Honor Crowned

by Michael G. Southwick

  “I’m not afraid!” the boy said stubbornly.

  “There’s nothing wrong in being afraid,” Jorem said in a subdued tone. “There’s nothing wrong in running away. All you get out of dying is dead. Live every moment you can and fight to help others to do the same. I’ve read of battles where both sides fought until no man was left standing. Perhaps if some of them had been a little more fearful, there would have been someone left to live for what they were fighting for.”

  The boy looked at Jorem in confusion. “You aren’t afraid are you?”

  “Yes! Yes, I am,” Jorem stated bluntly.

  “Then why are you still here?” the boy’s disbelief was obvious.

  “Because my fear for you is greater than my fear for myself.”

  Before the boy could say anything more, Jorem stood and turned to Neth. She said nothing, but her silence said all she needed it to.

  “I’m going to check on the sentries,” Jorem said with a sigh. “Send word of our plans to Cort so he knows what to expect.”

  The room was very quiet as he made his way out.

  ************

  It was nearly midday by the time the last of the creatures’ bodies fell to the depths of the chasm. Even in the cool mountain air, sweat dripped from Jorem’s brow. It had been days since he’d had time to bathe and he felt the grime as he wiped the sweat from his face.

  While those with the strength to do so had been moving the carcasses, the rest had been gathering branches, sticks and brush to reset the traps. Save for the trees, the ground for some distance into the forest was nearly bare. Not for the first time, Jorem marveled at the will and determination of these people. Though they tired quickly, young and old alike, after a short rest, they would press themselves back into the work.

  A shout went up from near the trees. Jorem looked over to see emerging from the forest the men he’d sent to the meadow to retrieve the gray rocks for Pentrothe’s concoction. Each man was burdened with a large sack, heavy laden with the ore. He sent them to the Keep with orders to assist the wizard with whatever he needed.

  While everyone else concentrated on replacing the stakes in the trenches and remaking the camouflage, Jorem went to inspect the building at the edge of the clearing. For such a simple structure, it was built quite sturdy. The thick walls and sturdy roof were necessary to handle the heavy snowfall received at this altitude. Even the floor was made of heavy planking.

  The stove was small and well-used, judging by its blackened appearance. Numerous burn marks marred the plank flooring around the stove. The stove door squeaked lightly as Jorem opened it. A fire had already been laid, ready for starting. Even without a fire, Jorem could feel the air flow into the stove to be drawn up a pipe stretching from the stove to the roof.

  The table was a simple affair. One side of the table was fastened directly to the wall. The other side was supported by two stout legs. The top was a slab of wood nearly a hand span thick. Jorem could see no seams in the surface and guessed it to be a single piece from the trunk of a forest giant.

  Drawing one of his stronger blades from its hidden sheath at his thigh, Jorem knelt and peered intently at the floor. Sliding the blade into the largest gap he could find, he pried gently at the plank. First one side and then the other, back and forth he pried and jimmied until, at last, the plank came loose.

  With the first plank out, the next was far easier to remove. The planks were held up off the hard packed ground by a series of beams lying perpendicular to the floor planks. Each beam was spaced about an arm’s length from the other. The planks were secured to the beams with wooden dowels pressed through holes drilled through the planks and into the beams.

  Working his way across the room, Jorem carefully pried up and removed each plank, then piled them against one of the walls to keep them out of the way. The floor planks under the table legs were wedged in so tightly he was forced to leave them in place. When he got to the stove, Jorem stopped to take a break. Looking around, Jorem realized that the light coming from the open door was fading.

  Poking his head out the door, Jorem saw that the sun was dropping down toward the horizon. The task he’d set for himself was taking longer than he had hoped. Peering back into the building, he could see that there was still much to be done. If he was to be ready, he would have to work well into the night. For that, he would need some light.

  The clearing was nearly deserted. Only a few people were still out scattering debris to cover the trenches, and they were near the Keep. With a quick glance to find the flags marking the safe crossing spots, Jorem started for the Keep. A slight noise came from behind him. In the blink of an eye, Jorem drew his sword, spun around and crouched, ready for attack.

  Hector’s eyes grew wide and he held his hands out to show that they were empty. The scout was still several paces away and exhibited no desire to move until Jorem sheathed his sword. Even then, he moved slowly and kept his arms extended.

  “Sorry about that,” Jorem said. “I guess I’m getting a little nervous.”

  “No problem,” Hector said warily. “I’m just glad I’m on your side.”

  “Believe me, the feeling is mutual. If you’d had a bow, I’d be a pin cushion.”

  “Maybe,” Hector snorted. “Lucky for you I didn’t see any bowmen with the enemy.”

  “How far away are they?”

  “At the pace they’re setting, about a day’s march, unless they march through the night.” At Jorem’s look of alarm, the scout continued, “Don’t worry, they won’t. Con and Braden are giving them ample reason to avoid wandering about in the dark. I’d say they’ll get here tomorrow evening, a mark or two earlier than now.”

  Jorem relaxed a little. “Do they have any scouts of their own?”

  “They did.” Hector’s smiled revealed a row of pearly white teeth. “I dissuaded them from their duties.”

  ************

  When Jorem returned to the small building, he started by doing a closer examination of the stove. It was basically a small metal barrel on its side. The center of one end had a door in it. The other end had a pipe coming out on top. Four legs held the whole thing about two hand spans above the floor.

  Jorem knelt down and marked an X on the floor planking directly under the stove. After removing the kindling and sticks from the stove, he dragged the stove out of its corner, leaving the pipe dangling in the air. Hoisting the stove up, he turned it over and set it on the table. His shadow danced around the room from the light of his flickering candle.

  Taking up a second candle, Jorem lit it from the one burning on the table beside the overturned stove. Once it was burning well, he held it sideways allowing the melted wax to drizzle into the bottom of the stove. Pulling a length of string from his pocket, he then gently pressed one end of the string into the still-soft wax.

  Once the string was fixed in place, Jorem added more wax until the string was well-seated. Walking back to the corner where the stove had been, Jorem finished prying up the last of the planks. Taking the plank he’d marked with an “X”, he seated himself between two beams.

  With the plank resting on his lap, Jorem took a blade and began gouging at the “X”. Bit by bit, sliver by sliver, he worked away at the plank. The deeper he went, the slower he seemed to progress. After what seemed like hours, his blade finally broke through the other side of the plank.

  As he worked at carving out the sides of the newly made hole, something in the room changed. It felt as if someone was staring at him. Wedged between two beams with the floor plank on his lap, there was no way to move quickly. Sliding the plank off his lap, he got a good grip on the blade in his hand. Leaning forward, Jorem swiveled himself around while leveraging himself to his knees.

  Jen stood just to the side of the table. Unless she had come through the wall, she must have appeared there, for he had been facing the doorway. At the sight of her, Jorem froze. She looked so… regal, yet sad. She wore a light-colored green gown with billowing sleeves. A golden bra
ided band encircled her narrow waist and light glinted from gem-like bits covering her dress.

  Her face was pale and serious. A wisp of her light brown hair dangled between her soft brown eyes. Her hair had grown so it now just brushed her shoulders even though it was curled. She looked like a fairytale princess out of a storybook. Jorem’s breath caught in his throat as he stared at her.

  “When did you become so beautiful?” Jorem said, unable to look away.

  He stood and took a step toward her. His foot caught on a beam making him stagger and nearly fall. Catching himself, he made his way to the table. Jen looked amused and all Jorem could do was shrug his shoulders. Nimble and quick he might be in a sword fight, but with her near, he still felt awkward.

  “You look tired,” Jen said quietly.

  “Mmmm,” Jorem nodded. “I suppose I do at that.”

  “You should get some rest before…,” Jen’s voice trailed off. “How long before the—,” she stopped, unable to finish the question.

  “Before the battle?” Jorem asked.

  Jen nodded.

  “Tomorrow, sometime after midday.”

  A tear etched a glistening line down Jen’s face. “I spoke with Dragon Mage Zensa today,” she said in a slightly quavering voice. “I told her about your situation. She said she wanted to help, but that she was onto something that couldn’t wait.” Another tear followed the first.

  “It’s all right, Jen,” Jorem said softly. “Dragons and their mages see things differently than most. Pentrothe said it had something to do with perspective.”

  “I can’t lose you.” Her words came out in a sob.

  “You won’t! You won’t!” Jorem said firmly. “So long as any part of me exists, I am yours.”

  Oh how he wanted to hold her in his arms and brush away her tears. To hear that she felt for him as he did for her! Her image blurred and she looked away. When she looked back, she was once again in control.

  “I have to go.” Her voice was tight and even. “Please be careful.”

  “I will,” Jorem said, nodding. “We’ll talk again, after.”

  Jen’s image slowly faded from view, leaving Jorem alone. He stood staring at the spot where she had been. He wanted her to come back, but knew she wouldn’t. Was it truly the life bond making his feelings for her so intense? Or was it, perhaps, the young girl who had spent so much time teaching an oafish boy how to dance?

  Taking up the plank he had been working on, Jorem examined the hole he’d carved into it. The hole was nearly the size he wanted. A little more work and he would be able to put his two fists through together without rubbing the edges. The blade he’d been using proved to have lost its edge. Sliding the blade back into its hidden sheath he pulled out another and got back to work.

  With a sharp blade, it didn’t take long before the hole was big enough for its purpose. Stacking the plank with the others, Jorem took the candles and headed for the Keep. The clearing was dark and deserted. Even holding the candles up high, Jorem could not see the flags marking the safe crossing places.

  Looking up, Jorem could see the moon peeking from behind a small bank of clouds. Stars were sprinkled across the black velvet sky, tiny lights twinkling in the darkness. Not wanting to spend the rest of the night searching for the flags with the feeble light of the candles, Jorem blew them out and waited.

  Gradually, his eyes adjusted to the darkness. The light from the moon and stars brought a glow to the landscape. Images that before were hidden in shadow now stood out in bright relief. Colors were muted to the point of non-existent. Everything—trees, buildings, the very ground itself—was revealed in varying shades of gray.

  The bright colored flags were now dull gray shapes propped up on silver-trimmed branches. As Jorem made his way across the clearing, he noticed that in the light of the night the Keep had an ethereal appearance. The curves of the walls and roof of the main building blended together.

  Dark shadows and gleaming surfaces combined to create the illusion of an immense palace, one like those of the fabled desert people. Jorem knew it was a trick of the light, but it was impressive none the less. With the starlit sky for a backdrop and the blackened maw of the chasm on all sides, the Keep appeared to float on a sea of nothingness. Whether intentional or not, the builder of this place had created an incredible piece of art.

  The first thing Jorem did on entering the Keep was to find soap, water, and a place to wash up. After removing his numerous hidden blades, he stripped down to his underclothes. With scrub brush and soap, he cleaned his clothes inside and out. Next were his underclothes and finally himself. Once he was as clean as he could manage, he rubbed himself dry with a coarse towel.

  Wrapping the towel around him, Jorem gathered up his clothes and blades and went in search of an empty room. After a short search, he ended up in the library. A few embers glowed faintly in the fireplace. He stirred up the coals and added a few logs. After a little coaxing, flames started licking away at the newly added fuel. After draping his clothes over a chair to dry, Jorem curled up in a well-padded chair and fell fast asleep.

  Chapter XVIII

  When Jorem awoke, he had no idea what time it was. He wasn’t sure if he had slept for less than a mark or for half a day. In truth, it didn’t matter. He was awake and he felt refreshed. His clothes, still damp, gave him a chill as he slipped them on. Once each of his blades was back in its hidden sheath, he went in search of the kitchen.

  Upon finding the kitchen, Jorem wondered if maybe he’d be better off going hungry. The old woman in charge was furious. She stormed from one end of the room to the other, cursing all the way. Her helpers looked just as upset, but refrained from the pacing. When Jorem came through the doorway, all of their frustrations came out at him. Over all of their babble, the cook’s voice could be heard.

  “That crazy old man,” she bellowed. “Half of me bowls and plates he done took, an’ not so much as a by-your-leave.”

  Jorem raised his hands in front of himself and took a step back. “Which crazy old man are you talking about?”

  “He says he’s some sort of wizard!” the cook stormed. “Well, I tell you, I don’t care if he’s the First Wizard to the King. Comes in here takin’ things like they was his own. Why, he even took me best silver spoons!”

  “Are there not enough dishes to serve firstmeal?” Jorem asked cautiously.

  “Well,” the cook glared at Jorem, “yes there are, only because there are so many gone. But that’s not the point!”

  “Please be patient,” Jorem said, trying to calm the women. “Pentrothe is acting on my orders. If he took those things, it is because they are needed. I’ll go see what he is doing and try to get your plates and bowls back to you as quickly as possible.”

  Jorem turned to go in search of the wizard when the cook’s voice stopped him.

  “Wait!” the cook said sternly. Jorem turned back, ready for another tirade. “You’d be Prince Jorem then?”

  “I am Jorem, yes. My status as prince is up for debate.”

  “Well, you just come back in here and get you somethin’ to eat. I hear you’ve not been takin’ time to eat. Well, come on. I’ll not have you falterin’ for not havin’ the sense to eat when you should.”

  In no time at all, Jorem had a large bowl of steaming porridge in one hand and plate of fresh baked bread with butter and honey melted into it in the other. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until the aroma of the meal started his mouth to watering and his stomach to growling. As he started to leave again with his food in hand, he stopped and turned back to the cook.

  “Thank you,” he said sincerely. “About Pentrothe, he actually was the King’s wizard. He gave up that post and chose exile to come here to help me. His social skills may be lacking at times, but he’s a good man and a good friend.”

  Although no one said anything as he left, he could see that they were thinking about his words. Finding Pentrothe was easy. He was in the dining hall. Finding a place to sit and eat
, that was far more difficult.

  Every horizontal surface was covered with plates and bowls. Each dish was filled with a bluish-gray powder. Pentrothe was at a table on the far side of the room, stirring something in a pot with one of the cook’s silver spoons. The wizard didn’t even look up when Jorem came in. He just continued stirring and muttering strange arcane words over the pot.

  Jorem eventually gave up on sitting at a table. There was no room and he didn’t dare disturb the dishes filled with their precious powder. Finding a quiet corner, he sat on the floor and did his best to enjoy his meal. The acrid smell of the powder did nothing to increase his appetite. Even so, he ended up licking honey off his fingers when he finished.

  With his meal finished, Jorem tucked the dishes into the corner to keep them out of the way. Pentrothe didn’t even look up when Jorem approached. The old wizard looked haggard. He must have been up all night mixing up this concoction. As tired as the old man was, his hands were still as steady as a rock.

  After a few more minutes, Pentrothe stopped his mixing and, with utmost care, poured the powder from the pot onto a plate. Only then did he look away from his work. Dark circles under his eye attested to his weariness. A heavy sigh escaped his lips.

  “That is the last of it,” he said, brushing remnants of the powder from his robe. “I don’t mind telling you, I may never make another batch of this retched stuff.”

  “Then I would suggest you keep some for yourself, for I intend to use it all,” Jorem said with a chuckle.

  “That should make quite an impression,” Pentrothe said with an arched eyebrow.

  “Magic takes a calm mind, free of distraction, or so you taught me.”

  “Indeed it does, even the simplest of spells.”

  “If it works as I hope, their mages will be dazed, confused and possibly singed for quite a while. Long enough, I hope, for us to dissuade them and their troops from continuing their journey.”