Honor Crowned (13 page)

“How are you doing?” Jorem asked in what he hoped was a reassuring tone.

Most of the children just shrugged their shoulders.  A few murmured that they were fine.  One little girl covered her face with her hands and started to cry.  The girl next to her put an arm around her shoulders.

“Sandy’s just scared,” one of them said.

“Yeah,” Jorem sighed, “me too.  In fact I think we’re all scared.”

Sandy’s crying stopped.  She peered up at Jorem and sniffed.  Jorem looked at her and winked.

“There’s nothing wrong with being afraid.  In fact, there’s nothing wrong with having a cry.  Most of us would be better off if we did.”

“I’m not afraid,” declared a black-haired boy.

Jorem looked closer at the defiant lad and chuckled.

“Willy!” Jorem exclaimed.  “I’m glad to see you up and about.  Almost as glad as I am that you’re inside the Keep this time.”

Willy grinned at the comment.  “Gramps said he’d tan my hide if I didn’t stay here.”

“Well, at least you’re smart enough to listen to him.  You were mighty lucky last time.”

“I ain’t afraid of them.  I got my sling and I’ll show them what for!”

Jorem had to smile at the boy’s bravado.  Armed with a sling and a stone, he was ready to take on an army.  A sling could be lethal against birds and small rodents, but against an armored soldier, not likely.  At best, it would be an irritant—an irritant and a distraction.  But a distraction in the heat of battle had won many a war.

“Do any of the rest of you have slings?” Jorem asked the group.

“Mr. Craig makes them,” Willy replied.  “He gives them to all the kids so we can keep rats and other critters out of the crops.”

The other children nodded at Willy’s statement.  Jorem looked at each of them in turn, trying to decide how best to present his idea. These children were scared, but they had also chosen to stay.  As much as he would rather they were not here, they just might prove the difference in the end.

“I want you all to get your slings and fill your pockets with stones.  Tell the other youngsters to do the same,” Jorem instructed.

“But we all have bows,” one of them said in confusion.

“Yes,” Jorem replied, “but we only have so many arrows.  Once we run out of arrows, we won’t be able to keep them outside of the walls.  So, as soon as you run out of arrows, I want all of you to get to as high a place as you can find.  One of the upper windows would be good, the roof would be even better.  When you see one of us fighting with one of them, hit them with a stone.  It will give us an advantage—one they won’t be expecting.  As long as you hit them and not us,” Jorem said with a grin,

“Do you think they’ll get in the Keep?” Sandy asked.

“I wish I could tell you no, but I can’t.  This is something you shouldn’t have to face, but it’s here and it’s now.  If we’re overwhelmed, find a place to hide and, if you are lucky, they’ll move on when it’s over.”

The children took his words soberly.  When Jorem stood, they stood up as well.  They were still afraid and there was nothing he could do to change that.  But at least now they had a plan where they could contribute to the imminent battle with a modicum of safety.  Jorem reached out and tousled the hair of one of the boys.

“Go now, tell the others.  Find a place where you can see the courtyard but not be seen.  Find a place where you can hide and not be found.  Most important of all, stay safe.”

As the children dispersed into the Keep, Jorem turned and headed for the dining hall.  There he found a small group of adults sitting around a table.  Had this been a normal day, he would have suspected a group of old friends had gathered to swap lies and spread gossip.  As it was, he knew these were the grandparents of some of the children he’d just left.  Telling lies, maybe. Spreading gossip, probably.  Commiserating on the harshness of life, likely.

Lady Bethania, Neth’s mother, was among them.  Jorem had seen very little of her since his arrival at Cragg.  Once the dangers Neth had suspected proved real, Lady Bethania had stepped back and allowed Neth to take charge.  Now she sat with her friends and waited.  Instead of a dress, she wore breeches and a tunic like the others.  Even so, she was still a striking woman, regal even when relaxing.

The group turned to face him as he approached.  He directed his steps to Lady Bethania.  Stopping a few paces from her, Jorem bowed deferentially.  Technically, he out ranked her, or maybe not, depending on his questionable status as prince.  Either way, he felt he owed this woman a measure of respect.  She was, after all, the one these people looked to for leadership.

“Lady Bethania,” Jorem started.  “I—.”

“Prince Jorem.” She interrupted him before he could continue.  “Please, sit down.”

Reluctantly, Jorem pulled up a chair and sat down.  Lady Bethania looked weary.  In fact, they all looked a little worse for wear.  The past sevenday had been a difficult one for all.  Yet here he was, about to ask for more.  How many of these good people would still be alive on the morrow?

“Prince Jorem,” Bethania began.

“Please,” Jorem said in sincerity, “just Jorem.  I’ve never been very good with titles.”

“Jorem then,” she continued, “in all of the chaos these past few days, I fear I neglected to officially welcome you to Cragg Keep.  Even more, I fear that if I do not do it now, I will never have the chance.”

Jorem nodded at her words.  “I once heard that the day is not over until the sun goes down.”  Quietly, he looked each person at the table in the eyes.  “Today will not end for me until the last foe has fallen.”

“If we had left as you counseled us to do, you would not have this battle to face.”  Lady Bethania bowed her head.  “For that, I am truly sorry.”

The corner of Jorem’s mouth quirked up into a lopsided smile.  “The King sent orders that no enemy troops were to pass Cragg Keep.  Had you and your people not been here, I would be fighting this battle differently, but it would still be mine to fight.”

“You still obey the King’s orders?”

“In this I do.”

Before she could say more, Jorem pressed forward with his reason for being in the hall.  “I need everyone to gather in the courtyard.  If you could pass the word for them to be there in half a mark I would appreciate it.”

“Of course,” she said.  “I’ll see to it.”

“Thank you.”

Standing, Jorem gave a slight bow, turned and headed out of the room.  He could hear whispering coming from behind him.  What they said, he did not know.  What he needed now was some time alone to prepare himself for what was coming.

It took but a moment to find his pack.  From it, he pulled a tin of oil, a bit of rag and a course stone.  With these items in hand, he headed for the courtyard.  There he found a sunny spot on the stone steps in front of the Keep.  Sitting down, he made himself as comfortable as possible and began removing all of the hidden blades from his Ovack armor.

The bright sunlight beat down on him, warming his body and relaxing muscles he didn’t realize were tense.  Putting stone to steel, he began sharpening each blade in turn.  The hissing of the blade and the slight ring as the stone left the end of the blade seemed to relax him even more.

One by one, he worked his way through the blades, from largest to smallest, as was his custom.  Some needed just a slight touching up, while others, like the one he had used as a pry bar, needed a good working over.  When he had finished putting an edge on the last of the blades, he looked up to find that he had an audience.

As instructed, what remained of the population of Cragg Keep had gathered in the courtyard while he had been concentrating on this task.  He had been aware of people moving about, but his thoughts had been focused inward as he wrestled with his own doubts.  The children were closest, all ringed about him and watching his every move.  The adults ranged about the courtyard in groups, some waiting patiently, some not so much.

A shuffling sound behind him caused him to look up.  Behind him to his right, stood Nethira and Lady Bethania.  Neth looked just as she had the day he’d first met her—cold, hard, detached and dangerous.  Lady Bethania, aged though she was, stood tall and proud.  Her steel gray hair was gathered in a tight bun and one hand rested on Nethira’s arm for support.

To Jorem’s left stood Pentrothe.  The old wizard’s shoulders were stooped with age.  The wooden staff he held looked to be all that was holding him up.  Even so, something about his appearance warned of danger.  Perhaps he had recovered enough to gain some of his powers back.

“Pentrothe,” Jorem said quietly, “are you up to throwing a few lightning bolts?”

Pentrothe’s grip tightened on his staff.  “If it’s lightning you want, I might manage one or two.  Better, I think, that I use smaller magics.  Tripping a man at an advantageous moment can give the same advantage as incinerating him.  I can trip a hundred men with the magic it would take to destroy one.”

“By small things are great battles won!”
Jorem quoted.

“From the treatise of Esinock,” Pentrothe nodded.  “It is good to see you keep your mind as sharp as your blade.”

Jorem smiled.  Picking up the rag he’d brought, he started wiping off the grit from his blades.  As he worked his way through the blades, he looked out at those gathered around him.

“We’ve little time and few resources,” he stated loud enough for all to hear.  “In a short time, the enemy will be upon us.  We must fight if we wish to live.  More than that, if we allow them to pass, they will continue toward the capital, destroying all in their path.  We must not allow that to happen!”

“What of the mages?” an old man called out.

Jorem continued cleaning blades as he spoke.  “Mages die like any other man.  If you can distract them, break their concentration, a well thrown rock can incapacitate them.  I have something set up that hopefully will keep them distracted for a while.”

Jorem shook out his rag and doused it with oil.  Starting back at the first blade, he started wiping each blade down again.

“My scouts tell me that the enemy has no archers.  This gives us an advantage at a distance.  With the traps we’ve dug, they won’t be able to rush across the clearing, so we should have time to thin their numbers.  What we haven’t got is an unlimited supply of arrows.”

Jorem paused a moment to let that sink in.

“We have to choose our targets carefully.  Don’t waste an arrow on a shield.  Aim for skin if you can see it.  These men will be wearing armor, so pick out the gaps in their armor.  When the arrows run out, take up whatever weapon you can find and defend yourselves.  Throw rocks if you have to.

“The children have slings.  I trust they will make good use of them.  I have asked the children, and I repeat it now—before the enemy reaches the gates, find a place of hiding.  Sling stones at the attackers if you can, but stay safe, at least as safe as you can.  Those of us with swords will be at the gates to greet our guests should they choose to enter.”

As if on cue, a cry went up from one of the watchers on the wall.  The scouts, Conrad and Braden, had been spotted emerging from the trees.  Two men were dispatched to help remove the crossing planks and the marking flags.

In a few moments, Con and Braden came through the gates.  Both men looked tired and worn. 
“Better worn than wounded
,” thought Jorem.  The crowd parted to allow the men to approach Jorem.  As they drew near, he noticed Braden walked with a slight limp.  He saw neither blood nor bandage on the man, but there was definitely pain involved.

“Are you all right Braden?” Jorem asked in concern.

“I’ll be fine,” Braden said gruffly.  “Stepped in a snare and twisted my leg a bit.  Nothing that will slow me down.”

“Never mind that!” Conrad interrupted.  “We got half a mark, maybe less afore our new-found friends arrive.  An’ they ain’t real happy with us.”

“Don’t know why they’d be unhappy,” Braden chimed in with a grin on his face.  “You’d think someone had been keeping them up at night or had been messing with their sentries.”

“Either that, or they be tired of steppin’ in traps an’ trippin’ over wires,” Conrad stated.  “There’s more of ‘em than we figured, though.  Don’t know where they came from, but there’s maybe four hundred of ‘em now.”

“Great!”
Jorem thought.
“More good news.”

He quickly did a rough count of those in the courtyard.  He came up with just under two dozen gray-haired adults and about the same number of children.  All together they had about sixty defenders against four hundred armored soldiers.

“Well, I guess we’d best get on with it,” Jorem sighed.  “Everyone, find a place where you can do the most with what you have.”

With practiced ease, Jorem began placing his blades back in the hidden sheaths about his person.  By the time he was done, only a few people remained in the courtyard.  Neth and Pentrothe remained at his side.  Lady Bethania had gone to take up position on the wall.  An odd excitement was building in Jorem—excitement coupled with dread.

“To the wall then,” Jorem stated.

“Indeed,” Pentrothe replied in his grating whisper of a voice.  “Let us all play our part.”

Turning to Nethira, Jorem grasped her forearm and she his.  A glint came to her eyes and a mild grin to her face.  Jorem could only shake his head.  The enemy was not yet in sight and she was already exuding battle lust.