Honor Crowned

by Michael G. Southwick

  Jorem took in the complexity of the device. “How long does it take to reload?”

  Jacobs grimaced. “That would be the downfall of the power bow. If I get in a little practice, I might get off two shots in the time it would take a man to run across the clearing out there. Fire, reload and fire. After that it would depend on how long it took them to reach me.”

  “I guess we’d better save it for a target that counts then,” Jorem surmised.

  He turned to Neth. “How long do we have until this party starts?”

  Nethira raised an eyebrow at his choice of words. “Conrad sent word to expect the first of the monsters around midday.”

  “Neth, I need everyone in the courtyard. No exceptions.” Jorem paused and took a deep breath. “We need to get the infants and toddlers to as safe a place as we can.”

  ************

  It was a quiet, solemn group gathered at the steps of the Keep. Even the children were subdued. It was an odd sight. Gray and silver haired elderly men and women surrounded by young wide-eyed children.

  “These people shouldn’t be here,” Jorem thought. “They should be somewhere safe and warm. I shouldn’t have let them stay. Why didn’t I make them leave?”

  Doubt and worry crowded into Jorem’s mind. He hadn’t slept much since arriving at Cragg Keep., and what sleep he’d gotten had been fitful at best. Now it was time to explain to these people why they needed to leave—not just leave, but run. They needed to get as far from here as possible.

  An old woman supporting herself with a cane hobbled to the front of the crowd. Watching her slow progress served to lower Jorem’s spirits even more. The joints of her limbs were swollen and obviously painful. How was he supposed to ask this woman to run?

  “Get on with it, young man,” the woman said in a waspish tone. “Some of us aren’t up to standing upright much these days.”

  The woman’s attitude brought a smile to Jorem’s mind. If he could have harnessed the edge of her tongue, they would have had a powerful weapon.

  Jorem stepped forward so he stood at the top edge of the steps leading down to the courtyard. Everyone who was there stopped their conversation and looked to him. Jorem cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back. “This would be so much easier if there weren’t so many eyes on me,” he thought.

  “As most of you know,” he began, “there is a large group of creatures heading this way. I’ve been informed they’ll arrive sometime around midday tomorrow. What you may not know is that, behind the creatures, comes an army of about 300 men.”

  Some of the children started whispering at the news. The adults appeared resigned to what the news entailed. In a few moments, the adults had hushed the children. They all remained focused on Jorem. “Hopefully I can convince some of them to escape.”

  “I have men out doing what they can to whittle down the number of creatures coming, but there is little they can do about the army that follows. Against a herd of unthinking animals, we have a chance, small as it may be. Against an army of 300 trained warriors, we won’t last long.”

  “What do you want us to do?” a voice asked from the crowd.

  “I want you to leave,” Jorem said bluntly.

  “I’ll not leave my home!” the old woman at the front of the crowd blurted, shaking her cane.

  “Would you have the children die?” Jorem asked in a voice loud enough for all to hear. “The infants? The babes in arms?”

  “Where could we go?” another asked.

  “There is a passageway that begins inside the Keep and leads down to the bottom of the chasm. Some of us will remain here to defend the Keep for as long as it takes you to reach the bottom.”

  “What will stop them from following us to the chasm?” one of the men asked.

  Nethira stepped forward to answer the man. “At the bottom of the passageway, there is a hidden lever. One hard pull and the passage will collapse.” Nodding at Jorem she stepped back to her previous place.

  “I’m not leaving my home!” insisted another man. Several others agreed with him.

  Jorem ground his teeth in frustration. “I don’t have the men to force you to go. But tell me, what good is your home if you allow the children to be killed? Understand this,” Jorem said, allowing his anger to show, “I want every child too small to draw a bow at the bottom of the chasm. I don’t care who does it. I don’t care how it gets done. But you will get it done, and there will be adults with them to take care of them!”

  Every face Jorem looked at held a wide-eyed, stunned expression. Whether they understood or were too shocked to respond, he wasn’t sure, but no one argued. Even his own men were taken aback at the authority his voice had conveyed.

  “Jorem,” Neth whispered behind him. “You’re going to have to put someone in charge or they’ll just stand around and argue with each other.”

  “Do you want the job?” Jorem growled at her.

  The look she gave him nearly withered him on the spot. “I’m staying!” she hissed at him.

  Neth was right. These people needed someone to follow; someone who knew the passageway would be helpful, but he doubted any of those who knew about the passage would be willing to use it. Looking about the courtyard, Jorem’s eyes were drawn to a small area of calm. There, smack in the middle of it, was Cort.

  “Cort!” Jorem called out.

  Cort raised his head, but did not speak.

  “Cort,” Jorem repeated, “Do you know the way through the passageway to the chasm?”

  Again, Cort didn’t say anything, but the look he gave Jorem clearly said, “Of course I do. Why are you asking such obvious things?”

  Jorem raised his hand as if warding off a rebuke. “Of course you do. It’s in the records. I apologize.” Then, after a slight pause, “I need you to be in charge of the evacuation. If anyone—and I do mean anyone,” Jorem swept the crowd with his eyes, “gives you any problems, you have my permission to tie them up and drag them to the chasm!”

  Chapter XIV

  Jorem sat in a comfortable padded chair. Neth and a few others had joined him in a quiet, out-of-the-way room in hopes of getting a little rest. Neth said it was the drawing room. When he asked her why there weren’t any paper or pencils, she just shook her head and walked away.

  Jorem chuckled at his joke, leaned back and closed his eyes. An odd odor caught his attention. To his chagrin, he realized the smell was coming from him. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had a chance to bathe. At the moment, he didn’t have the energy to get up, let alone arrange for a bath. “Maybe in the morning,” he thought to himself.

  He was just drifting off to sleep when he felt a tingling at the back of his neck. Before his mind had time to process the feeling, Jorem was on his feet, sword drawn. An instant later, Neth and two others were at his side. All of them were casting about, searching for signs of a threat.

  “What is it?” Neth asked.

  “Magic,” Jorem responded.

  No one questioned his source. They just accepted that he knew something they didn’t and readied themselves for an attack. Jorem closed his eyes to see if he could “see” where the magic source was. When he perceived a slight sparkling, he turned toward it and opened his eyes.

  He faced the doorway, flanked on either side by the others. The air in the doorway began to shimmer. Slowly, the light from the hallway beyond the doorway dimmed until a black hole filled the entire door frame. The tingling on Jorem’s neck intensified and he braced himself for whatever was to come. A stick figure of a man in a black robe stumbled out of the blackness and fell to the ground. The moment the man fell, the black hole disappeared.

  The man lay face down, the black robe twisted and tangled about his body. Gray hair stuck up at odd angles from his head. A groan escaped the man’s lips as he slowly rolled over. The wrinkled old face peeking from behind the tousled gray hair and beard were not what Jorem was expecting, but it was a most welcome one.

  “Pentrothe!” Jo
rem exclaimed.

  Sheathing his sword, Jorem rushed to the wizard’s side. Kneeling beside his prostrate friend, Jorem carefully helped him to his feet and straightened Pentrothe’s robe. Pentrothe looked exhausted and the dark circles around his eyes seemed to deepen as Jorem watched.

  “Jorem?” Pentrothe asked with a doubtful look.

  “Yes sir, it’s me,” Jorem assured him.

  Pentrothe hesitated only a moment before wrapping his arms around Jorem and pulling him into a warm embrace. Jorem, for his part, held the old wizard as tightly as he dared. Pentrothe had never been a heavy man, but Jorem had never realized just how thin and bony he was.

  After far too short a time, Pentrothe released his grip. Jorem stepped back and noticed that Neth and the others still had their weapons drawn, though they made no move to interfere. Jorem motioned them back and they relaxed a little. Neth still glared at the wizard with suspicion.

  “Pentrothe, what could possibly be so important you would risk using magic to bring yourself here?” Jorem asked, not bothering to hide his delight at his mentor’s appearance.

  Pentrothe seemed to come to his senses. “My boy, the King has sent an assassin to eliminate you!” Pentrothe gripped Jorem’s arm, his whisper of a voice even harsher than usual. “You must beware. Keep those you trust close about you. Have your men…,” Pentrothe waved at the others in the room until his eyes lit on Jacobs.

  “You!” Pentrothe cried. “Seize him! He is the King’s blade!”

  Before things had a chance to get out of hand, Jorem stepped between Pentrothe and Jacobs.

  “Calm down!” Jorem ordered. “Everyone calm down. Jacobs and I have already discussed the situation and we’ve decided that, for now, we’ll refrain from killing one another.”

  “Actually,” Jacobs commented, “Prince Jorem spared my life. I followed the King’s orders to the best of my ability and now I find myself with a life debt to Jorem. Maybe if I follow him with the rest of you I’ll gain a little ground on the scales of life.”

  Pentrothe looked at Jorem in disbelief. The others in the room eyed both wizard and assassin with equal distrust. Jacobs held his hands out to his sides and held very still. Jorem sighed and rubbed his forehead with one hand. With all of the enemies they had coming at them, the last thing they needed were enemies within their own ranks.

  “Listen,” Jorem said in exasperation, “we have enough problems right now. With the creatures coming at us and the army that follows, we need each other if we are going to have even a shadow of a chance.”

  “Creatures? What creatures?” Pentrothe asked in confusion.

  “The creatures are the easy part,” Jorem shrugged. “It’s the army and the mages with them that have me worried. Come, sit down and I’ll explain our situation. The rest of you get some sleep. That’s an order!”

  As Jorem and Pentrothe moved to a quiet corner of the room, the others settled into chairs or couches and were soon asleep. Jorem spoke quietly so as not to disturb their slumber. The more he explained the graver Pentrothe’s expression became. When he finished, Pentrothe sat shaking his head.

  “You should all avail yourselves of this secret passageway and escape this hopeless venture,” Pentrothe said.

  “Don’t think the thought hasn’t crossed my mind,” Jorem chuckled. “If I run, if I save myself and allow this army free passage, what happens to all those between here and the capital? What happens to my father’s armies when this horde comes raging up behind them? Those armies aren’t just markers on a map. They’re men and women with families. No, I’ll stay. I’m certainly not going home.”

  Pentrothe snorted. “Home would not be a healthy option,” the wizard said while stroking his beard. “As bad as it’s about to get here, you’re better off here.”

  “Either way, my chances don’t look very good,” Jorem said with a sigh. “You, on the other hand, would have been better off staying in the castle.”

  “Hmmph! I’ve no more love for the King than he has for me.” At Jorem’s look of surprise, Pentrothe continued. “He was a good man, still is for the most part. And he’s been a good King—not a great King, mind you, but a good King. His father, your grandfather, died when he was quite young, and his mother died not long after. The crown took its toll on him. When he lost your mother, a part of his sanity was lost as well.

  “He could not accept her death, so he placed the blame on you. It was not right and it was not fair. He loved you, for you were so much like your mother, but he hated you for the same reason. When your brothers’ behavior became intolerable and then news came of an impending war, what little was left of his sanity crumbled.”

  Jorem sat quietly through Pentrothe’s tale. He’d always known he was not well-liked by his Father. Even so, hearing this tale, first from Jacobs and now again from Pentrothe, left him feeling empty. So much of his life had been spent seeking approval from his father; approval that would never come.

  Pushing aside the emotions boiling up inside him, Jorem diverted the topic. “How are my brothers?” he asked. “I’ve heard little of them.”

  “Much improved, or so I’m told.” A glimmer came to Pentrothe’s eyes. “When they returned from Broughbor, the King had them moved to the guards’ quarters with orders not to return until Weapons Master Gregorio deemed them worthy of the privilege.”

  Jorem’s jaw nearly hit the floor. He remembered the King saying something to that affect, but he hadn’t thought the threat real. Perhaps some good had come about.

  “What happened?”

  “Well now, I don’t know the details, but I did hear that their swagger became a limp. Gregorio was given a free hand with them and I dare say he took full advantage of it.”

  Jorem had to smile at that. Gregorio was a good man. When he’d been training under the weapons master, he’d learned that as long as he worked hard and did his best, the weapons master would help in any way he could. But slack at a task, and he’d run you ragged.

  “And the King allowed it?” Jorem asked, still stunned by the news.

  “The King is much changed. For your brothers, I believe it has been a good thing. For you, I fear not so much.”

  Jorem had no desire to return to the subject of his Father. With a shake of his head, he stood up.

  “You should get some sleep, Pentrothe. You look done in. In the morning, you should seek out Cort. He’ll help you to safety.”

  “Jorem, my boy,” Pentrothe said kindly, “had I known the dangers facing you, I’d have come sooner. I’ll not leave you now. Besides, when the King learns I’ve come to you, I’ll be in much the same situation as Jacobs. No, I’m with you until the end.”

  Jorem smiled, though his heart was saddened.

  “Sleep, my friend,” Jorem said. “I’ve a few more things to attend to.”

  ************

  Jorem left Pentrothe and the others to sleep. He needed to be alone, someplace where he could think without being disturbed. His thoughts were scattered and confused and he needed a clear mind for the coming conflict. Distractions at the wrong moment could prove far too costly.

  He ended up in the trees just beyond the clearing full of stake-filled trenches. The forest was quiet. Even the night animals had fled the area, as though they knew a battle loomed near. A short distance into the trees, Jorem found a good location.

  A close grouping of trees gave concealment as well as a brush-free spot on the ground. Before sitting down, Jorem checked the area for insect trails on the tree and ground where he wanted to sit. Not an easy task in the dark, but having his pants filled with ants would be no comfort at all.

  Sitting down with his back to the trunk of the largest tree in the group, Jorem sighed deeply. Despite all of the people around him, he felt alone. Every time he turned around, he found himself responsible for something or someone else. If he could, he’d pass the responsibility off to someone else, but who else was there?

  The situation with his Father left him befuddled. Over the y
ears, he’d come to accept being ignored and even being disdained. But this, this was beyond Jorem’s ability to understand. To be told his Father hated him hurt. Finding out his Father had actually ordered his death left Jorem feeling as though his insides had been ripped out. Nothing could have prepared him for this situation.

  Breathing deeply of the cool mountain air, he did his best to calm himself. Nothing he could do right now would solve the problem with his Father. Jorem doubted there was anything that could ever be done to help. And now there were others, in Jacobs and Pentrothe, with the same price on their heads because they had chosen to follow him.

  Pentrothe, his mentor and dearest friend, had chosen to forfeit his life just to bring a message of warning. The old wizard had used up all of his magical reserves to transport himself here. Combine using up his magic with his age and Pentrothe would be hard-pressed to defend himself from any attack. Jorem knew Lady Zensa would never forgive him if he allowed harm to come to her brother.

  “Oh, that’s a cheerful thought,” Jorem said aloud.

  An angry Dragon Mage bent on revenge. How could anyone deal with that? Even if he managed to get himself killed in the next few days, she could probably still track him down and do unimaginable things to punish him.

  Then there was Jen. Jorem braced himself as she came to mind. He had to exert a great deal of control over his thoughts and emotions when thinking of her, otherwise he ended up wherever she was. Not physically, but his mind and image were there. The ability had proven useful a few times, but often enough it had been a nuisance.

  He wanted to be with her, to hold her and protect her; but he needed to be here. The bonding they shared kept her always in the back of his mind. His feelings for Jen grew stronger each day, even though they were apart.

  They had become friends long ago when a pert, headstrong little girl had consented to teach a bumbling, awkward boy how to dance. They had agreed to be friends and, over a few cycles, Jorem had come to think of her much like a sister. When her chaotic shields had collapsed and the bonding had taken hold, Jorem’s whole world had turned upside down.