“But there are people in need,” Jorem argued. “I am more than willing to part with this sword if it will help them.”
“I know you would, but this sword is yours and none other’s,” Biorne replied. “Wasn’t there some coin in the package you got a while ago?”
“I…” Jorem paused in thought. “Yes, there was. I totally forgot about it.”
Sword in hand, Jorem rushed back to his room. A quick search through his coat pockets produced the forgotten coin. A gold crown, more than enough for what he intended. After returning the bejeweled sword to its hiding place in the chest, Jorem returned to the commons room. Reaching over, he placed the coin in Biorne’s hand.
Biorne shook his head, smiling in amusement. “Only you, my friend, could forget you’ve got a gold crown. I’ll see it’s put to the good use you want.”
Chapter XII
The first day of their march was long and wearying. Most of the newer recruits were unaccustomed to such hardship and frequently asked for time to rest. Complaints ranged from weariness to blistered and swollen feet. When they finally had their first camp set up and were serving the evening meal, Jorem thought they should serve a large slab of cheese to go with the whine he’d listened to all day. They hadn’t followed the main road, but instead traveled further north, creating their own path.
No one had to carry more than a small pack of emergency supplies, a flask of water and a sword, but they did have to take turns helping with the wagons that were carrying the tents and other supplies. Without a road to follow they had to push, pull and sometimes lift the wagons over objects in their path. Occasionally they were forced to cut up fallen trees to allow the wagons to move forward. If it had been mid summer the task would have been far more miserable with the heat and insects to contend with. As it was many of the men wore blisters on their hands from wielding axes.
After the evening meal, Jorem and the other hunters built a small fire in their section of the camp. They were a quiet group. Each seemed content to sit and watch the flames slowly eat away at the wood. Looking at the others, Jorem could see these were hard men, accustomed to living rough and working hard. They were all older than he by a fair amount, some having gone gray with their years.
Conrad, Jorem’s tent mate, noticed Jorem’s gaze. He grinned back at Jorem and plucked the stick he’d been chewing on from between his teeth.
“Ye done yerself proud t’day lad,” Conrad said. “Not like them other young’ns. Tain’t seen a day’s hard work amongst the lot of ‘em.”
Jorem had to smile at the comment. “It wasn’t that long ago I wasn’t any better. In fact, I was likely worse.”
“Be that as it may, you shoulder it well. We been wonderin’ though where ye learnt yer swordwork. I swear ye got half this lot scared of ye an' t’other half tryin’ to imitate ye.”
Jorem shrugged. “Ever hear of a female warrior goes by the name of Neth?”
“So you’re the sorry son of a—.” one of the other hunters blurted. “I mean, the one Neth’s been thrashin’ day in an’ day out.”
“Never know’d anyone as would face her more’n once,” another chimed in.
“That’s me,” Jorem chuckled, “too hard-headed to know better.”
“I seen her in battle once,” Conrad said. “She just sorta went crazy. Don’t think she kill’t any of our own, but sure did litter the ground with bodies. “Berserker” they called her. Scariest thing I ever done seen. She cut her way straight through to their commanders an’ kill’t every one of ‘em.”
Jorem nodded, thinking back to a remark Neth had once made. “There’s nothing quite so dangerous as a berserker with a plan,” he said aloud.
The others nodded in agreement and went back to their own thoughts. The fire crackled and popped as one of the men tossed another log on the flames. Jorem was considering turning in for the night when a man came jogging over to them.
“Captain wants you in the command tent right away,” he said flatly.
“Who?” Conrad asked.
“All of you. Right now!” the runner said sternly.
“Well, I guess we’d best go see what the man wants,” Conrad said as he stood. The rest of them followed suit and headed across the camp.
“Gentlemen,” a dark haired, lean, hard-faced man addressed the hunters. “I’m Captain Jonas, commander of this rabble. The Duke has ordered us to take a roundabout route to the capital. On our way we are to eliminate any bandits and, if possible, track down and kill the creature the peasants say roams this area.”
Without waiting for a response, the captain walked over to a table at one end of the tent. He pushed aside the papers on the table to reveal a large map. Leaning over the table the captain pointed to a spot on the map.
“This is where we are now. Over there is the capital. This is the route I intend to follow,” he said pointing to a line angling across the map.
Jorem leaned over the map to study it more closely. Part of his studies with the old wizard, Pentrothe, had been to memorize maps and landmarks throughout the kingdom. This map had nowhere near the detail he had seen on others. Plus he’d had the advantage of reading histories and reports from many of the cities and towns throughout the kingdom.
“You men are the closest we have to scouts,” Captain Jonas continued. “Every seasoned scout we have went with Pertheron. As we travel, I’ll be sending squads of men up every canyon, ravine and crevasse we come by. Your job will be to scout ahead of the squads for dangers, be they human, animal or terrain. I’d also appreciate it if you could keep the men from getting lost.”
“Excuse me,” Jorem said quietly, still leaning over the map.
When the captain turned to him, Jorem continued. “I see you have us going over Hassbek Pass and through the Derwindles.”
“Is that a problem?” Captain Jonas asked.
“Well, unless they’ve had another ground shake in the last year or so to change things, there’s a chasm running from Lake Tebs through the Derwindles and down to Creekside Crossing. Sometimes there’s a bridge at Hassbek Pass, but it never lasts very long.”
“Rim’s right, Cap’n,” volunteered one of the other hunters. “Even if the bridge is passable at Hassbek, ‘tis no more’n a foot bridge. No way them wagons’ll get across.”
The captain’s face clouded over as he watched Jorem pouring over the map.
“Sir,” Jorem said, “if I could make a suggestion. If we changed course here at Cinder Creek and made our way over Mossit Pass, we’d avoid the chasm all together. It’s a bit further to travel, maybe two or three days, but it’s a surer route.”
Captain Jonas handed Jorem a quill. “Sketch in the route over Mossit and I’ll talk it over with the squad leaders tonight. Speaking of squad leaders, I need one of you to be at the planning meetings every morning and evening. We’ll need reports on travel conditions for the next day’s march. You seem to know your way around a map. Would you be willing?”
Jorem could see several pitfalls in accepting the position, not the least of which were his youth and lack of experience. Best, he thought, for one of the others to take the lead.
“These men have much more experience at tracking and trailing than I do,” Jorem replied.
Captain Jonas nodded in understanding. “Well, you decide amongst you who it will be. Just see that one of you is here. Tomorrow we’ll set up camp here,” the captain said, tapping a spot on the map. “Squads will split at each major canyon. Check them from bottom to top and rendezvous at the camp. I want a scout for each squad.”
“Where is the next campsite, sir?” Jorem asked.
“It should be in this area,” the captain pointed at the map. “Why?”
“If you want us to scout ahead, we need to know where we’re going. Plus, we can find good places to set up camp.”
Captain Jonas nodded his agreement. “We break camp at first light then. Goodnight gentlemen.”
They were all quiet as they walked back to their ten
ts. That is, they were quiet until they were about halfway across camp.
“Genl’man,” one of the hunters groused. “Last time some feller called me a genl’ man I done knocked ‘is teeth out.”
“Ha, ain’t that the truth of it,” Conrad laughed. “Gentlemen,” he mimicked the captain. “There’s only one’v us as comes close ta that. Speakin’ of that, whyn’t you jump at the cap’n’s offer, Rim?”
“Actually,” Jorem said, “I was hoping to learn from you. You men have probably forgotten more about tracking than I’ll ever learn.”
The men all laughed at Jorem’s remark. “We’ll getcha learned up, don’t you worry,” Conrad grinned. “Admittin’ the need ta learn is half the knowin’.”
“I ain’t goin’ ta no meet’ns,” one of the hunters remarked. “Like as not I’d end up smackin’ one a them officers.”
“I’m with Terren,” said another. “I’ll scout for ‘em, and I’ll hunt for ‘em, but I ain’t sittin’ in no meetin’ so as they can badger me ‘bout stuff I ain’t seen.”
“They do get pushy, don’t they,” Conrad said.
“Not with Rim here, they don’t,” Terren said.
“Thas cause they’s skeerd of ‘im,” another said. “I swear half of ‘em jump to attention when he walks by.”
“There’s somethin’ to think about there,” Conrad said as they arrived back at their tents. “If’n we send Rim to the meetin’s, they’re not as likely to be sendin’ us off helter skelter.”
They all nodded in agreement to Conrad’s remark. One of them stirred the fire back to life and they all sat down as if they’d never left. Conrad reached over and clapped Jorem on the shoulder, nearly knocking him to the ground.
“What say you? Think ye can keep us out of trouble, lad?”
“I suppose I can try,” Jorem replied. “Why is it I feel like I’m getting the short end of the stick?”
“One of life’s lessons, lad,” Conrad said as the rest of them chuckled. “Once yer in the guard ye get’s volunteered fer all sorts a things.”
For the rest of the evening they discussed how they would divide up the scouting. Jorem requested he go out with each of them at least once, as he was less experienced. That way, he could learn from each of them. They decided that for the first sevenday Jorem would travel with one of the scouts, after that he would be on his own. One scout would go with each squad as they split off from the main group. Two would scout out the route to the next camp sight. Jorem would meet with each of the scouts when they got to camp to get any information the Captain might need.
The next morning, Jorem was up, dressed, packed and ready to go before the rest of the camp had begun to stir. He headed over to the command tent and found Captain Jonas going over some papers. Jorem wasn’t certain the man had ever gone to bed.
As soon as the captain noticed Jorem at the door, he waved him in. “I take it you’ve been volunteered.”
Jorem smiled in return. “I suppose that’s a good description of what happened.”
“The squad leaders won’t be here for at least another half mark, but you’re welcome to join me for a cup of tea.”
“Actually, sir, I was hoping to make some sketches from the map; something with landmarks and directions for the scouts to use.”
“By all means,” the captain said waving Jorem over to the map. “There’s a stack of parchment and quills there on the table.”
By the time the others arrived, Jorem had rough sketches of each canyon they would pass by today, plus the route to the next camp. There were only four canyons today, so one of the scouts could stay with the main group if he wanted. Jorem intended to go out every day even if there was only one canyon to explore. The more experience he got the better off he’d be.
The meeting was short and to the point. They ate a bowl of cooked cracked oats and a chunk of bread while Captain Jonas went over the route and assigned squads to each of the canyons they’d pass by. Jorem kept track of the squad leaders’ names so he could let the scouts know. Some of the scouts didn’t get along with certain officers. There was no point in putting them together if it could be avoided.
Chapter XIII
The first sevenday went fairly smoothly. One small band of bandits were captured and sent back for the Duke to deal with. A few men were hurt—two sprained ankles and a broken arm—but these injuries were from tripping on uneven ground and slipping down a steep slope. Nothing serious, but without a healer, the injured had to travel in the supply wagons. Fortunately for the injured, with troops scouting all of the canyons, the wagon’s were able to go slow allowing them to choose smoother routes than they had the first few days.
The second sevenday proved a bit more costly. The canyons were steep and most still had snow in them. The men suffered from the cold even though they broke out the heavy gear. Nearly everyone bore bumps and bruises from falling. Jorem spent as much time conferring with the scouts and the squad leaders as he did anything else. He’d gone out with all but one of the scouts and the thing he learned the most was how little he knew. Each of the scouts had their own way of doing things. Most of them were easy to get along with, but a few were a bit surly.
Today would be the last time he would have the advantage of a seasoned scout to help him. Hector, the scout he’d be with today, wasn’t a very talkative person, but he knew his trade better than most. After a quick discussion with the squad leader, Hector and Jorem set off at a jog up their assigned canyon. In a little over half a mark Hector slowed to a more leisurely pace.
“I like to keep a good distance ahead of the troops,” Hector said. “They tend to make a lot of noise. Anything around knows they’re coming long before they get there. Me, I like to know who and what is about without them knowing I’m anywhere close.”
Jorem nodded in understanding. Most of the scouts did the same thing, although the others hadn’t bothered to explain why, as Hector just did.
It looked to be another peaceful morning walking through the mountains. Jorem missed hot showers and a comfortable bed, but being here doing what he was doing, well, he felt so alive, so aware of everything. They walked in silence for some time before Hector stopped by a tree.
A cool breeze whispered through the tree branches causing them to sway slightly. Jorem knelt beside Hector to inspect the tracks of a deer. The tracks were faded and the edges were crumbling. These had been made some time ago. Hector pointed to something caught on the bark of the tree.
“Hair,” Hector said, “likely from the same animal whose tracks you see.” He pulled some of the hair from the bark, rubbed it between his thumb and fingers and then held it to his nose. Sniffing the hair, Hector nodded his head as if confirming some thought. He held the hair out to Jorem to inspect.
“The hair is coarse and graying. This is from an older animal. The smell is faint, not strong. Much time has passed since it passed this way.” Hector pointed to the tracks. “Tracks on the ground can tell you much. Other signs tell a story. Listen to the story and you learn how your prey thinks. If you know how it thinks, even if you lose the tracks, you know where it will go.”
This was the most Jorem had ever heard Hector say. The other scouts respected Hector and always listened when he spoke, rare as it was. Jorem decided it would be wise to do the same. Somewhere in one of the many books he’d read, he recalled a quote he’d thought odd at the time: “Learn from the best and you learn the best.” Now it made perfect sense.
The hair indeed felt thick and rough between his fingers, though Jorem had little to compare it to other than his own. He would have to remember this feeling so he could compare it to future experiences. The hair varied in color from a light gray to a medium tan, being more gray than tan.
Holding the hair under his nose, Jorem inhaled gently. First there came the tangy odor of tree sap, followed by a deeper almost smoky smell of living wood. Under all of that was a faint musty smell, the smell of the animal from whence the hair had come. The hair had been attached t
o the tree bark long enough for the smell of the tree to overcome the smell of the deer. Jorem wondered how long would it take for the smell of the deer to disappear altogether. There were so many things he needed to learn, and so much of it would require time and experience. At least he was with the right people to teach him.
They moved on through the trees, Jorem following Hector’s lead. Occasionally Hector would stop to point out faint signs—bent twigs, scraped bark and scuff marks on hard packed dirt gave evidence of a multitude of wildlife. Jorem had gotten better at spotting tracks and knowing what animal they belonged to. With the help of the other scouts, he was learning to spot the less obvious sign.
Now he concentrated on spotting the out of place. He looked for things that differed from what was normal for the scene. He’d found it easier to see the anomalies by focusing on his peripheral vision. Things right in front of his eyes seemed normal until he looked away. Then what didn’t fit became more obvious to him.
They took turns backtracking to give brief reports to the lieutenant, then hustling back up the canyon. Jorem was alone scouting ahead when something odd caught his eye. Moving closer, he found a slight depression in a patch of soft dirt. It was a little smaller than the palm of his hand with a sharp curved edge on one side. The track didn’t match any of the animals Jorem could identify. A whisper of sound and a glance down the canyon told him Hector was nearly back. If anyone would know what animal this track belonged to, it would be Hector.
As Hector arrived, Jorem pointed to the track and asked, “What animal makes this track?”
The scout knelt by the track. Very gently he reached down and ran his fingers along the edge of the depression. Hector looked Jorem in the eyes with an “are you serious?” glint. Hector stood, placed the toe of his boot next to the track and pressed down lightly. When he moved his foot, a similar impression lay next to the first.
“Man,” Hector said bluntly. “One, maybe two days old.” Glancing around, he continued, “I don’t see any others, so they’re trying not to leave tracks. Let’s move on, but keep it quiet.”
Honor Found (The Spare Heir) Page 8