Honor Crowned (17 page)

Chapter XXIII

Later that night, those who had retreated to the chasm began arriving.  Fortunately they had not been forced to destroy the passage down to the bottom of the chasm, even so their trip up the passageway had been much more difficult than the trip down.  It was good to have the young children bouncing about again.  With their boundless energy, they brought life back to the Keep.  With children to tend, the adults fell back into their normal routine.

As the night deepened, everyone started disappearing to their sleeping quarters.  Jorem should have been amongst the first, but somehow he was not sleepy.  He wandered about the Keep for some time until he finally ended up in the library.  There he found Neth sitting at the hearth of a small fireplace.  Flames flickered from a bed of glowing coals.

As he approached, he noticed tears trailing down Neth’s cheeks.  Feeling himself on unfamiliar ground, Jorem nearly turned and left.  Instead he sat down next to her.  She tried wiping the tears from her face, but more fell to take their place.  He considered offering his shoulder, but knew she would not accept.  Even in her weakest moment, she had to be strong.

Taking a few sticks from a pile of wood next to the hearth, Jorem stoked the fire.  The greedy flames accepted them hungrily.  As the flames grew with new fuel, a haunted look on Neth’s face was revealed.  She didn’t look at him.  Her gaze was locked on the flickering flames of the fire.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jorem asked quietly.

Neth sniffed.  All was quiet save for the occasional pop and hiss of the fire.  Jorem waited.  If she chose to talk, he would listen.  If not, he would stay with her as long as needed.  Some battles had to be fought from within.  Even then it was good to have someone at your side.

“Years ago, friends of my father came to visit.”  Neth’s voice was quiet and strained.  “They had a boy with them, nearly my age.  We didn’t get along at all.  When they left, my parents told me that when I got older that boy would be my husband.  I didn’t understand at the time.

“The older I got, the more I resented it.  I wanted nothing to do with an arranged marriage.  When he came to stay with us, it only got worse.  I had to be better than him in everything.  How many times I thrashed him at arms I can’t even count.  When my father told me it was time to wed, I packed my things and left.”

Jorem sat quietly as she spoke.  Like him, she seldom spoke of her past.  Like him, she had chosen to be someone else, to separate herself from family and friends.  Her reasons were different from his, but the need to be her own person was much the same.

“I left because of him,” she continues.  “Now he is all I think about.  He is not a fighter, not like you and me.”  She paused as a few more tears etched their way down her face.  “He has gone to fight a war and I may never see him again.”

Jorem reached over and placed a hand over hers.  Her hand was cold to the touch.  What could he say?  After the battle they’d fought, it was clear that this Dark Mage cared nothing for the lives of his own men, let alone the lives of his foes.  What they had faced was likely just a small, specialized group sent to attack behind the lines.  The main force would be far larger and much more devastating.

“I read once,” Jorem murmured, “that life is what you make of it.  There is some truth in that, but mostly I think life is just life.  It’s how we face what we’re given that counts.  Hope for the best, but be prepared for the worst.

“Hope that he returns and I’ll hope with you.  Besides, if he’s stuck around this long, he’ll be wanting to come back just in case he can bring you around.”

“You think?”

“He’d be a fool not to.”

She sat quietly for a while.  The tears had stopped, but her face was still blotchy.  Wiping her face with her arm in an unladylike fashion, Neth sniffed and glared at Jorem.

“If you tell anyone you found me crying my eyes out, I’ll pound you into the ground!”

“No one would believe me if I did,” Jorem replied.  “What brought this on anyway?”

“The man you brought in a few days ago,” Neth said.  “The one you said was sent to kill you.”

“Jacobs?”

“Yes, Jacobs.  I found him out there.” Neth turned her face back to the fire.  “He reminded me of Londrew.  Something about his face and the way he moved.  He was backed into a corner, but he never stopped fighting until he stopped breathing.  Bodies were piled around him, two and three high.  When I saw him there, I saw Londrew.  I’ve not been able to get the sight from my mind.”

Neth shook herself and stood.  “I need to get some sleep.  You should as well,” she said, looking at Jorem.

“I have a few things to take care of before I can sleep.  Go, I will see you in the morning.”

As Nethira left, Jorem went over to a desk that was tucked into a corner of the room.  Rummaging through the drawer, he found paper, quill and a bottle of ink.  Taking a deep breath, he settled himself into a chair.  He was unsure which of his men had families.  In retrospect, he wished he had gotten to know them better.  They were all good men and deserved more than to be forgotten in a battle of which few would ever hear. 

They had been thirteen when they arrived; with Jacobs, they would have been fourteen.  Now they were five.  It took until late into the night before he finished the nine letters.  The last one he addressed to the Duke of Broughbor.  Few knew Jacobs to be the Duke’s brother, Cobren.  Jorem knew and he wanted the Duke to know what an honorable man Cobren had been.  He may have been the King’s assassin, but, in the end, he had been a defender of the people.

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

When Jorem awoke the next morning, he was still in the library.  When he finally managed to get himself sitting up in the chair he had been sprawled in, he came face to face with Lady Bethania.  She was dressed in a long black gown that almost managed to hide the bandages on her arms and legs.  Only the bulges belied their presence.  She sat primly in a chair facing him.

Jorem’s first thought was that he needed to get more sleep.  There was no way he should be sleeping so heavily that someone could get that close without him waking.  Next, he noticed how rumpled and disheveled he was, especially compared to the meticulously attired woman before him.  Gradually, the cobwebs cleared from his sleeping mind.  Combing his fingers through his hair and tugging his shirt a little straighter, he tried to focus on Neth’s mother.

“Prince Jorem,” she said formally when she decided he was ready.

Jorem held up his hand.  “Jorem, just Jorem.”

The corner of Lady Bethania’s mouth lifted almost imperceptibly.

“My daughter told me she had never met a man more deserving of the title of ‘Prince’ than you.  Not long ago, I thought her to have lost her senses.  In the short time you have been here, however, I have found her to be correct.  You are not what I expected from the accounts I had heard of you, nor do you comport yourself as your brothers do.

“Should you ever need… support, in the years to come, you can count on the people of Cragg Keep.  We will stand with you through whatever may come.”

It took a moment for Jorem to catch on to Lady Bethania’s meaning.  When he did figure it out, he wasn’t sure whether to be pleased at the compliment or alarmed at the insinuation.  He was almost afraid to respond.  The wrong words could commit these people to treason.  The Kingdom was in the midst of a war from another land.  To start a civil war now would ensure all of their destruction.

“You are very kind,” Jorem temporized.  “This is a dangerous time for the Kingdom.  We have enemies without who wish to destroy us.  There are also some within who are aiding our enemy.  Some of these have been dealt with while others remain hidden.  Our focus must be on defending our people and our land from these invaders.  Once that is done, we will need time to rebuild our homes and our families.  We must remain united in this endeavor if we are to survive.  As a people, as a land, we must stand together.”

Lady Bethania smiled at Jorem.  Slowly, she stood.  Considering her injuries, she managed to stand quite gracefully.  One step and she was at Jorem’s side.  Gently, she reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder, keeping him from rising.  Tilting his head up to look at her, he saw that she, like Neth, had sky-blue eyes.

“I heard rumor that the King had sent someone to… eliminate you.”  Bethania’s voice was cool and smooth. 

“I’d heard that as well,” Jorem responded.

“And yet you still serve the crown?”

“I serve the people, and I will continue to do so, so long as there is breath in me.”

Lady Bethania stood gazing at him.  The silence drew out until it was almost uncomfortable.  Bending slightly, Bethania softly kissed Jorem’s forehead.  She straightened and gently ran her hand over his head.  When Jorem looked, he saw her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

“Your mother would be so proud of you.  She was my dearest friend when we were young.  You remind me of her.”

With those kind words, the matron of Cragg Keep turned and left the room.  Her footsteps were a bare whisper as she crossed the floor.  Jorem had an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach.  Having someone compliment him was such an unfamiliar thing he was unsure how to react.  He knew so little about his mother other than that she was beloved by the people.  It would be nice to think she would be proud of him, for who he was.  Shaking off the feeling, he reached down beside the chair and retrieved his sword.  Strapping it on, he braced himself for another day.

Chapter XXIV

Jorem and his men remained at Cragg Keep for a few days to rest and recuperate.  He had Neth send a message to the capital by bird, letting them know of the attack and of the result of the battle.  She was careful to make no mention of him or of his well-being.  Were it not for a feeling of urgency felt only by Jorem, they might have remained at Cragg for the duration of the war, but Jorem could not.  Some unseen force kept pestering at him night and day.

When he announced his intent to be on his way the next morning, there was some moaning and groaning—not from his men, but from the children.  Jorem had noticed it before, but now it became quite obvious.  Many of the children had claimed one or another of his men as their own.  Each of the men had his own little entourage following him about and running errands.

It also had become apparent that the children, as well as many of the adults, were avoiding Jorem.  They weren’t shunning him, nor were they in any way rude to him.  If he spoke to them or asked a question, they answered politely, if somewhat timidly.  At the first opportunity, they would excuse themselves and flee.  Jorem had convinced himself that they were just responding to his role as leader until he caught Neth looking at him from the corner of her eye.

“What?” Jorem demanded quietly but forcefully.

“It’s nothing,” Neth said dismissively.  “I’m just a little concerned about you.”

Jorem looked at his hands and then down at the rest of his body.  He could see nothing amiss.  He had a few cuts and nicks here and there, but none of them were serious and they were all healing nicely.

“Why, have I broken out in spots or something?”

“No, it’s just that…,” Neth hesitated, then drew Jorem over to a secluded corner.  “During the fighting, did anything… odd happen to you?”

“Odd?” Jorem asked puzzled.  “You mean like nearly being killed a few dozen times?”

“No, not that.  It’s just that, some of the children came to me afterward.  They saw you fighting in the Keep.”

“I chased a group of soldiers into the Keep,” Jorem said, still not understanding.  “I knew there were children hiding in there and I couldn’t leave them defenseless.  I’m sure it wasn’t a pretty thing to witness, but I had to stop them.”

“It wasn’t the fighting that scared them,” Neth said with concern.  “They said you were growling, snarling really, like some kind of wild beast.  I heard it too, but I didn’t realize it was you.”

Jorem stood staring at her for a while, thinking.  He remembered most of the battle.  Portions of it were a blur, but not all.  Thinking back, he recalled letting go of that side of him he had always kept tucked away—that little part he had always been just a little afraid of.  He also recalled the surge of energy it had given him.

“I suppose,” Jorem said hesitantly, “that in the heat of battle I may have had a touch of anger, but I don’t recall growling at anyone.  I suppose we all have a side of ourselves that is a little uncivilized.”

“True enough,” Neth replied, “but most of us don’t growl.”

“Right.  I’ll uh, try to keep that under control.  Speaking of control, I wish I could talk you into coming with us.”

Neth shook her head.  “This is where I need to be.  As it stands, a small band of bandits could wipe this place out.  Besides, if you run into trouble, you’ll need a place to run to.”

“Fair enough,” Jorem agreed amiably.

“I don’t suppose I could talk you into sparring with me before you leave?” Neth asked with a glint in her eyes.

“Have you missed pounding me into the ground that much?” Jorem laughed.

“Ha!  It would be good for you,” Neth snarled back at him.  “And it wouldn’t hurt for the little ones to see that fighting doesn’t have to end in bloodshed.”

“Okay,” Jorem agreed, “but instead of sparring, how about we do the training dance you so enjoyed teaching me with.”

“Mmmmm… even better,” Neth purred.  “In the courtyard in half a mark?”

“I’ll be there.”

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

When Jorem got to the courtyard, Neth was already there.  She was wearing the same mottled-gray shirt and pants she’d worn the first time they’d met.  This time was different though.  He was no longer the student.  They stood more as equals, strengthened by hardship, bound by friendship and respect.

Neth drew her sword and began stretching out her legs and shoulders.  Jorem did the same.  This was not something you went into cold, not if you were going to do it right.  The afternoon sun glinted off Neth’s sword, flashing in Jorem’s eyes.  This would be the first time they had done this exercise with live steel; before it had always been with blunted edges.

By the time they had finished warming up a crowd had begun to gather.  An audience could be a distraction.  This exercise would require complete focus on both Jorem’s and Neth’s part.  Using live steel, the slightest mistake could result in injury.  Jorem could hear whispering and the shuffling of bodies, the scuff of feet on stone.

Taking position in the most open area available, Neth and Jorem faced each other.  A mere arm’s length separated them.  Their swords were crossed between them, the blades pressed hard against one another.  Closing out everything else, Jorem focused solely on Neth, her sword and the moment.  His breath came in an even rhythm and his muscles were tense and ready.

As one, they pushed and leaped back, then came back together in slow, measured steps.  Their swords, weaving intricate patterns in the air, blocked attacks from enemies who were not there.  When they were nearly back to their starting place, their swords came together in a forceful blow.  The ring of steel striking steel echoed off the walls.

They paused for just a moment, then each took a step back.  They moved in unison, sometimes mirroring the other, sometimes matching.  Their movements were fluid and seamless.  Most often their blades would barely touch with a slight ring.  Occasionally, the clash of their blades was fierce and forceful.  Once begun, it was like a spell had been cast from which neither could escape.

Time seemed to stop as they twisted, tumbled and slashed.  Over and under, face to face or side by side, they moved as one.  A missed step or a failed block could easily leave one or the other in pain and possibly bleeding.  Each had confidence in the other, however, that that would not happen.

Jorem’s breathing grew labored.  Sweat dripped from his brow and made rivulets down his back.  Neth’s face had a glistening sheen.  The faster they moved, the more focused they became.  Soon all Jorem could see was Neth and her sword.  Never had they managed this exercise at such speed.  Neither faltered, neither failed.

The final lunge was toward each other.  Both of them ending with one knee on the ground, the other knee pressed tight to the chest.  Jorem’s sword hand rested on Neth’s left shoulder, his sword extending out behind her; Neth’s sword hand likewise rested on his shoulder, the blade pointing behind him.

They knelt there, staring at each other, neither wanting to break the spell that held them there.  Even through their harsh breathing, there was a peace and tranquility seldom found.  When the applause started they began to rise.  Even then it was with great reluctance.  The outside world returned and the feeling was gone—gone, but always to be remembered.

It seemed every remaining resident at the Keep had come to watch them, young and old alike.  Before they knew what was happening, Neth and Jorem were swarmed with children.  They both quickly sheathed their swords to avoid unwanted accidents.  The children were still a little reluctant around Jorem, but Neth was nearly pulled to the ground by the weight of so many small bodies hanging onto her.

One young boy stood in front of Jorem.  His eyes were wide in wonder.  Jorem knelt so the boy wouldn’t have to look up at him.  Apparently he was less intimidating on his knee.  Once he was down on their level, several more children joined the boy.  With the added support, the boy mustered up the courage to speak.

“Where did you learn to do that?” the boy asked.

Jorem had to smile at the awe in the boy’s voice.  “Your Lady Nethira taught me.”

Hearing that their Nethira was his teacher suddenly brought him to their level.  He’d worked long hours beside several of these boys and girls preparing the Keep for battle, but it took his relation with Neth for them to accept him.  With that acceptance came a flood of questions.  Jorem answered their queries as plainly as he could.  Finding him willing to listen, several launched into tales of their own.

Jorem was about to excuse himself from the group when a young girl who’d been silent thus far asked a question.  Her question drew the attention of everyone close enough to hear it.

“Why do you growl when you fight?” she asked.

As the question spread, the silence was deafening.  It was a good question.  One he knew he had to answer.  What could he tell them?  What would make sense, not only to them, but to himself as well?

“That’s a very good question,” he said into the hanging silence.  “I’ve never really thought about it.  I suppose it’s probably so I don’t get too afraid.  If I think of myself as more dangerous than my opponent, it’s easier to face them.”

“But you didn’t growl when you were fighting Lady Nethira,” one of them stated.

“Well, I wasn’t really fighting Nethira.  Besides, I can’t think of anything more dangerous than her, can you?”

His comment brought a giggle from several of the children and a few of the adults as well.  It also earned him a smack on the back of his head from Neth.  Jorem glanced sideways at her then back at the children.

“See,” he said with a grin.  “I told you so.”

Neth just shook her head at him.  Together, they turned and led the way back into the Keep.  Even through all of the dangers they had faced, and with friends and loved ones lost, the people of Cragg were a strong and united group.  Jorem would miss them.  He was also going to miss the soft, comfortable places here he’d had to sleep.

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

The morning was cool and quiet as Jorem and his men departed Cragg Keep.  The sun was just peeking over the horizon.  Even though it was quite early, several people, including Neth and Bethania, were there to see them off.  For having been with these people for such a short time, Jorem and his men had become close with many of them.

Pentrothe was there as well.  The old wizard was dressed for travel but he would not be joining them.  He had spoken to Jorem the night before of his concern for his sister, Zensa.  He had not heard from her in some time and feared she may have run into trouble in her search for her Dragon Lord.  Pentrothe was going to Dawnsword to see if he could find some trace of her and begin his own search.

The farewells were short but heartfelt.  A bond had been built between all of them that would last for a lifetime.  Even Conrad got a little misty-eyed when one of the children wrapped her arms around the scout’s neck and planted a kiss on his check.  So touching was the act, Hector didn’t even tease him about it.

As they entered the trees, they spread out, staying just within sight of one another.  With there being only five of them, there was no point in formation.  Instead, they concentrated on stealth and speed.  If they came upon a large force, it would be more important for them to be able to escape than to attack.

Jorem found he was able to tell who was where by the sound of their passing.  Bertran and Jensen were less skilled at navigating through the woods and inevitably found a twig to step on or a brush to rub against.  Conrad was better, with only the occasional muttering of complaints about life in general.  Hector was a ghost.  If you thought you saw a phantom, it was probably him.

The pace they set was good, though nothing like the last trip Jorem had made through here.  During the day, they traveled as quickly as they could, but they had to stop frequently to check that all was really clear of dangers.  At nightfall, they made camp and discussed what they had seen.  It took three days to reach the homestead Jorem had found at the end of his scouting run.  The house was less intimidating in the daylight.  They buried those they found there and moved on.

Game had begun to return to the area so they were able to supplement their rations.  When they reached the border village of Krin, it was with heavy hearts.  A cursory search revealed that there was no one left—no one alive, that is.  Even Conrad, the seasoned veteran of who knew how many battles, turned pale at the sight.

Jorem wanted to tend to the dead with a proper burial, or at least a pyre.  He also knew that such work would likely take days, days he didn’t think they had.  The others didn’t seem to mind avoiding the ordeal.  It had been at least a sevenday since the monsters had passed this way, maybe more.  The stench alone was enough to drive them away.

A day’s travel beyond Krin, the forest began to change.  The trees were larger and the brush thinned.  Some of the trees were so large it would have taken eight men to encircle them with arms stretched wide.  The ground was a mat of fallen leaves and needles.  Even so, the passing of the northern army had left a distinct trail that was easy to follow.

The branches of the massive trees created a barrier through which very little sunlight could penetrate.  So thick was the canopy of branches, midday seemed like twilight.  When darkness came, it was complete.  The light from the moon and stars had no chance of reaching the ground here.  Their only light came from a small fire which they built more for comfort than warmth.