Honor Found (The Spare Heir)

by Southwick, Michael

  Reaching down, Jorem pulled out his money pouch. By the weight of it and the jingling sound it made when he tossed it onto the counter he figured there was enough for what he had in mind. Then another thought came to him. He rushed to his room, threw open his chest and rummaged through it until he found the last two pouches of coin he had left. Returning to the commons room he added those two pouches to what he’d left on the counter. It was going to require a lot more luck than good management, but if it worked, it would be well worth the price.

  “I know this is late notice,” he said, “but I need the inn for the night. I’ve several friends, maybe twenty, showing up in a few marks. They’ll need food, ale and wine. They’re a fairly intimidating bunch so don’t have any timid servers or any that’ll be frightened easily.”

  “Sounds like a party,” Daisy said brightly.

  “That or a disaster, I’m not sure which. They’ll be on horseback. Is Shelby still up and has he room in the stables?”

  “He just went to the kitchen so he should still be about, and I’m sure there’s room aplenty for that many horses.” Daisy paused a moment then asked nonchalantly, “Might these friends be wanting company?”

  “I’m not really sure one way or the other.” Jorem floundered for a bit then got a hold of him self. “Whatever, but I make no guarantees. These men are fierce, forthright and harsh to those who cross them.”

  “Not a problem. How soon will they be here?”

  “Two, maybe three marks with luck. I’ve got to go if I’m going to catch them. One more thing, there was a man just here with a large, odd-looking wagon. I need you to send someone to fetch him and his wagon. Pay him what he wants for his load and for his help should the cook have need.” Then he turned back to the door to leave.

  “If anyone asks, who is it that’s coming?” Daisy asked before he opened the door.

  Jorem paused at the door. “In for a copper, in for a crown,” he thought. “Guests of Prince Jorem.”

  Daisy’s eyebrows rose. “I thought he was gone.”

  “If he’s still alive, he’ll be here tonight.”

  Turning, he opened the door and left.

  Chapter IX

  With no time to waste Jorem went straight to the stables. He needed a fast horse if he was to arrive at the portal before the Folk. Swinging open the wide door, he found a very empty stable. Two rows of stalls on either side and they were all empty. A waffling sound came from the very back corner stall.

  In the dim light Jorem could just make out a large dark bulk hidden in the shadows. Further investigation proved it to be Killer, the biggest horse he’d seen save for workhorses. Killer also happened to be the calmest, gentlest horse in the kingdom. The horse belonged to a man by the name of Broadworth, who stayed at the inn from time to time.

  Killer was none too pleased when Jorem led him from his stall, but ambled out with little more than a sigh in compliant. The big black horse stood patiently while Jorem rushed about gathering up blanket, saddle and bridle. With the blanket in place on Killer’s back, Jorem swung the saddle up on the horse. Killer didn’t even flinch when it landed with a thump on his back.

  He had just finished cinching the belly strap when he heard a shuffling behind him. A quick glance over his shoulder showed the stableman Shelby watching him.

  “Ye are gonna bring ‘im back, isn’t ya?” the wiry stable man asked as he scratched the stubble of his graying beard.

  Jorem nodded his head and grinned. “I wouldn’t dream of depriving Broadworth of his majestic warhorse. I’ll have him back in three marks or so.”

  “I hear tell we go’ visitors a comin’,” Shelby stated as he walked up and tested the fit of Killer’s saddle.

  “That’s the plan,” Jorem replied, stepping back to give Shelby room to work.

  Shelby slapped Killer on the side and tightened the cinch much tighter than Jorem had.

  “Hosses, they suck air soon as you throw a saddle on ‘em. If’n ye don’ get it tight enough, ye’ll end up hangin’ underneath ‘em. Killers not too bad at it, but some ye gotta ride ‘em a bit then tighten the cinch.”

  With practiced ease Shelby slipped the bridle into place. “Ride with care, lad. I’ll be here when ye get back.”

  Jorem mounted and rode out into the darkness. Killer didn’t even hesitate as he headed in the direction Jorem indicated with the reins. He feared the big horse would have the pounding gait of a workhorse, but to his delight, Killer’s pace was as smooth as could be. When Jorem urged the horse to gallop the ride became even smoother.

  Tearing through the forest in the dead of night would have been far more treacherous were it not for the gentle glow from the stars above. Even so, he was hard pressed to stay on the right track. The path was little more than a series of game trails through the trees and bushes.

  Tears caused by the cold air rushing by trickled from the corners of Jorem’s eyes. He considered slowing to a walk so as not to overtax his mount, but the horse had other ideas. Killer liked to run, dark or not, and he wanted his fill. Jorem gave him slack in the reins, hunkered down and let him go, trusting the animal would slow down when he had the need.

  Jorem felt a tingling at the back of his neck and knew they were getting close. He tightened the reins and Killer grudgingly slowed to a canter, though he strained at the bit, still wanting to go on. With care, Jorem guided the horse in the direction where the tingling sensation felt strongest.

  Finally, they broke into a clearing. It looked like the same place where he’d first met the Folk—a gentle slope covered with a thick mat of wilted ferns not yet recovered from the harsh winter. It looked right and it felt right. Tugging back the reins, he brought Killer to a stop at the base of the slope. The big horse shook his head and stamped a foot as if to say, “But I’m having fun. I don’t want to stop.”

  “Easy boy,” Jorem said, as he patted the animals’ ebony neck. “We still have the trip back. If I’m wrong about this, at least you’ve had some fun.”

  He sat there on the horse in the dark long enough to start thinking this was all a huge waste of time. A gentle breeze drifted across the meadow carrying with it the scent of pine. Winter had lost its grasp on the land, but there was yet a chill in the air. Scattered banks of snow still left to melt glowed eerily in the starlight. Winter’s season had lasted a good cycle or more longer than the previous year.

  The tingling at Jorem’s neck grew so he braced himself, unsure what exactly was going to happen. From the center of the meadow, in the blink of an eye, there arched a gaping black maw. Not so much as a whisper did it make. Were it not for his ability to sense magic, he would have thought his eyes were deceiving him. Had he been a mere few paces back within the trees, he’d have no notion of the portal’s existence.

  Like ghosts, the Folk riders came, flashing out of the dark pool of the portal, appearing as if from thin air. The pale slender beings were gliding through the air on mounts that seemed to fly. On seeing Jorem, the lead rider shouted a single word. The entire group, some two score strong, rushed toward him and circled about him. When they at last came to a stop, all of them faced inward to the lone boy on the big black horse. The rider directly before him nudged his mount a few paces closer to Jorem.

  “And you are?” the leader of the group asked.

  They all looked so similar, but something in the eyes told Jorem that this was the same man he’d met on his first encounter with the Folk. On that occasion, he’d been so exhausted he hadn’t noticed very much about these people. What drew his attention most were their eyes. The man addressing him had silver eyes. He had white hair and a pale complexion, drawing ones attention even more to his eyes.

  “Jorem,” he said quickly when he realized the silence between them had lasted perhaps a bit too long, “Jorem, grandson of Grendith.”

  “Grandson?” the man said with a raised eyebrow. “Has it been so long?” he whispered, and then looked Jorem intently in the eye. “It was you we met the last time we
came?”

  “Yes, that was I,” Jorem responded.

  “Very well, Jorem of the line of Grendith. I am Toth, leader of this band. Do you intend to stand against us? Would you try to bar us from entry into your land?”

  Jorem couldn’t help but smile at the thought. “Much as I would like to test my skill against such formidable opponents, I’d much rather enjoy another sunrise. Actually, I came to invite you and your men to join me for a meal.”

  There were a few gasps and a number of the riders sat up a little straighter, so he continued. “The Broken Arms serves up a good meal with fine ale, unless you have something more pressing to attend to.”

  “You would, of course, guarantee our safety,” Toth stated with a glint in his eye.

  “With my own sword, if need be,” Jorem replied firmly. “Oh, and in case you’re interested, I’ve arranged a bountiful catch of fresh seafood to be served as well.”

  Jorem’s last statement garnered a few exclamations and several murmurs of anticipation.

  Toth glanced around at his men and smiled. “I fear I would have a rebellion on my hands were I to refuse. Let us ride to this Broken Arms. I would learn what has passed in this land since Grendith and I were lads.” This statement came from a man who looked to Jorem to be no more than twenty.

  They did not wait for Jorem to lead the way, but tore off in a rush of pounding hooves. Poor Killer was hard-pressed to match the speed set by the Folk. Trees and brush passed by in a blur, like ghostly shadows in the night. It seemed like no time had passed when they thundered up to the inn.

  Shelby and two young boys were waiting at the stables. The boys stood round-eyed as the Folk handed over the reins of their steeds. Killer’s sides were heaving as Jorem handed him over to Shelby. The stableman was nearly as stunned as the boys he had with him.

  “Treat him well. He’s earned it,” Jorem said as he gave over the reins of the big black horse. “Keep the boys in hand. They can spread their tales tomorrow.”

  “Is anything amiss?” Shelby asked cautiously.

  Jorem looked the oldster in the eyes. “Not yet, but keep their horses ready just in case.”

  Jorem led the way into the inn. The room was filled with a warm glow from numerous candles. To Jorem’s surprise a number of patrons were scattered about the room in groups of two to four. A rich aroma of stewed meats mingled with the sweet, salty smell of fresh-cooked seafood, and freshly baked bread filled the air. The usual pot of stew had been replaced with a spit, slowly turning a large haunch of meat over a smokeless fire. Everything seemed as normal as could be, except most of the patrons were female and it was at least two hours past midnight.

  As the Folk came in, the room fell silent. All eyes were on them and a hint of fear tinged the air. “All I need is for someone to scream and this will go from party to disaster in a heartbeat,” Jorem thought.

  Rescue came from an unexpected source. Daisy came from behind the counter and approached the Folk. She executed a dainty curtsy that would have impressed the finest of courtiers. Then she smiled and looked Toth directly in the eyes.

  “Come in and be welcome,” she said calmly. “Guests of Prince Jorem will always find a place at our hearth.”

  With that simple invitation the people in the room converged on the folk, leading them to tables and inviting them to sit. Servers poured out of the kitchen bearing plates and mugs, with platters piled with food close behind. Soon all were served and the room hummed with pleasant conversations.

  Jorem found himself sitting at a table with Toth, another of the folk riders and an incredibly attractive brunette. The brunette was totally focused on Toth. She was also very talkative, querying Toth about everything that came to her mind.

  Toth seemed completely relaxed and fell into a conversation with the brunette with ease. The other rider who sat with them was quite different, only nodding in response to what was said. In fact, the rider had not even shed his riding cloak. All Jorem could tell was he was tall, slender and graceful.

  The meal came and went, and though Jorem learned a great deal about Toth and the brunette, the fourth member of their group could have been an apparition. Even his face was concealed by the shadow of the hood on his cloak. Occasionally Jorem caught a glimpse of fair skin beneath the hood, but that was all.

  Jorem said little through the meal. He was far too tense to eat save for a few succulent morsels of, well, he wasn’t sure what it was but it melted in his mouth and tasted like nothing he’d ever had before. If one of the Duke’s guard happened by there was no telling what might happen. As they bantered amongst themselves, it was obvious the people of the Folk were having an enjoyable time.

  Looking about, Jorem realized that a number of the Folk were missing. His worry lasted only until Toth and the brunette excused themselves and sauntered off arm in arm. As they exited the common room toward the rooms at the back of the inn, the rider at Jorem’s table shook his head and sighed.

  “You’ll have to forgive my brother. He tends to enjoy his pleasures a bit more than he should.”

  The voice of the rider left Jorem speechless. So light, so soft and soothing, it was like curling into a warm blanket on a cold morning. This was definitely not a “he,” which was confirmed when the rider slipped the hood off of her head and let the riding cloak slide off her shoulders onto the back of her chair.

  If her voice had left him speechless, the sight of her pierced him to his soul. Long silver hair framed a pale, yet strong face, with pale blue eyes that shone as though lit from within. She reminded him of a delicate spring flower, but he could tell she was made of steel. He felt intoxicated just from looking at her.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  Jorem realized he’d been staring and felt the blood rush to his face.

  “I... I’m sorry” he stammered. “It’s just that…, I mean, I didn’t realize that—.” His mind raced in circles trying to think of what to say. Finally he slumped back in his chair and sighed.

  “I’m sorry I was staring at you,” he said, staring fixedly at the table. “I’ve never seen anyone so… beautiful before.”

  He expected her to laugh at him, or possibly wave off the comment like a bothersome fly. Instead, she reached across the table and laid her hand on his. The gentle touch and the warmth of her hand made him look up into those pale blue eyes, a trap from which he couldn’t have escaped if he’d wanted to. Escape didn’t even cross his mind.

  A slight tingling at the back of his neck brought him back to his senses in a rush. With some reluctance he pulled his hand from hers and sat up a little straighter. No stranger to magic, he knew its touch and its source. Someone nearby was casting a spell.

  “You are different,” she said in some confusion.

  “So I’ve been told,” Jorem replied a bit stiffly.

  For a moment she stared at him in silence. “Grendith, he is your father?”

  “Grandfather,” Jorem said cautiously, “My father’s father.”

  She squinted her eyes at him. “How many children did Grendith have?”

  “Just one, my father, King Halden. I am Jorem, fifth son of King Halden. Who exactly are you?”

  Her eyes grew round and her delicate lips formed an “O”.

  “When there is need a fifth shall be born,” she whispered.

  “What?” Jorem asked.

  “When Grendith came to our land he slew an evil mage, saving our people from a great peril. As a reward our ruler, He With No Name, cast a great magic, so great that when he was done not even he knew what it would do. All the Unnamed one would ever say was, ‘When there is need a fifth shall be born’.”

  “What need?” Jorem asked.

  “He would never say.”

  They sat in silence for a while, both contemplating what the other had said. Finally Jorem shook his head. “What would be would be,” Pentrothe had always told him. “Best to make what right we can today.”

  “Grendith must have been a great man
,” Jorem said. “You still haven’t told me who you are.”

  “I am Teneth, searcher of the Folk,” she said with a smile. “And Grendith was a rogue. Gallant to be sure, but a rogue all the same. He and Toth made a perfect pair.”

  “You knew my Grandfather?”

  The very idea seemed incredible. She looked no older than he, and surely no more than twenty years.

  “I knew him, yes. Of all who have come to our land he is the only one who chose to leave.” At Jorem’s questioning look she explained. “Whenever we come to your land, the searcher seeks out those who would find more happiness with us. Once they are in our land they are given the choice to stay or return. Grendith is the only one ever to choose to return here.”

  “Is it really that good, your land, I mean?” Jorem asked.

  “It is difficult to describe,” Teneth replied thoughtfully. “There is no sickness, no hunger or want. Time passes differently for us; a lifetime could be as long as hundreds of your years. There is a price paid for the gifts our land gives though. We cannot create life. No child has ever been born there.”

  “So that’s why you take people from here,” Jorem said. “Otherwise everyone would eventually die off.”

  Teneth smiled. “As I said, no one is forced to stay. Would you mind if we moved closer to the fire? This land of yours is cold, and the warmth of the fire would feel very soothing.”

  They rose together and walked over to a bench placed near the hearth. When they sat, she slid up against his side, leaned against him and laid her head on his shoulder. Jorem nearly forgot to breathe. Her body was almost as warm as the fire. Her silky soft hair brushed against his neck. Jorem dared not move for fear that she might move away.

  “What was the need?” Teneth asked quietly.

  When Jorem didn’t reply, she looked up into his eyes. With those clear blue eyes so close to his, Jorem thought the room should be vibrating, so loud was the beating of his heart.

  “What great deed, what mighty task was there that you alone could conquer?” she whispered.