Jorem—.”

“Consider well your allegiance,” Jorem said harshly, cutting off Radworth in mid-sentence.  “The king cares little for me and will not risk anything important to keep me safe.  Were I you I would return to the capital and report your errand accomplished.”

Jorem stood up.  His chair scraped noisily on the wood plank floor.  Radworth sat gaping like a fresh-landed fish.  His guards looked at the baron in confusion, unsure whether to intervene or not.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have a trip to prepare for,” Jorem said to the baron. Looking at the guards, Jorem smiled and said, “See Baron Ver’ Seliss back to the capital.”